#but it will be a happy ending in some way

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore. 

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside. 

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets. 

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to. 

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head. 

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.” 

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life. 

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true? 

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything. 

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced? 

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field. 

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time. 

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again. 

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.” 

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.” 

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater. 

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.” 

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern. 

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable. 

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd. 

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle. 

And then the kickoff starts. 

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net. 

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit. 

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU. 

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play. 

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. 

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts. 

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him. 

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you. 

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet. 

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net. 

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines. 

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state. 

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff. 

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line. 

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball. 

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post. 

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him. 

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with. 

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully. 

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in. 

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field. 

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime. 

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing. 

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet. 

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you. 

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet. 

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side. 

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound. 

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.” 

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field. 

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together. 

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.” 

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long. 

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you. 

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security. 

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space. 

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he���s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus. 

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius. 

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does. 

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo. 

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team. 

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk. 

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play. 

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net. 

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock. 

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum. 

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field. 

The referee chirps his whistle. 

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion. 

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over. 

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath. 

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!” 

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed. 

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0 

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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[taglist is closed]

[nipuni]

A little life update!

I'm back from our latest trip and leaving again in a couple of days but! I can finally say we are officially moving! 😄

We've been looking for houses travelling back and forth from Galicia weekly these last few months. It was an ordeal in many ways, a logistical and bureaucratic nightmare honestly, we found and lost many houses and spent so much money, time and braincells in the process. But in the end we found the most amazing house so it was worth it!! In our favorite city, beautiful antique furniture, several floors, extra rooms for hobbies, enclosed balcony, a fireplace, a whole garden with a lemon tree!! and for the same rent price than what we are paying for our small apartment in Madrid now lmao, big city prices are nonsensical 😭

We met the neighbors over the garden fence one morning and they are so lovely, they have apple trees and offered some to us and we met their dog too and they told us the story of the house and the people who have lived in it and places and customs of the town and offered to take us to the farmers markets to teach us about the best choices 🥺

We also met our landlady's family and they are so nice and friendly too. They helped us out with furniture, all their children and husband helped too and we offered to invite them all for dinner sometime to thank them when we are settled and they said they would invite us instead because they are six and we are two lmao Ahhh I just can't believe this is all real, it feels like a dream.

The weather is also colder and way rainier and we can finally enjoy summer like the earth intended, I'm no longer a summer hater!! We have wildflowers and mushrooms and magpies in our garden!! and chestnuts!! and an attic!! and a stone grill!! and a big bright kitchen aaaaa I can't stop gushing about everything

Nicolas is so happy too, he has been teaching himself everything about gardening and house keeping and the animals and plant species of the area. We already told all our friends and family to plan their trips to visit us since now we can host them more comfortably and for longer stays!!

I can't wait to be done with the move and start our new town life close to the sea in a beautiful house with friendly people and peace and quiet what the hell!! I never thought I could ever have something like this in my life I'm so serious 😭

[catssluvr]

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒆, aaron hotchner

aaron hotchner x fem!reader (916 words)

in which you end up with an injured nose at girl’s night and aaron takes care of you

warnings: bloody nose (surprise), r is tipsy, sweet aaron again 🫶🏻

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

This is probably the last way you would have imagined your day to end up like. This being sitting in the passenger seat of Hotch's car with an ice pack against your very much painful bloody nose.

It's funny to think that working in the fbi wasn't what gave you an injurie but falling against Emily's coffee table sure was. It was definitely quite a fight between you, one of Sergio's toys on the floor and the corner of the table. You just didn't happen to win it, leaving your nose bruised and bloody.

You felt utterly embarrassed for having to call him to pick you up, but you couldn't drive after two cups of wine and didn't want to ruin girl's night. You're sure there's better things for him to do on his day off, specially at midnight.

Though he doesn't seem bothered by it the slightest, his hand resting on your thigh for the whole ride home and stealing worried glances at you once in a while.

"You okay?" He asks once he opens the door, helping you out of your seatbelt.

You're quiet and that worries him. He knows pretty well you're not one to be quite when alcohol is running in your system.

"Mhm. Sorry for this, again." It's probably your fourth apology tonight and he doesn't like that one bit.

"Stop saying sorry." His tone is almost stern but you can feel the affection sweeping through it. "I missed you today, was glad you called." He's too sweet even when you're sure you ripped him out of bed, his crooked quarter zip that's thrown over his sleeping shirt proving you right.

You smile softly at him, regretting it immediately as your nose stings.

Aaron hushes you inside the house, immediately leading you to the bathroom and sitting you on the counter.

He rummages through the cabinets for a moment, pulling out a few cottons and other things you're too dozy too look properly at.

"Oh, sweet girl..." It's only now that he takes the ice pack from your nose that he realizes how painful it must be. There's dried blood right outside your nostrils and the bridge of your nose look another shade.

"That bad, uh?" You mock, holding back a chuckle at his reprehending stare.

Aaron starts cleaning your nose with a wet cotton, mumbling out gentle sorries when you hiss in pain.

You take the time to look at him through half closed eyes. His dishevelled hair, his concentrated expression and most of all his quarter zip paired with stripped pyjama pants. It makes you feel both giddy and guilty that he probably came running to get you once you called.

"You're pretty." You say it before getting to actually think about it. But the fact that you're still tipsy helps you say things shamelessly.

"Thank you, honey. You're very pretty too." He answers with a smile bigger than he intended, just happy that you're finally acting like you normally would while tipsy.

Once the blood is cleaned and the arnica is applied, he reaches for the small band aid box. They all have some kind of cartoon in them, Jack's influence.

"Which one?" He questions with fake seriousness, displaying all the different band aids.

You point to the spider-man themed one, probably Jack's influence as well.

"Very good choice." Aaron pulls it open, carefully applying it over the small cut on the bridge of your nose before pressing a tiny kiss there.

He tells you to wait for a moment before dissapearing into the bedroom, coming back a few seconds later with a large hoodie and one pair of stripped pyjama pants - both his.

You let out a relaxed sigh once you're in them, his scent comforting and similar to what you would call home.

"Gimme a kiss?" You mumble nasally, a chuckle bubbling out of him at the way it sounds more like 'kith'.

"I'll hurt your nose."

"No, it'll heal magically from your kiss." You do little in trying to persuade him, but it's more than enough for him.

Aaron tucks a few strands of hair behind your ears, cupping your warm cheeks and leaning in to place a gentle peck on your lips.

"Better, sweet girl?" It's not really a question, as he knows the answer. His lips trail from your cheek to your temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling to hold your face once more.

"Mhm, much better." You lean into his hands almost involuntarily.

His hands reach under your thighs, picking you up before you can even process it. You let out a surprised gasp, smacking his chest lightly when he laughs.

"You know, my nose is hurt. Not my legs, Aaron." You mumble against his neck, smiling at the way he shivers at the contact.

"Just let me spoil you, yeah?" He shushes you, arms comfortable around you as he enters the bedroom.

Once you're tucked inside the blankets in his so familiar bed, Aaron pulls out his quarter zip. Throwing it on top of the armchair in the corner before rushing to lay beside you.

Almost immediately, your arms find place around his waist. Your fingers trace incoherent shapes on his stomach and your head lays against his chest, his heartbeat lulling you to a sleepy state almost immediately.

"Thank you." It's barely a whisper, but he hears it just fine.

He hums, squeezing his arms around you before pressing a kiss to your hair one last time. "My sweet girl."

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

love you,

cat 🤍

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines. 

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.” 

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[coldfanbou]

Be Sure Of It

Here we are with Eunha. In the end, I kept it as only her because I had this idea. Honestly, though, I may use the building mentioned for some other smuts. It would be pretty easy to insert other idols there and just have a universe around it. Also, it was a little tricky to write this because I had to think about whether to refer to Eunha using the stage name versus her real name.

Length 3.2K

Eunha X Mreader

You waited nervously at the restaurant, tapping your fingers on the table as you waited for your date's arrival. You peered out the large windows, hoping to spot her; her profile was on your phone, so you didn’t mistake someone else for her. Then, you saw her across the street, her bag slung over her shoulder as she hurried towards you. Relief washed over you as you recognized her, and she noticed you, too, waving with a bright smile. She walked around the corner, stepped inside, and headed straight toward you. “Hi! I’m Eunbi; sorry for keeping you waiting!” She exclaimed, slightly out of breath, as she sat down and reached over the table to shake your hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I was a little worried you wouldn’t show up,” you admit, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. Your heart was pounding, and you couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way.

“I’d never no-show a date. It’s hard enough to get one with my job.” 

You nod your head, trying to remember what her job was. “It was as a-”

“A health girl,” Eunbi interrupts, “I’m glad you remember,”

“Yeah, I tried to remember everything you had on your profile. I must have gone over it a hundred times before today.” You feel immediate embarrassment as those words leave your mouth, and you hang your head, feeling like you just made a big mistake.

Eunbi laughs, though, “Really? Were you that interested in me?” Looking up, you see Eunbi resting her head on her hand, her cheek squished. 

“Um, yes,” You say quietly, feeling a warm flush spread across your cheeks as Eunbi's laughter fills the air. You could feel your cheeks turning red, and you were sure she could see it, too.

“Don’t be shy; that makes me pretty happy. I don’t get many matches because of my profession. Those that I do get usually only want one thing. So, what made you interested in me?

“I thought you were cute and saw all the pictures of you cosplaying. I thought it was cool.” You say shyly. 

“Ah! You looked at them?!” The excitement in her voice was evident, “Which one was your favorite?”

“I liked you as Haruko from Slam Dunk,” you reply, pulling up the picture. “I liked your smile; you looked really happy in it.”

Eunbi purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. “Thanks,” she giggles. “No one really likes those old shows anymore, but I think they’re pretty fun.” You and Eunbi spent the date discussing old shows and sharing that interest. It was enjoyable; the two of you enjoyed sharing your thoughts about which shows should be remade and which should remain classics. As your time together came to a close, you ordered an ice cream and headed out the door together. You walked around, continuing your chat until you found yourselves in the city’s central park. 

Eunbi came to a stop, sitting on a nearby bench and waiting for you to sit next to her. “Tonight has been really fun, and I want to go on another date.” She says quietly, her happy energy from earlier fading as she becomes serious. “But are you sure you are okay with dating someone like me? It’s just- I mean, a lot of guys say they’re okay with it, but they really aren’t. They try to get me to quit as soon as we’re together.” It’s clear to you this was something Eunbi had gone through multiple times; the anxiety in her voice and the fact she was staring at the ground the entire time she spoke was enough. “I-I just…”

“Eunbi, I’m okay with it.” You say, placing your hand on hers. Eunbi raises her head, turning to face you. “It must be hard on you, looking for someone, but I’m okay with you having that sort of job. I’ll never make you quit; that’s your decision.” You take a deep breath, “I’d like to take you on another date, Eunbi.”

Eunbi sniffles, and a small smile appears on her face. “Thanks for saying that, but,” she pulls her hand away and reaches into her bag, pulling out a small business card. “I think you should see me at work before you decide if you want to go on another date with me.” Eunbi pushes herself off the bench and stands up. “Anyway, thanks for tonight. I had a lot of fun. You know where to find me, " she says softly. 

You rise slowly and walk over to Eunbi with the business card still in hand. “Yes, I do. Thanks for tonight, Eunbi.” You wrap your arms around her and hug her, feeling her arms hesitantly wrap around you before cinching in. After a moment, the two of you break apart and head separate ways for the night.

That night, you looked at the card before going to bed, feeling excited about the next step. You wanted to go on another date with Eunbi, so you had to visit her first. You notice the name change on it; she didn’t use her real name. She used Eunha.

A few nights passed when you decided to visit Eunbi at her workplace.  While the place was open all day, Eunbi worked in the evenings and nights, so that’s when you had to go. It was in the red-light district. You weren’t familiar with it and wandered around, trying to find the place. Neon lights glowed from every building, painting the street with various colors. You continued past the barkers, trying to get you to walk into their establishment. You turn your head, viewing both sides so you won’t have to do another lap. Then you spotted it; it was a large building that took up an entire block. Much like the other buildings in the area, it bathed the street in bright pink neon lights. You cross the street, getting closer, when you notice the women dancing inside, inviting men to enter. They wore revealing outfits, from bunny suits and sexy maids to wedding dresses, with some just in lingerie. The ground level had them separated into their own rooms. You come to a stop, though, as you pass by a crowd; glancing at the window, you see one of the women having sex, fucking like a rabbit in heat with her breasts pressed against the glance. You pry your eyes away and look ahead, noticing she isn’t the only one. Other women in the rooms ahead were also having sex. 

You refocused yourself and continued toward the entrance, heading inside and finding a similar situation, with women in rooms, some dancing and others having sex. On occasion, there would be room blacked out, giving you the hint that some people wanted to be watched. Once down the hall, you found a board of faces—a picture of a woman and their face on it. Some were greyed out, signifying they were with a client. “You have to put money in first, sir.” You hear from behind you. Turning around, you find a staff member sharply dressed in a suit behind the counter. The man repeats himself, pointing to the bottom left of the giant screen. You notice a smaller pad was there to take payment. “If you’d like any information about the ladies before choosing, please feel free to ask me.” 

“Is Eunha here?” You ask nervously. 

The staff member looked down at something before meeting your gaze and responding matter-of-factly, “Yes, she is. She is on the top left-hand side of the board.” You nod and pay for an hour's session before returning to the larger screen and looking for Eunha. You spot her picture at the top and press it, confirming your choice after.

“Good choice, sir. Here is your room key, " the staff member says, pulling out a keycard. “She is on the second floor; once up the stairs, go to the right side at the end of the hall, turn to the left, and she will be at the end of that hall.” The man extends his arm, showing you the staircase. You take the keycard and give the man a nod before heading up the spiral staircase, finding a large lounge with a couple of men sitting idly. You glance at the other two hallways before heading to the right. You feel your heart beat faster as you make the final turn and head to the end of the hall. You stand outside the door and take a deep breath before tapping the keycard and opening it. You step inside and find Eunha waiting on the other side. She’s in a school uniform that’s been cropped and is wrinkled. The skirt, if you could call it that at this point, ended a few inches from the waist. Eunha had on a pair of crotchless panties, and you could see how slick her thighs were with her; there was cum running down her legs. On the top half of her body was an open button-up shirt that she had tied together in a loose knot, her nipples poking through the thin fabric.

“Oh! It’s you!” Eunha says with a smile on her face. “You actually came.”

You nod, “I said I would.”

Eunha chuckles, “I guess you did.” You both stand there awkwardly, unable to continue. “Please have a seat.” Eunha moved back to the kingsized bed. She throws herself on it and pats the spot next to her. After sitting beside her, Eunha places her hand on your thigh. “I guess you can see what my last customer did to me,” Eunha says, looking between her legs. “I barely had time to get the room ready again.” She sighs, looking down at the floor and kicking her feet softly. “This is what I meant; I understand if you don’t want to date me. Who would want to have a girlfriend that’s constantly getting fucked by others.” You feel the sadness begin to seep through into her voice. 

You shake your head, “Eunbi, I told you I don’t care. I knew that going into this, I’d have to be okay with you having this job. Look, I know we’ve just been on a single date, but I like you, and I want to see where this goes.”

“You mean that?” Eunha asks, her voice wavering. You nod at Eunha and place your other hand on hers. Though small, your action was enough to give Eunha some confidence in you. She sniffles before giving you a bright smile. “I guess we should get started then, right?”  

“I guess so.” Eunha presses her lips against yours, pushing you onto the bed and straddling you. You feel the passion behind the kiss, the corners of her mouth pulled into a smile. She lifts your shirt past your arms and over your head. Eunha was confident in every action. She moved down slowly, raising her ass in the air as she worked at getting your pants down, unbuckling your belt, and unbuttoning your pants. She stares you down as she bites down on the zipper tab and pulls it down. You can see a growing hunger in her eyes as she crawls over you and steals another kiss from you. You feel her hands move down your side as she tries to pull your pants off you.

You help her get them off, along with your underwear. Eunha’s hand grasps your shaft, moving up and down slowly as she meets your gaze. “You’re already nice and hard for me.” She whispers, her grip growing tighter. You see her smile grow as you moan her name. Eunha moves her other hand down, cupping your balls. “These are so big and heavy. I haven’t eaten all day. You have a lot of cum for me, right?” She gives you a pout before moving down your body and pressing her face against your cock, letting the tip rest against her forehead. She kisses the shaft and takes in your scent before wrapping her hand around it again. Eunha shuts her eyes and presses her lips against the base of your cock, inching upward toward the tip. She was moving toward more sensitive areas, and with each kiss, precum leaks from the tip of your cock.

Finally reaching the tip, Eunha opens her eyes again. She smiles at you before pushing the tip against her lips, slowly spreading them and allowing you inside her warm mouth. You feel her tongue run up and down your shaft as she rubs the head against the inside of your cheek. Her hand strokes the base of your cock, ensuring you’re getting the most out of it. She pulls back slowly, letting her saliva drip onto your cock, her tongue sticking out. 

Running her hand up and down your shaft, Eunha spreads her saliva across your cock. “This is going to be good,” she mutters, leaning down and wrapping her lips around your cock. You groan, enjoying as Eunha bobs her head, her tongue running along the underside of your shaft. You rest on your elbows, watching Eunha, noticing as she moves one hand down and fingers herself, occasionally pulling out to rub her clit. You place your hand on her head, earning you a glance from Eunha. She continued, slowly down and taking more of you in. You lean back and groan loudly as you feel yourself hit the back of her throat. 

Eunha pulls back slowly, slobber running down her chin and onto your cock. She slaps herself with it, dirtying herself further. She strokes your cock quickly as she speaks, “You’re so close; I felt your cock twitch. You can cum whenever you want; you don’t even have to warn me. I’ll be able to drink it all up.” Eunha smiles at you before making your cock disappear again. 

You struggle to hold on as her tongue lashes at the tip of your cock. Eventually, you’re forced to cum; you buck your hips upward into Eunha’s mouth and cum inside. She presses her hand against your pelvis, pushing you down as her lips form a seal around your cock, and she drinks every drop. She bobs her head slightly as you cool down from your climax. Eunha slowly comes to a halt and leaves your cock with a pop, “Ahh, that was so good,” She moans, licking her lips. 

Eunha places her hand on your cock, stroking it to get you hard again. “That must’ve felt really good for you; you came a lot.”

“It was amazing,” you groan, her grip tightening as you get hard again.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now it’s time for the best part.” Eunha straddles you, rubbing your cock between her folds as she aligns you to her entrance. She reaches forward, grabbing your hands and interlacing her fingers with yours as she lowers herself onto your cock. You slip in easily, her warm and slippery walls snuggly wrapping around your cock as she rests against your pelvis. Eunha’s soft moan fills the room, and you move up her body until you meet Eunha’s gaze. She gives you a soft smile that you can’t help but return. She keeps her hands with yours as she begins to bounce on your cock, soft moans flowing from her lips. Eunha leans against you, your hand holding becoming the only thing keeping her up. You lowered your eyes, noticing the knot that kept her shirt together come loose. Your eyes became glued to Eunha’s chest, watching her tits bounce as she rode you. “Ah, hold on,” she moaned, letting you off your hands to throw off her shirt. Eunha placed her hands on your chest and began moving again, her slow movements picking up speed with time. You placed your hands on her waist, holding her as she rode you. Eunha kept her eyes shut and threw her head back, groaning as she felt your cock go deep inside her. “You’re…going to… make me cum,” Eunha said, struggling to get her words out.

