#Most of the bad luck is their own fault but Still

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!reader. you're a kept pet in the casino, making your way as husk's personal assistant. you've got a good working relationship, but unfortunately he's finding it harder and harder to concentrate around you. the solution is simple if he doesn't want to send you away: he needs to fuck you and those sexy little stockings of yours out of his system. 1.8k

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He doesn’t know how much more he can take of this.

Husk has been distracted. For days now. And an Overlord distracted, in or out of a gamble… it’s far too dangerous for Husk to let it keep happening. He knows better, he really does. And he’s usually far better at keeping control of any given situation. So, why can’t he stop watching you?

It’s not his fault… it’s yours.

Yours, and those fucking stockings you’re wearing.

You’ve been his personal assistant for the last six months – an owned soul tied to his casino and earning your keep running his day-to-day business. Most of the staff here are owned by him, and they ensure that they don’t end up among the chips on the table by doing a good job. And really, he’s had no complaints about you – you’ve done your job well, even seemed to enjoy it. But still, every damn day you’ve come dressed in a short skirt and a button-down and those motherfucking stockings. They shouldn’t be so distracting… nothing about your clothing is overly sinful, especially by Hell’s standards. Occasionally he’ll see a flash of cleavage as you bend over, a sliver of skin above the waistband of the skirt if it comes untucked… nothing more.

But the stockings… they always seem so professional, but when you sit down, he can see the hem of your skirt ride up on your thighs and the lace lining the top of them will be exposed. And despite the fact that Husker can confidently say that he’s just about seen and done it all since he’s arrived in Pentagram City, he hasn’t been able to stop fixating on you since he’s realized you wear thigh-highs.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself as he realizes he’s misplayed another hand, a low growl playing through the back of his throat. You’d just passed the table to set a drink in front of him, and his eyes had turned to that brief glimpse of the swell of your breasts as he’d caught the scent of your perfume. He tosses his cards on the table, tossing back his drink and slumping back in his chair.

He sits like that for a moment, claws circling the rim of the heavy crystal tumbler, his tail twitching back and forth. The other players have sensed the shift in his mood, and even the ones benefitting from his bad luck know better than to comment.

Husk stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, turning his gaze towards you.

“Doll.”

You look up from where you’re standing obediently against the wall.

“I need a word.”

You nod, training your face into a well-practiced mask of professionalism despite your confusion at the sudden request. He stands, waving a hand towards the elevator to his penthouse, and you follow after him without a word. Husk doesn’t say anything until he has you upstairs, and every moment in the ride up has you burning with unspoken tension. You twist your hands together behind your back as your only outward show of nerves. It isn’t often that your Overlord is displeased with you, and even then, he’s never pulled himself away from the table to reprimand you. Hell, you’d started to think that he might even be growing fond of you, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. You were just a pet, after all.

Husk set himself down in a plush, velvet armchair the color of merlot, and you move automatically to the bar in the corner to fix him a drink. He takes it from you with a gruff hum, his claws brushing against your fingers. Husk nods, indicating for you to stand in front of him, and you do so immediately.

His tail is still twitching back and forth by his feet.

Husk watches you over the rim of his glass for a long moment, and something in his gaze makes your insides burn. You swallow, squeezing your thighs together. He notices, and embarrassment floods through you as his gaze drops to your skirt.

“You’re a distraction.”

You blink, surprised. “I’m… sorry, sir?”

He blinks, slowly, taking another sip of his drink. He sets the glass aside. “Do you like your job here, doll?”

“Yes,” you nod, and mean it. You like… spending time with him, even if only to fetch him a drink and manage his schedule with the other Overlords and potential new contracts. And as far as soul contracts go, you'd heard of much worse treatment.

“Good,” he tells you, holding out a paw. You hesitate, confused, before taking it, breath catching as he tugs you closer to him. Your knees are caged in by his own, your shins meeting the edge of the armchair. “I guess that means you’re not distractin’ me durin’ my business on purpose, hm?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t—”

“I didn’t think so,” he continues in that velvet voice of his. You can feel the power of it between your thighs, send a tickle down your spine. “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you, doll?”

You nod, a soft whine slipping past your lips despite yourself.

Husk smiles, huffing a quiet, amused breath. “So, does that mean you’ll do something for me, pet?”

Swallowing, you nod again, just once. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he replies, shifting back against the chair more comfortably. “Then come here, and stand over me.”

The instruction stuns you for a moment, but he doesn’t repeat himself; he just arches a brow expectantly. You do as he asks, toeing off your shoes before letting him retake your hand and help you up onto the armchair. You stand with a foot on either side of him, flushing as you stand with his face set only a few inches lower than your crotch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and your breath hitches as he runs his paws up over the back of your legs, sweeping them from ankle all the way up to your thighs. They settle there, squeezing at them. He watches the way your flesh bulges ever so slightly over the edge of the lace. “Now, lift up your skirt.”

Your hands shake as you do as he commands, eyes squeezing closed as you hear him hum his approval. You feel the cold shock of his nose brush against your inner thigh before his mouth is suddenly against your clothed cunt, and you moan, almost collapsing on top of him.

“Fuck…” he mutters, his tongue tasting you through your underwear. Even dulled by the fabric, the rough texture of it makes your eyes roll back, your hands curling into fists around the skirt you have bunched up by your sides.

Husk’s claws dig into your flesh, an arm banded around each thigh to hold you in place over him, his fangs tear at your panties and he tastes you in earnest, tongue lapping at your clit before dipping into your already dripping hole. He groans against you at the flavor of it, the threads of your stockings popping under his claws. You find yourself rocking your hips against his mouth, the alternating sensations of his cold nose and his rough tongue against your clit making you see stars.

“Fuck, sir,” you moan as you feel one hand move up to clutch at your ass beneath your skirt, and you’re rewarded for the sound by him sucking on your clit. “Fuck!”

“Taste so good,” his voice is muffled against your cunt, the heat of his breath teasing at the slick skin of your inner thighs, and your knees shake. He lets you lean them against his shoulders, and when you dare to curl your fingers in the fur by his ears Husk groans aloud, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood. “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“God…” you whimper, and when he purrs your legs shake beneath you, threatening to collapse out from beneath you. “Please…”

“Hmm…” he sounds, pressing a biting kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above the lace of your stockings. “‘Please’ what, baby?”

“I need… I need…” you whine as he returns his mouth to your cunt, eyes rolling back. “Please can I…”

“Need to say it, pet.” he tells you, the claws on your ass rising further to untuck your shirt and stroke almost absently at the small of your back. It makes you shiver. It drops away then, and you hear the sound of a zipper lowering, the steady sound of his fist stroking at his cock.

“Need to hear you say it,” he continues after a moment, his voice more uneven than before as his own pleasure builds quickly now that he’s finally taken mercy on himself. “Ask your daddy for what you want.”

“Please can I cum, sir?” you choke out, and you swear you can feel him grin against your flesh. “Please, sir, I need…”

Your whole body seizes as you feel a vibration roll from his mouth up into your clit, his dusky voice now layered over the steady thrum of his purring. “Soon, baby… you’re doin’ so good for me. Don’ wanna disappoint me, do you?”

You shake your head, humming a ‘no’, and he rewards you with a deep, rumbling. “That’s my good pet.”

You can barely breathe by the time Husk finally gives you permission to cum, his tongue on your clit as your whole body curls forward above him. You clutch at the back of the chair behind him, white-knuckled, and when you thank him in a shaking, high-pitched whine he cums too, cursing as his head falls back and his hips rise off the cushion. You can feel the warm threads of his cum land on your calf, and the Overlord catches hold of your waist before you can collapse on top of him.

Husk helps you down from the chair onto shaky legs, and he exhales slowly, the mask of detached, professional Overlord returning. He picks up his abandoned drink, raising an eyebrow at you and nodding pointedly down towards his lap. Still, his voice is softer than he intends. “I’ve got a game to get back to, pet.”

You move forward obediently, color flooding your cheeks as you drop to a kneel in front of him and tuck his softening cock back into his pants. He groans lightly at your touch, tossing back the rest of his whiskey as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

He sets the glass aside without looking away, letting himself enjoy the view of you kneeling between his thighs. Your fingers linger against his zipper for a long moment before you remember to pull them away.

“Get yourself cleaned up, doll. You’ve got twenty minutes before you’re expected back downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Husk watches you rise and pull your skirt back down over the lace of your stockings. His eyes never leave you as you do as he ordered and exit the room, and he heaves a long sigh once you’re gone. He closes his eyes tight, raising a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

“…Fuck.”

[the-laws-of-physics-were-harmed]

I love Fallen London because I'm just going between the Empress's Court and my social engagements alternating between writing symphonies and sleeping for hours straight to get my wounds down low enough that I won't die of music written in a language that music Should Not Be Written In (because no I will not stop)

[thestoryofusstan]

Uptown Girl

pairing: fashion designer!harry x younger!fashion designer!reader

summary: you’re working in a designer boutique, and just so happen to have a late entrance when world-renowned designer harry styles visits for a collaboration. he seems to take a liking to you, and you aren’t sure if that makes you relieved or more anxious

warnings: some cursing, not edited as usual

-

harry styles was a well-known name. ceo and founder of pleasing, a nail polish and perfume company. he also owned many other companies, but really, there were too many to keep track of. he was also, most importantly, one of the biggest fashion icons.

you were very familiar with him— had saved up every penny when you were younger to buy a pleasing perfume and now owned a very small collection of their nail polishes.

so, of course, you lost your shit when you found out he’d be coming into your job.

you were a fashion design major at nyu, and had gotten a job at a very esteemed designer (not one of the name brands, but still). although you did expect the job to have more opportunities to.. actually design fashion, you were still grateful nonetheless.

it was just your luck that the day that harry styles was coming in, you were late. it wasn’t your fault! really, it wasn’t! you were always on time because you got anxious at the mere thought of being late.

by the time you parked, you practically ran to the store, silently praying you wouldn’t break a leg as you were running in heels.

“i’m not late am i?” you ask breathlessly as you finally enter the store, fixing your hair and outfit.

you had curled your hair the night before, so they were still pretty much intact. your outfit consisted of black heels, brown dress pants, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck.

“yes, y/n. you are late,” your boss gave you a look, and you knew you’d be in trouble. “mr. styles, i am so sorry. our employs are.. usually punctual.”

your head snaps over to look in the direction she was talking, and your heart drops when you make eye contact with harry styles.

great.

“mr. styles, i am so sorry,” you apologize.

“it’s perfectly alright,” he gives a kind smile.

that makes you feel a bit better.

“y/n, a word in my office please.”

you deflate as you look back to your boss and follow her to her office

the second the door is closed, she’s chewing you out.

“how unprofessional can you be? i know you are in college, but jesus christ!”

“i’m sorry! there was so much traffic, and my car is so old it stops working if i go faster than 50, and—“

“i don’t need excuses,” she cuts you off. “i need you to be more professional.”

you inhale, “i am sorry, but it was not my fault. i have never once been late before, and you know that. it was a one-time mistake.”

“it better be.”

she walks out and slams the door to the office, leaving you alone in there.

you look up to the ceiling as you bite your lip and try not to cry.

after taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you walk back out into the otherwise empty store and slap a smile on your face.

you do your usual tasks of tidying the store and fixing the mannequins.

mr. styles, his team, and your boss (her name was diane but she was more like satan) were all working on sketching designs and throwing some fabrics onto the mannequins to get a rough idea of what they wanted.

“i don’t know if i like it,” mr. styles murmurs, staring at the mannequin. you glace over at it and have to force yourself to not make a face.

no shit, he didn’t like it. it was bad.

the sketch was good, but the color combination was all wrong and the whole thing was too.. chunky. in the way that everything was flowy and baggy, so it had no shape.

“well, what do you not like about it?” diane asks.

“i’m not sure. it doesn’t look quite right.”

“you have to fix the shape,” you say to yourself as you fix the files of custom orders to be done.

“what was that?”

your head snaps up, and you realize he heard you.

“oh. uh.. i was just—“

“talking to herself,” diane interrupts, glaring at you. “she’s an intern. don’t mind her.”

“no, i’d like to hear what she has to say. might have the answer to our issue. let’s hear it— what was your name again?”

“y/n l/n,” you squeak out.

“well, y/n, what do you think is wrong?”

you hesitantly walk over, “well.. i can see the idea. but it’s just not.. executed well. the whole thing is too flowy.”

“isn’t the point for it to flow?” he asks, raising a brow.”

“it is,” you answer quickly, “but.. there has to be something that isn’t as.. baggy, i suppose. something has to be tight-fitting. it doesn’t have any shape. it just kinda.. looks like a box.”

he stares at you for a moment, and diane clears her throat.

“y/n, this is time for the professionals. get back to—“

“no, diane. she is.. she’s right. it does need shape.”

at his words, the people around him begin to pin it differently.

“and the colors,” you rush out. “the colors don’t.. it’s supposed to be a statement piece, right?”

“that’s the goal,” he nods.

“well.. the colors are too.. light. they’re more pastel, which is fine, but for it to really be a statement, it’s better to use brighter ones. or at least make one of them brighter. i would.. i think make the base the brighter one.”

diane looks ready to kill you.

mr. styles laughs, “well, don’t you know a lot? diane, where did you find her? wish my interns knew half as much as her.”

your face grows hot.

“she’s a student,” diane sighs.

“a student?” he asks.

“i… uh.. i study fashion at nyu. fashion design— i’m in my last year.”

he seems to sense that you're damn near about to shit your pants, because he grins at you (slightly patronizing, but also kind), before turning back to diane.

"i'd like her to be with me for the rest of the project. y/n, darling, how much are y'makin' here?"

your stutter, "uh--... $15 an hour."

he tuts his tongue like that's horrible, "i'll pay.. ten times that while y'workin' with me."

your eyes widen, "wh-- that's not-- you don't have to--"

"nonsense. it's what most people i work with start with. i'll up it if needed, of course. and you obviously don't have to, but i'd love your insight."

"i-- no, i-- i'd love to, i.."

"great," he grins, and you're extremely dizzy. what the hell was going on?

"uh.. mr. styles, if i may give my opinion," diane pipes up.

"you may," he eyes her skeptically.

"y/n is a student. she's still learning, and she's never worked on anything here. it's very risky to--"

he cuts her off by asking you a question, "have you designed things? sketched 'em out and all that?"

you nod.

"i'd hope you've also done the whole... actually sewing things together and really making them?"

you nod again.

he turns back to diane, "seems like she's got experience," he looks back to you, "do y'have photos of any of those?"

"yeah-- they're.. i think i left them in my car. i have photos on my phone."

"we'll meet later to look at all that, then. i'll give you my number later. for now.. i'd like your input on our other ideas."

-

for the rest of the day, you follow harry around, and you sort of feel like a lost puppy just following him around and answering when he asks something of you.

after a while, you got more comfortable giving your input without being prompted, but you always tiptoed around what you were really trying to get at in fear that you'd anger him.

at the end of day, he put your number in his phone with the promise that he'd text you later about more details.

-

the text came three days later.

From: (Maybe): Harry

Hello, Y/N. This is Harry. Would you be free to meet tomorrow at noon to discuss the details of the project? Please bring your sketches and any photos of designs you've done, and anything else you feel necessary.

To: Harry Styles

Hi! I should be free tomorrow, yeah. Where do you want to go?

From: Harry Styles

I'll let you decide.

To: Harry Styles

There is this one coffee shop named Maman?

Sent Location: 239 Centre St, New York, NY

From: Harry Styles

Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Have a nice rest of your day.

To: Harry Styles

You too!

-

you spend the rest of your night fretting about what to wear. you were stuck in between classy but not too fancy, but also not too casual. comfy, but not so comfy that you looked like you didn't give a shit. but also not so uncomfortable that you were, well, uncomfortable, and looked like you were trying too hard.

you'd eventually settled for something simple. long, light-wash denim skirt, a plain black top, and some mary janes. you tied some of your hair back with a white ribbon, did some natural makeup, and called it a day.

you got to the coffee shop at 11:45 and ordered your drink, as well as a chocolate croissant.

harry walked in at exactly 12:00, and grinned when he saw you sitting at a table, scrolling on your phone with a manilla folder and sketchbook beside you.

-

really, you can't blame him! you were pretty, he'd have to be blind to not know that. and really, you weren't that much younger than him.

he's 29, and you're 23. he's not a stalker, he just did a background check like any good business person would do.

so what he finds you cute? the relationship would be strictly professional. besides, you deserved a break from your horrible boss. contrary to what diane thought, the walls were not soundproof, and he could hear her chewing you out.

sure, he'd done that to one of his employees once or twice, but it was always deserved, and never on the first time of being late. that was ridiculous.

"good morning, y/n," he greets. your head snaps up to make eye contact and he has to force himself to not laugh. he wasn't laughing at you, per se. it was more so the fact that he found it amusing how jumpy you seemed around him.

"good morning. did you order?"

"not yet. never been here, so i've got no clue what's good."

you open your mouth to respond, but the barista calls out, "large iced honey lavender latte with a pain au chocolat for y/n!"

you give a sheepish smile and run up to retrieve your food and drink. when you come back, you take a sip of your drink and set what looks to be a chocolate croissant down on the table.

"well, i'm more of an iced coffee girl. and i also don't really like the taste of coffee, so i've got a bunch of sugar in mine. what do you usually drink?"

"'m more of a black coffee, to be honest. iced is fine, but hot's better."

you wrinkle your nose, "i don't know how you stand the taste of coffee. it's so bitter."

"better than what you've got!" he laughs, "might as well just down a sugar packet."

you giggle at his teasing, "only psychos drink plain black coffee. this," you hold up your drink, "is so much better."

"oh, is it now?"

"yes, it is," you cross your arms proudly.

"lemme have a taste."

you hand over the drink, and he takes a small sip before coughing, "christ, y/n! that cannot be good for your health!"

"hey, i'm still alive, aren't i?" you shrug.

“that you are.”

“well… just ask for an americano, i guess. the rest of their drinks are kinda sugary and fun.”

he got his drink, and once the both of you were sat down, he got to business.

“so, how long have you been designing?”

“i’ve been doing it since middle school. i.. uh.. i saw that one american girl doll movie. where she was a designer. and i just got obsessed. obviously they weren’t good, but…”

“so you’ve got a lot of experience then?”

you nod. he grins.

“may i see the sketches?”

you grab the folder off the top of the sketchbook and pass it over to him.

he flips through it in silence for a few minutes, and you anxiously nibble at the skin around your fingernails.

“..so?” you ask.

“they’re great. really, you’ve got talent. i can’t draw for shit, so you’ve got me beat,” he laughs.

you laugh with him, “most of those are just ideas, i’ve never made them. but i have photos of the ones i have made. i printed them so it’s easier.”

you pass over the manilla folder, and he opens it to look at all the photos you’d printed out. there was around fifty— those were just the ones you actually liked and were confident showing.

he holds one up, and your cheeks flush. “why’s this the only one where you’re the model?” he asks.

“that was.. uh.. that’s my senior prom dress.”

his eyes widen, giving you an impressed look, “you made your own prom dress?”

you nod, “i just wanted something very specific, so.. i figured i’d just make it myself.”

“y’look great— the dress looks great,” he coughs. “you’re very talented.”

“thank you,” you blush.

“so tell me why someone as talented as you is working in diane’s shop not designing a single thing?”

“i didn’t realize that was the job. i just got excited when my professor told me they were interested in my work, so i took the job. i thought i’d at least do a little designing, but.. it pays.. decent, though.”

he scoffs, “darling, 15 bucks an hour is not decent pay. that’s what you make being a hostess. you’re an artist. someone would pay thousands of dollars for just your sketches.”

“i don’t think i’m that good—“

“you are,” he’s firm. resolute. there is no room for argument with him. “i think you’ll be a great asset to the project. i could use your… talent. i’ll send you an email with the nitty gritty details. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

and with that, he stands and leaves, leaving you to sit there, dumbfounded, confused, and grinning.

-

a/n: guys i have too many series going on 😭😭

[astonmartingf]

NEW PERSPECTIVE ; FA14

fernando alonso x photo journalist!reader

. . . twenty years into his career, alonso faced a lot of changes. but it was all because of you, that he looked forward to at the end of everything.

amgf 2.8k words. implied mentions of spygate, rumors, other controversies, accidents and more. slightly realistic? i cried writing this— made me in awe of fernando as a driver even more. enjoy 👍

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

[2005]

Is Fernando selfish?

He could say that to himself, it doesn’t matter to him what other people thought of him. At the end of the day, they’re just here to race.

