#i am happy to help and will do what i can to adjust assignments or make things more accessible

[farkenshnoffingottom]

My university has also turned ai detection off, thankfully. Another reblog on this post said turnitin uses 'unusual grammar' as evidence of ai, which is such a big problem. It's not just ESL students, either, it also targets first gen students, people from poor school districts who've never gotten individual attention from a teacher because classes are too big, etc., and disproportionately POCs, even if English is their first language. I teach intro/gen ed courses, and so many of my students have never been taught how to write in an 'academic' way, and that's the kind of stuff that gets pinged by turnitin

I'm gonna echo op and say they're also just bad essays. No specific evidence is not a dead giveaway, because many of my students don't use evidence in the way I've asked them to, but it is already a mark against the essay. A major giveaway I've seen is suddenly switching topics to something that's not really connected, but I've also got a lot of students who just never learned how to use transitions, so I can't assume it's ai. So the official guidance from my department lines up with my own strategy of just grading it like it's a student-written paper, and that leaves us with all of the previously stated problems

Op's right about really bad papers making me grumpy when grading, and I try to step away and come back to an essay later when that happens to see if I was being unfair, but usually it's still not anywhere near meeting the assignment requirements. My own advice to students: showing us you're trying can really make a difference. Grading is subjective, and one of the things that makes me more generous in how I'm grading something is if you've emailed me or we've had a conversation beforehand. Partly it's just that I now recognize your name out of a class of too many to count, and that shows me you're engaged and trying. But also, it means that when I come across a point that isn't really clear in your writing, I have a sense of what you were trying to say, and it becomes a matter of your writing missing the mark rather than you not understanding the subject, and that has much more wiggle room (I don't like making this assumption, but when the only interaction I have from someone is an essay that doesn't make sense, I don't really have another reference point)

An important message to college students: Why you shouldn't use ChatGPT or other "AI" to write papers.

Here's the thing: Unlike plagiarism, where I can always find the exact source a student used, it's difficult to impossible to prove that a student used ChatGPT to write their paper. Which means I have to grade it as though the student wrote it.

So if your professor can't prove it, why shouldn't you use it?

Well, first off, it doesn't write good papers. Grading them as if the student did write it themself, so far I've given GPT-enhanced papers two Ds and an F.

If you're unlucky enough to get a professor like me, they've designed their assignments to be hard to plagiarize, which means they'll also be hard to get "AI" to write well. To get a good paper out of ChatGPT for my class, you'd have to write a prompt that's so long, with so many specifics, that you might as well just write the paper yourself.

ChatGPT absolutely loves to make broad, vague statements about, for example, what topics a book covers. Sadly for my students, I ask for specific examples from the book, and it's not so good at that. Nor is it good at explaining exactly why that example is connected to a concept from class. To get a good paper out of it, you'd have to have already identified the concepts you want to discuss and the relevant examples, and quite honestly if you can do that it'll be easier to write your own paper than to coax ChatGPT to write a decent paper.

The second reason you shouldn't do it?

IT WILL PUT YOUR PROFESSOR IN A REALLY FUCKING BAD MOOD. WHEN I'M IN A BAD MOOD I AM NOT GOING TO BE GENEROUS WITH MY GRADING.

I can't prove it's written by ChatGPT, but I can tell. It does not write like a college freshman. It writes like a professional copywriter churning out articles for a content farm. And much like a large language model, the more papers written by it I see, the better I get at identifying it, because it turns out there are certain phrases it really, really likes using.

Once I think you're using ChatGPT I will be extremely annoyed while I grade your paper. I will grade it as if you wrote it, but I will not grade it generously. I will not give you the benefit of the doubt if I'm not sure whether you understood a concept or not. I will not squint and try to understand how you thought two things are connected that I do not think are connected.

Moreover, I will continue to not feel generous when calculating your final grade for the class. Usually, if someone has been coming to class regularly all semester, turned things in on time, etc, then I might be willing to give them a tiny bit of help - round a 79.3% up to a B-, say. If you get a 79.3%, you will get your C+ and you'd better be thankful for it, because if you try to complain or claim you weren't using AI, I'll be letting the college's academic disciplinary committee decide what grade you should get.

Eventually my school will probably write actual guidelines for me to follow when I suspect use of AI, but for now, it's the wild west and it is in your best interest to avoid a showdown with me.

[moon-ttokki-x]

HIII MY LOVE

i was just wondering if you could do something with a foreigner!reader, who doesn’t speak korean, with han?? where they have a hard time communicating but they still wanna be together??

(btw if you have anons can i be 🪻??)

hi, love~ this was so cute, really interesting to write . this took a while but it was so worth it hehe . yes you can, my first emoji anon yayy . here you go~~

i want to understand you - (han jisung x female!reader)

pairing: idol!han jisung x female!reader

summary: the language barrier between you and jisung stops your true feelings from being communicated.

genre: angsty but happy ending, idol!au, reader is a stylist, mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, bandages, antiseptics, broken glass, jisung doesn't like being injured, chan's iconic smirk comeback, hints to chanlix and minsung, mentions of wrestling, kissing, nothing too intense i promise

a/n: this is one of my fav fics that i've written tbh . everything in bold + italic is spoken in korean. just a note !

skz masterlist

"How long have you been watching him?" Felix whispers into your ear.

"Huh?"

He smirks, nodding his head towards Jisung, who's currently messing about on set with Minho. "You've been watching him."

You scoff and push him away. "No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

Groaning, you brush past Felix and wander past the cameras to the other side of the MV set. It's almost midday; the sun beats down relentlessly on the pavements outside, bathing everything in a bright glow, but inside the warehouse, the lights are dimmed in shades of red, green and white, casting an eerie palette over the broken glass and haphazard items scattered about the dusty floor.

Your eyes wander to one of the camera tripods; 'ESCAPE FILMING' is written on a piece of masking tape and stuck to the side. Your gaze flits to Chan and Hyunjin; both of them are raggedy, slender figures in heavy coats and coarse clothing. They're busy talking to their manager; you duck off to the side and run straight into Felix again.

You groan. "Go away."

"Come on," he murmurs. "Go talk to him."

It's been almost a month since you took the job as a stylist with JYPE; it had been interesting, to say the least. The members took to you immediately, teasing and friendly within a couple of days. You were in awe; they were such professionals you'd been assigned to work around, but one of them had caught your eye.

Jisung.

You feel your cheeks warm as you watch him; Felix is motionless beside you, no doubt smirking, but your heart sinks as you hear the distant lilt of excitable Korean floating over the set to your ears.

"Y/n, go," Felix insists. "Talk to him."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" You whip around to face him. "I don't speak Korean, and he doesn't know enough English to be fluent in a conversation with me."

"He sings in English," Felix points out, adjusting the cuff of his hoodie. His black cap- Chan's cap- sits low on his head.

"That's because he has you and Chan to help him." You groan.

This would be so much easier if the rest of the members weren't here. You wonder what they're here for, anyway; they said they came to support Chan and Hyunjin while they filmed their music video, but you have a sneaking suspicion it was just to get out of an extra dance practice Chan scheduled for the remaining members while he was away. No doubt the maknaes' idea.

You'd fought to stay focused on doing Hyunjin's makeup that same morning; he hadn't missed the way your hand shook around your eyeshadow brush when Jisung had breezed in with a cheerful shout. If Hyunjin had noticed, he hadn't said anything, and the resulting makeup look had thankfully turned out just fine.

"Y/n."

You whip around so fast your neck hurts, and you almost trip over your own feet as you come face-to-face with Jisung. He's dressed casually, as most of the members are; his grey zip hoodie is slightly dusty, loose black jeans showing a peek of startingly white shoes beneath their hems.

His face is bare, void of makeup, and you can see the healthy pink flush on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His lashes blink away strands of un-styled, dark hair falling into his face; he sweeps it back effortlessly with two fingers, and his wide eyes fix themselves onto your own, a cheerful grin painting his lips.

You look around wildly for Felix to save you; he's conveniently disappeared into thin air, and you curse inwardly as you're forced to face Jisung once more. There's nowhere to run.

"Hi." Your voice sounds thin and awkward.

"Hi." He replies, an equally awkward but adorable smile curving his mouth further. Even the simple syllable sounds odd and unfamiliar to him, it seems. Tinged with his accent, the sound coming out of his mouth looks like he tasted something unusual; new and curious, but strange.

Foreign.

You stutter, unable to comprise a singular sentence. Even if you were able to at the moment, it's unlikely Jisung will understand. The past few interactions with him have shown you that.

You try anyway. "Did you need something?"

He blinks. Takes apart each word in his mind, turns his cognitive gears, and a dawning sense of confusion appears on his face despite the effort to understand. "Chan-hyung ruined his makeup again. He's busy with his outfit, but he sent me to ask you if you could quickly touch it up for him? If you're not busy..."

You're running, sprinting even, to keep up with Jisung's rapid pace of speaking. Korean tumbles out of his mouth in a smooth waterfall, each word naturally clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle.

For you, though, it's like looking at the completed picture upside down. It just doesn't make sense, and you can't tell what's he's asking by his tone like you have before.

"Chan?" You say, questioning. It was the only word you caught.

He nods once, then faster. "His makeup." He points to his leader, a distance away, who is redoing his belt and pulling on his coarse jacket for the next scene.

Jisung points to Chan again, then to his own face. He points to the crossbody bag across your waist, full of your stylist tools, and mimes swiping a brush across his cheeks.

"Oh," you say. "His makeup?"

Jisung nods frantically. You fight a smile; makeup and snacks are the only English words he seems to understand at the moment. Couldn't say you wouldn't have been the same way.

You nod once to him and awkwardly brush past him to go to Chan.

Jisung watches you go.

Chan turns round as you approach, bowing sheepishly as you pull several brushes and a chrome palette from your bag.

"Sorry for ruining it," he says as he closes his eyes. You chuckle and redo the look with a few simple strokes, and step back to make sure it's neat. You swipe a pinky across his cheekbone to remove any excess. "I saw you and Jisung talking."

You sigh. "Wasn't really talking. More..."

"Confusion?" Chan offers with a smile.

You poke him in the side and he shies away, grinning. "How long were you watching us?"

He shrugs casually, looking away. "The whole time."

You groan, cheeks flushing as he laughs. "I wish I could speak Korean fluently... Learning it takes so long, and there aren't any translating apps I can use on a day-to-day basis."

Chan does look at you then, expression empathetic. "I know it's inconvenient, Y/n, but you're making progress. Just keep at it, and while you and Jisung are both learning each other's languages, it'll become easier to communicate over time."

You look towards Jisung, who's currently reenacting the wrestling scene with Seungmin. Rapid, unfamiliar words tumble from the members' mouths at the speed of light as they laugh and clap, and you smile as Jisung emerges from underneath Seungmin with his dark hair covered in feathers.

You sigh. "I hope so."

Chan sighs, touching your shoulder in reassurance. Looking past you, he gazes fondly over the seven members, unaware of you both watching them, and chuckles. "I thought Hyunjin and I were gonna get this music video filming done fast, but... apparently not."

You smile. "I don't think they were too fond of having to do extra practice while you were away."

Chan rolls his eyes and you laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. There's a yelp from behind you, and Chan whips around, faster than lightning. The members have gone silent.

You're both just in time to see Jisung fall off the mattress. His hand scrapes awkwardly along the floor, where tiny fragments of glass from the stunt filming earlier scatter throughout the dust. A deep red line opens up along his forearm, and Chan swears before dashing to his side.

You come up behind Felix, calling to one of the crew members to find a tissue and water as Chan sits Jisung down properly on the mattress, brushing aside feathers.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks in worry, cradling his member's hand.

Jisung winces as a wet rivulet of blood drops onto the floor. The rest of the boys burst into concerned murmurs, jostling to see. You push past Minho with a pack of tissues, handing them to Chan. Cracking open the top of a water bottle, you dampen the centre of a folded piece of tissue and dab it gently along Jisung's forearm. He groans and attempts to pull away, but his leader holds his arm firmly, murmuring reassurance.

"There's a spare room down one of the warehouse corridors," you say to Chan. "I went there earlier to set my things up. There's a first aid kit in there."

"Is there no one on set with one already?" He says, strained. You bite your lip and look to the crew, who all look away, seemingly distracted.

Chan actually growls then, making you recoil, and mutters something that might have either been a string of expletives or a complaint about crew disorganisation.

You suppose his reaction is justified either way.

Folding the water-damp, bloodied tissue, you tuck it into your pocket and stand up. "I can take him to the room there and clean the cut," you offer. "Might be easier without all the glass around."

Chan nods, holding a hand to Jisung to stand up. "I can come with both of you-"

"No," you say firmly. "Focus on filming with Hyunjin. It's getting late and I know both of you want to be done with it. I'll take care of him."

Chan bites his lip in anxiety, clearly struggling to make the decision between staying on set and going with Jisung, but Hyunjin puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get the rest of the shots done, Chan-hyung," he says. "Y/n is more than capable of taking care of the injury."

You blink, not understanding, but it seems to be enough to reassure Chan, who nods and turns away. Hyunjin follows him, and the rest of the members meekly disperse behind the cameras, far quieter than before.

You wind between crew members and filming equipment before heading down the main back corridor of the warehouse, where a spare room splits off into four smaller rooms down the way. Heading into the second door on the right, you hold the door open for Jisung before pulling out the first aid kit from a duffel bag.

You point to a chair as he closes the door. The metal of the knob is scarlet as he lets go. "Sit."

He sits and you place the kit on the cabinet, unzipping a pouch and pulling out a bandage, an antiseptic wipe, and another pack of tissues. Trying to ignore your hands shaking as you do so, you feel your cheeks warm as Jisung shuffles on the chair, a muffled disturbance in the sudden stillness of the room.

You're alone with him.

Biting your lip in an all-too-aware consciousness of the situation, you pull a chair to sit next to him, setting down the items on the plastic table. He rests his arm on the surface as you rip open the antiseptic packet, and then pause.

Gingerly, you place a light hand on his wrist and pull his forearm closer to you, beginning to gently swipe the wet wipe across the cut. A faint smell of chemical rises in the air, and Jisung discreetly exhales, making you crack a tiny smile.

His forearm is tense; you can see the stress of the situation, visible in his body language. The wipe clearly stings him, becoming redder by the minute. He lets out a tiny start, obviously fighting to keep quiet.

You can see him beginning to squirm, his bottom lip caught flush between his teeth as he chews on it in distress.

"Jisung," you say softly, pausing the cleaning to give him a break. "It's okay. You're doing well."

He doesn't respond, focused on the wound. Then, taking a deep breath, his wide eyes meet yours and he gives a tiny nod, signalling for you to continue.

You've cleaned about half of the injury's surrounding area; feeling unbelievably bold, you stroke a gentle thumb across the inside of his wrist as you swipe scarlet off his bare skin, attempting to calm him. He relaxes suddenly, and the exhale of a deeply-held breath fans lightly across your face, stirring your hair. It does nothing to cool the tension building between the both of you.

You fumble to stuff the used, damp wipe back into the packet. Jisung's eyes follow you intently; he seems to have recovered from the initial shock of injury.

He watches curiously as you tilt your head to the side, inspecting the cut, before unravelling a length of a clean rolled bandage. You lay it flat on the clean table before unwrapping four sheets of fluffy gauze, laying it on top. You undo the top off of a small tube of ointment.

"What's that?" He says.

There's a clear question in his tone; taking a wild guess, you hold up the tube. He nods.

"This? Ointment. It's to keep the wound moist," you reply. You're not sure why you bothered; he doesn't understand it anyway, and he just nods politely before continuing to gaze at the tube, most likely attempting to piece its use together in his head.

You let out a tiny sigh, almost fuming at the inconvenience of it all. You want to talk to him, understand him. But you keep quiet, clamp it down, and continue to smear the cream gently across the wound edges with a finger.

He's no longer watching the application of the cream, though; his gaze is fixed intently on your face, as if he's trying to see through you to the other side of the room. You know he's watching; you can feel his eyes burning into you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to keep composure.

"Y/n," he says softly.

You gulp and look up, pausing your ministrations. He tilts his head to the side, a strange look taking over his features. It's no secret to either of you that you can't understand the other; it seemed to you that Jisung was just never as bothered by the language barrier as you were.

Apparently not.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he says simply. Taking a deep breath, he hopes inwardly that you haven't learnt too much Korean yet, and continues to talk. "I wish I could speak more English, enough for us to communicate. I'm sorry I never told you that before. I know it makes you sad."

Silence.

"I don't know what you're saying," you murmur softly, a look of longing and resignation taking over your expression.

"I don't understand you."

You lean one hand under your head. "I wish we could communicate."

"I wish we could talk properly... This is so frustrating."

Sighing and giving up completely, you tap his wrist, and he brings it closer to you so you can wrap the injury. Delicately placing the gauze sheets along the cut, you begin to firmly wrap the bandage around his forearm, taking care not to cut off his circulation in the process. Securing the bandage with a clip, you stand and begin to dispose of the packets and tissues.

Jisung stands too, unsure, like he's waiting for direction. He opens his mouth to say something, but your thoughts are beginning to run away with you, and you speak them aloud before he has a chance to say anything.

"I wonder what things would have been like if we both spoke the same language." You throw the packets in the bin.

Jisung seems to be lost in his own thoughts too. "Maybe I could ask one of my hyungs to teach me English... or Hyunjin! He knows English too! He might be able to help..."