“I’m going to cum too.” You grunted, your cock throbbing against her tightening walls. You begin thrusting into Eunha, going deeper as your bodies collide. “I want us to cum together,” Eunha nods her head, biting her bottom lip as she nears her climax. You both cry out as you reach your peak; Eunha slams herself down on you, impaling herself on your cock and cumming with you. You pull Eunha into a kiss as she collapses on top of you, her chest heaving as you both slowly come down. 

“That was amazing,” she says, still out of breath. Eunha unmounts you and places herself on your bicep, taking a few deep breaths before looking into your eyes as you lay there together. 

“I’ve seen you at your work now. So I can ask you out on another date, right?” After a few minutes of staring into your eyes, her face turns red. She covers it with her hands and turns her back to you. “Eunbi? What’s wrong?” You ask, trying to turn her back around.

“It’s embarrassing!” She shouts into her hands.

“What?”

“Ahh! I said all those things in front of you!” Eunbi buries her face into the mattress and kicks her feet. 

“Those things?” You ask curiously.

“Those things about your cock and balls. It’s so dirty!” You laugh at her answer, making her raise her head. “Don’t laugh! I only say those things here because people like to hear that!” She explains, her tiny fists knocking on your chest. “You’re never going to hear me repeat those things! They’re too embarrassing to say to someone I’m dating!” 

You laugh again, enjoying how embarrassed she was. “So, does that mean we’re going on another date?” Eunbi pauses her tantrum, realizing what she said. She peers up at you, and you ask again, “Eunbi, would you like to go out on another date?”

Eunbi feels a warmth in her heart as she hears your question being asked so sincerely and nods. “I’d like that; yeah, let’s go on another date,” she says softly before embracing you. You spend the rest of your time lying together. When your time runs out, and you're forced to separate, Eunbi kisses you on the cheek. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” You respond before kissing Eunbi one more time before you go. “Have a good day at work.” She smiles and waves as you shut the door behind you. You get home sometime past midnight and lay in bed. You couldn’t sleep, though; your body was filled with energy after your night with Eunbi. You thought you would feel tired, but that wasn't the case, and just as your mind began to drift, you got a single-word message from Eunbi. 

“Breakfast?” It made you chuckle, and you agreed to meet her for breakfast in the morning. The two of you met for breakfast, chatting about old cartoons like you had on your first date. Eunbi felt content, happy to have found you, and hoping the relationship continues. The wariness of a new relationship was still on her mind, but seeing that you went further than many others had dared to, she felt a sense of comfort with you.

[cordeliawhohung]

a fox cries; never howls (1/3)

an alternate universe to In Limbo | simon riley x fem!reader | masterlist | AO3

you're a stranger across the counter. you want so desperately to crawl back over, but it will never be the same anymore.

cw: mafia!au, can be read without prior In Limbo knowledge but it does help, non-con/rape, pedophilic undertones, forced prostitution, abusive relationships, abduction, forced medical practices/treatments, self harm, suicide attempt, mention of abortion, mention of pregnancy, reader is described as having long hair for plot reasons (can be natural, braided, etc), Simon is not the abuser in any of the tags previously listed, whump with an eventual happy ending but it's going to hurt until then.

Each time it happens, you tell yourself it’ll be different, but it never is. 

Broken promises lay in glistening shards around the heels strapped to your feet as you grit your teeth through the pain. No matter how much you beg and plead, it’s always the same. That visceral ache shooting through the core of your being still brings tears to your eyes the same it did the first time. It will continue to plague you. Haunting your cheeks in messy streaks as it drips onto the counter your hands so desperately palm at. Each tear that splatters by your fingers shimmer with black flakes. Running mascara. It stains everything it touches — especially you.

You’re prettier that way. Ruined. At least, that’s what you’ve been told. 

Always pretty on your knees; bent over; looking up; crying; pleading; beg; beg for it; and keep crying; yeah, just like that. 

Your skin is scarred, marked in the shape of greedy lips, and it stings like the wound is fresh. Words seep into the soft tissue where it continues to fester. Burrows its spindly roots until it can bear fruit. You could pull at the stem all you like, but you can’t escape the fact that it’s now a fundamental part of you. The only thing keeping your bones from crumbling. This mantra. This throe. 

“Not tryna hide, are you?” 

Avaricious fingers dig into the firm cartilage of your throat as you’re yanked back and forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The ripples of your defilement echo throughout your body — and you’re forced to watch it. The bounce of your breasts and the smudged makeup dripping along your cheeks. In some odd way, you are a masterpiece. You’re sculpted of nothing but obloquy yet carved just like if you were made of stone. You would close your eyes if you thought you could get away with it.

But Marco likes when you watch. Savors the tremble of your lips as your eyes find him in the mirror. Pristine teeth glint in the pallid light. Perfectly white and straight. He always takes care of himself — of his appearance. It shows in the carefully carved muscles that flex in his abdomen as he pistons into you; in the well groomed locks of his dark hair. This is the sweetest liquor he could ever indulge in — enjoying not only destroying you, but of making a show of it. 

He must always be the performer and the audience; having his cake and eating it too. 

A fury of grunted whispers slice straight through your ear drums. It’s a hardly comprehensible slurring of English and Russian, and though your fuzzy brain can’t make sense of it, you know what it means. Marco teeters close to the edge, hands dragging your body back against him as he holds himself flush against the crux of your ass. Hot warmth spills into you, and despite the hand around your throat, you’re finally able to breathe. This impiety does not offer you comfort in your tainted skin, but it offers you the one commodity you rarely seem to come by: rest. 

That incessant ache lurks deep in the pit of your stomach, even as Marco pulls out, but it’s quiet. Doesn’t demand your attention. You feel the dull throb that harasses the raw tissue of your cunt, and you try not to wince as you feel his seed spill out. Chuckling, he releases your throat in favor of wrapping his fingers around your hair, bunching as much as he can into the palm of his hand. It’s overgrown. Messy and dead. But he refuses to allow you to cut it. 

Nothing about you gets to change without his permission — not even your appearance. 

“Look at you, my sweet little girl,” he coos. Sharp teeth nip at the side of your jaw and you wince. You’re surprised his mouth doesn’t unhinge; that he doesn’t shove you into his maw and swallow you whole. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t get enough of this pussy. Christ.” 

When Marco backs away, you swear your knees will give out. Without his puppeteering hands to hold you up and bend you to his desires, you’re nothing but mush. A disgusting mess of smeared eyeliner and dripping cum. You can hardly stomach the sight of your body in the mirror. Neck littered with faint teeth marks, body bare and on display — used and abused to his content. You’re abhorrent. A pathetic creature you can’t stand to behold. 

Marco’s belt clinks just as a knock rattles the door. Your heart thuds loud enough in your ears that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heavy footsteps crossing the glorified dressing room. You attempt to steady yourself as you back away from the mirror, but the straps of your heels dig into your toes. They’re the only article of clothing you’re allowed. Marco says he likes the way they make your legs look longer. Likes the angle it gives him when he bends you over to fuck you.

When you turn to face him, he’s already sitting on the loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. A fresh bottle of mead sits on the tray next to him, and he pours himself a generous amount before knocking it back for a sip. The soft amber liquid overflows and dribbles past his lips, soaking his bare chest. His verdant eyes find you as he collets the drink on the tips of his fingers, then sucks them clean one by one. 

“Didn’t you hear that knock? You have a guest,” he says, tilting his jaw toward the door. 

With each step you take, you feel Marco’s seed dribble down your legs. It makes a sticky mess between your thighs, and you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is how he marks you. How he makes sure everyone knows who you belong to before he lets them take a piece of you home. 

A stranger with a thick neck stands at the door when you open it. His eyes are an odd shade of grey that sends a shiver down your spine as he looks you over, greedily drinking in the sight of your bare body. The chill of his gaze gets worse as the door closes behind him. He begins to crowd you and the sharp stench of vodka fills your nose. There’s something familiar about him. Every man in this club is familiar to you, in some way. Always hazy. Too fuzzy to place a name to. You think it’s your brain’s way of protecting itself. Of purging the bad things done to you as best as it can, lest you crumble in the palm of Marco’s hands. 

The sharp point of your heel catches on the plush rug that sprawls out in front of Marco’s feet, and you squeak as you nearly lose your footing. Both Marco and the stranger chuckle. The cacophonous tone grates against your eardrums, but you hide your discomfort as you stare at the ground. You wait. For the exchange. For the banter. They speak in Russian with one another through laughter as cash is passed to Marco. The air is still cold, and your thighs are still soiled, but the stranger looks at you like he would never dream of having any other meal than you. 

“Well, go on then,” Marco prompts. You look up at him with dull eyes. He swirls the mead in his cup as he tilts his head. “On your knees, babe. Wants to use your mouth tonight. Be a good girl, now.” 

Comply. Listen. It’s all you can do. So you sink to your knees like the well behaved girl you always are. Resting on your haunches, you look up at the man with a tight throat. He smiles, and your stomach drops. Roils and screams as he begins to unbuckle his belt. As he fishes himself from his trousers, you remind yourself all things are temporary. Especially pain. 

Nothing lasts forever — though, it often feels like it will. 

When it’s all said and done — when you’re thoroughly used — Marco walks you to the door like a gentleman. Hastily adorned clothes hang from your body as you pull your jumper tight around your core. Your cervix still aches from the virulent abuse it had taken earlier, but you attempt to ignore it as he opens the exit. Your only reprieve from this nightmare is that he didn’t parade you throughout the club like this; looking like a whore for hire. Tonight, he allows you to take the back exit far away from prying eyes. 

Cool night air cuts through your scanty clothes, and you stare out at the vast space of the car park before you. Weekdays bring little business and customers to Makarov’s club. Most of the strippers who work for him end up lazing around in back rooms and closets, getting drunk or high enough that they can forget all about their shitty night. 

You wish you had that luxury. 

“Hey,” Marco hums, grabbing your wrist. You turn to face him. Dim shadows from the flickering hallway lights cast his face in darkness, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “See you tomorrow, babe.” 

He sends you off with a kiss. Sloppy and wet — he likes messes. Savors making one out of you. Sweet mead and mint seeps into your mouth as you kiss him back with a tight jaw. When his hands caress your cheeks, pulling you closer, you wonder if he can taste the brine and bitter cum that lurks in the back of your throat. If he relishes in feeling every single way in which you’re destroyed. 

“See you tomorrow,” you murmur. 

Breathing only comes easy the moment you’re locked in your car. The movement is fluid — that gentle expanding of your chest — but it’s still agonizing. Diaphragm seizing with the sobs you fight back, it’s another reminder that you’re alive. As long as you draw breath, you don’t belong to yourself. 

Hot tears sear down your cheeks as you turn the key in the ignition. A gentle rumble follows as the engine hums to life. It’s a smooth, quiet purr. A car that’s much more expensive than you deserve. A lovely gift from Marco. It’s not at all uncommon for him to give you things. Expensive things. A car; an apartment; clothes — you’ll pay it back eventually. The numbers just add up to the big debt that’s hung over your head since you were sixteen. It ebbs and flows but not enough to save you. Not enough for you to belong to yourself again. 

As you bring the heels of your hands up to wipe your eyes, a gentle glow catches your attention. It moves. Dances and swirls in the numbra of the car park. Blinking, you focus on it. Golden yellow embers flicker and fade as life is breathed into them. It’s faint, but it reminds you of the well adored fireflies in America. Squinting, you can make out the outline of a car. It sits patiently and silent, but the windows are cracked. Faint smoke swirls through the openings where it climbs into the dull night sky and dissipates. 

Someone sits inside of the car, puffing away, but when your eyes lock onto the fingers pinching a cigarette, they freeze. Glowing embers quickly smother and die somewhere inside of the vehicle, and you’re left with nothing. You stare into the darkness, and it stares back. You feel its gaze tingling along your spine. Sniffing, you look away from that void. Be it man, or be it monster, you know nothing ever happens to you without Marco’s permission. 

That sentiment is equally as terrifying as it is comforting. 

When you arrive home — to the apartment paid for with your own body — you shower. No amount of water and soap is enough. You can lather yourself in all of Marco’s favorite scents, but the mint on his tongue still follows you everywhere. As you exit the bathroom, you leave feeling just as disgusting as when you entered. Nothing but some sordid creature that hardly knows how to take care of herself. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel sick. Golden glitter still stains your eyelids, and the teeth marks on the side of your throat have only grown more noticeable. Still, nothing is worse than the mark on the back of your neck. Though you can’t see it, you feel it. It makes your skin itch and crawl, and you find your fingernails tearing at it. As if you could rip it off like a bandaid. But it stays. Festers and embeds itself deep inside of you. 

Swallowing, you try to forget it as you continue to dry off. This is your brief moment of comfort, where you’re too far out of reach and well out of sight. Your only reprieve before you spend another night rotting as a trophy of glitter and bone. 

Weekends are better, but only marginally so. Wide eyed men fill Makarov’s club to the brim with wads of cash and twitchy fingers. Lingering gazes and hands brush against the crux of your ass and the back of your neck as Marco parades you through the crowd by your wrist. With your strappy golden heels and matching exiguous outfit, you’re flashy merchandise. Something soft and sweet he flaunts in an attempt to make a quick quid or two as a way to fund his means of pleasure and keeping control of you. While you’d normally spend most nights on your hands and knees, on busy nights, Marco allows you to earn your living in an honorable way —

— dancing. 

Sharp heels tap on soft mahogany as your hips and arms sway, practiced and repetitive, atop a round table. Dull music thrums and shakes the dust off your bones as the men on the crescent sofa surrounding you chat and laugh the night away. Marco’s in the mix of them all, cold glass resting on his knee as his foot taps against the floor. A hazy film covers the spring green of his irises as the liquor settles deep into his marrow. Each time you rotate his way, you watch his pupils dilate. A vast forest covered by the smokey darkness of that void, he licks at the alcohol on his lips as he stares at your clothed cunt. 

His fantasy fills your mind before his own can even make sense of it. Every spare glass and bottle that litters the table around your feet would be thrown on the floor in an instant just to put you on your back. To open your vulnerable stomach. To tear off the little clothing protecting your feeble dignity and truly put you to work. He’d spread your limbs and pin them like a specimen to a board, and he would cut and slice until you have nothing left to hide. Until there is nothing left of you at all. 

“Babe!” 

Marco’s voice cuts through the discordance of the crowd, and pulls you out of a nightmare and back into the present. Your terrifying reality. Slowly, you turn to face him, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face and a card stuck between his fingers. That sly haze still obscures his vision as he offers you his hand. Numb to the feeling of his skin against your own, you take it and allow him to help you down from the table. He wastes no time in dipping his fingers into the strap of your lingerie where he secures the card beneath the band. 

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” he teases. 

Warm hands settle on the curve of your hips as he guides you to turn around, faced away from him. Then, they wander up. Greedy fingers brush along the line of your spine before they find purchase in your hair, grabbing it as if he were trying to help you put it up. You hate how long it’s gotten. That he won’t let you cut it. He doesn’t care if it’s straight, curly, braided — anything. Marco wants it long. Uses it like a leash in which he keeps you bound to him with. 

“I know you’re a good girl, so I’m sure you won’t forget, but a little reminder never hurts,” he coos into your ear. Intoxicated breath fans across the side of your face as he leans closer to breathe you in. A shiver prickles across your skin as he kisses the back of your neck, and your throat involuntarily contracts at the sensation. It’s as if he’s marking you again. Branding you. “If this… patron wants more, I get to watch.”

Swallowing, you nod as best as you can with his fist gripping your hair. “I know.” 

Chuckling, he relinquishes his grip on you before stepping back. “Of course you do, smart thing you are. I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

You wait until you’re well away from Marco and his friends before you fish out the card he stuck beneath the strap along your hip. A pitched ringing plagues your ears as you enter the VIP section of the club. Things are quieter. Less crowded and the speakers don’t blare as loud. But the silence allows something malevolent to burrow inside of you. It festers as incessant tinnitus and broiling nervosity in your stomach. A wordless, desperate prayer breathes past your lips as you approach the room in which your patron awaits you. 

You pray he is kind. You pray that he wants nothing more than to hold you and vent his problems, like others have. 

When you open the door and step into the threshold that always makes your palms sweat, you think for a single fleeting moment that you are lucky. The room is abandoned. Dim lights illuminate the dull leather of the couch in front of you and yet there is no man sitting there for you to serve. Gentle music drones over the wireless speakers, giving the impression that there should be someone here with you. The attendants even set out the ice and whiskey for his drink. It now thaws on the tray, water nearly overspilling in its decay. 

Brows furrowing together, you look down at the card to ensure you haven’t misread it in your haze. The attendant’s handwriting is chicken scratch. He always manages to make a nine look like a zero, but you’re certain this is a six. The door clicks shut behind you as you sigh, too defeated and confused to make sense of this confusion. A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of slinking back to Marco with some saturnine cloud hanging over your head. 

If you can’t find work tonight, he’ll make some for you. 

That pit quickly becomes a gaping hole the moment a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth. Cardstock flutters out of your fingers like dainty butterfly wings, and hits the ground just as your back collides with an immovable chest. You don’t scream, but your heart nearly stops when you feel the cold press of metal against your throat. You are stuck in a vicious cycle. One of fear and sharp blades you’ll never wield yourself. 

“Not a fuckin’ word.” The voice that growls in your ear rattles your spine as the words erupt in his chest. Faint tobacco stains his fingers. Its earthy aroma seeps into your nose as your hands tremble against his tattooed forearm. “Don’t wanna hurt ya, so make this easy and listen to me, yeah?” 

Marco has taught you plenty well enough that the word no should be expunged from your vocabulary, so you nod. 

“Good.” 

You’re as stiff as a board when this stranger releases you. No amount of curiosity can get you to turn around and face the violent truth, not even as a thick jacket is tossed over your shoulders. The fabric is warm. Freshly removed off of the man behind you and placed on you as if it were a blanket. He presses his hand on your lower back and despite his caution, you still jump. 

“We’re going for a quick drive. Easy now. You’ll be home before sun up. C’mon,” he mutters. 

There is no such thing as saying no. There is no such thing as fighting. 

The knife vanishes from your sight but it’s all you can think about as this stranger leads you through the haze of the club. Everything blurs around you as you’re escorted to the nearest exit through quiet hallways that reek of cheap perfume. The only thing you can focus on is your feet. The glittery heels that match perfectly with your pedicure. You want to trip. To fall forward and hit the ground. Cry out and demand attention. The hand on the small of your back is all too grounding for you to make any mistakes. 

You approach and exit through an emergency fire door and the alarm doesn’t trip. Night air hits your skin like razor blades as you’re escorted across the car park. He shoves you into the back of a black car, and you only squeal a little when he slams the door behind you. When he situates himself in the driver's seat, the car hums to life and quiet lights flicker on just enough to scarcely illuminate his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark. The darkest you’ve ever seen. 

“There’s a blindfold in the seat next to you. Put it on,” he orders. Stuck on autopilot, you do as he says. It’s a thick scrap of cloth, something you hastily tie around your eyes and knot at the back of your head with trembling fingers. It only touches your skin for a fleeting moment before it’s soaked in briney tears. “Don’t even think ‘bout takin’ it off.” 