He’s aware of it, if it weren’t for his skills and passion he wouldn’t have come this far— a young boy from Spain, dreaming to make it to the top. It didn’t seem like reality four years ago, yet here he is.

Standing on top of his car in parc ferme, the crowd cheering him on as his engineers flood through from the garage to greet him. The sun shining down on him— celebrating his win, it felt as if he was back at home in Spain, under the protection of his helmet he could see the entourage of people crowding him.

People as far as his eye can see, but it’s all a blur— to Fernando this was everything he dreamed of and more. It peeved him that he didn’t win the Brazilian Grand Prix, but winning the World Championship was even better.

His shoulders held high hugging every Renault engineer he could find, it was history. He will be a part of history- no. Fernando Alonso made history. And this was just the beginning.

[2007]

Where did things go wrong?

Exactly two years ago, Fernando was on cloud nine. The only thing he’s getting to the nines is stress. As much as he hates to admit he was intimidated to be one-upped by a rookie at that.

It’s his ego that’s eating him alive, nonetheless Fernando is still proud. If he has his head high, nothing could ever stop him.

It scares him, the monster growing inside him, but what else can he do? In this sport, one can either hunt or be hunted. If he had to use tricks up his sleeve, why wouldn’t he?

It’s nothing personal, Hamilton just happened to be there, his only mistake was thinking that the rookie won’t retaliate. In hindsight, he’d gladly accept P2 over his teammate.

Fernando may have an egotistical and dubious character but he wasn’t blind to the young man’s skills. But it was also a mirror and testament to his own, if Hamilton could do it, what’s his reason not to deliver?

Thinking back on his phone call with the team principal, he should’ve immediately told the FIA instead of ratting himself out. Now he has to face the consequences of his actions, deciding to do better, Alonso ultimately leaves the team.

[2008]

He must be a penchant for bad luck, this time Fernando knows it wasn’t his fault.

It annoyed him that controversy seemed to follow him wherever he went. “Are you Fernando Alonso? Is it real you tried to kill your teammate? What can you say in response to the rumors circulating about you?”

Joder!

“Fernando Alonso? Do you have time for an interview?”

Alonso wasn’t one to be caught off-guard, but for the first time he stood frozen, in shock. Glancing around the area, Alonso stepped forward nodding towards the interviewer. He’d been dealing with stupid questions all day long, what’s another one gonna change with his mood right?

“I’m YN LN interviewer for Formula One Herald. As someone who has witnessed you win the championship back in 2005 and 2006, what are your plans in securing the most points possible?”

Wrong.

Now Fernando is truly caught off guard. Wary off your question, overthinking and analyzing hidden meanings behind it. Alonso didn’t think of himself as calculative, he’s simply observant and protective of his space. Knowing how easily one’s words could be twisted into a narrative.

Fernando stares at you, Surely you’re not the type to work for meager clicks on the webs?

It was silent for the next few minutes.

“Sir Alonso? I’m sorry for taking your time, you can go ahead if you don’t want to answer.”

Somehow you managed to catch Fernando’s attention even more, “I thought journalists were supposed to be persuasive? You’re just letting me go without getting a scoop of the news?”

Fernando’s eyes widened, hearing you laugh at his words, he didn’t think of himself as funny, maybe it’s one of their tactics. To know one’s information you must soften them a bit, his expression only hardens ultimately catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh- I guess I’m just nervous since it’s my first time actually being dispatched on field. I used to take pictures on the sidelines- I even took one of yours when you won back in 2005, it was such a nice memory. I remember fighting a lot of reporters to catch a glimpse of you, I managed to take one and it was chosen as the front and center photo of one famous magazine! Hopefully you win more races and podiums, you make it fun and exciting. Speaking as a fan and not some journalist, I’m rooting for you- I must’ve been rambling for a while, thank you for sparing me your time, don’t worry this will all go off the record just for you. Have a nice race week.”

The air must’ve felt it too, because since then things have changed.

Fernando was left alone watching your back disappear from the crowd.

The moment things were finally looking better for him.

[2012]

“Sir Alonso!”

The voice from afar alone caused Fernando to look around for the familiar voice in the paddock. Somehow he’s been always keen on answering your questions or setting up time for interviews, often extending them for an absurd amount of time as what his manager said.

It’s not biased if your questions are the only thing interesting. That or it could be your magnetic presence, he could feel your passion beaming through as you asked him intricate questions none that he experienced before. 

Another telltale sign is you’re the only one who calls him “Sir Alonso”, thinking back on his first meeting with you, it definitely came as a shock. Despite all the formality, he’s taken a liking to the name only you call him.

It makes him feel respected and more importantly it makes him feel like he has a special relationship with you. Walking through the crowd, he spots you at one of the tables waving your cards in the air, like a bait to lure him into your trap.

Not that he minds, if he had to spend the next hour talking about how the season wrapped, he’d rather talk to you about it. Smiling unknowingly, Fernando rubs the palms of his hands on his red tracksuit. 

Was he nervous to talk to you? No. It’s all about racing, a topic Alonso is fond of, but is your presence rubbing him off? I guess he could say that. All the thoughts in his head buzzing, what should he say? What should he do? How should he act in front of you.

Fernando never thought of himself to be as calculative, but the need to impress you has astounded him even more.

“Fernando Alonso, congratulations on finishing P2 for the season. It’s exciting to see you on and off the track now that the season is over.” 

He could feel himself beaming at the sound of your voice, it’s like you infected him with your insurmountable enthusiasm. Alonso liked that about you, no need for snarky remarks, or hidden agendas behind your question, you were always talking about the sport, yet somehow your spark never seemed to fade away.

And as much as you like to praise him, he’s slowly in the making for one of your biggest fans. Not that he will admit that to you himself.

“YN, it’s always a delight talking to you.” Grabbing your hand for a handshake, Fernando pulls you in for a hug without thinking. Immediately pulling away, Alonso’s thoughts began firing, overthinking the previous interaction.

His doubt was erased once he saw the smile on your face, happiness reaching the corners of your eyes. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, this is becoming a thing isn’t it?”

A thing. What thing? Fernando raises his brows asking for more context, maybe he’s overthinking it again or confused, maybe he didn’t hear you properly, totally not distracted just by being in your personal space.

“Post-season interviews? It’s always nice to catch up and look back on the season, especially this one P2. Congratulations Alonso…” Your voice drowns out into the background.

It was another turning point in Fernando Alonso’s life, and somehow this was all because of you. Only realizing then that he’d rather sit down for what seems like the longest time in his life, talking to you, not just about his racing but about your own life. He realized that he’d never catch himself doing this with other interviewers, and this was your thing.

Fernando liked that.

It’s nice to catch up and look back on the season with you.

[2016]

Lucky to be alive. Lucky. To be. Alive.

It only dawned on him what happened then. Fernando sat in silence next to you, from the corner of his eyes, he could see you tidying up the small things you prepared for the interview. Alonso felt vulnerable, it’s been a while since he’s experienced such a crash.

“I should leave you to rest, hmm?” Raising his head, Fernando meets your eyes full of concern or at least that’s how he sees it. In a spur of the moment, Alonso shakes his head ‘no’.

“Can you stay for a while?” Fernando avoids your eyes, halfway in regret from being unable to control himself. To his surprise, you drop your papers sitting down next to him.

“Do you want to talk as a friend?”

A friend.

Fernando stays quiet before nodding his head.

And just like how you do all the time, just being by your side Fernando could feel himself slowly getting better. Letting himself let go of all the thoughts and worries in his head. If not now, when?

When will he have another chance to spend time with you? Not just as a friend.

It was the second time he felt it change.

[2019]

“Congratulations Alonso!”

The corner of Fernando’s lips curl up to a smile watching you approach him closer, opening his arms, catching you in his arms. If he wasn’t already feeling better with his win, having you here by his side is even more enjoyable.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come here. Sick of the F1 Paddock?” Fernando inquisitively asked, he expected you to reply politely for support, but what he didn’t expect is for you to suddenly grow balls.

“Honestly it’s boring without you there. Why would I go when you’re here?”

Or were you always so straightforward that he didn’t notice it? Stunned. 

It was always a surprise with you, not that he minded it didn’t matter what you would’ve said, Alonso would gladly listen to you. “When did you arrive?” Clearing his throat, trying to not get your words to affect him as much as he wants to.

“Oh, I’ve been watching since yesterday, I stayed in one of the tents.” 

And there goes Alonso, surely if you had looked further into his eyes, you could see his heart doing somersaults and cartwheels. Is this your effect on him? He wasn’t that aware, but now it’s slightly concerning for him to be acting this way in front of you.

You simply stunned him. And Alonso wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s surprising how I managed to hide from you, to be honest my self-control isn’t that good-”

I’m sure yours is better… if only you knew mine, Alonso thought, lips curling into a smile.

“But somehow I thought, wouldn't it be better to surprise you in the end? If you win then it’ll be a surprise and a celebration. Just like now! I took so many photos of you, you want to see?”

Fernando didn’t notice you moving closer to him, showing him the photos you took of him. 

“And if I lost? What would happen then?” A smirk grows in his face, feeling proud to put you into the corner, but Fernando should know by now that you will always have the upper hand. Especially when it comes to you.

“Oh, I planned on giving you a big kiss, comfort you and take you out for dinner. But isn’t it good that you won?”

The way Fernando’s face fell at the thought of getting a kiss from you sounded a lot better than winning.

Joder! I’d rather kiss YN than win… Is this where I’m at now? 

“What a shame that I won then, are kisses only for losers?” Fernando ought to shut up, but he just can’t let you win, taking blow after blow he’s been hit hard where it hurts. His ego and what could’ve been a kiss from you.

As if you couldn’t surprise him more, Fernando stood frozen watching you move closer to him, hands wrapped on both of his cheeks. He could feel the coldness of your hands against the warmth of his cheeks, pressing a small kiss on the side of his face totally catching him off guard.

“Winners get one kiss. Losers get two.” 

Fernando can’t help but burst out laughing, eliciting the same to you laughing along with the sound of his laughter. “What?”

Alonso shakes his head, face red from the blushing, laughing, or just being in the same proximity as you. You’re full of surprises, he’ll give you that, but he completely surprises himself in the end.

Fighting the urge to kiss you then and there, Fernando settles on grabbing your hands, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go on that dinner you were talking about.”

[2021]

Getting out of his seat, Fernando immediately looks around for you. The energy, adrenaline, and excitement fueling him. Walking towards his team waiting for him by the barricades cheering, yet his eyes linger towards you.

Behind a camera with a wide smile on your face, Alonso waves as you mirror his movements. It’s as if time had stopped, as you capture his moments, Fernando has already ingrained you in his mind.

Coming back to Formula One wasn’t easy. He had sacrifices to make, but seeing the warmth and familiarity of your face around the track. He kept his shoulders up.

Now more stable than ever, his sacrifices, priorities, and privilege will all be tested as the season comes to an end. Nevertheless, Fernando is grateful to have you by his side.

It’ll only be the beginning for more changes to come, and with you by his side, there’s nothing stopping him now.

[2023]

“You're back with the interviews?” Fernando sits at the other side of the table overlooking the view of the yacht dock.

“My favorite driver is on the grid, so why not. I thought this was our thing?” Fernando watches as you prepare the papers in front of you, head tilting, focused doing your own things. Sitting back and letting you do your magic, Fernando grabs one of your cameras.

You were always behind the lens of your beloved camera, Alonso remembered you saying to him that this was one of your oldest cameras. You also gave Fernando free reign in using your camera, he wasn’t aware of the magnitude of you letting him use your camera, but knowing how special it is to you, Alonso knew to handle it with care.

Fernando turned on the camera immediately looking for the photos you took in them. He has an inkling of the contents inside them, but what he didn’t expect was the overwhelming amount of photos you have of him.

Going as far back as 2003, photos of him in his first win in Hungary, photos of him in podiums, smiling, some showcasing his losses, photos of him with past teammates and in various uniforms.

The feeling dawned on him, you’ve been there from the start, watching him through the lens. Seeing himself from your eyes, Alonso was taken aback at the photos. As if you couldn’t sweep him off his feet even more, learning this about you even made him fall in love with you more than he already is.

“Why are you crying?” 

Your voice breaks his train of thought, blinking away the moisture poling into his eyes. Alonso isn’t one to be emotional, but seeing your love flow through the pictures from the screen, fills his heart heavy with emotion.

Wiping his tears, Alonso places the camera back on the table. “I never thought I would feel this way about these…” Fernando watches you shuffle around, dropping everything as you move beside him.

“I remember telling you about these photos. They’re all about you.”

Alonso nods his head, still deep in thought, beyond belief at his love for you, ever growing every single day.

“I never saw myself like this… how you capture my every moment, through the good and bad. I feel loved, and I love you.” Fernando, professing his love for you. Truly, one of the best seasons.

You allowed him to see himself in a different light, different from what the media says, the roles he played in the sport, a conniving villain. You allowed him to see himself in a new perspective.

amgf death of a bachelor comes to a close. thank you for supporting the series this far, i laughed, cried and felt a rollercoaster of emotions writing this. i hope you enjoy this, until the next series <3

[stellamancer]

hey lonely stranger (won't you meet my eye?) — reader x satoru gojo

notes: yes, hello, here it is, the infamous lonely stranger fic. i mentioned the idea a couple months back to @willowser i thought i'd write it after finishing shine on the sea, but as usual, where gojo is concerned i'm eating my words. title comes from this song. i apologize for me love of weeb music. anyway. i hope you enjoy.

contains: fem!reader (no pronouns, no physical description), typical annoying satoru gojo antics, the faintest hint of possessive/jealous gojo, unresolved romantic tension, allusions to canon typical violence

wc: 6.4k [ao3 link; account required]

There are a lot of places where you’d expect to run into Satoru Gojo.

A match-making party is most definitely not one of them.

First of all, why is he even here? You have no doubt that the world’s strongest sorcerer has much more important things to do than attend a match-making party. Not that he even needs to in the first place. Even without the status and the prestige that his family name brings, his looks alone are more than enough to get people to throw themselves at his feet. That being said, his personality is definitely off-putting enough to make some marriage candidates run the other way. So, who knows, maybe he does need help finding a spouse after all.

You grimace, watching in real time as some of the bolder participants make a beeline toward him, eager to mingle with objectively the most attractive man in the room before the event officially begins. Even from your spot across the hotel ballroom you can see him basking in all the attention. Maybe that’s the real reason why he’s here.

After all, there’s no one who owns the limelight like Satoru Gojo.

Even though it is nothing new to you, there’s something about watching all these people fawn over him that makes you sick to your stomach. You tell yourself it’s because they’re being fooled by him and his offensively handsome face and not because you’re upset that he’s here.

You were actually kind of looking forward to this match-making party, but now you’re annoyed and it's all Gojo’s fault. You’ll have to avoid him as much as you can. It shouldn’t be too hard later on when everyone is free to converse with whoever they want, but before that is the speed dating portion. It’s an unfortunate inevitability that you will have to sit across from Satoru Gojo for two minutes of the hour-long speed-dating session, but maybe you’ll be lucky and maybe he’ll be one of the last, if not the last person for you.

In hindsight, you feel like you should have known better than to hope that luck would have your back when it’s always, always favored Satoru Gojo.

At first, you think it's merciful, sparing you from having to deal with him first. It would have really sucked for you to go through all your speed-dates in a Gojo-induced bad mood. But as he comes closer and closer one two minute interval at a time, you start to wish that you'd started with him first, and just gotten it out of the way.

Despite the threat of Satoru Gojo looming over your head, you do your best to focus on the people who come to your table. Two minutes is not a lot of time at all. Some seem to realize that and try to squeeze as much talking as they can in that amount of time. Some are paralyzed by it; awkwardly floundering for the hundred twenty seconds given to them. There are a couple people that you manage to enjoy a nice, albeit short, conversation with. Despite that, you still find yourself sneaking glances in Gojo's direction, hyper aware of the dwindling number of people sitting between you.

The man sitting before you now, Tasuke Tomoda, you think his name is, leans in toward you and gestures for you to do the same. He's the last person separating you from Gojo and he's been pretty pleasant so far, so you do as he asks and move a little bit closer to him.

"So, uh, I've noticed that you keep looking over there." His voice is barely audible as he inclines his head just slightly in Gojo's direction. “At him.”

You inhale sharply. This guy is the first one who’s noticed, or, at least, the first who's decided to say anything about it. You feel a bit ashamed to have been caught, especially when you thought you’d been discreet.

Just as you’re about to offer an apology, Tomoda adds, “I’m not mad or anything. I mean… he’s quite the looker, isn’t he?”

Before you can stop it, you grimace and Tomoda catches it, his eyes widening in obvious surprise. “You don’t think so?”

You don’t need to think so; you know so— for as long as you have been unfortunate to know him, Satoru Gojo has taken great pleasure in flaunting his good looks whenever possible. You scowl and admit, your voice an annoyed sort of murmur, “His looks are fine, I guess, but his personality…”

You don't know where to begin and you don't know if you should.

Tomoda’s gaze flits toward Gojo and he moves even closer, whispering so quiet that nobody else can hear. “...yeah, he does kinda look like an asshole, doesn’t he?”

You reel backwards, laughing so loud that everyone else can hear. Embarrassment flashes throughout your entire body when you realize that both couples on either side of you have gone completely silent and four pairs of eyes are now on you and Tomoda. Oops. Immediately, the both of you bow your heads in unison to one couple, then the next (with you taking great care to not look at Gojo).

Once their conversations resume, you give Tomoda an apologetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout that."

"It's fine!" Tomoda gives you a good natured sort of chuckle. "I'm just glad to have gotten a laugh out of you."

You blink, confused. "Why?"

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and you think it’s kind of cute. “Well, it’s just that I think—"

You lean in.

"—that you're really—"

The bell signifying to change partners echoes throughout the event hall, startling Tomoda out of whatever he was going to say.

Has it really been two minutes already?

Tomoda starts to rise to switch seats, but he looks conflicted, like he still wants to say his piece.

"Wait," you tell him and you're not sure if it's because you want to delay Gojo's inevitable arrival or because you actually want to know what Tomoda was going to say.

He stops, his mouth half open. Tomoda stares and you see the hesitation swimming in his eyes. It only lasts a second though and his mouth shuts as he makes his decision. He takes a deep breath and—

"Excuse me!"

Your stomach lurches at the sound of the playful voice you know far, far too well. Tomoda looks like his soul is about to leave his body rather than his words. Slowly, reluctantly, you both turn your heads to look at the interloper.

You’d tried not to pay too close attention to Gojo when he’d walked in, but with him practically in your face right now, your eyes can’t seem to help but be drawn in. It feels like he really went all out tonight. His suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his long legs and slender yet built figure. The colors compliment his pale, flawless skin, his snow white hair and his infamous sky blue eyes. Gojo’s entire look is completed with a pair of sunglasses, over which he’s peering down at you and Tomoda.

There’s something about the amused glow in those dumb eyes of his that manages to royally pisses you off. You scowl at him, but he ignores you, his expression unchanging as he directs his attention to Tomoda.

"It's my turn now, you know," Gojo points out and while his tone is friendly enough, both you and Tomoda can clearly hear what Gojo is actually saying.

Leave.

"Right! I'm really sorry about that!" Tomoda exclaims as he basically leaps out of his seat and scrambles over to the next table. His table mate stares— not just at Tomoda, but at you and Gojo as well. You can feel the pair on the other side staring too.

Fucking Gojo.

He is completely and unwholly unbothered as he plops down in the seat opposite you, a self-satisfying smile plastered to his face. Annoyed, you cross your arms over your chest and huff, “Did you really need to cause a scene?”

“Hey, you started it,” Gojo says with a chuckle. “Actually, I think you were so loud that everyone heard.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, throwing your most venomous glare in Gojo’s direction, hoping that, for once in his damn life he listens.

Naturally, he doesn’t.

“So, what’d that guy say that was so funny?” Gojo’s tone is casual, almost nonchalant as he leans in your direction. He reaches up with one hand to adjust his glasses, pulling them down just enough to reveal the shocking blue of his eyes staring you down.

You know he means to disarm you this way, to make you spill, but you manage to hold your ground. “Who knows? That’s between me and him.”

Gojo tilts his head to the side, still smiling as he responds. “Oh? You into that guy?”

“And if I was?” you ask, your words nearly a challenge. In all honesty, you don’t know if you can say if you’re into Tomoda or not. He’s certainly made the biggest impression out of everyone you’ve talked to so far and you wouldn’t be against hitting him up during the free talk section of the event. Who knows? Maybe you just need to talk to him a little more to find out.

