#exceptions monitoring best practices

[virtualizationhowto]

SigNoz: Free and Open Source Syslog server with OpenTelemetry

SigNoz: Free and Open Source Syslog server with OpenTelemetry @signozhq #homelab #SigNozOpenSourceAlternative #DatadogVsSigNoz #MonitorApplicationsWithSigNoz #ApplicationPerformanceManagementTools #DistributedTracingWithSigNoz #MetricsAndDashboards

I am always on the lookout for new free and open-source tools in the home lab and production environments. One really excellent tool discovered recently is a tool called SigNoz. SigNoz is a free and open-source syslog server and observability program that provides an open-source alternative to Datadog, Relic, and others. Let’s look at SigNoz and see some of the features it offers. We will also…

[alexiroflife]

jjk men calling you annoying...

"hi! ik u have a few reqs to do and ur going on vacation but i was reading some of ur works and saw u did a headcannon for calling jjk men annoying. i was thinking what if u did the opposite w the jjk men calling reader annoying? if u dont decide to do this thats okay! cant wait to eat up your other upcoming fics <3" -anon

some angst, jjk men being assholes (except for nanami)

satoru, suguru, kento, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo:

normally, satoru is the one that is considered to be annoying. every higher up, coworker, and student of his alike would agree that satoru’s personality is pestering on its own, for his behavior doesn’t align with the severity of the jujutsu world in the eyes of others.

satoru has never cared how others judged him, for he often takes to picking on others for the sake of getting a reaction. he enjoys lightening the mood of drab situations, therefore he’s tossing around inappropriate jokes during meetings, teasing utahime for the umpteenth time, or trying to force megumi into spending quality time with him while the sixteen year old does his best to pretend he doesn’t know him in public.

and with you, he’s far worse. satoru can not bear being away from you or your attention being focused into anything other than him for longer than two minutes, and he’s always making an excuse to abandon whatever he’s doing to be by your side. satoru is the very definition of clingy, and while everyone finds it annoying, you can not deny that you adore how the strongest glues himself to you as though he can not bear for the two of you to be parted.

those around him believe it’s impossible for someone as annoying as gojo to actually be annoyed by anything, but you know what pisses him off. you know that he can not stand the jujutsu higher ups and how they antagonize children who were given no choice but to live the lives they lead. he can not stand the way they order him around to carry out unfavorable tasks with no regard for his past experiences or the experiences of the students that he is meant to monitor. he can not stand the lectures, the judgmental tones, the expectation of respect when it is not given in return.

and he can not stand when he is forced to attend hearings or meetings with them, where he has to listen to them drone on and on about how irresponsible he is when satoru is the only one truly looking out for the good of all groups. they demand so much of him, yet treat him like trash in return. nothing peeves him off more.

he knows that you understand this about him as a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, but you have the tendency to be more tolerant of injustices than he is. what he means is that you know how to save face for the sake of your own sanity and pay the elders no mind whilst simultaneously making them think that you are in cooperation with them. you know how to feign manners and respect, which satoru does not bother to do.

consequently, when you tell him that the upcoming meeting that he has scheduled with the higher ups is one he should attend instead of skipping due to its level of importance, he can’t help but be irritated with you.

“i’m just saying, satoru,” you say into the speaker with your phone pressed to your ear. the blue eyed man is on his way to said meeting after you practically forced him to attend, and he’s not at all happy about it. “once you’re in there, you’ll be out in no time.”

“(y/n), somehow those pricks make a half an hour feel like two,” your boyfriend complained into the phone. you place your hand on your hip and look up to the ceiling.

“you’re being so pessimistic about it,” you sigh. “it’s gonna be worse the worse you talk about it.”

“no, it’s gonna be bad regardless because these higher ups don’t know up from down or left from right.”

you can tell he’s growing aggravated, which was the opposite effect you wanted this call to have. you lower your head and attempt to shift, to reassure him in a different way.

“it’s gonna be okay, toru,” you tell him. “you’re above these people anyway, no matter what the hierarchy at this school is-“

“if you really thought that, you wouldn’t have made me go.”

you frown. “you didn’t really have a choice with this one, you know that right? whether you like the assholes or not, the meeting itself is important. you need to be there.”

“i really wish you’d stop saying that,” he exhales, agitatedly.

“stop saying what?” you scrunch your face, hand falling from your hip. “that it’s your responsibility?”

“yeah, actually,” he snaps. “hell, you’re starting to sound just like everyone else.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you scoff. “satoru, i’m just trying to help you. sometimes you just have to suck it up and deal.”

“suck it up?” he repeats incredulously. “i suck it up every day of my life. everyone wants me to do something for them, but expects me not to have my own opinions in return and that shit doesn’t make any sense.”

“that’s not what i’m trying to say-“

“then what are you trying to say? to just go along with all the messed up shit the higher ups want me to do?”

“no.”

“then what?”

“to just attend a meeting for the sake of your job, satoru. my god, that’s all.”

he tchs, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes on the other line. “fine. whatever.”

“what’s with your attitude? i’m genuinely just trying to look out for you, like…?”

“you’re not helping, (y/n). you’re being annoying.”

his words sting, and you stand still in the hall to your classroom as you register satoru’s tone and accusation. there’s silence, and satoru knows that when you say nothing more, he’s crossed a line.

even so, he’s too heated currently to own up to it in this moment, so he lets the silence swallow you both as he walks.

“okay,” you mumble apathetically after a while. “bye, satoru.”

you hear him prepare to say something, but your thumb is already hiding the end call button.

throughout the next half and hour, you try your best to focus on teaching your lesson to the second years, but you find yourself struggling.

you understand satoru’s frustrations with the higher ups, but to take that frustration out on you is completely uncalled for.

and to call you annoying? for ensuring that he doesn’t further endanger his already shaky position with the the authorities over him? how ungrateful is that! how could he label you as a disturbance to him when all you’ve ever done was try to lighten his load?

you don’t understand it. and it hurts to know that one little thing in comparison to the plethora of clingy annoyances that satoru has the habit of displaying that you don’t even find aggravating is enough to send him over the edge.

you’re aggressively erasing your chalkboard at the end of your lesson when you hear the sound of air flushing and papers fluttering behind you. immediately, you feel satoru’s presence much to your displeasure.

“baby?” he calls you tentatively, though you already know full well that he is there in your vacant room. you don’t reply, continuing to swipe your eraser over the chalk. “baby, please don’t ignore me,” he sighs guiltily. “can i… can we just talk?”

“get out, satoru.”

you can physically feel Satoru’s mannerisms droop behind you, but you do not fall for it. he deserves your standoffishness, your unwillingness to engage.

“i just wanna talk, (y/n)… just five minutes?”

you clench your jaw, brows angling tensely as his earlier words run through your mind again and again. your pace picks up and your movements grow harsher.

before you know it, you feel the white haired man brushing behind you inches away, reaching a hand to your shoulder. “(y/n)?”

“stop!” you rip away, stepping back. satoru retracts his hand quickly, crystal eyes blown wide as he watches you. you slam your eraser down onto the ledge and hold your hands up. “just stop! you don’t get to be rude to me and then just come back around as if everything’s okay. what if I don’t want to talk to you?”

having removed his blindfold before coming here, you can see the pain and remorse circling in his gaze. “pretty, i didn’t mean to say what i said,” he starts again slowly. “i-i’m sorry, i was just overstimulated and angry- not even at you, and you were telling me to do something I didn’t want to do but had to do, then i…” he huffs. “i’m so sorry.”

you fold your arms and stare harshly at the board, brows twitching as satoru’s smooth, genuine apology flows through your ears.

when you still don’t say anything, satoru’s mouth tugs downward and his lashes fluttere prettily over his cheek. “it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to me or see me right now. i was being shitty, and i didn’t mean it, baby. i just had to come and tell you that as soon as the meeting was over… and you were right. i needed to be there.”

you close your eyes. “why don’t you ever listen to me?”

satoru practically jumps when he hears you speak. “what did you say?”

“you never listen to me, toru,” you look at him desperately. “you always do what you want to do, and when i have to make you do something, you pout. is what i say really that unimportant to you?”

“no,” he rushes out, swooping in to stand before you so he can meet your eyes up close. “no, no, no. no, that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“i listen to you, baby. i do, i just struggle when you give me suggestions about work because we have completely different approaches. you play by the rules more and i do what i think is best even if it’s not what I’m told is best. which is okay. i’m not saying that either way is better than the other, it’s just that difference between us clashes sometimes.”

you hum.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t listen, or don’t respect you, (y/n). i respect you more than anyone i know.”

“then you should act like it.”

“i know,” he pushed out his bottom lip, taking your forearms in his hands. “i know, i can be all over the place sometimes. i’m sorry pretty girl.”

you wish you could stay angry, but satoru’s touch almost instantly melts away the tension in your body. almost.

“please don’t call me annoying like that again,” you look over him. “seriously, that wasn’t nice.”

“never,” he swears. “i promise, never again. i don’t even know why it came out in the first time. please forgive me, baby, I’m sorry.”

you exhale, and before you can respond, satoru is ducking down and suffocating your face with a plethora of kisses from your forehead to cheeks and down to your jaw. murmurs of apologizes slip through as he attacks you, and you squeal as you try turn away.

“okay!” you shout, pushing at his chest. “i forgive you, get off!”

“i love youuu,” he lands a particularly long kiss to your nose. “so much. let me take you out tonight to apologize properly, pretty. will you let me?”

you stifle a smile, keeping your hands to your chest as you glare up at him when he pulls away with a grin. “fine.”

suguru geto:

suguru loves you dearly, truly he does, but he notices that the longer he is in a relationship with you, the more entitled you become. granted, he spoils the hell out of you because you’re his one and only, therefore he only feels it is appropriate to shower you with the unconditional love that he has for you.

you know that suguru rarely ever says no to you. hell, he doesn’t want to deny you of the things you ask of him because he should be the person that you always come to for anything. along with his girls, you’ve stolen his heart, and his love language is taking care of you - making you rotten.

so when suguru can not abide by what you demand, you pout and poke and prod and pester. in some ways, you remind him of how satoru used to behave in his company, so commanding of what you want from him in the most combative, brattiest way that it has him rubbing the space between his forehead with angled brows.

and the attitude on you is criminal. suguru knows he can not necessarily talk because his attitude is just as bad, but the moment suguru disagrees with you about something, you make it a point keep pressing the matter sassily.

there are a million things that suguru finds to be more of a pain to his peace than you, but he can not deny that when you get on his nerves, you truly tick him off.

suguru is known to have very little patience in general. he chalks it up to his occupation, having to deal with idiotic human beings all day to the point where it wears down his capacity for bullshit. he needs things to resolve themselves at his pace in order to feel as though he can go about his day, but when they don’t, it frustrates him to no end.

that is why when you fail to give it a rest after suguru has told you no four times now to getting lunch with you because he has business to take care of, he is beginning to lose his cool.

“(y/n),” suguru exhales your name in exasperation. he’s on his way out of the front door. “angel, you know i’m busy today. you’re usually a lot more understanding when it comes to my schedule, i don’t know where the disconnect is right now.”

you’re growing upset, for you’ve never enjoyed watching suguru leave, but for some reason you are feeling all the more sensitive to his departure today. the dark haired cult leader has been so busy lately that you and the girls have hardly been able to catch him for longer than five minutes when he’s home. you want to sit and talk with him, to at least have a quick thirty minute meal together, but he’s still refusing you, and you never fair well with being refused by geto.

“but suguru,” you curl your brows and gaze at him sadly. “I’m just asking for one day. that’s all, we don’t even need to be out long. i already have a place in mind that’s right around the corner from the group- i can even pick you up. you won’t have to worry about a thing. please, just this once?”

the hazel eyed man can not stand saying no to you, even more so when you look at him with such pleading in your eyes, but he’s told you a hundred times that he can’t do what you please today. as much as he’d love to go to lunch with you, there are no exceptions. he’s already pushing himself behind by trying to reason with you.

“the answer is no, (y/n),” he tells you with soft sternness. your frown deepens leading Suguru to walk over to you. he guides his hand to your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead in an attempt to make you feel better. “i’m sorry. i know things haven’t been the best lately with me being home, but i’m trying my best.”

you want to be more supportive, but you miss suguru. you do, and to feel like a second priority to a cult he doesn’t even like makes you upset.

you grumble incoherently under your breath and cross your arms. suguru feels your stature shift, and he pulls away to eye you. you avoid his gaze purposefully, and suguru instantly knows what’s going on with you.

“don’t start,” he advises as a warning. you don’t take well to the comment, the muscles in your face tightening as you go to ease away from suguru’s grasp. he doesn’t have time for this right now. “i mean it.”

“i’m not even doing anything,” you murmur, looking down as suguru examines you closely.

“you’re sulking.”

“okay, and maybe that’s because i don’t want my boyfriend to leave?” you snap.

“i know, (y/n). you’re acting like i want to leave too, but this is work.”

“and clearly work’s more important now,” you roll your eyes.

suguru shakes his head and pulls away with narrow eyes. “you’re being incredibly irritating right now.”

you freeze, geto’s words stabbing you through the chest like a stake to the heart. “what?” you repeat weakly, your grit having gone.

“you aren’t listening to me. it’s getting old and it’s irritating,” he says again, this time as he turns away and walks back to the door.

you stare at his back blankly. your heart hammers against your chest, and your face falls. normally when you behave a certain way that suguru doesn’t appreciate, he spends his time either circling back and trying to reach and understand or punishing you. but now, he’s just walking away with no intention of doing either. you expected more, and you hadn’t expected for him to outright call you annoying.

sure, you push a little too much sometimes, but annoying? all you want is him. is it annoying to desire such a simple thing?

“i’ll be home later, alright? we can talk about this when i get back,” he tells you, pulling the door open and allowing the sunlight to peer in. when you do not respond, he speaks again in annoyance. “alright?”

you still don’t answer, and this time he turns over his shoulder to see what is keeping you from giving him a verbal affirmation.

his face relaxes, however, when he says you standing silently with your hands at your sides. your gaze has turned to one of subtle embarrassment as you frown, mulling over suguru’s emotions in a less stubborn, more deflated manner.

despite suguru’s irritation with you, the moment he sees your discomfort, he’s flipping the switch in an instant.

slowly, he shuts the door again without a word. he figures it won’t hurt anyone to be another five minutes late, for he is the founder of the religious group after all. what he says goes, and he will not leave until this mild conflict with you is sorted out.

he walks over and takes your head in his hands, tilting your face up to reveal your big, shiny eyes. with another quiet sigh, he’s taking one hand and rubbing your shoulder as he holds your stare.

“i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he tells you gently, immediately knowing what is plaguing you. “i’m just frustrated.”

“…frustrated with me?” you ask slowly.

he presses his lips together. “yeah, angel. i am a little bit,” he confesses honestly. while this isn’t the response you wanted, geto knows it’s the response you need to hear… even if you struggle to accept it, your head nodding stiffly but your eyes telling a story of humiliation. and he hates it. he hates how unhappy you look, but no good has ever come from partners lying to one another about how they feel.

“but,” you start as suguru’s swipes a thumb over your brow lovingly. “suguru, all i wanted was to have lunch with you. is that such a crazy thing? you’re hardly around anymore.”

“i know, (y/n), and no it’s not, but you’re not respecting the fact that while i want to more than anything, i can’t. not today,” he says once more. “i do this for you and the girls too, you know. it’s not just for me. any money i make is yours, and if i need to work my ass off to provide for you and our future, i will. and it’s not fair for you to throw a fit when i can’t drop all of that when you ask me to.”

it’s a hard pill for you to swallow, but you know that suguru’s point is more than valid.

you inhale and exhale deeply, his touch swarming you tenderly despite how he feels. “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “im sorry for pushing. i just want you here. it gets hard sometimes, you know?”

“I know.”

he pulls your face in to kiss your cheek softly, your hand going to cradle his wrists.

“and i’m sorry if you’ve felt neglected in any way, and for calling you irritating. there was probably a better way for me to say that.”

“it’s okay,” you mumble as pulls away. “i probably was being annoying anyway...”

geto smiles softly. “you were,” he chuckles, and you gap at him.

“suguru,” you frown and he laughs again.

“sorry.” the hazel eyed man leans in to capture your lips in a soft kiss before you can pour any longer, eyes gleaming kindly when he draws back. he at least does not look aggravated any longer, his features much calmer than before. “how about a day out this weekend? you, me, and the girls.”

your eyes light up. “really? you’re sure?”

“yeah, angel,” he nods. “i miss you all too, you know. you’re all i think about when I’m dealing with those monkeys all day.”

“…can we maybe go to the farmer’s market?” you suggest. “i wanna get some stuff to make a big dinner for us, and the girls want to get some flowers.”

“absolutely we can. sounds great.”

“thank you,” you smile, wrapping your arms over his neck and tugging him down into a tight hug. suguru laughs gently, sliding his arms around you. “i hope you have a good day today. i won’t pester you about work anymore.”

“okay, baby,” he rubs your back. “I gotta go now, okay? i’ll try not to be out late. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

kento nanami:

despite kento’s remarkable talent in serving you as your partner, he is still a human being subject to human emotions. when he’s annoyed with you, he doesn’t make it your problem. he simply makes it known that he is beginning to be plagued by the feeling, and though it hurts your feelings, you understand and give him the space he needs.

kento does not get irritated with you often at all. you are a gift upon his stressful life, and it’s difficult for you to pose as a source of stress when the rest of his life is already so anxiety-inducing. you’re his everything, and even when he does get ever so slightly annoyed with you, it’s never at the same level as other factors - like gojo. you don’t even begin to compare.

the only time nanami finds himself growing upset because of you is when you choose not to listen to or communicate with him.

nanami works hard to put your needs before his own and he is more than happy to do so. he feels it is the only way things should be, for as long as you are happy and well cared for, he is content.

however, there are moments when he does so that can come off to you as a tad overbearing. he cares for your physical and mental wellbeing, so that also comes with constant check ins about whether you’re eating properly or how much sleep you’re getting. it’s sweet, his persistent doting, but you don’t always fair well with how often he’s interrogating you about your lifestyle when he literally witnesses every second of what you do as your fiancé.

and of course, when you react poorly by getting even the slightest hint of an attitude or portray your own annoyance in a poor manner, nanami, who always tries his best to find a solution to problems if you are bothered by something, is bothered himself when you do not cooperate.

nanami is incredibly patient with you, and he tries his best to practice patient with you when he internally feels you are being unreasonable.

so he resorts to silence as he ponders what to do next. you’re both sitting at the kitchen table as tension swirls about. your knee is frantically bouncing as you glare ahead. you don’t like when kento does something to bother you, for everything he does is so perfect you feel like you don’t have a right to be bothered, and you rarely ever are. and you may try to hide when you’re upset, but nanami sees you so clearly. he knows you like the back of his hand, therefore, there is no hiding.

and of course, nanami would never grow annoyed with what you feel… it’s how you communicate with him when you feel a certain way. you shut down and make it impossible for him to talk through it, and as someone who likes to work through things while they are occurring, it’s a bit of a pain when you go quiet and refuse to give him anything.

now, you both sit rather annoyed with one another, for that is likely the only instance nanami will feel some sort of irritation sparked by you. the blonde taps his finger against the table with his legs crossed, unsure of how to move forward. he’s tried calling your name, tried asking you what’s wrong, tried suggesting anything he can do to fix it, but you, afraid to even further speak truth into your emotions, reply with shrugs and mute shakes of your head.

it takes at least another few minutes for nanami to rise slowly, fixing the collar of his shirt and clearing his throat you look up and see by his rigid posture that he is not in the happiest of spirits, and when you finally notice, you realize that he had been silent along with you for quite some time now, his series of questions having ceased.

“i am going for a drive,” he announces formally. you blink up at him, your knee still bouncing. his chocolate eyes meet yours with a hefty sigh. “i won’t be longer than forty minutes.”

forty?!

“…okay,” is the very first word you have said in a while, and nanami nods curtly. though he appears indifferent, his shoulders are tense, his jaw is taut, and a dent creases the space between his brows. you can tell by these signs that he has grown to match your previous feelings. “where are you going?”

“to clear my head. i don’t believe anything productive will come from the both of us sitting here like this.”

you furrow your brows. “are you angry with me now?”