Not even your morbid curiosity can convince you to peek from between the threads. The word no is not in your vocabulary. Neither is disobeyment. 

Each turn the man takes as he brings you to some unknown destination has you swaying in your seat. Every pule that leaves your lips is smothered behind the palm of your hand as you wipe snot along the ridges of your knuckles. You do well to keep the aftermath of your fear to yourself. Even though this man has abducted you — something that was all too easy for him to do as you fawned. You’ll surely pay for this when Marco finds you again — you do not want to ruin the coat around your shoulders with spit. 

Of course you think of escape. You always do. It’s a self soothing daydream that florescences in the neurons of your brain. Unlock the door. Open the handle. Jump out. It’ll hurt. It always does. And it’ll hurt when you’re caught, but it always does. 

You don’t move. Freedom is just a dream.

Despite the knife he greeted you with, this man is surprisingly gentle. His touch is soft when he eventually parks the car, and his fingers do not dig too terribly into your skin as he helps free you from the back seat of his car. You do not trust his softness as he leads you into a room that smells like alcohol and cigarettes. Nicotine burns your nose as you’re settled into a plush seat, and for a fleeting moment you think you were only driven around the block before being thrown right back into Marco’s maw. 

That theory is proven terribly wrong when your blindfold is ripped from your eyes. 

A man with impressive tepidity sits across an antique wooden desk. Rich red walls close in on you. Crushing. Looming. Smoke blurs the space between the two of you as he puffs away at a thick cigar, blue eyes scanning a single piece of paper. He’s dressed nicer than you anticipated. A dark button up shirt, neatly combed hair and groomed beard — he hums to himself as his eyes scan the page in front of him before they land on you. You look away as if his gaze has burnt you. Instead, you focus on your nails and the manicure Marco made you get last week. Baby pink gel; his favorite color on you. 

“It’ll take more than crocodile tears to tug on my heartstrings, love,” he hums. 

The climate in your mouth suddenly becomes sere. All the snot and saliva that had built up before seems to vanish at his words. He’s nonchalant; terrifyingly so. 

“I don’t… uhm,” you attempt. 

“No need to explain yourself,” he interjects. “I understand. We all need to make a living.” Pausing, his eyes flicker back to the paper in his hands. “You’re Marco’s girl, aren’t you?” 

Thick obloquy heats the pit of your stomach as your fingers twitch. That term — that title. It fills you with more shame than you can name. You attempt to swallow down the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as your hand paws at the back of your neck. Expertly manicured nails scratch at the skin, and you wish nothing more than to peel back the layers of your epidermis and toss them aside to rot. 

Stiff, you nod. 

“John Price,” he introduces. 

He drops the name like it bears weight. As if it should crush you with each heavy letter that it carries, yet it doesn’t add on to the anxiety raging in your stomach. Your hand falls back into your lap as you dare to look at him once more. His eyes are sharp, as if he’s using his gaze alone to cut back your layers, but there is nothing to show for it. No secret except for a sour ignominy that you’ve carried for so long it imprints in your very skin. 

“Has Marco not told you about me?” he asks. He’s not upset; or if he is, he hides it well behind curious eyes. 

“No,” you answer truthfully. 

John chuckles. “Thought the man would’ve at least told his benefactor about me.” 

You blink. “...Benefactor?” 

“No need to play dumb. Like I said, it takes a lot more than faux tears to get me to feel sorry for you.” 

Your fear and confusion grips you so relentlessly that you don’t even feel it anymore. It’s wound so tightly around you, restricting blood flow to your body, that everything tingles if it is not numb. This man — John Price — gives you no chance to rest or fix your muddled thoughts. He tosses the paper in his hands across the wooden top of the desk, and your eyes nearly cross at the numbers printed on the pristine sheet and the amount of commas between them. There’s math. Addition and subtraction. Transactions of a bank account with a name at the top: 

Marco Anatolijus Smirnova

Funny. You’ve never seen his full name before. He’s only ever been Marco.

You’ve only ever been his girl. 

While you stare at the numbers, John throws question after question at you, none of which you know how to answer. He asks about transactions. He asks about what they’re for. Each and every time he’s met with the same answer. You are just as clueless as him. Marco does not concern you with his real work. The work that gets him enough money to have a bank account as padded as the one you’re looking at currently. 

His finances make the sparse contents of your stomach curdle. The amount of money you owe him for your unfortunate existence is trivial compared to what he already has. So minuscule it would hardly budge his savings. Marco has been making you work half your life away for something akin to a mere couple quid to him, and it stings just as bad as it always does. Seeing it at face value just how trapped you are — how Marco owns you and always will. 

“Don’t get coy with me.” John’s getting frustrated. Each question he presents you with is met with the same carking response of I don’t know. It’s nothing but the truth, but he seems to be informed otherwise. You’re significantly less important than he believes you to be, but the man looming behind you doesn’t help in settling your nerves enough to explain your situation properly. “Word on the street is Marco’s girl supplies him with his spending money. You’re tellin’ me I heard wrong? Or are you too daft to ask him what he’s using his finances on?” 

You swallow. What a polite way to put it — the things Marco does to you. 

“He… He makes money off of me but I… I don’t know how much or what he uses it for,” you choke out. “Well, I… I know a little bit but it’s not, it’s not like, whatever you’re asking, it’s just… it’s stupid things, it’s like, my housing or… it’s not… important.” 

There’s a quiet beat that settles between you and John, and you feel whatever vexation he harbored for you previously quickly evaporate in the air. He’s silent for so long that you force yourself to look up at him. You’re expecting curiosity, even the most morbid of iterations. John Price is not curious. You can tell by the way his jaw unclenches and eyes soften that he finally understands what you’ve been too inept to say. 

“How long have you been workin’ for him?” he questions, softer this time. 

“Since… I was sixteen,” you reply. 

“Sixteen?” He’s appalled. Repeats the word like it’s the worst taste he’s ever had on his tongue. “What’s he making you do for work? Dance?” 

Shame sears the back of your neck, leaving nothing but wounded, marked skin in its wake. You palm at the burn. Try to will it away with desperate fingers, and the movement causes the coat resting limply around your body to slip off your shoulder. This is the first time you’ve considered lying to John. Omitting the truth just to save the small shred of dignity you still have left, no matter how imaginary it might be. 

“Yeah. I… dance on stage but he… has me do private sessions too but he… sometimes he-” 

A hand brushes against the side of your arm and you flinch so hard your teeth nearly pierce through your tongue. Weathered wood squeaks beneath your weight as you freeze after nearly jumping out of your skin. This well meaning hand that startled you so terribly is well meaning. It pauses in its endeavor to cover your body once again with this stranger's coat, and instead lets it fall. You had almost forgotten all about him — the strange man who stole away Marco’s favorite toy from right under his nose. 

John and the stranger share a look as you retreat back into yourself. Hands folded over your bare lap, you didn’t feel naked until they finally understood who you are — what you are. Pristine nails dig into your palms as you swallow back the bilious vomit that threatens to spew free. 

“If we take you home, will you be safe there?” His eyes land back on you, but you can’t bring yourself to give him the same courtesy. 

You shake your head. “He’s going to be so mad. He… he pays for my apartment. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have a phone. I… There’s nothing. I have nothing. Marco’s provided everything for me and I never… he never gave me the chance to…” 

“I understand,” John interjects, carefully quelling your rambling. He waits for a moment before leaning back in his chair, retracting every bit of malice he exuded while interrogating you. “I’m sorry, love. Should’ve done our research better.” 

“It’s okay… Marco didn’t leave much of me to find.” 

John’s eyes darken in a way that would leave most men with their tail tucked between their legs. You’re too busy making yourself small to notice. “We’ll fix that.” 

In the next few hours, your life changes drastically. It’s sudden and feels just as violent as everything always does, yet it is intimidatingly soft. The gazes that are cast your way scream pity instead of lust, and you are handled with so much care you’re convinced you’ve become nothing more than a tchotchke. At least these men treat you with fragility rather than flippancy. 

You learn the man who took you from Makarov’s club is named Riley. You’re able to get a better look at him without the blindfold and terror willing your vision elsewhere. He’s intimidating. Arms drenched in ink, it’s almost enough to smother the scars that map the story around his body. It can’t shroud the ones on his face. The thin line that dissects his eyebrow, or the one on his nose which only makes the curve of the bridge more dramatic. His eyes are darker than anything you’ve ever seen before — so empty and yet full at the same time; nothing but a contradiction as he watches you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders. 

It is decided that — for your safety — you are to live with Riley until it is determined you are out of Marco’s reach. 

Despite your apprehension, you can’t say no. 

Riley’s house feels like a den. Well guarded but comfortable, the plush cushions that cradle you on the couch feel false. Fake. Everything does, but it’s mostly you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your skin. Nothing about you is tangible, not even to yourself. 

You’re still swaddled in Riley’s coat by the time he tells you that your room is ready. Really, it’s his room. You want to tell him you’d rather sleep on the couch than in some stranger’s bed, but you can hardly bring yourself to speak a single word to him. He scares you, but not in the way people usually do. It’s not the fear of pain that he riles within you, but rather something light. Something that flickers and sputters, waiting to grow. You smother it as he hands you proper clothes to change into. You don’t know where he got them from or why they fit so well, and you don’t care to ask. 

His room is… what you expected of a man like him. Plain walls, sturdy wardrobe and bed. A wristwatch ticks on the nightstand. It laments quietly, so much so that you only notice it when you sink into the mattress. He’s changed the sheets and pillowcases for you, but it’s not enough to snuff out the faint scent of tobacco. You like it, you decide. Or rather, you don’t mind it. Grounding earthy notes are much better than the synthetic chemicals Marco soaks himself in. 

Sleep comes about as easy as you expect it to. A TV drones on quietly in the living room as you toss and turn among unfamiliar sheets. Dull anxiety claws within the cage of your chest, but it holds itself at bay better than you anticipated. Or rather, you are just too numb to fully appreciate the pain. You should be afraid. You know it, and it’s lurking there even if you can’t fully feel it yet. 

It manifests suddenly as you feel the ghost of Marco’s hands on you. His teeth digging into your skin, demanding flesh. He wets his maw with your blood just as he wets his cock with your cunt. It sears. Rips through you in the brutal way it always does. Raw. Sinew on bone. And you don’t cry because it’s what he wants. He wants that brine and that sapor and he’ll claim it with claws and a smile. 

His mantra pants. It sweats and drips. It’s wet on your ear. 

There’s no escaping him.

You wake just after the sun does, and it is only then that you cry. 

Grief is the quintessence of escape. You’ve crossed the threshold — you were dragged beyond it — and now there’s no way back to the way things were. Your life wasn’t good, and it was far from comfortable, but it was familiar. You only know how to navigate things when bound. Chained to an unforgiving master. How are you supposed to live with free hands? 

What happens when Marco yanks your leash and finds no tension? 

What becomes of his favorite toy — Marco’s girl — then? 

By the time you finally gather the courage to leave the room, you find Riley in the kitchen. It’s what drew you out of your hiding spot originally; that scent of freshly cooked food. Sizzling meat and steaming eggs. He works at the stove with his back turned to you, arms dancing above the heat as he fries up a breakfast that should make your mouth water, yet it fails to do so. 

“Morning.” He hears you before he sees you, but he pauses with a spatula in hand to look at you from over his shoulder. He gestures to the island in front of you — something you suspect was only built to compensate for the lack of counter space on either side of the stove — then hums to himself as he turns his attention back to his work. “Breakfast’ll be finished soon, if ya wanna grab a seat.” 

There’s a stiffness that plagues your limbs as you sit on the high top chair Riley pointed to. It rolls off you in waves. Taints the air; souring it with your presence. You are not comfortable in this place — with this man. His palm haunts the chapped skin of your lips the same way his chest haunts your back and you can’t help but wonder what he and John would have done to you had they deemed you guilty. If they had looked at Marco’s girl and saw an opportunity rather than a pitiful creature, would you be sitting here now? 

Breakfast is a quiet affair of scraping plates and muffled chewing. Riley doesn’t sit next to you. Rather, he stands on the other side of the counter with a bowed head as he shovels egg and bacon into his mouth as if he’ll starve if not. He tries to rest his elbows on the counter, but it’s too low. It curves his spine uncomfortably, and he shifts as if standing on hot coals. 

Hunger does not pull at your stomach. Nervosity fills you to the brim — too full to consume something other than the ache. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.” Riley’s nearly finished with his food by the time he speaks, prompting you to look up at him for the first time since you sat down. All you’ve managed to do for the last few minutes is drag the tip of your fork around your scrambled eggs. “Boys really thought you were dangerous. That you were workin’ with Makarov and Marco. Shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” 

Dull teeth dig into the wet flesh inside your cheeks. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay,” Riley argues adamantly. “But I am sorry.” 

It’s difficult to discern the purpose of his apology. Is it to make himself feel better for what he did? For dragging you out of that club and into John Price’s office? To interrogate you until your innocence was proven? Does he say sorry to comfort himself, or you? To prove he’s not as monstrous as he looks with dark eyes and tight lips. He is, after all, awfully kind for a monster. You have yet to meet a beast that knows how to apologize without digging their teeth into you afterwards. 

Perhaps his apology is truly for you. To settle fried nerves. To make you feel safe. 

You know better than that. 

You were safer in the clutches of Marco’s jaw than you are now. 

“Riley, can… can I ask something?” 

A cheeky remark bubbles along his tongue. You just did. He takes one look at you and decides to bite it back. “Course.” 

A noisome lurch pulls at your stomach, embittering the sparse bites of food you were able to force down your throat. Thunder roars in your chest as your heart attempts to break free — leave your body behind to rot while it escapes. 

“Would I… Could I get the pill?” you ask. 

“The pill?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, like… the… the morning after pill?” 

His silence doesn’t surprise you, but it stretches long enough to be concerning. Looking up from your cold food, you’re met with soft eyes. They’re the softest ones that have looked at you for what feels like ages. Gentle. They don’t greedily rake over your body to soak in every twitch of your skin — rather, he reads you. Between the lines and and in the margins, he devours every word. 

For the first time in your life he makes you feel more like a victim than a toy, and you’re not sure if that feels any better. 

“Will you be alright by yourself if I go buy it for you?” he asks. There’s no judgment; only pity. 

You nod. 

Riley mulls it over as his tongue swipes along the back of his teeth. When he straightens, he brings his plate with him as he steps back and hums. Your attention is quickly brought back to your hands as he sets the dish in the sink to be cleaned later. 

“Alright.” You try not to choke as he motions to your plate. “Should eat. I’ll be back soon, yeah?” 

Once again, you nod. “Okay.” 

Not a single morsel has been consumed off of your plate by the time Riley returns home, and you are not in your seat. Disappointment buzzes at the base of his skull, but he’s not surprised. He knows what it’s like to be too full to eat — to be plagued with something not even hunger can triumph. He sets aside the pill box to clean up after you. Food in the bin. Plate in the sink to be washed later. 

It’s quiet. It’s never this quiet. Not even when he’s home by himself, which he usually is. Riley stands in the kitchen with furrowed brows as he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something. His keys. His lighter. 

God, he could use a smoke. 

Heavy feet cause old wood to creak as he pokes his head into the bedroom. An imprint of your body still dips into the mattress from this morning, but it’s gone cold. He was going to stay politely stationed in the doorway until the thought flickers across his mind that you’ve left. Got too scared of the brute whose home you’re trapped in and ran off. Away. Hiding from the world — from Marco. 

There’s little reprieve to be found when he notices the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door, but it’s smothered the moment he hears you crying. They’re pathetic, stifled pules. Ones you attempt to desperately hide, yet they bleed out of you anyway. He wants to leave you alone, to let your emotions wash over you, but he can’t. 

Even with your crying, the house is too quiet. 

“Everythin’ alright?” 

Both his voice and knock startle you, and your sobbing swells. Breathing out of control, he can hear you choke on the snot flowing through your sinuses. You’re panicked, and he realizes that this is more than grief. More than anxiety. More than fear. 

You’re terrified. 

You’re standing in the bathtub like a scared cat when Riley opens the door. Tears stream down your face. Relentless. They nearly glisten as bright as the kitchen knife in your hand. 

You told yourself it would be easier for him to clean up the mess of your corpse if you killed yourself in the bathtub. Blood festers and rots in the smallest of crevices, but there’s none of that to be found in the ceramic that surrounds you. However, you’re having trouble getting any blood to flow at all. You’re not sure if it’s you or the knife, but you’re hardly able to break the skin on your wrists. The crimson blood that flows through your minor cuts feels trivial. There needs to be more. 

It’s not enough. You’re scared that you might have to stab yourself. Spill your guts in the tub. Witness your offals for yourself before you fade away. Something. You want to die, but you don’t want it to hurt. 

You don’t want it to hurt, but you need to leave. 

“Hey. Hey, easy now.” Riley feels as if he’s talking to an animal. Some feral cat poised to bite and scratch if he’s not cautious. He approaches you with his palms faced out in surrender, and the walls around you seem to close in. “You don’t wanna do this sweetheart. Give me the knife.” 

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t do this. You-You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Marco he... It’s- I- fuck, I can’t. I can’t do this, please just let me do this.” 

Each word is muffled. So far from your ears that it hardly reaches you. Still, they spew along with your cries. It doesn’t deter Riley from closing in on you. Swallowing the spit building on your tongue, you hold the knife with both hands. A simple kitchen blade, now brandished like a weapon. It’s nearly laughable. You couldn’t even kill yourself. How can you expect to hurt him? 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay, but I can’t do that if you’re not here.” His words feel stupid in his mouth, but he knows he has to try something. “Please. Give me the knife. I don’t wanna hurt you. Hey, give- fuck.” 

There’s a lunge. Grabbing. Blade on skin. Blood on tile. 

Riley meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt you, but you still cry out as he yanks you out of the tub. Once again, your back is against his chest. You are enveloped by him as the two of you sink onto the bathroom floor, held down by his weight, and it is then that you truly can no longer hold yourself together. Vision darkening, chest ceasing; you panic. It rips through you with shaking hands and writhing legs, causing your feet to kick at the dull kitchen knife at your feet. 

For a moment, you are lost. Consumed by overwhelming grief and fear, and still Riley holds you through it all. You feel his heart beating against your spine, feel the exhale of his lungs dance on the top of your head. It’s a flicker in the darkness. In the primal fear of knowing you are still somehow chained to the man who has abused you for countless years. 

Dread transcends physical space. Marco planted it inside of you the first time his lips found the quiver in your throat. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.” 

Riley’s voice fades in like radio static. Disconnected and muffled, yet growing evermore clear. Then, it hits all at once. The slight sting of your wrists and the ache in your leg. Did you trip? You feel the growing bruise pulse and throb on your shin, and another one in your hip. It’s hardly bearable, but neither of them are as uncomfortable as the warm, sticky mess seeping into your shirt. 

It takes several seconds for you to realize it’s blood. 

“There, good. It’s alright,” Riley whispers. His voice is thick — heavy enough to make your stomach sink. 

“Am- Am I bleeding?” you stutter. 

“No, you’re alright. Don’t worry ‘bout the blood.” 

