#Practical guide to managing screen time

[kidsinnowadays]

Practical Guide to Managing Screen Time: Finding the Right Balance for Healthy Development

This practical guide provides essential tips for managing screen time effectively and promoting healthy development in children. #ScreenTime #ParentingTips #HealthyDevelopment #TechBalance

In our digitally connected world, screens have become an integral part of daily life, especially for children and teenagers. While technology offers numerous educational and entertainment benefits, excessive screen time can have negative consequences on a child’s physical, mental, and emotional well-being. In this practical guide, we’ll explore strategies and tips to help you and your family find…

[charlotteking27]

Practice Makes Perfect

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Max is teaching you how to sim race, and it’s all cute and fluffy, but you are so bad, so when Max is gone to races and stuff, you are practicing and getting better, and one day you surprise Max by showing the improvement.

Requested: yes

Warning: none

"No, not like that! You're braking way too late again," Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you spin out for what felt like the hundredth time. His gaming setup was pristine, with three monitors, a professional racing wheel clamped to a custom rig, and pedals that had just the right amount of resistance. It looked like a mini Formula 1 cockpit in your living room.

The virtual car crashed violently into the barrier, parts flying across the screen as the red "DNF" flashed mockingly. This was your fifth crash in less than fifteen minutes.

"I don't get it," you groaned, releasing the wheel in frustration. "I swear I'm following the racing line exactly like you showed me."

Max leaned over your shoulder, and his cologne distracted you momentarily from your embarrassment. The warmth of his breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he spoke. "You're looking at the wrong thing. You're focusing on where you are now, not where you need to be in two seconds."

"That makes no sense," you huffed.

"Let me show you again." He gently moved you aside and took your place, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. "See how I'm looking ahead? I'm already planning for this corner while coming out of the previous one."

You watched, mesmerized, as he effortlessly guided the car through a series of complex corners. He made it look so natural and easy.

The next day's lesson wasn't any better. You managed to lock up the brakes on a straight section of track—something Max claimed he'd never even seen before.

"How is that even possible?" he laughed, not unkindly. "You weren't even turning!"

"I panicked," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn. "I thought I was going too fast."

On day three, you somehow drove the wrong way around the track after a spin. "At least you're being creative," Max teased as you narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an AI car.

By the end of the first week, you'd discovered at least twenty different ways to crash a virtual race car. You'd flipped it over a barrier, beached it in a gravel trap, and once even managed to get it stuck between two tire walls in a way that Max had to take a photo of for posterity.

"Maybe I should just stick to watching you race," you suggested after a particularly spectacular crash that had Max doubled over with laughter.

"No way," he insisted, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're getting better."

"At crashing maybe!"

"Everyone crashes at first," he said, suddenly serious. "I crashed constantly when I was starting out. The difference is, I didn't have anyone watching me fail repeatedly."

You slumped back in the seat. "I'm hopeless at this."

Max's expression softened immediately. He leaned over, his arm brushing against yours as he reset the sim. "You're not hopeless. Nobody gets it right away." His voice had that gentle, patient tone he reserved just for you, a stark contrast to his competitive spirit on real tracks.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. World Champion," you teased, trying to mask your frustration.

He laughed, the sound warming you from the inside. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. Trust me, I was terrible at first, too." He placed his hands over yours on the wheel, his fingers gently interlacing with yours. The tender touch made your heart race faster than any virtual car. "Like this, okay? Feel the way the car moves. It's a conversation between you and the track."

The next attempt ended with your car upside down in a ditch. The one after that saw you spin out three times in a single lap.

Two days before he was scheduled to leave, you finally managed to complete a full lap without crashing, though your time was nearly double his. Max celebrated as if you'd just won a championship, picking you up and spinning you around the living room. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, and for a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips before he caught himself.

"See? Progress!" he exclaimed proudly, his voice slightly lower than before.

You tried a few more laps, still slow but at least keeping the car on the track. It felt like a minor miracle.

"I've got to head out tomorrow for the race weekend," he reminded you. "Three weeks on the road."

"I know," you said, forcing enthusiasm into your voice. "I'll be cheering you on from here."

Later that night, as Max packed his things, you caught him looking at you with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. His gaze held something deeper than just amusement—something that made your cheeks flush with warmth.

"What?" you asked, your voice softer than intended.

"Nothing," he replied, setting down the shirt he was folding and crossing the room to where you stood. "Just thinking how cute you look when you're concentrating on not crashing." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be amazing by the time you get back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Maybe," you said with mock confidence.

He kissed you goodbye the next morning, lingering longer than usual. His hands cupped your face tenderly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "Miss you."

"It's only three weeks," you reminded him, though your heart was already aching at the thought of him leaving.

"Three weeks too long," he replied with a sigh, stealing one more quick kiss before reluctantly heading out the door, leaving you with his spare key and the sim racing setup all to yourself.

𐙚

The first day alone, you just stared at the equipment. It was intimidating without Max there to guide you. But after scrolling through social media and seeing posts about his qualifying session, determination filled you. You sat down and turned everything on.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself. "Let's do this."

The first week was disastrous. You crashed constantly, forgot brake points, and once even forgot how to shift gears properly. But you kept at it, setting an alarm to practice two hours every day.

You started watching YouTube tutorials while eating breakfast. During lunch breaks, you studied track maps. Before bed, you watched Max's old races, noting his racing lines.

By the second week, something clicked. You weren't good—not by any stretch—but you were finishing laps. Your times were improving by fractions of seconds each day.

The third week, you became obsessed with Spa. You drove it over and over, memorizing every curve and every elevation change. You knew where the shadows fell across the track at different times of day, where puddles would form in the rain simulation.

Max called every night, usually exhausted from his race weekend.

"How's everything at home?" he'd ask, his voice softening when your face appeared on his screen.

"Perfect," you'd reply, carefully hiding the racing gloves you'd bought yourself behind your back. "Just missing you." The words weren't just part of the deception—you meant them, counting down the days until he'd return.

"Miss you too," he'd say, his eyes reflecting the hotel room's dim lighting. "The bed feels too empty without you." His voice would often drop to a whisper on those words, as though sharing a precious secret. "Haven't touched the sim setup, have you?"

You laughed nervously. "Why would I do that? You know I'm terrible."

The day before Max was due home, you set your personal best—still nowhere near his times, but respectable. More importantly, you completed twenty consecutive laps without a single crash.

You heard his key in the lock the next afternoon and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding with excitement.

"Welcome home!" you called, throwing your arms around him.

Max hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. "God, I missed you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes drinking you in as though memorizing every detail of your face. Then he kissed you deeply, backing you against the wall, three weeks of separation dissolving in an instant.

After dinner and catching up, he glanced at his sim setup. "I think I need to blow off some steam. Want to watch me do a few laps?"

You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. "Actually… I was thinking maybe we could race together?"

He looked surprised but pleased. "Really? You want to try again?"

"Something like that," you said mysteriously.

You sat down at the rig, and you let him choose the track. Your heart leapt when he selected Spa.

"You go first," you insisted.

Max shrugged and proceeded to drive a nearly perfect lap. When he finished, he handed you the wheel with an encouraging smile. "Your turn. Remember what I taught you about the bus stop chicane?"

"I think so," you said innocently.

You settled in, adjusted your position, and started your lap. You hit the first corner perfectly, feeling Max's surprise beside you. By the time you navigated Eau Rouge flawlessly, he was leaning forward, completely focused on your driving.

"How are you—" he began, but stopped himself as you nailed the next series of corners.

When you crossed the finish line with a time only five seconds slower than his, Max's jaw literally dropped. You turned to him with the biggest grin.

"Surprise?"

"When did you—how did you—" he stammered.

"Every day while you were gone," you admitted. "I wanted to impress you."

His stunned expression melted into something incredibly tender. He pulled you into his lap, nearly knocking over the wheel. His arms encircled your waist as he gazed up at you with adoration. "You practiced all that time for me?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. "I know how much you love this, and I wanted to share it with you properly."

Max cupped your face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." He kissed you softly, then more deeply, one hand sliding into your hair to draw you closer. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "But you know what this means, right?"

"What?"

A competitive glint appeared in his eyes. "Now we can race against each other for real."

You laughed. "I'm still not going to beat you."

"No," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "But it'll be fun to watch you try."

He pulled you closer, your bodies fitting perfectly together. "Best welcome home ever," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, slow and deep, the race forgotten for now. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as you melted against him, feeling as though you'd won something far more valuable than any virtual race.

The next morning, you woke to find Max already at the sim rig, setting something up. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his profile as he worked, and you took a moment to admire him—the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" you asked sleepily, hugging the blanket around you as you padded over to him.

He turned with that boyish excitement you loved so much, his face lighting up at the sight of you. "Setting up a two-player race." He reached for your hand, pulling you onto his lap and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I've got a week off, and we're going to make you even better."

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind. "I like the sound of that."

"Plus," he said, turning to face you with a grin, "now I finally have someone who gets why I'm always talking about apex angles at dinner."

"I created a monster, didn't I?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, pulling you down for a quick kiss. "And I couldn't be happier about it."

As you sat side by side, racing in comfortable silence, sometimes interrupted by his tips or your victorious shouts when you nailed a corner, you realized that the best surprises were those that brought you closer together, one lap at a time.

𐙚

A few days later, Max walked into the living room with a mischievous look on his face.

"I have an idea," he announced, placing his phone on the coffee table.

You looked up from your book. "That look makes me nervous. What are you planning?"

"How would you feel about racing with me on my live stream tonight?"

Your eyes widened. "Your stream? With all your fans watching?" Max's sim racing streams had hundreds of thousands of viewers—mostly racing fans and his F1 followers.

"They'd love it," he insisted, already setting up the webcam. "Everyone asks about my personal life anyway. It would be fun to show them what we've been up to."

Your stomach fluttered with nerves. "But I'm not anywhere near your level."

Max sat beside you, taking your hands in his. "That's not the point. It's about sharing something we both enjoy." His eyes softened. "Plus, I'm proud of how far you've come. Is that weird to say?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "Not weird at all."

"So?" he asked hopefully.

How could you say no to that face? "Okay, fine. But don’t blame me when I crash and embarrass you in front of everyone."

He kissed your forehead. "You won't embarrass me."

That evening, Max set everything up—the cameras positioned to capture both your faces and the screens, while the chat window was minimized but still visible for him to catch questions.

"Going live in three, two, one…" Max clicked the button and shifted into his stream persona. "Hey everyone! I've got something special for tonight's stream." He glanced at you with a warm smile. "Many of you have asked about what I do when I'm not racing, so I thought I'd introduce you to someone who's become my favorite racing partner."

You awkwardly waved to the camera as the chat filled with messages.

"We're doing something a bit different," Max continued. "A few weeks ago, I started teaching her how to sim race, and today, we're going head-to-head on Spa. It's one of my favorite circuits, as you all know."

The chat scrolled by too quickly to read, but you caught glimpses of excitement and surprise.

Max guided you through setting up the race, occasionally answering viewer questions. "Yes, she's been practicing while I was away at races. No, this isn't staged—I genuinely had no idea she was getting this good."

When the race started, your nerves faded away as you focused on the track. Max took an early lead, but you kept your lines clean, remembering everything you had practiced.

"She is actually keeping pace!" Max commented on the stream, sounding amazed. "Look at that line through Eau Rouge—perfect!"

You bit your lip, concentrating as you navigated the trickiest sections. The chat was buzzing, and Max expertly narrated both his driving and yours.

On the final lap, Max was still ahead, but you were much closer than either of you had expected. As you crossed the finish line just seconds behind him, he let out a cheer.

"Did you all see that?" he exclaimed to the camera. "That was impressive!" He turned to you with pride. "You're getting dangerous, you know that?"

You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. The chat overflowed with supportive messages and requests for you to join regularly.

"What do you think?" Max asked, nodding toward the comments. "The fans seem to like you."

You leaned against his shoulder, no longer caring about the camera. "I could be convinced to come back."

"Good," he said, wrapping an arm around you while still addressing the stream. "Because I think I just found my new favorite racing rival."

As the stream continued, with Max answering fan questions and the two of you racing on different tracks, you marveled at how something that started as his passion became a shared joy—one that even his fans enjoyed.

And when Max looked at you between races with that special smile that made your heart race faster than any sim car, his fingers intertwined with yours under the desk where the camera couldn't see, you knew you'd found something more valuable than improved lap times. In that moment, with his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and his eyes filled with admiration, you realized you hadn't just learned to master virtual corners—you'd found your way deeper into his heart.

[holyblonded]

rearrange my world | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: your whole world changes with one tiny person

notes: the one yall have been waiting for. also subtle name reveal for estrella 🙏🏾🙏🏾

The whistle blew and the stadium erupted. The final score flashed across the screen 6-0. Barça. Your name was still echoing around the stands from that absolute screamer you’d buried top corner in the 89th minute. Your teammates had tackled you to the ground in celebration, Jana had kissed your forehead, and Lucy had deadlifted you like a sack of potatoes.

After the chaos settled, you started doing your usual post-game rounds— signing shirts, posing for photos, throwing your sweat-drenched jersey into a sea of eager hands. You even took a baby for a selfie. Not with a baby. For a baby. The parents said she was a big fan. You didn’t ask questions.

Eventually, you made your way toward the stands where you knew they’d be, your people. Soleil was perched on the edge of her seat like she always was, practically vibrating with excitement. Olga was standing next to her, a hand on her baby bump and an oversized Barça hoodie draped over her shoulders. But there was already someone there, Alexia. Of course. She always managed to beat you when it came to Olga radar.

You jogged over, climbing the little divider with unnecessary flair, nearly tripping over your own feet. “Hey, move! It’s my moment!” you shouted as you flopped dramatically next to them.

Alexia rolled her eyes but smiled. “You scored one goal. Relax.”

“It was a screamer!” you huffed, looking to Soleil for backup.

“She screamed,” Soleil nodded solemnly. “But I think it was more about the knee slide into the cameraman.”

“Semantics,” you muttered, before turning to Olga. “Did you see it?”

Olga was mid-nod when she suddenly froze and hissed. Her hands flew to her stomach. You, Soleil, and Alexia all stopped speaking.

Olga’s face twisted. “Ah—wait—ah—ow—that’s not normal.”

You and Alexia instantly panicked in the most coordinated, unhelpful way possible.

“She’s going into labor!” you shrieked.

“She’s going into labor,” Alexia repeated, eyes wide.

“Call someone!” you both shouted at the same time, looking at each other like idiots.

“I’m someone!” Soleil said, already on her feet, completely calm. She helped Olga sit down on the nearest bench and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the hospital.”

You were pacing in a circle, muttering things like “the baby is coming,” “I’m not ready to be a sister,” and “I don’t even have snacks packed.”

Alexia was frantically googling “What to do if your girlfriend gives birth in Camp Nou,” while also holding Olga’s hand and whispering “Breathe. Just breathe. Do people still breathe during this? Is that outdated?”

Meanwhile, Soleil had already flagged down security, arranged for the car to be brought around, and was now gently guiding Olga to the exit while both you and Alexia followed like panicked ducklings.

“I’M DRIVING,” you declared, keys in hand.

“You are absolutely not,” Soleil said, snatching them. “You don’t even know where the hospital is.”

“I know the vibe,” you argued.

“You once ended up in Andorra because you followed ‘the vibe,’” Alexia added.

The ride to the hospital was chaos. Olga was groaning dramatically, but still very much coherent.

“If either of you say push one more time, I will push you out of the car,” she warned.

You and Alexia sat in the back, both holding her hands, trying to out-comfort each other.

“Your breathing is perfect, amor,” Alexia whispered.

“Your aura is glowing, Mami,” you added, slightly louder.

Soleil drove like a saint, nodding along to Olga’s directions and occasionally muttering “we are literally the worst emergency support system in history.”

When you finally got to the hospital, the nurses rushed to take Olga in while you dramatically told the front desk that “a miracle is happening and it’s in that belly!”

Alexia followed closely, still googling things out loud. “It says here labor can last forty hours. Do you have snacks? Should I Uber snacks? Should we boil water? That’s a thing, right?”

Soleil rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might stick. “She’s not even in active labor. You two are embarrassing.”

After some monitoring and very unimpressed nurses, a doctor finally came out and said, “It’s just Braxton Hicks. False labor. You can take her home.”

There was a long pause.

You and Alexia blinked. “Braxton who?”

“Braxton Hicks,” the doctor repeated.

“That sounds like a Chelsea midfielder,” you whispered.

“It sounds made up,” Alexia said, crossing her arms.

But there was Olga, sitting on the hospital bed with a blanket wrapped around her and the most exhausted smile. “I’m fine. It was a false alarm.”

Soleil turned to you both. “Would you like to apologize now or in the car?”

You and Alexia looked at each other and said in perfect unison, “We panicked.”

Olga just shook her head, chuckling softly. “You two are lucky you’re cute.” Then she grabbed Soleil’s hand. “She’s the only one who didn’t add to my contractions.”

As you all left the hospital, Alexia put an arm around your shoulders. “We should probably take a birth class.”

“Can I bring snacks?” you asked.

“No,” Soleil muttered.

“Braxton Hicks,” you repeated quietly to yourself, like you still didn’t believe it.

“Sounds fake,” Alexia mumbled.

Olga just groaned. “You two are so not being in the delivery room.”

It started at breakfast, Olga winced slightly as she shifted in her seat, one hand settling on her belly.

You froze, mid-bite of your toast. “Mami…?”

Alexia, pouring tea, turned around instantly. “Are you okay?”

Olga let out a soft laugh. “Relax, it’s just Braxton Hicks again. False alarm.”

You and Alexia looked at each other like the world was ending. Alexia put down the kettle with a clatter. “That’s what you said last time and then you couldn’t stand for ten minutes.”

You stood up, already reaching for your phone. “Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” Olga reached for your hand to keep you from spiraling. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

At the grocery store, it happened again.

You were helping her pick out snacks when she leaned forward against the cart and winced.

You gasped so loud the man in the next aisle turned his head. “Oh my god, is it time?”

Alexia, holding a bag of rice, dropped it. “Wait, did your water break? Should I call the doctor?!”

Olga rolled her eyes. “No! Just another one.”

You started Googling. “But what if it’s like… one of those stealth births?! Where the baby just like, pfft, slips out?!”

Alexia looked visibly pale. Olga just waddled away slowly, mumbling something about letting her finish her damn shopping.

After a routine appointment, you were all sitting in the car when she grabbed the side of her seat.

You screamed. “She’s in labor!”

Alexia dropped her keys. “I’ll drive! I’ll— Wait. Should I call Alba? Do we need reinforcements?!”

Olga groaned. “Stop yelling!”