“no,” he gathers his keys. “i am not angry. only, admittedly, a bit perturbed,” he says without looking at you.

you know that nanami had annoyed you first, but to hear him tell you so is humbling nonetheless. what reason does he have to be annoyed? what did you do?

“um,” you stumble. “why…?”

the prospect of you now trying to interrogate him after he had spent so much time trying to get through to you, or at least a word out, does very little to ease the man.

he lifts a hand, guiding his palm out to ease the conversation before it can escalate. “(y/n), i’m not in any state to talk about this right now. give me a bit and i will be back.”

his eyes find yours to ensure that you see that earnest in his brow hues, and your shoulders slump, your knee stilling completely.

“is that alright?”

you nod slowly. “yes. that's alright.”

kento nods again, swiping up his jacket from the back of his chair before stepping out of the door, clicking it shut behind him.

you reel in his absence, sitting in the aftermath. maybe you reacted poorly… but you couldn’t help it. you don’t always enjoy being overwhelmed with a series of questions from your boyfriend as though he is your doctor or father. sometimes you just wish to be.

you know he only does so out of concern. you know he loves you, better than anyone has ever loved you, but your reaction had been involuntary.

the look on nanami’s face only proved that you should have handled the situation differently. you hate when he’s upset, but that way of thinking alone is unfair. he likely hates when you’re upset too, and you shut down when he was trying to help.

as guilt swarms you, you retreat to the living room where you mindlessly flip through the tv channels, your focus elsewhere.

kento ends up returning hardly twenty minutes later. you look in surprise to the door as he enters with takeout in his hands. he looks up, his face a bit more relaxed as he enters.

neither of you speak as he kicks his shoes off at the door and makes his way toward you. he sets the bags of food down on the coffee table before you and slowly sits down next to you, hands to his thighs.

“i got us dinner,” he says as you shuffle to make room for him. the aroma of your favorite thai food fills your senses and makes you become rather aware to your hunger, for you haven’t eaten in a while.

kento sits with his forearm resting on his knee, his body facing you. you look away, embarrassed to even speak to him, though you do whisper a ‘thank you’ that is only audible to nanami because he is seated right beside you.

he reaches a hand out to hold yours, his other sliding over top to caress the back of it. “honey,” he starts softly. “I don’t want this to go on longer than it should.”

“you’re back earlier than you said,” you mention, looking down at his hands over yours.

“i didn’t need to be gone long to want to sit down with you about this again.” you nod. “are you okay?” he asks you, and you nod again.

“yeah, are you?”

“i’m better,” he answers. “my intention was not to leave on a bad note so abruptly. i just needed a moment to myself.”

“no, i understand, ken. i don’t blame you for taking a step back.”

“are you okay with me telling you why i was upset?”

“of course i am.”

he gives a gentle smile before proceeding. “it seems that every time i try to work through something with you, you do not wish to cooperate. if you were to tell me that you need space before explaining, i would understand better and give you time, but you say nothing. you barely even look at me, and i try my best to give you the patience you deserve but you do not do the same for me.”

“it’s not that- I wasn’t trying to be impatient with you, it’s just that sometimes i don’t want to talk about things.”

“then I would prefer it if you’d say that instead of shutting me out, because then i’m left to pick up the pieces with nothing to go off of,” he pleads. “and it’s unhealthy for you to harbor everything that bothers you inside. you could get sick doing that, and it hinders our communication.”

you can tell he is about to give you another lecture, which is what led you here in the first place. you take in a deep breath and try to regulate yourself, glancing down. “yeah, i hear you,” you mutter. “i just get… i don’t know, it feels weird to tell you when something you’ve done bothers me.”

“why, sweetheart?”

“because you’re so good to me,” you frown. “you don’t deserve to hear that i’m upset with you for probably no reason.”

“look at me, honey.” you oblige, locking eyes with his once again shyly. “as good as i am to you and you are to me, getting angry or upset or irritated with one another is normal. it’s healthy. no relationship is free of trials, and if this is our worst problem, i’d confidently say that we are doing quite well.”

you listen to him carefully, taking in his words as you look over his face.

“now, will you tell me what it was i did to upset you earlier?”

“it’s so stupid, ken.”

“your feelings are not stupid. please. i need to know so i don’t repeat my mistakes.”

you huff and eventually give in. “well, sometimes... you do this thing… where you lecture me… and i appreciate you looking out for me all the time, but sometimes when you ask me a hundred things at once about stuff that I’m more than aware of as an adult, it makes me feel like you’re patronizing me.”

a stern look of realization crosses the blonde’s features. “i had no idea.”

“i mean… i never told you, so i was getting upset with you for something you weren’t even aware of,” you exhale. “i’m really sorry, kento. I struggle with communicating certain things, and i shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so irritated in the first place.”

“there’s no need for you to apologize,” he dismisses. “i apologize for making you feel as though I’ve been speaking down to you. i only check in so often because i care.”

“i know,” you lean in. “and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“but i can see how it may be a bit overbearing,” he admits. “i’ll try to mind myself in the future.”

“oh, it’s okay, ken,” you lift your hand to his cheek, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone. “you’re perfect, baby. i’m sorry if i made you feel otherwise.”

“i am far from perfection, my love,” he kisses your inner palm. “i make plenty of mistakes.”

“so do i, clearly,” you chuckle.

he smiles again, and this time it reaches his warm eyes. “yes, but the way i see it, you would not be perfect without them.”

choso kamo:

choso, bless his heart, has never found anything you do to be even remotely close to what he could find annoying. everything you do in his eyes is perfect, flawless, and he clings to you so much that he finds it impossible to think of your actions or words as something that poses as an aggravation to him.

what he finds irritating is when yuji will borrow his shirts without asking and fail to return them for days, or when he’s been assigned on a mission and it lasts far longer than he intended to be there, the task cutting into time he could be spending with you, or even when other people serve as a nuisance to you. you have never, ever been on the list of things that get on his nerves, and he doesn’t think you ever will be.

that’s why he feels such guilt when he starts to feel that familiar sense of annoyance bubbling in his chest when you keep asking him to let you know about his plans for the weekend.

you’ve asked him numerous times at this point, and he has given you the same answer: he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing with his brother or when he’ll be home, and that he’d let you know as soon as he figures it out. but you know that by the time he ‘figures it out�� it will be past the time you need to plan around his absence.

you’re an organized person, and you like to know in advance what is happening in your boyfriend’s life so that you can either prepare to spend some time with him or not waste the effort looking forward to doing so if he will be out late. this is especially a big deal to you because choso tends to get carried away when spending time with his little brother. the brunette loves his family so dearly, and you have always admired how fiercely he cares for those close to him, but his tendency to just go along with whatever yuji’s hyper mind thinks of on the spot without having the sense to think of how it will impact his brother’s girlfriend yet always gets to you.

you want choso to spend time with his brother, you do, but you just wish that he would have the decency of letting you in on what he plans to do on the days they are together more often.

therefore, it is friday and you continue to ask him to let you know what the plans are, and choso, still not completely understanding of what you want, is growing tired of the nagging.

“i already told you, love,” he reasons as best as he can with you, his voice dipping lower. “i don’t know how long we’ll be out. i promise you i’ll let you know.”

you’re moving about the kitchen while choso stands at the corner, eyes heavy as he watches you. he’s trying his hardest to mask his growing agitation, for he knows that you are very keen on picking up on his tells that reveal his emotions. when he’s aggravated, his brows angle ever so slightly and his lids weigh over bored vision, his lips curled in a frown.

you haven’t looked at him yet. your back is to him as your rummage through your fridge. “yeah, cho, you said that already, and you say that every time you go out,” you close the fridge door, carton of eggs in your hand for you to prepare lunch.

“and i always come back,” he says, shrugging slightly. “I don’t understand what the problem is… i’d never stay out all night without coming back.”

“it’s not about you coming back or not, it’s about when you come back,” you try to explain, placing the eggs on the counter to turn and reaching to grab a bowl. “i’ve definitely talked about this before, right? sometimes i stay up for you or want to hang out with you when you get back, but you never give me an estimated time when you’re with your brother so i can plan around it.”

choso exhales through his nose slowly, looking down. “the point is that if i knew, i’d tell you…”

you look up, catching the dipped pitch in his tone, and tilt your head to the side upon taking in his stature. he’s pouting.

you stop what your doing, pressing your hands to the ledge of the other side of the counter and leaning over with a suspicious look.

“are you alright?” you ask slowly.

choso meets your eye, a hint of a deer in in headlights look capturing him. “yes,” he says stiffly, quickly, and you are not convinced whatsoever.

“you sure? because your face says otherwise,” you nod toward him.

conflict is pretty foreign to the two of you within your relationship. neither of you ever want to upset the other, so in tiptoeing around certain issues, a lot of them are either brushed over and pent up. choso specifically things it’s damn near a sin to be upset with you, and you him, for he still does not understand certain inner workings of human connections.

he does not want to ruin what he has with you, and he does not comprehend why he is growing annoyed with someone he cherishes so much. he still loves you, but he can’t help this feeling. it burdens him with guilt, and he does not know how to respond once you catch him.

“is something bothering you?” you ask carefully. “are you upset because i keep asking about this weekend?”

choso doesn’t respond. he feels like it’s a trap, for he would never lie to you but to admit that he’s annoyed is an entirely different ball park that he is horrified to step into. he looks at you shamefully, face still tense but he’s trying hard to relax, to mask the way he truly feels.

you raise a brow. “…choso?”

“i’m fine,” he tells you. once again, he’s answering far too quickly.

“okay,” you exhale, shifting on your feet. choso watches you anxiously, keeping incredibly still as though moving will make the earth shatter. “I know you really well, cho. clearly the conversation is bothering you.” after another moment of silence from your boyfriend, you continue. “you can be honest with me, or else you’ll just be carrying this around with you all day.”

“…i don’t wanna upset you,” he eventually murmurs.

“I understand, but that’s not realistic,” you say with subtle sternness in your tone. “just like it’s not realistic to pretend like you aren’t upset right now when i can clearly tell you are. we both have rights to feeling whatever we feel, so just… come on, tell me what’s going on.”

with a pensive expression, choso slowly allows himself to give in. “it’s just that…” he begins hesitantly. “i’m not really sure what you want me to tell you anymore. about my plans.”

“i'm not asking anything out of the question, i just want you to plan more for my sake.”

“but i keep repeating myself when i tell you that yuji and i don’t plan… it’s a little…”

“it’s a little what?”

“just… kind of… annoying.”

you reel, staring at choso incredulously. you never thought you would have seen the day where your sweet significant other, horrified of touching you the wrong way, would call you annoying. admittedly, you’re a little wounded. you haven’t done anything wrong, and yet choso is aggravated by your desire to simply know what time he’s coming home. you’re not asking for too much. you hardly believe you’re asking for anything at all. you know that choso can be irrational, but never with you. never like this.

you nod to yourself slowly, pursing your lips. choso eyes you carefully, uncertain of how his own words have landed. you wanted him to be honest, and this is how he’s feeling. should he have just lied? should he have kept it to himself anyway?

suddenly, you resume what you are doing and turn away from choso wordlessly. the violet eyed man’s eyes widen as you go searching for a pan, and air of intensity about you.

“(y/n)?” he says your name cautiously after a while of you shuffling about. “you okay?”

“it’s cool,” you respond shortly, and choso shrinks.

he moves to round the counter to approach you slowly, but you do not slow yourself when you notice him moving into the kitchen beside you. “i don’t think it is…”

“choso, i know how you feel now and that’s that. i’ll leave it be.”

you sound mad. choso doesn’t like it at all, and he’s unsure of how to even speak to you this way. he doesn’t want to further ruin your mood, but he has to make sure you’re alright… that he didn’t cross some sort of line.

“i’m sorry,” he hastily apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

“don’t apologize for what you feel,” you strictly say, moving to the other side of the kitchen the second choso gets close to you.

he stops, his traces of annoyance having completely washed away. “but you’re mad now.”

“i’m not mad, i just- i’m a little annoyed too now.”

he deflates. “oh,” he mumbles, hands falling to his sides. “then, what do what do now?”

you exhale, taking a moment to pause and turn to face choso from the other side of the space. “i wanna talk about why i’m irritated.”

“okay… and that won’t make it worse?”

“no, because i’ll at least be getting my point across.”

he nods dejectedly. “alright. why are you upset?”

“because you won’t take a second to put yourself in my shoes and understand that planning for my sake now that we live together will help ease my anxiety,” you explain, your hand moving about as you emphasize your stance. “i don’t care how long you and yuji are out. that’s not the point, and i know you don’t plan, but I’m asking you to at least start to, because i get tired of falling asleep waiting for you because i don’t know when you’re coming home. if i knew in advance, i wouldn’t have to stay up or get my hopes up about you coming back at a certain time. and then you tell me that i’m annoying you because i just want to be informed. like, that’s a little rude, choso. it’s basically like you saying you don’t care what i ask for.”

“i do care,” he cuts in passionately, brows knitted with a look of guilted sadness. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know it was like that for you.”

“because you never bothered to ask.”

“i’m sorry,” he says again. “i shouldn’t have called you annoying. that was mean. you just… told me to be honest, so i said what i was thinking.”

“that’s another thing, choso, we’re not perfect. we’re people and we react to things differently. this isn’t the last time we’ll be annoyed with each other.”

“i don’t like that,” he grumbles.

“we don’t have to like it, but that’s just how things are. it doesn’t mean we love each other any less, and we’re not always going to agree on why we’re annoyed with one another.”

“…are we fighting?”

you scoff a slight, tired laugh and shake your head. “no, we’re not fighting. we’re just talking.”

“okay,” he nods. “well, i’m sorry. i am. i’ll try to do better about planning for you. and you’re not annoying, (y/n). i love you.”

you soften. “i love you too, cho, just please be more mindful of how you react sometimes.”

“i will,” he mumbles. “…can i… i mean, is it wrong to ask you for a hug or do you need some time?”

“come over here,” you beckon him over. the brunette is quick to comply, stepping heavily over to you and burying his face in your neck. you wrap your arms around his frame as he holds you, murmuring numerous apologies to you over and over in your ear.

“maybe i’ll just stay home,” he suggests, mumbling into your skin.

“you don’t need to do that, cho, that’s not what i was asking of you.”

“i know, but i’d rather stay in with you anyway. or maybe we can make it a group thing if you want to come with.”

“i’ll see how i feel this weekend, but that’s sounds great, baby. thank you.”

toji fushiguro:

toji has a habit of getting caught up in his stress accumulated from the day. he’ll return home grumpily, muscles twitching and lips tight in a scowl. his back aches and his head hurts, and all he wants to do is crawl up into bed with you and snooze for the rest of the night.

of course, this isn’t always plausible. life presents its daily interferences that throw off his plans of laziness with the woman he loves, and sometimes, the woman he loves herself is the very thing standing in the way of his tranquility.

you don’t do so on purpose. while toji leads his life of chaos and crime, you busy yourself with your own less illegal tasks, and those tasks and your desires by the end of the day don’t always match his. and toji, despite how wholly he loves you, has the unintentional tendency to be selfish, for it’s how he’s lived his whole life before meeting you.

and that tendency especially shines through when his mind is clouded by exhaustion. if he wants you to lay still with him for the rest of the night, why can’t he? why the hell do you have to run out to the store instead? or finish up an assignment that takes an extra hour and a half to complete? or try to talk to him about your day when he just wants peace and quiet in your wordless physical presence?

it ticks him off, and he’s already moody enough before he comes home to realize that he is not going to get what his mind and heart have been set on for hours. he tries his best not to take things out on you when he is in a healthy, normal conscious state, but he can not help it at the worst of times. before he knows it, he’s snapping at you all because you wanted to show him an album of pictures you came across during your visit to your parents today.

“oh!” you gasp excitedly, leaning into toji’s shoulder as you lounge with him on the bed, your phone presenting itself to his face. you’re propped up with your back to the headboard while toji is laid flat against the pillow with a sour expression. “and this one is from halloween when i was eleven! holy shit, look at my braces! damn, they really threw off the whole costume. i still look cute though, don't i?"

toji doesn't know how you haven't noticed his lack of response as you swipe through photo after photo, your voice a blabber of nonsense in his ear as he closes his eyes in vexation. he can feel himself nearing his last straw as you shift your entire conversation enthusiastically, diving into some story about your family that is hardly related to the pictures you have been sharing.

the dark-haired man is so tired, so fed up with noise and the questions you ask him that you do not even wait for him to respond to before you're cutting in and rambling on again - not that toji even would have responded.

he just wants to sleep... you're still going on, and he wants to sleep.

"and then there was the time that i-"

you're interrupted by a loud groan and the run of toji's large hands down his face. you falter, lowering your phone and furrowing your brows at him slightly, your smile dwindling upon finally taking note of toji's body language.

silence stills the room while toji keeps his hands concealing his face and you simply watch him, stunned.

"uh..." you start pensively, confused. "...why did you just-"

"for the love of christ, girl, can you be quiet for one second?" he interjects once more with the tear of his hands away from his face and the strike of his weary, tense eyes into yours.

you jump. "what?" is all you can ask, awed by the way your boyfriend just spoke to you.

"i had a long day, (y/n). the fuck don't you understand about that?"

your face is scrunching in offense now, your body retracting and your energy transitioning into dejected anger. "toji, why the hell are you talking to me like that?"

"cause you've been workin' my last nerve since i got home," he grits out, tense hands swiping the air. you stare at him with wide eyes. "i'm fuckin' tired. i don't wanna come home to you talkin' my ear off about shit i don't care about. just let me sleep, alright?"

you clamp your mouth shut, a lump forming in your throat and a pit swirling in your chest as you take in toji's hurtful words. his face is hard as he awaits a response from you, and you can do nothing but look at him pathetically, completely torn apart by how swiftly he had made you feel as though you are a burden to him.

you had not meant to interfere with his rest time. you thought he was resting by sitting cozily in bed with you. you thought that he would enjoy seeing pictures of you from the past, hearing about old memories that you revive for the sake of his enjoyment. hell, you would have enjoyed it if the roles were reversed and toji was sharing his childhood memories with you after a long day (if of course, his childhood had been a bit more positive).

you understand that you may have misread the situation, but there was no need for toji to be so cruel to you about it. you hate when he gets like this, so rigid and ruthless with his tone and his words that it makes you feel as though he wants nothing to do with you.

you fight the urge to cry, your body tensing as you swallow hard. you tear your eyes from toji's face, the vision alone scarring you as his words seep in. the green-eyed man watches you shut off your phone swiftly and tuck it carelessly into your pocket with a scoff.

he quirks his brow in befuddlement now as you push yourself off the mattress and cooly whisk yourself around the furniture and to the bedroom door. he pushes himself up, for he didn't want you to leave. he just wanted silence.

"where're you goin'?" he asks as though you have no reason to storm off. you halt in the doorway, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare at him with glassy eyes.

"to give you your space," you hissed. "after all, i don't want to 'work your last nerve' any more than i already have."

toji can tell by the glossiness of your gaze and the tremble of your voice that he fucked up. he sighs heavily, swiping a hand over his hair. "i ain't mean it like that-" he tries to defend himself, but you have none of it.

"sure you did, toji. or else you wouldn't have said it," you growl. "it's fine. really. you can be an asshole all by yourself while i'm gone. maybe you'll be able to sleep now that your girlfriend is out of the way."

you leave with a slam to the door, the walls shaking in your wake, and toji stares at the wall harshly. the overwhelming silence now envelopes him, the silence that he had been longing for since you started talking, and now that he has it, it doesn't feel right.

he curses to himself, scratching the back of his head. he shouldn't have snapped at you. all you had been doing was sharing something close to your heart with him, and he completely blew you off. it wasn't as though you were the source of his stress - it was his job, yet he reacted in such a way to make it feel as though you were the problem.

fuck. toji knows he has issues with regulating his anger, but he continues to swear that he will work on leaving you out of it, and yet here he is again, mulling over the after-effects of dragging you into his acidity once more.

he's not even tired anymore. he tries to doze off, but all he can think about is your face and how he hurt you.

when he steps out of his room, he finds that you are nowhere to be found in his apartment. he tries calling you, but you don't pick up. he resorts to texting you, asking where you are. you read the messages, but refuse to answer, ensuring that he knows you're pissed off.

he shakes his head and goes to check your location instead, which he is grateful to find that you haven't shut off. he knows you too well. you want him to chase after you and apologize, to put forth the effort that you at times feel he would not extend for your sake.

toji finds you at a bar around the corner, your chin propped in your hand as you stare ahead over the counter emptily with an untouched drink before you. you're slumped in your seat with your phone tucked under your hand, appearing so sad before him, and toji feels his heart ache knowing that he's the reason you look like this.