But you do. You worry about it because you don’t want it to hurt, you don’t even think you want to die anymore — you just want it gone. For it to dissolve around you, or for you to waste away into dust. Your chin rests against your chest as you look for the source, scouring your own body for the wound. Your wrists, your arms your legs —

— the wound is on Riley. 

Blood gushes through a gash on the top of his forearm, obscuring your view of the damage. It’s just as steady as every stream you ever used to jump over as a child. It slices through the meticulously crafted ink that graces his skin, and you feel as if you’ve cut through the canvas of a painting. Ruined something good. Something more useful than yourself. More than that, you hurt him. 

“Oh my god, your arm,” you gasp. 

“It’s nothing,” Riley attempts to assure. 

“There’s so much blood, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s nothing,” he reiterates. “Just a cat scratch, sweetheart.” 

His cat scratch takes twenty minutes to patch up. You count the time on the ticking of his wristwatch as you lay in his bed. Body too weak and afflicted with malaise to make something of yourself, you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him hiss and grunt. It’s the blood, you’re sure. Despite the flow, he manages to smother it to nothing more than a scab beneath pristine dressings. 

It takes him another ten minutes to clean you up. He assesses the wounds you left on yourself — shallow horizontal cuts along the delicate skin of your wrists. You stare at them as he cleans and bandages them, and you tell yourself the sting from the antiseptic is what makes your eyes water. 

You’ve created a mess for nothing, and Riley is the one paying for it. 

“There.” He secures the last piece of tape on the gauze. It feels unnecessary. Band-aids would have sufficed, and you tried to tell him as much only for him to mutter something about infections. “Not too tight?” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” 

Content, he hums as he steps away from the bed, gathering up items off of the nightstand. You watch as his fingers swallow rolls of tape, forearm flexing beneath his own dressings. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, your heart lurches, as the guilt pierces through you like a blade. You’re not sure why it lurks. Is it because you hurt him? Because you tried to leave a corpse for him to come home to? 

“I’ll get you some water. Ought to take that pill sooner rather than later,” Riley says, turning to leave the room. 

He only makes it a few steps before you stop him. “I lied.” 

Pausing, his eyes find you with more confusion than you expected. “Yeah?” 

“I lied about… needing the pill. I just said it so you would leave,” you admit. You push yourself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side of the mattress to sit and properly look at him. “When… I first… Marco used to make me take birth control. Like, the actual pills. I got pregnant anyway. Made me get the IUD after that. It’s more effective, so I don’t think I’ll really need it. I mean, I’ve never needed it before, so…” 

Listening, Riley nods as you bare the raw parts of yourself. It’s impossible to share without that warble in your tone — that pain that always leaks into your voice — but in some strange way, it feels good. Refreshing. You’re airing out an old, festering wound that hasn’t ever seen the light of day. 

“You got a kid to take care of? If they’re with Marco-” 

“No,” you interrupt. Riley’s words die on his tongue. “No, he… he made me get an abortion, too. It’s for the best, really. Kids shouldn’t be around that monster anyway.” 

Again, he nods. The house feels loud. Every inch of the four walls around you seems to buzz with an energy you’re not privy to. 

“Well, some water wouldn’t hurt. Food wouldn’t either, since you never finished breakfast,” he continues as he turns. “Want anything specific?” 

He’s so… casual. Nonchalant despite the trauma you subjected him to. He should be angry with you. Furious at having made a mess; at having hurt him. His entire life was turned upside down the very same moment yours was — he should hate you for it, but he doesn’t. 

“Whatever’s easiest.” The floorboards are loose by the door. They squeak as he crosses the threshold, and you feel your stomach lurch. “Riley?” 

Pausing, he turns on his heel as his head pokes back into the room. “Yeah?” 

So calm. So patient. 

“Thank you. For everything. I just… Thank you, Riley,” you choke. 

For the first time since he caught you in that club, he smiles; small and kind. 

“Just Simon to you, yeah?”

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[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 4

Summary: Wanda and R have their first date ;)

Wanda: Sorry I missed you before you left for work. Wanna come over for dinner with us?

Y/N: Would love to :)

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just got dumped” Darcy says as you smile at your phone.

“Who got what?”

“Carol and Maria…”

“No one dump me, there was no relationship to end” you say, locking your phone. You have noticed that Carol has been avoiding you, which is pretty idiotic, considering a lot of the trauma cases that come your way are ortho related.

That would also explain why Kamala rambled so much every time you requested a consult, so you made a note to speak to Carol about it.

“So…” Darcy ponders, and you wish she’d just drop it. She snaps her fingers. “The hot mom!”

“Her name is Wanda, and we are just talking” you refuse to look at her, knowing she can smell the bullshit from miles away.

“Something tells me talking wasn’t the only thing you did with your mouths” she insists, pulling on your sleeve.

“Fine! We kissed and it was awesome! Happy, you little pestering gnome?”

“Yes, lesbian whore. Congrats on securing a ticket to MILF paradise”

“Fuck you”

“Doctor Y/L/N” Kamala enters the room as you give Darcy the middle finger. “I can come back! Sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done” you mumble as Darcy cackles. The joy doesn’t last long, as you steal her chips. She’s too distracted making fun of you to notice.

“Hey, not fair”

You close the door and go after the resident.

“Hey, Kamala”

“Oh, hi. Doctor Danvers asked me to show you some X-Rays”

“Tell Doctor Danvers to show me herself. Or better yet, I will go directly to her. Where can I find her, Doctor Kahn?”

“Uh… I…”

“Never mind, I’ll ask Maria” you turn to leave  and Kamala screeches in horror.

“OR 2. She’s in OR 2. Please don’t do it, my Baba will never forgive me if I get kicked out of the program” the young doctor clings to your arm.

“Kamala. Get it together. It’s gonna be fine. If Carol gets mad, you can be in my service for a week” you promise and she barely stops hyperventilating.

By the time you reach the OR, Carol is done with her surgery. She stops in her tracks when your eyes meet.

“Doctor Danvers, a word?” you ask, trying to sound professional.

“Of course” she nods. Leading you to an empty scrub room, Carol opens the door for you, fidgeting. “What’s up?”

“Stop making everything so awkward. I’m not mad at you. Kamala is about to have a stress induced stroke from all the consults you send her to avoid me”

“You’re really not mad?” Carol says.

“No! I never expected anything else from you. We didn’t talk about it but I always knew what your true feelings were”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, honestly. Just, stop acting like you left me at the altar or some weird shit. We’re colleagues and friends”

“That makes me happy. I didn’t want to stop talking to you” she relaxes. “Though I have to be honest, I told Maria what happened between us”

“Is she mad?”

“Only a bit and just to me. I’ll manage to turn it around” the blonde smiles, a dreamy look on her eyes.

“If it helps, tell her I have a date on Thursday” you say, leaving the room, Carol right behind you.

“Oh, let me guess. The hot mom?” she jokes.

“Her name is Wanda!” you repeat.

“Well, let me know how the date goes?” Carol pats your shoulder, and you nod.

“Will do. Now page your resident and tell her we’re all set before she gets admitted to the Psych ward”

—

The footsteps approaching on the other side make your heart jump. You wonder if the flowers are too much, but when Wanda sees them, her face lights up and you know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on in” Wanda says, taking the flowers and then standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. “The boys are in the living room”

“Want some help with the food?”

“No, I’m almost done. It will be more helpful if you entertain the twins for a little” she says, pulling the flowers close to her chest.

“Alright, then” you’re about to kiss her when the boys walk in. They’re so excited to see you that they don’t notice how close you are to their mother.

“Y/N” Billy says, running towards you.

“Hey, kiddos” you pick them up, carrying them over your shoulder and they giggle. “Come on, there’s a new game I wanna show you”

You take your time to set everything up, explaining a bit about the game. They giggle as Crash jumps and turns in the sand of the first level, and you finish it all, including the tricky jump at the end.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Me” Tommy says, sitting next to you. They are both focused on the game, so you take advantage of the distraction to go see Wanda.

Sliding into the kitchen, you grab her by the waist.

“You scared me” she laughs, allowing you to press against her back, kissing her temple. “What’s going on?”

“I have approximately fifty seconds before they ask for my help so I’m making sure they count” you turn her around and lean forward, capturing her lips and sighing against her mouth. “You look very pretty”

“Thank you”

“You smell really nice” you add, kissing her again, making Wanda laugh. “And I really, really, like kissing you”

Wanda smiles at that, her hand caressing your cheek.

“Y/N!” the boys chant in unison.

“Like clockwork” you mutter, kissing Wanda’s forehead as you go back to the living room.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the kids, until Wanda calls everyone for dinner.

“How’s the arm, kiddo?” you say, sitting next to Billy with Tommy and Wanda in front of you. As you take a bite of the chicken, you notice a funny flavor. “Is this brocc…”

Wanda widens her eyes and kicks you under the table.

“Ouch”

“You ok?” Tommy asks, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I just bit my tongue” you lie, Wanda taking a sip of her water to hide her laugh.

“Kids, eat” she encourages them, and you get the hint. The flavor of the broccoli is hidden with the cheese, so you smile and continue to eat, enjoying every single bite.

“I’m on cleaning duty” you say as soon as everyone finishes, taking the dishes and cleaning the table.

Billy and Tommy run to the living room to continue playing, and as you get ready to wash the dishes, Wanda leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“It’s nice to have you here”

“You have an odd way of showing it, Miss Maximoff” you joke, leaning against her touch.

“In my defense, it’s the only way to get them to eat their greens” she jokes and you lean forward, your lips inches away from hers. In that precise moment, the boys call for her.

“Behave” she warns the children, pulling away to see what the fuss is about.

“Have you thought about boarding schools?” you joke and she pinches your side. “Ah, kidding! I would miss them too much”

You load the dishwasher, clean the pots and put the rest of the food on some containers. By the time you’re done, the kids are getting ready to go to bed.

“Can you come over again tomorrow?”

“If your mom wants me to, sure. I can bring the food this time so she takes a break from cooking” you offer, smiling at Wanda.

“We’ll see about that, Y/N works hard enough as it is. Say goodbye to her, boys”

Tommy and Billy wave at you, already dragging their feet. You stay on the living room, and a few minutes later Wanda comes down.

“Hi” she plops down next to you and you smile.

“All good?”

“A bit tired, that’s all. Just ignore me, you’re the one that works all those crazy hours”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it by now” you shrug your shoulders.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Sure, I don’t have work tomorrow”

“How come?” Wanda asks when she returns, handing you a glass of red wine and sitting closer to you on the couch.

“Well, I have a really hot date coming up and I need to plan every detail”

“She sounds like a lucky girl” Wanda blushes, biting her lip.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one” you say, placing both of your glasses on the coffee table. “She’s smart, funny, has legs for days, cooks amazing food…”

“Stop” she laughs, and you shake your head no. Wanda is still laughing when you connect your lips with hers, a sigh leaving her mouth when you lift her and place her on your lap, her legs straddling you.

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah” she nods, leaning her forehead against yours. “More than ok. As a matter of fact, I remember reading that kissing is good for your health”

“It’s so good” you say, your lips traveling to her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. “I’d say do it as often as possible”

“Doctor’s orders?” Wanda jokes, her voice faltering as you come back to her mouth, your tongue swiping across her bottom lip.

“Doctor’s orders”

—

The plan is coming along. You have the tickets for the exhibit and the next thing on the list should be the dinner reservation. Your pager beeps the minute you call the restaurant. 

911.

“Shit” 

You sprint to the car, knowing no one would call you outside of work if it wasn’t serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you walk to the ER, looking around.

“What on Earth is this?” Tony Stark, neurosurgeon and professional asshole gets in your face the minute you get there.

“I don’t know, I’ve been off work since yesterday, Stark” you take the chart, reading all the information until you get to the signature. The writing got progressively worse, until it was just senseless lines.

“This person was clearly having a stroke, and the staff didn’t notice. I have to scrub in and see if I can save his life”

“And you’re wasting time arguing with me” you roll your eyes, pushing the chart to his chest and walking to the OR.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To scrub in. If you want to blame me, that’s fine. I’m staying by this patient’s side until he pulls through”

“If he pulls through” Stark says angrily and you ignore him. 

Before scrubbing in, you check your phone.

Wanda: Is everything ok? I saw you leaving in a hurry. 

“By all means, take your time” Stark says, glaring as he walks by you.

You spend the entire surgery in his OR, standing still and doing everything he asks. He’s a rude, pretentious cunt, but if anyone can work a miracle, it’s him, so you suck it up and take every snide comment with a blank stare.

After hours working, Tony sighs, nodding at his work. 

“Close him, Parker,” he asks his resident. You stand watching the young man’s work, until the surgeon asks you to come with him.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out the minute you step out. “This wasn’t your patient, nor your responsibility. And I made it seem like it was”

“It’s still not right. If I had been here, I would have noticed”

“I know. Your work is impeccable” he acknowledges and you nod. Even if he’s an ass, this is the hospital his father built, and he’s a genius with years ahead of you in experience.

“Will he be alright?”

“There’s a good chance he’ll pull through. Let’s be cautiously optimistic. I’ll let Parker explain everything to the family. Sorry for interrupting your days off”

“Not a problem” 

“It’s the first time you’ve taken PTO in 3 years. Fury’s gonna have my head for making you come” Tony says, laughing.

The patient is moved to the ICU, but you’re still not comfortable leaving, so you go back to the on-call room, sitting in a bed to gather your thoughts. Yelling in the hallway makes you stand up, watching as Parker tries to speak to a man and his wife. 

“You discharged him, said he was fine” the man yells, pointing at Peter’s face. 

“Sir, I can assure you, we’re doing our best to make sure your son…”

“We wanna see him now” the man takes Peter by his coat, almost lifting him off the ground. The young man stutters, not knowing how to deescalate the situation.

“Hey, that’s enough” you step in, not realizing the man is about to throw a punch until you make him drop Peter, his elbow connecting with your cheek.

“Crap, Doctor Y/L/N, are you ok?” Peter says, rushing to your side.

“Yeah, fine”

Fucking fantastic. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to wait in the foyer, or I’ll call security” Carol steps in, glaring at the man. She waits until he’s gone, muttering an apology your way. “You ok?”

“Mhm, great”

“I thought you had a few days off”

“Yeah, me too”

“Come on, let’s have a look at that punch” Carol says, dragging you to one of the exam rooms. You sigh, trying to keep your eye closed. “No stitches needed”

“Great” you mumble, pulling out your phone. There’s like five messages from Wanda but before you can answer, she calls you.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you ok? You had me worried”

“Yeah, there was a thing at the hospital and I… ouch! Carol, a little warning?” you hiss as the blonde pours some disinfectant on the bruised skin.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy” Wanda says, her demeanor changing. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait, Wanda!” you say but it’s too late, the call cut off. “God, could this day get any worse? I have to go”

“Want me to drive you there?” Carol says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah. That will make Wanda so happy”

“Whipped” Carol jokes and you try to glare, but it hurts your eye.

Wanda barely put the kids to bed, when she hears a knock on the door. She’s prepared to give you an attitude but then sees your swollen cheek.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you, are you ok?” the brunette says, immediately forgetting she’s mad at you.

“It’s a long story. But that doesn’t matter. Listen, I know how it seems, I tell you I’m busy and when you call me I’m with Carol”

“I know you work together. It’s fine” Wanda lies.

“No, it’s not, come on”

“Ok, just come in and explain everything while I get you some ice, ok?”

“Thanks” you mutter, sitting at the kitchen counter. You fidget with your hands, not looking up until Wanda comes closer, her eyes soft as she moves the hair out of your face.

“Cold” she warns, placing a compress against your skin. You sigh with relief, holding her hand close.

“I’m sorry. I was called in to fix something I didn’t break”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Y/N” she says in a soft voice. “Is everyone ok? Is that how you got hurt?”

“Everyone’s ok. The parents were just pissed and I tried to break the fight”

“Does it hurt?” Wanda pulls the compress and examines the skin. It’s a little bruised, but not too swollen.

“It will later” you sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can kiss it better”

“Is that what Carol was doing earlier?” Wanda tilts her head, a dangerous look in her eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, come on! Not fair!”

“I’m kidding” she says, finally kissing you softly. You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in 12 hours. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, you were saving lives”

“What you feel is valid. Don’t apologize for it, ok? I’ll always listen to you, I promise” you kiss her hand, smiling when she blushes. “We’re still up for our date, right?”

“We can reschedule, you must be exhausted”

“Not a chance” you say, pulling her closer again. “I’ve been waiting too long for this”

“Well, alright. If you insist” she pecks your lips and you nod.

“I do”

“I have an… odd request” she says, avoiding your eyes.

“I won’t kink shame you, I promise”

“Can you be serious for just a second?” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. You make a motion to keep quiet, and let her speak. “Can you… pick me up around the block?”

“I can. But why am I doing it?”

“First of all, if the kids see you, they’ll want to tag along. And also… I’m not trying to be pessimistic here, I just want to protect them. It’s been the three of us since they were born and I’ve never even dated anyone, let alone someone they know” she takes a deep breath, hoping you won’t get upset.

“Billy and Tommy come first, always” you nod. “I agree to the new rule, or I can wear glasses and a fake mustache”

“Nope” she shakes her head, covering your mouth with her hand.

“A bald cap then” you mumble against her palm.

She figures the only way to make it stop is by kissing you and she leans forward, her lips against yours. You smile dreamily as she pulls apart.

“Now. Would you like some dinner?” Wanda offers, and you almost drop to your knees.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Wanda Maximoff”

The way she blushes and giggles makes up for all the shitty things that happened in the past hours.

—

“There’s food and snacks, a list of phone numbers on the fridge in case of an emergency”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff,” Morgan says, following the woman around the house. It’s her first time babysitting the twins, but Wanda has known the girl since she started giving her private art lessons and trusts her.

“Boys, I’m leaving” Wanda calls, the kids standing up from the table to hug their mom goodbye. “Be good to Morgan, ok?”

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks.

“A work thing” she lies, feeling terrible about hiding the truth from the twins. But still, she knows it’s for the best to keep this private.

She waves goodbye one last time and walks past the house, noticing your car is no longer in the driveway. Her heart beats fast at the expectation of an evening together.

“Hey, gorgeous” you greet, leaning against the passenger door. “You look absolutely stunning”

You admire how amazing she looks in a pair of jeans, a white tee and a long sleeve sweater.

“So do you” she kisses you, smiling as you open the door to the car.

“Thanks, the purple eye gives my look a nice touch” you say as you begin the drive.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough” you say, hoping she likes the surprise. “First stop” you announce, opening the car door for Wanda and looking at the building in front of you. 

“Artechouse. Oh, I’ve heard about this” Wanda nods, intrigued.

“I did too, but never made the time to go. Come on” you lead her to the entrance, showing your tickets. “There’s a small bar if you wanna have a drink before we go in” 

“Let’s go in now” she says, looking everywhere. 

You think it’s a good sign that she’s so interested in the exhibit, so you lead her to the start, both of you gasping as you enter a room that is projecting videos of flowers from floor to ceiling. Wanda’s hand searches yours in the dark, and you smile shyly as she holds it, walking around the room.

The intimacy of the place allows you to come closer, sharing everything you see in a low voice and enjoying the show. 

“Check this out” you say, lifting your arm, the animation following your movements. Wanda lets out a laugh, doing the same.

Each room enchants Wanda even more, the next installation featuring plants that react to the touch with light and sound. Your favorite by far is the tree that reacts differently if you’re holding hands or hugging. As you walk up to it, Wanda is still holding your hand and you both look at the screen. Well, she’s looking at the projection and you’re looking at her, thinking how beautiful she is. 

Taking a step forward, your arms go around her waist and you smile, admiring how the images change.

“It’s beautiful” Wanda whispers, turning to you. “You’re not looking” 

“I have the best view right in front of me” you smile, happy when she kisses you softly.

Wanda takes her time examining everything and once she’s done, you walk to the exit. 

“That was amazing. I forgot how much I enjoy these things. Thank you, Y/N”

“Glad you liked it” 

“Best first date I’ve had,” she smiles.

“Oh, this is only the first part. You don’t really think I’d forget about the food, right?” 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a very fancy option but I don’t feel like going with this thing on my face” you point at the bruise, annoyed. “If you’re feeling adventurous we could try something different?” 

“You look perfectly fine, darling” she kisses your cheek. “But I’m up for an adventure, so lead the way” 

“Awesome” you hold her hand, walking down the street and away from the museum. This is your favorite part of town, close to the pier and the little shops that are open until late. 

You walk down the promenade, showing Wanda some of the places you love. There’s a small gallery, a cafe, and other shops. 

“We’re here” you announce, pointing excitedly at the kebab shop. “This is fine, right? We can still go to the fancy place if you like”

“Sorry this place isn’t fancy enough for you, Majesty” the owner pops out of nowhere, scaring you.

“Samir! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your food”

“Mhm” he glares, but then smiles at Wanda. “What can I get for you, angel?”

“Well, what’s good here?” Wanda wonders, not as familiar with the dishes. “Maybe a shawarma” 

“How about a kebab box, fries to share and a doner” you suggest, “And her shawarma, of course” 

“That’s a lot of food” she protests and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m always eating leftovers before I leave for work so it’s fine, babe” 

“Oh, well” she wants to scold you about your eating habits, but the pet name makes her dizzy. 

You pay and lead them to a small table outside, unaware of Wanda’s flustered state. You hand over a soda and open your can, taking a sip.

“We can go to other art shows whenever you want, you know? Even if I don’t understand anything, I do enjoy watching you” you smile, laughing as Wanda’s cheeks go red at the comment.

“I did enjoy it, thank you. You come here often?”

“I do, I love the food here. Samir noticed I came late because of my shifts and he always saved me some food. Nice fella” you turn to make sure he’s not listening. “But I promise I’ll take you to dinner to that other place when I don’t look like a raccoon”

“You don’t have to” 

“I kinda want to see you in a dress, all fancy like that time you left for another date” you smile at the memory of how beautiful she looked.

Wanda’s heart bursts with the way you look at her, complete adoration in your eyes. She’s almost left speechless, but her phone saves her. 

“It’s my brother” she apologizes, taking the call. “Hi, Pietro. No, I’m not with them. Because, I’m out. Of course with a babysitter, stupid” she rolls her eyes, and then switches to a language that you don’t understand, but sounds like Russian. You look at her in awe, until Samir calls for you to get the food. By the time you’re back at the table, Wanda already hung up.

“Sorry about that” 

“No, don’t worry. I guess I never asked, but are you Russian?”

“Sokovian” she corrects. “We moved to the States when Pietro and I were ten” 

“Wow. I never… you don’t even have an accent” 

“It slips up from time to time, especially if I’m angry or… flustered” Wanda says, and you almost choke on the food, thinking of all the ways you could make it come out. 

“Oh, well” you clear your throat. “Is your brother ok?”

“Yeah, he wanted to ask the boys something about video games that I don’t understand. I’m sure you would” 

“I don’t know, my knowledge is limited to things that existed when I was a kid. How’s the food?”

“Amazing. Wow” Wanda says, pleased with the flavor of the meat and how it compliments the rice and dips.

“See? We’re good enough for a first date” Samir shouts from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to our conversation” you shout back and he grumbles. Wanda smiles, thinking of something she’s wanted to ask for a while now.

“Do you ever visit your family?” 

“No, not really” you shake your head. “I pretty much left for college and never returned. Except this one Christmas, where I was feeling kind of lonely and tired. I just wanted to be home, but everything was so different, my half siblings were just too much to handle for anyone… and I didn’t even know what to do, no one bought me a present because I was never around and they just thought I’d be gone like last year”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“It’s fine” you shrug your shoulders. “I know it’s weird, but I like my life, you know? My colleagues are great, I’m doing what I love… and if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s their loss” Wanda smiles, kissing you. You smile against her lips. “You can always spend the holidays with us, you know? I mean, it’s too soon to talk about it, I’m just saying”

“That would be nice” you interrupt her rambling. “Now, I have something very important to ask. Out of all the neighbors, which one is the most annoying and why?”

“Well, I’d say it’s… Agatha”

“Harkness! Yes! I knew you disliked her too” 

Wanda laughs and you keep the conversation going. By the time you’re done, you pay and leave a big tip for Samir, who gives you a hug as you leave the store.

“I’m so full” Wanda says, patting her stomach. 

“I know. Oh, you want ice cream?” you say, remembering the gelato store that is a few shops ahead. 

“You just said you were full!”

“It’s ice cream, come on” you take her hand, and pay for two cones. Wanda orders strawberry while you opt for chocolate.

“How is it?” you ask as you walk down the pier, enjoying the view. 

“Amazing, have some” she offers the cone, but you kiss her instead. “That’s not what I meant” Wanda laughs against your lips.

“Well, it tastes amazing to me” you say, leaning forward and chasing after her soft lips, the flavor lingering as you deepen the kiss. Wanda sighs against your mouth, pulling you closer until your hand goes down her waist. “Best ice cream I’ve ever had” 

“Yeah” Wanda nods, her eyes closed. You peck her lips one last time, and continue your walk, still talking about everything you can think of, enjoying each other’s company.

When she checks the time more than once you get the hint, ready to go home.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being annoying, we can stay longer” 

“It’s ok, I know you like to be home early. Come on, we can drink wine or I’ll let you go to bed”

You rest your hand on Wanda’s leg for the entire ride home, unaware that your touch is making the woman restless. When you’re close to your house, you stop exactly where you picked Wanda up.

“I can just park at home, right? The boys are probably asleep”

“Yeah” Wanda nods, flustered. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when she moves forward, pulling you down for a rough kiss that takes your breath away. It’s a bit messy and desperate, and you ignore the strain of your seatbelt as Wanda pulls you closer to her, sighing against your mouth.

“You can’t park here!” an annoying person knocks on your window and you both break apart. “Oh, my! Wanda? Doctor Y/L/N?”

Damn it, it’s Agatha Harkness. Your nosy, annoying neighbor. Rolling down the window and smoothing your clothes, you smile at her.

“Hey, Miss Harkness. Sorry, I’ll move right now” 

“No, don’t worry” she gives you a sly smile. “Have a good night, you two love birds”

“Night, Agatha” Wanda says and you turn on the car, finally parking in your driveway.

“That was fun” you comment, opening the door for Wanda and crossing the street to walk her home.

“Yeah, just our luck” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. “Wanna come in? Or do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Not until Saturday. Come on” you let her lead you to her house, opening the door as quietly as possible. Wanda sees Morgan at the kitchen table, doing her homework.

“How did everything go?”

“Great, they went to sleep an hour ago” 

“Morgan Stark?” you greet, closing the door behind you. 

“You two know each other?” Wanda says.

“Yeah, my parents work at the hospital with Doctor Y/L/N” Morgan says, waving at you. “Nice to see you” 

“Did you drive here? Or want me to take you home?” 

“It’s fine, I drove here” she says, and you hand over some money before Wanda can pay her. 

“Drive safely, ok? Don’t want your dad giving me crap on the next meeting”

“Will do. Good night, Miss Maximoff”

“Night, Morgan”

“You didn’t have to pay for that too” Wanda says, kissing you. “But thank you” 

“Anytime. How do you know Morgan?” you nod when she offers you a glass of wine and you walk to the living room with her.

“I’m giving her private art lessons. She’s really good. Had no idea her parents were doctors”

“Not just any doctors, baby” you say, taking a sip. “Tony’s father built the hospital we work in. And he’s done some amazing research in neurosurgery. Pepper is also one of the best plastic surgeons in the world” 

“Wow, Morgan is so sweet and down to Earth”

“She gets that from her mom, Tony can be an ass” you mutter and Wanda laughs. “So, did I secure a second date?”

“A third one as well. But only if I can pay for the next one”

“Nu-uh. I’m spoiling you, baby” you say, your hand going to her leg. You notice how Wanda’s cheeks turn red, and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the contact. “Come here”

You take her glass of wine, approaching her slowly and kissing her. It’s tender at first, but then your hands travel to her lower back, and Wanda moans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss, sighing when she pushes you on your back, climbing on top of you.

Wanda kisses down your neck, biting slightly. The sudden nip makes your hips jolt forward, and she has to hold back another moan.

“I don’t know how you do it” she says, shivering when your hands travel down and cup her ass through her jeans.

“Do what, baby?”

“Drive me crazy with just one touch”

“Let me take care of you” you ask, kissing her, your hands going all the way to the front of her pants.

“Mom?”

“Shit” she mutters, both of her hands covering your mouth. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirsty,” Tommy says.

“Alright, don’t come down, I’ll be right there, ok?” she says, hoping the boy hasn’t noticed anything strange. But he’s too sleepy so he just agrees and returns to his room. “I’m sorry”

She removes her hands from your mouth, helping you up.

“It’s fine, I enjoy the choking but just give me a heads up”

“Stop” she says, blushing. “I’ll be right back. Unless, you want to go? I’m sorry”

“I can stay” you nod, smiling at her disheveled state.

“Alright, I’ll be back” Wanda promises, pecking your lips.

You sit up, fixing your hair and taking a sip of the wine to calm down.

“Everything ok?” you say as Wanda comes down. She nods, smiling and sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just didn’t think they’d be up. Maybe… we could wait a bit? When I’m not worried about the boys walking in on anything”

“Of course. Come here” you open your arms, and she settles, leaning her head against your shoulder. You kiss her temple. “Wanna watch some tv?”

“What about a sitcom? I love watching those”

“Like Friends?”

“Like Bewitched or… The Dick Van Dyke show” she says and you laugh, completely caught off guard by the suggestion.

“You’re fascinating, Wanda Maximoff” you say, handing over the remote, ready to watch whatever she wants.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ace Trappola - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

When Summoned: Yaaaawn, sooo sleepy... But it's a waste to keep sleeping! I think I'll roll around in bed some more.

Summon Line: Since it's my birthday, that means I can pretty much get away with askin' for whatever I want, right? Wonder what I should get my roommates to do for me...

Groooovy!!: No way, I overslept!? No way I can hit up the school with bedhead on my birthday of all days!

Home: Whew, now I'm feelin' fresh～

Swap Looks: Guess I'ma go wash m'face...

Home Idle 1: I couldn't find the shirt I was gonna wear tomorrow, but it ended up being mixed in with my roommate's stuff. Annoyin' how that happens sometimes.

Home Idle 2: Ruggie-senpai forced some vegetable seeds into my hands. He said I better share some with him when I harvest 'em... Would this even grow that much?

Home Idle 3: You wanna know about this hoodie? I bought it at a clothing shop in Foothill Town. It's pretty comfy, and also perfect to wear as loungewear, don'tcha think?

Home Idle - Login: Don't birthday mornings just feel special? I'm so jazzed I even get really into doin' up my hair!

Home Idle - Groovy: Kalim-senpai threw me a huge party as a celebration even though I'm not in Scarabia... Maaan, he's always so insanely nice!

Home Tap 1: Sometimes I'll play darts or card games with my roommates. 'Though, there's one loud-mouthed, thick-headed idiot that's always gettin' in the way!

Home Tap 2:I can't even imagine what kind of present Malleus-senpai could pick for me～ I guess I got nothing to lose by asking him... Nah, never mind.

Home Tap 3: I got softer hair, so I get bedhead super easily. Man, I've been late so many times 'cause of it!

Home Tap 4: I was messin' with Sebek, pushing his buttons and sayin' he probably sucks at gift-giving, when he shouted, "I'll show you what I can really do!" Ahaha, oh, I totally can't wait to see what he comes up with～

Home Tap 5: Eh, my hair's sticking out in the back!? Ugh, seriously? I thought I fixed it up. Guess I'll hafta fix it up in a flash during break.

Home Tap - Groovy: You like my taste in loungewear? I knew you'd get me. And see, I even picked these sandals in the same color to give it an overall coordinated look!

Duo: [ACE]: Can't wait to see how you'll celebrate with me, Kalim-senpai! [KALIM]: Let's dance, sing, and party hard, Ace!

Birthday Login Message: Oh hey, did you come to celebrate my birthday? Nice timing, we just finished morning basketball practice! My clubmates all wished me a happy birthday, too. Jamil-senpai said it as soon as he saw me, and by some miracle, Floyd-senpai gave me a very normal birthday greeting. I'm sure glad he was in a good mood～ Oh, hey. We should hit the Mystery Shop between classes. ...Hm? Why're you tensin' up? Huuuh? C'mon, I didn't say nothing about treating me, now diiid I? Hehe, see you later～

Requested by Anonymous.

[ivybucky]

lightning in a bottle - logan howlett x reader

mutant!reader nearly harms the team in a moment of panic and feels unable to deal with the aftermath, but logan is there to bring you back in more ways than one

a/n: i have so many ideas besties... currently have a list of 5 fic ideas and this is the first one I was able to flush out. here's some angst with happy ending for ya (no smut)

content: angst with happy ending, lots of electricity(literally), mentions of torture and screaming, mentions of mutant experimentation, implications of shitty birth family, confession of feelings, reader crying, sad reader, angry/sad logan