You climbed halfway into the front seat. “Is she crowning?! I can’t see!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, ESTRELLA.”

At bedtime, she was brushing her teeth when she hunched forward again.

You tripped over the laundry basket rushing to her. Alexia dropped her phone and fell off the bed in a panic.

Olga sighed, her face still calm. “It’s. Just. Braxton. Hicks.”

You and Alexia were shaking like leaves the rest of the night.

Finally, finally, it was a quiet afternoon. You, Soleil, and Olga were piled together on the living room couch, half-buried under blankets, watching the kind of cheesy, over-the-top romantic comedy you always pretended to hate but secretly loved. Soleil’s head was on your shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing slow shapes on the back of your hand. Olga was curled against a cushion with one arm draped across her belly, her swollen stomach rising and falling as she chuckled at something on screen.

Everything was soft. Safe. Still.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” Olga said suddenly, shifting upright with a grunt.

You immediately sat up too. “No, no, I’ll get it for you!”

She shook her head with that little smile that always meant no use arguing. “I need to move, mami. You and Alexia have me bubble-wrapped. Sound familiar?”

You pouted dramatically. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Hmm.” She smirked as she waddled off toward the kitchen. “Wonder where I got that one from.”

You watched her go, then turned to Soleil with a playful nudge. “She’s gonna regret saying that when she realizes she can’t even reach the top shelf.”

But just a couple minutes later, a sharp gasp echoed from the kitchen. Then came Olga’s voice. Breathless. “Uhm… my water just broke.”

You froze. Soleil stood up slowly, calm already settling over her like a blanket. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. Estrella—grab the bag and start the car.”

You were already gone. Vaulted over the coffee table. Nearly ripped the front door off its hinges. You yanked the hospital bag from where it had been waiting by the entrance for weeks and sprinted outside.

Then you stopped dead. “THE KEYS!” you screamed into the void, whirling around like they’d magically appear in the driveway.

You thundered back inside, socked feet skidding across the tile. “WHERE ARE THE KEYS?”

“Estrella!” Olga groaned, half-laughing, half-dying. “Just get me to the car!”

Between frantic scrambling and Soleil keeping her steady, you finally got her down the steps and into the backseat. Soleil climbed in beside her, already dialing Alexia while murmuring soft instructions, “Keep breathing, that’s it, lean back, I’ve got you.”

You drove like an absolute menace. Ran a red light. Cut across a roundabout. Screamed at a Vespa. Soleil didn’t even flinch. She was in the back with Olga, voice gentle, fingers rubbing soothing circles on her arm while she gave Alexia a quick rundown of the situation.

By the time you screeched into the hospital’s emergency drop-off zone, Alexia was already there— hair still damp from the gym, shoes half on, worry written all over her face.

But things moved fast. Too fast. The doctors didn’t like what they were hearing from the monitors. The baby’s heartbeat was irregular. They said they had to assist with the delivery. It was go-time. You watched with bated breath as Alexia clutched Olga’s hand as she was wheeled away.

You were left behind. You and Soleil. Just sitting there in the sterile, humming quiet of the waiting room.

You couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe. You paced back and forth, chewing at your nails, bouncing your leg, running your fingers through your hair until it was sticking up in every direction. Soleil tried everything— held your hands, made you sit, tried breathing exercises, even offered to braid your hair to calm you, but nothing worked.

You were too afraid. Not just for the baby. But for Olga. Your mother. You couldn’t lose her.

Eli showed up first. She didn’t say anything. Just wrapped you in a massive, grounding hug and didn’t let go until your hands stopped shaking.

Then came Alba.

Alba, who took one look at your wrecked state, grabbed your shoulders, and pushed you down into a seat with a pointed stare.

“She’s going to be okay,” Alba said firmly. “You love her, right?” You nodded fast.

“Then trust her and the doctors. Olga is strong, you know this.”

That made something shift in you. Just a little. Just enough to take a breath. Just enough to sit still. And then, finally, Alexia came out.

“She’s okay,” she said, voice thick, tears glistening in her eyes. “The baby’s okay. Olga’s okay.” You nearly collapsed right there.

“She wants you,” Alexia added gently. “She’s asking for you.”

You ran. Through the doors, past the nurses, straight to the room. You didn’t go to the baby first. You couldn’t. You needed to see her.

You rushed to Olga’s side, cupping her face in your hands. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay,” you whispered over and over.

She nodded with tears in her eyes, her hand finding yours and squeezing tightly. “We’re okay, bebita. We’re okay.”

Only then did you turn. And there she was.

The tiniest thing you’d ever seen. Swaddled in soft pink blankets, wriggling gently in her bassinet. Her skin was flushed, her eyes blinking slow and curious. A head full of dark hair. Little fists that already looked ready to throw hands.

You stepped forward, breath caught in your throat.

“Can I—?”

Olga smiled. “Go on. Hold her.”

You picked her up like she was made of glass. And the moment she settled into your arms, your entire body broke open. Tears welled up instantly, your shoulders shaking.

“She’s so perfect,” you whispered.

Olga’s voice was soft, but sure. “Do you want to know her name?”

You looked at her, blinking through tears. Alexia smiled gently. “Valerie Celestina Putellas.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your legs gave out, and you sat in the chair next to Olga’s bed, clutching your baby sister like she was everything.

“You named her after me?” your voice cracked.

“Of course,” Olga said, her hand stroking your back. “So she always has a piece of her big sister with her. So even when you’re out in the world doing your thing, she’ll still have you close.”

You sobbed. Couldn’t stop. Could barely speak through the tears.

After everything. After the abandonments. After sleeping on couches. After courtrooms and broken promises and crying yourself to sleep wondering if anyone was ever going to want you. Now you had a family. And you had her. Valerie Celestina.

Forever.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, established relationship, PIV sex, period sex!!! you've been warned. WC: 3.8K

A/N: Still alive. Still writing filth. Well, trying to at least. Finally managed to finish one of these so, enjoy!

His brow furrowed at the same time that his smile deflated to form a frown.

Steve had found you exactly as he had left you – curled up on your side on the couch with your eyes squinting at the TV screen. Your arms are still wound around your stomach boa constrictor tight too, your trembling lips parted enough to let out the occasional groan or shaky whimper.

Though the sight of you like this is enough to make him feel concerned, he's relieved to spot the empty plate dusted with sandwich crumbs resting on the coffee table. Even if it did sit a little too close to the edge for his comfort, it let him know that you'd upheld your promise to eat something while he was away at work.

Taking a few quiet steps closer into the living room, Steve approaches you from behind and leans over the back of the couch to get a better look at you, his shadow stretching long to cloak you from the light coming off the TV.

"Any better?", he asks gently in lieu of a hello, slipping the question between laugh tracks as another episode of The Golden Girls commenced on screen. Your comfort show.

Steve watches patiently as you turn much too slowly and carefully to meet his eye from over your shoulder. That's when he notices how glassy they've become, unshed tears growing fatter and fatter behind your lash line, verging on spilling down your puffy cheeks. A little pout pushes your lightly chapped lips out too, mustering up enough strength to shake your head ‘no’.

Steve’s heart always hung heavy in his chest whenever he saw you like this, all pained and panting. Wanting to be closer to you, he rounds the couch and gladly takes the hand you unwind from around your sore belly and hold out to him, encouraging him to sit beside you.

To the relief of you both, there's no awkward fidgeting or clueless gestures exchanged at this stage of your relationship when Steve takes a seat. Instead, he moves with the quiet confidence of someone whose been through this very situation enough times to know exactly how to soothe you. To begin, he carefully gathers you into his lap, not wanting to trigger any more pinching pain or another cramping crick that might shoot up your back whip crack quick.

Your mood begins to shift for the first time that day, perking up as you let him cradle you, nuzzling into his chest as you settle sideways in his lap. He doesn't even have to question you when he feels your fingers circling his wrist either, letting you pluck his hand and guide it underneath your t-shirt. Steve remembers to spread his warm fingers over as much of the soft skin of your belly as possible, smiling when he sees you sigh with some relief.

He'd sit there all night with you like this if not for the little plastic shopping bag you’re yet to notice still grasped in his other hand. The shifty little sound it makes when he shakes it five minutes later draws your attention once you’ve made yourself comfortable in his lap. You blink your eyes open, curiously squinting at the bag and its familiar logo printed on the front.

"Figured I'd stop by the pharmacy before I headed home. Just to be safe", Steve explains with a kind smile, pretty crescent dimples making impressions on his cheeks. The thoughtful gesture is enough to make your body turn warm with adoration.

"So, I've got pain killers and heating pads and– ‘want me to open one up for you?", Steve offers before he lists the rest and you make sure to match his smile with one of your own that's just as sweet before you politely decline. "Can I use your hands a little longer?", you ask instead, practically purring from the way his large palm rests on you. "It feels so nice".

Once again, you're reminded of how lucky you are to have him when Steve's eyes catch the light and glitter like they always do when he does something you like. Just like a labrador lighting up at the sight of a bone.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course", he answers, so eager to please. He frees his hand by setting the bag down, once again letting you wrap your smaller fingers around his wrist and pull it closer to your chest.

You place it over your left breast and without needing to tell him how, Steve settles into a routine he's pretty much memorized by now. He grasps the shape of your breast under your t-shirt and begins massaging it gently like he’s done so many times before, aware of how sore they get when you're on your period, switching over to the other sensitive breast and then back again to the first for more.

He can tell that he's touching you the right way when he's treated to the sounds you begin to let slip out, contented sighs and soft groans, even that pinched little space between your eyebrows becomes lax enough to turn your face into a picture of bliss.

"Pills didn't do much today did they?", he guesses, earning another shake of your head.

"Neither did the hot water bottle?", he asks when he spies it lying on the carpet by the couch, knowing full well it'd probably been discarded there out of frustration.

"Just made me feel sweaty and gross", you whined back softly in reply.

"Is this helping? what I'm doing?", he asks hopefully.

"Yes, still crampy but It's already better having you hold me", you tell him sincerely, adjusting yourself in his lap so that your lips can reach his cheek and show your gratitude with a quick peck.

The next few minutes that pass with you perched on his lap is the closest you've felt to relief, his hands soothing your sensitive skin and much of the pain you'd dealt with all day.

Though not all of it.

Despite all Steve's done he can't quite snuff the pain out for you through touch alone. Your cramps continue to jab and twist and flare angrily inside you, less frequently but just as unpleasant as they had been this morning.

"Um, so listen", he clears his throat abruptly, noticing your unyielding discomfort.

When you look up at Steve you can almost feel the way his thoughts are stirring rapidly in his head, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in the same way he does when he's deep in thought.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I could do?", he asks eventually.

You think on it for a few short moments, shrugging when nothing comes to mind.

" I don't know... like what?"

---

"You really don't think it's gross?", you check for the third time, bare thighs squeezing together as if they were bound under lock and key. "We don't even know if it'll work", you add nervously, afraid of the kind of mess you're making on the towel that's been placed under you. At least the charcoal cotton will hide most of it. You hope.

Steve pops back into sight at the sound of your wavering voice, his hair messily fluffed up in all directions from pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it into a corner of the bedroom floor. He cranes his neck and rests his stubbled chin on your knees as your heels dig deeper into the mattress. "Baby" he sighed, smiling. Loving and reassuring all in one exhale of breath that tickles your perspiring skin. "It's not gross. You know that", he squeezes your thighs reassuringly, climbing over your bent legs to kiss you quick and thaw your inhibitions.

"I just want to make my poor, sore girl feel better".

The way he says it is enough to make you feel your heart beat between your legs.

It's nothing new. Your hormones have always had a nasty habit of kicking your libido up more than a few notches whenever it was your time of the month. But this was new territory for the both of you. As much as you would have liked to in the past, you never let Steve get this far before, never acting on the urge to have him be the one to pleasure you while you bled. You usually saw to that persistent ache on your own, always in private and in the shower without Steve's involvement.

And while it was him who insisted on 'helping' you today, part of you couldn’t stop worrying if he'd really desire you as you are right now. If maybe his sweet intentions to make you feel better had gotten the best of him.

All of that and more swarming thoughts had you questioning if maybe letting him get this far was a mistake. If maybe you ought to stop him now before it’s too late, your mind becoming a winding spiral of uncertainty but that was until you felt it – an unmistakable firmness brushing against your hip while Steve helped you out of your clothes.

It made your cheeks burn hot to know that Steve’s bulge had turned swollen and hard because of you, contained behind his boxers for the time being but still very evident as he tenderly laid you down on your back again, effectively quietening some of the doubts that howled sonorously inside your head.

It makes your knees tremble next when he places his large hands on each one, gently encouraging you to let him pull them apart and see what lies between your legs.

To you, letting your legs come apart for him feels too much like you’re stepping off the steepest ledge and plummeting into a freefall. Your heart shoots up out of your ribcage and into your narrow throat, your eyes squeezing shut because you can't handle watching how your boyfriend will react.

Your weak, jelly knees make it all the easier for him to peel them apart and once he does, the blood in your veins freezes over when all that elapses is silence. Not one single word out of Steve.

Each second ticks by as painfully as the last, like scraping bone until you try to clamp your legs shut once again but Steve's too quick for you, keeping your legs pried open with his hands placed firmly on your inner thighs.

"Oh sweetheart...", is all you hear him utter, a deep, raspy rumble that curls up and out of his throat like a lazy tendril of smoke. “Just needed a moment to really look at you, pretty thing”

You make a noise too, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup when you feel his course fingers graze your bloody folds. It's enough to make you force one eye open as he pulls them apart to observe the bleeding between your legs.

Carefully you read every little expression that dawns on his face, relieved when you notice that Steve doesn't wince. He doesn't flinch. And he doesn't turn away from the sight of your blood, completely unblinking and focused. Maybe even a little enamored if you were to guess by the way his lips lift up into another smile.

You feel it’s safe enough to ease both eyes open now and fix them on Steve as he watches you quietly and closely back. This time his silence has the opposite effect on you. Instead of frigid, piercing worry, you shudder warmly with sunny excitement while he explores you.

His gaze descends the length of your body to find a moderate amount of blood on your inner thighs. You know because you can feel the warm, thick stains cooling on your skin, smudged there like wine stains and brush strokes painting your body. It’s what pulls his focus first, his eyes lingering there before they roam between your puffy folds and over to your hole. There he finds you leaking with a glossy crimson mix of blood and slick. Bringing his face closer to it, he's able to tell that your scent's different now too. Sharper. More coppery underneath your usual soft musk. The way his mouth pulls up into a broader smile tells you that he likes it just as much.

"Can't believe we didn't try this sooner", he tells you playfully with a waggle of his eyebrows though you know he's being very sincere as you both recall all the times you’d laid in bed and in pain whenever you were menstruating.

Out of habit you very nearly ask him a fourth time if he's absolutely certain he wants to be intimate with you while you're bleeding but you’re able to stop abruptly before you can get the question past your lips, suddenly hit with a much-needed wave of clarity.

This was Steve. A man no stranger to a little blood. Be it a split lip, a blackened eye or a broken nose among other bones. The same Steve who took a bite out of a writhing demobat and spit its filthy viscera out at his dirty feet, its thick blood tainting his pearly teeth with an angry snarling red.

He's never cowered at the sight of blood before. So why would he start now? why would he when it means getting to be with you in a whole new way? when it means getting to make love to you and give you some much needed relief?

"Looks like my girl's ready now", he winks at you knowingly.

You can feel the pure magnetism practically radiating off of him like puffs of hot steam, shedding his boxers off quickly to join you in the nude. Watching his erection spring free and thwack against his lower stomach makes your tummy flutter and flip especially when you notice the splash of precum it leaves behind on his blushing skin.  

He wanted you, very much and there was no way to deny it, making you feel both eager and a little silly about how you'd fussed earlier so self-consciously.

It made you feel sexy again too. Desirable during a time you didn't consider yourself as such. With your confidence sprouting again your legs make more space for him, inviting him closer before your ankles lock in place behind the small of Steve's back. His rigid shaft settles snugly between your bloody folds as he teases you by rubbing the slick, spongy head of his cock against your swollen clit. He’s satisfied when he gently pulls whine after pretty whine out of you like unravelling a delicate flower bud by hand, petal by petal gently tugged open to reveal the beautiful blossom lying inside.

"Steve?"

"Yeah? this making you feel good?", he looks back up to search your face attentively.

"Can't you tell?", you roll your hips with a giggle, your clit catching on his tip and shaft perfectly though still not enough to quell your cramps and satisfy you.

"I want you to put it inside now. Please"

More than happy to oblige Steve smiles as he reaches between your bodies so he can guide his cock towards your waiting hole. You feel it first when it nudges at your entrance and you hold your breath as you always do when Steve begins to work his cock inside you, the thick tip of it making your hole give way and stretch until it's just about wide enough to let him pop inside.

For Steve It's a whirlpool of gooey warmth and buttery smoothness as he slowly feeds every veiny, throbbing inch inside you. Your silky walls stretch into the familiar shape of his cock, sucking him in and wrapping around him tight like ribbon.

You can't lie, as good as it feels, you can't quite shake one last whispering concern about how it'll look when he pulls back enough to see his cock all red with you – who wouldn’t be worried about that?

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you have a look for yourself, a cold chill spilling down your spine because it's exactly as you feared it would look. A generous coating of deep, dark syrupy red drips from Steve’s pale length but before you can attempt to convince him to please look literally anywhere else while he fucks you, you're pressed deeper back into the mattress as he leans forward to lightly pin you back in place.

"It's okay, baby. 'Can see you getting in your head again", he whispers soothingly, so close his lips brush yours.

"You need to understand that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, okay? you feel how fucking hard I am for you? it's all because of you. Now are you gonna be good for me and let me take care of you?"

For a moment, all you can do is blink back at him like you’re coming out of a daze.

The fuzz of his sweat matted chest hair tickles your nipples when you manage to nod back with a soft 'yes’. Now that your nerves have been settled for good, he leans down to let his tongue lap inside your mouth again, so gentle yet somehow still so ravenous. The kind of kiss that screams how much he wants you.

There's no more room for any doubt to encroach your mind again like a violent thunderstorm. It's clear Steve doesn't think the sight of you both connected like this is gruesome. He slips inside and out with ease and excitement, his cock gliding against your walls in a way that starts to make your head spin in the most delightful way.

"That’s my girl. Nothing better than having a sweet thing like you wrapped around my cock"

And that's how he starts to fuck you. Slow and deep. Push and pull. Your breath becoming shorter. Your eyes staring into his with longing as he begins to fuck into you more firmly when he thinks you’re ready for it, in every spot you cry out for it.