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s not going to work out.”

“You don’t know that,” you shoot back, feeling defensive because Gojo doesn’t know. There’s no way he could. His stupid Six Eyes can see a lot of things, but the future is not one of them.

“I do actually,” Gojo responds simply. His voice is even, with none of his characteristic smugness woven in. That being said, you think you catch the meaning in his words and it angers you even more. Just because you’re a sorcerer that doesn’t mean your dating pool needs to be confined to the members of jujutsu society. You know a few sorcerers who have dated, and even married non-sorcerers.

“Wrong! You don’t know anything,” you insist viciously and if you were anywhere else you’d be just about ready to start throwing punches. You’ve never beaten Gojo in a fight (except maybe once, but you don’t count that because you know he threw that fight), but he’s always down to brawl with you.

“I happen to know plenty of things,” Gojo grins at you, pleased and you watch, in real time, as his delight turns devious. “Like I know that you were checkin’ me out earlier.”

Your entire body heats up and you’re not quite sure if it’s from rage or embarrassment. Another eyeful of the smirk on Gojo’s face is enough for you to decide that it must be rage. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Gojo teases, infuriatingly gleeful in his retort. “I totally get it, and it’s completely okay if you want to tell me how sexy I look tonight.”

“Hell no!” you almost yell, ignoring the growing heat in your stomach. Has it been two minutes yet? There’s no way that this clown’s time isn’t up yet. You glance at the big timer the event’s organizers have set up and… you still have half a minute with this fool.

It’s going to be the longest thirty seconds of your goddamn life.

“Come on,” Gojo nudges at you in that playful tone of his, seemingly determined to use every second he has to annoy you. “Don’t you want to tell me?”

“For someone as confident as you claim to be, you sure are desperate for validation,” you dead pan.

He ignores you. “Okay, okay, since you're feeling shy, I'll go ahead and say it: Satoru Gojo is the hottest guy here!"

You think you're going to hurl from all the second hand embarrassment. It's not like it's unnatural for Gojo to be so unashamedly confident but at an event like this you think it's probably a big no-no. "Gojo?"

“Yes?” He sounds chipper, like he thinks you’re going to compliment him after all, but when it comes to Gojo, you live to disappoint.

“Why the hell are you even here?” you ask in exasperation. Gojo has fifteen or so seconds left but you figure you might as well get something out of this exchange with him, “I doubt someone like you has a need to come to things like this, so why?”

A surprised look flashes across Gojo’s features, but he quickly conceals it behind a mischievous smirk. "You jealous?"

He punctuates his question with a wink and you roll your eyes. "As if.”

“Uh huh.”

Five seconds left. “Maybe the jealous one here is actually you.”

You don’t entirely mean it when you say it; you really intend to make one last dig at Gojo before he moves on to the next person. Plus, you don’t even really think it’ll affect him all that much, things like that never really do. At least, you’ll get the last word here.

Or that’s what you think. You should have known better.

Gojo flashes a smile at you and for a few seconds you completely forget what breathing is. You’re used to playful smiles and teasing smiles, but the look that he’s giving you right now is different somehow. There’s something about the curve of his lips, about the borderline gentle glimmer of his crystalline eyes that sets your heartbeat into a frenzy.

Just as you remember how to breathe, he speaks, stealing your breath away all over again, “Who knows. Maybe I am.”

The bell finally rings, telling you that your two minutes with Satoru Gojo are now over, but you barely even register it— your eyes fixed on the man before you.

Just like Tomoda, before him, Gojo lingers, and he looks almost a little pleased with himself. The familiar expression snaps you out of your stupor and you glower at him, shooing him away like he’s unwanted.

Like you don’t want him to stay.

Like you don’t want to ask him what in the world was all that about.

Because you don’t, you really don’t. There’s no need to, you tell yourself. It’s just another one of the whacky mind games Gojo likes to play with you.

But even as the next person sits down across from you, you can’t get the look on Gojo’s face out of your mind. Even as they introduce themselves, the only thing you hear are Gojo’s last words.

“Who knows. Maybe I am.”

That’s crazy talk. He had to be fucking with you because there’s no way. No way that Satoru Gojo, of all people, would feel jealous.

Even though you know that, you can’t get what he said out of your mind and before you know it, the speed dating section of the match-making event is over and you don’t remember a damn thing about anyone who came after Gojo.

You’re annoyed. You’re so fucking annoyed that you wasted so much damn time thinking about that stupid blue eyed bastard, but it’s fine. It’s completely and totally fine, because you still have the free talk session. If you’re lucky, one of the people who came to you after Gojo will be interested enough to come chat you up and give you the chance to make up for the fact you had temporarily lost your mind thanks to one Satoru Gojo.

And if you’re unlucky… Well, you’re confident in the thought that it should be fine to seek out Tomoda. In fact, you decide to do that first. Better to just go for it than wait around. You survey the ballroom that you’re all in and you catch sight of the man off to the side, looking around somewhat shyly.

Is he looking for you?

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself, but it’s a nice thought. Nice, but… You shake your head; you don’t want to think about him right now. Before the traitorous thoughts can sneak back into your mind, you march over to where Tomoda is standing, tightly gripping the cards in your hand. At the beginning of the event, the staff had handed these cards out, instructing everyone to fill them out so that you could easily exchange contact information with anyone who caught your interest. And since Tomoda’s the only one who qualifies, it’s only natural that you give him one.

A relieved smile spreads across his features when he notices you and it makes you think that he really was looking for you after all.

You offer him a small smile of your own. “Hey.”

“Hi!” he squeaks and his expression turns a little sheepish.

You tilt your head in confusion. "What's up?"

"Just… a little surprised that you came to find me.”

"Huh? Why?"

Tomoda frowns, looking conflicted and, finally, he answers in a slow voice. "Well, that really handsome looking asshole seemed like he was really into you."

You blink.

Huh.

Huh?

Huh!?

You nearly double over in laughter. No offense to Tomoda but the thought is just flat out ridiculous. Satoru Gojo is into you? No way. Absolutely no way in hell. Not in a thousand, no, a million years would Gojo seriously—

"Who knows. Maybe I am."

Suddenly, your mouth is dry, your laughter dying in your throat as Gojo's words echo in your head yet again. There's no way he was serious then, right? He only said that to mess with you, to get the last word in, because there's no way, definitely no way…

You take a deep breath to compose yourself. Tomoda is still there and you're grateful that he hasn’t walked away thinking that you’re completely out of your mind. You take another breath, just in case, before you attempt to say anything. "What makes you think that?"

"Other than the obvious?" Tomoda asks, his tone a touch dry, and you frown, remembering how Gojo had made a scene earlier.

"...yes," you finally grumble when you realize that Tomoda is actually looking for an answer. "Other than that."

For some unknown reason, he seems hesitant to say anything further, but you gesture at him, urging him to speak. "Well, he… I noticed that he kept looking over at you after his turn.”

"That's because—" you start but then stop short when you realize that you actually have no answer. Your brain goes into overdrive trying to think of some kind of explanation, some kind of reason as to why Gojo would possibly…

"Who knows. Maybe I am."

The words are louder now. Almost deafening.

Still, you try to block them out.

"That's because he said something before we switched," you say desperately, like you’re grasping at straws. "I think he was just trying to fuck with me for the hell of it and, I don't know, maybe he kept looking to see how good of a job he did?"

Your lame explanation doesn’t seem to convince Tomoda. It doesn’t really convince you either. You rifle through your thoughts, trying to find some other possible reason, but everything you find seems to support Tomoda’s claim that, somehow, some way, Satoru Gojo is into you.

Tomoda looks like he’s trying to figure it out too, his expression contemplative. "...do you mind if I ask you a question?”

"...go ahead, shoot."

"You two knew each other before this, right?”

"Unfortunately," you admit begrudgingly. "But I didn't know he'd be here tonight."

Tomoda hums and nods his head slowly as he takes your words into consideration. He pauses, and then starts nodding again, quicker this time and you wonder if he’s figured something out. His expression shifts and you recognize this look; it’s the same as earlier when he was leaving your table. There’s something he wants to say, but he’s not sure if he should.

You have the distinct feeling that you're not going to like whatever it is, but still you push him to say it all the same. "What is it?"

Tomoda stares at you. Given the fact that this is a match-making event, you would expect some level of agitation or annoyance on his part, but the only thing you see in his bright, kind eyes is a curious glint. "Are you into that guy?”

No.

That's what you expect to say because that’s what you always say, but when your lips part to answer Tomoda's seemingly innocuous question nothing comes out. Yet the word remains there, stuck to the tip of your tongue and you don't understand why.

Maybe it’s the earnest look in Tomoda’s eyes or the strange and irritating feeling that’s been lurking in your chest ever since Gojo spoke to you earlier, but something, something is holding your denial at bay. More than that, it’s bidding you to actually be honest with yourself.

Because deep down you know the answer, and, worse than that, you know it isn’t no.

The truth fills your mouth, the shape of it uncomfortable and heavy in your jaw. It’s almost too much to handle, to keep in; one slip of the tongue and you’ll end up spilling it everywhere. If that happens— when that happens, you won’t be able to take it back.

When that happens, you won’t be able to deny Satoru Gojo any more.

And truthfully, the thought of it frightens you. That’s why you’ve kept your feelings buried deep inside you. That’s why you’re here at this match-making event, seeking a love that doesn’t scare you shitless. That’s why you keep denying Satoru Gojo’s presence in your heart.

Are you into him? Do you have feelings for him? Do you love him? You think the more important question here is are you truly prepared to answer these questions? Are you honestly ready to confront the feelings you’ve kept deep in your heart and the reality that comes with that?

When it comes down to it… you’re not.

Not here and not now.

You clamp your jaw down and forcefully swallow your feelings, condemning them back to the confines of your heart. They settle there, still uncomfortable, still heavy, but you’ll deal with them later, when they are not threatening to free themselves from the cage of your mouth.

Decision made, you look Tomoda in the eye and declare, “No, I’m not.”

He stares back at you and you can tell that he doesn’t believe you. Not one bit. But if anything, you are stubborn, persistent even. You swing one arm toward him, thrusting one of your contact cards in his direction as an offering, a prayer that, even for just a little bit, he’ll indulge your delusions.

Tomoda looks conflicted, like he’s biting his tongue and his gaze flickers between the card and your face. Finally, it stops on your face. His eyebrows furrow together in what is clearly concern, “Listen, you don’t—”

He stops short when you throw up your other arm, presenting the rest of your contact cards to him. You mean to send a message in the gesture, though honestly, at this point it’s probably futile. Still, you have to try.

Tomoda’s eyes ease down to the three cards fanned out before him, but he makes no move to take any of them. Instead, he sighs, clearly sympathetic when he looks at you directly. You see yourself reflected in his eyes and you look more desperate than determined.

Once again, he opens his mouth to speak, but this time you beat him to the punch, and you plead, “Please.”

Tomoda doesn’t move.

“Please,” you insist.

He continues to hold your gaze before, eventually, his shoulders slump, a clear sign that he’s given into you. You smile wryly; this man is truly too kind for his own good. Hopefully, he lives a long, happy life, free from the curses that plague your day-to-day life.

“...it’s not going to work out.”

Gojo’s voice echoes in your head once more, almost mocking you, and your hands waver just a tiny bit. You didn’t need him to tell you because deep down you already knew. It’s still annoying, but you manage to keep the disdain off your face for Tomoda’s sake.

Besides, it doesn’t mean that you can’t be friends. You think that, at least, that much should be fine.

Having finally given into your demands, Tomoda starts to reach for your cards. Just as he’s about to grasp them, another hand, pale with long, slender fingers shoots out and swipes all three cards from your grasp. Your head whips up to look at the interloper and, of course, who else do you find but Satoru Gojo, his trademark grin plastered to his face.

“I’ll be taking these,” he announces casually, slipping your cards into his shirt pocket.

You gape wordlessly at him and he continues to smile at you like some sort of angelic devil. Then, as swiftly as he appeared, he turns on his heel and walks off into the crowd.

Slowly, you turn to look back at Tomoda, who turns to look at you. He seems as stunned as you feel, but you think he recovers first. The man gives you a gentle smile and you think that he truly deserves the world— a world you can’t and could never give him.

“You want to go after him, don’t you?” he asks. You can’t even begin to comprehend why, but he sounds almost amused. Is whatever’s going on between you and Gojo entertaining or something?

Scowling, you answer, “If only to beat his stupid handsome face in.”

This time you’re the one who’s made Tomoda laugh and it alleviates your annoyance just a bit. “Go on, then, I’ll be cheering for you.”

“It’s not like that,” you say automatically.

“If you say so.”

You sigh, ready to follow after that damn idiot, but before you do, you bow in Tomoda’s direction and tell him, earnestly, “I’m really sorry.”

He chuckles again and gestures for you to go. “Get going then, you don’t want to lose him.”

You feel like there’s some kind of double meaning in his words, but he’s right; if you linger too long you might not be able to catch up to Gojo. For good measure, you bow once more before taking your leave.

It’s lucky that Gojo is so damn tall— you spot him almost immediately, at the entrance to the ballroom. You trail after him, expertly weaving through everyone else in the room, but by the time you reach the ballroom doors he’s already gone.

Damn that man and his long legs.

“Excuse me.”

You turn to face whoever is speaking to you, actually hoping that it’s not a potential suitor. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, it’s one of the event staff.

“Yes?” you answer carefully, praying that they’re not about to reprimand you for the outburst you had earlier.

“If you’re looking for that handsome gentleman, he headed that way,” the staff member informs you, pointing down the hallway. At the other end you see a large sign indicating the hotel’s garden is in that direction. It’s a weird place for Gojo to go, but then again he’s just like that sometimes. Grateful, you bow to thank the event staffer before heading in the direction they indicated.

When you walk out into the garden, it feels almost as if you’ve been transported to another world entirely. The night air is cool on your face, and the loud chatter of the ballroom is completely gone, replaced with the gentle sound of running water. Maybe there’s some sort of fountain nearby. Looking around, you step further into the garden. You’re surrounded by a canopy of trees, their branches adorn with fairy lights that illuminate the area in a soft, warm glow. You remember reading that this hotel is a popular wedding venue and you wonder if this garden is where they hold the ceremonies. It would make sense, but it appears that no one is getting married here tonight.

There’s no sign of Gojo though.

The garden is pretty big, so you keep searching. As you walk, the sound of water grows louder and soon enough you find yourself at what has to be the center of the garden. Your entire body stills, your jaw nearly dropping as you take in the sight before you. The fountain you had speculated about turns out to be much, much larger than you thought. It’s really more like a stone pool than a fountain. It’s surrounded by decorative stone structures, which seem to be fountains themselves, feeding water into the pool. Finally, you take a step closer, and you notice the fountain is illuminated, giving the water a soft, ethereal glow. Running through the center of the pool, bisecting it, is a disjointed stone pathway, the steps spaced enough to reveal the water beneath, but close enough to prevent a bridal train or anyone paying attention to where they’re stepping from taking an unwanted dip.

At the end of the pathway is a small landing, a small, square island in the middle of the pool. The edges are decorated in flowers and decorative stone lanterns. It’s picturesque and you think that this must be where people exchange their vows and promises of everlasting love.

It’s here where you find Satoru Gojo.

His back is to you, and you could, if you wanted, turn back around and leave him here.

But you don’t.

You make your way toward him, carefully stepping onto the stone pathway as if you might slip or sink into the water beneath. When you’re sure of your footing you take a step forward, then another, and another. Just as you’re about to make it to the landing, Gojo turns around to face you. He smiles, and your entire body goes still at the sight. The look on his face is far softer, far sweeter than you’re used to. If you were crazy, you’d go so far as to say that it looks almost loving.

He takes a step toward you, and then another and another. With each step he takes, your heartbeat grows louder and more erratic, the sound of it filling your ears. Your eyes are fixed on Gojo as he approaches and you wonder if his infinity is up because it almost feels like the closer he gets the slower he goes.

But eventually, he does reach you.

Gojo looks down at you and you can see that amused sparkle in his eyes as he says, “Look who decided to join me tonight.”

The sound of his voice frees you from your daze and you glare at him. “Cut the crap, Gojo.”

His lips curve, forming an expression you’re more familiar with, one you’re used to wrangling. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb; it’s not cute,” you hiss, earning you the smallest pout from him. You ignore it. “Why’d you take my cards earlier?”

“I—” he begins, enunciating dramatically, “was saving you from a world of heartbreak.”

“Were you?” you ask, your voice less of a challenge than it was before.You can tell Gojo notices from the shift in his expression.

He doesn’t say anything about it though, and he continues, his voice dropping to something more somber, more serious. “It wouldn’t work out.”

You look into his eyes, staring at the endless sparkling blue sky within them and consider arguing with him, disagreeing with him because it’s like second nature to you.

But you decide not to.

Instead, you look away as you admit, “I know.”

Gojo doesn’t laugh or gloat and it makes you wonder if your confession surprises him. You don’t check though, and continue speaking, your voice low, “Tomoda's a nice guy. He deserves a happy, normal love and that's… not something I can promise him."

For as long as you are a jujutsu sorcerer, your life will always be in danger. Every mission carries not only the risk of death, but the chance that you won't even make it home in a body bag. The stress of that, the fear of it, isn't something you can carelessly give to someone else, especially not someone you’d want to spend the rest of your life with. You’d like to think it’d be different with another jujutsu sorcerer, someone who knows the reality of the world you’re part of, but even then you have your doubts.

"So," Gojo's voice is strangely quiet and you notice there's something, some emotion you don't recognize saturating his tone, "you into that guy?"

You sigh as you answer, honestly this time, "No. I'm not."

Gojo doesn't say anything in response— no wiseass quip, no pompous remark, nothing. You don't mind, but it's very odd for him to be silent.

Naturally, it doesn't last for long.

"You know," he drawls, his tone suddenly playful. "Even though I was obviously the hottest person in the room, you looked pretty good yourself."

It feels like all the air has been knocked out of you. The compliment, on its own, is strange because you can't even remember the last time Gojo complimented you, if he ever has, but more than that, where in the world did that come from? You know Gojo has a penchant for unpredictable behavior, but this is something else.

In your shock, you turn to face him, and you realize that the compliment was just the tip of the iceberg. He's leaning down, his gaze fixed on you, the blue glow of his eyes wiping the knowledge of how to breathe from your mind. His palm ghosts over your cheek, and though he's not touching you, you can still feel the warmth emanating off it. You are hyper aware of him coming closer, his face, his lips approaching yours.

No, no, no.

It has to be some illusion, some trick of the mind, because there's no way that Satoru Gojo actually wants to—

Bewildered, you take a step back and your foot manages to wedge itself in one of the gaps of the stone pathway. You wobble, thrown entirely off balance. Seconds later, you're falling sideways straight into the water.

Gojo stares down at you, actually looking shocked for once and you wish you had your phone out to take a picture. It doesn't take long for him to get over it and he starts to laugh uncontrollably.

You glare at him like a drenched cat and raise your hand to splash at him. Weirdly enough, he lets the water hit him, his infinity remaining inactive.

"Don't laugh!" you snap at him.

Of course, he keeps laughing.

You try to lift yourself out of the water, but the river stones beneath you are too slippery for you to get a good grip. If you reposition yourself you think you could do it, but if you do your clothes will be completely drenched and that's the last thing you want right now.

With an exasperated sigh, you ask, "Gojo, will you please help me?"

He snickers, "Wow. Didn't think you'd actually ask."

You glare at him.

"Okay, okay," he steps toward you and outstretches one of his hands for you to take. For once, you don't hesitate to take it and Gojo pulls you from the water with ease, but you think that maybe he uses a little too much force as you collide with the expanse of his chest.

This is too close! You try to take another step back, but Gojo is faster, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from moving.

"Careful," he warns and you think he's teasing you. Is it just you, or is his voice just a touch deeper than normal? Regardless, the sound manages to scramble your thoughts a little. "Or you'll end up taking another dip."

"...right," you mumble, trying to straighten your thoughts. "Thanks."

You think Gojo will let you go.

But he doesn't, and the two of you remain there, pressed close. You're sure the wetness of your clothes is spreading to his, slowly messing up that expensive suit of his. Gojo doesn't seem to care though, but maybe that's because it's just water.

"...you could do it, if you wanted," Gojo's voice is barely audible.

"Huh?"

When he speaks again, it's louder this time, "Give someone a normal, happy love. It's not like you're completely broken or anything like that."

You blink, confused. What is he talking about? Then it clicks and you explain, "That's not it."

Now it seems like Gojo’s confused for once. "Huh?"