"go away," you grumble when you see his bulky figure approaching you out of the corner of your eye, not even bothering to look his way. the fushiguro leans his forearm against the counter beside you with his other hand propped on his hip. he tilts his head down to try to catch a glimpse of your face, and you simply turn away stubbornly.

"c'mon doll," he attempts to coax. "don't be mad."

"don't fucking tell me not to be mad, you dick."

toji drops his head. bad start. "listen," he begins, unsure of how to proceed. he has never been good with finding words in these situations. "i shouldn't've said what i said."

you turn to scour at him. "no shit."

he wants to chuckle at how angry you are, for you start cursing up a storm the way toji does on a daily basis, and he finds it rather endearing how quick you are to violate him with your language when he gets on your bad side.

toji doesn't realize that the skin beneath his eyes is creasing a the corner of his lip is tugging upward, for you're gaping at him and smacking his chest rather aggressively. "you think this is funny?"

"no, (y/n), i don't think it's funny," he chuckles, and you fume. you go to slam a few bills onto the table before jumping up from your stool and storming away. toji panics, reaching out and snatching up your arm in his grasp. you're tugged back to him against your wishes, fiery (e/c) hues seething into him as though you seek to kill him with your gaze. "stop, i'm tryna talk to you for a second."

"clearly you think my feelings are a joke to you, toji."

"i don't think that, doll, you know that."

"do i?" you raise your brows. "i wasn't so sure when you talked to me like i was nothing but a nuisance to you."

you go to tug away, but toji holds you to him, looking into your eye intensely. "you ain't a nuisance."

"then why talk to me like that?" you frown. "i wasn't even doing anything to hurt you, i was just trying to share something with you."

"i know baby," he softens, hand coming to cup over your neck. you turn away, leading him to smooth his hand over the back of your head instead as you look off to the side bitterly. "it wasn't you, it was my day-"

"i don't care," you huff. "you can't blame the way you treat people on shitty days - especially the way you treat me! i'm the person in this world who loves you, toji. if you need me to reel in on something, then just say that respectfully, but don't you dare go yelling at me the way you just did. it hurts my feelings."

toji sighs, looking over your face and caressing your hair. "i know, doll, m'sorry," he mumbles. "shouldn't be taking my shit out on you. you ain't ever done a single thing bad to me."

"yeah, you prick," you bite, and toji lets himself smile. "and stop smiling," you push against his chest. "nothing's fucking funny."

"you're right. nothin's funny at all," he agrees. "m'just happy i got a girl who knows how to fight back when i'm bein' an asshole."

"oh, what the fuck ever," you roll your eyes. "you're lucky i don't chop your balls off and hang them on display in the living room."

"nah, i much prefer you gettin' mean with me." he moves to cup your neck again, and this time you allow him, a pretty pout still on your face. "i deserve it."

"you sure as hell do..."

he chuckles, smirk spreading. "c'mere, doll," he pulls you into him, securing his arms around your frame and pressing you to his chest. you ease into him reluctantly, glowering off to the side as your check squishes into his pectoral. you don't hug back, for toji's biceps crush over you and trap your arms within his embrace as he rocks you slowly. "what can i do to make up for it?"

"go jump off a bridge," you mutter, body relaxing into his warmth as his chest rumbles with laughter against you.

ryomen sukuna:

sukuna belittling you with his words has never been anything new to you. while you understand that you withhold a space of softness in his heart that is reserved for you and you only, at times his comfortability with insulting you can go a bit far.

and of course, you’re used to it. he calls you “brat” and “woman” as though you are a nuisance to him when in reality, you are the only person on this planet he has bestowed those names upon with his own definition of affection. he clicks his teeth and rolls his eyes at you when you talk about something that he wants you to believe is of little interest to him, when he is taking mental note of the things you enjoy talking about so that he can suffocate you with your desires long after you have presented a specific like to his attention. and of course, he tells you you are an aggravation to his soul every damn two seconds, as though loving you brings him stress after eons of having lived so freely and ruthlessly - though he still does, your presence does more to ease him into a state of mellowness than anything has prior to his commitment to you.

he very clearly welcomes the feeling and connection to you, but masks so by calling you annoying. all the time. so of course, when he does normally, you are completely desensitized to it.

unless you’re already irritated.

occasionally, there is only so much of sukuna you can handle. you love him to death, but the two of you butt heads so often due to your stubborn natures and unwillingness to allow the other to win that it tends to wear you down after a while. sukuna calls you disrespectful for even talking back, yet allows you to continue to do so as if he gets off on the way you get snippy with him.

it’s entertaining to the lord, after all. why would he spend his time doting on someone boring?

nevertheless, if you’ve had a long day and are in no mood to deal with sukuna’s rather wide range of complex reactions to even the smallest of things that you do, his habits tick you off - especially so when he calls you annoying for something that you feel is anything but.

so as you complain to sukuna about how he needs to be mindful of how many sheets he’s running through by staining them with blood when he carelessly returns to your shared bedroom from yet another colorful expedition, you're peeved by the way he stares at you so carelessly. you’ve been begging him forever to be more mindful of how he treats his belongings, especially now that you share the same things, but he always brushes your concerns aside by saying that he can just get more. but god forbid someone else were to stain his sheets, then he’d be out for blood.

his arms are crossed as he stands before you, eyes rolling over the ceiling as he makes his agitation rather evident. you’re a little thing in comparison to him, yammering on about the tenth set of sheets he has stained this month, but he wants to hear none of it. why is it such a big deal to you anyway? he has thousands of servants and limitless access to resources, so it shouldn’t matter to you whatsoever. besides, you’ve stained numerous sheets of his over the years with your arousal and he’s never complained. why does it all of a sudden hold importance to you what state his belongings are in now?

“would you quit your moaning, woman?” he snarls, overpowering voice speaking over you. his eyes are hard and slim as they stare over you, and you’re bubbling with rage the moment he cuts into what you’re saying. “it is not of relevance to me, so why is it of any relevance to you?”

“because it is, sukuna! why do you only hold value to the things you care about? we share a bed, obviously i’m affected by this too!” you argue.

“you are not a servant. servants concern themselves over such things.”

“oh, so now i’m beneath you for talking about this?”

sukuna groans. “i did not say that, brat.”

“yeah, but you insinuated it!” you retort. “i’m tired, sukuna, i wasn’t trying to make this a big thing.”

“yet you are attempting to by persisting so irritatingly.”

you throw your hands up, at your wit’s end. why does he never listen to you when there is something on your mind? why does he always push aside what you feel matters when he decides it doesn’t matter to him? why is he always so cold with you, so steely and headstrong as though he remains above you like you haven’t been by his side all this time?

you know how sukuna is, and yet him calling your opinions irritating riles you up in this moment. everything has to turn into an argument, and it weighs you down. nothing can ever run smoothly without sukuna taking offense or scoffing at the idea of you coming to him with something you feel should be fixed. you can’t win.

"seriously?" you plead. "i mean, really, i'm irritating because i don't want to sleep in blood every night?"

"christ, you don't sleep in blood. the sheets are changed before you come to rest!" he barks. "that is why i find this so annoying. you are complaining for nothing."

"you know what? you're annoying!" you point a finger to his broad chest. the king of curses lifts a brow, looking down at where your finger prods into him.

"i beg your pardon?" an amused, low chuckle ripples through him as though the sentiment is unheard of, which only pisses you off even more.

"you heard me. you're the fucking annoying one. you're always going on about how i shouldn't talk back, or how everything i feel doesn't make sense, or how the things i want don't matter because you don't want them! you act like you're so far above me, when i'm the only one sleeping in bed with you, sitting on your throne, supporting your psycho-ass ambitions - but i'm the irritating one, right? your girlfriend is such a pain in the ass, isn't she? for caring about your wellbeing and loving you when nobody else will?"

the salmon-haired king's eyes go dull as you shout at him, fury raging in your eyes as you continue to poke at him. you're playing with fire, but you don't care. you're fed up with the pretending, with the sly comments about your intelligence as a human being and the value of your interests.

"woman-"

"shut up! i'm not done."

oh. you've really lost it now, haven't you?

normally, sukuna would have made it a point to silence you and teach you a lesson by now, but for some reason, he's feeling generous. slightly intrigued by your outburst, he lets you go on with a domineering smirk.

"i don't care of you're the king of curses, or if you could kill me with the snap of your fingers, or if you've got thousands of people who bow down to you without a second thought like mindless sheep-"

"you are not those people."

"exactly!" you agree without thinking, and sukuna's smirk brightens. "i'm not! so stop- stop treating me like i am! stop talking to me like i'm unimportant and like i get on your nerves more than i do anything good for you! stop blowing me off because you don't know how to empathize! i'm your girlfriend. i care about you, and i also care about the state of your things which you always make a point to say are mine too- and fucking sue me if i'm tired of walking into your room after a long day to see blood stains from random ass civilians while your servants work to replace them in the next hour! what if i wanna lay down before then, huh? ever thought about that?

"god, i just wish you'd care! is that so hard for you to do, sukuna? to care about me and what i care about? i didn't wanna argue with you, but you make it so damn hard for me not to lose my mind! you never hear me talk about how much you drive me crazy, and you drive me crazy every damn day of the week!"

"is that so?" he pries, slyly.

"yes!"

"i implore you, tell me more about how i drive you crazy."

"have you not been listening to anything i've-?!" you freeze, reconnecting with the moment to look in sukuna's eye and see how he is enjoying listening to your rant. you stop, stepping back and lifting your finger from his chest. you breathe in and out deeply, worked up by your own emotion, and you finally take a second to realize what you have been doing. "you're mocking me," you conclude.

"i am doing no such thing."

you scoff. "whatever, sukuna. just forget it. sorry i'm so irritating to you."

you go to walk off, but sukuna is already wrapping a set of arms around you, tugging you back to his chest. you grit your teeth, peering up over your shoulder to look back and find the demon grinning down at you teasingly.

"you need to relax," he muses.

"don't fucking tell me to relax, sukuna, i'm already pissed off."

"mm. i can see that, and in feeling so you have forgotten who you are speaking to."

"see, this is what i'm talking about! i'm not your servant-"

"yes, yes, i know. it was hard not to catch what you were saying during your little tantrum."

"fuck you," you groan, moving to push away. sukuna tightens his grip, winding his arms securely over your stomach and pressing you to his chest. "sukuna," you whine.

"stop taking everything so personally," he ducks down to speak into your ear over your left shoulder. you jerk, turning your head in the direction of his voice. "you are fully aware that you are not the same as everybody else. if you were, you would not be so mouthy."

"yeah, well it's hard to tell what you think sometimes when you call me annoying all the damn time. if you want me to leave you alone, just say that and i can stop wasting my time."

"enoughhh," he hisses. "you must stop taking things so far."

"and you must stop being so mean," you mimic his speech.

sukuna snorts. "do not worry about the sheets. i will retreat elsewhere after massacres if it while cease your whining."

"oh, how lucky i am," you click your teeth.

"quite so," he turns in to press his lips to the space under your jaw. "if you were anyone else-"

"i'd be dead," you finish, involuntarily leaning into him though your face is still tense. "no one else should be in your bed anyway, you know."

"that is why no one ever will."

[natsaffection]

Redline. Bonus 5.1 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Mention of sex, feeling of replacement

Word count: 10,8k

A/n: I didn't think I'd type the title above ever again, but I'll have to do it a second time tomorrow, as there will be a second part..thank you so much ☀️ for this grandiose idea!!! Let's see if one of you finds the "mistake"/difference to the other parts..

The morning sun hadn’t even kissed the sky yet when your alarm buzzed quietly beside you. You silenced it with a quick swipe and glanced to your right. Natasha was curled up beneath the covers, her red hair spilling across the pillow in a rare moment of peace. Her breathing was soft, slow, even, and you took a second to soak it in.

You slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake her, and tiptoed across the suite to grab your gym bag. Your heart was already pumping, not just from excitement, but from something deeper, older. That itch in your chest that only the track could soothe. It was race season again. Time to put on the helmet and become who you really were.

The gym was empty, the way you liked it. No cameras. No agents. No engineers. Just the rhythmic hum of your breath and the burn of muscle as you pushed yourself through circuit after circuit, focusing on agility, reflexes, core strength. Every crunch, every punch, every bead of sweat was a promise you made to yourself, and to Natasha.

This season was going to be yours. Again.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, skin still tingling from the heat and heart pounding with post-workout adrenaline, you were practically vibrating. You wrapped a towel around yourself and padded back into the room, already mentally drafting a cheeky comment to wake Natasha with, something flirty, maybe teasing about her sleeping in while you were already hustling.

But the bed was empty. Still neatly made. A flicker of confusion passed through you. You checked your watch. Not that early..

You dressed quickly, tugging on a clean hoodie and joggers, and made your way down the hall to the team’s suite of offices. Most were still dark, except for one. Natasha’s. The door was open just a crack, enough to let the light spill out across the floor.

You approached slowly, the buzz in your veins dimming just a bit. Inside, Natasha sat behind her desk, eyes locked on her laptop, posture stiff. A dozen tabs were open on the monitor..data, driver analytics, telemetry charts. She didn’t look up right away when you stepped in. But you didn’t need to see her eyes to know something was off. You felt it, the way you feel a car start to slide just before the tires lose grip.

“Nat?” you said softly.

Natasha looked up, and her face didn’t match her usual morning calm. She had that tight look around her mouth, the one she wore when she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“Hey. You’re up early.” Natasha said.

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the doorframe. “Didn’t expect to find you buried in data at six am.”

“I needed to get ahead of some things.” Natasha sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “Come in. Sit for a second.”

You blinked. That tone.

Not “I missed you.”

Not “How was your workout?”

Not even her clipped professional cadence.

Something else entirely. You crossed the room and sank into the chair opposite Natasha, studying her with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on?”

Natasha hesitated for a beat. Then she spoke.

“Willow Petrov.”

The name landed like a dropped wrench in a silent garage. Your brow furrowed. “From Formula 2?”

Natasha gave a short nod. “She’s twenty, Russian, ran with LunaTech last season. Three podiums. Got the best reaction time average in the pack. I’ve been watching her for a while.”

You tilted your head slowly. “Okay… why are we talking about her?”

Natasha exhaled. “She’s driving for us now. As your teammate.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. You blinked again, slower this time. Your brain raced to catch up, to reorganize the shape of your expectations. “What?”

“I signed her last night.” Natasha said, voice calm but unreadable. “It’ll be announced this afternoon.”

You stared at her. “I thought we were running solo again this season.”

“We were. But the board’s been pressuring for a second driver since last year. Sponsors too. We need more data from track simulations, better car-to-car telemetry feedback. And frankly, Willow’s too good to let go.”

A dozen thoughts flooded your head at once. You remembered Willow, bright, sharp, fearless. The type who cut corners like a knife and grinned at the podium like she belonged there, even when she didn’t win. A rookie, yes..but a talented one.

“She’s good.” you said slowly. “I’m not saying she isn’t. But this…changes things.”

“I know.”

“We have to split test runs, telemetry data, garage time. I’ll have to share my race engineer. She doesn’t know the car. Hell, she doesn’t know you. And I-”

Natasha stood then, walked around the desk, and crouched in front of you, placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. “You are still my number one. On track. Off it. Nothing about that changes. But this team isn’t just about us anymore. It can’t be, if we want to grow. I need you to help me bring her in. Mentor her. Lead her.”

You searched Natasha’s face, heart twisting with something you didn’t want to name. Not jealousy. Not fear. Just..uncertainty.

“Can I think about it?” you asked quietly.

“You don’t have to decide anything. Just meet her. She’s arriving tomorrow.” You nodded slowly. Tomorrow. Everything was already changing.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur.

After the bombshell about Willow, you had thrown yourself into team meetings with a sort of sharp-edged focus, the kind Natasha had come to recognize over the months. When you were rattled, you didn’t fall apart, you doubled down. Your voice was steady during briefing, your analysis sharp as ever, but Natasha could feel the undercurrent. The quiet weight behind your eyes. The slightly-too-stiff posture. The questions that weren’t really about strategy.

Still, no one else in the room seemed to notice. To them, you were the reigning champion. The top driver of the Romanoff Racing team. Unshakeable.

Natasha knew better.

“Alright.” she said as they wrapped up for the day, clapping her hands once as the crew began dispersing. “Tomorrow we welcome Willow to the garage. I want everyone on their A-game. Let’s show her what a real team looks like.”

You didn’t speak as you gathered your notes. Just nodded and slipped your phone into your pocket. Natasha let you walk beside her in silence down the corridor, until you reached the private team garage, a sacred space for the two of you when the world felt too loud.

You finally spoke, voice quiet. “You think she’s ready?”

Natasha glanced at you. “She’s raw, but she’s smart. She’ll adjust. But she’s not you.”

You gave a tiny laugh under your breath. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m telling you the truth, Y/n.”

Dinner that evening was something simple. Homemade pasta. Natasha had cooked, which in itself was a rare gesture, part apology, part grounding ritual. You sat on the couch, legs tangled under the blanket, eating straight from the bowls, a slow jazz record playing softly in the background.

You finally started to loosen. You leaned into Natasha’s side, head resting on her shoulder, chewing quietly.

“She’s going to ask questions about you.” you murmured after a long stretch of silence.

“She might.”

“You gonna tell her we’re together?”

“I’m going to tell her you’re my top driver.” Natasha said with a smirk. “Everything else, she’ll figure out the moment she sees us look at each other.”

You gave a small scoff. “You’re obnoxiously confident sometimes.”

Natasha pressed a kiss to your temple. “And you love it.”

Later that night, the apartment had gone quiet. Natasha had gone to wash up, and you stayed curled on the couch, hoodie pulled up over your head, the laptop balanced across your legs. The screen glowed softly in the dark, video after video, all the same subject.

Willow Petrov | Rising Star - F2 Highlights

Willow Petrov Onboard | Monaco Hairpin Dive

Willow Petrov: 2024 Season Recap

Her style was aggressive, but clean. No wasted movement. Calculated chaos. And she had this look behind the helmet, fierce, wide-eyed, maybe even a little reckless. She reminded you of yourself, once.

Too much.

So when Natasha padded back into the room, damp hair tied in a loose knot, wearing only a black tank and sweatpants, she paused in the doorway, smirking at the screen before speaking.

“You stalking your new teammate already?”

You startled, slammed the laptop shut too quickly. “I was just..researching.”

“Mm-hm.” Natasha crossed her arms, clearly entertained. “Researching. With that little frown and everything.”

“I’m not jealous..” you muttered, cheeks flushed. “I’m just…making sure I know what I’m working with.”

Natasha stepped forward, eyes gleaming as she knelt in front of you, resting her hands on your thighs. “It’s okay if you are. A little.”

You met her gaze, trying to hold it, trying to be cool. But something warm bloomed in your chest at how amused Natasha looked, like this was something endearing. Like you weren’t being ridiculous, but…cute.

“She’s not a threat.” Natasha said softly. “To your seat. To us.”

You swallowed. “I just don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You’re not going to.” Natasha’s voice was sure, low, steady. “You’re mine. On every track. In every city. In every way that matters. There’s no one else I want in that car..or in this bed.”

You looked down at her, and your voice was barely a whisper. “Promise?”

Natasha rose onto her knees, kissed you slow and deep, her hand slipping to the back of your neck. “I promise.” she murmured against your lips. And for the first time that day, you let yourself believe it.

The next morning came bright and early, sun slicing through the tall windows of the paddock hospitality suite like a blade. The team’s logo, sleek and minimal, black and red, gleamed from banners, transport trucks, even the espresso machine. A few engineers were already moving in the garage, prepping telemetry equipment and adjusting the simulator booth in the corner.

You stood just outside, arms folded, watching the driveway. You told yourself you weren’t nervous. You’d given track tours a dozen times. You’d welcomed new engineers, new sponsors, new assistants. You’d even done a handshake round with a crown prince once, back when Natasha’s team had first gone international.