The cramps that plagued you for most of the day are practically being wrung out of your overwhelmed body, a much more pleasurable, pulsing ache taking its place instead. The sticky slap of your bodies meeting echoes within the confines of your shared bedroom, gasps and moans winding around each other like creeping vines as you climb further and further towards the peak of pleasure.

It’s a slower climb for Steve and that’s only because he’s desperately trying to maximize your pleasure before he can even think of his own climax and spilling into you. Your heels stay fixed behind his back, nudging at his spine and your teeth sink into his shoulder which while both a little uncomfortable, he wouldn’t dare dream of asking you to stop, not when the signs of your impending orgasm begin to shadow your face.

Steve delights in watching you trying to fight it off but fail to do so pitifully. Face contorting with arousal, slurring your words as you cry out his name, garbling as the smallest trail of drool leaks out the corner of your mouth. He chuckles into your neck when you fail to keep your eyes from rolling back too, hissing happily when he feels the heat of your nails raking at his biceps and back.

When you cum on Steve’s blood splattered cock your body turns electric, sparks and bolts erupting just like fireworks beneath the thin layer of your soft skin. All the throbbing, all the spasming waves of pain and soreness – gone. Driven out of your writhing body with pang after pang of pleasure, your clit fat and twitching uncontrollably between your legs.

He fucks you through it and when it begins to verge on too much, you will yourself to take the many thrusts that follow as Steve continues to hump into you, taking it like the good girl he keeps moaning that you are, mumbling nearly incoherently into your skin.

“Just a little longer – I know ,baby, I know. Just keep taking me like that, just a little more – yes…yes…yes", Steve grunts before his body starts to quake, shuddering through his own orgasm, shooting hot and sticky all he has to give you deep inside.

The feeling of it all collecting within your pussy is unlike any other that you’ve felt before and you can’t help but linger on it – exactly what your body had been crying out for all day. It’s made easier too because Steve’s body lay draped over yours, the weight of him on top of you is comforting. He keeps you plugged up nice and full with his softening cock still inside you, panting while you gently stroke the damp nape of his neck until you’re able to catch your own breath and thank him with words.

When Steve does finally unsheathe himself from you, he does so a little reluctantly, peppering you with kisses, making silly comments about how he’d rather just stay in you all night than part, have you cockwarm him till the sun comes up. You snicker in response and roll your eyes back at him playfully, eventually coaxing him and convincing him to pull out.

Slowly your combined discharge strings from his cock to your folds and pearly clit like a spider’s web, unable to tell where yours begin and his end. You still feel sensitive there too, the little bundle yet to cease throbbing and swell down after grazing perfectly against the thick hair that grew from Steve’s bellybutton to the base of his scarlet cock.

As more of it begins to leak out of you, you both look on curiously, mesmerized by its deep shade of rosy pink – such a pretty thing made by the two of you.

No longer bashful about the whole thing, you swipe a finger between your folds and closely observe the secretion on the pad of your index finger, wondering why, just an hour ago, you’d been so afraid of giving yourself to Steve like this.

Sure, it’s a mess but you don’t feel the least bit unclean. All the sweat and cum and blood – you're glad for it in fact, turning onto your side and resting your cheek on Steve's chest once he repositions onto his back, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer.

"Better?", he asks expectantly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Better than better" you assure him, basking in the afterglow with an ever so satiated smile gracing your lips.

Steve’s got one just like it shaping his plump pink lips, placing his hands behind his head as he stares dreamily at the ceiling.

"So, six more days huh? I can get used to this"

[messyoungie]

SELF CARE DAY FOR LOW ENERGY DAYS

it’s important to have different routines ready to match your mood and energy level. which is why I believe preparing for self care days for when you’re just not feeling your best is essential and a great way to look out for yourself. here’s my guide to self care days for low energy.

✧ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

despite your low energy, it’s important you still get your daily movement. however, exercise doesn’t always have to be intense.

try doing one of these

— 2 minutes of touching/trying to touch your toes

— 5-7 minutes of full body stretching

— 10 minutes of yoga

or maybe just stretch your neck, roll your shoulders, and take a few deep breaths. whatever you’re ready to do :)

links to short low energy workouts:

5 minute morning yoga

11 minute stress relief yoga

10 minute lazy girl workout

8 minute good morning pilates

✧𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃

do something for your mind. journal, get your thoughts out, meditate, read five pages of an inspiring book. do something that you will love and that your mind will thank you for. whether it’s sitting in silence for a few minutes or playing a game that’ll challenge your brain.

journaling prompts <3

++ what’s been draining your energy recently?

++ what’s been giving you positive energy recently?

++ what’s your focus been on lately?

++ what are three things you’re happy are in your life?

++ how is my environment impacting my energy?

if your energy is low I really recommend writing about it. what’s making you tired? reflect on it and go easy on yourself.

✧𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

the last thing you want to do is give your mind the responsibility of remembering your tasks. i don’t care how little you have on your schedule, write a to do list. on a low energy day, it’s important we’re easy on ourselves. getting everything out of our head and onto a piece of paper will not only make tasks seem more manageable but will also make our minds feel a bit lighter.

write everything. I mean it. even the small and seemingly insignificant tasks. even the parts of your routine that you do everyday anyways, write it all down.

✧𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

even though we’re a little bit down, that doesn’t mean we can cheat on the promises and boundaries we made with ourselves.

a low energy day doesn’t mean you can jump right back into your old habits. you’ll only feel worse if you do. it can be comforting to spend the whole day in bed, liking relatable TikToks and having a 7 hour screen time. but that’s not real rest. do something that’ll nourish you while also making you feel relaxed and comfortable. whether that’s watching an episode of your comfort show, rereading a chapter of your favorite book, or listening to your all time favorite songs while you just relax.

low energy is not a reason to practice unhealthy bad habits.

✧𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘

how do we enjoy a low energy self care day besides the usual rest and relaxation? by doing some activities!!

things you can do on a low energy self care day:

++paint

++do your own nails

++movie marathon of your fave genre

++install and try out different cute & cozy games on your device

++bubble bath

++make a Pinterest board or Moodboard that will inspire you to be the best version of yourself

thank you for reading, take care!! ♡

— messyoungie

[sturnioz]

Matt n kitty fucking until bun calls and Matt forces kitty to pick up as he fucks her (pls make this a fic)

you pant heavily, clawing at matt's bare back that rises with red welts from your scratches as you pull him closer, your hips grinding up against his cock through your clothes.

matt yanks up your skirt to reveal your soaked panties to hook his fingers under the lace to pull them down, and you almost scold and bite in retaliation when you hear a tear in the expensive material, only for your words to get caught in the back of your throat when he plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping pussy.

"fuuuck, baby... you're so fuckin' wet," matt groans against the skin of your neck, pumping his fingers in and out of your tight walls as you moan loudly in his ear, rutting down on his hand to get more friction as you tug at his boxers, desperate to free his cock and feel him stretch you open.

you manage to pull his boxers down to his thighs, too eager to rid him of them completely as you wrap around fingers around his cock, stroking it slowly as you gaze up at him through fluttering lashes, your eyes dazed.

"put it in," you practically demand, squeezing his cock between your fingers as you guide him closer. "need you inside me. now."

matt laughs airily as he removes his fingers from your pussy, swatting your hands away from him to position himself—the head of his cock nudging insistently against your puffy folds before he thrusts forward, burying his cock to the hilt within your slick warmth.

a guttural moan vibrates in matt's chest while you gasp at the sensation of finally being fully joined after days of not being together, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he begins to move, pulling back until only the tip remained nestled between your folds before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that has the bed squeaking beneath you both.

the force of his thrusts causes your tits to bounce, and you let out a hiss when matt leans down to shove his face into your chest, lightly biting down on your breast and swirling his tongue around your nipple.

your legs lock around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into his lower spine as the room fills with different sounds—the squeaking of the bed, the lewd squelches of matt's cock fucking into your cunt, both of your ragged breathing and... a phone?

confused, you raise up on your forearms, peering over at his bedside table to see bun's name flash across the screen. your brows knit together, and you try to stop matt from moving to take the call, but his grip tightens on your hips, holding you firmly in place.

"answer it."

"you're crazy," you scowl, clawing at his shoulders but matt remains unphased. "matt it's bun—"

"i know," he hums, continuing to roll his hips, causing your toes to curl as you feel his cock graze your sensitive walls. "answer it, sweetheart. m'not stoppin'... haven't had you in days."

"you're unbelievable," you scoff in response, but make no effort to fully stop him as you reach for your phone, sliding your thumb across the screen to answer as you bring it up to your ear, watching matt move above you slowly. "hello?"

you hear bun's gentle voice on the other end of the call, and you try your best to sound calm and collected all while experiencing matt's cock slipping you open again and again, biting down on the skin of your cheek.

"mhm," you hum in response to her rambling, smiling softly when you listen to her excited tone of wanting to spend time with you and nick, but the smile slides off your face and your mouth forms the perfect 'o' shape when matt's hips smack against your ass, the force sending you further up the bed. "yeah—yeah. i'll get matt to drop me off later. nick should be free now."

"are you with matt now?" her question makes your eyes snap up to matt who grins down at you, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he leans down, fucking into you as his mouth hovers near the phone.

"hey, bun."

"oh—hi matt!" she greets kindly. "do.. do you want to join us?"

"actually, i'm f—"

"i'll call you later bun," you quickly rush out, not trusting matt's words as you dig your nails into his shoulders once again, causing him to laugh as you bring your phone away from your ear. "bye, love you."

you slam your finger against the red button and throw your phone to the side, a moan ripping from the back of your throat as matt's hands slips beneath your body to grab your ass, squeezing the plump skin as he begins to fuck into you harder—snapping his hips forward, driving his cock deeper into your pussy with each brutal strokes.

he tilts his head to capture your mouth in a messy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pounds into you, and you meet his thrust with an upward roll of your hips, drawing him in closer as your arms wound around his neck.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

@ STURNIOZ

[cheolieji]

secret glances pt 2 - chwe hansol

wc: 1,670

a little suggestive towards the end

guide for requesting on my page [17] check the (pink highlighted) text for my yes and no's

PART 1 & 3 (SG pt 1 || SG pt3 )

You try not to think about the videos anymore.

You try not to think about the comments or the edits or the way your heart still trips over itself every time Vernon smiles without meaning to. The internet has moved on to other things for now, but you haven’t. Not really.

The thing about pretending is that it only works when no one looks too closely. But lately, Vernon has been looking. Not in passing, not like the casual glances you used to exchange during rehearsals or press conferences. His eyes linger now. He listens differently. He watches you like he’s trying to solve something that’s been on his mind for a while.

You’ve caught him staring. Not once or twice, but often enough to know it’s not your imagination.

You don’t ask.

Not until one night, he gives you no choice.

The studio is mostly dark, just the faint glow from the computer screen lighting your faces. You’re curled up in the corner of the couch, half-focused on your phone, while Vernon taps his pen absently against a notebook. The beat playing through the speakers is soft and slow, something he looped earlier but hasn’t touched since.

Neither of you has spoken in almost twenty minutes. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable with him. But there’s something heavier than usual sitting between you.

He shifts suddenly, like he’s finally made a decision.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts clean through the silence.

You glance up. “Sure.”

He doesn’t look at you right away. He stares at his notebook, pen frozen between his fingers.

“When did you start liking me?”

You blink.

“What?”

His eyes finally meet yours. His expression is unreadable.

“I’ve been wondering for a while,” he says. “Since the fan videos. Even before that, honestly. I just didn’t say anything.”

The air leaves your lungs in one sharp breath. Your heart stumbles, not prepared to face this head-on.

“You’re asking that so casually,” you manage, your voice weaker than you want it to be.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” he says. “It doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

You look away, your mind racing. You’ve played this moment in your head too many times. But not like this. Not with Vernon sitting this close, his voice this calm, his gaze this direct.

“I…” You hesitate. “I don’t know exactly when. Maybe since trainee days. Maybe since you started wearing those stupid headphones and blocking everyone out.”

He grins, just a little. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “You were always so quiet. I used to stare because I wanted to know what you were thinking.”

“And now?”

“I still want to know.”

He nods slowly, like he understands every unspoken thing behind your words.

“I’ve liked you for a while too,” he says. “I didn’t realize it at first. I thought I just liked being around you. I thought I just felt comfortable. But it wasn’t just that.”

You shift on the couch, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I noticed how I’d find reasons to sit next to you. How I’d get distracted watching you during practice. How I’d hear you laugh and feel like it made the day better.”

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. Your whole body is buzzing.

“Then the fan edits started showing up,” he continues. “And it was like… they saw it before I did. They saw the way I looked at you. The way you looked at me.”

You cover your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, reaching over to gently pull your hands away. “It’s not embarrassing if I feel the same.”

You look at him. He’s close now. Too close. His fingers are still lightly wrapped around your wrist, warm and grounding.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

He leans in slightly. “We stop hiding.”

Your heart nearly stops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

His voice is low. Steady. Almost dangerous in how certain it sounds.

You hesitate. “What about the group? The company? The fans?”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” he says. “We’ll be careful. But I want to figure this out with you. Whatever it looks like.”

You stare at him. His eyes flicker to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“You’re sure?” you whisper.

Vernon smiles. That rare, unguarded one that always leaves you a little dazed.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

You don’t think. You just move. A slow lean in, breath held tight, and then his hand cups the side of your face with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. His forehead rests lightly against yours, his lips close enough to brush yours if you just shifted a little closer.

His breath warms your skin.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers.

“So have I.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you properly. His eyes are darker now. Not with uncertainty, but something else entirely.

“You should go back soon,” he says, voice a little lower than before.

You nod, but you don’t move.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Or…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “you could stay a little longer.”

Your breath catches. You tilt your head slightly, and this time, when your gaze drops to his lips, you don’t look away.

“You want me to?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is full of tension. Not heavy. Just electric.

You don’t say anything else. You just lean back into him, and this time when he closes the space between you, it’s soft, slow, and something you’ll remember forever.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it feels like the first line of a song you’ve waited your whole life to hear.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version): Future III

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You spend time with Mami

"You know," You say, resting against the bench," Just because I'm now free from my job doesn't mean that I enjoy coming to yours. I'm not six."

Alexia laughs at your teasing, lightly slapping your legs to move so she can sit down too.

You sit up, adjusting your sunglasses on your face as you move.

"You love it really."

You roll your eyes, not that Alexia can tell but you're grinning too and she bumps her shoulders against yours.

Mami's been retired from football for a while now, a player turned manager of Barcelona's women's team. She's on a quest to get as many titles as manager as she did as a player.

Which is why you're here now, at a Champion's League semi-final. It's the second leg with Barcelona already up three nil against Chelsea.

You're not too worried but your Mami is. She knows how quickly a match can change.

It just takes one moment for it all to go to shit.

Mami's a bit intense like that.

It's probably one of the reasons you prefer ballet to sports. There's no competition when you're actually performing. There's some competition for parts behind the scenes but once you're on stage, there is no foul play.

Everyone is trying to do their very best for the crowd.

You couldn't even imagine what it would be like to compete against another ballet company at the same time.

Football has always been a bit too intense for you. It was Mami's passion, even now.

"You're too stressed," You say," Take a day off."

Alexia laughs at you, teasingly ruffling your hair. "Funny," She says," I distinctly remember telling you that a few weeks ago. What was it you said to me? No chance!"

You laugh with her. "Hey! I never said I practiced what I preached!"

"Neither did I!"

It's nice being here with Mami.

Olga's in Madrid with a client and Jaume's on a trip with his school so it's just the two of you in the house right now.

"The girls will be fine," You say dismissively," You're ready. It's only Chelsea."

"Only Chelsea," Alexia repeats with an eye roll," You've not been watching any of their games recently."

You blow her a kiss. "You know I only watch football when you're around, Mami. I'm not Jaume."

Jaume watches football as often as he can, glued to the screen. If he's not watching then he's playing. His dirty football boots lay all over the house.

It's a little annoying, especially when he jumps onto your bed still wearing them.

But you do miss him, annoying as your brother is.

The stadium slowly fills up with fans as you and Alexia sit on the bench together.

You think you and Mami are more similar now that you've grown up. You've always been like her subtly. Her drive and her passion and her ambition.

But you look more like her now.

You've grown into her features, your nose, the curve of your lips, your eyes.

You grin as she pulls you up, grasping your hand tightly as she guides you back inside.

You've got a break for a few weeks before you're back with the company. It's a welcome break, one where you can go back to eating normally and feeling like the world is crushing you.

It's a brutal cycle but one every ballerina goes through.

It's hard and it's horrible but it's what you sacrifice on the altar of ballet.

This break is nice though.

You've got a trip to Mallorca coming up during it where you can just soak up the sun and the sand and whatever fruity drinks you can be bothered to buy.

Just you and the crystal waters.

"Hey," You say to Alexia," I'm going to grab something from the vending machine. Do you want something?"

"I shouldn't..."

You see through her excuses though, waiting her out.

"Just a drink. Sugar free, Bambi!"

"I know!"

You know the stadium like the back of your hand, weaving through the halls to the vending machine you know stocks the best chocolate bars you've ever eaten.

Mami used to buy them for you and Jaume when you were little and the match was over. She used to walk all the way to the rival's end of stadium, still in her kit and boots with you and Jaume following after her like little ducklings.

She didn't even care that the opposing players would stare. She would walk straight up to the vending machine in front of their changing room to get you your favourite chocolate and Jaume his favourite drink.

You could do the walk in your sleep.

Someone's already there though, staring through the glass at it.

It's one of the Chelsea girls.

You vaguely recognise her, one of the older players on the team. You're pretty sure she plays for England too but you're not quite sure because you only watch matches when Mami's around.

"Sorry," You say. You're English is rusty from years of not using it apart from in school. "Are you-?"

"Oh! No, sorry."

You nod in thanks, punching in your choices before paying.

You grab your chocolate and Mami's drink.

She's pretty, this older woman. Exactly your type. If you'd met in the club, you'd probably try to entice her closer but you're at Mami's workplace so you don't.

"I'm not sure what to choose," She says," What do you recommend?"

"The chocolate," You say, waving your choice," The crisps are always stale. Don't get them."

She nods. "Noted."

You go to leave but she still calls after you.

"Hey, can I have your number?"

You lay your cards in the table immediately. "I'm not looking for a relationship," You tell her," I...I'm just not..."

She shrugs. "Can I have your number anyway?"

"You don't mind?"

"I just got out of a relationship. I'm not looking for another one. But you're fit and you give good snack recommendations."

You study her. "I'm y/n."

"Aggie. So...is that a yes?"

"Sure."

When you make your way back to Mami, the Barcelona girls are already warming up.

"You took a while," She says, gratefully taking her drink and pressing a soft kiss to your crown.