Yet again, the names of one of his members is the only word you can recognise amongst his rapid-fire speech.

"Hyunjin?" You say. "What about him? Did- should I go get him?" You groan in exasperation and throw your hands out, knocking the ointment off the cabinet from where you've just set it down. "What are you asking for?"

"Sorry, I don't know what you're upset about, but maybe I can ask Chan-hyung and Hyunjin for advice on what to do... Unless you've already talked to them..."

"I bet you'd sound so different talking in English," you're beginning to fume, and you feel bad, because none of this is Jisung's fault. He's Korean, he speaks it, so why are you getting so upset about not being able to communicate through the same language?

Both of you are practically talking to yourselves now; Jisung is clearly lost on another planet, seemingly recovered from the injury. You're beginning to feel yourself sink, no longer nervous around him. Now, you just feel a desperate longing.

To talk. Actually talk.

"Changbin-hyung told me that you don't speak much Korean, but maybe I could teach you? Ah, that wouldn't work, because I'd have to teach you in English first..."

You bite your lip. A dangerous thought crosses your conscience; you could just tell him. About how you feel. He might not even know what you're talking about. He probably won't.

Hopefully.

You decide to risk it. Even if he does understand, you can easily play it off as a translating mistake on his part. No worries.

"Jisung," you say cautiously.

He snaps out of his endless train of thought, and locks his gaze with yours. Like a soldier called to attention.

"Y/n," he says cheekily, though you can see his confident demeanour faltering.

"I really want to be able to talk with you," you continue. "Properly. But maybe it's a good thing we can't understand each other. I can say I love you without you understanding... Gosh, Hyunjin would have a field day making fun of us idiots. Not being able to communicate..."

Jisung blinks. Once. Twice. You see the flutter of his lashes, the cogs turning in his head, and then, very hesitantly, he steps closer. Like you're a wild animal he's trying not to spook.

You take a step back. He takes another forward.

So you step back again. Your back hits the cabinet.

Shit.

Jisung cocks his head; he looks exactly like his quokka counterpart. You blink as he frowns suddenly, then presses his hands together, slipping his fingers in a pattern over the newly wrapped bandage on his forearm.

Around and around and around. And then-

"You love Hyunjin?" Even without understanding, his tone is incredulous. Disbelieving.

"What about Hyunjin?" You say in confusion. "Clearly I've done something wrong, as your tone is telling me, but what does he have to do with it?"

Jisung groans, frustrated. "All this time. I was so happy you came to help me... I thought there might have been something between you and me, but you were just being helpful. Hyunjin, of all people."

You huff. "You keep saying 'Hyunjin' and yet, I still have no idea what you're saying."

Jisung scoffs. "Okay, relax! You don't need to keep talking about how much you love him! I get it... Damn, I'm stupid."

"...Well, you stopped saying his name, but I still don't know what you're talking about, Jisung."

"I wish I could understand you, Y/n."

"I wish you loved me."

"I want to know you. I would never let anyone hurt you, ever... But clearly, I'm not fit for it... I can't even put together a sentence in your language. How am I supposed to love you when I can't even do that?"

Your voices are rising at this point, swelling to fit the room. They mix in the air and rain down in shards, sparkling shards of glass that seem to hurt more than Jisung's forearm injury did.

Every glittering remnant makes your eyes sting until you feel a salty wetness coating your cheeks. The frustration is spilling out of you, the unfairness and utter inconvenience of it all drowning you in tumultuous, crashing waves until you are swept under the dark, powerful current, falling and falling and clawing upwards to air, to breathe, to him, but it doesn't work.

"Why can't things just be easy for once?" You cry out at him. He jolts, taken aback. "I just want to love someone, and here you are, yet I can't even tell you that I love you. I love you, Jisung, and you'll never, ever understand, and it's all my fault because I don't know any Korean enough to talk to you."

He's frozen. Pale as a ghost. And then the colour rises so fast to his face that you step forward, afraid that he might collapse or pass out or experience some other type of wildly unexpected medical occurrence that would probably make your current situation even more upsetting than it already is. If that's even possible.

"Me?" He says. His voice is shaky, strained. "You love me? Not Hyunjin?"

"Fuck, Jisung, this has nothing to do with Hyunjin. Forget about him, I'm talking about you. You might as well know since we can't fucking communicate. Do you even know what I just said, or do I just sound like an angry chicken?"

A look of understanding begins to dawn incredibly slowly on his face. He points to himself, in disbelief but still rather unsure about what you're saying. "Me?"

"Yes, you, you absolute idiot. Shit."

Jisung looks at his hands, then points to himself. He cups his hands and shakily rearranges his fingers, making a comical depiction of a heart. "You?"

"That is the most shit heart I've ever seen you make," you huff. You point to yourself, dramatically enunciating as if he was a child unable to understand anything more than the colour of the sky.

"I." You jab a finger repetitively into your chest.

"Love.." You make a heart, bending your index fingers and pushing your hands towards him. Like he could just take your love the way something might take a glass of water offered to them.

"You," you stab a finger in the air again and again, pointing to him. There's no way he's confused now.

He's still standing there, eyebrows raised, confused and in disbelief. Your mind whirrs.

How can I possibly make this any clearer? I don't know what else I'm supposed to do now... Maybe I should just brush it off and give up. The others must be wondering where we are. Hey, I bet Chan and Hyunjin are finally done filming-

Jisung's mouth crashes desperately onto yours.

Your back throbs as it's pressed against the cabinet; his chest bumps yours and your hands fly to his shoulders, clutching him as if you're drowning. A gasp slips out of your mouth before it's swallowed up; Jisung tilts his head and it's all you can do not to let your knees buckle under him.

You can feel his hair tickling your forehead as he gulps in half a breath of air, so soft, so impossibly soft, like pinfeathers under your fingers just as you'd imagined it to be. You tug him back in, gripping the neckline of his hoodie, trying to make him realise, trying to communicate everything you've been saying without saying anything at all.

He doesn't seem to care about the injury on his arm anymore, and one hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. He's not just kissing you, he's pouring thousands upon thousands of words into you, words he can't ever hope to tell you and words you won't ever understand.

But you do understand.

He pulls back, gasping. Your foreheads bump clumsily against each other's and he holds you fast, panting.

"Jisung," you gasp.

"Y/n," he replies breathlessly. "I love you. I love you."

You finally have some clue as to what he's saying. "I love you too."

He nods frantically, his nose brushing your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, so hard it almost hurts. But you can't find it in yourself to care, returning the crushing affection with as much strength as you can muster, fuelled by relief and love and irrevocable joy and Jisung.

The hasty explanation of your feelings all this time evaporates off your tongue, burning into ash. You sweep it into a corner of your mind and dust the rest off Jisung's shoulders.

Chan clears his throat.

Both you and Jisung spring apart as if burned. Chan stands in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame. There's a delighted smirk painted across his face, the remainder of his dark, raw makeup smudged and faded. There's a feather in his hair, and he regards the two of you with a cool stare.

"So," he says slowly, clearly fighting the urge to tease. He speaks in English and Korean, so that both of you can understand.

Chan adjusts his coarse jacket. "Did you two finally manage to communicate? Did you finally manage to talk properly?"

Jisung grins.

a/n: div by @aquazero

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[stoneybun]

College reader loses motivation due to mental health and struggles to take care of self so schlatt gets in the shower w them and does their hair routine, washes their face and holds them, avoiding their waves lol. (Can you tell its self indulgent?)

Anon are you in my head because this is literally what i've been going thru I'm also catering this to me a bit,, Schlatt x fem reader Everything ached. Your head, shoulders, back, fuck even your eyes ached. It had become a known feeling. You were burning out, if not already there. Schlatt had noticed the signs, subtly trying to help you along the way yet also trying to let you handle yourself. He'd get your products out and lined up for you, even trying to have you start a routine with him in hopes it'd make it easier. But now nothing was working, and he knew he needed to do something about it. You weren't going to go through this alone. Not if he was around. You opened your eyes in response to feeling large hands on your body, gently caressing your sides with a familiar soft warmth against your back. You'd woken up a few times already only to drift back off to sleep, your body forcing itself to shut down. Right now the sensation of being caressed so gently was the only thing keeping you awake; until you feel the familiar sensation of facial hair scratching the sensitive skin of your neck, it being the chops of your boyfriend. "Doll, as beautiful as y' are layin' like this in bed, y' gotta get up," he murmurs against your skin before pressing a few featherlight kisses. You hum, leaning backward and feeling your back press against him, melting into his lazy embrace as he held you from behind. It was only around 11 in the morning on a Saturday, but he was getting antsy. Almost like when Jambo will come loudly meow at you both if his automatic feeder was empty. "Don' wanna move," you groan, eliciting a scoff from him. "Never said y' gotta," he grumbled, making you confused. "Bubba, wh-" He slides his arms to pick you up, one arm hooked under your knees and the other supporting your back as he lifted you up bridal style. He loved carrying you, thinking it was utterly adorable the way your breath hitched, eyes wide as if you never expected him to pick you up. It made your heart flutter as he carried you like you weighed nothing despite your own negative thoughts the always knew just how to dissipate. He gently adjusts you in his arms for a moment before pushing the bathroom door open, kicking it shut behind him before having you sit on top of the closed toilet. "I'm not a baby," you protest with a tired, lopsided grin. His eyes light up a little at the sight of your smile, delighted that he's keeping you happy even in a time like this. "Ehhh, whatever y' say," he quips, a smug grin forming on his face, watching his eyes crinkle for a moment before he turned to turn the shower on, getting the temperature just right. You had instinctively started to stand up after he stepped away from the edge of the shower, lazily leaning your head against the side of his arm. "You didn't have to start a shower for me, y'know," you mumble, honestly feeling a little pathetic with how much you'd been lacking in self-care recently. It was just too much between it all; classes, maintaining social life, assignments and exams that never seemed to end. You thought college would get better over the years, learning to roll with it all, but you only seemed to slip further and further away from being an actual put-together adult. "Started it for us, actually," Schlatt corrected in a playful tone, trying to pull you out of the spiral he knew was bubbling in your mind. You two had showered before, but the proposition still always gave you butterflies. "Oh, um, okay," you stammer, making him shake his head and smile in amusement. "Y' still can't get over how fuckin' hot I am, huh, sweetheart?" he taunts, making your cheeks and ears redden and you huff. "Shut the fuck up," you grumble, making Schlatt bark out a laugh, the two of you shedding your clothes casually. His eyes were glued to you in the process, his gaze full of admiration and longing despite you being about three feet away from him. Can't a guy just be completely enamored by his girl?

The two of you finally get in the shower, Schlatt helping you in first as you let out a pleased groan once the warm water starts to rain down, kissing your skin with a soothing amount of pressure. Schlatt steps in behind you, slowly turning you towards him, guiding you to lean your head back by placing a curled finger under your chin. "Relax, hun. I got'cha," he speaks as his free hand comes up to start running his fingers through your hair, letting the water soak in and further massaging your scalp like he personally was trying to massage the migraine out of you. "I can do it mysel-" you start, bringing a hand up to attempt and grab Schlatt's wrist only to hear him scoff. "Just let me do it, would ya?" he groans, almost sounding needy, like he couldn't bare the thought of not pampering you right now, wanting to see the bliss on your face as he gave you the care you deserved. You finally gave in once he started to lather shampoo into your hair, your eyes fluttering as one of his hands easily could work the product into your hair. The suds were coating your locks and his hand, his other hand was placed on your waist, his grip just hard enough to let you know he wasn't going anywhere. You couldn't help but lean into his body during this. And if you could fall asleep standing, you probably would, the sweet nothings coming from his mouth making your heart swell beyond how it already felt with him caring for you like this, your eyes opening enough to gaze up at the sweet man you had the pleasure of calling your boyfriend. You noticed the way he didn't even catch your gaze, his eyes focused on your hair as he was rinsing the shampoo out and starting to work in conditioner. His hair was flattened, his chocolate curls more evident now that his hair was wet and pressing against his face, chops having water beaded on them, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. Being lost in your own world of admiring your boyfriend, he blinks upon realizing your warm gaze, making him smile with a flustered nature to it. "Keep lookin' at me like that and we won't leave this damn shower," he grumbles, trying to act like his heart wasn't melting in his chest right now as he reached for the bottle of specific face wash you had, having tried one of those 'catered to you' brands. "That a threat or a promise, bub?" you quip with a snicker, making him roll his eyes fondly. "You'll find out, won't you?" he played along while softly applying the face cleaner to your skin, using his middle and ring fingers and gently massaging you in circular motions. All you could do was giggle, letting his hands work their magic. After rinsing you off, he finally started to wash your body, taking ample amounts of restraint to keep his touch respectful. He knew you wouldn't mind, it just wasn't the time for it. "You're so perfect," he can't help but mutter, almost like it was supposed to stay to himself as his lips pressed to your shoulder, his proximity making your stomach flip despite the fact he's been holding you in place this whole time. The fog in your brain from finally feeling relaxed made it hard to respond, just leaning further into him, practically using him to keep yourself standing. He doesn't comment on that, just finishing the shower with you and shutting the water off once he was convinced the two of you were done. He grabs your robe that he had custom-made for you and helps you slide it on, pressing a kiss to the top of your head despite your hair dripping wet. "Y'want me to brush your hair for ya, doll?"

A/N: I kinda blacked out writing this

[drchucktingle]

Hi Dr Tingle

Thank you so much for your work, your words really speak a lot to me. I was wondering how do you get to that feeling of joy? I think I’ve forgotten how to feel and I would very much like to know how you get to that feeling.

Thank you for your existence

oh this is great question first of all gotta say thank you for phrasing this way and asking what CHUCK does, not what YOU should do. i will not tell others what THEY need to do (that kind of thing is always dang red flag for chuck) but i would love to share my own journey.

finding joy has a lot of paths and roadblocks and it is different for all buckaroos. sometimes there is chemical imbalance or trauma or you are trapped in a endless maze of harmful patterns, and sometimes life is just difficult in a very average everyday way that IN ITSELF is overwhelming. just existing is A LOT bud.

here is why i am usually very happy and in a state of joy: way of GRATITUDE. now keep in mind this is not that simple and my words are not cure all for every bud, but if it helps i will explain my thoughts.

THE CALL OF THE LONESOME TRAIN is the awareness that our time here in this reality will end, and this call is a double edged sword. it can haunt you and bring great sadness, and it can tear your dang heart out when someone you love has to board. but for chuck it is also the source of my gratitude and motivation.

i am constantly aware that i will eventually have a LAST DAY on this timeline. i do not know when or where or how i will board the lonesome train, but it is a guarantee this time will come. if i picture myself on this day, lets say lyin in a dang hospital bed, i know that personally i will REALLY NOT WANT TO LEAVE. on this last day surrounded by loved ones everything has VALUE. i will think 'just one last walk in the park' 'just one last kiss' 'just one last chocolate milk' 'just one last quiet moment looking at the way light moves on the floor from the window'

i will have SO MUCH GRATITUDE FOR EVERYTHING ON MY LAST DAY and think 'i would pay a million dollars for one final trot around the block'. but here is the thing: EVERY DAY HAS THAT MUCH VALUE WE JUST DO NOT HAVE THE PERSPECTIVE TO REALIZE IT. every moment is all just grains of sand and those grains are always the same sand, we just assign different value to them.

so when i wake up in the morning i often think 'one day i will look back and give anything to be here,' even if it is a stormy day, or i have a difficult task or a hard talk ahead. even if i am sick or tired or depressed. i am aware that as a human being trotting through this reality i am going to tend to UNDERVALUE the present. and then i try to give the present the value it deserves.

hope that helps bud. my way is not the 'correct' way and maybe you can find a better one for yourself, but it might be worth giving this technique a shot if you would like. maybe you can adjust and find a good balance that is all your own. LOVE IS REAL

[empressdede]

Reconnecting Ringside

Sade is interning at WWE, hoping to gain some insight experience and runs in to Jon, an old friend. What are the chances of these two reconnecting?

Word count: 3.5K

Pairing: Jonathan x OC (Sade)

No warnings, Happy Valentine’s day ❤️••••��•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••Jonathan Fatu adjusted his snapback as he strolled through the halls of the WWE Performance Center, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Fresh off a promo rehearsal, he was already thinking about heading back to his hotel—until a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Jonathan Fatu? Is that really you?”

He turned, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Sade?”

There she stood—Sade, his old friend from back home. The years had changed her, but the warm smile and bright eyes were unmistakable. She held a media badge around her neck, a notepad in hand.

“Wow,” Jonathan chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. “Long time no see! What brings you here?”

Sade’s smile widened. “I just started an internship with WWE’s journalism team. Gonna be doing interviews, covering events, all that.”

“No way!” He beamed proudly. “Look at you, making moves. This business is wild, but you’re gonna kill it. Trust me.”

Sade laughed. “I hope so! And I’m pretty sure an interview with a certain Uso has to happen soon.”

Jonathan smirked, his playful side kicking in. “Only if you can handle the heat, ’cause when I’m on the mic, it’s straight fire!”

“Bring it on,” she teased. “Just don’t make me roast you on camera.”

Jonathan laughed loudly, shaking his head. “You ain’t changed a bit.”

Before they could say more, a voice called from down the hall—production needed Jonathan on set. He glanced back at Sade. “Yo, we gotta catch up after this. Dinner tonight?”

“Deal,” she replied.