But something about this one felt different. When the black car finally pulled up, you recognized her instantly. She practically bounced out, tiny compared to the hulking luggage she hauled behind her. She wore the team’s new windbreaker, sleeves a little too long, brown hair in a messy braid, and a smile stretched across her face like it had been glued there for hours.

Big eyes. Too much energy. Nervous as hell. You swallowed a smile and stepped forward. “You must be Willow.”

Willow straightened like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “Y-Yes! Hi!”

“Hi.” You offered your hand. “Welcome to Romanoff Racing.”

Willow shook it with both hands, her grip too eager, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is real..” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been watching your races since I was fifteen, I mean, not in a creepy way, I just-God, that sounded creepy, didn’t it?”

You let out a short laugh. “You’re fine..” Willow blushed deeply, nodding rapidly.

Just then, Natasha stepped out from the garage, clipboard in hand, her presence commanding even in jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Willow visibly straightened again, as if she were back in military school. Natasha gave her a nod, eyes cool but not unkind.

“Willow. Good to have you with us.”

“Th-Thank you, Ms. Romanoff..” Willow stammered.

Natasha turned to you, that subtle look passing between you like a secret no one else could read. “I’ve got a strategy meeting with the core team. Think you can show her around?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Stick to pit lane, garage, and test paddock. Don’t take her near the media center yet. They don’t know we’ve signed her.” Natasha paused. “And for the love of God, don’t let her try to sit in your car.”

Willow blinked. “I would never- I mean, just looking! I swear!”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed again. Natasha smirked, kissed your cheek (subtle but intentional), and then disappeared into the garage.

Willow watched her go with wide eyes. “…She’s terrifying.”

“She’s not that bad.” you said, walking toward the pit entrance.

“She is. But like, in a powerful-boss-woman way.”

You shot her a glance. “She’s also my girlfriend.”

Willow froze. “Oh. Oh. Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean..I didn’t know you two were, um- wow. Cool. Very cool. That explains the…cheek kiss.”

You arched a brow, biting down a grin. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” Willow squeaked. “Just trying not to implode.”

The track was still quiet, only the faint sounds of drills and tires being moved echoing through the pit lane. You walked her through the various zones: the telemetry stations, tire warmers, pit boxes, the private rest pods hidden behind the main lounge.

Willow asked questions, so many questions. About the car’s brake bias system, about fuel management in wet conditions, about how the team handled your post-crash comeback. Her eyes sparkled with a thousand unspoken thoughts, and despite yourself, you started to like her. She was too earnest to hate.

You stopped just at the edge of the garage, where your race car stood under soft LED lights, its sleek chassis black with crimson accents.

Willow gasped. “Is that yours?”

You nodded. “Every piece of her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s temperamental, high-maintenance, and will betray you the moment you relax.” You ran a hand across the wing. “But yeah. She’s mine.”

Willow stepped forward, a little reverent. “What’s it like? Sitting in her. That moment right before the lights go out?”

You turned to her, studying the rookie’s hopeful face. “It’s like…you disappear. And all that’s left is instinct. Speed. Survival.”

Willow looked down, serious now. “I don’t know if I’ll be good enough.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“I thought I’d have more time..” she admitted. “To grow. To learn. And now I’m being dropped next to you. You’re a world champion. You’re her partner. What if I screw up?”

You softened. “You will.” you said simply. “We all do. But we get better. That’s how this works. Just don’t try to be me.”

Willow looked up, surprised. “Be you. That’s who she signed.”

Willow nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

You gave her a small smile. “That’s all you need to do.”

The tour ended as the midday sun baked the tarmac in a golden shimmer. Willow had talked nonstop for nearly an hour, and though you didn’t admit it out loud, the kid had started to grow on you. Somewhere between her overly enthusiastic obsession with brake cooling systems and the way her eyes lit up when they entered the data lab, you felt something unfamiliar settle in your chest.

Not irritation. Not jealousy. Something closer to nostalgia.

You returned to the garage, where the hum of the team buzzed around you like bees, techs checking tire pressure, interns typing rapidly, radios crackling between engineers. The pulse of the season was coming alive again, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

Natasha appeared just as you stepped back into the paddock. She’d changed into her track jacket, her red hair pulled back in a low ponytail, clipboard tucked under one arm. Her presence was casual, but commanding, as always.

“How’s the tour?” she asked, directing the question to Willow, though her eyes flicked briefly toward you.

Willow straightened again. “Incredible. I..I don’t even know how to process it all. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Natasha gave her a small smile, the kind that was rare and real. “Good. I like drivers who know how to appreciate where they are. But now it’s time to stop dreaming and start driving.”

Willow blinked. “Wait. N-Now?”

Natasha gestured toward the second car in the garage, sleek, matte gray, less tuned than your beast but still mean enough to roar.

“Nothing major. Just a few laps. Get the feel of the track. It’s different when it’s ours.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Natasha smirked. “Neither do you.”

Willow looked between you, nervous again but clearly vibrating with excitement. “I- yes. Absolutely. Thank you, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Call me Natasha when we’re not in front of sponsors.” she said, turning to toss her clipboard on the table. “Suit up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Within twenty minutes, Willow was in the car. The Romanoff test track wasn’t part of any international circuit. It was private land, built with obsessive precision, modeled after the most complex corners of Monaco, Silverstone, and Spa, all folded into a brutal loop of tight chicanes, high-speed straights, and elevation changes that punished hesitation.

It wasn’t a track for rookies.

You stood with your arms crossed beside Natasha at the observation deck just above pit lane, watching the camera feed light up as the car pulled from the garage.

“She looks scared.” you said.

“She should be.” Natasha replied. “Fear keeps your hands steady.”

The engine roared to life and Willow was off, taking the first few laps with visible caution. Corners were wide, braking early, no aggressive downshifts. You leaned against the railing, unimpressed.

“She’s holding back.”

“She’s learning the rhythm.” Natasha said, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Watch.”

You did. And after lap three, something shifted. The lines tightened. Her timing smoothed. She stopped dancing around the turns and started slicing through them. Lap four, she nailed the uphill chicane without touching the apex rumble strip. On five, she drifted wide just enough to preserve tire heat without compromising the downforce.

Your brow furrowed. “…Huh.”

Natasha’s smile was faint, knowing. “She’s good.”

“She’s very good.”

You watched in silence as Willow pushed through another two laps, faster each time. Still not elite, but promising. Focused. Hungry. She cut the final corner too sharp on the last run and skidded slightly, catching herself at the edge of the gravel. She brought the car in after that, helmeted head turning as she entered the garage and coasted to a stop.

When the engine went quiet, you let out a low breath. “…Okay,” you muttered. “That can’t go unanswered.”

Natasha turned. “Oh?”

Your smile grew slowly. “Give me ten minutes and my girl back in the paddock.”

“You want to race her?”

You turned to her, eyes gleaming with challenge. “You wanted her tested. Let’s see how she handles the heat.”

Natasha considered you for a beat, then nodded.

“Don’t go easy on her.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Ten minutes later, you were back in your suit. Helmet in hand. Every step toward the car felt like slipping back into a second skin. The hum of the garage faded. Everything outside the cockpit was background noise.

As you lowered yourself into the car, you glanced toward Willow, who was standing by the pit wall, helmet still on, clearly unsure whether to be thrilled or terrified. You gave her a thumbs-up before the visor came down.

And then, the track swallowed you. Willow took the lead on the first lap, you let her. Let her feel that taste of control, let her believe for a second she had the upper hand.

But by lap two, you were tightening the gap. By three, you were on her tail, reading every line she chose, every hesitation. On the fourth lap, as you hit the blind uphill switchback, you saw your chance.

You dove in, late brake, tighter line, a calculated brush that skirted legality, and took the inside.

Willow blinked. Hesitated. That was all you needed. From then on, it wasn’t even a contest. The next lap was yours, sharp, precise, and punishing. Your car became an extension of your body. Every muscle aligned with purpose. You were wind and fire, all instinct and fury, tearing up the track to prove one thing:

You still had it.

And by the time you crossed the line, your car a full second ahead, the point had been made loud and clear. When you pulled back into the garage, engines cooling with the ticking sound of victory, you climbed out, removed your helmet, and walked toward Willow, whose face was flushed behind her visor.

She flipped it up slowly.

“…Holy shit..” Willow whispered.

You smirked. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

Natasha joined you then, arms folded, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “I think that counts as your initiation.”

Willow looked between you, still catching her breath. “I want to be that good.”

“You will be.” you said, slapping her lightly on the shoulder. “Just not today.”

As the sun dipped behind the track’s final corner, casting long shadows across the asphalt, Natasha’s voice cut through softly, “Looks like I’ve got two monsters on my team now.”

You looked over, and for the first time since the rookie’s name was mentioned, you smiled without reservation.

“Yeah.” you said. “But only one queen.”

——

It had been six days since the race. Six days since you smoked Willow on the track. Six days since the rookie came off the tarmac breathless and wide-eyed like she’d touched fire, and wanted more.

Since then, the team had shifted into full gear. Training simulations. PR meetings. Car telemetry reworks. Everyone was running on caffeine, deadlines, and pit-lane adrenaline. And somewhere in the chaos, you started to feel it:

Distance.

At first, it was small. A skipped coffee. A missed debrief. Natasha pulling Willow aside in the garage, gesturing with that intense, low tone she always used when she wanted to build a driver up from the inside out. You had heard it before. You remembered how rare it was to be spoken to like that.

Now you watched it from a distance. On the fourth day, you showed up early for simulator drills, but Natasha had already booked Willow in your slot. No heads-up. Just a polite nod from the tech.

“Romanoff said to prioritize rookie reflex calibration..” he mumbled.

You had just nodded and turned away, jaw tight. You weren’t the rookie anymore. You weren’t the rescue project. You were the reigning world champion. And somehow, you felt completely invisible.

That night, the compound was unusually quiet. The rest of the team had gone out for a media dinner, but you had passed. Natasha hadn’t even asked if you were coming, she’d assumed you weren’t, too caught up talking setups with Willow, who had practically bounced through the garage all day with her notebook and never-ending questions.

You stood alone now in the garage, long after the rest had left, staring at your car in the low lights. Just you and the beast. The car didn’t judge. The car didn’t compare. You ran your hand across the edge of the carbon fiber bodywork, fingertips ghosting over the Romanoff logo near the cockpit.

How many times had this car saved you? How many times had Natasha? And now it felt like none of it was enough.

A sharp click of heels on the concrete behind you broke the silence. You didn’t turn.

“I figured I’d find you here.” Natasha said quietly.

You swallowed. “Thought you had dinner with the prodigy.”

Natasha approached slowly, a slight edge of confusion in her voice. “Willow went with the tech crew. I was looking for you.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of looking lately.” you said, the words out before you could stop them.

Natasha paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You finally turned to face her. “You tell me. You’ve been glued to her since the day she arrived. Training, testing, feedback loops, hell, you even rearranged my sim time.”

“That wasn’t personal, baby.” Natasha said. “She needs the hours.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re already a world champion.”

“Right..” you snapped, stepping back. “So now I’m just the legacy act? The girl who came broken, who got rebuilt, but isn’t new enough or shiny enough to get your attention anymore?”

Natasha’s face hardened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You didn’t have to fight for her. You didn’t have to convince her to stay when her nightmares made her puke at night. You didn’t hold her hand when she spun out and started screaming because she thought she was flying into a wall again. She came ready-made. Clean slate. Untouched.”

Natasha flinched, subtle, but it was there. “I never saw you smile at me like that, back then.”

“You mean when you didn’t trust anyone and couldn’t look me in the eye?” Natasha’s voice was low now. Dangerous. “Don’t rewrite history just because it hurts.”

Your breath caught. You stared at each other for a long moment. Everything in your chest was burning, shame, longing, fear. You hated how small you felt. How much you cared.

“I know what this is..” you said quietly. “She’s the driver you always wanted.”

Natasha stepped forward, firm. “Stop it.”

“She is.” you insisted, voice cracking. “No damage. No baggage. You didn’t have to rebuild her. You just got to mold her. And I-“

“You were never a project to me.”

“You say that, but it’s starting to feel like I was.”

The silence between you was deafening. Natasha took a breath, slow, deliberate. “Do you really think I love you because I had to?”

You didn’t answer, and natasha’s expression softened, less sharp, more raw. “I love you because you fought. Because you refused to stay down when every bone in your body told you to quit. I love the way you clawed your way back to the wheel, even when no one else believed in you. That’s not pity. That’s admiration.”

“Then why does it feel like you’ve forgotten I’m still here?” you whispered.

Natasha looked stunned, just for a second. Then she reached out, gently, cupping your face. Her thumbs brushed your cheeks, you hadn’t realized you’d been crying until then.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Y/n.” Natasha murmured. “I’ve been looking at you every day and thinking: God, she’s still the fire I fell for. But I didn’t realize you were feeling this.”

“I didn’t either..” you said, your voice hoarse. “Not until she showed up and you stopped seeing me the way you used to.”

Natasha shook her head. “No. I see you. I always see you. You just started turning away.”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe her. Wanted to let it go. But the doubt sat heavy in your gut like lead.

“You need to tell me when I miss something.” Natasha said, pulling you in closer. “Not when it’s too late. Not when you’ve already built a story in your head.”

You rested your forehead against hers. “She’s good.”

“She is.”

“But I’m still better.”

Natasha smiled. “Goddamn right, you are.”

A beat passed. Then you added, quietly, “But I still needed to hear it.”

Natasha kissed you then, slow, grounding, a promise sealed without words. And for the first time in days, you let yourself believe that you weren’t being replaced. You were still the heart of this team. Still hers.

——

The press tent was larger than usual, elevated seating for journalists, polished banners on either side of the platform, and every camera lens locked in with laser precision. The Romanoff Racing emblem hovered on every backdrop, flanked by the logos of their newest sponsors. A gentle buzz filled the air, expectation, speculation, heat from the lights.

And at the center of it all: Natasha.

She walked onto the stage like she owned it, because, in a way, she still does. Her tailored black blazer, fitted white blouse, and subtle smile made her look every bit the icon. Calculated cool. Controlled grace. She stood at the mic with the same poise she showed when strategizing before a stormy Grand Prix.

“Ladies and gentlemen..” she began, her voice even, but firm. “Thank you for joining us today. As most of you know, Romanoff Racing is entering its fifth season on the circuit. We’ve broken records, rewritten what a comeback can look like, thanks in large part to our champion, Y/n.”

There was a small wave of applause, and backstage, you exhaled slowly as the spotlight grazed you for a moment, just enough to burn.

“But this year..” Natasha continued, “we’re growing. I’ve made the decision to bring in a second driver. A rising star. Someone with the kind of raw instinct and racing spirit I haven’t seen in a long time.”

A pause. “Please welcome our new official team driver: Willow Petrov.”

The tent erupted. Cameras flashed wildly as Willow stepped onto the stage, her team jacket pressed and spotless, her blonde braid tucked neatly under a Romanoff Racing cap. Her cheeks were pink from nerves, but she beamed like a kid on Christmas. There was no hiding her awe.

She took her place beside Natasha and gave the mic a nervous glance before speaking. “It’s… honestly insane to be here. I used to watch her replays on YouTube between my F2 races..” she admitted with a laugh. “and now I’m wearing the same patch. I’m here to learn, grow, and drive my heart out for this team.”

Natasha smiled, laying a subtle hand on Willow’s shoulder as she guided her back a step. Then came the volley of questions, standard press fare at first, then sharper, messier.

“Natasha, was this a long-term plan to bring in new blood?”

“Willow, do you feel pressure being compared to a world champion teammate?”

“Y/n, how does it feel to share the spotlight after carrying the team solo for so long?”

That last one hit. You, seated now beside Willow and Natasha, leaned forward to the mic. Your smile was tight, practiced.

“We’re not here to compete with each other. We’re here to win, together. That’s what matters.”

A professional answer. Unshakable. But inside, something twisted. You watched as Natasha angled slightly toward Willow during the Q&A. A nod here, a subtle prompt there, encouraging. Guiding.

The same way she used to do with you. You didn’t even realize you were clenching your fist under the table until Willow’s elbow bumped you gently.

“You good?” Willow whispered, low enough the mics wouldn’t catch it.

You blinked and looked at her. The girl’s big blue eyes were full of concern, not competition.

And for a moment, you felt bad for being annoyed with her. “Yeah.” you murmured back. “Just waiting for the fun part.”

After the conference, you were ushered outside for the official media line, step-and-repeat photos, handshake shots, and a trio pose in front of the new car prototype. You had done this a hundred times. You knew how to stand. Where to smile. When to tilt your chin for that ‘effortless confidence’ angle.

But today, it all felt tight around the edges. “Okay, Natasha in the middle, Y/n on the left, Willow on the right..perfect!” one of the PR reps called out.

Flashbulbs exploded. Willow grinned wide, clearly new to the pressure but trying her best to keep up. Her hand hovered awkwardly near your back, unsure if she was supposed to pose with you or not.

You glanced at her. Then, with a tiny sigh, you reached out and gently pulled Willow a little closer.

“Relax..”you muttered. “We’re not enemies. We’re just expensive mannequins right now.”

Willow laughed, nervous but grateful. “You’re kind of intimidating, you know that?”

You raised a brow. “Me? You’re the one everyone’s calling the future of Romanoff Racing.”

Willow looked over at you, more seriously now. “Maybe. But you’re the heart of it.”

That stung in a way you didn’t expect. You weren’t sure if it was pity, or admiration, or just awkward honesty, but it cut through the noise.

More flashes. Another angle. Another forced smile. Then Natasha stepped between you for a tighter photo, resting a hand on each of your backs. The press roared, headlines already forming.

“The Queen, the Champion, and the Prodigy.”

You tried not to flinch at the way Natasha’s hand lingered slightly longer on Willow’s shoulder than yours. Tried not to let your smile falter. Tried not to think about how much had changed..and how fast.

Later, when the crowd had cleared and the cameras were packed away, you stayed behind in the now-empty paddock, hands stuffed in your pockets, sunglasses still on. Natasha found you there, leaning against one of the sponsor walls, staring at nothing.

“You did good.” Natasha said softly. “Held your own.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve had practice.”

There was a beat of silence. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but next to me up there.”

You turned toward her, finally taking the shades off. Your eyes were tired. Honest. “I just miss when I didn’t have to share you.”

Natasha didn’t smile. She didn’t lecture. She just stepped forward and took your hand. “You don’t have to share what we have. But you do have to trust it.”

“I’m trying..” you whispered. “But every time you look at her like she’s something special, I wonder if I’m just…fading.”

“You’re not fading.” Natasha said, her voice low and firm. “You’re shining. And the only reason I even brought her in was because I wanted to protect you. Give you someone beside you on the road. Not behind. Not in front. Beside.”

You closed your eyes, leaned into her touch. It still hurt. But at least now you knew: You weren’t invisible.

Not yet.

The week leading up to the race had been relentless. Training drills. Lap simulations. PR follow-ups. Tire compound testing. A new aero package install that barely made it past Friday’s technical inspection.

And somewhere in between, you had started sleeping with one arm under your pillow and one hand curled into a fist, like you were bracing for something you couldn’t quite name.

Willow, for her part, had thrown herself into the grind with youthful fire, running morning laps in the rain, asking the race engineers questions until midnight, sipping black coffee like it was a secret weapon. Her natural instincts were beginning to polish into something sharper. More refined. You noticed. And for the first time, you stopped feeling jealous, and started feeling hungry.

The qualifying day sun was harsh and dry, high in a cloudless sky, beating down on the Romanoff Racing paddock like a spotlight that wouldn’t turn off. The air shimmered with heatwaves above the tarmac. Cameras hovered, drones buzzed, and pit crews moved like silent machines around their cars.

This was it. Solo time trials. No traffic. No slipstreams. Just driver vs. track, one at a time. Every corner counted. Every tenth of a second was a kingmaker, or a curse.

The starting order for the qualifying runs had been drawn the night before. Willow would go out first for Romanoff Racing. You would go last.

The reigning champion. The final roar.

Inside the garage, Willow paced back and forth in her suit, her gloves half-on, eyes bouncing between her race engineer and Natasha. The kid was wired like a live wire, bouncing with nerves, soaking in every word Natasha fed her through the headset mic.

You sat on a stool in the corner, helmet in your lap, one leg crossed over the other, quiet and observant. You weren’t jealous, not really.. But there was a grating sound in your head you couldn’t turn off. Natasha’s voice. Gentle. Encouraging. Proud.

“Take a clean line through 11, watch the outside rumble. Brake later if the tires warm fast enough.”

“Like that. That’s the right read.”

“Trust your gut, don’t overthink the apex.”

You ground your jaw. You used to hear those words. Back when you needed them. Now, you didn’t get so much as a nod.

Willow stepped into the car and rolled onto the track. The garage emptied to the pit wall, where engineers stood with headsets, telemetry readouts glowing. Natasha followed, slipping on her shades like she was watching her personal investment roll into orbit.

You didn’t go with them. You stayed in the shade. Then you stood up, pulled your cap low, and walked. Elsewhere on the paddock, the atmosphere was different, less rigid, more relaxed. Some of the other drivers were lounging under the sponsor tents, sipping water, exchanging banter, or pretending not to care.

You wandered near the corner where some of the lesser-known, but fast, independent drivers hung out. Guys from underground teams. Not rookies, not legends..just raw talent.

You leaned against a stack of tires, arms crossed, not saying much at first. “L/N, you going soft on us?” one of them joked, a smirking Frenchman named Jules. “You’re not watching your little protégé?”

You shrugged. “She’s not mine.”

“You saying that like it’s not already in the headlines..” someone else teased. “The Queen and the Kid. All eyes on Romanoff.”

Another chuckle. Then a quieter voice chimed in, “You hear about that circuit run? Off-record? Midnight, no cameras, real speed.”

You raised an eyebrow. The group shifted subtly, gauging your interest. You didn’t respond right away, but your gaze held. One of them, stocky, buzz cut, tattooed fingers, grinned. “What, the world champ thinking about getting her hands dirty?”

A few laughs. Someone leaned closer. “Wouldn’t that be something? You on a back-alley grid with the rest of us rats.”

You gave a lopsided smile. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But something about it thrilled you. The rawness. The danger. The lack of polish. No PR team. No pressure..

Just you and the car.

They saw that spark in you. And they liked it. You didn’t agree. But you didn’t shut it down either. And somewhere deep in your gut, the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched.

You walked back in just as Willow’s final lap flashed across the telemetry screen:

1:20.408

Gasps. Claps. A low cheer from the Romanoff Racing pit team.

P1. For now.

Your stomach dropped. Natasha turned to you, eyes bright behind her sunglasses. “She nailed it. Best lap of the day so far.”

You didn’t reply. Just reached for your gloves. Something in Natasha’s tone, maybe pride, maybe surprise..lit a fuse inside you.

Willow climbed out of the car moments later, flushed and beaming, helmet off and braid soaked in sweat.

“I think I blacked out during sector three.” she panted.

“You didn’t.” Natasha replied. “You just drove like you meant it.”

You met Willow’s eyes briefly. The girl still looked like she worshipped you. But that made it worse somehow. Because now you had to remind everyone who built this team’s legacy.

Your lap was up next.

You pulled on the helmet. Closed the visor. The world shrunk to engine hum and breath.

Radio check.

“Comms clear. You ready?”

“Always.”

“No overdrive early. Hold back on sector one, save the tires for the back half. We only need one clean lap. Not a death wish.”

You tightened your grip on the wheel.

“I’m not here to be clean. I’m here to be fast.”

Natasha didn’t reply. The light turned green, and you floored it. You took sector one tight, ignoring Natasha’s caution. The tires screamed at the high-speed curve through turn six. You leaned hard into the chicane, barely clipping the apex, riding the edge of the curbs with millimeter precision.

Sector two: near-perfect. You braked a split-second later than anyone else dared at turn eleven, kissing the wall on exit without losing speed.

Sector three: the fast zone. No brakes. Pure throttle. Pure fury.

You were flying. By the time you crossed the line, your final time flashed across the board:

1:19.774

Silence. Then a collective inhale from the pit. You sat in the car, helmet still on, staring ahead as the data streamed in.

P1.

Back in the garage, Natasha pulled off her headset slowly. The corner of her mouth lifted. “She’s still got fire.”

Willow watched the screen, eyes wide, but there was no bitterness. Only awe.

“She’s not human..” Willow whispered. “She’s art with an engine.” Natasha didn’t reply. But the look in her eyes said enough.

You returned minutes later, pulling off your helmet in one slow, deliberate motion. Your eyes met Natasha’s. Not smug. Not smiling..Just raw.

“I needed that..” you said quietly.

Natasha stepped closer. “You earned that.”

Willow came up beside you, flushed and panting. “I thought I had it…”

You gave her a glance. “You almost did.”

You stood there in silence, three women. First, second, and the one who saw both sides. For now, Romanoff Racing ruled the grid. But underneath the steel and sweat and smiles..Something else was brewing.

——

The hotel room was quiet.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sparkled under a velvet sky. Horns in the distance. Soft wind curling through the open slats of the terrace door. The whole world was moving, just not here.

Here, it was still. You lay on your side, facing the window, bare shoulders half-draped in sheets. Your hair still damp from a late shower, your mind still too full from the day. The numbers of your lap time looped in your head. 1:19.774.

A victory. But somehow, not enough. Behind you, Natasha was lying on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other resting near your spine. Not touching. Just there.

The silence between you was soft, not cold, but it carried weight. You don’t know how to speak the ache that lingered in your chest. The quiet, bitter curl of doubt that still whispered..

What if she doesn’t need me anymore?

Then, without warning, Natasha shifted. She reached, slow and deliberate, and pulled you gently onto her, guiding your body across her own like it was something she’d done a hundred times, and it was. Legs tangled. Hands at your waist. You blinked down at her, surprised.

“…What are you doing?”

Natasha looked up, eyes calm, steady. “Reminding you.”

You frowned, confused. “Of what?”

“That you don’t have to be scared.” Natasha said simply. “That I’m not going anywhere.”

You froze. Of course..Natasha’s fingers brushed your lower back, tracing the faint curve of your spine with absent reverence. “I know that look in your eyes..” she murmured. “The one you try to hide behind your helmet. The one that says ‘I’m slipping.’”

“I’m not-”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/n.”

You closed your mouth. Natasha’s voice softened, like velvet over steel. “You think because I’m proud of her, I’ve stopped being proud of you.”

“I know you are..” you whispered.

“Do you?”

You looked away. That silence told Natasha everything. She sat up slightly, pressing her forehead against yours. Her breath was warm. Her voice firm.

“You are not being replaced. Willow’s a driver. You are everything. You are the reason this team has a heartbeat. You are why I built this whole empire in the first place.”

Your throat tightened. “I just..sometimes I feel like-”

Natasha didn’t let you finish. She kissed you. Deep, slow, anchoring. And you melted into it, not because it was heat, but because it was home.

When Natasha rolled you fully beneath her, fingers trailing down your ribs, her mouth never left yours. Her touch wasn’t demanding, it was declarative.

You are mine. You are seen. You are still the fire.

You didn’t speak again. You didn’t need to.

The Next Morning – 6:48 AM

The car ride to the track was quiet in the front. Loud in the back. Natasha drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily against the center console. Her face was set, calm, already mentally halfway through the first ten laps.

In the rearview mirror, she watched you. Head against the window, music in your ears, hoodie up, one hand loosely gripping your phone in your lap. You weren’t asleep, but you weren’t here, either. Lost in thought. In routine. In preparation.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She just watched you. Softly. In the passenger seat, Willow was a whirlwind of motion. She had her phone out, snapping photos of the sunrise over the city skyline, the rows of transport trucks pulling into the paddock, the backs of race trailers covered in sponsor logos.

“God, this is insane!!” Willow muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “I can’t believe we’re really here..”

Natasha smirked faintly. “It’s always real at the first corner.”

Willow didn’t even flinch. “I’m ready.”

She meant it. Her excitement wasn’t childish anymore. It was focused. Sharpened. Natasha glanced at her, proud. Then back at the mirror.

Your gaze was on the road. But your fingers tapped once, almost in rhythm to Natasha’s signal light. A quiet acknowledgment.

The moment the car pulled into the underground entrance to the paddock, cameras began flashing. They hadn’t even stepped out yet.

Natasha cut the engine and sat for a beat. “You two know the drill.”

You pulled out your earbuds and tucked them into your pocket. Still silent, but sharp now. Willow adjusted her jacket and reached for her media pass lanyard.

“God, there’s already like fifty of them..” she muttered. Natasha stepped out first. The sound of shutters exploding hit instantly. Flashes. Voices. Shouts.

“ROMANOFF, OVER HERE!”

“WILLOW, SMILE FOR SKY SPORTS!”

“Y/N! ANY COMMENT ON THE RIVALRY?”

You followed, hoodie up, sunglasses on. No expression. Willow followed last, almost jumping at the barrage of attention, but she didn’t flinch. She smiled wide. Waved once.

They didn’t stop walking. They didn’t answer questions. The three of you moved in sync toward the garage, driver, driver, boss. And behind every flash, the story was writing itself:

“Romanoff Racing Arrives, One Team, Two Stars, All Eyes On Gold.”

But behind the headline, between the silences and the stolen glances, only one truth mattered: You were here. And you were ready to burn the track down.

You sat in your chair, arms folded, legs crossed. Your race suit was half-zipped, the sleeves knotted at your waist. Your face unreadable.

Willow was across from you, helmet on the table, bouncing her leg under the chair, nervous energy leaking through the edges of her focused expression.

Natasha stood at the head of the room, pointer in one hand, the other resting on the back of her chair. Not smiling. Not lecturing. Just speaking, measured and exact.

“We’re going soft-hard-medium. Staggered stops. Y/n, you’re opening with pace. I want a gap by lap 12.”

You nodded. “Copy.”

“Willow..” Natasha said, voice shifting subtly, “you’re staying with Costa and Wolfe. Buffer zone. You’re not chasing him, not unless I call for it.”

Willow’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t argue. “Understood.”

Natasha clicked a button. A screen lit up with a predictive sim. “There’s a 20% chance of light rain in sector three near the end. If it happens, we hold track position. No unnecessary battles.”

You tilted your head, watching her closely. This wasn’t her usual tone. There was something behind it. A stiffness. An uncertainty.

Minutes later, you sat in pole, visor down, surrounded by cameras and chaos. The air reeked of fuel and heat. A heartbeat pulsed under your palms, yours or the car’s, you didn’t know anymore.

“Y/n, final check. Comms clear?”

“Clear and ready.”

“Good. Watch your rear into turn three. Wolfe will try to dive late.”

“Let him try.”

“Willow, confirm comms.”

“Clear. Heart rate’s at 110. I’m breathing.”

“Good. Just survive the first five laps. The rest will come to you, okay?”

Your jaw twitched inside your helmet. There it was again..The tone-

Lights out.

The roar was immediate. Four-wide dive into the first corner. You took the inside clean, perfectly timed gear shift, shutting the door on Wolfe and Costa with ruthless precision.

By lap 2, you had already opened a 1.7 second lead.

Smooth. Surgical. Untouchable. Behind you, Willow stumbled. Turn six..wide. Lap four..too much brake into the chicane.

“Willow, pull it together. Reset your rhythm. Don’t chase, stabilize.”

“Copy. Sorry.”

Lap six, Willow found it again. She overtook Costa in a brave, inside line maneuver that nearly kissed the gravel. You heard the pit crew cheer. Natasha’s voice crackled with unexpected joy.

“That’s the fire. Keep it clean. Wolfe’s losing grip. You can take him in two.”

You grit your teeth. The car roared under you like a living thing, engine screaming at full tilt, tires gripping tarmac like claws on glass. You breathed slow. Measured. Intentional. Every part of you synced with the machine, the wheel, the brakes, the tiny flicks of balance that made or broke lap times.

You were leading. Clean start. Clean pace. Fastest lap by lap 11. Smooth as silk, precise as a scalpel. This race was yours.

In your rearview mirror, you saw Willow, P2 now, holding position. Not threatening, not faltering. Just…there. You didn’t think about her. You didn’t have time.

You thought about your line through turn 9, the slight understeer near the tunnel curve, the way your grip was softening on the softs with every corner carve. Your body was singing with focus. This was your world. And nothing, not the crowd, not the pit crew, not even Natasha’s voice, could shake it.

Until lap 34.

“Y/n. We’ve got a situation.”

“Talk to me.”

“Willow’s rear gearbox sensor is pinging. Possible instability. Data’s fluctuating. If Wolfe pushes DRS range and forces a brake duel, that casing could fail.”

You blinked through sweat. “Then pull her back.”

“No. We’re issuing a position swap. Now.”

Silence in your helmet. Your hands tightened on the wheel. What?

The wind outside felt louder. The engine scream thinned into white noise. “…No.”

“That’s not a request.”

“She won’t survive the lead! Not with a blown rear and Wolfe charging!”

Natasha was more cold this time,

“And she definitely won’t if she doesn’t have a wall behind her.”

“I am the wall, Natasha! Let me hold the front. Let me finish this.”

Another beat of silence. Then..

“Y/n. Position. Swap. Now. You protect her or she crashes out. Those are the only outcomes.”

Inside the garage, Natasha stood stiff at the pit wall, headset pressed tight, heart hammering harder than she’d admit. You hadn’t obeyed.

She stared at the live feed, your car just ahead, clean lines, perfect balance, but no sign of lifting. And Willow, driving beautifully, but unaware of just how fragile her car was, was still in second. Vulnerable.

Natasha knew what this was. This wasn’t disobedience. This was fear.

Not for Willow. For you. Letting someone pass when the win was in your hands? When every ounce of your soul knew you were better?

That wasn’t just sacrifice. That was surrender.

Your jaw was tight inside the helmet. Your heart hammered against your ribs, not from fear, but from fury. Your fingers ached on the wheel. Every instinct in you screamed to ignore the call.

This is your race. You built this team. You bled for this damn car.

But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, not just the words, but the way her tone had shifted. The ice. The command.

You didn’t want to listen. But Natasha wasn’t asking. She was telling.

You swore under your breath and eased off the throttle. Just enough, and Willow swept past you on the straight. The crowd screamed. The leaderboard updated.

P1: Willow Petrov

P2: You

And behind you, like a wolf in a storm, Wolfe loomed in P3. You gritted your teeth and dropped behind Willow, matching her pace, locking the line tight. If Wolfe tried anything now, he’d hit a wall of steel.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not without your voice cracking.

Final Laps

Willow held the front with everything she had. Her lines weren’t as perfect, her exits not as sharp, but they were enough. You buffered every corner, forced Wolfe wide, stole DRS range every time it threatened to open. You weren’t racing anymore. You were guarding.

Lap 39.

Lap 40.

The checkered flag waved. Willow crossed the line first. You followed, less than a second behind.

Back in the garage, Willow was pulled from the car by techs and PR and cameras. The first win of her Formula 1 career.

And you? You climbed out in silence. Helmet off. Sweat running down your neck. Eyes unreadable. You stood there beside the car, breathing hard, ignoring the cameras.

Across the garage, Natasha didn’t move. She just watched you. Not as a manager. Not even as a lover. But as a woman who had just asked someone she loved to let go of something sacred.

You walked past her. Didn’t stop. Didn’t look at her. Natasha reached for your hand, just a brush, but you pulled it away gently, and disappeared into the corridor.

Part 2

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[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚍𝚘 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞? || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she forgets but fate doesn't

The hospital lights are always too bright.

Sterile. Cold. Clinical. Nothing like the warmth you used to feel wrapped up in Paige’s arms after a long day, her voice soft against your ear, whispering about dreams and game plans and how lucky she felt to have you.

But now, the only sound that echoes in the room is the beeping of monitors. A rhythm you’ve come to hate because it means she’s alive—but not whole.

She’s been awake for three days.

Three long, agonizing days since the doctors told you the words you never thought you’d hear. Partial retrograde amnesia. A fancy way of saying: She doesn’t remember you.

She remembered basketball. Her coach. Her teammates. Her stats.

But not you.

Not the woman who held her through every injury. Not the woman who kissed her forehead before every game. Not the woman who stood in the stands with her jersey on and tears in her eyes every time she made history.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even seem to want to.

Every time you tried to talk to her, to offer something—anything—to make it come back, she would shrink further into herself. Polite, but distant. Guarded.

You told yourself to be patient. To give her time. Love is supposed to wait, right?

But then her parents pulled you aside.

Her mom couldn’t meet your eyes. Her dad’s voice was gentle but firm.

“Maybe it’s best,” he said, “if you give her some space.”

“She’s overwhelmed,” her mom added. “She’s trying to focus on healing. And you being here… it’s a lot.”

You felt like your heart had been ripped out and handed to you in a sterile hospital hallway.

“But I—” you started, but your voice cracked.

“She doesn’t remember you,” her dad said softly. “Maybe it’s time you start healing too.”

And just like that, you were being erased.

You left UConn a week later.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that gym where you used to shoot around after practice together. Not in that dorm where her laughter used to echo through the halls, tangled up with yours.

You entered the transfer portal.

A week after that, you were headed to UCLA.

New coast. New team. New life.

Except it wasn’t really a life at all.

Because every morning you woke up without her. Every night you fell asleep trying to forget the way she used to whisper I love you against your shoulder.

And Paige?

Paige healed.

She recovered. She rejoined practice. And every now and then, she’d ask her parents, “Hey… that girl that used to sit by my bed. Who was she?”

Her parents would smile too tightly. “Oh, just someone from school,” they’d say. “Don’t worry about it.” “Focus on your future.”

So she tried. She buried the questions. Tried to push past the shadow of a memory she couldn’t reach.

It’s been a year.

Final Four. UConn vs. UCLA.

Of course it comes down to this. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You spot her across the court during warmups.

Paige Bueckers. Back in form. Confident. Deadly. Beautiful in a way that still makes your chest ache.

She doesn’t see you. Or maybe she does and doesn’t know what you mean.

You play your heart out. Every cut, every drive, every shot—there’s fire behind it. But it’s not enough. UConn takes the win.

And then it’s the handshake line.

You don’t know what’s worse—the idea of touching her again, or the idea of not.

She reaches for your hand. Her fingers close around yours.

You look up.

Her eyes meet yours. And something flickers.

A spark. A ghost of recognition. A heartbeat caught in her throat.

“Good game,” she says automatically, her voice hoarse from emotion.

You nod, lips trembling. “You too.”

You try to let go first, but she holds on a second longer. Like maybe she doesn’t want to let go.

Like maybe she knows.

But you pull away with a small smile and walk off.

You don’t look back. You can’t. Because the tears are already falling.

That night, Paige can’t sleep.

She’s tossing and turning in the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, the handshake replaying in her mind on a loop.

Then she starts seeing flashes.

Not highlights. Not plays.

You.

Laughing in the passenger seat of her car, your hand hanging out the window. Falling asleep on her chest after late practices. Sneaking out of hotels for midnight milkshakes before big games. Crying in her arms after your first big loss together. The way she used to kiss the inside of your wrist like it was sacred.

Your voice echoing in her head:

"You make everything feel lighter."

And then— Pain. Sharp and raw. Like her heart’s been waiting all year to remember and now it finally does.

She sits up with a gasp, chest heaving.

And she remembers everything.

The accident. The look on your face when she didn’t know your name. The way you held her hand even when she pulled away. The way you loved her even when she forgot.

And the day you left—eyes red, voice shaking, whispering, “If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts.”

She buries her face in her hands and sobs. Gut-wrenching, soul-breaking sobs.

Because she remembers now. She remembers you. And she let you walk away.

She remembers everything now.

It hits her like a freight train the moment she wakes up, drenched in sweat and tears, clutching the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering her to the world.

You.

Your laugh. Your touch. The way you used to whisper “we’ve got this” before every game like you were casting a spell.

She remembers the accident. The way you used to sit by her bedside, silently praying for a miracle.

She remembers the confusion in your eyes every time she said, “Do I know you?” The way your shoulders slumped just a little more each day.

And then— Your goodbye. Your eyes red. Voice cracking. That whisper— "If you ever remember me… I hope it’s the good parts."

She needs to find you.

Now.

She jumps out of bed, heart racing, hands shaking as she fumbles with her phone.

Instagram. Blocked. Twitter. Blocked. TikTok. Blocked. Message. Green bubble. No profile picture. No read receipts. Just a wall where there used to be warmth.

She searches your name again, as if something might’ve changed in the last five seconds.

Nothing. You’re gone.

She stares at the screen like it might apologize.

Like it might undo what her silence, her forgetting, has cost her.

She runs to her parent’s hotel room like she’s being chased, the ache in her chest growing with every mile. The moment she steps through the door, her mom’s face pales.

“You remember,” her mom says softly.

Paige nods, jaw tight. “Everything.”

Her dad shifts uncomfortably. “Paige, we didn’t mean to—”

“You told her to leave, didn’t you?” Her voice is hoarse now. Breaking. “You told the love of my life to walk away from me.”

“You were overwhelmed,” her mom defends gently. “You didn’t recognize her, and she was—”

“She was mine!” Paige snaps, the tears already welling in her eyes. “She waited by my bed every day, and you treated her like she was some stranger trying to mess with me.”

Her mom’s lip trembles. “We thought we were helping—”

“You weren’t. You took her from me.”

She’s crying now. Full-on sobs she can’t control. Her knees buckle and she sinks to the kitchen floor, head in her hands.

Her dad kneels beside her, reaching to touch her shoulder, but she flinches away.

“She left because she loved me,” she chokes out. “And now I’ve lost her for good.”

Championship night.

It’s everything she dreamed of.

Confetti falls from the rafters. Cameras flash. Reporters crowd the court. The trophy’s heavy in her arms, shining under the lights.

But all she feels is empty.

Because you’re not there.

Not in the stands wearing her jersey. Not on the court, jumping into her arms. Not waiting in the tunnel with your arms wide and your smile even wider.

You’re nowhere.

She stands there, holding the championship trophy, and the moment the cameras pull away, she breaks.

Sinks to the hardwood, sobbing so hard her chest shakes.

Azzi and KK rush to her, but there’s nothing they can do. Nothing anyone can do.

Because she won it. The dream you built together. The thing you used to whisper about under blankets and after practice and in quiet corners of the world. “We’ll win one together. Just wait.”

You waited. You believed. And she forgot you.

And now you’re gone.

Later, alone in the locker room, she scrolls through your old messages.

The ones she didn’t delete. The ones she couldn’t.

"I believe in you always." "You’re not alone. Not ever." "We’re going to make it, babe. I promise."

She clutches her phone to her chest and cries again. The trophy sits on the bench beside her, shining quietly.

But it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Because she won.

But she lost you.

It’s been a week.

Seven days since the championship. Since the confetti. Since Paige collapsed in the locker room clutching a trophy in one hand and her heart in the other.

She hasn’t stopped thinking about you. You, who should’ve been on the court beside her. You, who used to trace plays on her back with your fingers at night, whispering “When we win it all…” like it was gospel.

But you weren’t there.

And the silence is louder than any celebration ever could be.

She’s sitting in the back of a black SUV on the way to the WNBA Draft, staring at the world outside the window, eyes glazed over.

Azzi’s next to her, buzzing with nerves and excitement. Paige should be too. She’s projected to go first. Her dream is about to come true.

But her hands are cold. Her throat’s dry. Because the person she wanted to celebrate with most— Is gone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see you again.

You told yourself you wouldn’t come. You’d done the whole disappearing act flawlessly—blocked numbers, wiped socials, cut the thread before it could pull you back in.

But then the day arrived, and you couldn’t stay away.

So now you’re here.

Not in the front row. Not on the list. But tucked away in the back of the venue in jeans and a hoodie, hood up like maybe that’ll hide the way your heart is thudding in your chest.

You just wanted to see her one last time.

The lights dim. The commissioner steps up to the mic.

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select…”

You hold your breath.

“Paige Bueckers, from University of Connecticut.”

The crowd explodes.

You’re on your feet before you know it, clapping with your whole soul, because God, you’re proud of her.

Because no matter the distance, no matter the heartbreak— You always believed in her.

She walks across the stage, hugs her parents, accepts the jersey, does the interview.

And for a moment, you let yourself imagine an alternate world. One where you're up there with her. Where she never forgot. Where you never left.

But you blink and it’s gone.

You’re halfway to the exit when the commissioner returns to the podium.

You pause.

Probably just the last few names. Filler. Nothing that concerns you.

“…and with the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft…”

You check your phone, already mentally checking out.

“The Dallas Wings select…”

You look up absently.

“…Y/N L/N, from University of California Los Angeles.”

Your heart stops.

You freeze. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

No. That— That has to be a mistake.

You barely played this year. You didn’t go to any pre-draft camps. You only declared because your coaches pushed you to. You didn’t even think you’d get a look.

And now— Now you're drafted?

By Dallas?

The same team as Paige?

The same Paige who’s sitting with the commentators, still soaking up the high of being drafted first overall, smiling through interviews — until your name’s announced.

You see it in real time. Her whole body freezes.

The mic drops a little in her hand. Her head snaps toward the screen behind her, where your face flashes beside your name.

She doesn’t even blink.

Because she heard it. She felt it.

Just like you did.

After taking your picture, you’re pulled into a different room, mind still i overdrive, not being to comprehend much yet. As you walk in, there she was — looking beautiful in her suit.

You don't know what to expect. A handshake? A nod? Maybe just silence?

But as soon as you reach her— She steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

Tight. Shaking. Desperate.

And suddenly you're back in her arms, back in the place you never thought you'd be again.

"I prayed for a second chance," she whispers in your ear. "And you showed up."

You swallow the lump in your throat, gripping the back of her jersey like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“I didn’t think I’d get drafted,” you murmur. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. There's glassiness there, but also something else—something soft and fierce and real.

“I’m not losing you again,” she says, voice thick with tears.

You can’t trust yourself to speak. So you just nod. Because maybe this time, fate is finally on your side.

[lascvitae]

DREAMIN’ ✵ AERI UCHINAGA.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. I MUST BE DREAMIN’ .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ aeri calls you over to the studio when she can’t focus, but you prove to be far more distracting than anything else.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. giselle x fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. smut (18+) ᝰ.ᐟ warning(s). dom aeri, pet names (love, baby, pretty girl, pretty baby), choking (but not really), cunnilingus (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), slight rough sex, praising, overstimulation, thigh riding, aeri records your moans :dizzy:

ᝰ.ᐟ word count 2k

ᝰ.ᐟ katty: requested by shawty bae but okay next post make you mine part 3 (maybe)

masterlist.

YOUR PHONE BUZZED against your nightstand for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

aeri <3

what are u doingggggggggg

i’m lonely

dopamine is killing my brain

come over or i’ll die ):

you rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile stretching across your face. there was another buzz — a facetime call this time.

you picked it up and were immediately greeted by aeri’s pouty face, glasses slightly tilted. she was wrapped in an oversized hoodie that you were definitely going to steal later.

"you look insane.” you teased immediately.

"please, baby. i’m literally losing my mind. i need moral support. and food.” she tugged the hoodie tighter around herself.

“you just want some food.”

“nuh uh!”

“mmmhmm. you’re using me.” you rolled your eyes.

“i would never.”

you continued to put on your shoes. "you’re lucky you’re hot."

"luck got nothing to do with it, baby.” she blew you a kiss before hanging up.

you navigated the quiet, dimly lit hallways of sm, holding a brown paper bag of late night convenience store junk food. the building was practically abandoned at this hour except for maybe a few exhausted producers and maybe a trainee passed out in one of the practice rooms.

when you pushed open the door to the studio, you found aeri exactly as you imagined her.

she was slouched in the chair like she was bored, hoodie almost swallowing her entire body. you could see her sneakers kicked off under the desk.

"delivery for the world’s neediest girlfriend.” you announced while stepping inside.

her head snapped up immediately, whole face lighting up.

she scrambled out of the chair and towards you in like two seconds, throwing her arms around you so hard you almost dropped the bag.

"you’re my hero.” she mumbled into your shoulder.

you laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. "but you owe me.”

she pulled back enough to smirk at you. "i’ll pay you back. in kisses.”

"you better." you said, leaning down to kiss her quickly.

you settled on the couch, watching as she took a bite of the snack you brought. chips, half squashed candy bars, a sandwich? and dramatically groaned like it was the best thing she ever ate.

"i’m saving your life right now. this is basically charity work.” you said while lounging back, one leg hooked over the other.

"i’m gonna put you in the credits. special thanks to my sexy, generous, perfect girlfriend.” aeri mumbled with a mouthful of chips.

"damn right."

silence passed over while she chewed and you scrolled through your phone. the studio was lit by the monitor's glow and the leds on buttons and knobs you knew absolutely nothing about. but aeri did and you admired her for it.

"wanna hear something?” she asked suddenly, adjusting some of the buttons.

“always.” you perked up immediately, tucking your phone away.

she fiddled with the buttons some more and an addictive beat filled the room. it intrigued you immediately. you watched the way she bobbed her head to it she was effortless even in the middle of the night. even with a few crumbs on her lap.

your chest tightened.

"this is so good, baby.” you said honestly, shifting so you could see her better.

aeri flushed, smiling as she twisted her chair slightly. "it’s missing something."

"what?"

"you."

you smiled, pushing yourself up off the couch. "smooth."

"learned from the best."

you wandered over, hands sliding onto her shoulders and kneading gently. she hummed, leaning back into your touch.

"mm, 's not fair. you’re distracting me.” she said quietly.

"not doing anything.” you teased, squeezing her tighter. you bent down to press a kiss behind her ear, smiling when she shivered.

“stop. you know what that mouth does to me.” she whined, tilting her head back to look at you upside down.

"maybe you need a break.” you whispered against her temple, smiling when her hands reached for you.

she tugged you closer, and before you could blink you were straddling her, sinking into her lap. the chair squeaked under the both of you.

"jesus.” she breathed out, hands immediately gripping your thighs, your waist. anywhere she could touch.

she lifted her thigh up into you and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet whimper. a quiet whimper that she caught.

"you sound so pretty.” she murmured, voice low against your neck.

“wonder how pretty you’d sound on the track."

you bit your lip.

"make those noises for me. let them hear.” she whispered.

your heart stuttered. you kissed her — it was messy, hot, and a little desperate. your fingers thread through her hair and pull on the pink locks lightly. she moaned into your mouth, nails digging into your hips.

the music still played in the background, beat pulsing through the room as the air between you melted together.

aeri broke the kiss only to trail her lips down your jaw, your throat, nipping lightly. you rocked in her lap, gasping when she ground her thigh up into you.

you tugged her hoodie off her head with clumsy fingers, giggling when her hair stuck out in all directions. aeri grinned up at you with pink cheeks.

"stop looking at me like that.” you breathed, rocking down a little harder.

she cursed low under her breath, fingers tightening around your waist before she leaned forward to create a new track.

"can't help it. you’re like a fucking dream.” she said.

her words made you feel drunker than any drink could. you kissed her again, slower this time. it was deeper and it stretched out until your lungs burned. aeri’s hands roamed under your shirt beginning to trail light, teasing touches across your spine that made you shiver.

"so sensitive.” she teased, voice raspier now. she nipped at your bottom lip when you pouted. but your stomach dropped and you had heat rushing through you.

you continued to grind on her thigh and her hand came up to lightly tug around your throat, making you whimper.

“aeri…” you moaned out. she pulled you closer by your throat, kissing you messily while you rocked on her lap.

"there’s my girl.” she whispered as you pulled away, rocking her hips up deliberately and slowly.

"up.” she said roughly.

you pouted.

she gave a low laugh. “come on, baby. be good."

you barely had time to react before she gripped your hips and lifted you, manhandling you off her lap — making you stumble back into the chair clumsily, arms flailing to catch yourself.

"aeri—"

but she was already dropping to her knees between your legs, hungry and determined.

"fuck, look at you.” she murmured, dragging your shorts down your legs, tossing them somewhere across the studio carelessly.

you whimpered, legs instinctively trying to close but aeri was faster — hands firm on your knees, spreading you open wide for her.

"god, you're dripping.” she breathed, almost in awe.

you squirmed helplessly under her gaze, cheeks burning.

she smiled before reaching over. without breaking eye contact, she hit the red record button on the track.

“make those noises for me, love.”

you barely had time to process before her mouth was on you, and your head slammed back against the chair with a helpless whimper.

your hands tried to grip the armrest but settled on aeri’s hair instead. she groaned low against you at the first taste, the vibration going straight through your spine.

“aeri—” you gasped, already trembling under her touch.

she just groaned low against you, like she was savoring you, and the vibration made your hips jerk up without permission.

you felt the way she smirked against your skin.

"so greedy." she muttered.

you were desperate and overwhelmed, you tried to squeeze your legs shut but aeri’s hands shot up, gripping your thighs with a bruising force. she pried them back open roughly, leaving you exposed and trembling.

"no. you don’t get to hide from me. not when you’re this pretty.” she said, voice thick with want.

you whimpered, the raw need in her voice sending a full body shudder through you.

"keep those legs open, love. and let me hear you.” she commanded, punctuating it with a flick of her tongue against your clit.

the music pulsed, lost under the wet sounds of her mouth on you and the broken cries spilling from your lips.

you were shameless now, little moans and gasps tumbling out with every grind of her tongue.

and when she slipped two fingers into you, slow but deliberate, your whole body seized with pleasure.

"fuck— aeri—" you sobbed, head thrown back, tugging at her hair.

"that’s it. give it to me, baby. let me record how pretty you sound.” she whispered, voice rough, curling her fingers just right inside you.

you whimpered again, heat rushing through you at the thought. at knowing she was still recording, that this was all hers.

she thrust into you harder, dragging messy, high cries from your throat. you felt yourself getting close, the pressure building fast.

"gonna cum for me, gorgeous? gonna soak my fucking hand?” she teased against your thigh, kissing it.

"yes— yes— aeri, please!” you moaned frantically.

"then be good and cum.” she ordered, pushing you harder into the chair.

your orgasm shattered you, pleasure ripping through your body like a lightning strike. you were crying out her name so loud you were worried the soundproofing couldn’t stop you anymore

but aeri didn't stop. she hummed, fingers still driving into you through the aftershocks. then her mouth sealed around your clit again like she couldn't get enough.

you whined, the overstimulation making your hips stutter.

"stay open.” she ordered when your legs tried to close again. she forced them wider, kissing you even deeper.

"so fucking good for me. gonna give me another, pretty baby. i know you can.” she praised, bringing you right back to the edge.

you sobbed, nodding helplessly because you had no choice. you were already too far gone.

she curled her fingers again, slow and punishing, tongue never letting up.

you were already shaking, whole body hypersensitive and twitching under her mouth but she didn’t even slow down.

"so sensitive now, huh, love?" she said, soft mockery in her tone.

her fingers dragged against that perfect spot deep inside you again and again, unrelenting, while her tongue lapped hot and heavy against your clit.

"stay fucking still. be good. take it.” she said, voice full of lust.

your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth dropping open on a broken, needy moan.

"please, aeri— i can't—"

"you can. you're doing so good, baby. so pretty for me. cum again — right on my fucking tongue." she said, not giving you even a second to come down.

the pressure snapped so fast you didn’t even realize you were cumming again until you were crying out, body convulsing in her hold. you were louder this time. messier. the sounds were desperate and beautiful.

aeri moaned against you and kept licking you through it, dragging out every last drop.

"fuck, listen to you. could make a song with your sounds alone.” she breathed, pulling back just enough to watch you. your was face flushed and your chest heaving for air.

she smiled and gently kissed the inside of your trembling thigh.

"that’s my good girl.” she whispered, voice rough but full of warmth.

you barely noticed aeri reaching over to stop the recording, the little red light finally blinking off. she kissed your temple gently, murmuring something you couldn’t catch.

"easy, baby. you’re shaking.” she whispered against your skin.

you glared and she just laughed before reaching for her hoodie and tugging it over your head, wrapping you up.

"there. my pretty girl.” she cooed, kissing your nose.

you clung to the sleeves, sinking into the warmth of the fabric.

"you’re so mean.” you muttered hoarsely, letting your head loll back against the chair. aeri laughed again.

"you loved it.” she teased, leaning down to place kisses over your flushed cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth.

you just buried your face in her shoulder.

"you're insufferable."

"and you’re obsessed with me.” she shot back, arms wrapping around you to lift you up out of the chair effortlessly.

you yelped, clinging to her neck. "aeri!"

she just laughed again, carrying you just a few steps over to the studio couch and collapsing onto it with you.

“my best girl. the best vocalist.” she sighed, snuggling into you and tangling her legs with your tingling ones. she then pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to toss over both of you lazily.

you groaned, slapping her chest weakly. "don't you dare use that recording for anything."

“too late. it's my new alarm tone. imagine waking up to you moaning my name every morning."

you shoved your face deeper into her hoodie, clearly mortified.

she just laughed, tightening her arms around you while her voice softened.

"you’re everything to me, y/n. you know that, right?" she murmured, breath warm against your ear.

you looked up at her, heart squeezing painfully tight in your chest.

"yeah. you’re everything to me too.” you whispered, kissing her jaw.

aeri smiled and kissed you slow like there was no rush now. like you had all the time in the world.

"good. cause i’m never letting you go.” she said, nuzzling you.

and then you realized.

you will never be able to hear her song without thinking of this.

taglist — @saysirhc @m00nqvv @yuyuy90

[archerdepartures116]

Hey hey your art is gorgeous and I appreciate how much you love Liu Qingge. He is the best of all of everything and so under appreciated.

Do you have any Liu Qingge specific headcanons?

HHAHH tysmmm he's the best and I think he needs more appreciation because he as so much potential

my pookie adnsndjkdjeakfjt

anyways here is a list of my personal favorite headcanons:

first off, I hc that he's great with small children or babies, cause he used to take care of his sister when she was very young

He squeezes himself into fuckass crevices or sleeps in trees when he has to camp out and the hunt or mission took longer than he anticipated and there's no inn near (that being said, he would probably kind of suck at making campfires the normal mortal way cause why go through all that effort when you can just blast qi to light up the branches + he never needed to ever since he cultivated a core)

can smoke or grill some banger meat, he sometimes shares it with his disciples and they love it

secretly is a little vain, afterall someone put that braid there and having a long piece of hair dangling in front of ur face isn't very practical for certain situations

probably cuddles with cheng luan, need I say more?

him and his sister look very similar (except for height) so they can usually get away with swapping identities

he looks like he stands on his tiptoes most of the time (based on the eng novel art, Ik that's prolly just for dynamic posing sake but this is such an awkward stance for a normal human being lmfao)

probably autistic, i can feel it in my bones

he can crawl on all fours really efficiently for no reason, sometimes uses this skill to scare/test his disciples

giggly typa drunk, i just think it's cute

mf is stacked so he often overestimates the monetary value of items, great for the seller, excruciating for whoever was assigned to accompany monitor him

views food as another testament to his physical will, loves spicy food (but also really likes sweets)

in a modern au, he would be so untech savy it would make your 90 yo grandpa look like a NASA engineer

his closet is one of those cartoon ones where its the exact same fit across the board

[honestlyanowl]

gamer!jinx X plussizedcurvy!reader where jinx has reader cockwarming her strap while she's playing a game plsplspls 🙏🙏🙏

heyy, it's been a while since I've posted a proper smut blurb like this, so I thought I'd make some time today :)

i've been on a trip for about 1-2 months back and fourth, so it's been hard for me to find time or motivation for writing, sorry for the wait. <3 (REQUESTS OPEN)

Content: nsfw - gamer!jinx, plussizedcurvy!reader, cockwarming, strap usage, silent sex, modern au?

Jinx hadn't been paying much attention to you this week, her schedule seemed to always be booked with twitch streams, that lately had seemed to be her priority.

It's not that she didn't see or talk to you throughout the day, you lived in the same apartment after all, but it was only really when you'd bring her food, water, or snacks in between add breaks that you could get a word in.

You were happy she found a career she could enjoy, but you wanted some time with her too. ***

Today however, was slightly different.

How? You may ask, well... most was as pure usual— Jinx had her headphones on, her hands working with practiced ease over the controller she held; eyes focussed on her monitor.

Except it wasn't usual, not with the way you straddled her hips, knees pressing uncomfortably into the arms of her gaming chair, muffling your soft breaths into her neck every time the blue-to-pink gradient strap would slightly nudge more inside of you with every annoyed twitch Jinx's hips would make, usually whenever she'd die in game.

It was both heaven and hell at the same time.

You were more than happy that she was finally allowing you to get close to her, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin, and how your body greedily absorbed it.

However, it was also torture being unable to move, the strap was so deep inside of you, and yet there was so little stimulation...

The best you got were occasional shivers that would climb up your spine whenever the toy massaged that gummy spot inside of you as you shifted on her hips. But it wasn't enough, barely anything compared to what she'd given you a week or so prior. You felt deprived.

You pawed almost pathetically at the freckled skin of her arm, pouting up at her and batting your lashes in hope for something more.

Jinx's gaze flickered down to meet yours for a moment, smiling a little to herself and rolling her eyes back to the screen, her face illuminated by the soft light.

How could she just deny you like that? You deserved it after all the weeks she'd delayed this!

You nudged her again, harder this time. which she obviously didn't like, shooting you a glare, giving your thigh a firm slap, before returning it back to the controller, the fast paced clicking sounds returning to haunt your ears— This was a game to her.

You spent at least thirty strained minutes trying to be pliant, grumbling every time she'd squeeze or grope your stomach to calm herself down. Sometimes going as far as dipping her head down to knowingly nibble at the chub of your cheeks... before continuing her gameplay like nothing.

Maybe she'd whisper sweet nothings by the shell of your ear, or peck your forehead to distract you from the ache inside of you.

You had given up a while ago, slacked into her chest, face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, thriving off the soft lifts of her hips whenever she felt bad, driving the strap slowly in and out, then sinking back into the chair.

"Hey chat, give me like... five minutes? I'm going to go fetch a snack."

You swore as those words left her lips you just about saw heaven, knowing goddamn well she had one or two full packets of chips beside her out of frame.

She placed her controller down, hands reaching down to settle on her hips, nuzzling your face almost apologetically as she helped you get into a higher position, so she could have a nicer angle. Sliding the colourful length in and out of your pretty pussy with long languid strokes. (while also getting a jaw-dropping view.)

Your eyes crossed, it almost hurt how good it felt, how badly you'd been craving this sensation for what felt like hours.

In fact it, you were so deep inside your head now, that you completely forgot about Jinx, who's eyes were staring harmless daggers into your frame. drinking in the sight of you.

her hands kneaded at your chest, dragged down to your stomach and pawed at the fat of your abdomen, dipping lower to grope at the flesh of your thighs.

You groaned, voice crackling as you focussed your gaze, peeking down to watch her, lip bitten between your teeth as you made eye contact.

"Jinx- hng- fuck..!" You almost cried, embarrassed at how little time it took to make you come.

"Wha- already?" Jinx's voice was thick, mocking. And yet all so amused at the same time.

pulling you back down into her chest and sheathing the strap fully into your warmth to run your high out.

Usually you'd rush to pay her back, to make her reach the same peak you did. But not today, definitely not today... you were already curled up against her, dazed out and lulled into Jinx's touch.

Her hands ran over your hips, not bothering to pull out as she rolled small circles into your sides.

"My pretty trinket."

(NOT PROOF READ) - Owl

[goldfades]

Husband Joe burrow x wife reader blurb where Joe gets hurt at the game and she’s in the stands with their kids freaking out. Reader runs to locker room with kids and wait for hours awaiting news. Turns out to be a concussion and reader needs to take care of Joe.

so i just picked some random kids name but i hope yall like it anyway<3 this was a little quick blurb, if yall wanted me to go into detail lmk

the stadium feels alive in a way that almost makes your chest ache—electric lights cutting through the cold december night, the roar of the crowd washing over you in waves. jj’s got his little hands wrapped tight around your scarf, standing on the bench next to you, his cheeks flushed red from yelling. rosie’s curled into your side, clutching her stuffed tiger with all the fierce determination of a three-year-old who hasn’t quite learned to share her dad with the rest of the world.

and joe’s out there, as he always is, calm and unshaken in a sea of chaos. you watch him drop back, the ball slipping out of his hands like a whisper, and for a moment, it feels like time slows. you know the mechanics of it by heart now—the way his body turns, the way his head snaps up to track the pass.

except this time, something’s wrong.

you see it before anyone else does. before the crowd gasps, before the announcers scramble for words, before jj tugs at your sleeve and says, "mom, why isn’t daddy getting up?" your stomach drops, heavy and immediate, as joe stays on the turf, unmoving.

the medics rush out, and everything else—the noise, the lights, the game—it all fades to static. you’re hyper-aware of rosie, still tucked into you, and jj, now climbing off the bench to get a better view. you grab his arm, your voice sharp and shaking. "jj, stay here."

he looks up at you, wide-eyed. "is daddy okay?"

you don’t have an answer. you just know your legs are moving, somehow finding the stairs, the kids trailing after you like little shadows. the buzz of the crowd is deafening, but all you can hear is your pulse hammering in your ears, your breath coming short and uneven.

at some point, you find yourself at the tunnel, blocked by a security guard who’s trying his best to look apologetic. “ma’am, you can’t—”

“he’s my husband,” you cut him off, your voice shaking but firm, jj clinging to your side now, rosie tucked under your arm like a lifeline. “please, we need to see him.”

you don’t remember how you convince him, but the next thing you know, you’re in the hallway, the fluorescent lights glaring and cold, the echo of your kids’ sneakers on the floor making the silence feel heavier. no one’s telling you anything yet, and the minutes stretch into an eternity.

you drop to your knees, jj and rosie curling into you instinctively, and you press a kiss to the top of rosie's head like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "it’s okay," you murmur, mostly for them, but maybe a little for yourself too. "he’s gonna be okay."

you don’t know that. but you have to say it anyway.

the doctor’s voice is steady, practiced—like he’s done this a hundred times before. “it’s a concussion,” he says, glancing up from his clipboard as if to gauge your reaction. "he’s stable, but we’ll need to monitor him closely for the next few days."

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, the tightness in your chest finally starting to ease. a concussion. it’s not nothing, but it’s not everything you were afraid of, either. jj, sitting on the bench in the corner with rosie asleep in his lap, looks up at you. "is daddy gonna be okay now?"

you nod quickly, forcing a small smile even though your hands are still trembling. "yeah, buddy. he’s gonna be okay."

they let you see him after a while. joe’s lying on the padded table in the back room, his eyes closed, a bandage on his temple where he must’ve hit the turf. he stirs as you walk in, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, and even though he’s clearly disoriented, he smiles—a tired, lopsided grin that tugs at your heart.

"hey," he says, voice scratchy and quiet. "you okay?"

you laugh softly, shaking your head. "you’re asking me that? you’re the one who scared the hell out of us, joe."

his eyes drift to jj, who’s standing just inside the doorway, clutching his stuffed football like a lifeline. "hey, champ," joe says, his voice softening. "come here."

jj hesitates, looking at you for permission before running to his dad. he climbs up onto the table, careful not to jostle joe too much, and presses his tiny hand against joe’s chest like he’s checking to make sure he’s really there. "you scared us," jj says, his voice small. "mom was crying."

joe winces, his hand reaching up to ruffle jj’s hair. "i’m sorry, pal. didn’t mean to scare you."

the next morning, the house is unusually quiet. you wake up early, the soft gray light of dawn filtering through the curtains. joe’s still in bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, his eyes closed but his breathing steady. you can’t help but pause for a moment in the doorway, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair sticks out in every direction.

in the kitchen, jj is already awake, perched on a stool with his coloring book. he looks up as you walk in, his face lighting up. "morning, mom! can i make daddy breakfast?"

you smile, ruffling his messy bedhead. "what did you have in mind?"

“toast and eggs. that’s his favorite, right?”

together, you guide jj through the process—cracking eggs (with minimal shell casualties), buttering toast, arranging everything on a tray. jj insists on carrying it himself, even though it’s almost too big for his small arms. when you reach the bedroom, he marches in proudly, setting the tray on the bedside table with a dramatic flourish.

joe’s eyes flutter open at the sound, and he smiles groggily when he sees jj. "what’s all this, huh?"

"breakfast," jj declares, climbing up onto the bed next to him. "to make you feel better. you gotta eat, daddy, so you can get strong again."

joe chuckles, his voice still a little hoarse. "thanks, bud. this looks perfect."

you watch as jj chatters away, explaining every step of the breakfast-making process in excruciating detail. joe listens, his focus entirely on his son, even though you can tell he’s still not feeling great. it’s a small moment, but it feels like a balm—like the heavy weight of last night is finally starting to lift.

you sit on the edge of the bed, watching the two of them with a quiet sort of gratitude. jj has this way of lighting joe up, of breaking through whatever walls he’s put up, and it never fails to amaze you.

"you’re a good little nurse," joe says, ruffling jj’s hair. "best one i’ve ever had."

jj beams, and you catch joe’s eyes over his head. there’s something unspoken in his gaze—a thank you, maybe, or just a reminder of how much he loves this messy, chaotic little family of yours.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[slytherinshua]

BOY DAD INTAK

genre. fluff. headcanons. non-idol au but music-related/piwon related stuff is still mentioned!! warnings. pregnancy/parent/baby stuff. sooo messy i'm very sorry abt that. not proofread. pairing. husband!intak x fem!reader. wc. 1.1k. request. for @blue-jisungs <33 a/n. i wanted to finish this quickly esp with everything going on just so maybe u have smth to distract urself axe ☹️☹️☹️ i love u so much <33 net. @kstrucknet

When he finds out you’re pregnant he’s honestly so shocked

But a good shocked of course

Safe to say it wasn’t entirely planned sjdksjs 

You’re both still very young but even though it was unexpected Intak is ready to be a dad and super excited for it :( 

He’s the best at taking care of you during your pregnancy 

He always was when you were dating but he takes extra steps to make sure all your needs are met

He will always make sure you have whatever food you’re craving 

Plus he’s down to try the weird combinations as well

More often than not they taste terrible to him while you’re chowing down 

But he finds it endearing 

He’ll watch you eat from across the table with his head rested on his fist and a smile on his face

He keeps track of what meds you should be taking and reminds you when you forget

Although his work can keep him busy sometimes, he’d drop everything for you if you needed it 

He will always always make it to your appointments 

Just because he’s not the one growing the baby doesn’t mean he can skip out on any of the steps— it’s his child as well after all

And he makes sure to always answer his phone and check his texts even if you’re updating him about your day he’ll take the time to text you back 

He doesn’t announce that you’re pregnant to the other members until you’re well along in your second trimester 

But it’s met with excitement from everyone 

Probably a look from Keeho and a throwaway “aren’t y’all still young?”

But he’s over the moon excited to be an uncle trust he’s going to be present in the baby’s life

Theo would gift you all the practical things you could need like diapers, monitors, and bottles 

Once the baby arrives Jiung will probably meal prep some food for both of you (which you are forever grateful for) 

Soul finds the most interesting baby toys on the market but despite Intak’s slight judgemental look when he receives them, you think they’re all great

Jongseob is fully composing lullaby and nursery rhymes, except you’re a little unsure of how easy they are to follow once he throws in complicated rap rhythms 

Keeho’s proud of Intak and excited for you— he knows you’ll be the best parents

But as the leader, he’s also more than eager to help out wherever you need it, especially with cleaning or just little things to help you destress when you need it, mainly during postpartum :’)

Intak is extra clingy while you’re pregnant, especially when your bump starts to show

Even if it’s only been a few days since it was visible, he is all over you

You probably receive a million kisses a day, and trust his arms are always wrapped around your waist, feeling your bump with that proud dad smile on his face

Always says his son is gonna have the coolest dad ever, and you can’t even argue with him because you do think Intak is gonna be the coolest dad ever

And when your son arrives, Intak couldn’t be prouder

Definitely cries holding him for the first time, and is probably very emotional the first couple of days

But he is also your biggest support

He’s doing absolutely everything he can to make sure you can rest after delivery; seriously won’t let you lift even a finger

He shows you off even more than before, he just thinks you’re so incredible and amazing for everything you’re capable of, and how good of a mom you are

He’s more in love with you than ever

Each milestone your son reaches is so important to Intak, from his first smile, to his first word (which he’s proud to say was “dada”), to his first steps and first day of school

Intak is one of those dads who is constantly giving all his friends and family updates about your little ones and sharing cute moments of his son with him

He’s so close with his son, and you’re always happy to see them spending time together

Of course, he’s gonna raise his son right!!

From an early age, he’s always talking to his son about doing things for mom; whether it be cleaning the house cause you had a long day, planning a surprise date cause it’s been a while, or buying you flowers because it’s mother’s day

Doesn’t matter if your son can’t even talk yet, Intak will still be talking about every occasion that is important to you

And they plan all the special things together <3

Dressed up in matching suits for your first mother’s day, and your heart melted :(

Intak includes your son in everything, and they just make the best duo, you couldn’t be happier to have them in your life

Date nights with Intak used to be a super regular thing in your early marriage, but it becomes pretty tricky with a kid to manage

You rely on Intak’s friends to babysit a lot, especially Keeho and Theo who are more than happy to compete for best uncle award

You can usually sneak in at least 3 dates per month amidst your busy schedule <3

Intak is the best person ever to comfort his son and also to give the best advice

He’ll always wipe his tears and assure him whenever he stumbles, especially as a toddler/little kid around 2-6

He’s always telling his son how proud he is of him and how he can do anything he ever wants to and be backed by his dad

As your son grows older, Intak gets a bit more emotional about it

Because he’s not as small and dependent as he used to be :(

Especially at around age 5-6, he’s really getting out of his shell, and Intak feels bittersweet about it

Of course, he’s beyond proud of his son for making new friends and trying out new things by himself with the introduction of school

But he also misses those more quiet days when it was just you two and your baby doing everything together :(

Your son starts to develop some of Intak’s habits, and you find it so cute how he’s becoming a little carbon copy of his dad

They share the same interests and can always be found playing together

Definitely starts enjoying music with his son really early on and is always dancing and singing/rapping with his kiddo <3

And also loves to get into sports with his son and compete (although he’ll almost always let his son win)

You find it incredible how they can stay entertained together for hours

Of course, Intak doesn’t have endless energy like his son does, but he still somehow keeps up just running off of love and pride for his kid

Best boy dad you could ever ask for !!!

↳ p1harmony taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @amara-mars,, @nyukyusnz,, @blossominghunnie,,

@wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,, @stannwjnss,,

@gong-fourz,, @forever-atiny

[sleeepybeary]

☆ 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 ☆

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: Your plans to spend the night reading and eventually cuddling up to your girlfriend are ruined as Agatha drags you out to try flying in a very typical way.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,233

It wasn't very often that you and Agatha would do anything - rather preferring to spend your time inside the comforting walls of your own home. So, it came as a naturally given surprise when your dearest girlfriend had fumbled through the door with a smirk already playing upon her ever-kissable lips.

“Honey, I hope you don't mind, but I have plans for us” she began, tilting the olden broomstick she had in the grasp of her hand against the doorframe. “I know you'll love it”

Blinking with caution, you let your book’s page number fall from between your fingers and into a closed clasp. “And what would this plan entail?”

“Well…” She glances down, her vision dragging along the thin twine around the handle as it almost seemed to have withered from old age. It was an old broomstick, dating back at least thirty years, and yet, it was the best looking in her small collection. “...you know how you've always wanted to fly?”

“Agatha…” you mumbled under your breath, watching the way her young face creases as a smile takes form before you.

“I promise it's completely safe. I've been flying for years, and nothing has ever happened to me… Well, except for that one time when I-”

“Agatha!” you screamed, burying the spine of your book between your thighs as you reached out, throwing a pillow from the sofa you were sitting on towards the woman you loved.

Squeezing your eyes shut momentarily, the thud of the soft cushion hitting the floor drew them back open again.

Catching sight of what was in front of you, you found Agatha to still be standing, now using the broomstick for a sense of support as she let out a great gout of a laugh.

Agatha was never one to really care for how others perceived her, and from that came the let loose of her usually obnoxious self. You found it to be utterly enamourming, even if others frequently tried to hush her.

“I was joking, sweetheart. Relax a little, would you?”

Letting a sigh brush past your lips, you shake your head. “It wasn't funny”

The brief idea of your girlfriend getting hurt feels like a jab to your ribs, like someone had plucked an ounce of your flesh from your bones. To lose Agatha would be to lose a huge part of yourself, and even if you’d never completely admit it, to lose a large part of your sanity too.

“Well, it was to me” She smiles, straightening her back and patting down the slight scruff of her cloak. “You coming or what?”

Giving her a deep sigh, you place the book upon the cushion beside you and stand, walking closer to the woman. “If you drop me-”

“-I won't. I promise” she had cut you off, planting a kiss upon your cheek before she reached to hold your hand. “Come now, we don't have all night”

You weren't quite sure why you had let her drag you astray from the calm and security of your own home. Possibly, it was because she was indeed right. You had always wanted to attempt to fly on a broomstick the way she does every Thursday night when she goes to clear her head.

However, you're also certain that a large part of your compliance was due to your trust. Although you've grown deathly afraid of heights from all the stories Agatha has shared with you, you still placed all of your faith in her to keep you safe.

So, when it came to stepping outside of the house, you inhaled a deep breath of fresh air to help cool your heating nerves.

The earth hunched beneath your feet, leaves crunching with every step you took until you were stood in a small open space Agatha typically used for “take off” as you'd commonly call it.

You've watched her leave the ground and enter the sky many times from the living room window. You monitored how her movements almost seemed instinctual - too fluid to just be some practice she had learnt recently.

If Agatha could defy the laws of all natural demands and expectations, then you really ought to believe in her abilities to multitask, too.

“You scared yet?” Agatha inquires, a teasing grin already stirring upon her face.

Rolling your eyes, you instead focus on the way she tugs you closer, her hand still holding your own with much care.

“You know,” she began, glancing back at you mischievously. “Since it's an actual broomstick, it'll be harder to balance and all.”

“Agatha!” You huff, pulling away in a fit of disbelief as your arms move to cross over your chest defensively. “Don't say things like that!”

“Don't be a coward” she comments playfully, yanking your hand back into her hold as she begins to sprint down the path that leads away from your home.

Quickening your own steps to keep up with her, your mind filed through the irrational thoughts and threw them on a projector.

You could fall!

You could crash!

You could pass out!

You could simply die!

Your heart picked up a new pace, one that seemed to match the rapid constant of thoughts that zipped through your mind as you followed her gullibly.

You were nervous, and rightfully so as you stepped closer and closer to a new reality you had yet to see, one of uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

“Ready?” Agatha's voice had dragged in the air to reach your ears, a cloud of what could be depicted as excitement evident in her tone.

You know she couldn't see it, but you nodded regardless.

You followed her movements to the best of your ability - quickly bringing yourself to sit upon the broom’s handle, eyes squeezing shut as your arms wrapped tightly around your girlfriend's waist.

Agatha could only laugh as she guided you along the path before shooting through a clearing, leaving you stranded a couple hundred metres in the air together.

“Y/n” she called back, pressing the pads of her fingers gently against the back of your hand. “You can open your eyes now. Nothing harmful is going to happen to you”

“How…” you furrowed your eyebrows, a crease forming between them in a questioning stance “how did you know my eyes are still closed?”

Her shoulders shook slightly with her unreleased chuckle, causing your fingers to dig further into the flesh of her waist so as to not lose your grip “You're pretty predictable, you know?”

Scoffing defensively, your eyelids peel back to allow a slither of the earth to meet your sights.

The earth was like a portrait from above.

The slender crescent moon hung about in the shaded sky, casting a silver haze that bathes the landscape in a soft, ethereal light. Shadows lengthen and deepen, creating shapes that almost seem to move and shift in the dimness.

The distant houses by the small town square had grown cold, lights no longer shining through their rain-washed windows as the night time hours grace this small part of Salem in a calming buzz.

However, no matter how calming the earth was, you were still strung up in the middle of the night as if you were one of the many stars in the sky.

“You okay there?”

Leaning your head against your girlfriend's back, a warm smile wraps itself around your face.

“Yeah. I'm perfect”

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Mic Check: Feelings Engaged

A Bono x fem! (Y/N) reader story

Summary: When Bono’s radio mic goes haywire , (Y/N) offers her colleague a helping hand, leading to an unexpected moment of intimacy between the pair with the teasing comments from Lewis only adding fuel to the fire.

Warnings: None except it’s been written in my notes app

Notes: I wanted to write something for Bono for so long now , since he’s so incredibly dear to me. So now I just did- anyways I hope there aren’t any mistakes and that you enioy this little story x

—-

It’s a bustling Friday practice session at the track, and the air is filled with the familiar sounds of mechanics working, engines revving, and the steady hum of team radios crackling to life. Bono stands in the Mercedes garage, his eyes flicking over the various data streams on the monitors in front of him as Lewis sends feedback through the radio. There’s a calm professionalism to him, his headset settled snugly over his ears as he keeps his cool amidst the chaos of the session.

(Y/N), working a few stations over, is equally immersed in her role, running through telemetry data and keeping an eye on the numbers as they stream in. It’s her second full season working with the team, and although the work is often intense, the environment feels like home. Especially with Bono around. There’s something comforting about his expertise, his quiet focus—and maybe, though she’d never say it aloud, something undeniably attractive too.

Attentively watching the data presented to her , the buzzing noise of the track outside the garage slowly but surely becomes more of a background noise to (Y/N) —until she hears Bono curse softly under his breath. Looking over at the engineer, she finds him fiddling with the mic on his radio headset.

“I’m losing audio,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his fingers rapidly tapping at the small mic attached to his headset. The frustration is clear on his face. His eyebrows drawn together in a frown, as he tries to fix the issue without missing a beat in his ongoing strategy communications.

Without thinking much about it, (Y/N) walks over to the man, noticing his struggle. “Need a hand?”

Bono looks up, his brows slightly raising, surprised by her offer. “Yeah, I think the mic’s loose. Keeps cutting in and out,” he says, his voice lower than usual, the usual steady control in his tone replaced by just a hint of frustration. Stepping closer, (Y/N) notices the faint flush creeping up his neck as he tries to juggle the malfunction and his job.

“Let me take a look,” she says, voice gentle as she steps right in front of him. Bono’s eyes stay fixed on her for a moment before he gives a small nod, lowering his head slightly so she has easier access to the mic. It’s the simplest of gestures, but (Y/N)’s heart skips a beat—being this close to him, especially in the middle of the chaos of the garage, feels strangely intimate.

(Y/N)’s hands lift to adjust the mic, her fingers brushing his cheek ever so slightly, as she reattaches the microphone more securely. His skin is warm under her fingertips, and the moment she touches him, she notices the slightest inhale from Bono, though he stays incredibly still, as if he’s afraid to move.

The garage feels smaller now, the noise fading into the background as (Y/N) concentrates on the mic, trying to focus on the task but fully aware of how close she is to the race engineer. Every brush of her hand sends a spark of awareness through her body. Focusing on the task at hand she feels Bono’s eyes on her form, though he’s trying his best to keep it professional.

“Okay, try now,” (Y/N) murmurs, stepping back slightly to give him some space. Bono clears his throat, his hand reaching up to adjust the mic himself, fingers brushing where hers had just been. He’s back to business in an instant, but there’s an edge to his voice as he speaks into the mic.

“Lewis, do you copy? How’s the connection now?” Bono’s voice is steady, but the slightest tension remains in his shoulders as he waits for a response.

There’s a brief pause before Lewis’s voice crackles through the radio, loud and clear. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear, Bono. Thought you’d left me hanging there for a minute,” Lewis teases, but before Bono can respond, Lewis’s voice returns, this time with a playful lilt. “Wait a minute… was that her fixing your mic? That surely sounded like her voice ,mate.”

Bono’s reaction is immediate—he lets out an exasperated sigh, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, but keeping her focus on him, (Y/N) can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Lewis, focus on your out-lap,” Bono says, his voice firm but with a warmth that betrays his usual stoicism. Slightly shaking his head, he’s trying to suppress his embarrassment, but the smile that’s breaking through is impossible to miss.

“Oh, I’m focused,” Lewis replies, his tone mischievous. “Just thought I’d ask. Should I leave you two to it, or are we going to talk about strategy?”

Glancing back at (Y/N), Bono catches her eye for a brief moment, both of them sharing an amused, slightly embarrassed look. There’s a tension between the pair, but the humor in Lewis’s words manages to cut through it, making the moment feel lighter.

Bono lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he taps on the mic. “Yeah, let’s focus on the strategy. We’ll debrief later, Lewis.”

The radio crackles again as Lewis’s laughter comes through. “Sure, sure. But, just saying—‘bout time you two got close. We’ve all seen it coming.”

Bono’s face flushes at that, and he quickly turns back to the monitors, his fingers tapping at the keyboard, pretending to be fully immersed in his work. (Y/N), on the other hand,feels a mixture of embarrassment and… something else, as she walks back to her station. The way Lewis spoke, as if everyone had noticed the way her and Bono seem to gravitate toward each other, leaves the woman flustered. Was it really that obvious?

“Well, uh,” Bono calls , clearing his throat again, “thanks for fixing that. Shouldn’t have trouble now.”

(Y/N) nods, her heart still pounding as she tries to shake off Lewis’s teasing. “No problem,” she says through a slightly awkward chuckle. There’s still something hanging in the air between them, something unspoken.

Bono glances over at her once more before looking away, his lips pressing together like he’s holding something back. For a second, it feels like he might say something, but before he can, the team radio crackles again.

“Bono,” Lewis calls, his voice still carrying that teasing edge, “when’s the next date? Need me to clear the schedule?”

(Y/N) can’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head as Bono rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible, Lewis,” he mutters, though his voice is lighter now, the moment of tension dissolving into something more comfortable. He presses the radio switch again, sighing dramatically. “Focus on the driving, will you?”

Lewis just laughs in response, clearly pleased with himself, and Bono, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual professionalism, can’t help but let out a soft chuckle as well.

As the practice session winds down, the garage starts to return to its usual rhythm, but the brief moment of closeness between herself and Bono lingers in the back of (Y/N)’s mind. Every now and then, she catches him glancing in her direction, and when her eyes meet his, there’s a flicker of something unspoken—a spark that neither of the two can ignore.

And though nothing more is said between the pair, there’s an undeniable shift. (Y/N) can still feel the weight of his gaze, the soft smile that tugged at his lips, and the teasing words of Lewis echoing in the back of her mind.

Maybe Lewis was right—maybe it was about time.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

3. Hot Neighbor

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

But would you allow him to do as such?

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Price.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sooslick]

ATEEZ AS YANDERE

Hongjoong – Manipulative Captain-yandere

- He controls every step of the object of his love, convinced that only he knows what is best for them.

- Uses intelligence and charisma to isolate them from others, but does it so skillfully that the victim does not even notice.

- "Do you think you need someone besides me? You're wrong. I made you perfect."

Seonghwa is an obsessively caring yandere

- Monitors every movement, remembers all habits and desires.

- He may suddenly appear with a perfectly cooked dinner or a warm blanket, because "he felt that you were cold."

- If the object of his love tries to leave, his concern will turn into an obsessive control.

- "I told you… Don't go outside without me. You know how worried I am."

Yunho is a smiling but dangerous yandere

- Outwardly, he is always kind and cheerful, but inside there is pathological jealousy.

- Can eliminate anyone who dares to approach his beloved while maintaining an innocent smile.

- "Ah, did that guy talk to you again?.. It's strange, he wasn't at practice today..."

Yeosang is a quiet but obsessed yandere

- A silent observer who can hide his obsession for years.

- But if his feelings are revealed, he will not let go, even if he has to lock his beloved in a golden cage.

- "I've been waiting for so long… You won't escape now."

San is a sensual and dangerous yandere

- His love borders on madness, he literally "absorbs" the attention of the object of his adoration.

- He can be affectionate to the point of suffocation, but any distance causes him to have fits of rage.

- "You are mine. Only mine. Do you understand? Otherwise... I do not know what I will do."

Mingi is a jealous and impulsive yandere

- Emotionally unstable: one minute – tenderness, the next – rage.

- It can hack into social networks, monitor through cameras, or even hire people to spy.

- "Why did you smile at him?! You know I won't stand for this!"

Wooyoung is a deceptively playful yandere

- He pretends to be nice and friendly, but in reality he is a master manipulator.

- He can set up a situation so that his victim will distance himself from everyone except him.

- "Ah, did they betray you? Don't worry, you have me. Just me."

Jongho is a cold–blooded and methodical yandere

- Does not show emotions openly, but his obsession is systematic.

- If he decides that someone is threatening his "beloved", this person will disappear without a trace.

- "Did you think I was going to let you go? No. You're staying here. Forever."

[astroboots]

Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

Next Chapter

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 

You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it. 

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring. 

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him. 

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in. 

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

~ Next.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

[ieatfanficforbrunch]

People Pleaser Steve

Steve is a people pleaser. Years of living with his parents and their demeaning stares and harsh words have destroyed his sense of self preservation.

"Keep Eye Contact, Steven," his mother would say. "Stop Complaining, You need to make our guest Comfortable." His father would say. Until the age of ten all Steve got was criticism. Constant reminders on how to behave perfectly and how to appease his parents.

The morning they decided he was old enough to stay home himself, coincidentally on his 10th birthday, they packed up and started renting an apartment in Chicago to better monitor their Business. They sent him money for food, got him a bike so he could go to school, they even sent a few extra 20s every other month so he could get new clothes as he grew.

Of course, Steve never complained. This was how he kept the peace, how he avoided the cold glare from his parents.

The pattern continued into adulthood, Steve practically raised himself for the last 8 years of his childhood, he only saw his parents when they needed him.

When he (accidently) became the mother of the nerdiest bunch of kids in Hawkins, he made himself a promise, No matter what he'd be there. Every recital, every birthday party, every holiday, and every time they needed a ride; he was there.

When Christmas came around after everything had happened, after Max had recovered and Eddie's wounds had healed perfectly, he decided he would make it the best Christmas they'd ever seen. Just to make them happy.

He decorated the entire house, made enough food to feed his small football team of a group, he got so many presents for everyone that he had to skip out on food three days a week for two months just because he wanted it to be perfect.

The kids came over on Christmas Eve night to spend the night together, slept in sleeping bags he bought special for them. Eddie came to help wrangle the crazies until Robin got back from visiting her grandparents in Ohio.

They ate like they were starving or like it was their last meal. All except Steve, who was too afraid to overstep or take away from someone else to even try one of the many kinds of food he made.

The games died down and the food was gone by midnight. The kids slept peacefully in their sleeping bags. Steve let out a small sigh, a smile on his face as he stood and took empty platters and plates to the kitchen.

He washed the dishes in silence, a baggy crew neck sweater replacing his usual polos. He knew if he wore them the others would notice he had lost weight and he didn't want to inconvenience them. It was rude to burden others with your problems. He honestly thought he had gotten away with it until a familiar Metal head guided him to the kitchen table.

"Ok Big boy, This isn't working for me," He said in a soft voice.

Steve immediately looked up, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again," he whispered, not even sure what he did.

Eddie sighs and says, "Steve, You think you're hiding it so well but you aren't. You take care of everyone and everything all of the time. Let me take care of you."

Steve couldn't move, couldn't respond, How Was he supposed to behave? He didn't know so he merely nodded.

Eddie smiled and immediately made Steve a bowl of cereal, something small and quiet. When he was positive Steve would eat it, he finished the dishes for him.

Steve looked so beat down and tired, the bags under his eyes told so much and Eddie knew that from now on he would do Everything to keep them away.

He took the empty bowl and washed it before walking over to Steve. "I know it's a bit early but...I got you something," he whispers, pulling out a small box from his back pocket.

It was a light blue box with a thin red ribbon and white trim. Steve's thin fingers removed the lid to find a locket in the shape of a guitar pick.

Inside there were two pictures, one with the kids, and one with Steve and Eddie. It was the picture from when Eddie was discharged, the day Steve agreed to get treatment for his wounds. Eddie's arm is around Steve's shoulders, it's the only picture in the world with Steve's Real smile. His eyes swelled with tears. It's the only gift he's gotten since he was 10, since his parents left to run their company, since Everything.

"Shit I didn't mean to make you cry again! I just-" Eddie is cut off with the tightest hug he's ever gotten.

"It's Perfect," Steve whispers.

He's met with calloused hands on the back of his head, gently massaging his scalp.

"Merry Christmas, Harrington."

"Merry Christmas, Munson."

[izzabela]

Hi there! 👋 I hope you are doing well! Can you please write about Smoke getting jealous because Takeda keep hanging around the female reader that Smoke harbors romantic feelings for a long time and Takeda knows and he is purposely grinding Smoke's gears to get him to snap? (P.S Takeda and Kuai Liang teamed up and came up with the plan) 😜

Games - Tomas x fem!reader

in which a certain ninja is playing games with another ninja

a/n: "they call us the kombat kids" is my favorite intro line from that silly ninja

ship[s]: tomas vrbada x fem!reader

warning(s): post-story

Tomas glares at a certain yellow-black ninja that hovered around you like a mosquito. Except your blood wasn't being sucked by it.

Tomas stood across you and Takeda, opposite ends of a sparring circle as you three were monitoring Hanzo's progress. He didn't care, though, not when Takeda was grinning like an idiot as he slung his arm around your shoulder.

Tomas grumbles, feet practically digging into the ground as smoke fizzles around his body.

Tomas had a blazing crush on you, you see. A friend of Harumi, you were training under her clan to sharpen your skills, and that's where his crush began to flourish into love.

He couldn't say anything though. It was too risky with the life he lives, the life you live. It wasn't that you were a distraction (hell no, he loved your "distraction", it was a break from this war he was fighting).

So, until this job was done, he'd have you by his side as a friend and warrior. Nothing more. However, it was quite clear to everyone in the compound that he was pining after you.

You two would be seen at the hip, walking together, eating together, sparring too. He treated your wounds when no one was available, and you did the same. He ran errands for you, took over missions for you.

It was so obvious. Now though, it might be ruined.

Takeda joined the clan for a bit because of Kenshi. Takeda needed a place to master his anger, frustration, especially with his own trauma from the Yakuza. After some a couple of weeks, though, he integrated well with the clan.

A little too well for Tomas's sake.

Takeda began to hang around you and Tomas. More-so you than him. He inserted himself between you two, and Tomas was not pleased that his best friend slash crush was being taken away.

But who was he to control you and who you made friends with? That would be rude, and controlling, and he wanted you to be happy first and foremost.

His patience was running thin though.

Takeda first began by hanging around you two. It was friendly, getting to know you with simple and cordial conversation. It then turned into Takeda having you to himself when you were alone.

You two were having lunches together, sparring, even spending time with Hanzo when he had his breaks. Tomas swears he couldn't find you when Takeda wasn't on missions.

The final stage of Takeda's competition against Tomas was his... "hands-on" approach with you. Takeda, despite his pain and trauma caused by the senselessness of the Yakuza, remained touchy with close friends and allies. Except you, though.

He loved to hug you, squeeze your sides and tickle them. He loved to ruffle your hair, pat your head, and noogie it too.

When you guys were alone together, he'd sling his arm around your should and hug you close (like he was now). He'd skillfully play into his good looks, winking and leaning down to hear you better (girls like that? he had thought).

It annoyed Tomas to no end. He could not get you by yourself without that idiot around you. He did not want to think ill of him, but with the stunts he was pulling was pushing him further and further to the edge.

Just like he was now.

Back in the present, Tomas glared at you and Takeda, trying to zone in on the conversation you two were having. He couldn't really focus, though, when you were laughing, teeth out as you smiled at a joke(?). Takeda chuckles as well, and his arm slinks down from your shoulders to your waist.

His gloved arm rests on the small of your back, and Tomas can see you shiver at the sensitive touch. Tomas breathes in deep controlling the rage that bubbles in his veins.

"Tomas, Tomas!" Hanzo calls out, tugging on his uniform. "Did you see that?!" he exclaims as pops jabs into the air.

Takeda chuckles, coming over to the both of them with a friendly smile. You follow behind him, and your arms are wide open as Hanzo comes running to you in a hug.

"You did so great Hanzo!" you gush. "My, I believe we have our first full initiate!" You noogie his hair, and he giggles.

Suddenly, and without warning, Hanzo sneaks a kiss on your cheek. You're shocked as you touch the spot that he kissed, and Hanzo runs away to his other initiate friends. Takeda chuckles, coming to your side again.

"Who taught the boy to do that?" you question, a little laugh coming out as you watched Hanzo play tag with the other younglings.

Tomas sighs, a small smile as he watches his disciple play. "No matter, I will tell him not to do it again." Takeda chuckles, bringing you close to his side as his face is close to yours.

"T-Takeda!" you gasp. His voice is nice and low, nuzzling into your head before planting a little kiss on it.

Tomas threw his karambit near his foot, barely a centimeter near his toe.

"Away, Takeda," Tomas barely gets out of his gritted teeth. Takeda smirks, planting a very quick kiss on your cheek. He lets go of you, and Tomas makes a fast beeline for his dagger to try and cut the ninja. His pupils are small, and his irises take over completely.

"Tomas! Stop this instant!" you scold him.

Takeda has already run off, and Tomas is breathing heavy as you hold his arm back from him biting that man's head off.

"What's gotten into you?" hands on your hips as you interrogate him. "He's just being friendly..."

Tomas turns to you, a scoff coming from his mouth, "That isn't friendly. That's pushy, obnoxious, idiotic competition!" He tries to control himself, but you're stuck on the last word.

"H-hold on, competition?" You chuckle as you fix your hair, "Is this some cheesy romance novel?" Tomas burns with embarrassment as you poke his buttons to get him to talk.

Tomas swats your arms away, and you're a bit taken aback to how defensive he is. You can see how nervous he is, like an awkward teenager who wants to confess to the hottest girl at school.

Right now, you were the hottest girl, and the compound was school.

"I'll just say it," Tomas gives in. "I like you. I love you, even."

You blink, wanting to interject but he refuses. "Just let me talk." You nod.

"Since forever, I've always liked you. You were- are- a great warrior, strong, kind, and beautiful," Tomas goes on.

"You're amazing, shining so brightly. But I... I couldn't say anything." You look at Tomas with a frown, approaching him slowly as you slip your fingers in his hand.

"So why... why didn't you tell me?" you asked. "Why didn't you say anything until Takeda did stuff?"

Tomas sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before he explains further.

"I'd like to say I was keeping it at bay. Until we finished this fight, the one with my brothers," you listen with bated breath. "I know you can handle yourself, but this war is relentless- I may lose you."

You sigh, closing the gap between you and his chest as your other arm reaches for his cheek.

"We may not know what the future holds, Tomas," you say softly. "But we have now. That's all. If we wait, the things we're waiting for will slip from us."

Tomas watches as your hand, the one in his hand, guides him to the back of your head. He sucks in a breath as you pull yourself closer into his chest.

"Don't let this slip, Tomas." You whisper, looking up into his eyes as he looks down at your colored orbs.

He caves, and he leans in to lock lips with you. By the gods, your lips were pillowy soft, and you tasted like honey and lavender. Deeper yhis tongue went into your mouth, and your lips fought with his as you craved the distinct taste his lips had.

Letting go, you're both panting. Wiping your lips, you smile happily, the same smile with all your pearly whites on display. Tomas chuckles, and he nuzzles your nose as your foreheads touch.

"Did I take my shot well?" Tomas asks giddily. You nod and give him a chaste kiss.

"Right on my heart, dearest Tomas."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

bonus!

Takeda knocks on the door of Kuai Liang's office. He can hear soft padding on the ground, and the door opens with Harumi's presence.

"Takeda! What ring's you by?" Harumi asks kindly as she makes way for him to walk through. Takeda smiles and walks in, and Kuai Liang makes an entrance from the bathroom.

"Just here to bring news to your husband," Takeda shrugs.

"Well? How did it go?" Kuai asks, his black locks down as he dries his hair. "Did he do it?"

Takeda laughs, taking his phone out with a picture of Tomas and you kissing with the sunset in the background. Kuai Liang smiles, taking his phone and showing Harumi the fruit of his labor.

"Oh!" she gasps, hand over her heart plus a smile. "My my, they're finally together!"

"Pay up, bro!" Takeda beckons, hand out waiting for his money. Kuai Liang takes out a couple hundred yen, shoving the bills in his hand as Takeda whoops and cheers.

"You even bet on this, husband?" Harumi interrogates. Kuai Liang quickly ushers Takeda out before he hears Harumi rip a new on in him.

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GUYS I CANT WAIT FOR THE DLC YAYAYAYAYA

i cannot wait to see where this new timeline goes

aight, see yall in the next fic!