"I stopped at the toilets," You reply.

She nods. "Are you still okay with staying down here instead of going to the box?"

"As long as you don't yell at me if it goes wrong then yeah."

"I'd never yell at you," Alexia says," I've been told that having you down here actually makes me calmer."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever." You look down at your phone in your hand. "Hey, remember when you worried about me going to Mallorca by myself?"

Alexia frowns at the change of subject but nods. "Yes. I still am worried, if that's what you're checking."

"You don't need to be," You say," I've got someone coming to stay with me now."

Sun, sand, sea and sex.

The best way for you to spend your break from ballet.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

The Debut

Masterlist

The news hit the F1 world like a thunderclap—a 20 year old American driver, a complete unknown, was stepping into the Aston Martin seat mid-season. One of the few rookies to join halfway through the season, she was brought in to cover for Lance Stroll, sidelined potentially indefinitely by a severe injury. Speculation about his replacement had run wild, but no one expected it to be someone with almost no public history, let alone a driver no one had ever seen outside their helmet and racing suit. Yet Aston Martin was now ready to unveil her to the world—a driver who had only been known by her number, 66, and the nickname “Daredevil.”

In the week leading up to her debut, Aston Martin teased fans with cryptic photos and voice-modulated videos. Finally, they dropped a fifteen-minute video titled Welcome to AMRTC Driver 66, capturing her first day with the team. It opened with clips of the team speculating about her skill, personality, and confidence, overlaid with shots of her walking through the building without truly showing more than her shoes. Then, as a black screen lingered, the opening chords of “Real Gone” from Cars filled the silence. The video cut to the mystery driver getting suited up, each layer adding to her mystique, until she finally took to the track in the new car. A montage of high-speed laps displayed her undeniable skill and poise until the song slowly faded, revealing her standing still, helmet off, with curled hair framing her face as she turned toward the camera for the first time. This was quickly followed by a long ‘get to know me’ interview.

From the moment she arrived, the paddock buzzed with whispers. Her face was unfamiliar to the veteran drivers, but rumors hinted at her racing roots from leagues around the world. The fans, media, and even her new teammate waited with bated breath, eager to see if this newcomer could hold her own against the sport’s giants.

Y/n pov

I stepped into the Aston Martin garage with Marcus, my manager, beside me. My headphones were on, the bass of my favorite race weekend hype playlist thumping as I took in the scene. Mechanics and engineers glanced up from their tasks, eyes darting over to me before resuming their work on the cars and equipment, all in preparation for Practice Day 1. I’d skipped the usual media day—Aston Martin had somehow managed to get the FIA’s approval for me to skip it, which suited me just fine.

Marcus guided me through the bustling garage, giving me a quick rundown of everything before leading me to my driver’s room in the Aston Martin hospitality suite. As I took a seat, nerves bubbled up—I still hadn’t met Fernando Alonso. As confident as I felt in the car, the idea of meeting a living legend, someone who’d been racing since before I was even born, was something else entirely.

For as long as I could remember, Fernando Alonso had been my idol. I’d spent years studying his every move on the track, even adopting his aggressive, calculated driving style until I’d eventually developed my own. But knowing that I’d be racing alongside him—that I’d actually get to learn from him first hand—felt surreal, like stepping into a dream I’d chased my entire life.

That all changed the moment I actually met him. As I walked into the garage, fully suited up in my fireproofs with my helmet tucked under my arm, I could feel the weight of the moment settling in. After a quick weigh-in, Marcus led me over to Alonso. For a few awkward seconds, he barely glanced my way, his focus elsewhere until someone pointed me out to him. Around us, everyone was smiling and looking expectant—everyone except him. I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. I hadn’t expected him to be thrilled about my arrival, but his distant, unreadable expression stung in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

As I approached, He looked me up and down with the slightest hint of a frown.

"So, they think you're ready to jump into this mid-season?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I wonder if you actually understand what that means."

I blinked, taken aback by his bluntness. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't," I shot back, trying to keep my tone even.

He raised an eyebrow. "A lot of drivers think they’re ready," he replied, his voice cool. "But being ready means more than just showing up with confidence. Winning is a mindset, an instinct. It’s not just something you decide you have one day."

I felt my hands tighten around my helmet. "Maybe it’s not something you decide—but it is something you prove. I’m here to race, not get your approval, and I’ll show you on track that my style is nothing like what you've seen before."

A spark flashed in his eyes, though his expression remained unchanged. "We’ll see if your style is worth anything," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Just remember that here, being good isn’t enough."

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed toward my car, trying to shake off the sting of his words. As I disappeared around the corner, Fernando watched me go, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Once my car was ready, I climbed in, settling into the seat as the engineers moved in to strap me down. Glancing up at the screen, I watched past race footage from this track with this very car. They wanted me to see what I’d be up against—what I needed to match and, ideally, surpass.

A moment later, Marcus crouched down into my line of sight, flanked by two guys—one older and serious, the other younger, with a bit of a wide-eyed look.

“Y/N, this is Ben,” Marcus began, gesturing to the older man. “He’ll be running your radio. But he’s also training Landon here,” he nodded toward the younger guy, “to be your personal radio engineer. Since there’s still a good part of the season left, you’ll need someone who gets you on and off the track. Landon’s been watching your last F2 season, studying up to learn your style. Today’s practice sessions will help you both adjust to your new roles together.”

I nodded and gave them a thumbs up—they wouldn’t hear me over the helmet or the noise of the garage anyway, but my excitement was clear.

It was finally time. My doorman stepped out, giving me the signal that I was clear to go. I eased the car forward, carefully navigating my way onto the main pit road. Aston Martin’s garage was positioned right at the front of the entrance, but it also meant the longest stretch before merging onto the track. As I rolled past each team’s garage, I felt eyes following my every move, curious and assessing. They’d all heard the buzz about the new “mystery driver,” and now here I was.

Once I hit the open track, becoming the first car out on the tarmac, my radio crackled to life with Landon’s voice. “Okay, Y/N, this session is all about finding your sweet spot with the car. If anything feels even slightly off, let me know immediately. For now, just get comfortable with the track. We’ll start gathering real data in the next session.”

I pressed the radio button and replied with a quick, “Yes, sir,” a grin hidden behind my helmet as I pushed down on the accelerator, ready to make my mark.

I took a deep breath, the roar of the engine and the blur of the pit wall filling my senses as I pushed down on the accelerator. The Italian GP track spread out before me in a symphony of curves and straightaways, each turn already embedded in my mind. I’d studied this circuit obsessively—every corner, every curb, every shift in gradient. But now, with the Aston Martin beneath me, I could finally feel it for myself, each bump and nuance translating through the car with perfect clarity.

As I took on the first few turns, my instincts kicked in—a mix of smooth control and split-second aggression. Where other drivers might ease off in preparation for a hairpin, I’d mastered the art of late braking, letting the car edge just to the point of losing grip before snapping it back with a calculated shift in weight. I slid through the Variante del Rettifilo, cutting a sharp angle through the chicane, my hands steady as I kept my foot down. Each move, each turn was a test, not just for me, but for the entire team watching my data back in the garage.

The name Franco Colapinto kept flashing in my mind. I knew he’d have an impressive debut mid-season, and I could feel a competitive drive swelling within me as I attacked the track, eager to match and even exceed his potential mark. Exiting the second Lesmo, I made a mental note of how much grip the car could hold, the feeling just right as I powered down the straight toward Ascari. I couldn’t afford a single misstep. If I was going to prove myself, this was my moment to do it—full control at breakneck speed.

“Looking good, Y/N,” Landon’s voice crackled through the radio, but I was already focused on the final corner. The Parabolica curved ahead, inviting me to test my limits, and I didn’t hesitate. I took it wide before tightening on the exit, feeling the car grip to the line as I pushed the throttle to the max, the car launching down the home straight. 

“Love you, Landon, but please don’t speak before I’m accelerating out of the corner,” I said quickly over the radio, just as I straightened out and hit the next curve.

There was a pause before his voice crackled back, a bit sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies.”

I chuckled, the corners of my mouth lifting behind my helmet. “No worries, I’ll have you perfected in no time.”

With that, I settled back into my rhythm, feeling the weight of the car and every detail of the track imprinting itself in my mind. Soon enough, the first practice session came to an end, and I guided the car back to the pits. As I parked and the engineers moved in, I took a moment to pull off my helmet, still buzzing from the thrill of my first laps. This track, this team, and this car were quickly becoming home.

Time Skip -

Race day had arrived, bringing the tension and thrill of my F1 debut, but the sting of yesterday’s qualifying disaster still lingered. I’d ended up in P18, an unfortunate consequence of a poorly timed red flag that left the five of us at the back with no real shot at setting a solid lap time. I tried to brush it off as I prepared to join the rest of the grid for the drivers' parade.

Dressed in team gear, I wore one extra item that had become a part of my ritual. A few months ago, I lost my mother to cancer, and since then, I’d made sure to honor her at every race. Something on me, whether it was my gear or my helmet, would always bear a symbol of her favorite animal: the sea turtle. She had chosen it after learning the turtle’s symbolism of wisdom, endurance, and trusting one’s path, all qualities that described her so well. On each of my helmets, a small sea turtle was etched into the design. And when I wasn’t wearing the helmet, I kept a sea turtle necklace with me, its pendant filled with a touch of her ashes, as if she were here with me, watching over this pivotal moment.

I slipped on my headphones, tuning into my “reminiscing” playlist, letting myself reflect in the few quiet moments before the chaos. “How Do I Say Goodbye” by Dean Lewis filled my ears, a song that resonated now more than ever. My F2 team had given me the remainder of the season off after my mother’s passing, telling the media I was undergoing intense training for my reserve role. Nobody outside my close circle knew the truth, and it felt like a private thread of grief I carried alone, my mother’s memory grounding me as I faced the reality of my first F1 race without her.

I followed the line of drivers, hanging back, unnoticed by most. No one had approached me—not to chat, nor to dismiss me. They’d fallen naturally into their cliques, small pockets of friendships built over countless races together. The trailer pulled up, and I was the last to step aboard, taking a quiet corner near the back. My gaze drifted over the crowd as I toyed with the sea turtle pendant around my neck, a small comfort. If there was ever a moment I needed my mom, it was now. I imagined her smiling at my awkwardness, maybe even scolding the guys to show a bit of gentlemanly grace. Her humor and warmth were all I had left to keep close in this overwhelming moment.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I pulled off my headphones and turned to see a smiling Franco Colapinto standing there, his easy grin contagious. My smile mirrored his as I placed my headphones around my neck, grateful for the distraction.

“Hola! I’ve been waiting to get a chance to talk to you,” he said, his tone smooth and friendly.

“Hey! I didn’t think anyone would come over,” I replied, surprised but pleased. “It’s nice to finally meet you. How are you feeling about today?”

“Excited and a little nervous, to be honest. It’s not every day you get to race in Formula 1, right? I’m sure you feel the same way.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of camaraderie. “Definitely. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m ready to show what I can do out there.”

Franco's eyes sparkled with encouragement. “You’ve got this! I saw your lap times from practice; you really have a gift. Just stay focused and trust your instincts. We’re in this together after all.”

“Thanks! That means a lot, especially coming from you. I know you’ve been making waves already too,” I said, my confidence growing.

“Just trying to keep up!” he laughed, his energy infectious. “How about we make a pact? Let’s push each other out there and see how far we can go. We might even surprise some people!”

“Deal!” I grinned, feeling the excitement of a budding friendship. “I’d love to have someone to share this experience with. After all, it’s always more fun with friends.”

Franco nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Let’s catch up after the race too—maybe grab a bite? I think we could both use a little downtime after all this craziness.” He blushed slightly, the nerves from the question filling him. 

“Sounds perfect,” I replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. As we exchanged a few more words, the nervous weight on my shoulders lifted, replaced by the warmth of a new friendship that made this moment feel just a little less daunting.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, we were dropped back at the paddock. With no distractions, I headed straight for my garage, ready to change and get my head in the game. As I pulled on each piece of my race gear, my heart thudded louder, like it was syncing up with the pulse of the race track. I pressed play on my go-to race day anthem, letting "Real Gone" by Sheryl Crow blast through my headphones on repeat. If this song didn’t put me in the zone, nothing would—it was basically my theme song at this point.

Finally dressed, I took out my helmet. Today, I’d be wearing something special. Up until now, I’d been using my usual helmet, but today was different. This one was for my mom. The design was everything she’d loved: a watercolor sea turtle on each side, painted in her honor. And the top? Like Max’s iconic lion, but this time, it was the face of a sea turtle, wise and serene, watching over me. I could almost hear her laugh as I ran my fingers over the shell details. This one’s for you, Mom.

Leaving the driver’s room, I headed towards the garage, spotting Fernando getting weighed, his usual intense focus evident even with all the last-minute prep happening around us. I gave him a nod, but he was too busy to notice. The team was buzzing, everyone moving with that pre-race electricity.

Before long, I was strapped into the car, staring down the rows of vehicles lined up before me. Silence filled my helmet as I mentally ran through my race strategy. My goal was clear: make it into the points. It wasn’t just about my debut anymore; it was about proving that I belonged here. I’d shut up the critics, the doubters, the ones who said I didn’t have what it took. One pass at a time, I’d show them exactly why I was here.

With just minutes left before the race began, the team pulled the last of the covers from my car and gave it one final check before stepping back off the track. A calm washed over me, the nerves melting into pure focus. It was time.

As the lights went out for the formation lap, I pressed the pedal, feeling the power beneath me roar to life. One by one, the cars in front began moving, and I eased into line, the vibrations of the track buzzing through my hands and up my arms. As I made my way around the circuit, I took in the crowds, fans pressed up against the barricades, flags waving, people cheering, everyone vying for a glimpse of the action before the real race even began. Some held banners and signs with drivers’ names, a few even with my number and the sea turtle logo—my symbol.

I could feel the weight of all those eyes, every fan, every camera trained on the car, and I let it sink in. This was it. For a split second, my mind flashed back to all the hard work, the sleepless nights, and every lap it took to reach this moment. I had something to prove to the fans, to the team, to everyone who’d doubted me. But right now, the only thing on my mind was to trust my path—just like the sea turtle my mom had loved so much.

As the formation lap came to an end, the tension in the air shifted into something electric. The cars lined up on the grid, engines rumbling in anticipation, and I felt a surge of adrenaline course through me. The lights began to sequence, and I focused on the start, visualizing my strategy for the race. This was my moment, and I was ready.

The lights went out, and with a roar, I launched off the line. The initial surge was exhilarating; I was quick on the throttle, feeling the car respond to my commands as I made my way into Turn 1. I immediately positioned myself on the inside line, expertly avoiding the chaos of the cars jostling for position. I could hear the crackle of the radio as Landon encouraged me, reminding me to stay calm and focused.

By the time I reached the first series of corners, I was already gaining ground. I overtook a struggling driver on the outside, timing my move perfectly as I accelerated past him, narrowly avoiding a collision. The thrill of passing my first competitor sent a rush of confidence through me. I could see Franco up ahead, holding steady in P15, and I set my sights on catching him.

As I maneuvered through the tighter sections of the track, I began to find my rhythm. I was in the zone, my mind clear, my instincts sharp. Every corner felt like an opportunity, and I seized each one with determination. The roar of the crowd grew louder with every pass I made, and I could feel the energy fueling my drive.

By the end of the first five laps, I had already climbed up to P15. The rush of adrenaline pushed me further as I entered the sixth lap, where I saw two cars ahead battling for position. I took advantage of their fight, threading my car between them at just the right moment. It felt like a dance, fluid and precise. I could hear Landon’s voice in my ear, excitement evident as I made my way to P12.

With each lap, I continued to push, my confidence growing as I settled into the flow of the race. I navigated through the midfield, expertly carving my way around each driver that stood in my path. Before I knew it, I was in P10, and the battle for the final point was heating up. I had Franco in my sights, and he was locked in a fierce duel with a driver ahead. I took a deep breath, my focus zeroing in on the track ahead.

As we approached the DRS zone, I positioned myself perfectly behind Franco, ready to capitalize on the situation. The moment the DRS activated, I unleashed the power of my car, speeding past him as I made my way into P9. A rush of exhilaration flooded over me—I was in the points! I could hardly believe it. The realization that I had come from P18 to P9 within 2/3s of the race filled me with a sense of accomplishment and the determination to keep pushing forward. With my mother’s spirit guiding me, I 2ould fight for better positions. 

The final laps flew by in a blur, each corner, each straight a chance to cement my place in this race. I held P9 fiercely, defending against anyone who dared to challenge me, pushing the car to its limits while staying calm under pressure. As I crossed the finish line, a wave of relief and triumph washed over me, the weight of the entire race lifting in an instant. My radio crackled with life, and suddenly the cheers of the team filled my helmet, their voices a symphony of celebration.

“P9! Absolutely incredible, y/n!” Landon’s voice shouted, brimming with pride. “You did it, you’re in the points on your debut!”

I could hear Marcus chiming in, his excitement nearly drowning out the others, “You’ve made history today. Unbelievable drive—everyone here is beyond proud!”

A smile broke across my face as I took a moment to let it all sink in. The crowd’s cheers blended with the voices in my ear, my heart racing with pure exhilaration. I lifted a hand in a quiet tribute to my mom, feeling her presence there on the track. This was just the beginning—I’d proven I belonged here. 

Pulling into parc fermé, I powered down the car, feeling the silence wrap around me as the engine’s roar faded. Just as I started climbing out, I heard someone shout my name over the buzz of the paddock. I turned and saw Franco charging toward me, a huge grin plastered on his face. Before I could react, he reached me, practically tackling me in a bear hug as he lifted me off my feet and spun me around.

“You raced beautifully, hermosa!” he yelled, his excitement infectious. I couldn’t help but laugh, caught up in his energy as he set me back down.

“And you! That defense was insane—I thought I’d never get around you!” I replied, still catching my breath. We grinned at each other, peeling off our helmets and balaclavas, both flushed and exhilarated.

“Seriously,” he said, eyes bright, “for a debut race? You were unstoppable. I knew you’d make waves, but that was something else.”

“Thanks, Franco,” I said, feeling the pride and relief mix with a new rush of excitement. “And I know that won’t be the last time I’m chasing you down.”

“Can’t wait for it,” he replied with a laugh. We shared a nod, silently acknowledging the start of something bigger between us. 

As we pulled away, someone called out for us. I turned, and to my surprise, racing legend Lewis Hamilton was walking over, looking exhausted but with a warm, genuine smile. "That was spectacular from both of you," he said, nodding at Franco and me. "I can’t wait to watch the highlights later. You both defended and overtook with skill today—I’m excited to see how you both keep improving."