As he walked away, Jonathan couldn’t help but smile. The WWE ring had brought him countless battles—but this? This felt like the start of something special.

-

Later that evening, Jonathan and Sade found themselves at a cozy restaurant not far from the arena. The air buzzed with the soft hum of conversations, but their table felt like its own world.

“So, WWE journalism, huh?” Jonathan leaned back, his chain catching the low light. “How’d you end up here?”

Sade smiled, setting her drink down. “Well, you know I always loved storytelling. After college, I did some freelance sports writing. Then, I saw WWE was offering an internship for media coverage. It felt like fate. And now here I am, about to cover superstars—never thought I’d run into one I actually know.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Man, life’s wild like that. Feels like yesterday we were back home, clowning around.”

Sade’s eyes sparkled. “Remember when you used to practice your promos in front of my camera for my school projects?”

Jonathan laughed loudly. “You mean those cringy ones with the bad lighting? Yeah, I remember. Guess that was my first taste of ‘The Mic.’”

Sade grinned. “I knew you had star power even then.”

Jonathan’s expression softened. “And now you’re here, chasing your own dream. That’s dope.”

Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, it was just two old friends, worlds apart from where they started, but somehow right back in step.

Then Sade’s phone buzzed with a notification—Interview assignments posted. She opened it and paused, eyes widening.

“Well, looks like fate’s still working overtime,” she said, turning the screen to him.

The assignment read: “Exclusive Sit-Down Interview with Jimmy Uso – Tomorrow.”

Jonathan smirked. “Guess you’re getting that interview sooner than you thought.”

Sade raised an eyebrow, her playful competitive streak kicking in. “Hope you’re ready, Fatu. I don’t go easy on my subjects.”

Jonathan grinned, his tone playful but firm. “And I don’t pull punches. Better bring your A-game.”

Their eyes locked—a spark of excitement, challenge, and something unspoken lingering between them.

“Game on,” Sade replied with a smirk.

The following morning, backstage at a live event, the atmosphere was a mix of buzzing anticipation and focused intensity. Jonathan Fatu—better known in the ring as Jimmy Uso—sat in his dressing room, meticulously going over last-minute details. The mirror in front of him reflected a man who had weathered countless storms in the squared circle, each scar and smile telling a story of his journey.

A gentle knock at the door broke his concentration. Jonathan looked up to see Sade stepping in, notebook in hand and a confident gleam in her eye. The room, usually reserved for quiet pre-match rituals, seemed to brighten with her presence.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” she began warmly. “Ready for our sit-down?”

Jonathan grinned. “Always. It’s not every day I get to be interviewed by an old friend.”

They settled into a pair of mismatched chairs by a small table cluttered with water bottles, a coffee mug, and memorabilia from past events. Sade switched on her recorder and leaned forward. “Let’s start at the beginning. What was it like when you first realized this wasn’t just a game, but your life?”

Jonathan’s eyes softened with memory. “I remember the first time I stepped into the ring—the roaring crowd, the smell of sweat and determination. It wasn’t about winning or losing back then. It was about proving to myself that I belonged in a world where every moment mattered.”

Sade scribbled a note, then asked, “And what about the pressure of living up to a family legacy? Your brother, the rest of your clan—it all adds a layer of expectation.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Family is both the weight on my shoulders and the wind beneath my wings. Every match, every promo, I’m not just fighting for myself but for everyone who’s ever believed in me. It’s a relentless drive.”

The conversation flowed naturally, as if the years apart had melted away. Sade probed further, “There must have been moments of doubt along the way. Can you share one that changed you?”

Jonathan’s gaze drifted to a framed photo on the wall—a candid shot of him and his cousins backstage, laughing after a tough day. “There was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d ever overcome the obstacles. A major injury had me sidelined longer than I’d hoped, and the fear of losing my edge was overwhelming. But in that quiet darkness, I learned that resilience isn’t just about physical strength—it’s about heart, determination, and the unwavering support of those who stand by you.”

Sade’s voice softened. “That vulnerability… it makes your triumphs all the more inspiring.”

“Exactly,” Jonathan replied, a wry smile playing on his lips. “The ring isn’t just about the spectacle you see on TV. It’s about the sweat, the scars, and the moments when you push past pain to become something more.”

A comfortable silence fell over the room as they both reflected on the weight of his journey. Finally, Sade added, “I think that’s what the fans need to hear. Behind every high-flying move and every electrifying promo, there’s a human story. A story of struggle, family, and the relentless pursuit of a dream.”

Jonathan nodded appreciatively. “And thanks to you, Sade, that story is going to be told with honesty and heart.”

The recorder clicked off as Sade closed her notebook. They sat for a moment, two friends connected by time and a shared passion for storytelling—one through the physical poetry of wrestling, the other through the power of the written word.

Stepping out into the corridor, the buzz of the arena waiting just beyond, Jonathan clapped Sade on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to the next chapter. And hey—if you need any behind-the-scenes action, you know where to find me.”

With a final smile and a promise to reconnect after the show, Sade walked off, her mind brimming with the raw, authentic narrative of a superstar whose legacy was as much about heart as it was about hustle. And for Jonathan, the day had reaffirmed that every story—both in and out of the ring—deserves to be told.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••Weeks passed, and Sade and Jonathan settled into an easy rhythm. Between shows, interviews, and the chaos of WWE life, they always found time for each other—grabbing dinner after tapings, cracking jokes between promos, and sharing late-night conversations that blurred the line between the past and present.

Their friendship felt natural, like they had never lost time. But for Jonathan, something unexpected had started to creep in—attraction. He found himself looking forward to her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she asked the right question, or how she stood her ground during heated debates about wrestling storylines.

One evening, they sat together in catering, plates filled with the usual post-show fare. The energy of the arena hummed faintly through the walls. Sade, scrolling through her notes for her next assignment, glanced up to catch Jonathan watching her.

She smirked. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Jonathan shook his head, leaning back with a grin. “Nah, just—never thought I’d see you in this world. But you’re killin’ it.”

Sade chuckled, brushing off the compliment. “You always did hype me up.”

Jonathan’s eyes glinted with curiosity, and he tilted his head playfully. “So, tell me… you leave a boyfriend behind to pursue this dream?”

Sade paused mid-sip of her water, then burst out laughing. “Boyfriend? Nah, haven’t had one in a while. Been single for two years now.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows lifted slightly, though he kept his cool. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

She raised an eyebrow, her playful side kicking in. “Why you askin’, Fatu?”

Jonathan shrugged casually, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “Just curious.”

Sade smirked. “You’re terrible at being subtle, you know that?”

Jonathan laughed, rubbing his chin. “Maybe. But I’m good at being real.”

A charged silence settled between them, one that felt… different. Sade felt the weight of his gaze, but before she could unpack it, a crew member called her name from across the room.

She stood, flashing him a quick grin. “Well, just curious, I gotta get back to work. See you later, Fatu.”

Jonathan watched her walk away, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “See you later.”

But as she disappeared down the hall, one thought stuck in his mind: This ain’t just friendship anymore.

-

The more time Jonathan spent with Sade, the more his feelings tangled. Friendship had always been easy with her—jokes, conversations, the comfort of someone who just got him. But now? He found himself noticing everything—the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how she challenged him in conversations, how her passion for storytelling mirrored his passion for the ring.

But the more he felt it, the more he panicked.

Jonathan wasn’t a stranger to love—he’d been through enough to know how messy it could get. And with Sade? She was his friend. Hell, his best friend. If he crossed that line and it went south, he could lose something he hadn’t even realized he needed so badly.

So, he buried it. Teased her like always. Kept his playful charm front and center.

But his heart kept slipping through the cracks.

One Night After SmackDown

The locker room buzz had died down, and Jonathan was cooling off from his match, towel draped around his neck when his phone buzzed.

Sade: “Still here? Grab a late bite with me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Bet. Meet you outside.”

They ended up at a small diner—not glamorous, but the kind of place that felt real. Sade was deep into a story about a backstage interview gone hilariously wrong, and Jonathan, fork paused halfway to his mouth, just… watched her.

“You good?” she teased, catching his stare.

He blinked, covering with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Just… you really love this, don’t you?”

Sade’s expression softened. “I do. I love getting to know people, hearing their stories. Wrestling isn’t just about fights—it’s about heart, passion, legacy. And you…” She nudged him playfully. “You live that every night.”

Jonathan felt a warmth he couldn’t shake. “Yeah, well… guess I’m lucky I got someone who sees the real side of all this.”

Their eyes locked—something unspoken humming between them for a beat too long.

Later That Week – At the WWE Performance Center

Jonathan decided he needed to do something about these feelings—anything—before they started eating him alive.

So, he did what he knew best: he hit the ring. Training always cleared his head. Except, this time, it didn’t.

Every corner of the ring reminded him of Sade—because she was everywhere now. In his matches, his promos, his downtime. And it wasn’t annoying. It was terrifying how right it felt.

Finally, he stopped, breathing hard, hands on his knees. “Man… what the hell’s wrong with me?” he muttered.

A voice from behind startled him. “You good, Uce?”

Jonathan turned to see Joshua, arms crossed, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Jonathan lied, wiping his face. “Just workin’ some stuff out.”

Josh wasn’t buying it. “Man, you wrestlin’ ghosts or somethin’? What’s really on your mind?”

Jonathan hesitated, then sighed heavily. “It’s… Sade.”

Josh’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk forming. “Ohhh. Sade. Say less.”

Jonathan groaned, “Man, don’t start—”

Josh cut him off, serious now. “You feelin’ her?”

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean… I didn’t plan on it. But it’s like—she’s my friend, but she’s more than that, too. And I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Joshua clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Bro, when you know, you know. But if you’re already over here sweatin’ and stressin’ like this? It’s ‘cause you care.”

Jonathan looked at his brother, the truth hitting him square in the chest. “Yeah… I do.”

–

Lying on his bed, phone in hand, Jonathan’s thumb hovered over Sade’s contact.

He typed: “You up?”

Then deleted it.

Tried again: “Hey, you wanna talk?”

Deleted that, too.

Frustrated, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Get it together, Fatu.”

But deep down, he knew—this wasn’t something he could fight like an opponent in the ring.

This was something he had to face.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••Valentine’s Day was a week away, and Jonathan Fatu had one thing on his mind—Sade.

The decision to finally tell her how he felt was clear, but how he’d do it? That was where he was stuck. He wanted it to be perfect—something meaningful, something that showed her just how much she meant to him.

So, between training, matches, and travel, he found himself scrolling through ideas—dinners, flowers, maybe something personal like a custom WWE jacket with her name on it. But every option felt too small for how big his feelings had become.

The planning was driving him crazy—and, without realizing it, making him distant.

Sade Notices the Change. At first, Sade didn’t think much of it. Jonathan was busy—WWE life was hectic, and they both knew that. But as days passed, she felt it—text replies were shorter, their usual jokes felt half-hearted, and he wasn’t hitting her up to hang out like he usually did.

After their last interview together, he barely stuck around—just a quick “Good job” and he was gone.

Sade couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Talking to Joshua

Sade decided to get to the bottom of it, and who better to ask than Jonathan’s twin, Joshua?

She found him backstage after SmackDown, cooling down from his segment.

“Hey, Jey,” she greeted, her voice light but uncertain.

Joshua smiled, towel draped over his neck. “What’s good, Sade?”

She hesitated briefly, then got straight to it. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Jonathan.”

Joshua’s eyebrows lifted knowingly. “Oh?”

Sade shifted her weight, arms crossing. “He’s been… different lately. Distant. Did I… do something? Is he mad at me?”

Josh chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, you didn’t do anything.”

Sade narrowed her eyes. “Then what’s going on? We were tight, and now it’s like I barely know what’s on his mind.”

Joshua debated for a second—he knew what his brother was up to, but it wasn’t his place to spoil it.

Instead, he grinned slyly. “Lemme just say this—My brother’s head is in the game… but his heart? Yeah, that’s somewhere else right now.”

Sade frowned in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joshua gave a small shrug but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’ll see soon enough. Trust me.”

Sade’s confusion only deepened. “You Fatu boys and your cryptic answers…”

Josh laughed, “What can I say? We love a good storyline.”

-

Meanwhile, Jonathan was pulling every string he could to make this Valentine’s Day unforgettable. He called in a favor with WWE production for something special during that night’s show—a personal video package with highlights of their friendship, moments from their interviews, and even a few candid clips.

His heart pounded at the thought of it. This wasn’t just a gesture—this was him laying it all on the line.

But he hadn’t spoken to her much because if he did… he’d slip. He knew it.

Sade, still confused and slightly frustrated, wondered if Jonathan was pulling away from her for another reason entirely.

But what she didn’t know was that Jonathan wasn’t pulling away—

He was getting ready to step closer than ever before.

Valentine’s Day -

Valentine’s Day arrived, and the energy backstage was electric. Red and pink decorations lined the catering area—thanks to some overzealous staffers—and the buzz of the night’s matches filled the air.

Jonathan, though? His heart was racing for a different reason. Tonight was the night. His plan was set—the video package would air after his segment. But before that… he needed to ask her. Directly.

Sade was reviewing her notes for a post-match interview when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Hey.”

She turned, and there he was—Jonathan, looking slightly… nervous? She raised an eyebrow. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. MIA. You finally decided to show up.”

Jonathan rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, about that… I’ve been, uh, working on something.”

Sade folded her arms, smirking. “Something so important you had to ghost me?”

Jonathan chuckled softly, but then his tone shifted—serious, genuine. “Nah… something for you.”

Sade’s expression softened. “For me?”

Jonathan took a small breath—this was it. “Yeah… So, listen. I know I’ve been distant, but it’s ‘cause I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this right.”

He stepped closer, his voice steady but warm. “So, I’m just gonna say it plain—Sade… will you be my Valentine?”

Sade blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Of all the things she expected—that wasn’t one of them.

Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. “You mean all this time you were stressing about this?”

Jonathan chuckled nervously. “Yeah… pretty much.”

Sade shook her head with a laugh. “You really are something else, Fatu.” She paused, eyes softening. “But… yeah. I’d love to be your Valentine.”

Jonathan’s grin could’ve lit up the entire arena. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t takin’ no for an answer.”

Later that night, as the crowd roared and the lights dimmed for a transition segment, the arena screens flickered to life—playing a special video package.

Footage of Jonathan and Sade appeared—interviews, shared laughs, behind-the-scenes clips… their story. The final frame read:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sade. — Jonathan”

Sade, watching from the interview set, felt her chest tighten—warmth flooding through her.

And as the camera panned back to Jonathan, standing in the ring with a mic, he smiled toward her direction.

“Yo, Sade,” his voice boomed, “Just wanted everyone to know—you’ve already made this the best Valentine’s Day.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Sade couldn’t fight the grin on her face.

The cheers from the crowd still echoed faintly through the halls as Sade and Jonathan stood together backstage, the energy of his Valentine’s Day surprise still buzzing between them.

Sade pulled back slightly from their hug, her eyes searching his. “That… was unreal, Jon. I don’t even know what to say.”

Jonathan’s gaze softened, his hands lingering at her waist. “Don’t gotta say anything. Just… tell me how you feel.”

Sade’s heart pounded. She felt the weight of the moment—the years of friendship, the teasing, the laughter, and now… this.

So, she stopped thinking.

And closed the distance.

Their lips met—soft, warm, and every bit as perfect as she’d imagined. The world around them blurred into nothing, the noise fading until it was just them.

When they pulled back, Sade’s breath was shaky, but her smile was radiant. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan’s lips curled into a grin, his forehead resting against hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve been hoping you would.”

The unspoken was spoken, and everything felt… right.

And as they stood there, lost in each other, one thing was certain—this wasn’t the end.

It was just the beginning.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

How we feeling? We loved it? Hated it? 😂 Let me know🤍🤍

P.S. Look who was working overtime during her Hiatus��� Happy Valentine’s to those who celebrate. We love, love 😭❤️

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[watcheraurora]

I’m in need of a snippet from Burn Out 2? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top? 🥺 (/no pressure)

(Skye part 4!!!!! Yes!!!!! I actually think I read the first part a few days before I found Ice Walls, so that’s the first fic of yours I ever read!)

Oh really? I love Skye! I really need to finish Part 4. I'm glad you found that one! It makes me happy!