"I meant… he’s a non-sorcerer, so…" you trail off, not wanting to explain. Gojo should be able to catch your drift.

He does. “Right, right. It’d suck for your non-sorcerer boyfriend if you were to just suddenly die a terrible and horrific death, huh.”

A little too well. “I think it’d suck for my sorcerer boyfriend too, if I had one.”

“That’s probably true, but if your boyfriend was a sorcerer, then maybe you’d die cruel and unusual deaths together. That’s romantic, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I think it’s kind of morbid.”

You think you feel Gojo’s arms shift, as if his grip is tightening ever so slightly around you. But then he starts to laugh and you figure it must have just been your imagination. You don’t really get why he’s laughing, though.

"What's so funny?" You ask when his laughter finally dies down.

"Nothing!"

You sigh. Should have known better than to think he’d give you a straight answer.

Gojo finally steps away from you, taking the warmth of his body with him and you dismally realize that you rather enjoyed him being so close. Desperately, you try to tell yourself that it’s because with him gone you’re remembering how cold and wet your clothes are right now and not for any other reason.

It's going to suck going all the way home like this.

You hear the sound of rustling cloth and as you look up you catch Gojo draping his giant blazer over your shoulders. It's warm and before you realize what you're doing you're tugging it closer around you, the scent of Gojo's cologne filling your nostrils. It’s nice you think, definitely expensive, but nice.

He stares at you, the expression on his face the strangest one yet.

"What?" you ask.

Gojo merely shakes his head again and it's obvious he plans to keep this to himself too. "Come on, let's go. Can't have you catching a cold now, hm?"

He grabs you by the wrist and starts to pull you toward the garden exit. And, maybe you're imagining it, but you think you might see the palest shade pink dusting the tips of his ears.

extra scene can be found here. :3c

[unsolvedjarin]

Can we have more mentor!Seb x Ferrari driver!reader? Maybe she wins in Monza the same season as the last fic? 👀

note: sorry it took me so long to get to this request, life has been KILLING me lately. this one is pretty short but hopefully you enjoy!

FOCUS.

part one here but can be read without <3

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (mick schumacher x ferrari driver! reader AT THE END)

summary: monza was never an easy race, and that certainly wasnt changing anytime soon. but maybe some luck is on your side this year— and a supportive mentor.

content warning: none besides my verb tenses being all over the place

Max had gotten pole. So not good for you.

You lost P2 as well to Lewis by two-tenths of a second, but P3 was fine, P3 was good. Hopefully good enough for today. It was finally Sunday, and you couldn’t be more excited— it was finally Monza.

“Well the goal is to win,” you say, although it comes out muffled with food in your mouth. Sebastian had invited you to paddock brunch on race day, and you were not one to turn down free food.

Swallowing, you add, “I mean obviously the goal is to win. We’re in Monza, that’s every Ferrari driver's goal.”

The Aston Martin driver had been listening intently to your complaints about Ferrari’s performance recently, and from what he’s hearing, it’s not looking good. Not only was the car lacking in pace, the team itself had bad strategies left and right. While you had gotten a podium back in Spa, it was starting to look like it'd be the last podium for Ferrari for a while.

Charles had DNF’ed last race, and you ended up P9. Not a great result, but it still kept you third in the Construction Championship. This race, however, was too special to have a mediocre result.

It was the home of the Tifosi; the people, the cheers, the chants, it was all for Ferrari— all for you. You couldn’t lose in Monza.

“So you think you’ll win later then?” Sebastian asks, taking a bite of his own food.

“Well I don’t don’t think I’ll win, so there’s that.”

“What a strange type of confidence.”

“Thanks, I try.”

Sebastian laughs, a genuine one that makes you smile as well. You’d been spending more time with him since learning about his retirement at the end of the season, which says a lot when you were already always together. He didn’t mind though, he loved spending time with you above all the other people on the grid– well, except for Mick. He tagged along sometimes when he could. You liked having him around too.

“If it amounts to anything, I think you can win it.”

He always says that. ‘If it amounts to anything’ or ‘If it matters,’ as if everything he says wasn’t important to you when it was. “Thanks Seb, but save that optimism for yourself, you need it,” you tease.

You say it in a joking manner, but Seb knew there was a hint of seriousness to your words. Aston Martin hadn’t been performing well either, and if you considered Ferrari’s performance bad, then you could call theirs atrocious. You knew it wasn’t Seb’s fault, he had been trying to contribute to the efficiency of the car with his knowledge and he pushed it every race.

Nodding, he sighs, and you can sense the tiredness in his breath. 2 years of a slow car will do that to you. Before you could give him any comfort, however, a Ferrari employee calls out your name for you to get ready for the race.

“Good luck Schatzi, I believe in you,” Seb says, getting up from his seat. You get up and hug him tightly, smiling when he hugs you back just as tight.

“You too Sebby.”

“Do what I couldn’t,” you hear him whisper.

You don’t reply. You don’t tell him, ‘I’m sorry,’ because he already knows. He knows because you’ve told him it before many different times on many different races when he used to drive for Ferrari– but you’ll always remember Monza.

It was his dream, the most important thing he wanted out of joining Ferrari besides winning the championship with them. But he never got it. Every year he was there, something took the win out of his grasp. Engine failure, collision, slow pace, no grip, it didn’t matter what the reason was. He never got it.

You separate, both going to get ready. You’ll make him proud, you think to yourself.

The race was tight. Lewis was giving you a good fight, always just less than a second away, but conveniently farther whenever you were in a DRS zone which meant you couldn’t overtake him. Thankfully, he slipped up during a straight, and gave you enough slipstream and space to pass him.

Then it was just you and Max. He was 10 seconds away, and you were so sure it was over. But then he pitted a little too long, giving you enough time to take his position.

And then you were leading.

You were leading in a Ferrari in Monza.

Holy fucking shit.

Just one more lap, one more and you could see it– you could see the end.

“...Y/N L/N SEES THE CHECKERED FLAG, AND COMES TO WIN THE ITALIAN GRAND PRIX! FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2019, FERRARI WINS IN THEIR HOME RACE!”

You couldn’t believe it.

You won. You won in Monza. In a Ferrari.

You did it.

If the screams of the fans were loud in Spa, the cheers of the emotional Tifosi were deafening here. Exiting your car, still shellshocked, you’re immediately approached by Max, who gave you a quick hug in congratulations.

Slightly snapping out of your buzzed state, you run towards your crew who was on the other side of the barrier, practically jumping into their arms. They couldn’t believe it either. When you finally removed your helmet, the muffled sounds of everything else suddenly became clear, and somehow the already thundering roars of the crowd had gotten louder.

Despite all that commotion, all that chaos and celebration, there was only one man you were looking for. You heard he had DNF’ed, which meant he would be in his garage, but you didn’t care. You were going to look for him before you got on that damn podium.

While Max and Lewis went to the cooldown room, you got ready to sneak out and go to the Aston Martin garage, when a hand grabs yours and spins you around to face them. It takes you a second to realize what was happening, but when you did– “SEBASTIAN!”

He enveloped you in a hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You could hear his proud laughs, and you started laughing as well. You had done it.

“I ca-”

“I-”

You both start at the same time, making you both laugh even harder. You gesture for him to start first, and he does. “I can’t believe it. You actually fucking did it,” he says, the joy evident in his cussing.

He walks with you back towards the Podium, an arm around your shoulder looking proud. When you get to the side stage you pause in protest, but he reads your mind before you can say anything. “Go, we’ll talk later.” He gives you a little nudge, and off to the platform you go.

You asked Charles once, and he told you that when you get up there on the platform, everything goes quiet. You would see the crowd, the fans clad in red, and you would feel the love, but you wouldn’t hear it– as if all their cheers mixed together into a large vast silence. One thing would come into focus, and when you see what you’ve focused on, it’ll all make sense. For him, it was a man wearing a shirt with the number 17 on it. In the large mobs, it was the one thing his eyes had focused on.

For you, however, it wasn’t in the crowd. It wasn’t in the endless support of the Tifosi, nor the trophy given to you. No, it was in the man you could see in your peripheral vision, standing on the side, clapping proudly and looking at you as if no one else was on the podium.

Sebastian. It was him. Your mentor, your father figure, your friend. You finally understood what Charles was always rambling about. That loving feeling— not one you feel with a romantic partner, but the one that buries itself deep into your soul and grows over time, unseen and unnoticed, but when you finally focus on it, everything makes sense.

The second the podium festivities ended, you ran into Sebastian’s arms and hugged him tightly, not minding the cameras all around you. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he hugged you back, not letting you go.

Tomorrow— not today while the chaos of the fans was still ongoing— the media will spew rumors about you and the older driver, but you don’t care. Not when you’re finally happy here; content.

With content tears flowing freely down your face— along with some champagne from earlier— you finally disconnected from the hug, looking at Sebastian with a grin.

He looked confused, “What’s happening? Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you reply, “It’s fine, everythings okay. I just— I can’t believe I did it. And with you watching. I couldn’t be happier.”

Sebastian takes a moment to intake what you said. He had never felt this way before. Never felt so utterly proud of someone. You had done what he never could, had finally achieved the Ferrari dream he had always wanted for himself. He could see himself in you now, the sheer joy of a win with a team he always wanted to win with. He couldn’t be more happy for you too.

“Sebastian?” you ask, worried about his silence. Maybe what you said was too much, too forward. But then he smiles softly at you, and you can see the tears welling in his eyes.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, I thought you were thinking of scowling in disgust or worse; not hearing what I said and making me repeat it.”

He laughs, a hearty one, and you laugh as well. The roar of the crowd was still loud, but amidst all the chaos, your eyes still only focused on one person.

“Dinner?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, let’s get dinner.”

a bit of bonus for my mick girls out there:

“Y/N!” you hear a voice shout from across the paddock. It catches your attention, and you turn your head to the Mercedes hospitality where the voice came from. Sebastian is beside you, an arm around your shoulder, accompanying you for a post-race dinner.

“Mick! What’s up?” you ask, disconnecting from Sebastian’s hold to walk towards him. He meets you in the middle, giving you a quick hug before smiling.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your win. We should celebrate!” he says, pausing for a moment as if thinking how to word his next sentence. “I was thinking— just a random thought really— we could…go out to dinner to celebrate? I mean just throwing ideas out there, you don’t have to.”

He’s looking everywhere but at you at this point, his eyes pointed down at his shoes and you can see his hands fiddling in his pockets. You notice Toto Wolff watching from the hospitality, but you pay no attention to him, instead keeping your eyes on the man in front of you.

“I’m sorry Mick I would love to, but I’m actually going out to dinner with Seba—”

“He can come,” Sebastian butts in. “He can join us, I have no problem with it.”

“Oh, then great!” you exclaim, nudging Mick softly. He looks up at you with a slight red dusting on his cheeks you don’t notice. Oblivious, you intertwine your arm with his, walking with Seb tailing the both of you.

You ramble on about the race to him and don’t notice when he turns his head around to face Sebastian quickly, who was giving Mick two thumbs up with a cheeky grin. The younger driver blushes softly, before going back to facing you and listening to you talk.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, however, the older driver was already secretly thinking of an excuse to get the two of you alone at dinner.

[paulmias]

paul mescal request 👀

maybe meeting him at an industry party and sharing a cigarette and then it evolves

You Can Be The Boss | Paul Mescal X Fem! Reader

As an actress, and daughter of two of the biggest names in your country of the 90’s, It was inevitable that your name would make it onto the list of Gucci’s Fashion week list.

They had flown you out to Milan, saw that you had a hotel room and clothes for the event, all so you could sit and watch as dozens of models strut about in clothes most people would have to work decades to afford.

When the models would pass you, your gaze kept lingering to him, how could it not? There was a mesmerising sort of charm about him. It consumed you, you had tried to approach him when the event coordinators were ushering hoards of high profile people into limousines to take them to the after party, but you’d had no luck.

You couldn’t find his eyes in the sea of people dancing to whatever the DJ was playing, the music was far too loud, it brought back the migraine you had managed to shift a few days back, after swiping a champagne flute from one of the waiters walking around with them, you snuck out onto the balcony that overlooked Milan.

Having forgotten to bring your own case of cigarettes, you let out an exasperated sigh before downing the champagne. When you lowered the glass from your lips, He was there, cigarette between his lips, almost grinning, his appearence had been so sudden that you’d jumped and dropped the flute over the balcony.

Watching it fall, you felt like an asshole for whoever would have to clean that up later. “Fuck!” The words escaped your lips before you could think properly.

You heard his chuckle and turned to face him. The urge to tell him he was at fault restrained itself. “Do you want a light? I saw you checking that bag of yours for one.” Paul offered. You nod, not exactly desperate for one, but you certainly wouldn’t decline one.

He puts his between his lips and then pulls the case out from his pocket, the only one that remains is squished, not nearly useful enough for you to smoke.

He pulls the one from his lips out, and offers it to you. “You sure?” You question. He nods, and you look so relieved before placing it between your pointer and middle fingers.

After a few exchanges of the cigarette, he speaks as you have it in your lips. “I’ve seen your work, I adore your recent film. Are your team pushing for award nominations?” He asked.

You nodded, your agency was not nearly as cutthroat in that aspect as you would have liked, but you had signed a six year contract with them five years ago, so you would soon be free from them, and hopefully be able to join a more affluent agency. You handed him the cigarette.

“Thank you.” The two of you spoke in unison before chuckling “Yeah, my Uhm, my team are trying but I’m with an agency that are like, more focused on modelling so it’s a bit of a challenge but, I’m still young, I’ve got time to win awards.” You replied.

He takes a drag as he nods. “You looking to change agents?” He questioned, you nodded. “My manager’s looking for new clients, I could pass your name along if you’d like.” He offered.

His manager, you had heard, was a woman very dedicated to her job. “I’d love that, thank you.” You told him. You take a step closer to him, it just feels natural. “You’re gorgeous do you know that?” He asked.

You blushed, which caused him to chuckle, it wasn’t mockingly, rather, one of enjoyment of seeing you so flustered by his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You replied.

He dropped the cigarette onto the floor and leant forward, his face centimetres away from your own, and then he cupped his hands around your face, pulled you in and kissed you.

A/N: This is my first time writing x reader stuff .. hope u enjoyed

[galexystern]

easy - 18+

pairing; actor!steve harrington/fem!reader

warnings; smut (MDNI), angst, tooth-rotting & v cheesy fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), squirting, unprotected p in v, creampie, jealousy, kinda hurt/comfort, one use of y/n near the end

word count; ~4.3k

desc; while on a press tour for his latest movie, steve says something that sends you into a spiral. something that forces him prove his undying love for you when he gets home.

a/n; based off that interview of tom blyth and rachel zegler on the tbosas press tour. you know the one

read on ao3 / masterlist

You come upon it without trying. Dating an actor can be hard, watching them experience whole lifetimes and romances in a tight two-hour movie or eight-episode show, and your boyfriend Steve Harrington feels things deeper than others, you know. Thus why you never search the press Steve does for any project—you don’t need to hear it.

Of course, if something pops up on your feed, you’ll watch it. It’s impossible to swipe away from his lovely face; you’ve missed him so much as he’s worked on his latest movie, and any whiff of him is captivating. Which is how you see one specific interview he did with his co-star, Nancy Wheeler, the female love interest.

“Who wouldn’t love her? It’s so easy to fall in love with Nancy.”

As soon as you hear it, the words embed themselves. They echo within you all the time. You try to forget them, distract yourself, but it’s useless. You’d hoped they’d go away when Steve comes home, but they’re still there, bouncing around your brain like the world’s most annoying song. When he’s hugging you so tight you can barely breathe. When he’s smiling uncontrollably at being home. When he’s talking nonstop about his adventures on set.

“It’s so easy to fall in love with Nancy.”

“It’s so easy to fall in love with Nancy.”

“It’s so easy to fall in love with Nancy.”

You shake your head to get rid of the phrase, and take Steve into the dining room, where the table is ready with all his favorite foods. You’d prepared them in another attempt to quiet your mind, not that it had worked, but it makes him smile so it was worth it anyway. You sit him down and then slide into your seat across from him, watching as he dishes out onto his plate and digs in. You don’t touch it. You’re not hungry.

“And then, believe it or not, I slip on the goddamn banana peel. Can you believe that?” He laughs at his own bad luck. “They used that take for the final cut. Can’t wait for you to see it.” He’s been talking about taking you to the premiere since the date was set. The idea of being in front of reporters and cameras and the movie’s other stars is kind of nauseating.

That’s when you hear yourself blurting out, “Are you in love with Nancy?”

As soon as the words have left your lips you want to suck them back in. Your boyfriend’s eyes have widened astronomically and his hand is frozen, fork stuck halfway between the plate and his open mouth. Convenient, you think helplessly.

“Never mind,” you rush out before he can say anything, “forget it. I’m sorry.”

Steve blinks a couple times, seeming to come back into his body, and then carefully lays his fork down, bite of food unconsumed. He laughs awkwardly, and you cringe. Your fault for ruining the mood. “Can’t really forget that, can I?” He half-jokes before wiping his face with a napkin and then putting it on the table. His chair scoots back as he stands, and for a moment you’re terrified he’s going to walk out, insulted beyond belief that you would ask something so wild, but he just rounds the table to your side and sits in the seat next to you. He angles his body towards you, and maneuvers your chair to face him. You sit there like dead weight.

“Now, my love,” he starts gently, “what was your question?”

You don’t really want to repeat it, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything. “I asked if you were in love with Nancy,” you answer, almost inaudible.

He nods thoughtfully. “And why would you think that?”

He’s not being accusatory, but you still clam up, afraid of what could come next. You shrug instead.

“Angel, I’m not going to be mad at you. I promise.”

You meet his gaze, seeing love and sincerity shining brightly, and finally explain quietly, “I saw that interview you two had. Where you said that it was easy to fall in love with her.”

Steve exhales heavily. “I was afraid that might be it.” Your expression sharpens and he rushes to add, “I’m not in love with her. I was just worried this exact thing could happen after I said it.”

“Why’d you say it then?” You ask petulantly.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I was thinking more in terms of my character instead of myself, truthfully. And I meant more in terms of her character too. Ryan would—and did—find it easy to fall in love with Sarah,” using their character names.

“But you said Nancy’s name.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m so sorry. You don’t usually look at my press so I wasn’t sure if you’d seen it, and I didn’t wanna bring it up and worry you. I know it sounds like an excuse, sweetheart, but I meant what I said. I’m not in love with Nancy.”

“Okay,” you reply, not fully convinced.

Steve can tell. “Baby, look at me, please?” You lift your head to meet his pleading stare. “I’m not in love with Nancy,” he says firmly, drilling it into you. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I’m going to stay in love with you for a long time. Forever, if you’ll let me.”

Again, words fly out before you can stop them. “Please don’t tell me that’s a proposal.”

He’s caught by an unexpected laugh. “No, honey. When I propose to you, you’ll know it.” A thrill runs through you with the use of “when” and your lip quirks up. But it’s quick to pop back down, and Steve notices. He pats his thighs. “Come here, angel.”

It takes a few seconds, but you eventually drag yourself from your chair and into his lap, letting your legs dangle and wrapping your arms around his neck. He secures his own around your waist, not letting you fall or slide backwards. You’re close enough that he can nuzzle his nose against yours, and you huff a giggle at the movement. His lips curl into a smile on your cheek.

He moves so that your foreheads are resting together and he can gaze deep into your eyes. You can’t look away. “I love you, baby. Only you. And you can always come to me if you’re upset or unsure or whatever. Okay?” You nod hesitantly. “Do you need me to prove it? That you’re the one for me?” You go breathless when his hands dip down to your ass and press you more firmly against him, feeling his hardness and making your underwear go wet in response. You nod more quickly this time and he smirks.

“C’mere then,” he whispers and you waste no time meeting his lips with yours. He kisses you, slow and languorous, taking his sweet time swiping his tongue across the seam of your mouth and exploring inside when you eagerly open for him. It’s like a dance, how it weaves with yours. This isn’t a time for domination.

You slide your hands into his hair and tug at the strands, swallowing his resulting moan. He seems to know innately when you need air and pulls away, only to come back and run his mouth along your jaw sweetly.

“Such pretty noises,” he murmurs, referring to the little whimpers you let out when he nips lightly at your skin. “Music to my ears, baby.”

If that’s the case, then you can only think he has to be delighted at your whiny moan when he sucks a mark into the pulse point on your neck. Sure enough, he thrusts into you at the sound, hitting your clit perfectly and soaking you further. You want to keep the friction going so you continue the grinding, Steve’s hands fully clutching your hips now to help you along.

Unexpectedly, he stands, bringing you with him. You squeal and wrap your legs around his waist desperately, not really believing he would drop you but feeling a tad scared anyways. He chuckles as he walks the both of you out of the dining room and up the stairs, nudging the bedroom door open with your hips. It’s dark, but the moon is shining in through the open window, creating a soft glow that compliments your boyfriend’s skin and shadows that outline his firm jaw. He sets you down slowly, letting your feet drag down until they softly land on the floor, and once you’re standing securely, he slides his hands up your body until they’re cupping your cheeks.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, and you heat at the praise. He must be able to feel it, burning underneath your skin, but he doesn’t point it out.

He dips in and kisses you again, hands going to the hem of your shirt and pulling it up, up, up, over your head, interrupting the kiss for just a moment and then he’s back on you. His fingers explore the newly revealed skin, caressing it reverently, like you’re made of the most precious substance and might break if he presses too hard. Shivers fizzle wherever his touch goes—across your stomach, over your hips, up your back. He finds your bra strap and unhooks it, moving back a touch so he can pull it off along with his own shirt. He comes back immediately, and you gasp into his mouth as your breasts make contact with his chest hair, the wiry feeling of it rubbing against your nipples deliciously.

You break from his intoxicating mouth to whine his name. “Sh,” he soothes, “let me worship you. My angel from heaven.”

Your heart practically melts at the words and all thoughts of pouting disappear. You let Steve push you backwards and sit you on the edge of the bed. He stands above you, two fingers under your chin to angle your head up towards his. It’s almost impossible to look directly at him, the level of love and adoration in his expression blinding in its intensity.

“Love of my life. Can I taste you?” You nod dazedly at his question, unable to do anything else, unwilling to do anything else. “Lay back for me.”

Following orders, you do so, and he slips off your pants. His fingers stroke down your legs as they go, tugging off your socks as well. He kneels and you prop up on your elbows just in time to watch him bury his face between your legs, smelling you through your underwear. They’re already soaked, but he doesn’t seem to mind: he laps at the wet spot and moans. “Missed this so much, baby. Your taste, your smell. Couldn’t stop thinking about doing this the whole time I was gone.”

His fingers hook into the waistband and drag it down, infuriatingly slow, and you’re thinking of whining again when he licks a line up your slit. The intended whine comes out as a moan instead, spurring Steve on to press into you even deeper. You lose yourself in his ministrations, as he swirls his tongue across your folds and up to your clit. When he sucks it into his mouth, you collapse backwards, unable to hold yourself up any longer during this beautiful torture.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, hand drawing in and rubbing a finger against your entrance. “Let yourself feel it. Feel how much I missed you. How much I love you.”

Your eyes roll back when that finger breaches you, pushing inside and crooking upwards to catch that spot he always knows how to find. “Oh,” you breathe, “finally.”

His lips quirk up and you can tell he must be smirking. “Finally, huh?” You shake your head; he’d misunderstood. “What then, honey?”

“Couldn’t do it right myself,” you pant. “You do it—” your breath hitches as he brushes that spot again, “better.”

“Is that right?” As much as it irritates you, his smug tone is deserved.

“Yes…oh!” You exclaim. He’s inserted another finger, and now both are thrusting inside you, picking up their pace. Little noises fall from you as his tongue flicks your clit in time with his fingers, going deeper with each hit.

“Is my pretty baby going to cum for me?” Steve asks. It’s rhetorical—he can feel you clenching around him, can tell you’re right there on the edge. He knows your body like the back of his hand; he took his time memorizing everything that makes you tick and that knowledge is always tucked away for safekeeping in his head. He’s not in danger of forgetting any of it. So he knows you’re on the precipice. A few more seconds should do it. “Come on,” he urges. “Cum for me, my love. I’ve got you.”

As he suckles your clit, you explode, climax rushing through you like a drug and you float upon it. Your boyfriend works you through it, continuing to curl his fingers inside you to keep you going even higher. All until you’re whimpering from overstimulation—then you think he’s going to remove them. Instead, they increase in speed. You yelp as his mouth dives in again, tongue moving quickly.

“Steve!” You half-shout, eyes squeezing shut as the brilliant torment goes on.

“I know you’ve got another for me, princess,” he says in between licks. “Been wanting to make you squirt again. Got off to the memory of the last time you did every night I was away from you.”

“I can’t,” you cry. You grab his wrist but don’t move it, feeling the orgasm he wants hurtling towards you.

“You can, baby, I know it,” he coaxes. “Gimme another. Just one more and then you get my cock, okay?”

You throw your head back as liquid gushes from you, all over Steve’s face. “Oh, fuck!”

“That’s my girl.” He moves his hand away and sticks his tongue in, gathering up all your climax and swallowing it down, moaning at the taste he’d missed so much. When you’re squeaky clean, he stands above you, and you watch with hazy vision as he sucks his fingers into his mouth and groans in pleasure. “Always taste so good, princess.” You’re so fucked out already that you can’t even feel embarrassed. He wouldn’t want you to anyways.

You weakly lift your hands towards him and make grabby motions. He smiles and does as asked, leaning to hover over you and give you sweet kisses. You wrap your arms around his waist and tug him down, and he collapses on top of you in a huff. You hum contentedly and snuggle into him, making him chuckle fondly and lay on you like a weighted blanket.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck, “so much.”

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I said that stupid thing and got you all worried.”

“‘S okay. I know what you meant once you explained. You’ve always been almost a method actor.”

“Maybe, but full method acting is freaky and I’m good without.”

You giggle. “Me too.”

He shifts and you feel his cock on your leg, still hard and without relief. You subtly lift your thigh to rub it and he moans, dropping his head to your shoulder and biting lightly. “Aren’t I supposed to get that now?” You tease. “I gave you what you wanted.”

“And now you want in return?” His tone barely contains the smirk he’s definitely sporting. He lifts himself up to look at you and groans a little at your pleading pout.

“I’ll even wet it for you,” you add while batting your eyelashes. Truthfully, your mouth has been watering ever since he’d first mentioned it.

He kisses you deeply. “An enticing offer that I will take you up on next time, baby. I think I might die if I’m not inside you immediately.” You giggle again as he stands and shucks off his pants and boxers, the sound hitching when his large, red, throbbing cock slaps against his abdomen. He smirks at you unknowingly licking your lips when you spot the precum beading at the head. “Like what you see, angel?”

You nod, eyes still locked on his cock. “Gimme, please,” you whine.

“Anything for you, my love.” He climbs over you again and lines up. Your hips cant forward to urge him on, but his hands clamp down and pin them to the bed. “Gonna savor this,” he murmurs, rubbing his cock through your folds. Electricity bolts through you when it grazes your clit, teasing. His eyes are magnetized to where you’re about to be joined, awed at how beautiful you are for him.

Eventually, his cock notches into your entrance and you gasp lightly. That turns into a drawn-out moan as he takes his time sliding inside, one he matches as soon as he bottoms out. He’s so deep you think you can feel him in your stomach.

Then he’s gone, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, slow but hard, and your back arches. “So responsive,” he coos, and does it again and again, until he’s moving at a steady pace and driving you crazy. Taking advantage of the leisurely tempo, he ducks his head down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, making you grip the bed sheets with tight fists. He swirls his tongue around, biting gently every now and then to make you jolt against him.

Going so slow grows maddening. “Faster, please, baby. Need more of you.”

“Your wish is my command,” he vows. Soon, he’s moving so hard and fast that the sound of skin slapping fills the room, oddly erotic. You look at him with half-lidded eyes, unable to do anything but take it, be Steve’s little plaything. It feels so good you can barely stand it.

You’re admiring how your boyfriend looks in the soft moonlight, making his eyes shine in an otherworldly way, when he says reverently, “You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart. Lookin’ like an angel sent just for me. Because you’re all mine, right?”

“Yes, Stevie, all yours,” you moan.

He growls at that, putting his hands on your thighs and pressing them to your chest, allowing him to go even deeper. You keen at the new angle, sound cutting off as he kisses you desperately, and you throw your arms around his neck. He pulls back, much too quickly in your opinion, but you forgive him because he does so to say, “And I’m all yours, baby. You’re the only one for me. Only you make me feel this good. You’re all I think about, all I wanna think about. There’ll never be anyone else, princess. I love you and only you.”

His words push you closer and closer to your release, even more intense than the first two. He knows, urging you on by snaking a hand between your bodies and rubbing quick circles on your clit. “That’s it, soak my cock. Wanna feel you again, honey.”

“Love you, love you, love you,” you say over and over as your orgasm comes upon you. You scream Steve’s name when you finally cum, climax like a cascade, nails dragging down his back like they just might draw blood.

“Yes, angel, I love you too, missed you so much, oh my god, you’re so tight, love you, love you.” He’s babbling, finally cumming too, spilling hot and heavy. When he pulls out, your combined liquid pools out of you, and he groans one last time at the sight. He scoops some up with a finger to taste, eyes closing in delight. He opens them to look at you mischievously. “Wanna try?”

It should sound gross but it’s not. You nod and he repeats his motion. You suck his finger, pleasantly surprised by the enjoyable flavor. But it’s the essence of you and Steve–why wouldn’t it be good?

You must’ve fallen asleep after that, because the next thing you know Steve is wiping you with a warm washcloth, being as gentle as possible. You hum as he pulls the covers over you, but whine when you hear him step away. “It’s okay, angel,” he says softly, “I’ll just be a minute.” You listen to the dresser drawer opening and closing, and then Steve padding out of the room. You doze until you hear him come back and close the door. At long last, he slides into bed and gathers you in his arms. You curl around him like moss on an old building, and he buries his face in your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper, half-asleep.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” Steve replies. “It’s my job to show you how much you mean to me. I love you so much, you know that? It’s the easiest thing to do, loving you.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

“I’m yours for good, angel. And you’re the only one for me. Promise.”

;

“It’s gonna be bright out there, angel, but just keep holding onto me, okay? I’ll get you there in one piece. All you have to do is show off that pretty smile. Sound good?” You nod at your boyfriend, smiling shyly. Steve grins. “There she is. Now, kiss for good luck?” You give him a kiss and then he’s out of the limo. Less than a minute later, he’s ducking back in the open door and holding out a hand for you. You take a deep breath, grab it, and slide out into the flashing lights.

A wall of sound hits you, and you try not to cringe against Steve. So many voices layer over each other, you don’t know what anyone is saying. But you just remember what Steve said and think of him on the night he came home and a smile forms on your face at the memory.

Steve helps you walk carefully down the red carpet, stopping you here and there to pose for the cameras. He wraps an arm around your waist to keep you stable and so you can focus on looking natural. “Doing so good, baby,” he murmurs in your ear at one point, kissing your temple. You close your eyes when he does, hoping one of the photographers got a shot of it. You think you’d like to frame that.

Eventually you reach the end of the carpet, and Steve’s agent ushers you two into the building. It’s a whirlwind in here too, but more manageable, loud but controlled. Your boyfriend turns to you. “You okay?”

You sigh happily at the love and concern in his eyes. “I’m good,” you promise, and he smiles.

Someone shouts his name, and you both turn. None other than Nancy Wheeler is rushing towards you, a tall and lanky man being dragged behind. Steve automatically steps closer and holds your waist again, nodding back at his costar but only thinking about how you might feel. Your heart warms at his attention, and you meet Nancy with a genuine smile.

She stops and grabs your hands. “Oh my gosh, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, Steve mentioned you every chance he got. I’m so excited to meet you!”

“I’m excited to meet you too,” you reply.

“This is Jonathan, my boyfriend.” She motions to the boy beside her, who smiles awkwardly and holds out a hand. You shake it, as does Steve.

“Heard a lot about you too, man,” he says to Jonathan, making you feel even better.

“Are you excited for the movie?” Nancy asks, just to you. She’s barely even looked at Steve.

You nod. “Steve says it’s one of his favorites that he’s made.”

“Mine too! It’s such a sweet story. It’ll have you bawling by the end. I hope you brought tissues.”

You peer up at Steve, who had not told you that you were in for a crying fest. He laughs. “Don’t worry, angel. I got some.” He pats his jacket pocket.

Nancy’s eyes are glittering when you look back at her. “We gotta find our seats, but let’s talk at the after party. I have to put a face to all the stories Steve’s told!”

You agree and watch as she and Jonathan walk away into the crowd. You turn to Steve and he draws you close. “Are you sure you don’t wanna just go home and skip this whole thing?” He whines quietly.

You smirk. He’s been asking a variation of the same question ever since you stepped out of the bathroom in this dress—which accentuates your chest and ass “magnificently,” as Steve put it. He’d even tried starting something in the limo, but all that had accomplished was leaving him high and dry after you’d made him keep his hands to himself.

“You wanted me to see the movie,” you counter now.

“Yeah, but we could stream it later. It’s not like I’ll win an Oscar for it or anything.”

You roll your eyes. “You might! It’s prime awards season, babe. And you’ve been getting a lot of acclaim for this role. And you know the academies love a tear-jerker.” He blushes at your argument. “Plus,” you whip out the doe eyes, “I wanna see you on the big screen.”

He sighs in fake annoyance, a fond smile giving it away. “I did say your wish is my command, didn’t I?”

“Yup.” You smile triumphantly.

Steve grins back before kissing you soundly. “I love you, angel.”

“Love you too, Stevie.”

He gives you one last peck, and then grabs your hand and leads you into the theater.

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

They're not often talked about as they relate to each other, but it's fascinating to me how Moc Weepe and Jonas Spahr work as narrative foils, because they are remarkably similar characters in some respects that ultimately ended up on diverging narrative trajectories. For a start they both have direct counterparts (Saskia and Phineas respectively) that exist because in the beta version of Midst they were the same character that was split in two in subsequent drafts.

But more importantly, they both tend to heavily defer agency for their choices away from themselves to something external that they have no control over. As Weepe says himself in "Interest" to Imelda and in "Ghosts" to Saskia, he considers himself to be a bad person who is simply fated to do bad things and is incapable of anything else, and as "Ghosts" makes clear, in doing so he refuses to take responsibility for doing bad things. He didn't sell out Saskia and the rest of the Black Candle Cabaret because he wanted to, he did it because he had to because that is simply how he is. Spahr, meanwhile, tends to passively allow others to tell him what to do even when his own moral convictions tell him to do something else. He didn't want to leave Phineas behind on Midst, but he caved to Imelda and the Trust and did anyway. He wanted to stop Imelda from torturing Weepe in the Arca, but he caved to her and allowed it to continue to happen. Even his own court martial he allowed to happen without any fuss. (And as @captainofthetidesbreath pointed out to me, this shared tendency to defer agency is why they hate each other; they recognize this part of themselves).

But where they diverge is that while Weepe has doubled down on his conviction that he is simply a bad person fated to do terrible things whether he wants to or not, even as Saskia was begging him on her deathbed to recognize that he's both responsible for his own choices and can choose to make better ones, Spahr during "Fault" realized that choosing to allow someone else to make a choice for you is itself a choice, and he has to take responsibility for the consequences of making that choice. And he ended the episode resolved to do better, and ultimately makes a decisive choice on his own to leave the Trust in "Breach".

Speaking of "Breach" that whole episode really exemplified that Spahr has finally taken responsibility for himself and is making his own choices while Weepe is still playing the part he feels like he has no choice but to play. Because that episode is the first time both have encountered their respective counterparts since "Moonfall". Weepe and Spahr haven't seen Saskia and Phineas since leaving Midst, but in "Breach" they encounter both on opposite ends of an office that shortly thereafter ends up blown apart and on fire. Moc Weepe, acting in his role as Tripotentiary of a cult he doesn't believe in orders the capture of the most wanted criminal in that cult's history, and Jonas Spahr tells him "no" while literally positioning himself opposite the Trust, having made the choice to leave. And these choices from both have pretty immediate consequences for their respective counterparts. Weepe playing the role of Tripotentiary found himself in no position to intervene when Saskia set off the second explosion, but Spahr having jumped out of the Vault with the Breach was in a position to protect Phineas during the subsequent free fall.

While neither action on their part was guaranteed to be fatal to Phineas or Saskia when they took them (Phineas could have lucked out and managed to avoid any deadly mica encounters before reaching Gretel's ship without Spahr's interference; Saskia says in "Ghosts" she hoped she would simply go back to being one person if half of her died), Spahr making the choice to directly shape his own future meant he was in a position to save someone he loves, while Weepe making the choice to continue to refuse his own agency meant he had to watch someone he loves die.

[dear-ao3]

Can I ask for a translation on what happened in Vegas?

what didnt happen in vegas!

-carlos sainz ran over a drain cover that was not welded down 9 minutes into the first practice session. it ripped a hole through his car basically (he narrowly avoided getting royally and permanently fucked up by it) and he got a 10 place grid penalty for fixing said car

-toto wolff, the mercedes team principle, said very emphatically that carlos deserved this penalty. carlos did not in fact deserve this penalty because it was not remotely his fault.

-probably out of spite, carlos managed to finish the race above both mercedes cars

-back to practice 1, it was redflagged 9 minutes in after he crashed and it took nearly 7.5 hours for them to fix the track because they had to check all the other drain covers

-practice was already late to begin with and reportedly at 1am ish they kicked all the fans out who had bought tickets because it was "too late"

-tickets btw were over 1k USD

-practice two started sometime around 2am and didnt finish until nearly 4am

-yes, people were driving cars at over 200mph at 2 in the morning, jetlagged to hell and back. idc if you're a professional, that sounds dangerous

-the announcers were descending into madness the whole time and during practice two i think tried to talk about oceans 11 but fucked it up

-there was also the sphere. the sphere was relatively unhinged.

-the drivers didnt get back to their hotels until after the sun rose that day. and they had to race again that night

-oh also it was fucking freezing and when its freezing the cars don't work cause the tires don't warm up and the brakes don't warm up

-tires also warm up best on corners, high speed ones. the vegas track had mostly all low speed corners and really long straights. not ideal

-the pit lane exit was also smack in the middle of a really tight turn. which they would be exiting onto on cold tires with cold brakes.

-also the track looked like an upside down pig

-practice three was normal until the very end when alex albon crashed into the wall. no one was allowed to do practice starts because the session was red flagged and not resumed.

-the most notable thing to happen at qualifying was that both williams cars (which are basically tractors) managed to place p5 and p6 on the grid. especially interesting considering that logan sergeant has placed dead last in qualifying for the last several races.

-also both mclarens were at the bottom. this is not super relevant or particularly interesting but i was upset about it.

-ferrari went p1 (charles leclerc) and p2 (carlos sainz), but sainz had a 10 place grid penalty for fixing his car that had a literal hole through the bottom, so he started p12.

-weirdly, sir lewis hamilton and checo perez also started pretty far down the grid.

-anyway onto the race.

-there were so many safety cars. literally on the first lap the whole back half of the grid rammed into each other.

-then! terrifyingly! lando norris ran over a bump in the track on lap 3 or 4 i don't remember and spun several times before ramming into the wall. he sounded not ok on his radio but he got out of the car. eventually they ended up taking him to the hospital, he is quite fine but it was still a terrible crash

-his teammate, oscar piastri, seemly got possessed by someone or something, possibly lando himself, because he had a very impressive race until mclaren decided to use the worst tire strategy possible (as in, pit him in the last 10 laps to change his tires when this was largely avoidable by all accounts). he could have ended on the podium potentially if they hadn't fucked him up. still, he ended 10th and got the fastest lap and as a result the track record.

-there was also another episode of French Civil War at alpine when they told esteban ocon to stay behind his teammate, pierre gasley, and he said no !! and passed him for funzies

-charles leclerc also got possessed by something, possibly his own bad luck, because he managed to finish p2 after overtaking checo perez on the last lap.

-the same checo perez whos f1 career has been basically dead for half the season

-also lance stroll weirdly slayed

-despite starting high on the grid, both williams managed to finish out of the points

-surprisingly there were only 3 DNFs and 0 red flags

-this is surprising because of all the tire and brake issues that people thought there would be

-unsurprisingly max verstappen won. what was surprising was that he sang viva las vegas over his radio afterwards, especially surprising considering that he spent the whole weekend shitting on the race, saying that the track was terrible, he hated it, and that the fans should burn the place down for getting kicked out on practice 1 day and only getting a voucher in response

-related to that, the fans sued f1 over getting kicked out

-someone thought it was a good idea to put max charles and checo in the back of a rolls and film them driving to the podium. it was incredibly memey.

-there was definitely more that happened but this is all i can remember right now

[indecisive-capricorn]

Headcanons to Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman Reader:

WARNINGS: Fluff, a few dirty jokes (if you're not 18+, please don't read this post), a few mentions of death, etc.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before everyone reads this, I just want to say that the timeline begins way before ATSV. Like, it starts around the same time as the Miguel O'Hara we see in the SATSV credit scene. Also yes, the dirty jokes might have been a little unnecessary but I couldn't help myself, it was literally right there! And I wanted to make this longer but I'll just continue it with a part II instead. :)

MASTERLIST: Feel free to check out my other works! :)

On the day you had met Miguel O'Hara, you felt relieved and lucky to have another superhero alongside you. Not just because you are the clumsiest spider woman to probably ever live and needed some help before you get into an accident from slipping becuse of a banana or a bag or had fallen down multiple times during a fight for no reason at all. Seriously, it's not your fault. You either have bad luck or just have really bad balance but either way, meeting Miguel O'Hara for the first time had assured you that you weren't the only one going through everything you have endured as a superhero.

You were a loner practically because of your secret life. You were aware of the dangers that could happen to you and to those you tell your secrets to, so you decided to keep your mouth shut on it until Miguel came along.

Miguel was a little awkward but quite nice to you during your first meeting after he had helped you defeat a Doctor Octavius who was not from your dimension. Miguel explained to you about the multiverse and how people like the Doctor Octavius who came to your dimension are called anomalies and his plans to create a team of spider people to keep the universe in balance. You were a little reluctant to join at first because let's face it, you already have a lot of trouble keeping your own dimension's villain in place and you didn't want to burden Miguel either, but eventually, you agreed.

Miguel said so himself that he had only recently found a way to go to other dimensions but it's a little tricky and because of it, the team was still small and consisted only of a few members, including Miguel, you, another spider woman named Jessica Drew who's a total badass and a Peter Benjamin Parker who looks quire similar to your old college friend, Peter Parker but that's a story for another time.

In almost all of your missions, you were paired up with Miguel. You've went on a few missions with Peter and Jess too, but you worked mostly with Miguel and actually got bonded well with him. At first you two got along over your love for empanadas and although you were under the impression that Miguel might be a humourless, stoic guy, you were met with the complete opposite. Sure, he can be serious at times but he was also funny and casual and loves to joke with you in his own sarcastic way.

Miguel trained you as well. Whenever you made a mistake during training or during the missions, he would help teach you a move or two to help improve your skill and you've always appreciated that, especially when you noticed how he was using his free time to train you, outside of working hours, even when the sun was already setting.

Since the two of you are practically partners-in-crime at work or sometimes jokingly called work wife and work husband by Peter and Jess, you would be around each other most of the time. While Miguel would be busy finishing an invention in his lab, a watch that's supposed to bring you to any dimension you want and stops the person wearing them from glitching, you were busy watching for any anomalies that might pop up in the dimensions. Miguel insisted for you to do it near him, so that way he could glance at the screens every once in a while too when he stops momentarily for a break.

You were the one to always remind him to eat, either bringing him some homemade empanadas, which became his personal favourite ever since he took the first bite but he'll never admit it to you , for lunch or lasagna for dinner. It became a habit at that point and you end up bringing two homemade dishes instead of one to work. The first time you gave him some of your homemade food, Miguel was insistent to pay you back somehow, though it was hard for him to resist any of the food you give him. Either out of hunger or just because his tongue loves the way all the food you bring tastes. And technically, it's not the only thing his tongue loves to taste if you swing in the right direction and put enough courage to it. ;)

However, when you were secretly watching Miguel— yes, you're quite nosy — as he took over to check for any anomalies on the screens, you couldn't help but notice that he would always look to a particular dimension. You weren't sure which dimension it is, but you knew that the Miguel O'Hara in that dimension has a daughter named Gabriella. You caught him looking over to that dimension a couple more times but dismissed it to be nothing and decided to mind your own business on it.

You only began to become suspicious when Miguel didn't come to his missions or even come to Spider Society. Miguel had managed to recruit a lot more spider variants but it was very unlike him to not be present in the team. Out of everyone, Miguel was the one who insisted for Jess, Peter and you to work just as hard when the team was still little. And the times Miguel did come for missions or to make an invention, he would always be in a hurry, as if he had some other businese to attend to.

Miguel could also be a bit unfocus at times. One time, you noticed him staring at a file about a mission report and tried to ask him an absurd question. "Miguel?" "Hm?" "Is it alright if I redecorate the whole office and cover it with hot pink glitter and rainbows?" "Sure, as long as you think it's benefical for the mission."

You were of course a little very hurt by his frequent absence but you didn't want to immediately confront him about it. You knew how hard it was for Miguel to manage a whole team, especially one that's growing rapidly by the day, so you tried to be understanding and stayed quiet about it.

That was until one day, you had enough. Your patience could only go so far and that thin line broke when Miguel had suddenly left during an important mission. The mission was a success and you managed to take down the anomaly, but after the fight, you were left with a severely broken arm. When Miguel received news about your state, he quickly went over to the infirmary where you were being treated at. You were silent the whole time he was apologizing to you for abruptly leaving and began tending to your arm instead of the spider healer that had been assigned to you.

Miguel had stuck around, bringing in snacks and drinks to comfort you during your time in the infirmary until the sun went down. He used the excuse that he needed to do check the multiverse for any activities of an anomaly. However, you knew that wasn't the case and right after he left the infirmary, you soon followed after him, making sure to be careful and silent with your steps.

When Miguel had arrived to his office, you noticed him using his newest invention, the watch that allows anyone to go to another dimension, and witnessed firsthand as he disappeared into a portal. You managed to slip into the portal but since you weren't thinking things through, you had completely forgotten that the portals were often opened from the sky, and with that broken arm of yours, it's no wonder you might get more injuries from the fall. Thankfully though, your instincts kicked in and it was around night time as well, so you managed to stick your webs to the building before you hit the ground and without anyone noticing you.

After landing on the ground, you were eventually able to follow Miguel again but turned confused when you saw him going into a house that you were unfamiliar with. You had been to Miguel's universe before and knew what his home looked like in Nueva York, but you were not in Miguel's universe and the house he had went to looked less extravagant than the penthouse he had let you stayed in for the night, which you promised to yourself to never discuss it with anyone.

You observed from a far distance to ensure that Miguel wouldn't catch you and watched as he climbed into the window on the second floor of the house and you began to get doubtful of your suspicions, wonderinv if perhaps he was just on a secret mission you didn't know about. Miguel tends to be secretive at times.

An old lady soon stepped out of the house, seemingly a neighbour, but what shocked you was that when the house door opened for the old lady to go out, you saw a glimpse of Miguel with Gabriella.

You froze in your spot for some time, completely dumbstruck by the revelation. When you finally snapped out of your trance, you noticed Miguel and Gabriella watching a soccer match on the television, actively cheering for their favourite team with popcorn and sodas. You were amused slightly at the sight but not so much with the idea of what exactly was happening at that moment because as far as you know, Miguel never had a daughter to begin with in his own dimension.

So, to be sure, you went back to headquarters and checked the backgrounde of both Gabriella's and Miguel's universes. With Lyla's help, you found out that Gabriella's father, the Miguel O'Hara in her universe, had been killed several weeks ago— the exact same time your well, not your your Miguel became more absent in the Spider Society. It was a canon event and nothing could be done to prevent it or else it could have caused chaos. You became suspicious and after checking his watch's history, you discovered ghat Miguel had went to Gabriella's dimension during the important mission and he had also went there multiple times during his frequent absence at work.

You confronted Miguel about it after you had gathered all of the evidence to prove what he had been up to the past several weeks. You didn't want to be harsh but you knew you needed to be upfront about it, knowing how Miguel is like. It wasn't much of a confrontation but you had asked him for his side of the story. You wanted to hear his reasons.

Miguel explained to you that he wanted to raise Gabriella for the time being until he can find a suitable guardian for her since Gabriella's father was raising her by himself without her mother nor grandparents. Miguel didn't want Gabriella to know that her father had been killed either since it would distress her, so he had secretly been living as the Miguel O'Hara in that universe. You understood his reasons, of course, but you warned him that if he doesn't find a guardian for Gabriella soon, there will be consequences for both him and Gabriella's universe.

Even after you had warned him, Miguel still kept on going to Gabriella's universe, but he was a little more present at work as well. You avoided Miguel as much as you could at work, finding it to be ironic that the man who was dedicated to protecting the multiverse was also about to disrupt another universe's canon. However, you couldn't blame him either. Gabriella is his own child in another universe and having to go through a parent's death is already hard enough as it is, especially at a young age. Miguel was trying to protect her from that pain as long as he could until he was able to find a suitable guardian for her, which is really hard since before her father's death, Gabriella lived alone with her father and had no other family. From the universe's data, her mother had left after she had given birth to Gabriella and Gabriella's grandparents from Miguel's side had already died while Gabriella's mother's family wanted nothing to do with them.

Although you understood his reasons for continuing, you still feared of the consequences that might come to Miguel and Gabriella, so after your missions, you would go to Gabriella's dimension and watched over her from a distance to check if there were any glitches or potential dangers around her, even when Miguel was not around her. Miguel noticed it eventually, but instead of scolding or confronting you about it, he introduced you to Gabriella and told her that you're "Papa's good friend from work".

Gabriella was shy and quiet when you first met her, but after meeting her a few more times, she slowly opened up and revealed her curious side to you. Gabriella is quite adorable and would sometimes aske you questions about her father and how close the two of you are. You didn't find it odd, especially since Gabriella's father probably didn't bring any of his friends back home to meet Gabriella, and answered all of Gabriella's questions with enthusiasm.

At first, you only wanted to meet Gabriella a couple times just so that you knew what she is like, but you weren't able to say no when Gabriella had asked if you could go to her soccer match on Thursday with big, wide eyes. Okay, you admit you have a soft spot for children but how can anyone blame you for saying yes when an adorable kid asks you to go to their soccer match looking all excited?

You ended up going to Gabriella's soccer match and Miguel was a little smug that you came, especially since you didn't really want to get too attached to Gabriella, but Miguel didn't comment anything about it and just bought you some snacks for the soccer match while you two cheer for Gabriella. She was so excited when she realized that you came and hugged you tightly after she had won the match, though Gabriella turned a little sad when you had to leave. In order to cheer her up, you made a pinky promise to Gabriella that she will see you soon enough.

[completeoveranalysis]

[2]

NEW FAVOURITE COVER?

NEW FAVOURITE COVER!

Chapitre 201 - The Truth from within the Ruins

Oh this is just beyond gorgeous. Who can stand against the pure concentrated adorable that is Tsubasa Babies Family Photo? Now with all four of them!

I’m in love with all the tiny details that they clearly spent so long on - all the lovely folds of Sakura’s dress, the intricate detailing on Fai’s robe and staff. Lava Lamp is in his ceremonial garb, and tiny Kurogane IN HIS FANCY LITTLE OUTFIT. (AND HIS POSTURE? GET OUT. Incredible)

 Kurogane doesn’t have Ginryuu yet (since this is Happy Childhood AU, so his father will still have it. Still has the moon though!) but Lava Lamp has the Syaoran Family Sword all ready to go. His outfit would be incomplete without it - they’re all wearing clothing from their home worlds, or maybe their families? I’m technically not sure which world Lava Lamp comes from, but his outfit is Family Legacy all the way down. I’m dying to know if Fai’s outfit is in the style of Seresu or Valeria - I don’t think they’re all that different, but I think I would put my money on Valeria based on the position of the fur and the curl motif. In which case it’s fun for me that his Happy Family AU is in Valeria instead of with Ashura. (sorry not sorry Ashura get fucked)

I suppose in this version he never had reason to leave Valeria in the first place, so it’s a very nice touch that the outfit doesn’t immediately resemble the clothing he wore in his backstory, since that’s all so closely linked to the death of his twin, who would be alive here. Very nice visual choices all around, especially with each of them in their own unique colour pallette. Oh, and even with the colour differences they all have bits of yellow somewhere on them, showing their connection.

The left/right split between them is really fun too - sword wielders on one side, phenomenally powerful magic users on the other, cats vs dogs, unique child/parent pairings, etc. It’s very funny to me that they found a super fancy chair for Sakura and a cushion for Kurogane, but nothing for the other two. But Fai draping himself over the chair is such an incredible piece of character flair, which I am in love with, but also, the TOUCH? The little touch of tiny hands? Sakura reaching back to put her hand on the back of Fai’s? Tiny Lava Lamp’s little grip on Kurogane’s arm? OH it’s so touching. 

And behind them all? THAT WINDOW. Such a clear symbol positioned directly in the centre frame. At first I thought it might be an eye, but this is Happy Family AU so there should be no Evil Wolverine to spy on them. What I’m voting on instead is CLAMP playing with Tarot symbols again and this being the Wheel of Fortune, or a similar idea of a wheel of destiny. They use the latter idea a lot in their earlier works (RG Veda and X/1999 say hi), but I think the tarot symbol in particular really shines through with the ideas they’re playing with in Tsubasa/xxxHolic, and has a very strong parallel to the idea of hitsuzen. 

After some much safer googling it looks like the “Wheel of Fortune” in Tarot can mean change or cycles or inevitable fate, but on the flipside could also be lacking control. I think the reversed meaning of the card really speaks to me the most about their situation in general, as it describes bad luck and misfortunes thrust upon you from external forces, that you are fighting to take control back from an unwinnable situation. That fighting it is impossible, that continuing to fight it can only bring more suffering, and that the only option is to let it go. To stop blaming yourself for the thing you did wrong, or the thing that you think was your fault. To forgive yourself, to accept it all, to let yourself move on, to accept that change is inevitable, and to finally be able to move forward and just let everything happen. 

Because if that’s not exactly the whole situation we are in I don’t know what is. It’s a mirror for the things that Fai and Kurogane have already been through, and for what Lava Lamp Guy is still currently fighting, and CLAMP love to do drop these symbols all the time. 

And this is a bit of a tangent but who’s gonna stop me? Clamp LOVE their tragic destiny pairs, especially in their early works - the couples deeply love but also cursed by fate, like Kendappa and Souma, Ashura and Yasha (flavoured differently in RG Veda, but still fitting this cycle again in Tsubasa), Subaru and Seishirou, Sorata and Arashi (unfinished), Kamui and Fuuma, etc. The characters who are so different from each other, so diametrically opposed, but in love still, and it burns so strong that they either have to kill each other or let the world burn around them - or both! They’re always fighting destiny, just like the reversed wheel of fortune, and they fight it to the point of obliteration. 

AND THEN we have Tsubasa, and I think it’s so endlessly interesting that they took the same pattern and turned it around. Syaoran and Sakura definitely fit the theme (and wild that they took the Cardcaptor Sakura happy couple deliberately to make the most universe shattering tragedy out of it, but I still haven’t seen how their story ends, whether one will have to tragically die to save everything or whether they’ll get out somehow). But what I mostly want to talk about (surprise surprise) Kurogane and Fai, who fit the pattern exactly. Complete opposites, diametrically opposed, set up as antagonists and destined to kill each other but fall in love instead. That they both fight against the tragic pasts that defined them and eventually change their mind. Eventually, slowly, they accept love again and realise that they can actually live with themselves and each other if they let it all go. 

And I think what really gets me is that if this was an earlier Clamp work they absolutely would have tragically died - they would have killed each other in the climax of Seresu and it would have been beautiful and terrible and no-one ever would have ever emotionally recovered from the complete and utter devastation. 

BUT THEY DIDN’T. 

CLAMP spend all of Tsubasa revisiting all their old works, taking us through a parade of the various tragedies they’ve sung across the years, all leading up to them ultimately breaking their own pattern and letting Fai and Kurogane save each other from the same Clamp fate that claimed every tragic pair before them. They choose each other and get out alive. They stop blaming themselves for the unchangeable parts of destiny and finally forgive themselves. And it’s just very emotional to me that it’s these two that make it, these two that get to recover and choose each other and live their lives inseparable from this point on. The two that had arguably the most tragic backstories also get to face their trauma, survive, and live. 

And it’s just so beautiful to see how the CLAMP storytelling method has changed over the years, and to find out that after all these years, the big destiny story they really wanted to tell in their longest and most detailed work was about the two men who fell in love, against all odds and saved each other. Despite absolutely everything saying that it should be impossible, it’s Kurogane and Fai that finally flip the tarot card back around and live. 

And I’m extremely interested in what this means for Lava Lamp and Not!Sakura.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hit By Fate

a Steve Rogers x Reader life lesson

[This is my own entry for my 1-1-1 Challenge, but also is a very belated gift fic for @itickledthesleepingdragon. May we all remember that we are worth care and consideration!💜] WC 2365

Recommended links: Habibi Through The Years--The Old Guard fandom, Joe/Nicky (Ao3) Invaluable--Star Wars fandom, dad!Obi-Wan

Summary: It's just an accident, and you're totally fine. One handsome man, however, does not agree.

It’s not their fault; it’s just bad luck.

You should have texted to confirm this morning, but since Syd told you she’d text you if anything changed, you didn’t want to pry. Your friends make enough fun of you already for never coming out. You didn’t want to give them one more story in their long list of times you bailed. They already think you’re allergic to fun, so tonight you were going to show them.

You’d rushed to the restaurant after work. You even woke up early to do your hair before work so that you’d still look nice. You brought a purse to transfer your wallet and keys and makeup into so as not to carry your much larger work bag around. You even drank less water the entire afternoon so you wouldn’t be rushing to the restroom and slowing down your cross-city commute.

But then you arrived and there was no reservation.

Not under anyone’s name.

The hostess seemed outstandingly indifferent to your situation. You stepped aside for other patrons, sneaking peeks through the wonky glass dividers to catch a glimpse of your friends at a table maybe, and you texted one.

>>Hey.

<<Whaddup? Tiff replies.

>>You guys here yet?

<<Where?

You give the name of the restaurant and feel your guts crash to the polished wood floor.

<<We were there earlier. Yeah. Why?

Your hands start to shake with anxiety and a touch of rage.

>>I thought we were meeting at 7

The dots show up and disappear. The hostess huffs, staring at you while striking through a line on her paper. You’re blocking one of four total doors to enter the building, but apparently, that’s still taking up too much space.

<<Syd and Karol got off at 4 so we just had drinks early

<<TGIF

<<On a pub crawl now

They know you still work tomorrow. They know you likely would barely drink at dinner. You know exactly why no one would bother asking you if you could get out of work early, and you know they would not try any spontaneous fun for your first time out in months. They didn’t ask because they knew you’d say ‘no,’ or even worse, they knew you’d say ‘yes’ but be uncomfortable the entire time.

You try to call Syd, a last-ditch effort to get a lock on just how drunk or how far away they are. You tell yourself that if they are close and seem relatively coherent (and if the bar serves some small plates of something because you are hungry) then you’ll go. You will absolutely go.

Syd doesn’t pick up. You try Karol. No dice.

Fine. You turn to ask the hostess if there is space at the bar to eat, but she looks at you with such annoyance and a raised finger while she handles a couple who clearly out-rank you in some way.

Defeated, you leave instead.

This whole thing has taken so little time that you’d have to wait another ten minutes for the next bus back. You just walk, staring down at your phone, willing one of them to talk to the other, willing one of them to realize they’ve left you behind.

Do they even care that they’ve done it? Are they even your friends anymore?

The sad part is that you don’t go out much, but these are the friends you go out with the most. It just so happens that’s a few times a year, and that is you trying. This is you pushing yourself.

It’s not good enough.

Just as the WALK sign lights up at the street corner, the dots show back up under Syd’s message, and you shove it closer to your face.

You don’t see it coming.

A cab’s bumper smacks your left leg and bats you sideways. The solid hit feels like a tumble on the ice rink. It spins you, your phone flying out of your hands, and you’re scrambling not to fall. Your muscles tense every which way that’s not natural, probably looking klutzy.

You shoot back up too fast and look around, wondering if people are staring at you now, but the few other people crossing simply walk on by.

The cabbie only rolls down his window.

“You okay?”

Not actively concerned. Not getting out of the car. Not even apologizing.

But if you’d kept walking, you’d be across already. If you weren’t just standing there, the cab would be able to turn and so would the several others behind him.

One honks.

“Fine,” you say quietly, waving him on for emphasis and stepping back to find your phone.

All the effort of the day, all the preparation mentally and physically, and you are stranded on the wrong side of the road, exactly where you started, metaphorically and near-actually run over.

You have to crouch down by the curb and pray your phone didn’t slide into the gutter, wincing at a particular angle that shoots pain up your left thigh. Maybe you aren’t fine.

“Miss?” a tentative, low voice calls above a classic pair of Converses on the sidewalk. “Think this is yours.”

A man in glasses and a ball cap hands your phone back, the screen mercifully intact.

It’s such a tiny blessing in this string of unfortunate events.

The breath you take turns into a whimper and ends in a sniffle. Tears sting your eyes as you start to think about what happened—what really happened—in the past minute.

“Thank you,” you choke out, snatching the device. The gesture seems aggressive after the fact. “Sorry. Thank you,” you try again.

“You okay?” How the same two words can sound so different from two people, you’ll never know, but the difference floors you harder than the car’s impact.

With the utmost care, the stranger’s hands lightly touch your shoulders and guide you out of the road.

“I’m fine.” You’re an automated recording, retreating to a quiet and lonelier space in your mind. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You got hit by a car,” he says bluntly.

“No, just a—“ you look up into the man’s face, his blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong jaw, his height “—graze.”

“Yeah, you got grazed by four thousand pounds.”

“You’re…” All you can do is point at Captain America’s chest and blink.

He frowns and whispers. “You recognize me?”

Somehow that’s the strange part?

“Shoot. The glasses usually work. Don’t…please don’t make a big deal, but I…I’m sorry I couldn’t pull you out of the way.”

Steve Rogers buries his hands in his jean pockets, folding himself more into the cover of his hoodie and leather jacket.

“You wanted to help me?” you croak.

He ticks his head in confusion, respectfully indicating that you’ve asked the one and only dumb question known to mankind.

“Why?”

You don’t even know what you’re asking about now. Why me? Why today? Why now? Why not? You don’t notice your hands are shaking until he grips them gently.

“I can take you to the hospital,” he offers.

“I’m fine.” The repeat earns you another frown. “I’m not…hurting,” you clarify.

“That’s called shock, sweetheart.”

Steve seems to catch himself and sighs.

“Sorry. What I mean to say is let’s find you some water and somewhere to sit, okay? I’ll check you out then.”

You nod immediately. He’s only half-turned when Steve spins back around.

“Not check you out check you out,” he mumbles, “just like a once over. No, not…” he sighs harder. “I am going to make sure you are alright.” Every word is strategically emphasized.

He leads you to the nearest bench. His head stays down the entire way to a newspaper stand to buy you a bottle of water.

You can tell by the way Steve monitors every move of the bottle to your lips that he fights doing it for you. From his overly attentive posture, you’re surprised he waits a whole minute to ask how you feel yet again.

Still stunned, honestly, but it’s not just your left leg that aches, it’s your whole body. That seems too pathetic to admit aloud, but if you say the ‘fine’-word one more time, he’ll surely carry you to the dang ER. He has that look.

Instead, you admit, “I’m hungry.”

A smile blossoms over his features. “I can help with that.”

The boyish glee with which Steve Rogers walks you (gingerly) to a nearby, hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor is endearing. You’re not a patient for those minutes, and when he orders for you both (there are three lines on the board and that’s the menu) while you claim a teeny tiny booth, you’re not a victim of your day.

When he tells you how he found this place originally, how it’s almost like the pizza he remembers from long ago but better, you’re not alone anymore.

“Were you going to get food when…” Steve trails off.

Maybe it’s the shock wearing too thin to mask the rest. Maybe it’s the hot cheese warming your insides and melting your anger. You spend the next ten minutes blabbing about what happened with your friends and explaining what you were doing when the cab hit you.

“So you weren’t even okay before the car?”

His words throw you for a loop.

“No, I mean, it was just a misunder—“

“You’re doing it again,” he cuts in. “You’re diminishing you in the picture.”

You take a long swig of your soda while staring blankly at him. You watch Steve realize you aren’t even going to impose on him for an explanation. He drops his slice on the plate and holds out his huge hands as props.

“The whole picture of your day, right?” His arms are wide, then he points at things on the table. “You told me about Syd and why it’s ‘fine’ that she changed plans for her own convenience. About Tiffany and Carly—“

“Karol,” you sputter mid-sip.

“Carol, right, sorry. Everyone has a -y in their names now. I just assumed.”

“Karol with a -k,” you add.

Steve…ponders whether that’s some sort of joke before waving his hands to regroup. “You told me how your other friends—using that term loosely—rationalize leaving you to eat or even navigate the city alone—“

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Debatable,” he chuckles. “And then you tell me about how the cab driver probably didn’t need the hassle of dealing with some minor injury he inflicted on—and I quote—‘someone.’”

His eyebrow pops up over the rim of his glasses as if that will drive his point home, but you’ve got nothing.

“Where are you in the picture?” he finally blurts. “It’s your time and your effort and your body and your safety, and you just told me everyone else is more important. They all deserve consideration before you in your own life. Including some driver who could have killed you!”

He’s getting visibly agitated the more he talks, and you shrink in the seat, not out of fear but out of guilt for taking an evening of Captain America’s time to yourself. If your friends couldn’t even stand to spend a meal with you, it makes sense that Steve would be annoyed with your company.

“Wait, there,” he points directly at your face, “what was that thought? What did you just think?”

“I—I’m sorry I—“

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Steve asks bluntly.

He must see your eyes glisten with more unshed tears because his whole body visibly softens.

“You showed up at the place you all agreed on—“ he counts on his fingers “—at the time you were told, and walked across a street with right of way.” He does what you are beginning to think of as his signature sigh. “Am I missing something?”

All you can do is chew on your bottom lip.

It takes you what feels like an eternity to notice. “I could have really been hurt,” you mumble finally. “That’s not okay.”

Steve stretches his long arm across the tiny table, opening his palm to await yours.

“I hate to tell you this. You don’t have to be torn open to be ‘really hurt,’ sweetheart.” This time he says the nickname with firm intention. He squeezes your hand. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d come to the infirmary with me and get some industrial-grade salve on what’s sure to be a nasty bruise.”

You smile sadly, still pushing away errant thoughts that you’re imposing on the Captain.

“And by the time that’s over…it’ll be time for a late-night dessert before I take you home.”

In the fluorescent light, you can see him blush fiercely.

“As an escort—escort you,” he corrects, “to your door, I mean. For safety.”

He shrugs uncomfortably to adjust his layers of disguise, hanging his head, this time to hide his face from you.

“If you ever wondered why I’d go out to pizza alone,” Steve whispers, “wonder no longer.”

He scoots across his side of the booth to stand.

You think for a long moment.

This is important. This is one of the most important men in the country—nay, the world—begging you to be the protagonist in your own life. He wants you to want that.

You deposit the last grease-crumpled napkin onto the stacked plates and clear your throat. “I like this picture,” you say first, but it’s not enough. It’s not loud enough. It doesn’t hold weight or take up its due space.

You try again.

“I like being in this picture.”

He’s tall and his gleaming white teeth are perfect and his bright blue eyes are framed by long lashes and he’s staring right at you. How could you not shoot your shot?

“I’d—“ you fight the urge to look away “—consider seeing a sequel, too.”

Steve pushes up his fake glasses and nods, still pink in the cheeks. His hesitation reads as shy, not polite, not dutiful.

He juts out an average, hoodie-covered elbow for you to balance on.

“S’pose that means I should know your name, miss, and what your favorite flavor of ice cream is.”

Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge Details

A/N: In case you were wondering, the life lesson I wrote Steve Rogers teaching us is one that I constantly struggle with, too. This is an everyday, uphill battle to recognize our own worth and know that taking care of ourselves is not selfish. I hope this serves as a wee reminder!

Taglist: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[aechii]

Heyy, first of all I just wanna say I love your writing and I really really appreciate you writing for black readers 💖 I wanted to request a kylian story about reader meeting his family for the first time, maybe bonding with his mom and Ethan if thats possible 😊 (also are we getting a second part for good luck charm??)

₍⁠₍ ONE OF US ₎⁠₎

PAiRiNG ?! boyfriend!kylian x black!femreader

GENRE ?! romance, fluff (😞)

C/W ?! written in 3rd person since i can't write in 2nd person for shit, she/her pronouns used, kylian whines alot, ethan is too mature for his own good lool, KYLIAN ISN'T DRIVING !!!

A/N ?! i luvvvv this request :) im glad you appreciate my works, it means a lot to me since i really want to make my black readers feel included <3

tried to make it not too fluffy (😞) but im sorry if i failed. part 2 of 'good luck charm' will be the next fic released after this so stay tuned for that (hopefully before the end of this week). anyways, hope i did ur request justice, anon 🖤

~°~

one and a half hours on road, and the ending of the everlasting queue of cars and headlights seemed out of sight. a traffic light suspended from the sky, like a descending black orb, and [y/n] tilted her head as she leaned forward to observe it. sighed, resting back as the lowness of her car's hood rendered her efforts futile, and instead, relied on the agonising snail-speed of the moving cars ahead.

"traffic's heavy today."

kylian responded with a quiet hum, tapping her thigh to the beat of the playing song, "yeah, bad day to go out but my mum's expecting you."

fear hovered just beneath her skin and kylian noticed the tremble of her hands. they gripped the steering wheel, as if to strangle it dead, sure that the grooves of the grips had indented into her palms. he gave a reassuring squeeze to her leg, then stretched forward to peck her cheek.

"you'll be alright, they'll love you."

her eyebrows remained crinkled, "are you sure?"

kylian gave an affirmative nod, "of course— honestly they'll love anybody who isn't me."

she knew his words were a tad bit hyperbolic, but it made her laugh anyways.

"really?"

"yeah. their dear kylian can be a handful sometimes."

[y/n] was quick to nod at that, "you're not wrong there."

in any other instance, kylian would find fault in her words and be haste to correct her, whining. yet, he watched how the knots of her fingers grew loose and how her shoulders untensed and settled with ease, and bit his tongue.

silence dallied in the car, save kylian's hums of every song that cried from the radio. the congestion had lightened and they both rolled forward a couple of feet per minute.

"quick warning though, ethan is most likely to drag you to play fifa with him. don't be scared to say no," kylian rolled his eyes after; she found their bond way too endearing and wholesome for her heart to take.

"says that he needs to add to his fifa kill count, and literally verses anybody he can," he proceeded. [y/n] would think he meant his irritation if she didn't peak the slight grin that ghosted his lips. he could never dislike the boy, of course.

"i see where he gets his competitiveness from," she joked, surging the car forward as the light turned green. the motorway is long left behind, and the distant city blended and smothered into the view before them.

"are you one of his kill counts?"

kylian kissed his teeth, and it triggered a hearty laugh from the girl beside him, "that's not even the point. i've demanded rematches and he still refuses to."

"babe, i think it's a sign that you should suck it up and accept that he's better than you at fifa."

"in your dreams," arms were crossed and he ignored her grin, looking out the window, "i'm forcing him to play today."

the gps ordered her to take a left, and she swiftly took the sharp corner, bustling streets dwindling behind them as they entered a quieter road.

"i will be supporting you— although i can't guarantee that i will for all of the games you play."

"so- what? you'll be rooting for ethan?" his words left his mouth as if they were bitter and salty on his tongue.

"mhm."

she only said that to rile up the man, finding humour in his disdain. in kylian's eyes, [y/n] was his, and only his, hype woman.

"traitor."

"love you too."

they fell into tranquil muteness as the sight of kylian's childhood house is unveiled by the skyscraping evergreen trees that seemed to be a habitual plant around this side of paris. it's not entirely big, but large enough that, from the outside, it was obvious that it situated two floors. gated and neatly groomed grass carpeted the front lawn, bright green and dotted with white. daisies, she predicted.

the car undulated to a halt, and [y/n] released a sigh.

"we're here... finally."

kylian shifted in his seat, facing his girlfriend, "yeah, we are." reached to scoop her hands in his, "and as i said, you have nothing to be scared about. i love you, hm? even if they don't like you, which i highly doubt will happen, it won't change a thing, okay?"

nodded and tilted forward to kiss her boyfriend. kylian's hand rested gently upon her cheek as he deepened it, lips tenderly harsh as he attempted to portray his words into action, too. a ping from his phone caused them to break contact, turning it on as he read the text from the notification bar.

mama ❤️ i see a car outside. stopping hogging the poor girl and come inside, it's too hot.

"who is it?" [y/n] asked.

kylian showed her the text and she softly chuckled as she read it, "you heard her. let's go."

they depart, not before kylian gave her hand a reassuring peck, and they amble to the front door.

kylian looked at her, finger at the ready to poke the doorbell, "ready?"

"i think so, yeah."

+_-

greeted with a warm, encompassing hug, [y/n] was pulled inside, her boyfriend complaining behind her as he was left behind.

"okay, forget your own son then," he gruntled, closing the door as the warm air from outside began to mesh with the cold one inside.

fayza, his mother, kissed her teeth. undeniably kylian's mother.

"as if i don't see you more than i want to."

an arm circled [y/n]'s waist, head tucking itself into her neck as lips muttered complaints into her skin. she patted his hand in faux sympathy.

they're escorted to the back garden, filled to them brim with kids no taller than her waist, and chattering adults. it was welcoming chaos, one that made her feel settled and content because everyone was happy, doing they're own thing as they gathered as one family.

and now, she was to be one of them.

broken out of her reverie, fayza's voice cut through the cacophony, and all heads turned toward their direction.

"everyone, meet [y/n], kylian's girlfriend. make her feel comfortable and at home for me," her face was illuminated with a smile.

a little voice, she presumed was of one of kylian's nieces, sounded from just beside them.

"she's very pretty!"

[y/n]'s heart swelled, and she untangled herself from her boyfriend's hold, crouching down in front of the infant, "thank you, love. what's your name?"

she reponded, full of eagerness, "marie!"

[y/n] chuckled, "you have a very pretty name, don't you?"

the toddler nodded, as she signalled for [y/n] to pick her up. arms wrapped around the small girl securely, she stood up, swirling the girl around as she giggled loudly, then began to ask her questions about her and kylian's relationship. her curiosity was overwhelmingly adorable and [y/n] could feel her face muscles ache at the undying smile.

kylian watched from the doorframe, eyes drenched in obvious adoration as his girlfriend began to go around, socialising with the rest of his family. his sister is quick to welcome her with a hug and a kiss to the cheek, ruffling the curls of her daughter in [y/n]'s arms. if he hadn't decided to grow old with the girl, he certainly did now, for the sight of his most beloveds intertwining with so little difficulty made him feel full with joy.

+_-

the little girl in her arms began to grow restless, and with the sweltering heat beating upon her skin, [y/n] unleashed the hyperactive kid, submerging back into the air conditioned space inside. she went to look for kylian, stopping at the door of the living room (overly spacious, but embossed with pictures and trophies, made it feel smaller and more homely than expected) as she noticed two boys frantically clicking button on a controller, tv glowing with running, animated people in a sea of green. decided to not disturb and leave kylian to (hopefully) reign victorious this time round.

[y/n] found herself exploring the corridors of the house, gazing into framed photos hung upon the walls. a family so deeply knitted that not one was left out, and she couldn't help the thought of her face one day being displayed with pride, maybe with kylian beside her, or maybe just her, as she alone was enough to be one of them.

she ventured into the kitchen absentmindedly, meeting fayza stirring into a steam pot, napkin draped over her shoulder.

pushed all her nerves aside as she saw an opportunity to bond with her mother-in-law, "is there anything i can help with, ma'am?"

she was quick to spin around, a smile blooming as she recognised her voice, "you want to help?" [y/n]'s gesture was thoroughly appreciated, but the question left fayza's throat apprehensively.

"yes," then a laugh, accompanied by a permanent smile, "kylian is playing fifa with ethan so i really have nothing to do."

the older woman grunted knowingly, shuffling through the kitchen as [y/n] shadowed her.

"that's all the do when he comes here," a freckled hand is waved, aloof, "don't mind them."

she slid a bowl of freshly washed vegetables, dappled with droplets of water, "dice these for me, dear."

[y/n] acquiesced promptly, and the kitchen swiftly subsided into a warm silence. she chopped them with such experienced velocity, and fayza showed her an approving smile, althought she was too focused to notice.

"you know what you're doing."

the girl turned to the woman next to her, grinning, "have to be, or kylian would be a lost cause."

the guffaw that followed was thick with expectance and genuine hilarity, "you're very funny, looking after that boy isn't an easy task."

"you can definitely tell me about it," she fell silent as she focused on cutting off the butt of the onion, "but i love him, and forever will."

fayza felt her skin buzz with exhilaration and couldn't fight the urge to hug the lady helping her.

"you're such a lovely girl, perfect for my kylian," broke the hug and scanned the face of the girl that had her son immeasurably in love, "stand by him, okay? people out there are harsh, and, yes, i know that he's a strong boy, but with you beside him, he'll be stronger."

[y/n] exhaled, leaning against the counter as fayza started to fry the vegetables that she had chopped, "i won't lie to you and say it's easy because it's not," a hand rubbed down her face, "i don't get why people are so... brutal. it's like the only focus on his negatives when they lose, but praise him when they win, and i see that it gets to him a lot."

fayza knew what they, as a family, holding the name mbappé, just like the one that etched the back of france's golden boy, were getting themselves into. a life no longer hidden, everything was out and vulnerable for everyone to see, and if each blink and breath wasn't scrutinized by 'fans' (as they liked to call themselves, but tend to act otherwise) then something wasn't right.

"that's just how the world is, dear. they're backstabbers, running wild with no inch of humanity left in them. but you have to remain sturdy, be it alone or with the support of other people. and for kylian's case, he has us."

us. [y/n]'s skin crawled with thrill.

"you're part of the family, now, [y/n]," fayza smiled, eyes lined with aged wrinkles, deepened with the peaks and troughs of the past, and still to, with what was yet to come, "one of us."

she smiled, heart clashing with her ribs, "thank you, fayza. it really means a lot."

she returned it, arms agape, "it's nothing, dear. now, come here!"

[y/n] entered her arm, laughing loudly as her mother-in-law kissed her forehead, "and remember, if kylian ever does anything wrong, tell me, and i'll deal with him."

"i definitely will, ma'am."

she was given a disapproving look in return, "ma'am? please, call me fayza, or mum, which i prefer." winked and laughed.

however, their moment was cut short as shouts outside the door began to crescendo.

"—not only are you running away but your running to your girlfriend who i didn't even know was here!"

the kitchen is penetrated by the fury of two boys, of which their ages were miles apart but would think were near by how they acted, kylian's face contorted into a frown, "it would be a curse to introduce her to you, ethan."

the teenage boy gasped, kicking his brother, "take that back!"

"over my dead body!"

ethan scowled back, looking at her, before any trace of his negative expression seemed to disappear into thin air, "[y/n]! oh my days, you're prettier in real life!"

she grinned sheepishly, "thank you, ethan."

kylian, however, found no amusement in his words, hiding his girlfriend behind him, "oh please stop that crap. get yourself your own girlfriend!"

"and you just love hating! i bet your girlfriend is better than you at fifa."

"take. that. back."

"let's see it," he walked towards her, putting on the best puppy eyes he could muster, grabbing and tugging her arm, "please, [y/n]? play fifa with me?"

kylian glared at him, slapping his hand away.

"don't touch her!"

she turned to look at fayza, who nudged her head, "don't worry about it, go and take those hooligans with you."

+_-

10 minutes later, ethan was one goal down, with [y/n] on a aggregate score of 3.

"you're good at this— like good good. better than kylian."

to ethan's satisfaction, his older brother had been summoned by his mother to help her, saying he 'needed to use that football strength to good use'.

"how the hell did he even get a girlfriend like you? way too good for him, in my humblest opinion." she knew his question was far from ill-mannered, and didn't take it to heart. ethan tend to say whatever came to his mind at that moment.

"he definitely tried his hardest to ask me out," [y/n] stated, chuckling at the ever-vivid memory of his unrelenting advances.

"he's never one to give up, is he?"

she shook her head, "absolutely not. gave him my number for professional use only, and he saw the opportunity to flirt with me."

ethan visibly cringed at the fact, "that's embarassing."

"it was cute," she shrugged, "until it actually started to work and it all went downhill- or rather uphill- from there."

ethan's irises glimmered as he attempted a shot, but took in a sharp breath as he missed.

"all i can say is, he loves really hard. hasn't loved anyone as much as you, but from what i hear from him about you, he's deeply infatuated. i think it's scary, at this point," paused to regain his bearings as the ball was within [y/n]'s possession once again, "but, as much as i make fun of him, he's a good person. sometimes too good for his own sake."

he spoke truth. truth that hurt, because kylian's kindness was constantly taken for weakness, but he always, without fail, moved past it without another thought wasted.

"and he hides how much it affects him."

"exactly," ethan responded immediately, then laughed, "you know him just as much, or even more than me."