Franco and I exchanged a quick look of shared amazement and thanked him, both of us a bit starstruck. Just then, Alex appeared, pulling Franco aside, leaving me with Lewis.

“So, y/n,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I actually wanted to have a word with you. I didn’t want to overwhelm you earlier, so I thought now might be the best time—when your spirits are high and you’ve got a bit of space to breathe.” I nodded, curious, as he continued.

“I know it can be tough to find real allies here,” he said gently. “Especially as someone who stands out in a sport that doesn’t have many like you.” His words hit home; I’d felt the isolation creeping in, even with the excitement of today’s race. “I went through a similar thing when I started. I want you to know, if you ever need a friend or someone to talk to, I’m here. Whether it’s for advice, venting, or just someone who gets it—don’t hesitate to find me.”

A wave of gratitude washed over me, and I managed a smile, feeling the pressure I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying start to lift. “Thank you, Lewis. That really means a lot,” I said, trying to convey how much his words reassured me. He gave a small, understanding nod, like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

“Anytime,” he said with a kind smile. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Just keep your head up.” With a reassuring nod, Lewis turned and walked back toward his team, leaving me standing there with a sense of both calm and determination. I took a deep breath, letting his words sink in, feeling a surge of confidence. 

Gathering myself, I turned and headed back to my team’s garage, the noise of the paddock buzzing around me, but somehow, I felt more focused than ever. As I walked, a few crew members caught my eye, giving me nods and pats on the back, their own excitement mirroring my own. 

I saw Marcus waiting with a grin, surrounded by engineers who all looked just as thrilled. I knew I’d made a mark today—not just on the track but on the people who believed in me. And as I joined them, I couldn’t help but smile.

[one-chicago-writer]

Holding On

After a severe allergic reaction, you crash in the ED, Will and the team fight to save you, reviving you after CPR and intubation. When you come around, you realize that home is wherever Will Halstead is.

The emergency department at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center was alive with its usual chaos. Machines beeped in rapid succession, the sound of rolling stretchers filled the air, and the scent of antiseptic clung to every surface. You had been working for over ten hours straight, your energy waning, but the rush of the ERkept you upright.

“You still with us, Y/N?” Maggie’s voice broke through your focus as you adjusted an IV drip in Bed 4. “You’ve been running around like you’re on autopilot.”

You managed a tired smile. “Just another day in the ED.”

She shook her head, handing you a new set of patient orders. “At least grab some water.”

You nodded, but before you could follow through, Dr. Halstead’s voice cut through the department. “Y/N, I need 0.5mg of epi for Bed 6!”

You grabbed the medication, handing it over without a second thought. As you moved back toward the nurses’ station, your stomach growled. Without thinking, you grabbed a donut from the break room counter, taking a quick bite. The moment the taste of peanuts hit your tongue, your heart stopped.

You knew you were allergic. You have always been extremely careful. But exhaustion clouded your judgment, and now the mistake was irreversible. Panic set in as the familiar tightness gripped your throat. Your breath came in short, gasping bursts as your airway swelled shut. You started to stumble towards the nurses station and Maggie, but before you could, dizziness hit like a freight train, and before you could steady yourself, your vision swam. A sharp pain erupted as your head struck the desk as you went down, a sickening crack echoing in your ears, followed by Maggie yelling “Y/N!” before the world went black.

Will’s POV

The moment he heard Maggie yell your name, Will’s heart nearly stopped. He turned, spotting your crumpled form on the floor, blood pooling from a deep gash on your forehead. The pallor of your skin sent a jolt of fear through him.

“Somebody get a crash cart!” he barked, pushing past nurses as he fell to his knees beside you. “Y/N! Can you hear me?” He did a sternal rub with no response. He checked your pulse—rapid and thready. Your breathing was shallow, barely existent.

“Severe anaphylaxis,” Natalie assessed quickly as she joined Will. “We need airway support now.”

Will’s hands trembled as he tilted your chin back to open your airway. “Epi, now! 0.5mg IM, and start an IV for a second dose if needed.”

Maggie was already ahead of him, pushing the medication into your thigh. Ethan secured an ambu bag over your face, but your chest barely rose.

“She’s going into respiratory failure,” Ethan warned. “We need to intubate.”

Will’s throat tightened. “No—wait, she’s coding!”

The monitor wailed as your heartbeat flatlined.

“Starting compressions!” Will’s voice cracked as he pressed his hands to your sternum, counting aloud. “One, two, three—come on, Y/N—five, six, seven…”

“IV access is impossible,” Natalie said, voice urgent. “We need a neck IV.”

“Ethan, get an external jugular line in, now!” Will barked.

Ethan worked fast, inserting the large-bore catheter into your neck. The moment it was in place, Ehtan secured it with practiced ease

“Pushing another round of epi,” Natalie confirmed.

“Charging to 200 joules!” Natalie called, placing the defibrillator pads against your chest. “Clear!”

Will pulled back as your body arched from the shock, but the monitor remained still.

“360,” Will ordered desperately. “One more time.”

“Charging—clear!”

A beat.

Then another.

A weak, erratic rhythm flickered across the screen.

“She’s back,” Ethan confirmed, releasing a breath. “Let’s get her tubed before she arrests again.”

Will reached for the laryngoscope, carefully guiding the ET tube past your vocal cords with some difficulty due to the swelling. “Tube’s in. Confirm breath sounds.”

Ethan listened with his stethoscope. “Equal breath sounds bilaterally. Secure it.”

Will clenched his jaw as he secured the tube, watching the ventilator deliver each breath for you. The worst was over—for now.

Your POV

You surfaced from the darkness slowly, awareness returning in fragments. A deep ache pulsed through your skull, and your throat burned. Something was in your mouth—blocking, suffocating.

Panic surged through you. Your body fought against the intrusion, hands weakly moving toward the tube. Before you could pull, strong hands caught your wrists.

“Y/N, stop.”

Will’s voice.

You tried again, your body instinctively rejecting the tube. The alarms blared.

“Lets get some soft restraints in here,” Ethan instructed, securing your wrists to prevent another attempt. “She’s too agitated.”

“She needs some sedation,” Natalie said. “Pushing 2mg Ativan.”

A haze settled over you as the medication took hold, your body sinking into slumber. Will’s fingers brushed against your wrist, grounding you.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Just rest.”

When you awoke again, the panic was gone. The tube was still in place, but the fear had dulled. Your hands remained bound, though the restraints were loose enough to provide comfort rather than restriction.

Will sat at your bedside, dark circles under his eyes. When he saw you awake, relief softened his expression.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You blinked sluggishly, your muscles too weak to respond.

He squeezed your hand. “We’re gonna take the tube out soon, okay? Just a little longer.”

You nodded faintly, exhaustion pulling at you again.

Hours later, Natalie and Ethan returned. Will was still at your side.

“Alright, Y/N,” Natalie said gently. “Time to get this tube out.”

You swallowed, eager but anxious.

“Deflating the cuff—when I count to three, I want you to cough, okay?” Natalie instructed.

You braced yourself.

“One… two… three.”

A sharp pull. Burning. A choking gasp as the tube slid free, leaving your throat raw. You coughed hard, body shuddering as Will steadied you, his hand warm against your back.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just breathe.”

Your throat ached fiercely, every swallow a raw, stinging reminder of the ordeal. Will noticed the discomfort immediately. He reached for a cup of ice chips from the bedside table, scooping a few with a spoon.

“Here,” he said softly, bringing the spoon to your lips. “Small bites.”

You parted your lips, the cool ice melting instantly on your tongue, soothing the burning rawness. Relief was immediate, and you sighed quietly, your heavy eyelids fluttering shut for a moment.

Will gave you another spoonful, watching you carefully. “Better?”

You nodded weakly, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… thanks.”

He offered a small smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. “Anytime.”

By morning, you were cleared for discharge. Will wheeled you toward the exit, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“Ready to go home?”

You turned your head, exhaustion weighing on you and evident in your features from the ordeal, but you mustered a small smile. “As long as you’re coming with me.”

His chuckle was soft, affectionate. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

For the first time in days, you felt safe. Because home wasn’t just a place—it was him.

TAGLIST:

@knbubbles @zoeykaytesmom

[smartgirrl]

dealing with study burnout

it’s that moment when the textbooks, notes, and exams start to feel overwhelming. what can you do to avoid study burnout?

take regular breaks -> follow the pomodoro technique or take short breaks every 45-60 minutes.

set realistic goals -> break your study sessions into smaller, manageable tasks.

instead of cramming an entire chapter in one sitting, focus on mastering one section at a time.

mix up your study routine -> alternate between reading, writing, watching videos, or using flashcards.

practice self-care -> get enough sleep, stay hydrated (~72 oz), and eat nourishing foods. incorporate exercise, whether it's a quick walk, or a gym session.

know when to step back -> taking a break occasionally will help you return to your studies feeling refreshed and ready to focus.

practice mindfulness -> try practicing meditation to calm your mind. even a 5-minute session can help you reset mentally and emotionally.

headspace - a great guided meditation app, the only con is the pricing

here are some good free alternatives tho:

insight timer

runner

medito

connect with others -> even a quick chat about how you’re feeling can make a huge difference in your mood and motivation.

celebrate small wins -> don’t wait until you’ve finished a whole subject to feel accomplished.

celebrate the small victories—whether it’s finishing a section, acing a practice quiz, or just sticking to your study plan for the day.

adjust your expectations -> if things don’t go exactly to plan, don’t beat yourself up. adjust your expectations and keep moving forward.

take time to unplug -> unplugging for a few hours can give you a much-needed mental break.

I can guarantee that less social media makes my mood better, not just for studying but for social interactions. try making a dedicated time of the day where you step away from screens!!

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 192 }

white day madness.

kenji (ken) sato x fem.reader

the moment you realized there was a promotion going on with kenji sato and the rest of his team on the giants, you immediately began making plans for your entry / gift for ken sato.

the day the announcement was made was during your lunch break at work. your eyes were barely paying attention to whatever was playing on t.v. as you simply ate your lunch in peace. yet the moment ken's stupidly handsome features came on to the screen, you felt your heart begin to beat faster as you practically sat at the edge of your seat, clinging to every word that came from kenji's parted lips.

he was dressed nicely in a pristine suit with the rest of his teammates dressed similarly while holding a single red rose in their hands. ken steps closer to the camera and brushes back his hair before speaking:

"are you someone who's missing a valentine's day honey? do you find yourself desperately wanting to confess your feelings and celebrate this day of love, but don't have anyone to dump your feelings on?

well have no fear, because the giants are here to help mitigate the problem for you! if you're seeing this ad right now, just know that we will be accepting all of your valentine's gifts from now until february 14! if any of you lucky ladies manage to capture our hearts with your amazing gifts, then we may pay you a visit when white day comes on march 14 and give you the time of your life with a date!

so go on! send in all your fan mail and love letters, along with any treats if you're feeling generous!"

that was the moment ken completes his ad, flashing an address on the screen as you quickly captured it on your phone. your appetite and half eaten lunch were already forgotten as your mind raced with ideas on what to make and give to ken sato, the man who had become your favorite baseball player since his drastic change.

when you first heard about him and his entrance in japan, admittedly, you were drawn to him because of his beauty. you had never seen such a lovely man before, catching yourself becoming mesmerized by his dark eyes and the way his hair flawlessly fell across his face. despite only seeing him in magazine covers and ads, you already developed a bit of a crush on him. so when his first ever press conference was announced, you quickly tuned in and watched it. yet the more he spoke, the less connected you felt with him.

as you continued to watch his press conference, you were quickly turned off by his egotistical nature. he was cocky and pompous, and often liked to talk down on his coach and teammates. he was so certain that only he alone could make history in japan as being the giant's sole ace-

needless to say, after ken sato's first ever press conference, you stopped following him and decided to focus on the giant's team as a whole. with each game that ken played in, the more he seemed to dig himself into a bigger hole. it was clear that after the gigantron incident, ken was never quite the same, with him messing up so badly that he was making his team face more losses than victories.

however, such a setback didn't last long. as you kept watching ken and his interactions with his team, you saw that he became much kinder now. it was less about him being the sole ace and more about guiding his teammates to victory.

and soon enough, the giants were able to win their first championship-

and you found yourself falling for admiring ken sato once more, especially after his interview with ami wakita. it was obvious from his demeanor that he was much gentler now, accepting the fact that he wouldn't have so many successes if it wasn't for his teammates. you were completely enamored with this kinder and more accepting version of ken that your admiration for him seemed to increase by a tenfold.

which was why you were so excited to actually be able to interact with him in some way with this promotion going on. despite how it would be a dream come true to win a date with ken on white day, you knew that the chances of him ever picking you were slim to none.

regardless of that fact, you still wanted to send him a gift for valentine's day and knew just what you wanted to make for him along with some chocolates.

"hm, that cute pink baby kaiju found roaming the streets that one night would be adorable to turn into a soft plush." you giggle to yourself, already packing up your lunch as you went back to work, smiling the rest of the day as you thought about everything that you needed to purchase in order to complete your gift for kenji sato.

{ ... }

ever since the coach agreed to let them do this silly (and fun) promotion for the team, everyone was excited to receive their own valentine's day gifts from the fans.

it all started when ken took his team out for dinner just to hang out and spend some time with them. in a drunken stupor, one of his teammates and friends admitted that he had never been given confession chocolates on valentine's day before.

upon hearing this, ken's eyes go wide. "fujitaka, no fucking way, dude! for real? isn't valentine's day kind of a big deal here?"

fujitaka ends up groaning in response, "dude, don't remind me! i was a loser back then, okay? i didn't exactly have girls lining up to get to me like you, sato."

"shut up." ken ends up playfully shoving at fujitaka's shoulders, but still smirking while letting out a laugh. and it was while ken was musing on how sad fujitaka's life was that he formulated this brilliant idea.

"wait, i got it! how about we do something about it?"

"huh? what did you have planned?" his other friend, inoue, asks with a tilt of his head.

"how about i talk to coach about hosting some kind of valentine's day sweepstakes for the whole team? it'll start in the middle of january all the way until february 14, then fujitaka will be filled to the brim with confession chocolates-"

"and the lucky lady who manages to capture our attention wins a date with us on white day!"

"EXACTLY!"

the rest of his teammates and friends were incredibly eager now as they immediately let coach shimura in on their plans. despite how he was hesitant at first, ken manages to sweet talk him, telling him how doing such a promotion would not only boost morale for his team, but for the fans as well.

in the end, coach shimura relents, and with the big boss's permission, ken was able to film a commercial with his team while giving the fans the address where they could send their valentine's day gifts.

and boy oh boy did the gifts start flooding each respective team's boxes, with it becoming so prominent that the mail had to be separated by large bins with each team member's name written on them.

now, it was finally the big day; february 14, where everyone could see the letters and chocolates the fans had given them. there was an excitement felt in the air as each member enters the gym to see each of their bins labeled with their names, filled with cute pastel pink stationary with boxes upon boxes of chocolates.

truth be told, ken did this promotion to help with his friends. in all actuality, he could care less if anyone gave him gifts for valentine's day. while his friends look at their pile in awe, ken took notice of how not a single bin had his name on it.

"strange, does no one like me after all?" ken pretended to be offended when he hears coach shimura clear his throat while gruffly calling out his name.

"that's because the sheer amount of gifts you received filled out more than one bin, sato."

ken turns around to face his coach, feeling his eyes go wide as he wheeled in a total of 3 large bins filled to the brim with similar stationary and piles upon piles of chocolate.

"holy shit, man, talk about unfair. here we are with just a single bin, while this jerk gets three!"

everyone else ends up surrounding ken with his 3 large bins filled with valentine's day themed goodies. as their hands search through the endless pile of chocolate and love letters, only one gift stood out to ken-

it was a plushie of emi nestled safely within a pale pink basket as she held in her hand a letter and a cellophane bag filled with heart shaped chocolates.

"you guys can have the rest, but this one is mine." ken reaches out toward the basket that contains the emi plush, holding it securely within his embrace as he steps off in the other room to get some much needed privacy.

when he was alone, he smiles with a fondness down at the cute emi plush. she was well made, with cute little button eyes while her body was lovingly stitched together with some pink thread. he was glad that ollie had a new friend to play with now as he removed the bag of chocolates and the letter from her tiny grasps.

with the plain envelope in his hand, he makes a mental note of the address before opening the letter. his eyes scan through the handwriting...

hey ken, or mr. sato in case you don't like to be referred by your first name! i guess you can call me a longtime fan of yours, but if i'm being honest, that's kind of not true at all. in fact, when you first moved here to japan, i thought you were an asshole. you were extremely cocky and had this air about you, like... i don't know. like you were BETTER THAN everyone else. and that just didn't sit right with me. for those first couple of months, i rolled my eyes each time you came on screen, yet at the same time, i couldn't look away from you, (curse you and your good looks, i guess). but what i'm trying to say is, i notice the change in you as of late. i see the kindness in your eyes- the passion that you feel each time you talk about baseball and your team- and i went back to truly admiring you again. i like this side of you, and i hope that you'll never change anytime soon. thanks for being you, and despite how i know you'll probably never read this letter, just know that i am proud of you. sincerely, your number one fan...

ken finds himself repeating the name that was signed at the bottom of the letter. now, he had received some fan mail prior to this whole valentine's day event, but none of the letters were as quite as honest as this young woman's letter addressed to him-

and he found it oddly refreshing to know that she had once disliked him before returning to him once he had changed thanks to his love for emi.

already knowing that she would be the winner of his white day date, ken places the gift back inside the basket with a hum, already looking forward to paying her back for such a wonderful gift.

{ ... }

it was march 14, and you weren't expecting anything special to happen as you woke up and got ready for the day. you had just finished your morning routine and was simply eating some toast with butter when you heard a knock at your apartment door.

curious as to who it was, you put down your slice of toast and went to open the door, only to feel your mouth remain open in a gape at the sight settled in front of you.

the tall man was dressed comfortably in a white shirt and dark jeans along with a pair of converses. in his hand was the most extravagant bouquet of red roses you had ever seen, but perhaps what was more jarring than that was the identity of this man-

for it was none other than ken sato himself that stood before you, a kind but lazy grin gracing his features as he said your name out loud.

"ah, y-yeah, that's me, ah... may i ask what you're doing here, mr. sato?"

he lets out a rich chuckle all while brushing back his hair, "miss, don't tell me you forgot about the valentine's day promotion? and please, do just call me ken from now on.”

it was at that moment that your mouth was felt going dry. "oh my god, no, no way! i-i didn't think i would even win! that's why, in my letter, i-"

you purse your lips and bite back your words, afraid that ken would remember.