-

Yes, yes, you may have some Burn Out 2 XD Here's a little snippet from Burn Out 2 (Title Pending)(Every title I've come up with so far has absolutely sucked so I'm trying to get more of the fic written *shoves 21k under a rug* to see what fits the theming best)

Actually this snippet isn't so little yikes XD oh well no one's ever complained about me giving them too many words so... yeah

Vzzt! Vzzt! Vzzt! Tango peeled his eyes open. Sticky from sleep. He sniffed and cleared his throat to clear the sleep from his lungs and rolled onto his side, to Jimmy’s bedside table to scoop up his phone. Jimmy’s enormous yellow-gold wing shifted over him. Tango scooped up his phone. His division communication app was going wild, again. If he’d known he was going to get spammed every time something happened back when he coded the app, he would have adjusted the notification settings more. As a matter of fact, maybe he’d talk to Cub about putting new settings in later. “Wh’s goin’ on?” Jimmy slurred, groggy and sleepy, wings drawing closer to his back. “Nothing. Division stuff,” Tango replied, free hand fiddling with the sun charm on his necklace. Within seconds, Jimmy was snoring again. Tango quickly read through the division’s notifications. Soup Group car chase through midtown. Going on right now. All nearby eyes converge to get intel. Tango grunted. He wasn’t nearby. He and Jimmy lived on the outskirts of what could be called the urban part of the city before it became suburban and industrial. That said, being able to fly meant he could traverse the city a lot faster than most everyone else. Except the handful of other flyers in the city. Poultry Man/CuTeGuY, Canary sleeping right next to him, Breeze, and HoTGuY. And Lore, though he was retired. There was one message from Joel to him specifically, rather than general alerts. You’re not responding to this call, are you? Tango slid Reply on that one. Blaze: Do I need to? I’m assigned to Canary, not Impulse & the SG He swung himself out of bed, being careful of Norman, and tiptoed back to his own apartment next-door, the way faintly lit by a single candle-like flame in his hair that no one would notice at four-AM. Once inside his own apartment, he leaned against the door. Lore: No, but if you can find any info, it all helps Tango sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand, tired and wishing he was still asleep. He rolled his eyes and got out of the division app to go to his contacts, selecting one in particular after switching his phone to Ultra Niner Private Mode™. Calling… Impulse The phone rang a few times. “Now’s not really a good time, Blaze,” Impulse said tightly. “Yeah I noticed,” Tango replied. “Got woken up by about six-bajillion notifications from the division that there was a Soup Group car chase going on. What’s going on?”

[depressoesssspresso]

“No way,” you said shaking your head while munching on some popcorn from the bowl. Your legs were over his as you both relaxed on the Common Room couch. James smiles while you both make eye contact.

“What do you mean no way? I definitely had a bigger crush on you than you on me,” he laughs as he adjusts his glasses. This “argument” of who had a bigger crush on who had been going on for the last fifteen minutes.

“Are you actually joking? Do you think I just happen to carry an extra water bottle every time you had a quidditch game?” You laugh and blush at the memory, “Thought I was such a samaritan the way I was like ‘No yeah I think I have an extra water if you’d like’ knowing damn well I packed it just to have an excuse to talk to you,” You and James’ faces turned red from how long you have been laughing. The two of you have been going out for over 3 1/2 years and would love to rehash this discussion from time to time.

“But that was so cute. Ok but actually how much tutoring did you think I needed? In our third year, I started asking you for help in classes because our schedules didn’t match up. You were like ‘Ugh this Ancient Runes assignment is so hard. Then the smooth boy I am would be like ‘I know right it’s so hard. Let’s do it together.’ I wasn’t even taking Ancient Runes. I was taking Divination,” he bashfully admitted. You giggle at his revelation and continue to eat your popcorn.

“No I knew,” you began, “ I obviously got the hint when you never showed up for class. But you were too sweet to turn down I couldn’t say no. I thought it was weird but that’s sort of your trade mark.” He playfully glared at you while you stuck out your tongue. “ No but seriously, the Quidditch match. I was total heart eyes for you. Even Peter noticed it. Peter!”

“ Well darling, what can I say,” he smirked at you lightly slap his shoulder. “ Y/N, Sirius almost threw a bludger at me in the middle of the game so I would pay attention because I kept looking back at you to see if you were looking at me.” You laugh so hard that you start to lightly choke on your popcorn which causes James to laugh even harder. Tears brimmed both your eyes as you remember the day Sirius and James got into a mini hissy fit in the middle of the game. Sirius slapped James’ shoulder and James almost pushed Sirius off the broom. Let’s just say Madame Hooch wasn’t happy in the end.

“Ok,Ok,Ok, but do you remember me telling Emily Scobell that you were gay so she doesn’t ask you to the Yule Ball. Told her that you and Sirius were mad for each other” You say sitting up straight and sitting cross cross Apple sauce facing your boyfriend. His eyes bulge out and dramatically whip his head towards you.

“THAT WAS YOU!” He yelled while laughing. “I gave Sirius hell for that. Thought he was telling girls we were together to get them to stop coming up to me as a prank.” [A/N Kyle in South Park What the hell are you telling people that we’re a gay couple😭] “ What about my family emergencies?” You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as he gives you the biggest smile while pulling you to his chest.

“What family emergencies?” You question.

“Whenever I wanted to have an intimate conversation with you and was too shy to start, I would come up to you saying there’s been a death in the family. You would then comfort me and give me all your attention,” he giggles as you playfully gasp and hit his chest again sitting up.

“YOU WANKER!” You say in between giggles, “ You told me your grandparents passed away.” This only caused him to die further of laughter.

“ I told you that excuse every week. How many grandparents do you think I have!” James says with an undying smile. Your stomach begins to hurt from how badly you’re laughing.

“YOU MET THEM ON CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY TOO” He continues which causes you to laugh so hard no sound comes out.

“ Oh yeah, I forgot,” you say wiping your tears. As both you laughed dies down, you snuggle back into James chest. “ Damn, we really had it bad for each other, did we?” He kisses the top of your forehead.

“ We still do,” he whispers and he hugs you tight.

[cowgurrrl]

Slow It Down Cowboy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: this ended up being so chunky but I hope that’s okay

Summary: The wall [5.8k!!!]

Warnings: academic blackmail??, bad administrative decisions, an even worse parent, Joel comforting reader, more art talk, slight angst

As the sun sets earlier and the weather dips below the usual heat, things actually start looking pretty good. Andie, somehow, found time off of work and is coming home for a few days during the long winter break. You've gotten back to making art you actually care about now that you're in a race with Joel. All your students are settled and starting to come out of their shells, making more experimental art. Ellie continues to show up with cups of coffee with your name on them before anyone else can spill into your classroom, and you continue to text Joel. 

How much are you spending on coffee now?

I thought we agreed to keep certain things secret.

Joel Miller.

Hush. You deserve it.

In between lessons and at lunch, you'll manage to catch each other at the right time and shoot messages off as fast as they come in. He helps you fix a squeaky chair over text, and you help him set up a care package to send to Sarah. It's nice even though you haven't really seen him since the night of the gallery opening. Even things at the bar seem to be doing better, and you're making enough to not have to worry so much. But you're most proud of the list of students whose art will be shown at the winter showcase, Ellie's work among them. 

You make a big deal about it and send in an announcement to be read in the morning, congratulating all the students. You even go out of your way to announce it in all your classes and offer extra credit to any student who shows up to support their classmates. Surprisingly, your rag-tag group of moody teenagers actually seem keen about the opportunity. Things are going well. You're happy, healthy, financially stable(ish), and your guards are down for the first time in a long time.

You're working with quiet music playing over your computer when the knock at your door sounds during planning period. You stand to open it, but before you can, you hear a jangle of keys and the popping of the lock. Principal Martinez walks in, squints at you, and immediately turns on the overhead fluorescent lights that haven't been used in God knows how long. They buzz in protest as your eyes adjust. 

"Hey!" You manage to sound cheery even though she looks like she means business. "I'm assuming you're here about the winter showcase?" You ask, and the line between her brows deepens.

"The what?"

"The showcase? A couple of my kids from the art club got accepted to have their artwork shown in a gallery downtown. It was on the announcements this morning. I can send you the information about when the event is." You offer. Something clicks, and she shakes her head now that she knows what you're talking about. 

"Oh, that," she says. "No, I'm not here about that." 

"Am I in trouble?" 

"Not exactly." She says, and you feel panic pool in your stomach like an unwanted visitor. "Dalton Green's father has brought his grade in your class to my attention."

"He hasn't turned anything in to me since September. I can't grade an empty page," you say, hoping that she's as aware as you are that it's the beginning of November. "I sent an email to his father and football coach back in October, but I still haven't seen any work from him."

"Mr. Green says he's positive his son has turned in work. Are you sure you haven't just misplaced it?" 

"No, I've graded and given back every single assignment from the semester." 

"Let me be clear," she says. "Are you sure you haven't just forgotten to put his grades in? It's an easy mistake to make. You could always just input them now so that he's eligible to continue playing. You wouldn't want to bench a perfectly responsible young man. Would you?"

"Ma'am, are you suggesting I lie about Dalton's grades just so he can keep playing football?" You ask, your panic quickly turning into frustration. 

"It'd be such a silly thing to fail something as simple as art. Especially when the funding for the school comes directly from our team's ability to perform. Sometimes, as teachers, we have to make sacrifices to ensure the greater good of our students." She says. It never fails to surprise you how condescending people can be when it comes to your job. Martinez will be gone in a year to fight for a place on the school board, and it's clear she's not pulling her punches even now. Still, you're floored by the ask. Never in your career have you been asked by a principal to lie about a student's grades. 

"I'd be willing to make certain accommodations, but I'm really not comfortable doing that. If he wanted to turn something in, I could find a way to give him half credit." You say. Her face changes almost imperceptibly before she straightens up with a cynical smile. 

"Well, I think since you had the idea, you should be the one to call his father and tell him the good news," she says it like it's a reward, but it feels like more of a punishment. Your good mood comes crumbling around you as she looks at you expectantly. You have principles as a teacher. This is one of them, but how far are you willing to go to protect it? "I have a meeting with some people from the school board, but please let me know what conclusion you and Mr. Green come to regarding Dalton's grades." She says as she walks out of your room, not even bothering to look at you over her shoulder as she speaks to you.

"Fuck," you mutter as the door closes behind her. You stare at the phone and think about your options. You can't let her walk all over you just because she's your boss, and you won't compromise your values just so the football program will thrive. But you also really don't want to make this phone call. If Dalton's dad is as pleasant as he seems over email, you can't imagine this going well. "Fuck." You say again as you pick up the receiver and search your records for Dalton's dad's phone number. You find it, and in a burst of confidence, dial the number and listen to the line ring, secretly hoping he won't pick up. 

"Green." His dad says in place of a greeting, and you take a deep breath.

"Hi, Mr. Green. This is Dalton's art teacher from school. I understand you had some issues regarding his grade in my class?" You tread very carefully, but even then, he scoffs.

"You're damn right I have some issues. Why are you failin' him? He's gotta pass to play football, and Principal Martinez said you'd get it sorted." 

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling," you say. "Dalton hasn't turned in any of the assignments I've given out since September, and because of that, I've been unable to give him a good grade. However, I can make some arrangements to give him half credit for every assignment he turns in before the end of next week. That should give him more than enough time between classes and practice." 

"He told me you lost his assignments."

"No, sir, I haven't received anything from him." You say. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you almost hope the call dropped before he can respond. 

"Are you sayin' my son's a liar?" 

You spend the next twenty minutes being berated over the phone, not even allowed to get a word in without being cut off. Several times throughout the call, you think about hanging up and unplugging the phone, but you know that'd only make it worse. God forbid he show up at the school and humiliate you in front of the other staff or, worse, students. No wonder Dalton has issues if this is how his father speaks to people. If your day wasn't ruined by your encounter with the principal, it certainly is now. You handle it as well as possible until he gets near the end of his rant and takes a deep breath.

"I just can't believe they'd let a teacher as horrible as you work there. What right do you have to teach anything?" He says, and that's what really gets under your skin. Suddenly, hot tears spring in your eyes, and your throat feels like sandpaper.

"I don't know." It is the only thing you can think to say.

"Call me back when you have a real fuckin' solution and not whatever bullshit this is." He spits before hanging up the phone. You put the receiver down and bury your head in your hands, trying your best not to cry. Your molars buzz, and it feels like your head is swelling with pain. His insults and backhanded comments echo in your ears, and you can't hold the tears back any longer. 

What a fucking shit show. You know Martinez won't do anything about the verbal abuse unless you're willing to lie about grades, which is a ridiculous request in the first place. Dalton's dad won't back down, and you can safely assume Coach Sanders is next up on the roster if you don't do something soon. Why can't you get a kid to turn in a fucking piece of paper? Are you really that bad of a teacher that you're losing an argument with a seventeen-year-old? Is this the hill you want to die on? 

You think about going upstairs and seeking refuge in Mrs. Tomlinson's English class, your favorite coworker and the one who hides the good snacks in her desk, but you know she has a class, and you don't want to embarrass yourself. Andie is seven hours ahead and probably asleep. You're friends with people from the bar but not good enough friends that you could call them crying about a situation like this. The realization that you're alone in this makes you more emotional, and you have to stifle your sobs behind your hand. 

You jump when your doorknob twists open again, and you half-expect Martinez to be there with an I-told-you-so look on her face. You quickly turn so your back is to the door and wipe the tears on your face. You can't stand to be humiliated again today. When you turn back to see who entered your classroom, Joel's big brown eyes soften when he sees how upset you are. 

"Honey," he murmurs, and you almost start sobbing again at his soft tone. "What's goin' on?" 

"I didn't know you were coming today." You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together. He walks over and drops his toolbox on a nearby table so he can pull you up from your chair. 

"Supposed to be a surprise." He says as he tucks you into his chest. You hug him tightly and let him rub your back in the quiet of your classroom. His shirt smells like laundry detergent and the cold wind sweeping through the hill country. He should be wearing a jacket, but he's not, and you can feel goosebumps on his skin. For a minute, you just cling to him and cry, staining his shirt with tears, but he doesn't care. He's patient and shushes you gently as he adjusts his hold on you to bring you closer. You bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your head. 

"What are you doing here?" You ask into his skin. 

"I found your missin' piece for the projector. I thought I'd come install it for you so you'd stop fallin' off things tryna get it to work," he says. He leans back just enough to swipe your hair out of your eyes and rests his hands on either side of your face so you can see him. You want to turn away because you know you look like a crying mess, but he doesn't flinch. "There she is," he whispers fondly when you meet his eyes. "Your turn. What happened that's got you all upset?" He asks, swiping his thumbs under your eyes to catch stray tears. 

"Just… a really shitty call with a parent." You say, not wanting to get into specifics just yet. 

"Anythin' I can do?" He asks, and you shake your head. Just his presence is enough to make you feel better. His big, warm hands holding you like you're precious is a big plus, too. You run your hands over the muscles hidden by his shirt and take a deep breath. 

"Just this," you say, and he smiles. "'S a very nice surprise."

"I might've had ulterior motives." He says sheepishly, and you chuckle.

"What are your ulterior motives, maverick?" You ask. You honestly don't know where the nickname came from, but it's stuck around. You've heard it used by old southern women when talking about someone who's independent or doesn't follow the rules. "There goes maverick again!" They'd say when their unruly son would go speeding by in the kitchen. You think the private name suits him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, without a hint of shame or doubt in his voice. You almost fold just because of how he's looking at you through his long eyelashes. Almost. The age-old sound of your projector whirring reminds you where you are, and you straighten up.

"Not here."

"After I fix the projector?" He negotiates, and you laugh at how quickly he bounces back.

"After you fix the projector and we're not on school campus anymore." 

"Deal," he says as he turns away from you and toward his toolbox. "You should time me. This might be the fastest replacement I've ever done."

"You're really that motivated now?" You tease, the levity between you two draining the dredges of your bad afternoon from your brain. He smiles and digs in his toolbox for the right screwdriver. 

"For you? Of course." He says. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a smile, and he winks at you. He's barely standing on a chair before you grab his arm and stop him.

"Wait," you say. You're not really sure what the plan is, but you also don't care. Joel, however, looks confused. "I found an old step stool in my storage closet the other day, but it's on the top shelf. If you can get it down, that might be a little safer."

"You've had a step stool this whole time, and you're still climbin' on tables?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at you. "You're gonna put me in an early grave one of these days."

"Quit that," you laugh as he steps off the chair. "I didn't have time to get it down whenever I needed it, and I just forgot about it until the other day. C'mon, I'll show you where it is." He sighs dramatically but follows you into the dusty storage room filled floor to ceiling with various art supplies. It's hidden by a suspicious-looking, windowless door just off to the right of your classroom. You think it might've been used as a tornado shelter when the school was much smaller and younger, but since then, it's been renovated into a personal storage room. 

The second the door closes behind him, you turn around, push him against it, and kiss him before you can change your mind. He gasps into you like he wasn't expecting this but quickly grabs your waist, anchoring to you and kissing you back feverishly. You really had planned on making him wait until you were safe, far away from school grounds, instead of pulling him into the nearest private space like a teenager. But you figured if Martinez can break the rules, why can't you? 

Your hand snakes through his hair and plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing a content sigh from Joel. His lips are a little chapped and firm against yours. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, and you want more. You tip your mouth up to him to kiss him deeper, and he grips your hips hard, his fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of your shirt. You test scratching your nails over the back of his neck, and he shudders beautifully under your touch. In one move, he switches places with you and pins you between him and the door. 

With him in control, he slows down just a little, kissing you softly like he's got all the time in the world. You've realized Joel likes treating you like you're made of porcelain. Like all it would take is one wrong move, and you'd fall apart under his touch. He lets you make the first move every time, tying his hands behind his back until you say the word in an impressive show of self-control. Even at the art gallery, when there was so much tension between you, you thought you'd choke on it; he wasn't the one who initiated. The knee-jerk reaction of flipping your positions against the door to take control is his first show of power, and you like it. What do you need to do to get him to do it again?

The bell sounding through the intercom breaks you apart, and you groan at the intrusion. Nothing is keeping you after school today but you aren't ready to separate from Joel just yet. You rest your head on the door and stare at him as you vaguely hear the sounds of rowdy kids flooding the hallways. His lips are swollen and a little pink, and his hair is messy from all your pulling. 

"What?" He questions your staring and you shake your head.

"I just like looking at you," you say. "Your hair is also a mess, but that's a completely different story." 