[y/n] grinned, "happens when you spend everyday with the boy. he's more readable than he thinks."

"or maybe you adore him so much that you just... care."

silence, then, "or maybe that."

it was only the noise of intense clicking and frustrated sighs that filled the room for a few minutes. it was a relaxed quietude, one that none saw the need to disrupt, but ethan wanted to express how grateful he was for [y/n]'s presence in his brother's life. it was comforting to know that he had someone, that wasn't a platonic friend, to confide in and find solitude in.

"you two were definitely meant to be."

"you think?"

"yeah," he looked at her, taking a hand off of the controller to punch her lightly in her arm, "i see you becoming [y/n] mbappé, one day."

"really?" her voice was incredulous, "you see me being one of you lot?"

"come on [y/n]," ethan rolled his eyes affectionately, "you're already one of us."

[hopefulromances]

Long Time Coming I Chapter Two I Tell Me About You

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 2481

Warning: I have literally no clue how football works. Enemies to lovers. First Person. Minimal Y/N.

A/N: LMAO I LOVE THIS GIF One of my favorite chapters! Hope y'all are enjoying!

Prologue One

Nearing a year later, I was outside the club, again, in the early morning. After being regulated at the end of last season, I had blamed myself. Ted assured me that it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Just bad luck. But I took it as a chance to do better. To be better.

But recently I’ve been having a mental blockage. I couldn’t picture myself playing the game anymore. I was struggling to coach and to train on my own. I know they hadn’t said anything, but I could tell the other coaches had noticed. With Nate being promoted I was worried that I was going to be let go or replaced. It didn’t go unnoticed to me that I was having the same insecurity that Jamie had been feeling before he left.

But still, here I was looking down the field trying to shove all those feelings of fear and insecurity aside so I could just train. I took a breath and closed my eyes, slowing my heart so I could focus on the game. With a deep intake of crisp morning air, I pulled back my foot and-

            “’Morning (Y/N)!”

I whiffed my foot right over the ball and stumbled a few feet before whipping around to see who caused the distraction.

            “Oh, good morning, Ted,” I sighed. There was no way I could be cross with him. I kicked the ball up into my hands.

            “Sorry, I didn’t interrupt you, did I?” Ted apologized as he approached.

            “No, no. I was just finishing up,” I conceded. I spun the ball in my hands wishing I could feel the same magnetism to it I had when I started the job.

Ted took a long look at me before speaking again. “Ya know… when I was little, I had this puzzle. I loved this puzzle more than anything. I would take it apart and put it together over and over, excited to see the same photo every time I put it together.  But one day, when I put it together, it felt off. Different. I tried everything to get that feeling back. The excitement to see that photo again. But eventually, I realized I had outgrown that puzzle. That it was time to move on.”

My stomach dropped. This was it, this was the moment he was going to tell me I was being let go.

            “Are you firing me, Ted?” I asked, my voice shaky with fear.

            “What? Oh, good heavens no!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “Oh my god. You scared me. I thought that was what you were saying. With the whole puzzle metaphor.”

            “Yeah, I can see how you would think that, but most certainly not.” He chuckled and made a dramatic sweat wiping motion with his hand.

After our laughter died down a moment, I twisted the ball in my hands again before looking at him to continue. “What were you trying to say then?

            “I’m just saying that sometimes it time to try a new challenge,” he paused. “I wanted to get your thoughts on bringing Jamie back.”

My eyes widened in surprise. As far as I knew, Jamie wasn’t even an option. He had quite a fall from grace after he left Man City and had his brief stint on ‘Lust Conquers All’. Sam and Isaac had hosted quite a few watch parties to watch his floundering attempt at finding love on the dating show. As expected, he was kicked off early in the game after double crossing one of the girls on the show. It was fun to watch, especially after what he had said about me in the press.

Yesterday, Sam had come to me, showing me a photo of Ted and Jamie together. He was nervous about Jamie coming back, scared of how he might ruin the good vibes that the team had now with Ted in charge. But Ted had assured us both that Jamie was not coming back. He had told Jamie no. I couldn’t lie and say that brining back Jamie wouldn’t have its pluses. The boy was talented and that’s a fact. But was that talent enough to outweigh the team dynamic.

            “Jamie?” I echoed. “I thought you said that you had told him no.”

Ted shrugged sliding, his hands in his pockets. “I did. But it’s been nagging me anyways. He’s going through a tough spot right now.”

            “Oh, really, he’s going through a ‘tough spot’?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

            “I know, I know, but there is something different about him, I swear.” Ted continued. “It takes a lot for a guy like that to come asking for help. And I’m thinking he might deserve another chance.”

I skewed my lips to the side in thought. “Jamie is… talented. But you saw Sam. He wasn’t just angry he was scared. Scared of how Jamie would treat him when he came back. It’s not about talent. It’s about… personality.”

            “So, you think it’s a bad idea,” he clarified.

Is that what I was saying? The truth was bringing Jamie back could be just what we need to push forward in the league. Get out of the tie streak and start getting back to promotion. That, or we could be stuck in the Championship League forever. And I would be known as the coach that ruined AFC Richmond. But how could I know that if we didn’t try. Something had to change. I couldn’t just keep putting together the same puzzle, hoping it would excite me every time.

            “No, I don’t,” I decided, looking at Ted. “I think we just need to be careful.”

Ted sent me a dazzling smile. “Good, cause I’m putting you on Jamie duty.”

            “Jamie duty?”

            “Yeah, cause he’s coming back today!”

            “Today- TED!”

That’s how I got stuck waiting for Jamie in the locker room. Ted thought it would be a good idea to start him slow. Get the team used to him being back, make him earn his spot.  I leaned against the doorframe, waiting for him to finish changing. Out he came, bouncing from foot to foot, punching the air occasionally.

            “’Morning! Ready for a great day of trainin’” He exclaimed, seemingly unable to stop bouncing.

I didn’t react, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Alright then, let’s go.”

I pushed myself off the wall and headed towards the pitch. But as I walked past him, he grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him.

            “Wait, before we go, I just wanted to tell you that I’m different now, yeah? I’m not a prick, like I was,” he told me sincerely.

I glanced between him and where his hand touched my arm. For some stupid, idiotic, unbelievable reason, it made my heart skip a beat. His eyes looked so desperate for me to hear him. I pursed my lips and gave him a sympathetic, albeit somewhat sarcastic smile.

            “Sure, Jamie, whatever you say.” I gave him a pat on his hand, signaling for him to let go. He withdrew his hand, looking for something more from me. A sign that I had forgiven him for everything. I rolled my eyes at him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Practice was a mess to say the least. All the lads seemed determined to bring Jamie down as far as they could. Ted told me it was my job to make sure Jamie felt comfortable coming back to practice, but it was really hard when watching Colin and Sam take their revenge was just a little too sweet.

            “Hey (Y/N), why don’t you stick around a bit after practice, give Jamie some one-on-one training to get him back into the sense of what we’re doing around here,” Ted suggested after watching Jamie flub yet another pass.

            “You want me to what?!” I blurted out before I had a chance to think.

            “Yeah! Just give him the run around. Ya’ know, literally!” He smiled at me, like it was the most amazing idea in the world. “Give you a chance to catch up on that personal training you missed this morning.” 

Ted was about to be ded. As in dead. This whole Jamie thing was HIS idea and yet here he was shoving it on me! He’s a shover.

            “Ooooh she’s looking at you with her angry eyes,” Beard cautioned, lowering his sunglasses.

            “That’s actually quite scary,” Nate chimed in.

            “Ted, I swear to god, I better not be your new puzzle,” I sneered at him.

            “New puzzle?” Nate questioned, turning to Beard.

            “Oh, the puzzle metaphor…” Beard whistled lowly. “He’s really trying something out.”

            “You know the puzzle metaphor?” I accused, narrowing my eyes at him.

            “Oh, yeah I know the puzzle metaphor.”

 “Woo, I love the puzzle metaphor, let’s get these kids in the showers!” Ted finally joined in. With that he walked forward, blowing his whistle to signify the end of training.

Then it was Jamie and me. I kicked the ball onto the field. Jamie, somehow, was still bouncing with energy.  

            “Did you see how they was treating me, (Y/N)?” he said, kicking the grass. “I’m trying me best here.”

I passed him the ball. “Score a goal.”

He backed up and readied himself. “I mean, I said I was sorry.”

With that he moved forward and kicked the ball, sending it flying on a beautiful arc to swish into the goal. I rolled him another ball.

            “Yes, you did,” I agreed, rolling him another ball. “Take 5 steps back and score again.”

He did as I instructed, stepping back to score again. “I just don’t know what else they want from meh.”

He moved forward and scored again. This time, however, the ball moved further to the left. Still in the goal, but drifting. I eyed where the ball landed. I rolled him another ball.

            “Another 5 steps,” I instructed. “Are you being serious right now?”

He took another five steps back before jogging forward and hitting another swish of a goal. This time it was even further to the left. “Yeah, I’m being serious. I’m still new at this whole nice thing.”

            “Go get the balls,” I told him. “So, you really just thought you would come back and say you’re sorry and everything would go back to the way it was?”

He jogged back with the balls. He kicked one towards me. “I mean… yeah?”

I studied the ball on the ground. Then I took three steps back, dragging my feet back as I did. Then I jaunted forward and kicked the ball, it flew through the air and swished into the center of the goal. Jamie starred at the ball.

            “You’re trying too hard, Jamie,” I explained to him. “Things aren’t going to go back to the way they were. And it shouldn’t.” I kicked a ball towards him. “You were a prick.”

He stops the ball. “What do you mean.”

            “Score a goal from there,” I told him. “I mean… do you actually know what you’re apologizing for?”

Jamie took a breath before sending the ball flying. “I mean, yeah. I was a dick. I said shitty things. I did shitty things.”

            “Do you know why I’m mad at you?” I asked him. I placed the ball on the ground and took a few steps back, dragging my feet again. The ball flew through the air and landed in the middle of the net again. Jamie looked between the ball and me.

            “How many times do I have to say that I was a prick,” he whined.

            “Go get the balls,” I shooed. “And always, you always have to say you were a prick.” He began jogging towards the goal. “And, you were a prick, but do you know why you should be sorry.”

The kicked the balls back in my direction. He furrowed his brows, thinking hard about it. I rolled my eyes at him while kicking the ball back, at nearly the halfway point of the field it was a long goal. I took a deep breath, taking three dragging steps backwards, then one step to the side.

            “You aren’t actually going to- “

I didn’t listen. I could see it. I visualized the ball and the opponents. I could see the clock ticking down as I set my feet in motion. Like slow motion, I kicked the ball and watched as it went soaring until it landed in the goal with a satisfying noise. I smirked.

            “Holy shit,” Jamie gapped. “That was like… really impressive.”

            “Jamie, I know. I’m fucking good at this. And I am the first female coach in the league. And every day I woke up with a million reasons why I shouldn’t have my job or come to work. I convinced myself every day that it would be worth it. And every day I you came up with another 20 reasons why I shouldn’t be here.” I kicked a ball up into my hands. “And you made sure to let me know that you thought you were better than me. Think about that.” I pressed the ball into his hands. “Score a goal.”

He took the ball from my hands and dropped it on the ground. He took a step backwards before kicking the ball. He missed, but just barely.

            “You need to plan where you hit the ball. The further back you go the further harder it is to get it in the goal,” I explained. He scoffed at me. “It becomes more important to really know where your boot hits the ball.” I placed the last ball on the ground and motioned for him to come stand next to me. “If you drag your feet, it gives your legs muscle memory. You’re more likely to get the ball where you want it to go.” He looked at me skeptically. I moved my hand in a swooping motion, presenting the ball to him. “Well, I’m not going to wait all day.”

He looked at the ball, then down to the goal. He mimicked my movement, backing up three steps with his feet dragging on the grass then one step over. Then he moved forward and kicked the ball. Swish. The middle of the goal.

            “Damn,” he sighed. I came up next to Jamie and stared at where the ball sat in the goal.

            “You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be here. And that’s what I can’t forgive you for,” I stated, not looking at him. I could feel him turn to look at me, but I shook my head, feeling tears spring into my eyes. “Pick up the balls and go get showered.” With that I spun on my heel and walked inside, Jamie’s eyes burning on the back of my head.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Various Storms and Saints- Chapter One

Previous Chapters: Prologue

Maybe it was because he'd never had any relatives or close friends have kids, but for Mulder, the hospital had never been a place he associated with joy.

His earliest hospital memory had been when Samantha had broken her collarbone, and since his mother had decided the incident had been his fault-- hadn't she told him a hundred times that the rope swing was too worn out to play on, so what had he been thinking?--most of what he remembered from that particular hospital trip had been his mother's cold anger. He'd been taken to the hospital two years later when Sam had disappeared, when first responders worried he might be in shock, and that visit had been no better.

All of Mulder's adult hospital experience up until this point had been similarly awful. Visiting injured witnesses or colleagues, meeting family members in the waiting room to deliver bad news, suffering through injuries of his own... and now, most recently, the interminable vigil by Scully's bedside, watching and waiting while the cord tethering her to life slowly frayed to nothing.

But now? As Mulder strode down the hospital hallway towards from Scully's room, where she sat waiting for him, alive, awake, and returned to him beyond all probability, there was nowhere else he'd rather have been. Even the drab green linoleum was beautiful to him as he raced along it towards her room. Her mother and sister had been with her earlier, and under their close watch he hadn't been able to be as free and open with her as he would have liked. Maybe today his luck would be better and she'd be on her own.

But then again, maybe not.

"Hi, Mulder!" Melissa greeted him enthusiastically before Scully had even had a chance to open her eyes. She leapt up from her seat by the bed and embraced him, catching him off guard. Over her shoulder Scully looked on with an amused expression, clearly enjoying his discomfiture. As soon as Melissa released him he approached the bed, and after a brief hesitation, he bent and kissed Scully's cheek. Her face flushed red as he straightened up, and he could feel Melissa's eyes on him as he took a seat by the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired," Scully said, chuckling ruefully. "You'd think I'd have more energy when I've done nothing but lie in bed all this time, but...." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm still exhausted."

"You have to give yourself time to heal," said Melissa sagely. "Your body knows what it's doing. You have to trust it."

"Thank you, Melissa. As a medical doctor, I am, of course, entirely unfamiliar with the workings of the human body." Mulder laughed, his chest flushing with warmth. This was the Scully he knew, the Scully he'd missed: the dry wit, the impatience with anyone trying to tell her something she already knew better than they did.

"Doctors really do make the worst patients," Melissa intoned, and Scully scowled at her.

"It's one thing to know something clinically," Scully said. "It's another thing when you're the one stuck in bed, waiting to have enough energy to be on your feet for more than fifteen minutes at a time."

"Well, be a good patient and do what your doctors tell you," said Mulder. "The quicker you heal, the quicker you can come back... and Skinner really doesn't like me investigating cases on my own. He's probably not gonna get a full night's sleep until you're out there keeping me in check again."

Scully frowned. "Mulder," she said, "what are you talking about? The FBI has me doing autopsies. I can't exactly watch your back from the morgue." And suddenly it hit Mulder: she had no idea about any of what had happened while she'd been missing. As far as she was concerned, the X-Files were still closed, he was still on wiretap duty, and she was still expected to teach pathology at Quantico once she'd recovered enough to return to work. He grinned, about to tell her... and then stopped.

Scully's involvement with him had been exactly what had put her in danger in the first place. She never would have been abducted if she had stayed safe in the morgue. They'd taken her because she had refused to stop helping him... and because he had refused to stop asking her. If he offered her the chance to come back on the X-Files as his partner--and he had zero doubts she would take it, if he did offer--what else could happen to her down the line?

"What?" Scully frowned at him, concerned. His hesitation must have shown on his face. "Mulder, what is it?"

If he didn't ask Scully to come back to the X-Files with him, she would find out about it, one way or another. And she would be furious. He could lay out his concerns, he could try to dissuade her, but consequences be damned, it had to be her choice.

"Skinner re-opened the X-Files after you were taken," Mulder said, and the pure joy on Scully's face somehow made his heart both swell and sink at the same time. "But listen, Scully, you need to think long and hard about it before you come back to work with me."

"No, I don't." Mulder glanced at Melissa, sitting in the corner and watching the exchange with great interest, and wished he'd waited until he and Scully were alone.

"Yes, Scully, you do. They went after you because we kept working together."

"You have no way of knowing-"

"Yeah, I do. None of this would have happened if I'd left you alone." He glanced at Melissa again. "You should at least take the time to discuss it with your family. You don't need to decide right now."

"There's no need, Mulder," insisted Scully. "It's my decision. I want to work with you on the X-Files again." She set her jaw and glared at him, daring him to keep trying to talk her out of it. At a loss, Mulder looked at Melissa, who held up her hands.

"Don't ask me to intervene," she said, smiling. "You should know Dana well enough by now to know that once she decides to do something, there's no talking her out of it."

Mulder smiled reluctantly. "Yeah," he said. "I do."

------------------

Scully kept trying to hide her yawns behind her hands so Mulder wouldn't see how tired she was, but by the fourth time, it was clear she didn't need to bother. Melissa and Mulder were so deeply engrossed in conversation that she might as well not have been in the room at all. Mulder was regaling Melissa with stories of the cases they'd investigated together back before the X-Files had been closed, and Melissa, predictably, was fascinated.

"So the murdered officer's consciousness was possessing the little girl?" Melissa asked.

"Not quite possessing, not the way you're thinking. It was more of... a reimbodiment. It ended suddenly the moment Officer Morris's unfinished business with his killers had concluded."

"Wow," breathed Melissa, sitting back in her chair. "You never told me about any of this, Dana." She and Mulder looked towards the bed just as Scully unsuccessfully concealed another yawn. Mulder stood, smiling sheepishly.

"I think that's my cue to head out and let you rest," he said. He approached the bed and took Scully's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'll come by after work tomorrow, okay? Give Skinner a call whenever you're ready and we'll get the paperwork started to get you reassigned." And with a nod and a smile to Melissa, Mulder was gone.

The moment the door had closed, Melissa sprang up from her chair and came to sit on the bed. "Wow, Dana," she gushed. "He's not just cute. He's gorgeous."

"Is he?" Scully closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow. "I hadn't noticed." A blatant lie, of course, but right at that moment, all Scully wanted to do was sleep.

"You're really not interested in him like that?" Melissa asked, a peculiar, almost hopeful expression on her face. "Not at all?"

"He's my work partner, Melissa. And my friend."

"Then...." Melissa bit her lip. "You wouldn't mind if I asked him out, would you?"

A weight seemed to drop into Scully's stomach.

Yes. She did mind. She minded very much, in fact. But how could she possibly admit that to Melissa when she'd been trying so hard to claim that she didn't feel that way about him? She swallowed hard. She could claim that it might compromise her professionally, if Mulder and Melissa dated and it didn't work out. But....

"No, of course I don't mind," was what she heard herself saying instead.

Melissa beamed. "I'm gonna go see if I can catch him before he leaves," she said, and leaping up off the bed, she rushed out of the room.

-------------------

Mulder's hand was on the door to exit the hospital when a voice behind him called his name.

"Mulder, hang on!" He turned to see Melissa Scully hurrying out of the elevators and rushing across the lobby towards him. He crossed to meet her, immediately concerned.

"What's going on? Is your sister okay?"

"She's fine," Melissa assured him with a wave of her hand. "She's probably going to be asleep before I even get back up there. I just had something I wanted to ask you before you left." For some reason, her cheeks flushed red. "I was wondering... if maybe you might like to get coffee with me sometime?"

Whatever Mulder had been expecting, this was definitely not it. For a moment he wondered if he'd understood her correctly, but really, why else would the question make her blush unless she meant it the way he thought she meant it? Still, best to be sure. He'd misread more than a few signals in his time.

"You mean like a date?"

"I don't really like to put labels on things, but... sure, a date, if you want to call it that. I asked Dana if she minded my asking you and she was fine with it, so don't worry about that."

A confused mix of emotions settled in the pit of Mulder's stomach. Scully had told Melissa that it was fine. What did that mean? Was it "fine" as in, "I'm fine, Mulder," when she clearly wasn't fine? Or was it "fine" as in it truly didn't bother her? The thought that Scully wouldn't care at all if he went out with her sister was somehow troubling.

But Melissa was standing there, waiting for an answer. Did he want to have coffee with her? She was an undeniably beautiful woman who seemed genuinely interested in the things he had to say. He'd asked women on dates with far less to go on than that.

Really, why the hell not? It was just coffee.

"I'd like that," he said. "Let me get your number."

Melissa beamed.