"in your letter, you called me an asshole? yeah, i remember that. in fact, it was because you called me an asshole that i wanted to meet the woman that wrote me such an honest and true letter."

you were still in a daze, taking a hold of ken's bouquet as you held the flowers gingerly within your arms. "you're telling me i won a white day date with you?"

ken gives you a wink, "exactly, my lady. so why don't you free up your plans for the day and spend some time with me." his voice takes on a deeper tone with his eyes furrowed down at you. you feel the way his large hand gently brushes back your hair, the mere touch felt against your skin succeeding in making your pulse quicken in response.

"i want to get to know you better, if you'll let me."

and who were you to say no to such a sweet request?

{ ... }

after texting your coworkers about catching a fake stomach bug to get out of work for the day, you got out of your work clothes and changed into something more casual, but comfortable, while on your white day date with ken. he rides around the city with you settled in his mustang convertible, where you felt out of place as you sat with your hands stiffly resting against your lap.

"relax, sweetheart, there's no need to be so stiff around me." ken's gentle voice fills at your ears, but you couldn't help but feel incredibly anxious anyways. you tried to find the right words to say, but opted to remain honest instead.

"listen, i'm sorry if i came off as rude in my letter to you. i just-"

"hey, there's no offense taken, okay? i actually appreciate your honesty and would rather receive honesty than false praise." ken takes a moment to meet your gaze when he reaches a stoplight, "and besides, your amazing chocolates and cute em- i mean, cute kaiju plush more than makes up for it."

you found yourself visibly relaxing then, feeling quite happy that your letter didn't offend him too much. as you look out the window, you saw that ken was driving away from the bustling city. "so where are we going?"

cue ken letting out another rich chuckle, "that is a secret. just know that i'm taking you to a place that's very dear to me."

you give him a nod, letting out a hum as you continued to look out the window. a few minutes later, ken parks at a parking lot, opening the door for you while taking a hold of your hand as he leads you towards a cozy looking restaurant.

"tonkatsu tonki?" you look over at ken with a smile, catching him staring at you as he lets out a cough and looks away from you, "yeah, this place... my mom and i used to eat here all the time each time my dad had to work late."

you felt your heart clench at the mention of his mother. you recalled how ken stated that his mom was missing for quite some time now, but didn't want to ask him to further elaborate because you knew how it was such a sensitive topic. as if understanding your silence, he looks back at you and gives you a warm expression, holding the door open for you as you entered the restaurant first.

the scent of pork frying makes your mouth water as you take a seat next to him and order the famous tonkatsu set with rice. you end up having long conversations with him, with you answering questions about your life and how you grew up.

oddly enough, it seemed like ken was clinging to your every word, nodding here and there while asking you to elaborate on other parts of your life. it was strange, but you had never once spoken to a man that seemed to invested in you and your own story, which was enough to make your heart melt for him.

even when your meal arrived, the conversation never seemed to end. when asked about ken's own personal life, he gives you a beaming smile and admits to how he was able to reconnect with his dad, realizing that his old man had always been proud of him. soon, the conversation moved from your family life to your current goals and dreams.

the words that flowed from your mouth was never-ending. in fact, speaking to ken felt more like you were speaking to an old friend, and you never once had to hide how you felt or put a filter over your words.

your white day date with him ended up lasting until late in the night, with him taking you back to your apartment when it was nearing 11pm. as he walked you back to your apartment, your steps became considerably slower as you truly didn't want this date to end.

but alas, you could not avoid the inevitable, with you already standing in front of your apartment as you looked down at your shoes. you kick the tip of them back and forth on the carpeted floors, unable to look kenji in the eye when you tell him, "despite how i was so certain i would never win this date with you, i actually had such a good time and-"

ken ends up cutting you off the moment you felt him taking a hold of your chin before pressing his lips against yours in a chaste, but sweet, kiss. your eyes go wide, watching when ken pulls away from you with a prominent blush settled against his cheeks. he coughs before running a hand across his hair, "sorry, i know... kisses on the first date is weird, but i couldn't help myself. ever s-since i got your gift, all i could think about was meeting you. and now that i've finally seen you, interacted with you, you are by far the most gorgeous girl i have ever been with, and i-"

it was now your turn to cut off ken's own ramblings with a kiss as you simply leaned forward to perfectly slot your lips against his. letting out a groan of your name, ken eagerly kisses you back with his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you from falling to your knees for him as you became putty in his hands.

when the need for air proved to be too much, you pull away from him and smile, basking in his half-lidded expression and the way his lips remained slightly open. you giggle at the sight of his captivated expression and take a hold of his hand, silently unlocking the door to your apartment as you invited ken inside your home, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of your life night with him.

a.n. - this was a daydream i had swirling around in my head for some time now, i just hoped i was able to execute it well enough lmaoooo. this is unedited, but once it's posted i'll make the necessary corrections and changes. 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

3. Hot Neighbor

John had been intentionally bumping into you, finding ways to cross your path daily, to catch your attention. And you, overwhelmed and slightly oblivious, hadn't noticed a thing. That's why you needed him - to guide you, to take charge, to give you what you desired but didn't realize you needed.

But would you allow him to do as such?

Would you be able to overlook his two failed marriages? Would you understand the scars he carried, the ghosts of his past sins? Would you embrace the type of man he was?

Hard. Tough. A man of violence and control. A man who’d done horrible, unspeakable things in the name of duty. A man, who in all honesty, couldn’t be considered a good man.

You sighed as you walked into the kitchen, the baby monitor screen on and clear. It was silent, just the white noise of your little one's breathing as she slept peacefully.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. "She’s finally down," you said aloud, a victorious sigh escaping your lips.

Your best friend was perched on your kitchen counter, already pouring two glasses of wine. "I’ve got this cute new hire," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "He saw the picture of us from your birthday and practically swooned."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. "Oh, don't even start with that," you replied. You had no interest in dating. No one had managed to catch your eye. No one, except for the man that lived right next door.

John Price.

But you'd keep your desires for him to yourself.

Your friend shook her head, exasperated with your reticence to date again. "You have to get out there eventually," she chided, sipping her wine.

You just shook your head, refusing to rise to her challenge. "I've got better things to do than spend time with someone who’s just going to waste my time," you replied, taking a sip of your own wine.

“Oh come on,” your friend replied, "there must be someone you’re interested in. Anyone you've noticed?" Her voice was teasing, a playful smirk on her face.

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. "No, I haven't noticed anyone. I’ve been too busy with the business and my daughter," you said, trying to sound convincing.

She smirked, seeing right through your attempt to shut down the conversation. "Oh really? Not a single man has caught your eye at all lately?" she pressed, clearly enjoying playing the role of matchmaker.

You sighed, knowing she wouldn’t drop the subject. "I mean… there is… just this one,” you begrudgingly admitted, knowing you’d regret the admission. You quickly added, "But it would never, ever happen! It's just a fantasy." You knew it was a useless sentiment, but you said it anyway.

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I need to know everything about this."

You shook your head, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's nothing, really. Nothing will come of it." Your voice sounded unconvincing, even to your own ears.

Your friend smirked slyly, clearly reading your body language. "Oh, come on, don't hold out on me now. I can see it written all over your face."

You sighed, realizing there was no escaping this interrogation. "I have a tiny, little, itsy bit of a crush on my very hot neighbor, okay?"

Your friend quickly got up, quickly moving over to the window, determined to get a glimpse, "Oh my god, you have a hot neighbor?"

You couldn’t help giggling as she tried peeking out the window, desperate to catch a glimpse of your hot neighbor. “Stop!” you said through laughter.

She laughed but finally pulled away from the window. “You have to tell me all about this hot neighbor of yours now.”

You sighed, recounting the events of meeting John and the subsequent encounters, the way he’d swung your daughter at the park and paid for your lunch. How his strong hands had felt on your waist, and how it felt like sparks flying.

"But," you said, "he’s just being neighborly."

Your friend rolled her eyes, not buying your excuse. "You daft cunt, you don’t really believe that, do you? He’s giving you all the signs he wants you," she said, sipping her wine.

You shook your head, trying to brush off her suggestion. "It’s just wishful thinking. I’m sure he’s just being friendly. It’s not like he’s interested in a divorced mediocre artist with a child."

She shook her head, exasperated. "You’re so dense. You could have a guy drooling at your feet, and you’d still think he’s just ‘being friendly.’”

"I just happen to be a realist," you countered, folding your arms across your chest. "I know how men can be. He’s not interested in me, he’s just being nice."

You added, "Plus I think he's nearing 40. He doesn’t seem the type to be messing around with a mid-twenties single mother, I’m sure of it," a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

Your friend just rolled her eyes at your comment. "Age is just a number. Plus, 40-year-old men are usually more mature, less likely to pull the same old bullshit men our age do."

"Yeah, they just have different bullshit to pull," you retorted, taking a hearty sip of your wine.

She chuckled at your response. "Fair point," she agreed, "But at least they’re more stable. More likely to have their ducks in a row, you know?"

You shrugged, her logic was making sense. 40-something-year-old men were likely more responsible, financially stable, and better with money and children. You definitely didn’t want to mess with men your own age.

"Maybe," you replied, begrudgingly acknowledging the possibility. You knew your friend had a point - stable career, responsible, mature. All things you should want in a man.

John had noticed the unfamiliar car in your drive the moment he arrived home. His mind immediately started racing with questions. Were you dating someone? Was it serious?

He knew he had no right to be jealous he hardly knew you. But the thought of you with another man, some faceless stranger he didn’t know, it twisted his gut with inexplicable jealousy.

He tried to gather information from his own house. A glance at your home confirmed you were not in your bedroom. He felt a small breath of relief that you weren't doing anything in there.

From his vantage point, he could see your telly was on, and the sound of your laughter carried from the kitchen. You seemed to be having a good time with whoever was in there with you.

It was killing him not knowing who was in there. He wanted desperately to know who was sharing that laugh, who was making you smile.

He watched, and listened, trying to catch a glimpse, a hint, something that would satiate his curiosity.

His heart sank as he saw the light in your bedroom turn off. You were going to bed with this person.

He couldn't help but feel a crushing sense of jealousy and disappointment. The thought of you with another man, sharing a bed with someone who wasn't him, drove him crazy.

He knew he had no right to be mad. He had no claim on you. You were just a fantasy in his mind, a beautiful image he couldn't shake from his thoughts.

But the thought of you with another man, someone who wasn't him, made his blood boil.

He wanted you. He desired you with every fiber of his being. Your laugh, your smile, the way you looked at him.

Morning came, and the unfamiliar car was still parked in your driveway. John couldn’t help but shake his head as he left his house for the base.

He noticed your door opening, and he stopped in his tracks, watching to see who was exiting your house.

First, you stepped out, your little girl in hand. You were just as beautiful as yesterday, dressed casually yet still alluring. You had a small, tired smile on your face.

Your little girl was the first to see him, waving and calling out enthusiastically, "Hi Mr. John!" Her voice was cheerful and innocent.

He smiled at the sight of you and your little girl, his heart skipping a beat. "Hi sweetheart," he replied, his voice softened by the sight of the two of you.

He turned his gaze to you, his voice low and gravelly, "Morning, love." The term of endearment slipped effortlessly from his lips.

“Good morning, John.” You tried to hide your reaction, but he noticed the way your cheeks darkened at his words. It pleased him to no end to see your reaction.

"We're going to shopping today!" Your little girl announced with excitement. Her cheerful exclamation echoed throughout the air, her enthusiasm contagious.

John chuckled at her excitement, his attention briefly torn from you. "Is that right, sweetheart?" he asked, looking down at her with a warm smile.

“Yeah, we are,” You let out a sigh and spoke up in a playful tone, calling out to the open door, "Whenever the driver gets out here!"

His mind raced with speculation about the person who was about to step out of your house. Who was the lucky man that got to drive you around? The man who got to spend time alone with you?

To John's surprise, it wasn't a man who stepped out, but a woman. She closed the door behind her and joined you and your daughter.

Your friend couldn't help but roll her eyes, a playful smirk on her face. "You act like I take forever," she huffed.

You chuckled, playfully wiggling your daughter's hand in the air. "I don't say when we go," you quipped in a mock-bossy tone, "we're on the boss' time!"

You introduced your friend to John, a warm smile on your face. Your friend's eyes flicked between you and John, and a smirk played across her lips as she took in the interaction between the two of you.

John politely greeted your friend, his deep voice resonating through the air. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, his gaze flickering back to you for a moment, as if unable to look away for too long.

Your daughter's eager voice rang out, "Let's go!" She was clearly excited and ready for their shopping trip.

Your friend scooped up your daughter and opened the car door, her excitement matching your daughter's. "Let's do it!" she exclaimed, full of energy and ready for the adventure.

A wave of relief washed over John as he realized it wasn't a romantic partner leaving your home, but merely a friend. The jealousy that had been bubbling within him quickly dissipated, replaced by a sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.

"Have fun today, love." He gave you a slight nod, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes were fixed on you, the possessiveness in his gaze subtle but impossible to ignore.

Your cheeks felt warm under the intensity of his gaze. There was something different in the way he looked at you, possessive and protective, like you were his and his alone.

You smiled, meeting his gaze with a mix of hesitation and something else... desire? "And you have a good day at work," you replied, your words almost a murmur.

John couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks flushed with color, the way your eyes sparked with a mix of hesitation and something else, something that looked like attraction. He smirked a bit, a little thrill passing through him at the sight.

"I will," he said, his voice gruff and gravelly. The possessive look in his eyes deepened as if he were claiming ownership over you just by looking at you.

You quickly got into the passenger side of your friend's car, your daughter buckled in the backseat.

Your friend glanced over at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "So...that's your hot neighbor?" she teased, her smirk growing wider as she observed your reaction.

A mix of embarrassment and excitement flushed your cheeks. "Shut up," you said, trying to sound casual, your attempt at nonchalance undermined by your flushed cheeks.

Your friend chuckled and began to drive away, and your daughter, clearly hearing the conversation, excitedly repeated, "Hot neighbor." Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as you shot your friend a glare.

Your little daughter piped up, curious, "What that mean?" Her innocent question hung in the air, your friend trying to suppress a laugh.

Your friend couldn't help but respond with a smirk, "Means your mommy likes Mr. John." She took a glance at you, clearly amused by the turn of events.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Oh my god..." you murmured, mortified by your friend's bluntness.

"Oh come on, it's adorable." Your friend teased, her smirk growing wider. "The way you get all flustered and red when you see him. Never seen you that way.”

"I don't get all flustered and red," you insisted vehemently, but even you knew you were lying.

"You totally do get all flustered and red," your friend teased, her smirk turning into a full-on grin as she continued to tease you.

[seeingivy]

bad blood

actor!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

songs mentioned: bad blood by taylor swift and obsessed by olivia rodrigo

--

--

“are you of the opinion that all PR is good PR?” 

sukuna can tell that it’s not the time for jokes. that much is obvious to him from the exasperated looks on everyone’s faces at his ill-timed comment – at nanami pinching the bridge of nose, yuuji shooting him an irritated look (with a whisper of a smile on his face), and his manager shoyo’s eyes pinched shut in frustration. 

“i would be inclined to think that, but sukuna is over party trending for the past three hours is giving me a run for my money here.” shoyo responds. 

sukuna diverts his eyes back to the television, shoyo’s computer projecting the trending hashtag onto the screen, and his fingers darting to refresh every few seconds with another set of irritating tweet about him. sukuna’s gotten the hint from the first three, but he has a sneaking inkling that shoyo’s doing this part just to rub it in his face – that it’s his way of saying i told you so without explicitly doing so. 

shoyo was interesting in that way. managers were interesting in that way. 

sukuna wondered to himself how many other careers had these types of dynamics, with “mentors” who served as stand-in parents. telling someone what to do, what not to do – in attempts to guide them from right or wrong – that almost never worked in his case. 

his gut instinct tells him that almost every single profession does. but it also tells him that the other managers can’t be half as annoying as the special spot that entertainment managers take up. 

at the very least, he can appreciate the take that shoyo has on his position. like a firm, strict father figure. he spares no warmth for him – just the way sukuna likes it. 

“so what are we going to do? can we just ignore it?” sukuna asks. 

it’s a loaded question. 

what can you do when you might have possibly tanked every attempt at an entertainment career before it even starts? 

sukuna’s first manager, starla, taught him three simple facts about the entertainment industry. among other things.

in particular, that the warmth was something that sukuna needed to run far, far away from. 

first – attention is hard to attain. anyone can audition to act in a show, but only one person gets picked. you can be the best in the game but it doesn’t matter unless someone looks at you. 

second – once you have it, attention is hard to maintain. if someone takes the time to watch, who’s to say that they’re ever going to watch you again? anyone can be a one hit wonder, but it takes greater skill to stay relevant, to keep people interested in what you’re putting out. 

and third. reputation is everything. it’s best practice to avoid becoming a contrarian. it’s social suicide to your career. 

it seems that sukuna might have nipped the first two in the bud, by accidentally becoming a contrarian. again. after so narrowly missing it the first time. 

that’s the thing that’s the most frustrating in his opinion. that sukuna did almost nothing out of the sorts, that he had followed every single prim and proper rule he could have after his first few tumbles – and that this time, he very simply became a contrarian for dumping the wrong girl at the wrong time. 

sukuna had made his own additions to the facts as time went on. especially after he was dropped by his old manager, promptly when he turned twenty-three. 

lessons that he learned on his own. this situation alone added three to his list. 

first – do not date the daughter of an industry titan. who has a loving fanbase that will attack you if the two of you break up. 

second – do not crack jokes about good and bad PR when you’ve inadvertently created a mess for almost everyone around you. 

and third – tread lightly the week before the biggest break of your career. things move so fast that they’re in absolute shambles before you know it. 

“there’s nothing you can do besides follow the script that the PR team gave you. keep questions about aimee to a minimum at the event tonight. deflect to the show and only the show.” 

sukuna gives shoyo a mock salute. he still doesn’t find it funny. 

in fact, sukuna can tell that he’s had exactly enough for this meeting, marked by the almost immediate exodus he makes from the room, with nanami following in tow. nanami shoots him an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he exits and it’s one that sukuna can appreciate. 

“you know, i really do question your taste in women.” yuuji states. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“you question everyone’s taste in women.” sukuna deadpans. 

yuuji gives him a laugh – the one that he had been holding in from earlier – and smacks him hard against the shoulder. sukuna can feel the pressure that he was trying to ignore compounding in his head, as he sinks down into the couch. 

“i’m being serious though. i just don’t understand what you see in these girls. none of these relationships really have a fighting chance, which at this point, you almost have to be doing on purpose. i know you’re not that dumb.” 

sukuna shrugs. he can tell that he’s being baited into having a conversation, a conversation that he doesn’t want to have, and makes a mental note to yuuji later that he shouldn’t lay it on so thick. 