"And whose fault is that?" He laughs and musses his curls back into place. You help with a few strands at the back and smile when everything is tame again. 

"Good as new." You say. Now, it's his turn to peer at you, and you give him a confused look. You swipe under your eyes as if there's mascara stuck there and fix your hair, waiting for him to give you the all-clear, but he just chuckles.

"I can't believe you pulled me into a closet to make out." 

"Me neither, honestly." You admit as the both of you dissolve into delirious laughter. You wait in the closet for a few more minutes so the hallways can clear out (and you can kiss a little more) before you finally exit, checking that it's clear and then opening the door wider for Joel. When he sees his toolbox sitting on the desk where he left it, he sighs and glances between you and the ceiling. 

"I'm never gonna get to fix that goddamn projector." He mutters, and you laugh as you pass in front of him and pat his shoulder. 

"Next time, maverick." You say. His grumbles disappear as you pack up your stuff side-by-side in silence. It's nice to not feel like you always have to fill the space with conversation. It's enough for papers to rustle as they land in your bag and his tools to clink as they find their proper homes. The hallways have gone quiet, and the eerie silence of an empty school slowly creeps up on you. 

Joel's boots squeaking catch your attention as you unplug your computer and start turning off various lamps around the classroom. He stands in front of the whiteboard where you have a big print of a Rothko painting displayed for today's art history lesson. He tilts his head as he looks at it like he's trying to find some hidden meaning or perspective, and you smile to yourself at the motion. 

"Lots of people think it's not much to look at." You break the silence from the back of the room, and he looks at you over your shoulder.

"I didn't say that."

"I know. I'm just letting you know what certain historians say," you say. You finish with all the lamps, and the only light coming into the classroom is the little bit of natural light streaming in from the windows near the ceiling. Stray dust spins in the air as you join him in looking at the poster of the Rothko, and you try to imagine what he's thinking. 

It's a little unnerving, like most of the ones Rothko made towards the end of his life. The vast darkness on the top half of the painting is daunting, while the gray at the bottom helps ground the viewer, at least a little. If you look closely enough, you can see the various washes and brushstrokes he used to create the painting. Obviously, a lot of skill and time went into something like this, even though not everyone wants to see it. "It's hard to know what it meant to him. It probably didn't mean anything, honestly. He wanted people to have sensory experiences with his art, so you only get as much as you put into it." You explain, and Joel nods but doesn't look away from the painting.

"Is it the surface of the moon?" He asks. 

"What makes you say that?" You interrogate, trying to hide your excitement at getting to hear him tell you what he thinks of art. 

"Well, it kinda looks like I'm standin' on the moon and lookin' out into space." He says as he runs his finger over the divide between the two colors. 

"Where's the Earth, then?"

"Maybe I'm on the dark side of the moon." 

"Why?"

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe the Earth is just too far away, and I can't reach it, but I know it's there. If the moon started spinnin' faster or somethin', I could see it, but maybe it's not for me to see..." It's incredibly profound, even if he doesn't realize it. You see where he's coming from based on what you know about his past and almost want to reach for his hand, but you don't. "But I don't know. What do I know bout art?"

"A lot," you answer quickly, hating how he talks about himself like he's stupid. "You know a lot. That was a really good analysis." He hums noncommittally and bumps your shoulder with his. 

"What bout you? What's it to you?" He asks, and you sigh as you look the colors over again.

"A wall and the night sky." 

"A wall?" 

"Yeah. It's either protecting me or keeping me in, but either way, it's there, and there's not much I can do about it. I could stay where I am and never find out what's beyond it and be safe, or I could climb the wall and never be the same again. I wouldn't know what's behind it or what's out there— that's why it's all black at the top— but maybe that's what's so interesting about it. The unknown." You say, and Joel hums. 

"You should be a teacher or somethin'." He says, and you laugh and move to grab your backpack off your desk. 

"It just might be in the cards for me," you say. "What's Ellie doing tonight? Don't you have to pick her up?" 

"She's actually going to the movies with some friends tonight." He says, beaming with pride, and you gasp dramatically.

"Is she really?"

"Sent her with twenty dollars and everythin'."

"Oh, that's so good! She's doing so good! I knew art club would get her out of her shell." You clap your hands, and he nods, smiling.

"She certainly ain't shy anymore. It feels like she's always on the phone with someone these days." He's a little nostalgic for the little girl who used to cling to her dad, and you make a sympathetic sound. 

"Don't you worry. I'm sure she'll want to hang out with her old dad during winter break."

"Old?!" He parrots as you usher him out of the room, your keys jingling on your arm. 

"Her words, not mine." You say as you walk out into the empty hallway with him and lock your classroom door behind you. He scoffs and grumbles something under his breath but doesn't push you for any insider information on Ellie. You like having your secrets with her, and as long as she's not a threat to herself or others, you'll keep those secrets until she's ready to tell him. 

You walk out to the parking lot together to catch the last few rays of sun scattering across the sky and smile when you see that Joel somehow managed to park close to your car. He loads his tools up in his truck bed while you throw your backpack in the backseat, but neither of you gets in your car immediately after things are settled. Instead, you wander back over to his truck and lean against one of the doors. 

"So, if Ellie's out with friends, what are you doing for the rest of the night?" You ask, and he smirks, stepping into your space. You think about scolding him, but the parking lot is practically empty. Plus, you like having him close. In the orange light of dusk, you feel safe next to him and his truck. He quirks an eyebrow at you and looks serious. 

"Are you askin' me on a date?"

"It's not a date."

"Is this the same thing like you weren't gonna kiss me, and then you did?" He teases. You roll your eyes and push off his truck, putting your arms up in defeat. 

"I didn't realize Joel Miller hated spontaneity so much. Fine, I'll stop doing it." You start walking back toward your car, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back before you can get far. You smile when your chest collides with his and look up at him. 

"Now, I didn't say all that," he says. "'M just surprised. You're gettin' ballsy."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think so," he says as he leans forward like he's about to tell you a secret. "I think it's pretty hot, actually." He whispers lowly in your ear, his breath fanning out across your neck and making your face hot. You shove at his shoulder, but he just laughs and grabs your hand. "What? You don't like me callin' you hot?" 

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" 

"I ain't hearin' a 'no.'" 

"Yes, Joel, I like it. Is that what you wanna hear?" You finally relent, and he shrugs with every ounce of sass.

"Maybe," he says. "I also wanna hear what you were thinkin' for our not date."

"Oh, something super romantic." 

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Whataburger meals and milkshakes." You say, and he makes a play at his knees giving out under him. 

"A woman after my own heart." He groans, and you roll your eyes. 

You could take separate cars. It'd probably be easier for getting home and take away an extra stop, but you don't really care about that when you climb into the passenger's side of his truck. He doesn't seem surprised by your decision to ride with him and rests a hand on your thigh the second he pulls out of the school parking lot. He asks about your day, painting, and even if you've heard anything else from Henry as he drives. You rant a little about Principal Martinez and ask about his day, so he gets a turn ranting about headers and structural issues. You're not exactly sure what he's talking about, but you nod and listen anyway, and he doesn't critique you for not knowing. 

When you get to Whataburger, you have to scout to make sure there are no teenagers you recognize before going in. Of course, he opens the door and lets you order first like a gentleman, but you elbow him out of the way so you can pay before he can even reach for his wallet. By the look on his face, you would've thought you ripped a cookie out of his hands. "It's my turn!" You say, but he still looks shocked when you hand him his orange and white striped cup. You choose a booth near the back and continue talking about your days or recent developments until your food comes, and then you talk in between bites. It's not romantic, but it is comfortable. 

He updates you on Sarah's progress in medical school and even shows you pictures on his phone of the last time the three of them were all together. He looks lighter when he's with the both of them like all the pieces of his heart are bound in those girls. You like to think it is. He tells you how he's looking at grants for small-business owners in Austin and is eligible to apply for a good amount. "'M just nervous I won't get any." He says, and you shake your head.

"They've got insane amounts of money they're looking to give to hardworking people. I bet you'll be a millionaire by the end of this bet." You say, and he chuckles as he pops a fry in his mouth. 

"What bout you?" He asks.

"What about me?"

"How's the search for a gallery goin'?" You take a deep breath at his question and shrug.

"I don't really have anything to submit just yet, but some places are taking rolling submissions, so I can send something in whenever. I just want it to be good." 

"'M sure it will be." He says, and you give him a look. 

"You haven't even seen any of my work. What if it's awful?"

"Then I'd lie and say it's the best thing I've ever seen." 

"So you’re a iiar." 

"At least, I'd be a considerate liar." He says. You're about to start arguing with him about it when a pair of familiar eyes meet yours across the restaurant. Before you can even think about a tactic to get out of the situation, she's already up and walking toward your booth.

"Oh, shit," you mutter, and Joel's eyebrows furrow until he finds who you're looking at. His face falls exactly the same way you're sure yours did.

"Hi!" Marnie greets as she lands in front of you. "I haven't seen you in a minute!"

"I know! I've been meaning to text you about getting drinks, but I keep forgetting!" It's a lie. A considerate lie, but a lie nevertheless. 

"Oh, you're too sweet. We'll set somethin' up," she says as she turns to Joel. "And you! I haven't seen you since Sarah moved. How is she?" Oh, shit. How does she know you and Joel? He recovers quickly with a charming smile and a nod.

"Yes, ma'am. She's doin' real good up in Boston. Keepin' outta trouble and everythin'." 

"And Ellie? How's she doin'? She still makin' art?" 900,000 people in Austin and countless Whataburgers within 100 square miles, and the person who walks into the one you're in is the one you used to work with at school. Not only that, but she knows Joel's kids. She knows Joel. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Yeah, she's still doin' art. She's good at it. She's seein' a movie with some friends from school tonight." He says, and Marnie's eyes light up at the mention of the high school while Joel tenses.

"Oh, my gosh, how's the new classroom? I completely forgot they renovated that old teacher's lounge a couple years ago." 

"It's good. The equipment's a little old, but nothing's fallen apart yet. You'll have to come see it sometime."

"We'll have to find a time!" She says, always insanely cheerful. "Well, I'll let y'all get back to your meal, but I'd be kickin' myself if I didn't come over here and say hello to you two. Joel, please tell the girls I said hi."

"Yes, ma'am," Joel says politely. With that, Marnie turns and walks back to her waiting husband and says something that sounds like, "I know them!" Your food is suddenly cold and unappetizing when you look at it, and your stomach is in knots. The warm bubble around you and Joel has burst, and you're left in the stark light of the truth. "D'you wanna go?" Joel whispers, and you nod. 

He takes your trays and throws away the food before opening the door for you to walk out into the cool night air, avoiding Marnie's stare the whole time. He doesn't reach for you or help you into the truck. He barely looks at you until you're in the safety of the cab. The world is spinning around you, and alarms are sounding in your brain. What the fuck just happened?

"How do you know her?" You ask Joel, staring straight ahead, and he swallows hard.

"She was Sarah and Ellie's science tutor," he says, and your eyes flutter shut. "How do you know her?"

"She was the science teacher at the high school during my first year there. She left to go to a different school after that, but we were pretty close."  

"So, she knows you're a teacher at the same school my kid goes to."

"And she knows Ellie does art, so she knows she would be one of my students." You slowly piece together how bad this could be. You got caught having dinner with the parents of one of your students. If Marnie says anything, word could travel through the district until Martinez hears about it. You'd be in much more trouble than you already are with her. You could be accused of giving Ellie special treatment and violating school policy. 

"Fuck." Joel mumbles, mirroring your exact thoughts, and you nod. 

"We can't do this." You whisper, not wanting to admit it, especially after such a nice day with him. He doesn't protest. He feels the gravity of the situation. You want to put your hand over his. You want to hug him. You want to comfort him the way he comforted you, but you can't. 

"I know." His voice is even and controlled like he's choosing his words carefully, but you can hear the disappointment in his words. You can't go back to an hour ago when you were laughing and pulling him into storage rooms. You have to stay where you are. You have to stay safe. He is the personification of your wall and you have to be okay with not knowing what’s beyond it.

You can't do this.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Change of Plans

A/N: Although I am SEVERAL days late at this point, this is a gift for @something-tofightfor - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHAEL! I hope your day was all that you wanted it to be, and that this year is the best fucking one yet. I so badly wanted this to be done in time, but you know me. Anywho, I love your guts and I hope you enjoy this chaotic little cake I whipped up with the help of one of your favorite cowboys.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: listen, don't do what Reader does here. Other than that... just some language. It's very tame. But don't do it.

Summary: Jack is there on business. You're there for pleasure.

He noticed you right away. 

Sitting in the waiting area near gate A-7, right leg crossed over your left and an open book in one hand, you caught his eye -

Well hello, gorgeous.

- and he had to repeatedly free his focus from your direction, reminding himself why he was at the airport in the first place. 

Damn it, Agent, you’ve got a job to do.

You turned the page of the book you were reading, letting out a sigh and stretching your neck, and Jack adjusted his position on the barstool he occupied so that he was forced to change his line of sight. He cleared his throat, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. The bold, smoky flavor of the deep amber whiskey coated his tongue, and by the time he swallowed he was back on his task. 

He’d been sent to locate and detain a known associate of a crime boss that Statesman was attempting to bring down. Intel gathered from Agents assigned to the case suggested that the associate - a mid level player who occasionally dealt in black market weapons - would be traveling through Louisville on his way to meet with the mysterious and nefarious man they knew only as The Gatekeeper. The current theory was that The Gatekeeper was operating out of San Francisco - or more specifically, out of a secret underwater lair that was built into one of the foundational structures of the Golden Gate Bridge, hence his nickname. But Statesman had been unable to confirm that yet. Catching up with the Gatekeeper’s gun runner was their best bet when it came to pinning down his location for sure, and since he had the most experience with facial recognition and planting trackers, the assignment had gone to Agent Whiskey. 

So let’s find this shit kicker and get on with it so I can get on with… He resisted the urge to turn back in your direction. 

Setting his glass down on the cork coaster it was served to him on, he brought his newly emptied hand up to tap the arm of his gold wire glasses. At the touch of his fingertip, the stealth lens screens activated, and he used them to scan the faces of the people moving through the terminal. So far none had hit as a match for the Gatekeeper’s associate, but since the man was clever enough to book himself tickets on multiple flights that day to make it harder for anyone who might be looking to follow him, Jack had to keep checking until he either found his target or the last of those flights had taken off. 

I’ll find him. Soon as he shows up I’ll- 

But Jack didn’t even need to finish the thought, because his lenses detected the person he’d been waiting for before he could. Just as he was about to get up from his seat and position himself to intercept his target, though, he saw something else flash across his lenses. 

Mission directive has changed. Do not detain. Intel from Kingsman suggests associate may also be working with Golden Circle remnants in Canada. New directive is only to place the tracker and not to pursue until we know for sure who he is meeting. Agents in Vancouver and San Francisco have been put on alert and will be activated as needed. 

Jack blinked twice to acknowledge Ginger’s message, then used the movement of his eyes to send a question in response. 

Received. Return to HQ? 

He had his jet on standby there at the airport in the event that he needed to abscond with The Gatekeeper’s man, and he assumed that since that was no longer necessary, Champ and Ginger would want him to come back and await further information. Keeping one eye on his target, he used the other to read the new message that flashed across his lens, finding it to be a surprise. 

Negative. Don’t want to risk the chance of counter tracking. Take the Pony somewhere for a few days first. Vegas or Denver are preferable but Mexico City is also available. 

Well, shoot. Looks like I’m takin’ a vacation. My favorite kind of mission. 

Ginger had listed cities where Statesman owned properties that were reserved for off duty use - for when Agents had to lay low for a while, or for when they needed a safe place to recover from injuries sustained in the line of duty. There were several more located around the world, but judging by the selection that was presented to him, they wanted him to stay close enough to either have him back in Kentucky in a matter of hours, or send him to California or British Columbia in a pinch when the intel on who the associate was meeting with came back. 

Received. Target inbound. Contact when directive complete. 

With that, he lifted his finger up to tap the arm of his glasses once more, the screens deactivating so that he could remove them, folding them for safe storage in the inner pocket of his jacket. In a turn of luck, his mark headed straight for the bar he was seated at and sat down two stools over. He showed no signs of having made Jack for a secret operative, not even bothering to look in his direction as he ordered a drink from the bartender. 

Perfect. 

Jack’s grin was imperceptible as he used his thumb and pointer finger to pull one of the small “buttons” from the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Flattening it with a tight pinch, he dropped the bio-tracker into his own beverage and watched as it dissolved into the liquid. It finished just as the bartender placed a rocks glass of whiskey on a coaster in front of Jack’s target. He waited for the other man to take a sip, and then he closed the distance, scooting over one stool so that he was right next to him, and then he greeted the man with a jovial tone. 

“Did my ears deceive me just now, or did I hear you order the Statesman 12 year, my friend?” Jack pointed to the other man’s glass while holding his own. 

The other man turned to face Jack, a semi-scowl on his face, his annoyance over being addressed by a seemingly drunken stranger as a “friend” clearly written in gray-green eyes. “What?” He glanced down at Jack’s glass and then at his own. “Oh.” He grunted and gave Jack a nod before taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. You drinking the same, I take it?” He arched one eyebrow and turned back to face the television screen behind the bar without waiting for the answer to the question he’d just asked. 