words: 2329

~~~~~

All you could think about was the lightning. 

You remember walking into the room, where the footage of your torture was displaying blatantly across the TV news cycle, the team sitting there and watching with rapt attention. “Mutant Experimentation Footage Leaked” scrolled across the screen. You remember the static tingling in your fingertips as you recognized what you were watching. Your own cries echoed from the speakers as footage of Stryker’s experimentation on you from a month prior when you had been captured is played to the nation. 

“Turn it off,” you had said quietly, pleadingly. The team’s gaze snaps to your silhouette in the door frame. Their eyes held sorrow, and something else that you did not want to see. 

“Y/N-” Storm had started to speak, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“Turn it off, now,” you’d said, clenched fists at your side as the panic began to swell, small flares of electricity flaring around your knuckles. Memories of the torture, the agony, the hatred came rushing back all at one and your eyes couldn’t leave the screen as it continuously replayed it. 

As the feeling heightening, electricity cracked in the air. Your eyes lit up, a bright purple gleam taking over. There was too much silence in the room, the sounds of your screams playing in a loop like a broken record as the news team played the footage over and over. Finally, someone broke it. “Y/N,” Logan had spoken up, an odd, unfamiliar tone in his voice. Good god, was that pity?

“What?” You had snapped, finally looking away from the footage and making eye contact with the team, with Logan, and you understood it wasn’t pity you heard in his voice, but a form of fear. Your anger slowly dissipated as you took in the state of the room - everyone in that room (who wasn’t bald) had hair floating up into the air, falling under the influence of the clouded electricity that filled the ceiling, just as one is before they get struck by lightning. 

And gods above you had almost struck them. 

Your fists fell lax at your sides, realization of the height of your emotions, the loss of control taking over your features. “I-” you stuttered, unsure how to apologize for the pain you nearly inflicted. “I-I’m sorry.”

For a moment, no one moved a muscle, no one said a word. It wasn’t the first time you had lost control, but it was the first time any of them were in danger because of it. Everyone stood like statues, watching you with bated breath, as if you were one nudge away from electrocuting the masses. You turned and fled the room, quickly striding back to your room to inevitably lock yourself in. It was the only place you felt like you could be and not hurt anyone.

Hours had passed since, but you couldn’t shake the look on their faces, the pure fright they showed, caused by you. Decidedly, that wouldn’t happen again - you wouldn’t allow it, in any capacity. Would they always fear you now? Could you manage to stay surrounded by people you loved, but knew there would always be a limit to how far their love for you went? Could you withstand the constant pins and needles your family would walk on around you, again?

It was that thought that had you hurriedly shuffling through your closet to find the duffle bag you had lugged over your shoulder when you were originally picked up by X-Men. It was crumbled into a wrinkled ball on the top shelf, thought to no longer have any use. 

You paced around the room, picking up the things you knew you couldn’t leave without. The students can go through my clothes, you thought with some sort of sad acceptance. Though, that didn’t keep you from packing some of the staples. The school logo printed on a t-shirt, an old sweatshirt that was singed from a fire fight in your first mission with the rest of the team, a stolen old flannel that smelt like smoke and whiskey-

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” You look up almost startled at Logan standing at the door to your bedroom, now cracked wide open. Logan… You’d nearly forgotten about the worst part - leaving him behind.

He leans against the door frame with a confused expression, arms crossed over his chest. You furrow your brows before turning back to the half-full duffle bag that sat on the foot of your bed. You knew you couldn’t look at him when you spoke again. 

“I’m leaving,” you nearly mutter and you stuff more clothes into the bag. You can feel your eyes getting hot, and try to take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he asks, his own brows furrowing. “Leaving for a mission?”

Your movements paused. You could tell the truth, but the reality was that he would try to stop you. And even if nothing had come out of the tension that hung between the two of you, you knew you would give in. 

“Yeah,” you swallowed as you lied. “Just a quick one, some intel gathering. I’m leaving sometime tomorrow morning.”

There was a brief pause, like Logan was trying to get a read on how truthful you were being. “Maybe I should come with you,” he says. “For backup, just in case.”

You clench your eyes shut - of course, he thought you needed to be accompanied. “I’ll be fine on my own,” your hands slow their movements as you place the last item in the bag, a gray zip up hoodie Logan had given you once. Were you saying that to reassure him, or yourself? You lied through your teeth like it was painful, as if the act of clenching your jaw so hard would break your bones and your will. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

There was another pause, and you were sure he was going to call your bluff, but he just clicked his tongue. “Well alright,” he said gruffly, almost dejectedly. His hand fiddled with the door frame for a moment hesitantly. “You know that if you need-“

“I know,” you interrupted, turning to give him a tight smile. “I know.” He gave a saddened half smile before nodding and walking away. 

The space he once occupied at the door was empty now, but for a moment you stared at as if he was still there, as if he was still trying to comfort you even when he didn’t know how. 

An errant tear slipped from your eye and trailed down your face for a moment before you snapped back into reality, wiping the tear away quickly with the heel of your hand. You aggressively zipped up the bag and slung it over your shoulder, eager to leave before anyone, mainly Charles, got an idea of your plan. 

With the click of the front door, and the clap of a thunderstorm on the dark horizon, you were gone. 

As Logan left your room, he externally winced at his inability to provide comfort - to you of all fucking people - as if the non-action hurt him. The pain on your face seeped into the air and into his adamantium bones, as if it was transferable through the longing gazes and secretly honeyed words. 

He hung his head and he slowly walked further down the hall, a part of him hoping he would hear your door creak open and hear you call out his name. Instead, he was met with the faint sniffles of a teary nose that only his heightened hearing could pick up, a scuffle of fabric being shoved tightly into the duffle that was then harshly zipped shut with a shuddering sigh.

He turned the corner to retreat to his room before he could hear any more, deciding to join the mission the next morning anyways. 

The following morning, Logan made his way to Charles, unexpecting wanting to make his intentions to follow her known to someone. He entered the room, Charles already staring directly at him with a face one could only describe as similar to an omniscient god.

“Logan,” Charles spoke, somewhat resigned. “She doesn’t have a mission.”

Logan paused in his step with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about? She said she was leaving this morning.”

“I did not give her one,” he confirms. “I have a feeling-”

Logan cut him off before the professor could continue. His jaw was clenched tight as he spoke the words. “She left.”

A tense silence took over the room, Charles watching Logan with a straight, yet dissecting gaze. Logan broke eye contact and looked away momentarily as he felt his heart sink to his stomach for the first time in decades. 

Finally, he looked back to Charles with a determined glare. “Where is she?”

The side of the professor’s mouth twitches up. 

—-

It only took two days for Logan to reach you. Charles was able to track your location easily as soon as he was asked. It took nothing for Logan to take the bike and peel out of the upstate town. Now, he stood in the rain staring at the shitty side-of-the-road motel with a simmering glare. 

His mind floated despondently in the air above him, completely unattached from his body as it stomped its way up the stairs and down the hall to your room. His fist banged on the door loudly, uncaring of its stability under his metal skeleton. His heightened exhaustion and emotions tethered him enough to not let his head fly too far away from him, but the reality was that he hadn’t slept since you left and the only words he spoke were to himself as he practiced what he would say to get you to return.

But then, the door swung open. His mind snapped back to his body as soon as he saw your face, but the pleas he had planned to beg left him just as quick. 

“You lied to me,” he growled, he accused, standing in the open door, his hands resting up on the door frame. The rain continued to pour just past the motel covering, evidence of its duration linger in the form of wet tracks down his leather jacket, the dampness of his hair, the drops that stuck to his face. 

“Logan-”

“You lied to me, Y/N,” he repeated, a new kind of angry heat simmering in his eyes. “You were not leaving for a mission.”

You take another deep breath. “‘M leaving for good,” you utter softly, your hands trembling slightly at the first out loud admission of what you had planned to do. You circled the back in the room, putting the cheap mattress in between you as some sort of barrier. The duffle bag he saw you packing days ago sat mockingly between you both. 

“Come on, what the fuck? ‘Leaving for good’?” He asks incredulously, taking a step forward and letting his arms drop to his sides. “You were going to leave the mansion, just like that?”

You stare at the duffle’s opening, having only reached that motel hours ago, not long enough to unpack the only remaining items you had. “I can’t stay, Logan,” you say softly, not moving to look at him. “No matter how careful I am, no matter how hard I try, I can’t control it, I can’t control me. Even Charles doesn’t know what to do with me, I-I had to leave, it’ll be better for everyone.”

“No,” he says defiantly, moving cautiously closer around the side of the bed. “Not everyone.”

The tears welled in your eyes at his words, unable to stop them from falling and you crossed your arms in front of you protectively, the tear-stained cuffs of the hoodie, his hoodie, pushed up your forearms. “Why are you here, Logan?”

“Why am I- are you stupid?” He scoffed, causing you to flinch at his harshness. “I’m here to bring you back. You’re not leaving the school, you’re not leaving me alone-”

“You don’t want me,” you cried, with tears streaming down your face as you shake your head. He can feel his heart break at the side of your distress. “None of you do. I nearly struck all of you the other day, just because I got emotional. I almost hurt you, and that’s the last thing you need, Logan.”

Logan quickly moves closer to stand in front of you and cups your cheeks, bringing your wet eyes to his. “Don’t you get it,” he says with a strained, rough voice. His thumbs sweep gently under your eyes to brush away the tears. “You are the only thing I need. Fuck everything and everyone else.”

Your hands come up to hold onto his wrist, keeping his hands exactly where they are on your face. “Logan-” you stutter as you search his eyes almost hopefully. “What are you saying?”

There’s a brief silence in between your soft sniffles and the sound of the rain on the other side of the motel door. When Logan speaks again, it is deliberate, and it’s what he wanted to say all along. “I’m saying I am nothing without you, sweetheart,” he urges, his thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth. “I was nothing before you, and I know that if you leave now, I’ll be nothing all over again. Not a single person in that school wants you to leave, me especially.”

You squeeze your eyes shut in time with the hopeful clenching of your heart, forcing tears out as you do so. You rest your forehead against Logan’s as he continues. “Please,” he nearly whispers, his nose bumping against yours. “Come home with me and turn nothing into something again.”

You nodded against him and spoke a wet “okay” before pressing your lips, finally, against his. And, just as you had predicted you would several nights ago, you gave in. 

_____

a/n: quickly posting this bc if i keep staring at it i'll never post it pls tell me how i did :D logan smut comin soon, pls like, comment, reblog

[winchester-with-wings]

Training Room Tension (Wolverine x f!Reader, smut)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!reader

Summary: Training is just another form of foreplay between you and Logan. That's why no one trains with you guys anymore. It's just awkward.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut with a hint of sappy love and security at the end, dirty talk, taunting, unprotected sex, biting, spanking, rough sex, Rest In Piece(s) to your undergarments hehe, takes place in the X-Mansion, reader is some type of invulnerable mutant like Logan.

Word count: 2400

Author's Note: First time writing in forever! Praise be to "Deadpool & Wolverine" for bringing back my love and lust for Hugh Jackman. Wolverine in particular is one of my first loves. Shout out to by Bitchachos for reassuring me this obsession was okay. Love you guys! Thanks for reading and thanks to @pagesofivy for the title suggestion! I'm picturing older, thicker Logan from the 70s cuz of that mirror scene iykyk. But also love these XMen gifs. Ah hell I can't pick a favorite. He has aged sooooo well.

Hope people enjoy this and please don't be afraid to let me know! Words of Affirmation is my love language. LOL

I made a wolverine sideblog too because I want to reblog everything Logan and D&W related hehe ----> @feral4wolverine

Mobile Masterlist

The team rarely trains with you and Logan in the same room anymore. For a good reason too. Sure, in short exercises, they can manage you guys. You're both part of the team after all, but the longer training scenarios, they'll make do without. They just know their feral, indestructible teammates will do their part in the real world fights.

Because as much as Logan admires your strength and determination...he also cannot stand it. You're stubborn. You're defiant. You're a tease and he can't take it anymore.

“You’re slowing down, babe, and pulling your punches,” you tease, dodging his swing and sweeping his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with a loud thud. He rolls over, grabbing your ankle before you can get back up. He drags you along the mats as he stands. “Ah, nonono!” you laugh, your arms waving and trying to get a grip on the floor. You get your other foot under you and turn yourself over trying to kick or hook your leg around his neck to take him down.

It doesn’t work this time but at least he lets go of your foot. Back on even ground, you’re swapping blows, punches, and blocks. You curse almost as much as he grunts.

"Run that pretty little mouth one more time," he growls, his arms interlocked with yours as he blocks your attack again.

"Or what, old man?" You push back, breaking his hold, your skin is slick with sweat and it gives you an advantage over Logan…in more ways than one. You’re slippery and fast and his reaction time is slower as his gaze lingers on every inch of exposed, glistening skin.

He pounces and were he not already so close, you would have been able to dodge him. Your feet don't have a chance to gain traction though as you scramble to get away. He swiftly grabs you by the waist, tossing you over his shoulder.

The action is fast enough that it steals your breath away. You're kicking and protesting as he carries you out of the gym. All the tech and weaponry in the Danger Room have borne the brunt of Logan's claws too many times, so the two of you have been banished to the school's gymnasium. Logan takes two stairs at a time as he carries you off in the direction of your shared room. It’s far from the student’s quarters and the walls are soundproof from back when Logan’s nightmares were more frequent. They’re all but gone since you maneuvered yourself into his life.

(It’s technically still his room only, but he was never going to ask you to move in, so you’ve just started sneaking things in and leaving items behind until it was obvious. You know he’s noticed and cleared space for your abandoned items in his dresser, closet, and bathroom. He’s just too stubborn to admit defeat. And you’re happy to spare his ego and let him be the one to finally mention it.)

If anyone in the mansion hears your grumbling and cursing, they tune you out–already accustomed to you and Logan bickering. Your protests die in your throat as you take a sharp intake of air when he smacks your ass, his large hand definitely leaving a stinging mark. If it's not already red, he may spank you one or two more times...especially if you mouth off.

Once in his room, he tosses you onto his bed but you bounce back up and try to shove past him, a half-assed attempt to keep playing cat and mouse, to make him chase you some more. He hooks you around the waist and throws you back on the bed, this time bearing down on top of you. His body is strong, solid, and heavy with adamantium as he pins you down, his chest vibrating with a growl.

"No more talking."

"Oh baby, that's not how I fuck," you moan and hook one of your legs around his waist. One hand grabs his ass, giving you leverage to grind against him.

"Such a filthy mouth," he snarls, his teeth grazing your jaw before he nips at your ear. His facial hair scratches at your skin, raising goosebumps along your flesh. Your nipples tighten and ache, desperate for his mouth.

"You love it."

His chest vibrates with another deep growl just before he claims your mouth, your lips smashing together hard enough that your teeth make contact, and your lips get caught in the crossfire. There's a brief taste of iron but whomever it belongs to heals quickly, the sting relieved as his tongue delves into your mouth.

"Can't...stand it...anymore. Can't take it," he groans as he kisses you. He pulls away just to kiss and bite along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

"Poor thing, powerless to resist me?" you keen, your breath hitching as he bites your neck a little harder, his tongue soothing it a second later. You grind your hips, answering with your own moans, proud of yourself for getting a rise out of him. Your nails dig into his back, definitely tearing at his shirt. He pulls his head back and hisses as the sensation rides the border between pain and pleasure. He reaches for you, his hands shackling your wrists and pinning your arms by your head.

"Be a good girl for once and don't move," he commands you, releasing your hands so that he can take off his shirt and rip off his belt. He yanks your pants down, getting increasingly agitated as he struggles with the fabric. With your shirt, he pulls it up until it bunches around your wrists, effectively shackling you. As for your sports bra and underwear…

"Nonono!"

SNIKT!

"Sonuvabitch!" you curse as he cuts the fabric with one of his claws. He just chuckles. He's slowed down just for a moment to drag a single claw down the middle of your sports bra, along the line of your cleavage. Your breasts spill out as he cuts the straps next. Your breasts are bared to him and he lavishes them with the attention you crave. You no longer keep your hands above your head as you card your fingers through his thick hair, pulling on it as you arch your back and press your breasts further into his hands and mouth. He bites at your supple flesh as his fingers knead your nipples into aching peaks. A mewling whimper escapes your lips as you roll your hips against him some more but his jeans are still on.

"Are you gonna fuck me, or do I need to get myself off?" you challenge him while biting your bottom lip. His answer comes after he slides a hand down your body and rubs your pussy through your soaked underwear.

"Nobody makes you come but me, sweetheart," he says gruffly, his own arousal evident in his voice before he kisses you again, deeply, passionately, possessive. He steals your breath away and when he lets you up for air you gasp, your chest heaving as he's pinned your breasts between you. You love the feeling of his chest hair against your skin.

"Then prove it…Bub," you gasp, surprising yourself and giggling at the use of the nickname. He shakes his head with amusement, only slightly cringing at your joke.

The next thing you know, he's sitting up, unzipping his jeans and ripping your underwear off without the use of his claws. (You don't wear your nicer panties when sparring with Logan is on the schedule.) The sports bra, you'd thought you could save. His dick is straining against his boxer briefs but you hardly get a glimpse of his perfectly thick cock before he's pushing inside you.

Normally, you like it when he fingers you first. When he stretches you out with two or three fingers while he tongues and sucks on your clit. You lament the opportunity for beard burn on your inner thighs but you’ll make up for that some other time. For now you’re just as desperate for him, as he is for you.

"Mmm fuck," he growls as he bottoms out. "So fucking tight. So wet. Love the scent of you on my sheets." He hunches forward, burying his face in the curve of your neck. He bites and sucks a mark into your skin. It'll heal, but at least the two of you will know it was there. You rake your fingers through his hair, pulling on it, your nails scraping his scalp. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles in the small of his back.

"Yes, Logan, yes baby fuck me. Fuck me hard. Make me come," you urge him on, trying to roll your hips to match his rapid rhythm, but you can't keep up. The sensations are intense and overwhelming, until you've lost the strength in your arms and you just let yourself go. You submit to him in every way, allowing yourself to be used for his pleasure just as you know your pleasure is his. "Fuck, Logan, I'm so close…" you moan.

Your body is languid, liquid heat beneath him, your skin scorching hot no matter where he touches you. He drags his big hands down your body, starting at the base of your throat, over your heartbeat, kneading your breasts before sliding them down your stomach and grasping your hips. Changing pace to long, hard strokes, he rubs your clit with his thumb as he raises your hips off the bed. Your hips start bucking like you're trying to get away from the intensity of his thumb on your clit, but he keeps pulling you back to him, thrusting deeper as you two battle for release. You cry out, coming so hard your legs are shaking. You reach out to him and he extends one of his arms. Your fingers dig into his forearm as you hold on, feeling like you could fly off the bed, but Logan has you. He'll never let you go.

"Ohh, fuck," he groans, his mouth hanging open and his lips almost pulling back to bare his teeth like an animal. His eyes roll back as he nearly loses himself to the feeling of your orgasm, the pulsing sensation of your pussy squeezing him tight. You keep rolling your body, pushing and pulling with your grip on his arm,  drawing out your climax. His fingers dig into your hips. He finally bares his teeth, growling, his face twisting into a feral snarl. "Fuck, baby."

He pulls out suddenly and you cry, mourning the loss of being full. But then he flips you over, fast enough to elicit a startled giggle. His smug chuckle is lost as you end up face down on the bed. You're about to get up to your hands and knees when Logan slams back into you, going deeper from this position. You moan into his pillow, noting his own unique smell of leather, cigars, and pine. His hand holds onto your shoulder for leverage as he starts piston his hips at a rapid pace, fucking into you from behind, pressing you into the mattress.

“Don’t stop. Keep going,” you urge him on, knowing that the moment it’s too much for you, if you say stop, he will. “Oh my god, fu--I'm gonna come again," you whimper. He lets out a rugged laugh and spanks your ass...once, twice, and then rubbing your skin to soothe the red marks before he grabs your ass to help you push back and ride his dick.

"Yesss," he hisses, "Yeah sweetheart, let it go, come again. I've got you," he grunts, the words oddly sweet in contrast to the pounding you're getting.

Your next orgasm is matched by his. You can't see him behind you but you know what it looks like when Logan comes. You love the way his nose scrunches up, his head falls back and then rolls to the side like he's about to crack his neck. Then he shakes head like he's clearing his head from the fog of mind-blowing sex. His body shudders, all of his muscles are tense, flexed, rock hard. If you were on your back, you'd be kissing and nipping at his broad chest as you rake your nails down his abs. For now, you can take in the sight of him by straining to look over your shoulder. His thrusts stutter to a complete stop as he fills you up.

"Yes, baby…yes, feels so good," you pant, praising him. The corner of his mouth turns up in a proud smirk. He takes a few deep breaths and slides his hand up and down your spine. You fully sink into the mattress, boneless and spent, and he leans over you, propping most of his weight on his arms beside you.

Your breathing synchronizes as you lay there together. He peppers your shoulders with open mouth kisses and gently nips at the curve of your neck as you expose it.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he murmurs softly in your ear.

"Mmm, yes," you answer, "always." Your eyes are closed as you focus on the remnants of pleasure coursing through your body. You press your ass against him, earning yourself a few more lazy, taunting thrusts from him. He pulls out, his dick still hard and throbbing with a stamina unmatched by your own. You clench your legs shut, determined to keep his seed inside you, as you both love a messy round two. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him until you're on your back and looking up at him.

"You drive me crazy, baby girl," he grumbles…with obvious affection as he nuzzles you and then softly kisses you.

"You love it," you defend yourself playfully.

"Mmmhmm," he growls his agreement before kissing you again, one hand slowly exploring the planes of your body once more. He loves it when you play hard to get. He loves it when you talk back and antagonize him. He loves having a partner who keeps up with him and then still kicks his ass in training. He loves it when you challenge his lone wolf act. He loves it all, because it makes these moments happen--moments where two seemingly invincible people can come together and feel safe enough to love and be loved.

-----

It's been 2 years since I posted any fics... I hope ya'll liked this! Let me know!

p.s. made a wolverine specific sideblog: @feral4wolverine

[wandaslittlebird]

As The Summer Ends

Wanda x Natasha x Reader

As the summer comes to a close, you and your girlfriends celebrate with one more day in the sun.

CW: Pure fluff, R calls WandaNat Mama/Daddy but only like once.

Word Count: 1.3k(ish)

A/N: Happy last day of summer everyone! I hope everyone had a wonderful season, and you’re all excited to see what wonders the fall brings.

It was your first year ever attending Pepper Potts’ yearly “end of the summer” pool party: the celebration she had every year the day before it was time to cover the pool for the winter. You’d been invited as Wanda and Natasha’s plus one, as you still didn’t really know Pepper, or anyone else in attendance.

Much to your dismay, none of the other women seemed too eager to actually be in the pool. In fact, aside from you, Natasha was the only other person in the water. And she wasn’t even swimming. She was leaned up against the side of the pool talking to Maria.

Sure it was a little cold, as it was late September and there was a growing chill in the air, but you never got to go swimming. You did so love the water.

Wanda’s heart swelled with affection as she watched you from a beach chair, flopping around the water like a fish. Your child-like nature knew no bounds. You didn’t seem to have a care in a world about what the adults around you were doing, despite being one yourself. You swam laps around the pool, did handstands in the water, dove off the side and swam to the bottom of the deep end. You seemed to be keeping yourself entertained well.

However, as time wore on, Wanda could see you getting restless. You tried to join Natasha and Maria’s conversation, but they didn’t seem interested. Wanda frowned as she watched you try to talk, only to be ignored and talked over by her wife and her friend. Your joyful disposition cracked into one of isolation as you slowly began to feel like an outsider in this group of people.

She huffed, tempted to go over and have a word with Natasha about ignoring you. But, as she remembered how much you had had playing in the water, she got a better idea. She sat down on the lip of the pool, putting her feet into the cool water.

“Honey!” she shouted, making you turn your head as you popped up out of the water. She curled her fingers, beckoning you towards her. Obediently, you stopped everything you were doing to join her on the edge of the pool, laying your head on your hands next to her to avoid getting her wet.

“Yes?” you asked, innocently looking up at her from the water.

She lifted your head and bent over to whisper in your ear. “If you can knock Tasha over in the water, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”

You nervously turned around to find Natasha where she’d been this whole time, talking to Maria by the side of the pool. Her top half was completely out of the water. She hadn’t even gotten her hair wet. “But she’s talking to Maria. It would be impolite to-” you attempted to explain.

She cut you off with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, little love. I’m sure their conversation is drier than a sack of flour anyway. Go make your daddy actually have some fun.” She winked, lightly pinching your cheek.

A smile slowly grew across your face as you turned away from Wanda. You planned your approach carefully, deciding to launch yourself off the side wall and throw yourself into the back of her knees as hard as you possibly could.

Natasha stumbled as you knocked against her, immediately annoyed. “What the-” She glanced down at you in the water, then up at Wanda, smirking smugly by the side of the pool. She rolled her eyes and picked you up out of the water.

You squealed as you were caught, disappointed but not surprised that your first attempt had failed.

“Hold on, Maria,” Natasha joked. “I gotta teach this little punk a lesson.” You tried to squirm out of her grasp, but you were quickly thrown ass over head into the deep end of the pool.

You squealed again with excited delight. Wanda smiled, watching as you quickly turned tailed to go for Natasha’s feet again. Once again, you were dragged out of the water and tossed back into the deep end. Natasha had no difficulty dexterously dodging your attempts to knock her down, but you didn’t even really care to be losing the bet. It was reward enough to finally have somebody to play with, even if you were devastatingly out matched.

You were getting out of breath after a few rounds of fighting Natasha just to be effortlessly tossed back into the water again. You grabbed at the side of the pool, breathing heavy. Natasha was laughing now too, enjoying your frazzled and breathless face. She was glad that Wanda could at least pick a game that took way more energy out of you than her.

You turned around, ready to make another pass at Natasha. You didn’t actually think you'd ever be able to knock her down, but you liked it when she threw you into the water. You grabbed at her legs again. However, this time, before she could grab you and pull you out of the water, you saw two scarlet tendrils wrap around her ankles. She shouted before she was quickly pulled under the water.

You stood up, a little dazed, to find Natasha coming out of the water as well, completely and utterly soaked. Her nicely curled hair was now flat and wet against her head.

“You got her!” Wanda laughed.

“Oh it’s on,” Natasha challenged, quickly making her way to the end of the pool, where Wanda sat. Before she could reach her, though, she was wrapped with more scarlet tendrils that hoisted her out of the water, carried her to the deep end of the pool, and dropped her in.

You shrieked with joyous surprise, making your way back to Wanda as well. She let you approach, knowing that, unlike Natasha, you would never dream of pulling her into the water. “Mama, can you throw me next?”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You want me to throw you in the water like Tasha?”

You nodded eagerly.

She wrapped you up in her magic, pulling you from the water and carrying you across the pool. You giggled as the magic disappeared and you were dropped into the water.

Natasha climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel and drying herself off before sitting down next to Wanda. She laughed as you eagerly swam all the way back to them, looking up at Wanda expectantly.

“Again?” Wanda chuckled.

You nodded, laughing uncontrollably as she picked you again and threw you into the water. She went a bit higher this time, not dropping you until you were a good ten feet above the water.

She threw you a few more times, changing her tactics a little every time. Sometimes she dropped you in upside down. Other times she would hold you still above the water while you waited in anxious anticipation to be dropped. You were roaring with excitement and laughter the whole time.

It wasn’t long before you were completely and utterly spent, physically exhausted from all the swimming. Natasha stood next to the steps, a fluffy towel in her outspread arms. You breathlessly climbed up into her arms, allowing yourself to be dried off.

Wanda made a space for you to sit in between her legs. You happily sat down, putting your feet back into the water as she pulled you so your back was flush to her front. You cuddled into her tiredly.

Somebody tapped your shoulder from behind. You turned your head to find Pepper, holding a waffle cone with chocolate ice cream. “I heard ice cream was on the line. And it looks like you won the bet.”

You smiled and took the ice cream, eagerly licking at it before it could melt in the sun. “Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

“Of course, kiddo,” she said, playfully ruffling your hair.

Wanda laughed as you proceeded to get the ice cream all over your face. She periodically wiped it away with a towel.

You would miss days like this as the air grew colder. There would be no more pool days, no more opportunities to comfortably spend the days outside in the sun. But fall brought new excitement of its own.

You could only hope you’d be tucked between these same arms by the fireplace come winter.

[vigilante-3073]

Flowers In Bloom

Logan Howlett X Female Mutant Reader

Summary: A glimpse into Logan's life with his significant other.

TW: Pre-established relationship, Logan being a lovesick puppy, mutant abilities, pregnancy.

Logan never expected to get a happy ending for himself. His life had always been filled with anger and pain, a cycle that he believed would continue until his life eventually came to an end. Logan's outlook on his life began to change when he met Y/N L/N through Charles Xavier.

Y/N was a teacher at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters and she absolutely loved her job. Y/N had the ability to control plant life and the children loved it.

Logan watched Y/N as she knelt in the grass with one of her students, bright pink flowers sprouting up from the soil around them. The little girl smiled widely, letting out a happy squeal as she spun around in the flowers.

Y/N smiled, carefully picking one of the flowers and tucking it behind the young girl's ear.

Logan found himself smiling softly as he watched her, admiring the woman he had come to love so deeply. Y/N brought him to life and he was finally able to see a future that was different from the one he had always imagined.

Everything Y/N touched turned to light and love, putting Logan at ease in a way that he had never experienced before. He didn't believe in soulmates, but she would definitely be his if he did.

Logan watched the little girl collect the flowers from Y/N before running off to give them to her friends. Y/N observed the girl for a moment before she stood up from the grass, brushing the dirt from her knees.

Y/N was great with kids and Logan hoped that he would be able to give her a child of her own one day. She would be an excellent mother and any kid would be lucky to have her.

Y/N seemed to feel his gaze on her, turning her head in his direction, he watched her face light up when she realized that he had returned from his mission. Y/N ran to him, Logan moved towards her and opened his arms. He caught her as she collided with his chest, holding her tightly in his embrace.

"Missed you so much, baby," He mumbled.

"I missed you too," She replied.

He pulled away slightly, her fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck, bringing his lips to her's in a passionate kiss. Logan's hands shifted to rest on her hips, thumbs circling her hipbones gently as they kissed.

"Mister Logan," A soft voice called, the pair broke apart quickly. Logan smiled at the bright red flush that darkened Y/N's cheeks at the interruption.

"What can I do for you, bub?" Logan asked, looking down at the young girl.

"Do you want a flower? Miss Y/N grew them," She said, holding up a pink flower.

"She did, huh? Then I definitely have to have one," Logan said, accepting the flower from the girl, "Thank you, little miss," He said.

"You're welcome," The girl chirped before running off to hand out the remaining flowers.

Logan brought the flower up between them, spinning the stem between his thumb and forefinger before carefully tucking it behind Y/N's ear.

"Beautiful," He muttered, leaning in to give her another kiss.

...

Y/N moved through the hallways of the school with a large stack of books in her arms. She had raided Xavier's library for some resources to use in her lesson for the day.

Y/N shifted the books in her arms, struggling to manage the weight, "Need a hand, baby?" Logan asked, stepping out of one of the various classrooms.

"That would be great actually," Y/N said, Logan took the heavy stack of books from her and tucked them under his arm. His other hand quickly founds her's, fingers fitting together easily as he walked her through the mansion towards her classroom.

Y/N shifted closer to his side as they walked, "What do you need all these books for anyways?" He asked.

"Mushrooms," Y/N said simply.

"You need this many books to explain a fungus?" Logan asked, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"There is a lot that people don't know about mushrooms. They're actually pretty cool," She said.

"Maybe I'll stay for the lesson then," He said.

"Really?" Y/N asked, an excited smile spreading across her face.

"I could listen to you talk all day long and never get bored," Logan said, her cheeks flushed.

"You're sweet," Y/N replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Only for you," He stated.

Logan released her hand as they approached her classroom, opening the door for her. Logan allowed her to enter the room first before following after her.

Every available surface of her classroom was lined with plants, the bright colors and vivid greenery making the room look like a jungle.

Logan set the stack of books on the edge of her desk, "How much time do we have before your next class starts?" He asked.

"About twenty minutes, why?" She asked.

Logan's hands quickly found her hips, spinning her body around and backing her up against the nearest wall, "Just want you to myself for a bit," He said, leaning in and pressing his lips to her's.

Y/N smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his body closer to herself. Logan slid his hands from her hips to settle on the small of her back as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

He pulled away slightly, "Baby, I got something to ask you," Logan said. Y/N's hands slid down from around his neck to rest against his chest. Her fingers tangled around the chain of his dog tags, "Can you kiss me some more before you ask whatever you need to ask?" She questioned breathlessly.

Logan smiled, "I think I can manage that," He said, leaning in and pressing his lips to her's again.

His hands slid up underneath the material of her shirt, his touch heating up her skin and making her heart race. She tugged on his dog tags, pulling him closer before her hand slid up to rest on the back of his neck.

Logan pulled away, watching her pout at the loss of contact, "I gotta ask my question, baby," He said, hands returning to her hips and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"What's your question?" Y/N asked.

"Will you marry me?" He questioned, her eyes widened, "Logan, are you- Are you serious?" She asked softly.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the small velvet box and flipping it open before holding it up in front of her. The engagement ring glittered in the light, "Marry me, baby," He repeated.

"Yes, yes, of course I'll marry you," Y/N said shakily, happy tears gathering in her eyes.

Logan smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as he plucked the engagement ring from the box. He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger carefully.

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you," He said.

"I love you too. I love you so much," She replied.

...

Logan made his way across the grounds of the mansion towards the greenhouse. The sun had set a few hours ago and a chill was beginning to settle in as night fell. Dew lined the grass, dampening the material of his pants as he walked.

He approached the greehouse, opening the door and stepping inside. The air was warm and humid, the string lights casting a soft yellow glow over the rows of plants.

Y/N was standing in front of a collection of strawberry plants, holding her palms over the soil and watching the vines grow, weaving themselves through the metal trellises that had been wedged into the dirt of each pot.

Logan made his way over to her, "Bit late for gardening, don't you think?" He questioned.

"I couldn't get to sleep... The baby kept kicking and she wouldn't settle. I think she could tell that you were away," Y/N replied, watching the green strawberries on the vines ripen into bright red ones.

"I'm sorry," He said.

"For what?" Y/N questioned, looking over at him.

"She's been giving you a lot of grief," Logan said, nodding to her swollen belly.

"It's nothing I can't handle," She smiled reassuringly.

"I know... I just wish that I could do more for you," Logan said, moving closer to his wife.

A sudden feeling of nausea washed over her and she turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as she gulped.

"What is it?" Logan asked gently, hand resting on the small of her back.

"If you want to do something to help," She started.

"Yes, anything," Logan replied instantly.

"The smell of your cigars has been making me really nauseous," She said.

"How long has that been going on?" He asked.

"Since I was about six weeks along," She admitted hesitantly.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Logan asked.

"I thought that it would pass and it hasn't," She said.

"I'll quit tomorrow," He replied, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Thank you, honey," Y/N said.

"You don't have to thank me... You're growing our kid, I'll do whatever you need me to," He stated.

"I really want to kiss you but-" "The smell, I know... Tell you what, why don't we head up to the house? I can shower and then we can go to bed, how does that sound?" He offered.

"That would be amazing," Y/N replied.

"Good, let's get you to bed, baby," Logan said, taking her hand in his.

They walked up to the mansion and made their way through the hallways to their bedroom. Logan hopped into the shower as Y/N got changed and settled herself in their shared bed.

Y/N read a chapter of her book before Logan emerged from the bathroom, water droplets clinging to his skin and a towel wrapped snugly around his hips. Y/N stared at him over the top of her book, watching him change into a pair of boxers and pyjama pants.

Y/N set her book aside as he hung up his towel before making his way over to her. Y/N smiled, holding up her hands and cradling his jaw as she met his lips in a gentle kiss.

"That's the stuff," He mumbled against her lips before leaning in for another kiss. His fists pressed against the mattress on either side of her body, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Logan pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before getting himself underneath the covers on his side of the bed. He laid down and Y/N quickly moved closer to him, laying down with her body pressed against his side and her head resting on his chest.

Logan wrapped his arm around her waist, his other hand settling on her bump. The baby kicked harshly against his hand, "Wow, you weren't kidding about those kicks," He chuckled.

"Yeah, feels like she's gonna start leaving bruises soon," Y/N said.

"Only a few more months until we get to meet her," Logan said, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her skin gently.

"Two months tomorrow," Y/N sighed.

"Two? Wow, that's coming up fast," He said.

Y/N nodded, "I know you're going to be great, honey. She loves you already," She said.

"Well, I don't think she could find a better mom than you even if she tried," Logan stated.

"I love you," Y/N said with a soft smile.

"I love you too, baby," Logan replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

[pjflmga]

little things, alessia russo x reader

summary: based on little things by one direction (big fan yup) where r is a bit insecure about certain things and alessia makes sure to let r know she loves everything about r.

a/n: just smth random i came up w while i’m writing on chicago p2 bc i’m currently stuck lol. wrote this in the middle of the night so don’t mind eventual mistakes… send in recs if you want to :)

wc: 2,3k ish

enjoyy

—————————————————————

you and alessia had been together for a long time now, with your 2 years anniversary coming up in only a few weeks. you loved doing things together, watching movies or series, going out for a walk or shopping. literally anything

football might be your biggest shared interest though, whether it was watching a game or playing it. but it was not hard to see who was playing professionally and who played in a normal sunday league.

alessia played football for a living, her days consisted of training on and off the pitch and of course football games against big, top teams, weekly. whereas you were working as a chef at a restaurant and only had training 2-3 times a week plus a game on the weekends.

despite the big difference of professionalism you played in, you both were each others biggest fan and supporter. you were at all arsenal’s home games and even some away games if possible, and alessia was at yours. of course if you or her didn’t have your own game at the same time, which occasionally happened.

alessia never looked down at you for not being a professional footballer, rather the other way around. she was happy and proud that you got to the two things you loved the most, cooking food during the days and playing football in the evenings. but even if alessia never had an opinion about this, didn’t mean you nor especially the fans highlighted this at times.

as you were the girlfriend of the top player and front face of the lionesses and arsenal, people didn’t shy away from sharing their ignorant opinions. when alessia saw a rude comment about you she would always delete it, before she read half of it and especially before you got the chance to even know about it. but since you were together with alessia, you had around 30k followers on instagram yourself and a lot of the ignorant comments ended up in your comment section as well.

you knew you shouldn’t care, but you couldn’t help but read every single negative comment about you. it was everything from you using alessia for her being famous and having a lot of money, to not being good enough for her and being an ugly and bad person. the comments about you only “using” her didn’t really bother you, as you and not to mention, alessia knew that it wasn’t true. but it was rather the comments about you being too ugly, or not that a good enough person for her that made you feel like the smallest person on earth.

this had been going on ever since you got together and the public eye found out about it. at first it didn’t bother you, but as time went on it started to get to you. the blonde and you had talked about it before, but even if you weren’t, you always made sure to say that you were fine.

as of lately alessia had started to notice that you were feeling a bit more tired and down than usually. at first she thought it was because of your job and how hectic it was. but she shortly after realised it was because of all comments on social media.

and with that she started to make more efforts than usually to make you feel as special and loved as you deserved, not to mention how she felt about you.

————————————

as a person in general, you were a bit insecure about yourself. you didn’t like certain things with your body or the way you looked.

as time passed alessia started to figure out more of your small insecurities, how every time she tried to make a short video with you, you always stayed quiet because you didn’t like the way your voice sounded on camera.

how you never got changed in front of her, despite being together for a long, long time. because you didn’t like how your stomach or thighs looked. she obviously had seen you without clothes before, but it was different when you changed and got dressed. it made you feel more conscious about the way you looked, in a way you didn’t like and therefore didn’t want alessia to see.

but also how you recently had stopped coming along to nights out and dinners with her team, because you were insecure or what other people would think. despite alessia always telling you how much the team loved you and wanted you there.

alessia knew these things made you insecure, but these were also the things she loved about you the most. the way you looked, the way you were, the way you smiled and laughed. your voice, your body. everything.

at first she didn’t want these little things to slip out, in case it made you more insecure. but she quickly realised the best way to make you feel more comfortable and confident, was to bring your insecurities up, subtly and in a reassuring way, one by one.

every time you smiled you got small crinkles by your eyes and for some reason fans started to point that out, together with your freckled cheeks. alessia didn’t understand, as she thought those were two of the cutest things about you, but you hated them.

now when she started to see the comments more often, she realised that was the reason why you started to cover your freckles up with makeup, and at least try to smile less. not that it really worked when you were with alessia, who stumbled around and laughed all the time.

“babe, you’re so beautiful today.” alessia said as the two of you got ready to head out for a little walk in the park. “why are you putting on makeup? you’re just as beautiful without it.” she smiled softly.

“i dunno.” you mumbled. “don’t really like my freckles.” you said lowly. with that alessia walked up behind you, where you sat by the desk in your shared bedroom, and hugged you tightly from behind.

“you.” kiss. “are.” kiss. “more.” kiss. “beautiful”. kiss. “than.” kiss. “anyone.” kiss. “else. ” kiss. “in.” kiss. “the.” kiss. “world.” the blonde said as she kissed you freckles.

“stoppp less, you’re ruining my makeup.” you said, but couldn’t help but feeling a smile creeping up in the corner of your mouth.