“your point is?” sukuna mutters. 

“i’m not trying to make a point. i’m trying to understand why you’re so…so keen on pursing things you know won’t work out. it’s almost like you don’t want it to work out for you.” 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. you sound like an idiot.” 

yuuji shakes his head, almost like he’s giving him a sentencing. trying to tell him, making it a point that he’s been caught red handed, that he has to give into the conversation.

“don’t tell me you’re really not trying in earnest because of what happened?” 

sukuna can feel his frustration coming to a head, right in the center of his forehead. it always felt like feelings were concentrated there, right in that sensitive part of his head that made him rush to anger. 

“it’s not about that.” 

yuuji takes the hint. he jumps over the line as often as he can, but won’t push any farther. 

“i just think that you should give things a real, earnest try. i know that none of us can really understand what happened, but…but that doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen every time. you…you shouldn’t be happy that you’re not trying to find love for real.” 

sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek. 

“and who said i was doing that?” 

yuuji sighs. 

“you’re always the same you know. you never try for real because you’re scared you’re going to strike out. you….you still…you’re still afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think…” 

yuuji doesn’t finish the sentence. but sukuna knows the answer, because he’s said it before. 

you’re afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think they’ll realize there’s nothing to like about you. 

--

--

“do you ever think about pushing yourself creatively?” 

you wonder how many times someone can ask the same question, worded differently. 

in mimi’s case, you’ve reached a whopping count of six. categorically organized – three times while you were out doing your morning coffee, twice over dinner, and today marked a new first,  while writing music at the piano. 

each question exactly the same, every response exactly the same. 

“no. i want to stay exactly the same for the rest of my life.” you deadpan. 

your dry humor earns you a laugh from mimi. in all fairness, it almost always does, because it’s very easy to make her laugh. because she’s a person who is easily pleased, very outgoing, who very simply put, enjoys most things. 

“i wouldn’t even be shocked if you said that to me. your google calendar is my very worst nightmare, you know that?” 

“my google calendar is perfectly organized. just as it should be.” 

“i mean. very organized. i am very appreciative that you’re on time to all of our meetings, which is very rare with your generation.” 

“you’re in the same generation as us. you’re not even that much older than me.” you deadpan. 

“okay, but being a mother has aged me like ten years. all of my friends do pilates in their free time, make brunch plans for fun.” 

“i’m your friend. i don’t do pilates in my free time. and i eat at five in the morning on the dot everyday.” 

“yeah. you’ve just take up different odd hobbies, but it’s basically the same thing.” 

you scoff, as you flip the page on the stand of the piano. 

you wonder how often mimi thinks about that type of thing. the life that she used to live. the fact that you could be doing all the things that she couldn’t necessarily do anymore. it makes you wonder if that’s why she’s so adamant. 

“i could be doing drugs you know.” 

“you should be doing drugs!” 

well, that answers your question. 

“i can’t wait to see what your child does in the future. you’ve set such high expectations!” 

mimi rolls her eyes. she’s very easily pleased, very outgoing, and filled with an overwhelming well of patience to counteract your stubbornness. 

it’s granted that she almost never wins, that your firmness in your decision always stands at the end of the day, but it doesn’t mitigate her efforts to try. you’re betting that she’s going to give her very stubborn daughter a run for her money in a few years when she’s older. 

“i don’t mean that you should actually do drugs. or maybe i do. some of my other writers love to drink or smoke weed to get through writer’s block. it just a little shift to push you to some new limits.” 

“perfect. i’ll just try to do some ketamine before my next song so that it sounds better.” 

mimi sighs. 

“i’m not telling you to go do horse tranquilizers. i’m stating a very simple fact, that you tend to gravitate towards what is comfortable for you. in your personal life, in your friends, in your songwriting. you’ve found a sound that you work great with, themes that resonate with people. but you’ve been stuck there, right where you know people want you. it wouldn’t hurt to try pushing the limits here and there.” 

you scoff. 

“you sound like a shitty inspirational quote.” 

mimi shakes her head. 

“i often find that stubbornness to approach new things at the end of the day creates a sort of resentment towards anything that stimulates new growth. and keeps you stuck exactly where you are currently. stagnant.” 

you don’t like the evaluation. the sentencing that she’s given you, that she’s been giving you for the past few months. 

that you aren’t going anywhere. 

you not liking it doesn’t make it any less true. but her saying it over and over again doesn’t propel you into doing anything about it either. 

“and what if i fail to do this whole moving thing you’re talking about?” you jest. 

mimi pinches her lips in a line. 

“then it proves to me that you’re just approaching this entire thing wrong. you’re not winning an award, you’re writing a song. it’s not an examination that you’re completing, it’s just something you’re trying to say.” 

you give her a dry smile. 

“and what if no one wants to hear what i have to say?” 

“that’s where you and i will disagree. i fear people are on the edge of their seats waiting for it.” 

you snort. 

“are you not a fan of me sticking it to idiots like jake nicholson and aimee lynch?” 

mimi gives you a smug grin. 

“a huge fan. but i can tell that you’ve got something else under the surface that’s dying to be let out.” 

“i suppose that’ll just have to wait for today.” you respond. 

mimi shrugs. 

“i’ll try again tomorrow.” she affirms. 

you’re not sure why she tries. you’re still going to say no. 

--

sukuna’s manager’s strategy was very simple. all he had to do was save face for a week – a week until the show came out. tell people to watch the premiere on the red carpet, throw in an anecdote about filming here and there, and that was that. 

granted, his job wasn’t exactly hard. the ensemble cast did most of the work, satoru’s loud voice combined with how energetic yuuji is, allowed him to slip through the cracks and make it inside the venue without any unsavory questions about aimee. 

sukuna looks across the room to where the two of them are standing near the bar, glasses of ice in their hand, satoru no doubt flicking his charm and stupid pickup lines at everyone. he understood the strategy – that sukuna having the opportunity to talk created a greater risk for him to say something he shouldn’t – but it just made the event boring for him. 

sukuna hated being on the sidelines. 

quite literally the sidelines, because the table he was currently occupying was pushed against the wall. he would retreat back to the main table in the center when the two of them returned, but judging by how loud they were laughing, it didn’t seem like it was going to be any time soon. 

“excuse me.” 

sukuna’s thrown out of his train of thought by the voice, only to find he’s accompanied by two girls at his side. sukuna inches his glass of soda closer to him, noting the sparky stars gleaming on their eyelids, accompanied with layers of beaded bracelets on their wrists. 

fans. sukuna’s found his in. 

“can i help you?” sukuna asks. 

the two girls look at each other, a nervous laugh escaping their lips, as they squeeze their intertwined hands together. he prays to god they’re not here for aimee. 

“are you ryomen sukuna?” 

sukuna smiles, looping his elbow across the back of the chair, and smiling. there’s no distaste in their voice – so they most likely aren’t. he’s won. 

“sure am. who might you be?” sukuna asks. 

“we’re addison and abigail.” they respond. 

sukuna uses his free hand, gesturing for them to take the free chairs across from him. he watches as they both widen their eyes, stumbling knees hitting the bottom of the table as he readjusts and leans back. 

interviews and networking he wasn’t allowed to do. that much was clear. but talking to fans caused no trouble, and it wasn’t explicitly off limits.

it gave him time to do what he did best. charm people. 

“addison and abigail. to what do i owe the pleasure?” sukuna asks. 

“we don’t want to take up any of your time.” abigail starts. 

“really, we’re sure you’re quite busy. this is a big event and all and you probably have to do interviews and all that.” addison adds. 

sukuna grins. 

“i’ll always make time for you.” 

he watches as their eyes widen, abigail’s lips pinched shut together by the bluntness in his statement, as he lifts his glass and presses it to his lips. 

“i have a question.” sukuna states.

“anything!” addison replies. 

her response is too fast. so fast that sukuna can almost clock that she’s realized that it’s too fast – that she’s embarrassed at how eager she was to respond. he shoots her a kind smile in response, before leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the table. 

“how did the two of you sneak in here? secret boyfriend let you in?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them offer him an awkward laugh, slightly releasing their shoulders, as they lift their hands and very adamantly gesture the opposite. 

“not at all. we got selected to attend the event through the fan program.” abigail responds. 

sukuna smirks. 

“here for me?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them widen their eyes, almost like they’ve been caught in an awkward situation. because they’re very obviously not here for him. 

the fan invites were given for the singers and affiliated studios. and he’d be caught dead before singing live in front of an audience. 

“i’m so sorry. i don’t mean to…” 

sukuna immediately retreats. 

“you do realize that i’m not a singer, right?” sukuna asks. 

“what?” abigail asks. 

“i don’t sing. there’s no way that you could be here for me.” sukuna clarifies. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief, abigail giving him a jokingly irritated glare as he shoots the two of them a smile. 

“relax. i’m just pulling your leg. it’s all in good fun. we can take a picture and everything, whatever you want.” sukuna responds. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief. 

“really?” she asks. 

sukuna nods. 

“that’s so sweet, thank you so much. we have a friend who’s a really big fan, so we were trying to get her a signed shirt.” 

“a signed shirt it is.” sukuna responds, noting that they reach into their bag with the shirt and marker prepared. 

“oh my god. i thought you were….you were going to be a diva or something.” abigail responds. 

“me? a diva?” sukuna jokes. 

“you wouldn’t believe it. god, some people can be so rude. one time, aimee lynch got us…” 

addison’s quick to respond, shoving her elbow into her side to gesture for her to be quiet. sukuna narrow their eyes at the two of them, before rolling her eyes. 

sukuna, in the split second, debates if he should respond. if it would go against the deal he made – to be quiet, to not cause any noise – because they could go running and post about it on twitter.

he decides against his better judgment, only because it’s potently clear they’ve been terrorized by aimee before. 

“got you kicked out of an event?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah…” addison mumbles. 

“she does that often. it’s a whole load of shit. i’m glad you’re here.” sukuna responds. 

“yeah. we were just really upset because we were actually supposed to meet y/n that day. we had tweeted to her that we got kicked out before we made it to the meet and greet and her team organized a whole like facetime call and sent us merch, but it was super annoying.” abigail responds. 

sukuna nods, only because he knows all too well, that it’s exactly in her character to kick fans out of events. their “desperation” always got on her nerves. 

“well, i hope you get to meet her tonight. she is here, right?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. she invited us personally since we missed out last time.”

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s sweet. i hope you get to meet her later.” sukuna responds. 

--

--

there’s a patterned knock on the door of your dressing room. two fast, two slow, two fast. it’s accompanied by the door swinging open and the reflection of megumi standing in the mirror with a cup of iced coffee in his hand. 

you shoot him an excited smile, apologetically shooing away your hair and makeup team from the chair, to get up and greet him. 

“coffee? for moi?” you ask, exaggerating every syllable. 

megumi rolls his eyes, placing the cold cup into the palm of your hand, as you shoot him a smile.

megumi hates when you exaggerate the syllables – which is precisely the reason that you do it. you have an inkling that he secretly loves it, because he’s a secret fan of your antics. 

“figured you needed it. you look like a hag.” megumi responses. 

you snort down a laugh, as you take a sip from the overly sweet coffee. 

“hag is a new one. you’ve always had such a way with words, my love.” you joke. 

you return back to your chair, gesturing for him to take the free one at your side, as you reach for your phone and read through the last texts you got from mimi. all confirmations – that your guitar and band have arrived, that you’re all good to go at the end of the hour. 

“is romeo here?” you ask. 

you can see megumi’s irritated expression out of the corner of your eye, accompanied with a pink flush that creeps up his neck. 

“what’s his name again? yuki?” you joke. 

“yuuji.” megumi corrects, his voice almost stern. 

“okay, relax. pipe it down three notches, juliet.” 

megumi lifts his hand, awkwardly rubbing it against the back of his neck, as you drop your phone in your lap and narrow your eyes at him. 

“what did he do today?”

“you don’t care.” megumi mumbles. 

“and that hasn’t stopped you from telling me in the past.” 

everyday, for the past eight months, you received a barrage of texts from megumi. ranging across every emotion in the human bandwidth, but always about the same thing. 

his new co-star. how great his hair look, what text he sent him that morning, how his skin looked perfect in the light. you would nip that type of dialogue from anyone else in the bud. but megumi wasn’t anyone else. 

“but you’re asking. which means you can’t complain, because you basically warranted it out of me.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“yeah, yeah.” 

“he got us matching pins for press this week. they’re like little cartoon versions of us. but he also got one for our other co-star nobara, so it doesn’t really count.” 

you shrug. 

“but he still got you one. so it does count. that’s cute.” you respond.

“but she has one too.” 

“but did he give it to you as a group or individually?” you ask. 

“individually.” megumi responds. 

you smile. 

“exactly. it means something different when it’s individually.” you respond. 

“you’re delusional.” megumi responds. 

you roll your eyes. 

“you could benefit from being a little delusional, drama queen.”  

“and then when we were coming here, i was telling him that you were going to be here and he got super excited. he remembered that i always used to get you coffee before your first show so he actually stopped our car and made sure that i was able to get some from you since you’re performing tonight.” 

you grin. 

“not technically my first show, but i appreciate the effort. I love him already. especially if he’s so passionate about my caffeine addiction.” 

“it’s from his coffee shop that he works at with his brother. they used to work there together when they were younger and like…he was telling me all about it. how the two of them used to work there after school and that the owners were like their second parents. they almost went down under a few years ago but they both had enough acting money so they invested. he was even introducing me to them and shit. like fully introducing me to people he views as family.” 

you nod. 

“wow, juliet. when’s the wedding?” you ask. 

“shut up.” megumi responds. 

“but really, that’s actually very sweet. he seems like a great guy.” 

“he is a great guy. he wants to meet you too, you know?” megumi responds. 

“that would be against your better judgment. i’m going to tell him all about your little crush. and propose marriage on your behalf like you’re my property in the 18th century or something.” you respond. 

“your jokes never get funnier.” megumi deadpans. 

“and yet you’re still here.” 

“his brother is here too. the one who used to date aimee.” 

you widen your eyes. 

“poor guy. it’s probably a blood bath out there for him.” 

“he made it through press unscathed, but they’re telling him to keep a low profile. but yuuji’s all worried because he tends to get erratic and take things into his own hands sometimes.” 

“what are they saying again?” you ask. 

“fans are mad because the report that went out said sukuna dumped her or something.” 

you snort. 

“is that even bad when she was like basically cheating on him the whole time?” you ask. 

“don’t think he knows that.” 

you shake your head. 

“really?” 

megumi shrugs. 

“i get the impression he didn’t care about the relationship too much.” 

you nod. 

“well, then my song won’t hurt his feelings too bad when he finds out they used to date.” 

you push up out of the chair, gesturing to your outfit as megumi gives you an approving nod. you link your arms together, pushing out of the door onto the floor of the venue, and continue your conversation in lowered voices. 

“do you want me to punch jake?” megumi asks.

“and ruin your pretty little baby hands? i would never.” 

megumi rolls his eyes, as the lights dim, and the two of you direct your eyes to the stage. it’s a long introduction, all of the producers and affiliates taking the time to thank everyone for attending. you’re performing at the end of the hour, which gives you enough time to zone this out and focus on the song. 

“our very first performance is from one of our affiliates at dancing lady studios – aimee lynch with guest star jake nicholson.” 

you and megumi widen your eyes as you turn to look at each other, as you all but crush megumi’s arm in your grasp. the two of them walk out onto the stage – and you note that her sparkly silver is almost identical to the outfit you had been wearing on tour for the past few months.

and that jake’s using the guitar that you gifted him on his birthday. 

you know she’s doing it on purpose. that she knows that about you – that you’ll connect dots and draw conclusions – to exactly what she’s trying to do. 

piss you off. 

Did you think we'd be fine? Still got scars on my back from your knife So don't think it's in the past These kind of wounds they last and they last Now did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you And time can heal, but this won't So if you come in my way, just don't

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times You and I

megumi leans down, voice quiet as he whispers in your ear. 

“this is going to do rounds on kids bop.” 

you snort. 

“they would be so lucky.” you respond back. 

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!) Now we got problems And I don't think we can solve 'em You made a really deep cut And baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)

“did you know they were going to do this?” megumi asks. 

you shake your head. 

“there’s no need to worry. i’m always prepared.” 

--

“unless i’m not mistaken, you didn’t catch any strays tonight. how can one be so lucky?” shoko jokes. 

“we can’t all be the chosen ones.” sukuna responds back. 

“the night is still young. a girl can only dream.” shoko responds. 

sukuna rolls his eyes before smiling at her and trying to shake shoko’s grasp off of him, as he turns his attention back to the stage. with the event in full swing, he was allowed to return to the central table, only because the group of them around him to keep track of him. 

shoyo’s doing, he was sure. 

but he’s sure that shoyo was somewhere fast asleep in his bed right now, having the most restful nap he’s taken in months. sukuna’s inclined that he’ll feel the same way tonight when he goes to bed, with the promise of no scolding from his team since he did, in fact, not catch aimee’s wrath tonight. 

it was attributed to someone else tonight. he’s not exactly sure who, but at this point, all he can do is be thankful that it wasn't him. 

“who were you talking to earlier?” shoko asks. 

“fans who got invited to the event.” sukuna responds. 

“poor girls. they got assaulted by the smell of your cologne and had to lose brain cells by talking to you?” shoko jokes. 

sukuna scoffs. 

“that already happened when you walked into the room. don’t kid yourself, ieiri.” 

“you should learn some manners. is that any way to talk to a woman?” shoko asks. 

“can you guys shut the fuck up?” 

shoko and sukuna turn their heads to the left to find satoru standing there, eyes razor focused and glued to the stage. 

“what stick is up your ass?” shoko asks. 

“it’s y/n’s turn to perform.” satoru seethes. 

shoko snorts. 

“don’t tell me that your dream girl is in attendance? how are you even standing straight right now?” shoko asks. 

“pure adrenaline, bitch.” satoru responds. 

sukuna and shoko widen their eyes as they share a look – a quiet communication that satoru’s being more erratic than normal and to leave him be – as they turn their attention back to the stage. 

the bright lights shine red on the stage as the visuals go up, a twisting and turning illusion against the back screen. there’s a rising platform in the center and all he gets a glimpse of are sparkly star tights. 