“Smoothest bourbon there is.” Jack held up his glass, inspecting the contents. To anyone else’s eye - even the man beside him - it would appear as though he were simply appreciating the way the overhead lights streaked through the rich amber liquid. In truth, he was making sure that the button-turned-tracker had been completely infused into the drink. Seeing that it was, he glanced over and caught his mark with his own glass midway to his lips once more.

Slow down there, son, leave some for our toast. 

Reaching for the man’s elbow, he stopped him from draining the last of his beverage. “How about we both raise our glasses to good taste and safe travels?” 

The other man jerked his arm away as though he’d been burned, the motion accompanied by a deeply frustrated sigh. Checking his watch, he rolled his eyes and shook his head at Jack. “Sure Fine. Just make it quick, I have a flight to catch.” 

As he presented his glass for the toast, Jack aggressively clinked the rim of his against it - with just enough force so that some of his drink had sloshed into the other man’s glass without him noticing. “Quick it is. Safe travels.” 

“Uh huh.” The sketch of a scowl was back as the man nodded again, knocking back the remainder of his drink, including the tracker. “Same to you.” With that, he slapped a fifty on the bar and left his empty glass, on his way to whatever gate would take him to whatever scumbag was waiting for him. 

The Gatekeeper or the Golden Circle… or whoever the fuck else. We’ll know soon enough. 

Taking his glasses back out of his pocket, Jack unfolded them and put them back on his face. With a tap of his finger the one-way screens hidden in the lenses activated again, and through a series of blinks and subtle eye movements, he sent confirmation of his mission back to Ginger Ale. 

Tracker planted. Target in motion. 

Before he got a response, though, he was distracted by a voice coming from over his shoulder. “Excuse me? Is anyone sitting there?” 

He turned towards the speaker and his eyes widened, lips lifting into a slight grin when he saw that it was you. 

Hot damn, she’s even prettier up close. 

His grin grew at your sudden, small intake of breath when your eyes met. “All yours.” Using one hand, he pulled the stool out for you as Ginger’s message started to scroll across his field of vision. 

You muttered a thank you as you chewed your lower lip. “You didn’t have to-” 

Well done Agent Whiskey. The tracker is live and we are following its movement. Which location did you select? 

“Now darlin’, what kind of gentleman would I be if I only did what I had to do?” He smiled, covertly answering Ginger’s question. 

Not sure yet. Stay tuned. 

You let out a sound that was almost a laugh, shrugging. “You’d be like most gentlemen I’ve known, I guess.” 

Agent, we need to know- 

Jack brought his hand up and tapped the side of his glasses, closing the communication screen and letting Ginger’s message go unfinished. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it wouldn’t be the last. He always eventually got back to her and never made her wait too long. But his focus had been drawn to you all afternoon, and now that you were sitting directly beside him, he wasn’t going to rush the interaction he’d been putting off for hours. 

“Then allow me to introduce to you a different kind.” He reached up and swept his hat from his head, laying it on the bartop, and extended his free hand to you.  “Jack Daniels.” 

–  –  – 

15 Minutes Earlier…

You checked your watch with a sigh, noting that you still had a little under an hour before you’d be called for boarding. 

It’s fine. That means I can start another chapter now. You rolled your eyes. I’ll need a new book for the flight home at this rate, though. 

It was one of those flights that didn’t make sense - with a 4 hour layover in a city that was completely out of the way of your destination. But that was why you’d been able to find tickets for only $48 each way, less than three days out. Things at work had been hectic, and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to get the time off until the very last minute. So even though it certainly wouldn’t have been your first choice if you’d been able to book it months ago when the trip was first brought up, you were perfectly content to take the unnecessary stopover in Louisville on your way to Las Vegas. 

Doesn’t hurt when the people watching prospects are this interesting, either. 

You glanced over at the nearby bar and the astoundingly attractive man seated there who’d snagged your attention as soon as he arrived. He, like a handful of others in the terminal, wore a dark felted Stetson But unlike most, it suited him. As did his perfectly tailored suit and- 

Oh, fuck, he’s wearing glasses now. And they look damn good on him, too. 

You cleared your throat and forced your thoughts back to your trip and your reason for taking the less than desirable layover. Even though it meant spending hours alone in an airport, you were excited, because it also meant being able to see several of your friends who lived far away, and being able to celebrate your birthday with them. Well, not just your birthday. The trip was meant to be a group celebration to make up for the fact that you hadn’t all been able to get together for a birthday in years. Since there happened to be two of you who had birthdays in January, that was the month that was chosen. But the dates that were settled on had included your actual birthday smack dab in the middle of them, and you were looking forward to having something fun to do with people you missed. 

Which was why you groaned as you read the notification that popped up on your phone regarding the flight status. 

Delayed - Mechanical Issues 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath, closing the airline app and tapping your phone screen to open the group chat so you could fill the others in on your situation. Before you finished typing though, your phone vibrated in your hand and a picture popped up of two of your friends - Jess and Maddy - both wearing ear to ear smiles at Harry Reid International, the text from Jess simply reading two words followed by several exclamation marks: We’re here!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Kayla chimed in next, responding with an emphatic YAY! and sending a screenshot of her GPS, showing that she was just under 2 hours out. Be there so soon! 

Nat still had her phone on airplane mode since she’d only taken off from LAX about an hour earlier, so you didn’t bother waiting for an update from her before you finished typing your own. 

Bad news, my flight out of Louisville is delayed. :( Mechanical issues… No idea when I’ll be there now, but I’ll keep you all posted. 

You sent the message and tucked your phone into the outer pocket of your bag as disappointment set in. As it was, the rest of your friends were already supposed to arrive half a day before you. But now, it was looking like you were going to miss out on the entire first day of the trip. 

Or more. 

Frowning at the thought, you tried not to let yourself get too upset until you had a better idea of your situation. You told yourself that it could be something quick and easy to remedy - maybe you’d only have to wait one more hour. Maybe less. Either way, you decided that since half of the group was already there, it meant that the vacation had unofficially started, and it was time you treated yourself to a drink. 

And if I know Jess and Maddy, they’re doing the same right now. 

You picked up your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and headed towards the bar. It was moderately crowded, only a few stools left vacant scattered here and between other travelers. But as you got closer you noticed that the man you’d caught yourself spending more time watching than any of the others was still seated there - and that the seat beside him had just become empty. 

Perfect timing. 

That confidence lasted only until the man spun at the sound of your voice, and seeing him up close had nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. 

Oh, shit. He’s- 

By the time he’d given you his name along with his hand to shake, you’d noticed things about him that you hadn’t from across the room. Like the flecks of tan and gold that lightened his dark brown eyes, the distinct bow of his upper lip beneath his mustache and how it rested against the plush pillow of the lower one, the way you couldn’t see a stitch of leather on him aside from his boots, but the smell of it - along with bergamot - clung to him and made him even more appealing. 

You swallowed, his warm hand wrapping around yours and squeezing as you managed to tell him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” 

Without letting go of your hand or releasing your eyes from the lock his own had on them, he repeated your name back to you, the sound of it making your face grow warm. “Pleasure’s all mine, I promise you.” 

When he winked as he withdrew his hand, you knew you were screwed. You ordered yourself a drink - something local, a bourbon you’d not seen before called Statesman - and Jack, though approving of your choice, simply asked for a glass of water. As you brought the glass to your lips, another thought popped into your head. 

But am I really screwed, though? Because… he seems just as interested as I am. 

Over the next half hour, you and Jack made small talk and subtly flirted in smirks and glances. You asked him what brought him to the airport that day, to which he’d answered: 

“Had some business here earlier. But that’s done, so the rest of my evening is completely free.” 

You shook your head at that, taking another sip of your drink. Damn that’s good. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” 

At that, he grinned and spread his large hands wide. “Ah, well, that is one of the perks of being my own pilot.” He raised one eyebrow and leaned towards you. “I can leave whenever I choose.” 

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. That definitely makes him even more attractive somehow, though. 

You mouthed the word wow and let out a stunted laugh as you reached into your bag to retrieve your phone. Some time had passed and you were hoping that there would be another notification about the status of your delayed flight. “That must be nice.” You groaned as you saw that there was nothing new from the airline, and several texts from your friends expressing their dismay over your travel woes. Shaking the phone in your hand, you sighed. “I’m here on a layover that got delayed and the rest of my friends are already in Vegas.” Looking over at him, you wet your lips with your tongue. “I’d love to be able to just… hop in and take off whenever I wanted to.”

–  –  –  

Well, shit. Did she just say Vegas? 

Clearing his throat, Jack reached up to tap the arm of his glasses. Several missed messages came through at once, all from Ginger, but he blinked them away as he spoke. “Well, I know we’ve only just met, and I’m not trying to make any suggestions-” Though I could. “- But I happen to be going to Sin City myself tonight.” He had to contain his grin at the flash in your eyes as he used the nickname for the gambling town. “I’d be more than happy to take you with me.” 

Destination selected. Las Vegas, Nevada, USA. 

You sucked in a breath at his proposition, and though he knew you were likely considering saying no, he hoped you’d say yes. “I… Jack, I couldn’t ask you to-” 

“You’re not. I’m askin’. I’ll show you my license and everything to prove that I’m legit, but darlin’, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” He tilted his head towards the window. “No tellin’ how long they’ll need to fix that bird, and if your friends are already there…” He trailed off and shrugged, returning his gaze to you. “My jet is fully fueled and ready to go. I could get you there so you don’t have to miss out too much. More than you already have, I mean.” 

He could practically hear Ginger’s reply when it came through, but he fought the urge to let out a snort as he read it. 

IT’S ABOUT TIME, AGENT. Make sure your friend buckles up. We’ll contact you when you can return to HQ. 

You bit your lower lip again, and he couldn’t help but watch the way your teeth dug into your flesh. “I…” He saw the rest of your protest dissolve the same way the tracker had earlier, your eyes shifting from skeptical to excited until that’s all he saw in them. You laughed, then, lifting your hand and holding up one finger. “Alright. I’ll… yes. I’ll take you up on it. But on one condition.” 

Received. Will await contact. Over. 

Jack reached up to tap his glasses before removing them and stowing them in his pocket. He leaned in closer to you, concentrating on the quirk of your lips and the mixture of impulse and instinct in your eyes. “Let’s hear it.” 

“You let me buy you a drink once we get there.” You said it over the rim of your glass as you finished the last of it, eyes on him as you swallowed. 

An excuse to go out with a beautiful woman? That’s the condition? 

Jack flashed you a smile. “I think those terms are more than agreeable, ma’am.” 

–  –  –  

What the fuck am I doing? 

You half laughed at yourself, but at the same time there was something about Jack that made you feel like you could trust him. You were aware that that could be a danger in and of itself, but your gut told you he was a good man, and you had always felt that you were a good and accurate judge of character. 

How’s it any different from meeting a guy and getting in his car with him? It’s not, really. 

It was, and you knew it was, but you hadn’t been wrong yet. And as much as you wanted to get to Vegas to see your friends, you also found yourself wanting more time to get to know Jack. He was offering you the chance to do both of those things, and even though you were looking for one, you couldn’t find a downside. 

Pulling out your phone, you opened the group chat and sent one text before switching it to airplane mode. 

Change of plans. Met a (really good looking) pilot who was on his way to Vegas and offered me a ride. Sending a screenshot of his license number in case I go missing hahaha. Just kidding. I’ll be fine. See you soon!

You knew what they’d say when they saw your message. 

Jess would likely just send a thumbs up - or possibly a photo of herself giving a thumbs up. 

Maddy would emphasize your message and respond with something like Okay but don’t die! 

Kayla’s message would be a more whimsical reaction like Jesus take the wheel! (Wait do planes have wheels?) or Life is short, take rides from hot pilots when you can with the peace sign emoji. 

And Nat would send advice from several documentaries and podcasts she’d seen or listened to, about what to do if you were being abducted. 

You laughed to yourself again at the entire situation. 

“Alright, Jack.” You hopped down from your stool and picked up your bag. “I’m ready when you are.” 

He stood, taking his hat from the bartop and placing it on his head. “No time like the present.” Running his hands over his clothes, he smoothed out his suit jacket. “Follow me, darlin’. And give me that.” He pointed his chin towards your bag. “I’m a gentleman, remember? Where would my manners be if I let a lady carry her own bags?” 

You shook your head with a smile and handed over your carry-on, leaving you with only your purse. “I don’t know. You’re teaching me about gentlemen, remember?” 

You knew when you saw his eyes darken that you’d made the right call. 

“Oh, sugar. I remember. Few hours to Vegas. Plenty of time for me to teach you things.” With that he started walking and you were left to follow, slightly stunned at the implications in his tone and in his words. 

This is definitely going to be a trip to remember, that’s for sure. 

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or filling out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @dihra-vesa @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @novemberrain221 @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry

[pascalispunkczechia]

Rules I Break For Him 1

Javier Peña (Narcos) fanfiction

Javier Peña x f!reader More chapters in Masterlist: HERE

Agent Peña gets a new boss - a woman who’s uncompromising, focused only on her job. But how long can she resist him before giving in?

ℹ️ If you’ve seen Narcos, please don’t worry about timelines, years, real events or places - this story focuses on the emotional bond between the characters rather than real accuracy. Enjoy!

Warnings:

• Sexual Content / Explicit Sexual Content

• Strong Language / Explicit Language

• Violence / Graphic Violence

• Guns / Gun Violence

• Drug Use

• Alcohol Use

• Smoking

• Mentions of Death

• Emotional Hurt / Angst

• Power Imbalance

My plane just touched down smoothly on the runway in one of the most drug-ridden states in South America. Colombia.

Oh yeah, I have a past here, even though I’ve tried to forget it. But maybe more on that later.

Right now, I have a feeling I won’t be forgetting anytime soon, since I’ve been transferred here from California to the DEA.

Maybe you’ve heard of it, mostly because of the capture of Escobar. That was a few months ago. Now, though, a new cartel is running things.

The DEA made a huge mistake getting rid of one of the best agents - the man who helped bring down Escobar - and sending him back to Texas.

Sure, maybe he could have handled things a little differently, maybe stayed out of it a bit more, but fuck! He did more for them than anyone else.

When I found out I was being assigned here, I begged them to bring Agent Peña back. I had a feeling we wouldn’t get anywhere without him.

Truth is, I don’t even know what he looks like or how old he is. I’m picturing some smooth-talking Texan with a cowboy hat and a loose flannel shirt.

God. I always do this… try to tear men down in my head so I can feel like I belong in their world and can do at least as much as they can.

While I was waiting for my suitcase, I ordered a cab, and now I’m making my way out of the building, just wanting to get to the office already.

It’s noon, the sun is fucking brutal, and I silently bless whoever invented cabs, because taking public transportation in Cali would have been a goddamn nightmare.

The ride goes by pretty fast. I check my makeup and hair in a small mirror. Not bad for after a multi-hour flight.

My hair flutters slightly in the breeze from the open window, and my eyes are starting to adjust to the local sunlight. It’s different here, sharper. It wasn’t like this in Sacramento.

I can’t really explain it, but I feel better here. Which is a hell of a paradox, considering I was happy in California. Maybe I’m still happy, in my own way. I feel like I can finally close that chapter and no man is ever going to fuck me up again.

Yeah, about that past I mentioned earlier - the one I’m trying to forget? His name was Diego. It lasted about two years before he cheated on me with the first whore he could find on the street.

Lovely past, right?

I ran back to the States and didn’t want to hear another word about Colombia. Luckily, I’m in a different city now, working at a different station. Because if I had to go back to Bogotá, to the station at the US embassy, I’d probably be the laughingstock of the whole damn place.

Here in Cali, I’m going to build my authority from scratch. And believe me - no agent is ever getting under my skin again.

Here we go. I’m standing in front of the DEA station, which from now on is my new base. I worked hard for this. I’m single and childless, but carrying a lot of work on my shoulders.

Most of the people at this station are men, and haha, it’s the early ’90s, so it’s nothing unusual. But things are slowly getting better.

I open the door and am immediately hit by the sound of male laughter and voices, all mixed with the smell of sweat and that typical stench of ‘I’m the master of the universe, bow down to me.’

I probably look like a sore thumb right now. Almost no one notices me, so I head straight toward the director’s office.

I call the elevator, no way I’m dragging my suitcase up to the fourth floor. I press the button, run a hand through my hair, and adjust my blouse, which might be a little see-through. Fuck, I should’ve worn the black one. I glance at myself in the mirror… tight jeans hugging my body, making me feel confident.

Yeah, feminists probably wouldn’t be giving me a gold star right now.

The elevator doors are almost closing when a hand suddenly pushes them open again. First thing I notice are the veins standing out on his arm, pulling me into a bit of a trance.

Geez, get it together.

Then I realize the hand (with no wedding ring) belongs to a tall, lean man, dark-haired, radiating charisma. I’d guess about fourty, a mustache, and surprisingly gentle brown eyes that contrast sharply with the sharp lines of his face.

“Which floor?” he asks, looking like he doesn’t actually give a shit about the answer. Still, I catch his eyes roaming over my body.

Well, at least we’re even - I might have stared at his ass in those tight gray jeans two seconds longer than would be considered polite.

“Hm?” he presses, looking at me with amusement, maybe a hint of impatience.

I flush, feeling the heat rush to my face.

What the hell is happening? Maybe I really should’ve had breakfast. Nothing else could explain this weakness.

“Uh, fourth,” I squeak and drop my eyes. “Director’s office,” I add, lifting my head again, remembering I need to project confidence here.

He gives me a strange look that I can’t quite read. At the same time, his scent hits me, nothing like the disgusting smells from the entrance. He smells like peppermint and freshly lit cigarettes. No sweat, no filthy socks. Nice. Apparently, some men here actually know how to smell decent.

The elevator stops with a loud clunk. “After you,” he says with a wink.

I grab the handle of my suitcase and stumble out of the elevator, feeling his eyes on my back.

Okay, that’s enough. Focus.

I walk down the hallway and knock on the oak door at the end on the left. The station director himself opens the door, welcoming me with a smile.

A man in his sixties, chubby cheeks, and a generally kind demeanor - at least, according to what they say. “Good to see you, Miss. Was the trip alright?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

“Good. I won’t burden you with long speeches… everything was already discussed before your arrival. The apartment we assigned you is ready; you know the address, right? Agent Peña should be arriving soon too, he’ll show you your office. Honestly, I’m not thrilled he’s back, but I trust you’ll keep him under control. His desk will be right outside your office… sometimes it’s better to keep subordinates where you can see them,” says Mr. Rodriguez.

I smile but say nothing. I don’t want to come off like a bitch. I’m sure Peña and I can figure out his desk ourselves. Besides, he’s supposedly out in the field most of the time anyway.

“And about that supervision, Miss,” Rodriguez continues, smiling at me, “I know it’s not exactly part of your job description, but you should go out into the field with Peña too. We don’t want him getting mixed up with some gangs again while trying to catch the new cartel.”

I give him a thoughtful look. Maybe he’s not as likable as he seemed at first. If this is how he thinks about his best agent, I can only imagine how he thinks about the others… or about me.

I don’t have time to think about it more, because there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” says Rodriguez.

The man from the elevator steps inside. What the hell is he doing here? I feel the heat rush to my cheeks again.

“Miss, allow me to introduce your new subordinate, agent Peña,” says Rodriguez, standing up and shaking Peña’s hand.

I stare at him, fascinated.

“Javier, this is your new boss,” Rodriguez adds.

“Peña,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes as he offers me his hand. “Nice to meet you… again.”

“Pleasure’s mine. If you don’t mind, can we be less formal?” I ask, shaking his hand. Maybe it’s unusual, considering the hierarchy, but I always try to keep a friendly atmosphere in my team.

Anyway, it’s clear now - my image of Peña as an old cowboy in a tacky flannel shirt was completely wrong. He’s the exact opposite of what I imagined. A jolt of electricity runs through me, and my breath catches.

“In that case, nice to meet you too,” he says, smiling warmly. “I’m Javier.” His lips curl into a smile, and I feel a rush of heat pooling low in my belly.

God help me. This can’t be happening. Why couldn’t he be sweaty and ugly? Why am I reacting like a damn teenager?

Rodriguez gets up and rather unceremoniously shoos us out of his office.

I’m still in a daze, barely registering what’s happening.

“Alright. I’ll show you your office,” Javier says, looking at me. “I have some work to finish after that, so… ready?”

I swallow hard. “Sure. Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my suitcase and following him.

I barely register how we got to the elevator and out again.

Next thing I know, we’re standing in my new office.

Javier’s desk really is just outside the door… only one door between us. For some reason, that thought unsettles me a little.

“Well, we’ll have time to talk everything through. And I know you’re the boss here, but I have to go, I need to check some phone records. It’ll probably take until evening. But there’s a bar a few blocks away… maybe we could talk more informally there? I’ll pick you up when I’m done?” he asks, looking at me expectantly.

“Yeah. That’s probably better than trying to go over everything here and now,” I manage, sitting down in my chair, pretending to be busy organizing my pens and coffee mug.

“Great,” Javier says with a smile and leaves my office.

I catch myself shamelessly staring at his ass.

Damn. That ass!

I think I’ll have to ban him from wearing tight pants to work. Or maybe I should just ban myself from staring at his mouth every time he talks.

I don’t understand what the hell is happening to me. I’ve known him for half an hour.

And I’m already wondering just how bad of an idea it would be to go for that drink.

I sigh and start trying to settle into my office.

Next Chapter here

[mistydeyes]

Hi! Would you be interested in doing an angst piece for Gaz?

Gaz ends up in the hospital/med tent and meets reader. They get to know each other until he ships out and reader can't wait to see him again - until he ends up back in front of them with extremely severe injuries...

a/n: i am so sorry this took me so long to get to but i LOVED this request and wanted to do it justice! thank you again for submitting anon :) there are no happy endings here so buckle up

a modern day florence nightingale

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summary: Fresh out of training, your first assignment is at the famous Queen Elizabeth's Hospital in Birmingham. While most of your colleagues dread their first assignment, you find yourself slowing falling in love with your newest patient.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x nurse!gn!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds and violence, ANGST

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"Corporal, you have a last-minute transfer to Room 7," the chief nurse paged and you closed out your evening reports. "Thanks, Captain, I'll check in and collect the vitals for you," you replied and made your way down the quiet hall. You were fresh out of training and on your first assignment which met you had the absolute pleasure of collecting vitals and performing monotonous tasks. However, while some other corporals groaned at their placement, you enjoyed finally having hands-on, out-of-classroom experience. As you approached the door, you pulled the clipboard which identified the patient and some of the pertinent medical history. You knocked on the door gently and announced yourself. "Sergeant Garrick, welcome to Queen Elizabeth's," you said as the man sat up in bed, "hopefully you won't have that long of a stay." You said this to all your patients, while you enjoyed the friendly conversations, a hospital wasn't an ideal permanent stay.

"Thank you, Corporal," he replied and the room seemed to light up with his smile, "besides the shrapnel getting dug out of my leg, it's been a pleasant stay." You smiled at his pleasant attitude, it wasn't often you had a patient like this yes. "Well I am happy to hear it, Sergeant, if you don't mind can I take some vitals?" you asked as you loosened the stethoscope from your neck. "As long as you call me Kyle, I have no complaints, Corporal," he responded and shined another bright smile. "Okay, Kyle, just sit up for me and breathe normally," you said as you went to the bedside and manually pumped the blood pressure cuff, and listened for the Korotkoff sounds. "119/78, nearly perfect," you remarked before you held out his hand to place a pulse oximeter. Just like before, his oxygen levels and pulse were ideal. "Look at you Kyle, the perfect patient!," you proudly said, "I'd give you a lolly if I had one." "I try, Corporal, I try," he joked and you checked his vitals on the monitor to make sure he would sleep through the night.

"Alright final few questions, can you rate your pain on a scale of 1-10?" you asked as you pulled out your chart. "Um a 4?" he said with a questioning tone, "Definitely not the worst injury I've gotten but my thigh still hurts like hell." Your smile faltered a bit before you flipped through the pages to see what medications he was put on post-operation. "The medication will kick in soon, it's not the strongest stuff but it should minimize some of that pain," you explained and he nodded in compliance. "Does the area feel hot or pulsating?" you continued with your routine questions. "Dirty wording there," he joked and you couldn't help but let out a chuckle, "can't say I'm experiencing that though." "Just some routine things, trust me I wish I could rewrite a lot," you sighed before finishing your assessment. "That's all for now, do you need anything before you get some rest?" you asked before adjusting the lights of the room and reclining his bed. "Not that I can think of, have a goodnight, Nightingale," he smiled and you exited the room. You closed the door gently and walked back to your station. As you sat down to record Kyle's nightly intake you found yourself smiling in content. Nightingale, you liked the sound of that especially when it was accompanied by his gorgeous smile and eyes.

The next evening, you were happy to see that Kyle was your first official 1-on-1 patient for your residency. His physical assessment demonstrated he would likely be an easy patient to round on and most people appreciated his positive attitude and lack of signs of sun downing. You were ecstatic as most had been giving difficult patients that would test their profession. As you received report from the morning staff, you couldn't help but wonder how to announce the "good news" to him. You didn't want to seem weird as most patients would be concerned at the enthusiasm a nurse showed at their injuries and hospital stay.

As you entered his room, you decided to play it cool and explain it as if it was a formality. "Good evening, Nightengale," he said as you entered the room. "Evening to you as well, Kyle. I'm just here to check on how you're doing and also let you know that I will be your primary nurse for the remainder of your stay," you explained and gave him a small smile. "Better now that you're here," he joked and your face began to flush, "the morning staff woke me by pulling back the curtains and tugging on my arm!" "They're new as well, not necessarily known for their bedside manner," you commented and Kyle could hear the slight twinge of annoyance in your voice. "Oh you're new as well?" he questioned as he complied with the routine of collecting vitals. "Fresh out of training," you explained as you wrote down his oxygen levels and pulse, "this is my first assignment." After going through your typical questions and happily hearing that his pain had decreased substantially, he continued with the conversation. "You're doing a great job, I honestly thought you had been here for years," he commented and you couldn't help but admit you loved the flow of compliments. "I had some experience in civilian hospitals and general trauma care before I decided on the career change," you explained as you prepped him for bed. "I'm sure you'll be able to tell me all about it while I'm here," he said before settling into bed. "I'd like that a lot Kyle, goodnight," you whispered before leaving the room again.

"I'm not joking, I did have the best sutures," you exclaimed as Kyle laughed heartily. Somehow you had gotten on the topic of basic trauma procedures and he simply could not imagine you on the battlefield. "I don't believe it," he said through a string of laughs, "your bedside manner is too good for that." "Who wouldn't want that after a gunshot wound?" you exclaimed, "If I had a bullet lodged in my abdomen, the least someone could do would be to entertain me." Kyle was just about to reply when you were paged to another patient's room. "Well I'll see you for your medication rounds then, sleep well, Kyle," you said sadly as you walked out. "I await your visit, nurse," he jokingly saluted and you turned off the lights. The next few weeks progressed the same, you learned more about Kyle's life before the military and he teased you incessantly about your previous life as a nurse. You even managed to sneak in some takeout for him so he wouldn't have to suffer through the disgusting, bland rations from the dining hall.

As you ate the buffet of Chinese takeout and looked at Kyle slurping the noodles, it was clear neither one of you wanted your time to end. You were cleaning up when you felt his gaze on you. "I think you have something on your cheek," he said and beckoned you to come closer. You felt his warm touch gently wipe away some excess sauce and linger on your face. Before you could speak, he took the moment to say something that caught you off-guard. "You look beautiful like this," he whispered and you could feel your cheeks turn pink. "You look so relaxed, not worrying about vitals and medications," he continued as he held your face softly. "Just wanted to say that," he finished and you felt his hand dropped. There was probably some manual somewhere that said what you did next was a dischargeable offense but you both didn't seem to care. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your lips or your soft touch to his cheek but the way his lips felt against yours was worth any punishment. It was quick and gentle but you both pulled away with smiles plastered on your faces. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kyle," you whispered as you parted and shared another kiss before you exited the room.

The unit could tell that Kyle's appearance at Queen Elizabeth's changed your mood drastically. Maybe that's why no one told you of his discharge. You happily walked over to his room for an evening chat before you realized the bed was being stripped and prepped for another patient. "Sorry, must have gotten the wrong room," you sheepishly replied as the other nurses looked at you. You walked over to your commanding officer, the head nurse, to find out if there had been a room transfer. "Where's the patient in room 7?" you asked the head nurse. "Oh he was discharged earlier this morning," she replied, looking up briefly from the morning reports. You could feel your smile falter as she spoke. "Did he say where he was going?" you asked her, hoping for something, anything. "You know that information is confidential, Lieutenant," she replied and walked back to her station, leaving you along with a twinge of heartbreak.

Months went on without seeing Kyle. At first, you were saddened he left without saying anything but you gradually became angrier with each subsequent week. You went through all the stages of grief as you wished for any word from him. You thought you honestly had something special with him, he was your first patient after all. Were all the moments you had meaningless? You were at the boiling point when you saw, on your list of patients for the day, a Sergeant Kyle Garrick was in Room 15.

Needless to say, you were pissed when you stormed into the room. You finished your rounds for the day and angrily opened the door to Room 15. It was clear there was tension in the air as your gaze pierced Kyle. "Hey there, Nightingale" the man joked and you lost it. "'Hey there?' that's all I fucking get?" you said angrily. You didn't care who heard. "You sit in this bed for weeks, making me care about you, and then you fucking leave ONLY to come back here like this," you yelled as you eyed his leg casts, black eye, and IV drip. "Why the fuck are you acting like the one who got blown up?" he responded, anger rising in his tone. "I'm not one of your little girlfriends who is amazed that you're in the SAS, Kyle," you said viciously, you could feel hot tears run down your face. "I actually care about you and you fucking left me with nothing." With that, you walked out the door and turned to unleash a final comment. "I'll get another nurse to take care of your sorry ass" you choked out and shut the door on him.

[kittiesjournal]

1 year with an Autism Diagnosis; a Retrospection

It’s Autism Awareness Month and today is World Autism Day!

Today is also the 1 year anniversary of me receiving my Autism Diagnosis, so I wanted to take some time to write about what's happened in the past year, what my official diagnosis brought into my life and what's happening in the future.

The day I got my diagnosis was ultimately a relief, as a previous assessment ending up in tears because they did not understand me at all, and the time it took to discover myself and re-evaluate my life. I was so incredibly happy because I knew people would finally understand who I am, why I am the way I am and because I knew I would be able to get the support I needed. My diagnosis opened the door for accommodations at school. I was able to set up an access plan to adjust how school looked for me; having extensions on assignments, being able to record presentations instead of presenting in front of my class and so on. Furthermore, I was able to apply for the NDIS scheme which was a slow process and I only got my plan in December but things are finally starting to be put in place and it's all very exciting but scary too. I even have my Functional Capacity Assessment tomorrow with my Occupational Therapist!

Over the past year I've been able to continue sharing my experiences with being Autistic, it allowed me to reach so many people who relate and connect with my story and it's the most wonderful thing. I've received messages and replies that express their gratitude towards me and it fills me with absolute joy. it's my dream to keep on connecting with the autistic community.

With all the good that has come with being diagnosed, I have still struggled. I am a medium support needs Autistic person, so there are many things I can't do or struggle to do. Going to university in person multiple times a week and having to keep up with the assignments left me burnt out every trimester . I've had meltdowns where I had to leave class early so I wouldn't end up crying in front of people and often had verbal shutdowns and still do. I hardly left the house because I could rarely do so by myself, and I had bad periods of agoraphobia. Last month I had a bad experience trying to go out by myself that caused a meltdown.

But luckily I was able to make some changes in my life. I'm studying a new course completely online and we moved houses to a much calmer area so it's less overwhelming to go out. But my support needs are still the same.

Looking to the future, I plan to work with my OT to figure out what supports I can get with NDIS; I'm hoping for sensory aids, routine/management tools and maybe even a support worker on occasion to help me access the community when my partner isn’t available and to help with tasks to take some pressure off them. Additionally I will continue to write and post about Autism and my story, working to become a good advocate! 

I am extremely lucky to have received my autism diagnosis, even if it was a late-diagnosis, it has made a positive change in my life and it was the right decision for me to seek out an assessment. 

thank you everyone who has supported me!!

-kittie

[angeldelights-blog]

Im Autistic

I was diagnosed as Autistic just over a year ago now. I have moderate support needs but I wasn't diagnosed until I was an adult.

I was also given help at school but they just weren't sure why I needed the help. My parents made adjustments for everyday life like cutting out my tags in clothes, having a list of safe food, taking me out at more quite times so I didn't get overwhelmed.

I do a lot of the "sterotypical" traits of Autism but I feel that late diagnosed Autistic people who have moderate or high support needs aren't spoken about often and I guess this is my way of saying how I feel.

My assessment was confusing in the end, level 1 because I speak well but high support needs so basically in the middle. I need a lot of help in my dad to day life. I can't make phone calls without a meltdown but I was assigned a person to help but I can't afford them. Hospitals are funny if you email them even when you explain and having physical disabilities it's a battle to get both needs met. I speak well but most of my childhood I only spoke to my dad and mum about my special interest of communism, sociology and psychology... oh and cats! I still have a special interest in all of these including cats!

I have aggressive meltdowns, I have hurt before and I can't control them. I can't give eye contact and struggle when meeting new people. I need support. I do have a partner and he helps me all the time, he's amazing and supportive and helps me with my dad to day life.

I do stim but I am being taught to redirect my stimming to less harmful behaviours but finding fidget toys that feel right is hard

I use headphones as im sensitive to sound and always have been. This is a huge struggle for me.

I have around 100 squishmallows and soft toys but I wish I could have more but they cost a lot of money and being disabled you don't have a lot of spare money!

The soft toys I love! They feel so good on my skin, so soft and they make me happy.

I also happy flap as I call it, my partner says he knows when I'm happy because that's what I do and I don't even realise I'm doing it because it just happens.

I was bullied so much at school I have PTSD from it... I needed help with my maths as I have dyscalculia and I struggled in making friends so I was put in a group on how to make friends.

It's complex being diagnosed as an adult with higher support needs, not realising that all these people were already doing things in the background so I don't struggle as much.

I feel like I don't fully understand myself and I wish I could hide who I am at times. I wish I wasn't so obvious or didn't shutdown so people think I'm rude. I wish my headphones weren't seen as rude or that in childish to need communication cards or fidget toys. I wish I was seen as normal but I also understand the burden masking can cause for others. My only mask is a shutdown. .

So this is my experience as a late diagnosed moderate support needs adult and I think I'll post more as it was nice to get it all out...

[winterchimez]

Beast in the Beauty - Chapter 4

pairing: profiler Hyunjae x detective f!reader 

genre & warnings: jack the ripper au, angst, violence, thriller, crime, mentions of prostitution, graphic description of death, major characters death, alcohol, some fluff

word count: 2,614

a/n: there’s a scene where the ripper’s letter is revealed where it might be disturbing for some readers, so i’ll put a 🌨️ at the beginning if you wish to skip it. 

series masterlist 

"Should I be happy about this Y/N?”

Eric clearly looked conflicted, because he was the one Selene chose to have the role-play situation with in the streets of Whitechapel. 

“Oh come on, it can't be too bad. Besides, you’re close to Selene and it’s only natural for her to pick you as the lucky one, counting out Haknyeon otherwise his fiancé wouldn’t let him live to see tomorrow that is.”

Your friend was clearly having second thoughts, ironic how a few hours ago he was all enthusiastic about encouraging the single men in the office to take up the offer. You can’t help but to laugh a bit. 

Oh Eric, poor little fella. 

Once Selene arrived at the office around 30 minutes before midnight, Chief Ayden wasted no time in briefing everybody about the deal. Apparently, Hyunjae was also involved in assigning everyone their own designated roles. The focus area was in between George Yard and Foster’s Street, as it was the killer’s active area as proven from the previous two cases. 

Eric and Selene were to be placed near Miller’s Court, it was in the more isolated area of Dorset Street, but perfect to catch on the killer if he were to strike again tonight. 

Both Hyunjae and Haknyeon were then stationed near where Eric and Selene were, in case the killer appears there will be more than enough detectives to jump right in for the arrest. You, on the other hand, was stationed at the entrance to Dorset Street, mainly because both Eric and Haknyeon refused to let you step foot near anywhere that was dark and unsafe, especially in the alleyways. 

You were definitely sulky for a bit, but decided to think straight and to believe that the killer could enter this entrance area at all times, so it was also a good spot for you to catch Jack himself red-handed if needed. A few more detectives were called in for this mission, and they were then scattered throughout the remaining areas for the stakeout mission. 

Once everyone was ready, all of you wasted no time in heading out to each of your designated spots. Right before you were about to part ways with everyone, Hyunjae decides to stop you by patting you on your shoulders, making you turn behind to face the male himself. 

“Here, take this.”

He hands you a rose gold pendant that has the shape of a shell at the end. You were confused. “What is this for?” You asked.

“Just in case anything happens, you can use this to give us a signal. Blow into the shell and I’ll be coming right to you before you know it. Also consider this as my gift to you.” He winks.

You somehow felt rest-assured with this simple gesture, not gonna lie you sure were a bit nervous and afraid of being part of this stakeout mission, especially when you have a high likelihood of meeting the killer in person. It is good to know that someone has your back nearby.

“Thank you Hyunjae, I appreciate that a lot. Please be safe out there.”

“Likewise Y/N. I’ll see you later.” 

It was already twenty minutes past midnight, and somehow the streets were surprisingly quiet. There weren’t too many prostitutes and clients out for the night, and somehow this silent feeling makes it even more eerie.

Eric and Selene have already been in their position for quite a while now, but the poor man has yet to adjust himself with whatever that he was supposed to do. 

“You’re cute Eric. I didn’t know you were shy when it came down to these things. Don’t worry I won’t bite you too much.” Selene giggled as she placed one of her palms onto his chest, moving it up ever so slightly. 

“Umm.. am I supposed to be happy about that?” The boy clearly had his face fully red-flushed, praying to the heavens that this killer would just appear any time right now so that all of these could be over with. 

Well apparently, it seems that Eric’s wishes had come true way sooner than expected. 

Minutes passed and a sinister loud scream was coming near the west side of Miller’s Court. Haknyeon’s direction. 

Eric and Selene wasted no time running towards the source of the scream. It should only take them two minutes to reach the designated spot, but somehow the situation that they were in made it felt like eternity. They could only hope that whoever that was is alright.

Or so they thought. 

They were too late. Haknyeon was nowhere to be seen, and the third victim was there lying in their own pool of blood. 

Selene let out a loud, sharp, piercing cry. It was too much for her to bear and witness. Eric immediately pulled her into his chest, trying to comfort her and to further avoid presenting the horrible sight right in front of Selene’s eyes anymore. You and the other detectives arrived a few minutes later, and were too flabbergasted with the sight beyond. 

This victim had far more gruesome wounds then the previous two, it was horrendous to say the least. To see that there were still fresh tears dripping down the sides of the victim’s eyes, anyone could tell that she hadn't been dead for long. 

Rage filled you and you balled up your fists, and you sprinted off into the dark alleyways, ignoring Eric’s screams of begging for you to come back. 

You couldn’t let the killer get away anymore. Not when all of you were this close to catching him red-handed. He was right in your fingertips. 

As the victim had just passed, you were certain that the killer still had to be somewhere nearby. Whitechapel was like a maze, and to truly escape from this district requires at least a good ten to fifteen minutes, even if one was familiar with all the routes and shortcuts available. 

You continued to run, not caring if you were out of breath, you had to catch the killer. 

As if the heaven’s heard your cry, you spotted an individual wearing a dark cape with a top hat from afar, looking right at your direction. It was dark and there was a distance between you two, so you couldn’t really make out his facial features. 

But one thing is for sure you were certain that you caught him smiling at you under the moonlight. 

With that, he turned on his heel to the opposite direction and took off.

“Stop!” You screamed and shouted as much as you could while chasing the individual. Boy, he sure was quick, if he wasn’t a murderer he could very well be an athlete competing for a triathlon. 

You know deep down that there is only a ten percent chance of you catching up with him, but you had to try nonetheless. 

Sure enough, the killer had put too much of a distance between you two, and you have lost sight of him after turning into one of the corners. You were frustrated, and you stomped your feet right into the ground. 

If only you were fast enough, Y/N. It was your one and only chance. You can’t help but to blame yourself for it. 

Instead of returning straight back to the crime scene, you decided to just sit down and catch a quick breather for a moment. 

Just then, you heard some shuffling noises coming closer to your direction.

Is the killer back to play cat and mouse with you?

You mentally and physically braced yourself of what’s to come, and you immediately took out your gun and aimed it into the direction where the source of the shuffling noises came from. Just as you were about to pull the trigger, the familiar voice made you lower down your gun.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

It was Hyunjae. 

“I could also ask you the same thing. Weren’t you at your spot?”

“I was. But then Haknyeon was the first to find the body and he took off running. Assuming he saw the killer himself I catch up with him to help, but the both of us got separated halfway, and that’s when I found you here now.”

You felt like your whole energy was sucked out from you, and you immediately slumped yourself down the ground, causing the male to jump right in to catch you in his arms. You covered both of your palms on your face, wishing all of this nightmare to be over with. 

All of you wasted no time in retreating back into the office after the incident. Selene was clearly extremely shaken up, which caused you to pull out your one and only cozy throw from beneath your drawers and draped it over her shoulders while giving her a warm cup of tea. You continued to stay by her side, taking her into your embrace as the men got onto sorting out the investigation reports. 

It was obvious that everyone was bummed by the fact that this stake out mission was a failure. Adding salt to the wound, you literally had an entire police force unit surrounding the designated area and yet you’ve let the killer slip out entirely from literally the palm of your hands. 

You couldn’t blame Chief Ayden’s frustration as he banged his fist right onto the hard concrete table and laid his head down low. He couldn’t keep living on with this nightmare and trauma any longer. 

You knew that all of you had to come up with an even better strategy, one that would actually place the killer in a tight pitch, where he would have no chance of escape. One that will not let the killer outsmart you. One that will put a stop to this sick game he was playing. 

In the midst of everyone’s frustration, one of the detectives from the forensics team suddenly came running into the station, clearly out of breath. 

As he tries his best to catch his breath, the young lad looks into the eyes of every single detective in the room, including you. In his hand holds a single envelope, with a good amount of blood stains surrounding it. Judging by the looks on his face, it was clear that he had read the contents of it and was horrified by what he found. 

Chief Ayden grabs hold of the envelope and places it right in the middle of the table. Your responsible friend, Eric, began to read the letter aloud, word by word. 

🌨️

Dearest boss,

It has been a week since I have resumed my activities and I can’t tell you how this was one of the best decisions that I have ever made. 

The flame that was once gone has now reignited and it has given me a whole new motivation to start killing again. 

Now that I am back from my slumber, let me set my current situation for you as I sit on my dining table to write this letter. 

My knives are now sharper than ever, and they truly give the best incisions I’ve ever seen. 

I gave the two ladies no time to squeal, for my sharp knife is capable of ending a life within seconds. 

Oh, but by the time this letter gets to you there is probably already a third victim. Ha ha. 

I assure you that for my next victim, I shall grant you a better performance. Perhaps I should take a body part and keep it as a souvenir? Or maybe I would be a dear and wrap it up nicely to post it to the police station instead. Maybe you should help me decide. 

I highly suggest that you publish my letter on the news. That way when the public realises how capable I am, the terror and horror in their eyes will most definitely give me the motivation and encouragement I need to find my fourth victim quicker don’t you think? 

Lastly, fyi. If you think I am somehow in relation to having medical knowledge because of how I am able to dissect the victims and such a perfect manner just like in the operation rooms, then you’re far more than ever to put me behind bars. 

Yours truly,

Jack The Ripper.

You gagged at how horrendous the letter was. You were glad that you covered Selene's ears this whole time, otherwise you were gonna have to deal with her screams till dawn, not that you could blame her though. 

The rest were the same. Disgust and horror was plastered all across their faces. 

This monster, Jack The Ripper, was truly the devil himself. 

With the killer’s handwritten letter in the police’s hands, the sudden realisation of fear sinks into every single one of you. The killer was going to strike again. And this time, it may be far quicker than the previous cases.

The police had to act quickly. But how on earth are you going to be able to do that when you have nothing to move forward with?

Yes, you have admitted to everyone that you came in contact with the killer face-to-face. But it was too dark to truly make out his facial features while you were on the run trying your best to catch the killer, and Haknyeon experienced the same thing right before you did. 

You were all beginning to sink into your seats, feeling dejected. That is until the forensics member further continues to present his findings from the case.

“We’re lucky this time. The killer was sloppy enough to leave one strand of hair behind.”

You literally almost jumped up from your chair in excitement, like you’ve won the lottery or something. And seemingly the rest of the team does the same. You wasted no time in examining the hair itself, and all of you sure were surprised with what it was. 

It was… blonde. 

Definitely not a colour you would’ve expected especially when all eye-witnesses including yourself have seen nothing but pure black and darkness when you’ve encountered the devil himself.

The forensics team had no time to waste and went straight into beginning the analysing process of the hair strand itself. The process will take at least a good three days, fastest, provided if everything goes well and smoothly throughout the entire procedure. In the meantime, the police have to definitely begin planning their next strategy. 

“So Chief Ayden, do you plan to publish the letter first thing in the morning?” Eric asked the superior man himself even knowing damn well what his answer might be.

“The last thing I wanna do is to send London off in a much more panic state than it already is. And I have definitely learnt it the hard way 30 years ago.”

Exactly. The original Jack The Ripper letter was indeed published in the papers right on the next morning Scotland Yard had received it. It definitely wasn’t the smartest decision the law enforcement has ever made. 

“The letter stays put and is safe in my office. Other than us, nobody else should be aware of the contents and the existence of this threat. Do you hear me?” Chief Ayden has definitely made it loud and clear, and the rest of you agreed with him without any opposition. 

“In the meantime, send more men on patrols around the streets and areas of interest, increase the security while keeping the public safe, especially the prostitutes. Await for my next instructions and continue to gather more intel as you go.” 

“We will make our next big move once we know the identity of the strand of blonde hair.” 

main masterlist

[antoncore]

yeah… i don’t like the heat either, ur right it’s difficult to enjoy things and i am very sensitive to temperature sometimes and have a hard time adjusting so i swear SO much and i just feel gross all the time :(

no pressure to respond with anything really, i’m just rambling but if riize were billionaires living in LA… i totally see someone like eunseok as a property developer.. or sungchan as the CEO of something or other… and i was trying to think about anton and maybe like a big time producer of some kind? like he has his own record label.. there was smth else i was thinking of too but now i’ve forgotten.

thinking of billionaire anton not being as well known for always having girls on his arm… women want him, for sure, but he’s been working on his business mainly, but the he meets you<33 idk

and on a soft note like, anton buying you expensive things, a new dress for every occasion, a new bag just because he loves you<33 taking you to all sorts of events with him because he wants everyone to see how beautiful you are and know how much he adores you<3 and maybe you’ve never really had aspirations before but he’s supportive of getting you started with whatever your heart desires to try! or, you’ve been working hard on your degree but with his support (emotionally and money ofc) you’re able to finally pursue what you’ve been wanting to do!

when he finally proposes to you he’d buy you the biggest ring🤭🤭 it’s so perfect and shiny and you’d have so many people fawning and gaggling and being so jealous of u… you’d have to stay off ur phone a bit to ignore the tabloids talking smack about u and entertaining rumours but it’s fine, you could even have a private getaway to some beach house or cottage with your fiancé in the meantime

and idk on a more nsfw note, people would always be asking (think i got this from another anon but) how you make it fit? anton is sooo big, they just couldn’t imagine😅😅🤧 anton buying you sexy lingerie outfits to wear and wait for him to get home, telling you not to be impatient and touch yourself before he gets there or he won’t be touching you at all… if you do, he makes you finish yourself off while he watches, or makes you ride his thigh and keeps his hands on the bed, just watching you struggle to pleasure yourself

he’d buy you a hi tech panty vibe to wear when you go run errands or when you go out to dinner together, enjoying the way you squirm and shift in your seat, telling you to enjoy your food, don’t be snobby… but you’re sweating and your vision is blurring because you can feel your orgasm approaching fast but it’s at that point that he shuts the toy off completely, your knees bumping against the table making all the plates jump and biting back the groan that threatens to erupt from your throat

i don’t see anton as being that mean all the time but if he knows you like it and want that sometimes, he’d be more than happy to oblige.. he just wants to give you everything you want, even if that means treating you like a filthy slut

- 🧸 anon

i see your visions with the jobs you assigned!!! i see sungchan being a ceo of some tech/healthcare company while eunseok is the city’s most famous property developer.

anton rlly would spoil you, he just wants to shout out that he loves you from the top of his lungs. he would be so supportive no matter what!!! i can envision if you wanted to start up a business (like a cute little coffee shop) he’d help you through each step like looking for the space, planning the interior design, marketing etc. and it would be so successful that you were able to open a couple more branches and he’d be so proud of you!!

and i can so see having a private getaway with after he proposed, he wanted an excuse to get away from all the people talking and he also wanted to spoil you. he’d take you to a luxury resort where you could just relax and be in each other’s presence (and fuck in the hotel room…and the pool…and the hot tub)

speaking of lingerie i rlly believe anton is a fan of white/pastel, i think i’ve discussed this a couple times on here ISNSNSB and imagine if he came home to you using the new wand he got you. he’d just make you continue as he sat on a chair, not really saying much to ensure that you were entirely responsible for your own pleasure :( when you finally decided to give up/when you came, he’d give you a kiss on the forehead and call you his good girl.

and omg he’d be so evil using the panties on you, he loved watching you squirm like a cute little slut :( you’re struggling to even eat or move around and it’s just funny for him to watch you being so pathetic for him!!!

[sharky-the-idiot]

A GUIDE TO CARING FOR YOUR VANILLY

1. Design a pen. This is the most important part of keeping him safe! It must be secure and protected, but with recognisable aspects so it's easier for him to adjust. For example, I like to give him vanillan tiles, white lilies & gravestones for the memories <3

2. Place him in the pen. This one can be tricky! Vanillys enjoy walking, so it can be tough to track them down. This is partially why it's so necessary to keep an eye on them in the pen! Vanillys are very light, so picking them up and gently dropping him inside the pen is typically the preferred method of transport

3. Give him Nourishment. Make sure there are jellyberries in sight, but far enough out of reach that he doesn't eat too many & you can give them to him whenever you deem appropriate :)

4. Assign a guard. Someone focused & strong, who can keep your Vanilly protected & safe. Vanillys, for all their sweetness, unfortunately tend to have lots of enemies, so it's important to keep these away from the pen

5. Give him some company! Vanillys are sociable beings, and thrive with another cookie nearby to talk to. Your guard could double as a companion, but they're typically a little too busy with their job to have time to relax. Vanillys make excellent fathers to stray parentless children, but anyone who he knows and gets on well with is always a good bet too!

In the drastic situation of a Vanilly's escape, it is vital to look over these steps and figure out which has gone wrong. Sometimes, a little tough love is necessary; further limiting contact with (or simply eliminating) those who might help him get out, switching out some of the more comfortable aspects of his pen with practical ones, changing guards due to incompetence. Installing a moat can be helpful, and higher, pointer fences prevent climbing over them. You can also remind him of the dangers the outside world poses by installing the graves of deceased loved ones nearby. Above all else, it's important to identify the problem and find the solution!

Here at Vanilly Pens, we want only what is best for your Vanilly. You can count on us to keep him safe, protected & (eventually) happy. For further information on how to care for these wonderful cookies, please contact @lilacthebooklover on tumblr.com

lilac I love you /p but I am not doing any of that.. my Vanilly is happy as is!!