“nooo!!” she said. “i’m just making sure your natural beauty is showing.” she continued as she bombed kisses on you again. you couldn’t help but laugh at that. “there’s the beautiful smile of yours.” alessia said simply.

it took you another 20 minutes to get ready before your headed out. instantly when you stepped out of the port of your stairwell, alessia grabbed you hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“you know, your hands fits perfectly in mine.” the striker said softly.

“what do you mean less?” you asked confused, not quite catching what she meant.

“i don’t know, i just know it feels perfect to hold it in my hand.” she smiled with a chuckle. you nodded slowly, still not getting where she came from. but it was something with the way she had said it while squeezing your hand, that made you feel good. you felt yourself being thrown out of your thoughtss as alessia pulled you with her and started to walk towards the park, while babbling about her upcoming game against liverpool this weekend.

when you stopped in the middle of the park by a big tree alessia suggested that the two of you should make a tiktok together. a video where you’d have to rank her arsenal teammates.

“no i can’t do that.” you said with a laugh. “they’re gonna kill me.”

“noo, babe!! it’ll be fun, they will love it.” she laughed as she pulled up her phone.

“okay, just because i love you. but don’t post it!! i don’t uh, want people to hear my- to see what my ranking.” you said quietly.

“oh y/n, it’ll be fine. everyone will laugh at how pissed leah will be when she sees she’s not your number one.” alessia chuckled. “besides, everyone should get to hear that beautiful voice of yours when you explain your rankings.” she continued, subtly mentioning yet another insecurity. you instantly felt yourself relaxing a little when she said that. to be honest you hadn’t really realised that you had tensed up in the first place.

“let’s do this then, less.” you said as you grabbed her phone and started the ranking.

——————————

“i can’t believe you were about to put frida at number one.” alessia said with a grunt as you finished.

“well she is just the best, isn’t she?” you asked with a smile.

“well… no. i am supposed to be there, i swear if you weren’t with me right now, you would’ve put her as your number 1.” alessia answered with a unhappy voice.

“nooo babe, i’d never do that!!” you laughed. “you are obviously my number one!”

“and so are you y/n/n! you are my forever number one and i love you and everything about you.” the blonde said softly as she gave hugged you and kissed your cheek. “let’s post this and see how the girls reacts.” she continues as she posted the video.

just then she got a message from leah in the arsenal group chat, asking who’d be joining for dinner aka ordering food, and movie night at her place tomorrow night. a flood of “yes” and “me” came right away when alessia looked at you.

“you want to go?” she asked hopefully.

“uh i don’t know, don’t want to intrude your team bonding night.” you said lowly.

“no y/n babe, first you could never do that. the girls have been asking if you won’t being joining anytime soon anyways. and besides, it’s just movie night tmrw.” alessia explained as she took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“well, okay then i guess.” you said.

“YESSSS!!!” the england forward squealed as she sent a quick “me and y/n are coming!” to the group chat and right away an even bigger flood of “yes!”, “wohoo” and “finally” came.

as tomorrow evening eventually came around, you and the blonde got ready together. since it was just movie night and leah’s, you wouldn’t dress up fancy. so you grabbed a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt as you headed towards your bathroom to get changed. but before you managed to take a step alessia grabbed your arm and hugged you tightly.

“you know i don’t mind you changing clothes in front of me.” she said softly as she hugged you tighter.

“i know, it’s just uh me. i don’t know, it’s stupid. of course i should be able to change in front of my girlfriend of almost two years.” you said while you let go of alessia to look into her eyes.

“baby, it’s not stupid the way you feel. i just want you to know that i love you and i love every single thing about you. i love your eyes, your smile, how you look and oh my god, have you seen your body?” she said softly and you can’t help but smile a little. “if you don’t feel comfortable to change in front of me, i won’t stop you. but i want you to feel comfortable with me, no matter what. i don’t care what other people say or think and you shouldn’t either. because you are more perfect than anyone else. okay?” alessia continued.

all you could do was just stare at your girlfriends. you realised where she was coming from with all of this, but to be honest, it made you feel better. she was right, the only opinion you really cared about was hers, and you knew how much she loved you.

“i know, i just feel so self conscious and insecure sometimes. i wish i didn’t but i can’t help but being affected by it.” you answered.

“you know love, those things you are self conscious about, are some of the things i love the most you.” she said as she once again gave you one of her famous “lessi bear hugs”.

“yeah i know less, thank you so much.” you said hugging her back. after some time you finally let go of each other and you felt truly safe and loved by the striker. you took a deep breath and actually felt comfortable enough to change in front of your girlfriend.

all alessia could do was looking at you with the proudest smile ever. she was happy that her little side mission had worked out the way she wanted to, that you felt better about yourself and also felt more comfortable around her.

what took her by surprise though was that you for the first time in a long, long time didn’t cover up your freckles with makeup. all you did was curling your eyelashes and put on some mascara. alessia once again looked at you with the biggest and proudest smile as well as heart eyes. oh, that girl was head over heels for you.

“you’re so beautiful, my girl.” alessia said with a grin.

when you 20 minutes later arrived at leah’s house and went to knock on the door, it was instantly opened by a not super happy looking leah.

“how dare you not put as number 1 and not even number 2, but 3 on your list, miss?” she said while giving you a stern look, but you could hear the teasing in her voice.

“told you…” alessia whispered in your ear lowly, with a laugh. “i’ll leave the two of you to figure this out.” she continued and walked into great the rest of the team.

“well hello to you too leah…” you laughed. “i guess i just don’t love you as much as less.”

“okay that’s fair BUT YOU PUT FRIDA OVER ME??” leah shouted.

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i almost put frida above lessi. but then i wouldn’t have had a place to sleep in.” you laughed.

after some back and forth you finally settled on a fair ranking where, spoilers, leah ended up as your number 1. then leah finally let you into her house and let you in with a happy smile over a face so you could greet the other arsenal players there.

the night was amazing, just what you needed. you felt safe around alessia and her teammates and you didn’t feel like you were in the way and disturbing them. they made you laugh all the time, and now the crinkles by your eyes didn’t bother you anymore.

even if alessia’s mission was accomplished, she didn’t stop reminding you how much she loved you. everything about you. that the little things you were subconscious about, made you to the amazing person that you were and the person alessia loved so much.

[pressplay-if]

A small update on how things are going:

Chapter 2 is currently sitting at 37.7k words (all of which are fully coded, this is excl. code also). The entire middle part of this chapter takes place in the MC’s youth, during their time at a psychiatric clinic. I’m currently halfway done with this “hospital interlude” as I call it. I don’t know when the interlude will be finished, but trust me, it’s important. A lot of the decisions you make in the clinic will affect the outcome of your band’s story. After the interlude is done, there’s also some more content yet taking place in the present before Chapter 2 is done.

I was hoping to get the Chapter out by the end of this month, but it’ll probably take until early next month instead. Still, I’m quite happy with my progress, especially since I’ve been coding along the way.

[2tarbell]

vanilla birthday cake — send some dialogue 4 a short drabble with rafe + any of my !readers

mean!rafe + crybaby!reader “i don’t wanna know”

HAKSJSKSJKS

MEAN!RAFE + CRYBABY!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

participate in my bday celebration!!!

rafe had had just about enough. he wasn’t very patient to begin with but he was trying to be better — for her.

his poor little girlfriend that had a never ending supply of sorrow and tears. normally, around him, she was content as could be. and he was happy to indulge her and be the one to soothe her when external factors hurt her sensitive heart.

but she just wouldn’t stop crying.

today, she had to have set a new record. whimpering away next to him while rafe tried to get some work done on his computer. she knew better than to interrupt him when he was working, but crybaby just needed some attention. some love.

what if he was all quiet ‘cause he realized how annoying she was? what if—

“okay, what’s a-matter?”

her watery eyes flickered up to his deep blue and thundering ones.

rafe stared at her impatienty — fingers poised as if about to start typing. but his eyes held a question in them. an intensity that makes crybaby shrink into herself, eyes shifting and babbling for an answer while her shaky hands played with the buttons on her shirt.

“wha—? oh, um, s’nothing…”

not a good liar, but even worse at holding eye contact. rafe huffed and closed the laptop abruptly. he spread his legs further, setting the device somewhere beside him. she could be so difficult sometimes.

“kid, you’re over there, sniffin’ and shit — what’s the problem?” his voice was gruff and low, but so familiar and comforting in its own way. running a hand over his buzzed head in a way that always sent her heart racing.

“well, uh, i— i jus’— um…” the stuttered words came out clumsily, not a coherent thought in her head as she stared wide eyed at him. tears began to well anew.

“okay, okay— shut up. i don’t wanna know anymore, jus’— c’mere.”

god, she looked dumb with that look on her face. all frozen and tense as he tries to coax her closer. like a deer and a hunter.

rafe tilts his head to the side, a small smirk settling on his lips. he sees the moment she relaxes; eyes still wet and lip still trembling but she’s scooting closer nonetheless.

he scoops crybaby into his lap, strong arms circling her and pulling her into his chest. rafe sighs like it’s hard work — but the concerned furrow of his brow says otherwise.

she’s still sniffing, nuzzling her face further and further into his chest as she straddles him. trying to disappear fully into his warmth and affection. it’s like just being in his arms sends her into a daze. it’s made worse by his hand pulling her chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

her rafe. that soft mumble only she’s privy to. his gentleness entirely reserved for her, for her moments of need. yet, she loves when he’s mean to her — in that dirty, knowing way he is. when her heart just feels so heavy and she doesn’t wanna think anymore. she craves that fuzziness only he can make her feel, a warmth pooling in her underwear. she needs it.

her voice is meek and barely audible when she huffs, “i jus’— today was so—”

rafe rolls his eyes, but tugs her closer. pressing firm kisses to her hairline and letting her ramble on about all the hard things she went through. she doesn’t register his wandering hands. it’s only when his fingertips are breaching her lace panties when she finally notices how he’s pushed her skirt up.

“hmf— rafey—”

her slickness makes a groan vibrate through his chest, fingers pressing forward until he’s prodding at that spongey spot just right. crybaby is hiccuping and sniffling again — eyes pitifully squeezed shut from the intrusion.

“shuddap, let daddy do this, yeah? getchu to stop whinin’ for once.”

based off this little thing i wrote!!!

[moosesarecute]

The Shadows Mate

A continuation of “The Shadows Sing”

Previous part “The Shadows Heal”

“Please ask him not to tell Azriel,” you asked your shadows to tell Azriel’s. He always let a shadow stay behind with yours and you always had one going with his. “He can’t know any of it.”

“He promises.”

You knew what to do, but you didn’t know how.

It felt like the most important mission of your life.

You were accepting the mating bond. The only problem is that you had no idea what to make him.

You had tried to ask him what he wanted you to do as accepting the bond, besides the food offering of course, but he never answered properly.

“I’m happy with whatever you want to do, lovely.”, “I only need you.”, “you can make me whatever you want when the time comes.”

It annoyed you like crazy. He had been teaching you to be open about what you wanted the last year, and when you ask him he wouldn’t even give a proper answer.

So that’s how you ended up asking for help.

You felt embarrassed by it. He was your mate for cauldrons sake! You should know him better than anyone, but you couldn’t even figure out his favorite food.

While dinner together with Cassian and Nesta wasn’t rare, you had only eaten alone with them a couple times.

Azriel was away for a week long mission, so they kept you company.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Nesta pointed out. “Everything okay?”

“Can you guys help me with something?”

“Anything,” Cassian answered immediately.

You felt unnecessarily nervous as you drew your breath and started to speak.

“I was wondering if you knew what Azriel’s favorite food is.” You hoped they would understand what you meant without you having to tell them.

From her reaction you could tell that Nesta knew exactly what you were insinuating, but Cassian seemed clueless.

“I mean, I guess he likes chicken or fish often with potatoes,” Cassian spoke looking questionably at you.

“I think she meant something a little more special,” Nesta told him.

Cassian spent some time thinking before his eyes widened. A huge smile grew on his face.

“Are you serious?”

You nodded, trying to hold back your excitement, but your shadows gave it away. They were dancing around in happiness.

“I guess you have already tried to ask him what he would want?” Nesta questioned.

“Yes,” you said with a sigh. “He never gave me proper answers.”

“Of course he didn’t, it’s Az we’re talking about.” You felt comforted knowing that Cassian understood your problem. “His favorite food is this casserole his mother makes. He always brings some of it home after visits, but he never shares with anyone.”

You had to hide your smile as you realized he never shared with anyone. Except you. You had tasted the casserole, only a small amount, but it tasted amazing.

“Maybe you could make a casserole, but put your own small twist on it,” Nesta suggested.

“I could, but I don’t have the recipe.”

That’s how you found yourself in Cassian’s arms as he flew you to the River House.

His flying was rougher than Azriel’s, but you didn’t mind. Having the wind move your hair felt amazing either way.

Cassian sat you down on the ground and basically pulled you inside the house.

“Auntie Y/N!” Nyx yelled the second he was you.

Nyx loved you and you loved him back. You and Azriel had quickly become babysitter’s number one, mostly because of your shadows.

However, you weren’t even able to greet the child before Cassian had dragged you past him and into the living room.

Feyre and Rhysand barely managed to look confused at you before Cassian spoke.

“SheisacceptingthebondsoweneedyoutogethertomotherAzrielsoshecangetthecasserolerecipe,” Cassian finished with a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so excited!”

You knew Feyre and Rhysand were communicating mind to mind as they spent some time without answering.

Soon, Feyre picked up Nyx and grabbed Cassian’s hand, leaving the room.

“Cassian seems overjoyed,” Rhysand said. “Sure he’s not the one accepting the bond?”

You let out a nervous laugh. You should be more excited, shouldn’t you? You were doing everything wrong, you should just go home and do something else.

“Hey, hey,” Rhysand’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Just first now realized how your shadows had covered you. “Come here, sit down.”

You did as he said and sat down on the couch beside him.

“You seem stressed. Was Cassian right? About you accepting the bond?”

You nodded carefully.

“That’s great, Y/N! But if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you so worried about? You know he will accept it right? He’s basically wrapped around your finger.”

Your shadows lighted a little.

“I know! I know. That’s not what I’m worried about. I didn’t know what to make him, so I asked Cassian and Nesta and they suggested I make that casserole his mother makes with my own twist, but I need the recipe.”

Rhysand only nodded at you.

“Seems like a good idea. I’m sure his mother would love it and Azriel would be thrilled. We can go now if you want to?”

You landed in front of a cottage in the woods. You had winnowed, so the travel didn’t take long.

The cottage was small with a big garden with both flowers and other plants. On the fence was a small sign where it stood “Rosehall”.

You were too busy staring at the beauty of the garden to realize your shadows thought the same thing you did.

“No, wait!” You tried to hold them back, but they didn’t listen.

They swirled around the entire garden. It was like they were smelling the flowers.

“Pretty!”

“Smells good!”

Unfortunately, their idea of smelling flowers included smashing them to the ground.

“This is not good,” you sighed towards Rhysand, but he only laughed at you.

“Azriel?” A beautiful voice called from inside the cottage. “Is that you? I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

A beautiful female walked out of the cottage and towards the two of you. She wore simple but elegant clothes. But what horrified you was her wings, or wing.

On her back there was a shredded wing and the other one seemed to be gone.

“Not exactly Azriel,” Rhysand replied to her. “But I guess the second best-“

“Y/N!” Azriel’s mother exclaimed at you. She had soon engulfed you in her comforting arms. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

As she pulled away, you understood for sure that this was Azriel’s mother. They didn’t look alike, but her eyes. Her eyes were his eyes. They were just as comforting and bright as Azriel’s.

“I’m sorry about the flowers,” you managed to get out.

She only laughed a motherly laugh. Your shadows danced around her at the sound. Azriel had also gotten his laugh from her.

“It’s fine, lovely. Azriel’s shadows do the same thing and I’ve heard from him that your shadows are even more adventurous.”

You couldn’t help but to smile at the nickname.

She let you go and moved towards Rhysand.

“Hello, dear,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “How are you?”

“Everything’s good. Nyx is practicing flying longer distances so we spend a lot of time in the air.”

“Wonderful! And how’s Cassian and Morrigan?”

“They’re both doing great. Cassian and Nesta are still training more Valkyries and Morrigan is busy leading Hewn City.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s doing an amazing job!”

The positivity Azriel’s mother gave out was the total opposite of her son. But at the same time, it felt exactly the same.

“But I can’t help to wonder, why are you visiting now? Is all alright with Azriel? I spoke to him last week, and he seemed fine.”

“Don’t worry, he’s fine,” Rhysand looked over to you. “Very fine, if I may add.”

Now also Azriel’s mother looked at you. You couldn’t meet their stares.

“Ehh, I-I’m, I thought I might,” you let out a sigh. “I thought I might accept the mating bond and Cassian suggested that I make him your casserole with my own twist, so I would need the recipe. But if that’s not okay with you, I will of course figure out something else.”

First now you looked up at Azriel’s mother.

She had glossy eyes. She moved slowly towards you and embraced you once more.

“I would love that,” she whispered to you. You almost started crying alongside her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to figure out a twist on it together.”

She took your hand and led you towards her cottage.

“I’ve got it under control, Rhysand. Go home to your family.”

You only heard a chuckle and then Rhysand disappeared.

You had spent hours in the kitchen. Making the casserole together with Azriel’s mother was so easy, but doing it alone was something completely different.

“Smells good!”

“It’s not right!”

You needed this to be perfect.

Azriel had done everything for you. He had saved your life when you didn’t even realize you needed saving.

Azriel had helped you learn who you truly were and how you wanted to live your life.

Azriel had learned you to live, had learned you to enjoy living.

However, the most important thing. Azriel had learned you to love.

He gained your trust enough for you to put your entire life, trust and love into him. He had made you comfortable enough to give yourself to him, recently also sexually.

You felt ready to go for the next step and Azriel had made it clear that he did too.

This had to be perfect.

You started lighting the candles and sat the table as you let the casserole simmer a little longer.

Suddenly you felt your heart lighten, your eyes widen and your anxiety to ease.

Strong arms tightened your waist.

“Caldron, I’ve missed you,” Azriel mumbled as he smelled you. “You smell amazing, lovely. I love you.”

You felt his body first tense and then relax even more than before.

“What are you making?” He asked not letting go of your waist.

You moved around in his arms so you could see him clearly. All the anxiety you had previously felt had disappeared.

He loved you, you knew that. First now you had understood that when he said he would have been happy with whatever, he meant it.

You felt a mix of relief, total joy, love and comfort through the bond and you realized he had understood what you were doing.

“I went to your mother and we made a twist to it to make it more like me. I wanted to make you something special. So I asked Cassian and he suggested that I speak to your mother. Rhysand brought me and your mother and I spent an entire day together making the recipe.”

Overwhelming love spread through your body. Almost all of it came from Azriel.

His shadows moved and caressed your face. You leaned into them as you shifted your gaze into Azriel’s hazel eyes.

His eyes were filled with tears and soon they were also running down his cheeks.

You felt him loosen his grip on your waist, but you didn’t let him. Your shadows quickly strapped his arm back around you and dried the tears of his cheeks.

“Love,” they whispered to you. “We love our mate.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer as you leaned in and met your mate’s soft lips. Butterflies spread through your body and you had to giggle at the excitement of it all.

After a while, you moved out of Azriel’s arms and towards the casserole. You got him a serving and handed it to him.

“You should have some too,” he whispered.

He sat down his bowl and found you some food as well.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m the most honored that you chose to spent your life with me. I don’t have words for how happy I am,” he spoke as he handed you your food.

Once more your shadows had to dry tears from his cheeks.

“I’m the happiest fae ever, Azzie. I couldn’t have asked for a better mate and I hope you know that. I love you.”

Now, neither one of you could hold back your tears.

His shadows carefully dried away your tears as your’s dried away his.

You both looked at each other as you raised your forks.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

“And I’m yours,” he answered.

And then, you both ate the casserole you had prepared.

If the love you felt through the bond had been overwhelming before, you no longer had words to explain what it felt like now.

It felt right.

“Love.”

“Love.”

You stopped admiring Azriel’s beauty and your head snapped towards the shadows that had wrapped around your entire body.

Not your shadows, but Azriel’s.

“Mate, mate, we love mates!”

“Our mates!”

Both you and Azriel had stopped eating.

“I can hear your shadows,” you whispered.

“I can hear yours too.”

Neither one of you could hold back as you moved to kiss each other.

“Finally!”

“Finally, indeed!”

“Azriel, can you even breathe?” Cassian asked him the second the two of you walked into the dining room.

Even though both of you had moved passed the most extreme part of the protectiveness after accepting the mating bond, your shadows had not.

So anytime you were more than a meter away from Azriel, your shadows would engulf him and his would cover you.

And your shadows definitely didn’t like Cassian question their methods of protecting your mate. You felt a pull to your hair.

“Our mate!”

Excuse me, our mate.

Soon Cassian was on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” said said and moved to help him up.

Unfortunately for you, Azriel’s shadows would not at all let you be closer to a male than what you were to Azriel. So they stopped you.

“This is getting out of hand, can you relax a little?” Azriel carefully asked all the shadows.

And suddenly, also Azriel was on the floor.

The ever protecting shadows were also never wrong, Azriel still needed to learn that.

Hope you have enjoyed their story as much as I have! This is the last planned part, but maybe I’ll explore more of their stories another time. Thank you to all that have been reading!

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark @saltedcoffeescotch @rcarbo1 @mrsjna @kitsunetori @thecraziestcrayon @blessthepizzaman @mybestfriendmademe @scatteredstardustt @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @topaz125 @miadialila @ivy-34 @goldenmagnolias @bwormie @animalistic0

Deviders by @cafekitsune