La-da-da-da, da-da-da, la-da-da-da-da La-da-da-da, da-da-da

If I told you how much I think about her You'd think I was in love And if you knew how much I looked at her pictures You would think we're best friends

'Cause I know her star sign, I know her blood type I've seen every movie she's been in and, oh god, she's beautiful And I know you loved her, and I know I'm butthurt But I can't help it, no, I can't help it

I'm so obsessed with your ex (uh-huh) I know she's been asleep on my side of your bed And I can feel it I'm starin' at her like I wanna get hurt And I remember every detail you have ever told me So be careful, baby

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) Yeah, I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) La-da-da-da, da-da-da

sukuna can feel his heart pounding in his throat. he grabs yuuji by the shoulder, yanking him close from the fabric of his shirt, and whispers. 

“who is that?” 

“were you born under a rock? that’s y/n.” 

sukuna watches as you skip around the stage, bathed in the dark red lights surrounding the stage and the visuals with you in the background. 

maybe sukuna was born under a rock. he was one thousand percent sure that he would remember something like this. 

“the guy that was up with aimee earlier. she’s jake’s ex-girlfriend. they were singing about her.” yuuji whispers. 

“is she singing about aimee?” sukuna asks. 

yuuji nods. 

“they have some weird twisted history. especially with jake, i think. him and aimee have had eyes for each other since like…forever.” 

he watches as you walk over to the left side of the stage, crouching down into the view of the camera and right across from where jake and aimee are sitting, irritated looks painted on their faces. 

sukuna notes that you're looking right at them. full blown, direct eye contact.

Is she friends with your friends? Does she give great head?  Do you think about her? No, I'm fine, it doesn't matter, tell me Is she easy-going? Never controlling? Well-traveled? Well-read? Oh god, she makes me so upset

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) She's been asleep on my side in your bed (ah, whoa) I'm so obsessed with your ex (god, she makes me so upset, ah) I'm so obsessed with your, with your ex

sukuna’s frustration compounds again. 

because he can’t simply understand how he’s the one getting publicly punished, when aimee’s been in love with some other guy the entire time. and that knowing her, she most definitely leaked the news about how she was blindsided on purpose, just to ruin his career. 

“if i was y/n, i’d just punch them both in the face. then start dating one of her boyfriends or something.” shoko states.

the idea comes to sukuna almost instantly. and he makes a mental note to apologize to shoyo later.  

--

when you get off the stage and retreat back to your table near the wall, you quickly scan through your texts from mimi. 

[mimi]: Three versions slated for release. Could potentially block you getting the #1 spot. 

[mimi]: Fingers crossed, but things are faring over well. People love the song.  

[mimi]: Obviously. 

you set the phone face down at the table and sink down into your chair. you don’t even get a second to think because before you know it, someone’s slid into the chair right across from you, hunched forward into your space over the small chair. 

pink hair, arms littered with tattoos. there was something oddly familiar about him. 

“you’re just the girl i wanted to see.” he states. 

you narrow your eyes at him. you’re unsure which one he is. producers trying to poach for their studio, people looking to network, or the perverts that somehow get let into events like this. 

“is that right?” you ask, tone dry. 

the guy offers you an over-eager nod, accompanied with a glimmering smirk. 

he’s attractive and you can tell from the look on his face that he knows it. for some reason, you’re almost positive that he makes sure of it. toned muscles, hair so perfect that it has to be styled. to the point where it feels calculated.

you lean forward, placing your cheek in the palm of your hand as you smile right back at him. he leans forward almost immediately. it was almost too easy. 

“i don’t think we’ve ever met before. i’d think i’d remember that.” you respond. 

“only in my dreams.” 

you fight the urge to scoff. you’re sure that one worked out well for him in the past. It's the only reason someone would say something so corny and mean it.

you hold your hand out to him, noting that he extends the handshake for far too long. 

“y/n.”

“ryomen sukuna.” 

that’s where you knew him from. this was megumi’s co-star. romeo’s brother. 

“from jujutsu kaisen, right?” you ask. 

sukuna gives you a glimmering grin. you note that he has a dimple on the left side. 

“know everything about me, don’t you?” 

you snort. 

“sure do. you’ve got me all figured out, sweetheart.” you deadpan. 

sukuna leans back, narrowing his eyes at the comment. you can tell that he’s rethinking what to say next. 

“i know about the show because of megumi.” you clarify. 

“we go way back.” sukuna responds. 

you lean back against the chair and cross your arms over your chest. you've got him right where you want him.

“really?” you ask. 

sukuna nods. 

“when did you meet him?” 

“elementary school. he was always the quiet type.” 

sukuna pauses. 

“speaking of types, what’s yours?” 

you fight the urge to laugh. there was no way he could truly be this forward. but then again, you figure his deep urge to get back at aimee right now was probably inhibiting his good judgement at the current moment. 

“why do you ask?” 

“you’re a smart girl. i know you can figure it out.” 

you take the bait. 

“i’ll give it a shot.” you respond. 

“that’s my girl.” 

you smile before leaning forward to make sure that he hears you properly. 

“your name is ryomen sukuna. indie actor for the most part, but you recently got signed on as part of the lead ensemble for mappa’s new show, jujutsu kaisen. you’ve gotten pretty far considering all things, which i’m sure comes as a byproduct of the whole charm bit that you do and from what i’ve heard, some pretty decent acting. and while you’ve done mostly well, you made the brutal mistake of becoming a social pariah by dancing with the tabloid devil, aimee lynch. you’ve ended up on their bad side and now, in some weird type of way – i’ll admit, i’m not exactly sure how – are trying to elicit my help to get you back in people’s good graces. by lying, of course.” 

you watch as sukuna’s eyes widen, before he leans back, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink as he swallows hard. and you give him your sincerest smile before pulling out your phone and digging for the photo in your favorites. 

of you and megumi in grade school, standing hand in hand. 

“i think i’d remember if the human version of pinkie pie from my little pony was running around my elementary school, sukuna.” you state. 

and shockingly enough, he only gives you a smile in response – like he’s almost delighted by the fact that what you've just read caught him in a lie– as he sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek and makes a clicking sound. 

“got me all figured out, don’t you dollface?” 

“you’re painfully obvious, like most men. i’ll see you around, sukuna.” you respond, as you turn on your heel to walk away. 

but he’s almost too fast with it, slithering his hand down from your elbow to your wrist, pulling slightly to beckon you to turn back. and he gives you an…a more earnest smile this time as he raises your knuckles to his lips, and leaves a kiss in between the pointer in the middle. 

“that’s a promise, sweetheart.” 

--

--

next part linked here

an: hi!!!! welcome back to the dream girl universe - I thank you for your patience <3 i'll be using the old dream girl taglist, but let me know if you would like to be taken off!!!

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @thepurpleempath @shrimphutao4ever @monic19 @najaemism @haitanibros0007 @catobsessedlady @luvs4kim @ri-sa20 @thejujvtsupost @invisible-mori @satoruslipbalm @kyo-kyo1 @telepathicheartss @huhsthccvjh @sxnkuna @w31rdg1rl @lilalia3945 @multiplefandomthings @shotovhs @voids-universe @timetobegone @deeeeexx @livelovelaughisagiyochi @pelicanpizza @cowgirlikets @jeon-blue @phantomasmaniac @yoontaedotin @cowgirlikets @estrella-novella @theauthorunicorn @catastayy @ryumurin @kindadolly @th0tformikasa @r0ckst4rjk @you-always-made-me-blush @leave-rae-alone @lemonnotade @firelordazulaaaa @stuffeddeer

[wtfaniii]

Break The Rules

Summary: You were intelligent, cunning and skilled so your father trusted you when sending you to the games to provide greater protection to the frontman, it was easy, but you didn't count on them accidentally taking your boyfriend hostage.

Warning: Angst, death, drama and some romance.

guard x fem reader

master list

—A small sacrifice for a greater good —said player 456, looking at Young-il with determination and with that you confirmed what your boss and your father told you from the beginning, in these games even the most noble person can be demoted to the filth of society.

You didn't believe it, you seriously thought that maybe this player could end this whole nightmare, put an end to this empire perfectly crafted so that no one would find it unless they wanted to.

But no, he was going to let innocent people die, people from his own team of the X to save only those from his small team, despite your disappointment you did not judge him, in his place you would also do the same, he poor man knew that this was a failed mission since he arrived and now he only had to save as many people as he could.

You did the second thing planned and hid under a bed while you watched the players kill each other with blows or with glass from the bottles they had been given for lunch, it was a hunt, you had seen it before through a screen but never as close as now.

The lights turned on and off without stopping while the terrified screams reached your ears, out of inertia, you turned to look at one of the cameras without any expression on your face, you knew that your father was watching you.

Until they finally stopped and the silver metal doors opened allowing several guards to pass with the triangle on their masks, you placed yourself under one of the bodies just as 456 had told you, they would pretend to be dead to take them away weapons and attack.

You had practice, so as soon as Gi-hun gave the order you took a gun from one of your co-workers and shot him in the chest to end his life, you didn't feel pity, anyway you didn't know who they were and you never you got to know them.

You covered Young-il at all times, that's what you were there for, to make sure your boss didn't get hit by a stray bullet or discovered on his mission.

You shot each and every one of the guards without missing until you saw how they ran to the door with the intention of leaving, it would be a complete waste to continue trying to control some armed players, internally you wished that they would all manage to leave because that way the rebellion It would be a failure and a certain person important to you would still be on the other side of the door.

But there was one guard inside, a guard with the figure from the square captured on his mask, his gun ran out of bullets and he was vulnerable so Gi-hun managed to subdue him easily.

—Take off your mask —Gi-hun ordered, pointing the gun he had previously stolen from one of the unsuspecting guards.

That's when your breath caught in your throat and your heart squeezed in your chest.

The man you loved was kneeling, now without the mask covering his face and with his gaze lowered, seeing 456 point the gun at him made your firmness and facade falter.

But you stayed in your place, holding your hands on the weapon you were carrying.

—I want you to guide us to your leader.

Gi-hun asked with authority and with his finger firmly on the trigger, making it clear that he would not allow any negative response.

Your boyfriend's gaze shifted towards you, everyone says that the eyes are the window to the soul, speaking when words are not enough and with that look he let you know that right now his life was in serious danger.

You nodded softly to give him permission to do what player 456 asked.

Although he didn't have many options anyway.

—I will guide you.

While 390 questioned him a little and 456 organized the weapons in front of them you picked up the magazines and placed some in your jacket pocket until you felt the presence of the boss next to you.

—We can't let them get to the control cabin —His voice was low, enough for only you to hear but also demanding to make it quite clear that if you failed you were dead.

—I know, I'll take care of that.

You sounded confident but your gaze cautiously followed your clumsy and abandoned boyfriend, since you were entrusted with this mission you told him to stay away from these games, to work alone as part of the security from the cabin but he had to ignore you.

Now, you had to come up with something quick to get him out of there in one piece and breathing.

After two more players joined them, 456 let your boyfriend lead them out of the confinement and up the long colorful pastel stairs, Young-il behind him and you at his side, holding his gun firmly and alert for possible spots where the other guards would be positioned.

You were not wrong, as soon as your field of vision saw the first triangle you shot for the kill because you knew that the life of the man you love was also at stake.

They advanced successfully until there came a point where Gi-hun stopped the hostage and pointed the gun directly at his face.

—If you are wasting our time-

—No —He quickly shook his head and looked at the ground —Just go a little further, you will reach a door turning down the hallway.

Your muscles tensed when he handed his mask to 456 and you could have sworn the boss next to you cursed under his breath.

—You will need this to pass...

He said firmly as Gi-hun took the mask, his gaze went to you, he wanted to look into your eyes to let you know that maybe you should run away with them but the man next to you caught his attention, you didn't tell him what you were doing on this mission but when he saw the frontman standing there among the others as if undercover he knew that you were also alone to protect him, he mentally cursed when In-ho's eyes looked at him with sternness and reprimand.

He was dead.

—¡Down! —He just heard you and saw you run towards him, pulling him down in a matter of seconds.

The sound of a gunshot.

The shots were not your priority now, your eyes only looked at the young guard who looked at you dazed but alive, still alive.

—The bullet grazed you but only that —You said, watching the blood come out of a superficial wound on the crown of him head.

—¡¿Do you know each other?! —Gi-hun exclaimed, looking at them both in disbelief while the rest of the players shot at the guards who were about to kill your boyfriend.

Your gaze fell on the frontman, he was looking at you silently, ready to kill you if you opened your mouth or to do something if you happened to say the plan, you considered your opportunities and advantages quickly in this situation, you had few, anyway you and your boyfriend were walking corpses from now on.

But you wouldn't reveal the identity of your boss, maybe with that you'll be able to survive.

—She's my girlfriend, I know her from outside —He hastened to say, looking at you cautiously, as if what he said was true and he hoped you would confirm it —I didn't know you were here... —He added seeing you.

You didn't answer anything, you just nodded.

—We can trust him —You said, handing him his gun once again so that at least now he has something to protect himself with.

However, the rest were not convinced and you could feel the frontman's penetrating gaze on you but it didn't matter, the only thing you had to focus on now was to survive.

[joocomics]

1k followers celebration event — ⌞⌗ xdh drabble⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 idol!bf!jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 0.9 words

request: “do you seriously think it’s funny? sending me shit like that while i’m at work?!” + lingerie kink

✎… phone sex, sub/dom dynamics implied, dirty talk, voice kink, pet names, mutual masturbation (on the phone), degradation kink, name calling (slut), mentions of choking & cum play, nudes and sexting, hint of exhibitionism kink

( event masterlist | xdh masterlist )

You stare at your phone, watching the three little dots appear and disappear as Jiseok types and stops, then starts typing again. There’s a grin on your face as you can practically hear his groans of frustration through the screen.

Soon enough, his reply finally pops up.

[Jiseok]: What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!

Your lips tug into a victorious smile; you already have a prepared answer.

[Y/N]: Trying to get your attention…

[Jiseok]: 🤨

[Y/N]: Mission accomplished

You imagine him in the dressing room, sitting on the edge of his seat while surrounded by stylists and managers, trying his best to keep a straight face. His eyes scanning the space in panick.

A moment passes. Then one more.

You shift in your bed, enjoying the look of your new lingerie set that’s decorating your figure nicely in a beautiful lace. Gazing at it, you can only fantasise about Jiseok’s hands brushing against the delicate material, pulling the straps eagerly so he can feel more of your skin.

The images unfold in your mind, each one more filthy than the rest, as you wait for a response. Eventually, you can’t resist - you guide your free hand between your legs, rubbing circles to gain some relief.

[Jiseok]: When I’m about to go on stage in less than twenty minutes?

[Jiseok]: That’s some perfect timing

So he didn’t decide to ignore you, after all.

This time, instead of sending a picture, you decide to tease Jiseok with a video - just few seconds of your hand moving beneath your alluring panties.

[Y/N]: It’s fun

You hit send. Then type another message before dropping the video in your chat.

[Y/N]: And sexy…

[Y/N]: send 1 attachment

New text message from him never comes, but you’re not surprised. You knew he’s going to call you sooner or later.

“Do you seriously think it’s funny?” Jiseok mutters the second you pick up.

His voice is deep, yet sharp, and laced with frustration. Not the kind of frustration that makes him sound mad though.

It’s the kind that makes him sound desperate.

“Sending me shit like that while I’m at work?! Seriously?”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to speak. He continues hissing complaints at you before exhaling heavily, probably trying to compose himself in the bathroom.

The tension in his voice successfully magnifies the warmth coiled low in your tummy so you just keep gliding your finger through your gummy walls, ready to add a second one while listening to him.

“Sorry for wanting to show my boyfriend the new panties I got.” You murmur teasingly.

“But babyyy... why now?!” Jiseok groans again.

Before he can say anything more, you send the last clip you took, right before he called - one you know is going to ruin the last bits of composure he has left.

A moment of silence stretches between the two of you.

You can almost see his plump lips part, his hand gripping on the fabric of his pants because he’s careful not to ruin his professionally done hairstyle, and then… his eyes - fluttering shut at the scene of your two fingers gliding out of your slick pussy.

“I miss you so bad,” he exhales; a soft, helpless sound that sends a warm thrill down your spine.

“I miss you too, baby,” you murmur, biting on your lip as the rush floods your body with each movement of your hand. A moan escapes your mouth as you add: “I miss you too much, every day.”

“Fuck—“ Jiseok cusses almost in a whisper; muffling sounds spread through the speaker as he takes a brief pause. “I miss that sweet pussy too…”

The warmth curls in your tummy at his words, tempting you to slip your fingers back inside you.

“I miss how wet and warm she gets for me.”

Though his voice remains low and quiet, you notice how he begins to sound more husky... more bold.

Just the way he is when you’re in the same bed.

“Baby—“ You whimper, pushing your fingers deeper as your back arches from the buzzing pleasure. “I wish I was squeezing your cock right now, I need to feel it so bad…”

“Shit, don’t say that!” Jiseok grunts on the other line, breathing more heavily than he was a moment ago. “Fuck—“

“Are you jerking off?” A lazy smile settles on your lips. “Please, touch yourself for me, baby. I miss hearing your moans so much…”

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

You can hear the perky smirk in his voice; how it gradually turns into a long, shaky sound of bliss.

“Damn,” he breathes out a chuckle, “I kind of like this... I can hear how fuckin’ wet you are, holy shit!”

“I like it too,” you pant, slowing down the pace for a moment. “Send me a picture.”

Jiseok laughs before mumbling something about you being needy.

Keeping your fingers moving through your throbbing walls, you put your boyfriend on speaker, then open the photo.

The sight of his dick has your mouth watering. He looks painfully hard; held by his familiar veiny hand, leaking through his almost angry red tip.

If you focus enough, you can feel how slippery he is; how smoothly his firm grip dances around his thickness.

“So hot,” you whine in frustration. “You should be in my mouth right now, making me choke around it, baby... so not fair...”

“Ah, my needy slut.” Jiseok titters in between his moans. “You have such a filthy mouth, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep talking like that.”

“Are you gonna show me your cum too?” You ask; your brows knitting together as you focus on the rhythm that pushes you closer to the edge. “You know how much I love it, I wanna see the mess you make.”

“What else you want, you greedy slut?” Jiseok’s breathing picks up; the noise of his fist elevates aggressively through the speaker. “Gonna come over to lick it all up, huh?”

But you don’t get the chance to respond. Your orgasm washes over you, causing you to fall apart against the bedsheets.

Not even a minute later, as the aftermath still buzzes through your body, Jiseok meets his peak too. It’s impressive how he succeeds at stopping the sounds urging to escape his throat; all you get are a few broken hums, but hearing them is one of the most satisfying moments of your life.

After you hang up, - both of you giddy and lightheaded from the intense moment, - you stay in bed to rest for a bit.

Then, your phone rings from a message - it’s the picture you asked for. Plus an immediate message underneath it.

[Jiseok]: Btw when I get back

[Jiseok]: You’re in big trouble

[Y/N]: Looking forward to it ❤️

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed