#from the few sporting events that I have seen it seems like you have to have a good sense of humor to work in stadiums like this one

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( fourth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; smut (?) , dub-con , alcohol consumption , profanity

( flashback; ) Wreaths and holly plants decked the usually barren, white walls of the seventh floor office level, and soft Christmas music looped on the overhead speaker in attempts to induce a jolly spirit. Colleagues conversed, discussing plans for December break over plastic cups of spiked cider. Everyone seemed in high morale; even Gakuganji, who donned a cheaply made Santa suit, still wrinkled from its time being folded in a package. Your first ever office party was about as much as you expected–not the worst time, but certainly not the best time, either. It didn’t help that you were still technically the “newbie” despite having been a member of the company for a few months at that point. Man, it was hard to make friends in an office full of stoic suits.

You remain near a far wall, slumped against the oversized copy machine with a drink in hand. Nobody had even appreciated your dress; a modest crimson thing with white, cottony trims to mimic Old Saint Nick. Figures. You pout into your cup, knocking back a heavy swig.

“Woah-ho, you sure went all out.”

The dialogue was unexpected and you sputter on a swallow of liquor, startled. A preemptive hand pats your back, something like a mother trying to burp a newborn. You swallow your spit at last, recollect yourself, and whip your head up to follow the source of the voice that nearly killed you. There stood a man tall and spindly in his stature with the most beautifully long, goldish hair drawn back into a ponytail. He is dressed down, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a sweater in favor of the suits nearly everyone else sported. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ladies,” comes your meager reply. Your free hand smooths down the skirt of your dress, and you clear your throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The man smiles apologetically. “Ah, I noticed. My bad.”

“It’s okay. Just… just don’t do it again.”

“Roger that.” He has his own drink, and you manage to catch a glimpse of it over the rim of the solo cup. It’s a dark, murky color, much more amberish than the cider that was being served. “I haven’t seen your face around before, it made me curious.”

“I secured a position here during spring.” Now that you think about it, he was unfamiliar to you as well. You would have definitely remembered that ponytail. “Are you–I mean, do you work in this building?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they got me holed up in the Shibuya location,” he winks, leaning in. “I make it a habit to come to all the office parties, though. I can’t resist a little holiday cheer.” Two bony knuckles move to brush delicately against the trim of your dress. “I’m Haruta Shigemo, and you’re…?”

“Not interested.” 

Shigemo juts his bottom lip out. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I can’t know your name?”

Holding an index finger to your chin, you pretend to think about it. “What will you give me in return?”

A smirk worms its way onto Shigemo’s thin lips. He angles his hip toward you and pulls up the hem of his knitted sweater, gesturing to the uncanny flask half sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. “I brought good stuff,” he sings quietly, away from prying ears, and suddenly you understand the reason for his drink being a couple shades too dark. “And I’m good at sharing.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept unknown liquor from a virtual stranger, you should’ve really considered all of the possible outcomes to this situation. You’d already had a little over two cups of warmed cider, rotating on the axis between tipsy and full on drunkenness. Your foggy brain didn’t care much to think about how some of this so-called “good stuff” would only lead to an inevitable, total inebriation. Or, a less likely but just as concerning scenario, Shigemo’s flask could be chock full of poison. Either way, you were itching to turn a less-than-okay party experience into a fun one.

“Y/n L/n,” you said finally, and Shigemo looks pleased. Strategically as to not give away the secret, he stood before you and widened his shoulders to create a makeshift cover while he poured a solid few glugs from flask to your cup. Immediately, the booze reeks of something strong like industrial glass cleaner. Your nose wrinkles as the stench singes the hair from your nostrils. “Smells fucking rancid.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to top shelf liquor?” Was that a dig? You’ll show him that you’re plenty accustomed with expensive booze (you’re not. not at all).

So you drank it. The taste of piss mixed with vinegar nearly made you retch, but after your second glass and an assload of determination, it started to taste… good? Maybe this Shigemo guy wasn’t too bad. The rest of the night was a blur of silly dancing to dumb Christmas songs, ugly laughing at the horse calendars pinned to the wall, and… well, the bathroom.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your tone was breathy, a cross between giggly and pure apprehension. There in the men’s restrooms, you were perched up on the sink counter. That festive dress was slipped up around your hips by two slender, greedy hands, and a tiny waist worked between your thighs. Shigemo kissed you into silence.

“Why not?” He kisses you again, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s nipping down your neck, whispering, “The risk is so fucking hot.”

And oh goodness, was he a man on a mission. Tearing the collar of your dress down beneath your breasts, fingering holes into your sheer stockings, stuffing a fist inside your panties… You were in no state of coherence to stop him.

Had it not been a professional obligation on his part to attend this year’s Christmas party, Nanami finds himself fantasizing about all the ways he’d much rather be spending this brisk winter evening. Probably soaking in his tub, nursing a glass of red wine and working on that book he’d been putting off thanks to the ungodly amount of work on his plate as of late. Then, he’d exercise those cooking skills he seldom had time to use and prepare a meal that had much more to offer than these feeble, sugary snacks at this party. Seriously? Cookies and cake? They were adults for goodness sake.

The floor was stuffy and claustrophobia-inducing. Everywhere he turned, Nanami was accidentally bumping somebody with his shoulder or his elbow or some other limb he lost track of. And the conversations were abysmal. Nanami has always been good with his words—he had to be in a profession like this—but Christ, talking to his zombies-for-coworkers was a worse fate than death itself. They drone on about office assignments, about deadlines and paperwork with no hint of light behind their eyes. Is that what he looks like to others? A worrisome thought, that Nanami was just as much of a slave to the corporate world as they were.

The deep train of thought is cut off before it spirals when red catches his eye. A dress red as rubies sticks out like a sore thumb among the sea of blacks and blues and grays of suits. You’re dressed in a silly get up, like those Mrs. Claus actresses in the malls that take pictures with children. Y/n L/n, Nanami recalls your name. He knows you, the newest employee in the office. He’s had very few chances to speak with you, and when he did it mostly consisted of him relaying orders from Mr. Gakuganji. But even in those brief instances, Nanami saw it plain as day: you were different. The first lively fool he’d seen in a while, eyes still glinting with the prospects of optimism and naive hope for the future. Foolish indeed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. You were a breath of fresh air, but Nanami knew that it was only a matter of time before you were beaten and battered into another mindless cog in the corporation's machine.

A strange urge bloomed within the hollows of the man's chest; an urge that told him to initiate communication with you. Perhaps just a "hello" at the very least, seeing as you were his direct subordinate. It was the polite thing to do, right? Or maybe that was just a weak excuse he convinced himself of because Nanami didn't want to admit that you intrigued him in every sense of the word. You would provide an interesting back and forth, something Nanami desperately craved in the throes of this tedious party.

Golden eyes scanned the room. But no matter how long and meticulous he stared into the mass of bodies, Nanami could not locate the shade of red that had incited this search to begin with. There was a muted pit of disappointment the settled heavy in his stomach when he came to the realization that you simply were gone. He didn't doubt the probability that you ditched, no, he'd commend you for doing something he could not. Nanami sighs under his breath, lets his shoulders droop, and takes the last swig of his drink (water of course, the spiked cider was much too sweet for his tastes) before maneuvering through the crowd towards the bathroom. A five minute breather alone in a stall sounded like Heaven on Earth.

He shouldered through the metallic door, eyes closed, fingers tugging the knot of his too-tight tie as he stepped inside the restrooms. Only the sound of a feminine gasp was what pried his heavy eyelids open.

All three bodies froze: Nanami by the entrance with a slack jaw and wide eyes, a man he vaguely recalls from the Shibuya district stood between a pair of opened legs with his jeans tugged down to mid-thigh, and you. You, with your stupidly red dress in disarray, the neckline dipped below your bare breasts and the lower hem bunched up around the curve of your waistline. There you were, sitting up on the sink completely exposed... God, that bastard's hand was still buried down the front of your panties.

As if time suddenly unfroze, said bastard rips his hands away from your most delicate parts in favor of pulling his jeans back up. Nanami blinks once before cocking his head to the side at the unnatural speed of light, focusing on the faux plant in the corner, the uneven tiles beneath his dress shoes, the cracks in the eggshell paint on the wall... anything besides your indecent self.

"Whoops, would ya' look at that?" Shibuya fucker laughs halfheartedly as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, flustered and giggly. "Guess we got a little carried away there, my bad man!" He slinks towards the door, towards Nanami, but pauses. "Hey, you're Nanami Kento, right?"

"Yes." It's a cold response. Nanami doesn't look to the other man, instead he keeps his eyes trained down as to not get another eyeful of you.

"Aha right! Well," Shibuya fucker sweatdrops, clasping a hand over Nanami's shoulder. "Let's keep this a secret from the higher ups?"

The elder grimaces. "Please don't touch me."

The hand is ripped away. Shibuya fucker shows his palms in sort of a defensive stance as more anxious chuckles erupt from his throat. "Good seeing you, then!" And with that, he slips out of the bathroom leaving you high and dry. The prick didn't even bother to stay and help you get recollected.

"I'm decent." You sound meek, a tone Nanami has yet to hear from you thus far. It sounds small. Humiliated. "You... you can look now."

So he does, only to regret it. There you are, hopped off the sink and standing before him in a pitiful display. Your slender neck was tainted with love marks, darkened bruises bit into flesh with little artistry. Your stockings were shredded carelessly, bits of plumpness squishing through the holes. Your hair was mussed, forehead sweaty, lipstick smeared and... why was Nanami so irritated by the sight?

"What..." He starts, trying to find the words. "What is the matter with you?"

You gawk. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Nanami scoffs, hands pressed to his hips. "How careless could you possibly be? Fucking at a work event? I mean, for fuck's sake Y/n."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Your words are clipped. As if you have any right to catch an attitude with him right now.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you..." His sentence trails off into a tiny, frustrated growl scratching from the back of his tongue. The man takes his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. "The door was unlocked. Anyone could've walked in and saw you like that!" Exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.

"I don't know what else you want to hear other than sorry." Nanami doesn't miss the microscopic vocal crack in the word sorry. You hug yourself tight, forearms crossed over your chest. Your shoulders stutter, and your lips are sucked between your teeth to hide the wobble in them. "I'm... sorry."

You dress strap hangs off your shoulder. Nanami can't peel his gaze away from the strip of fabric. He takes a slow step in, gauging your reaction to it. You don't show any signs of discomfort, so he advances closer. The red strap is dainty against his rough fingers, so he cautions himself to be extra gentle when slipping it back up into place.

"Thanks," you sniffle.

He shushes you. Nanami isn't done yet, far from it. You still look disheveled and sad and weepy and he can't fucking stomach it for some ungodly reason. So he gets to work, first wetting a paper towel in the bathroom sink—the same one you'd been getting groped on a mere few minutes prior—and gingerly swipes away the smeared makeup from your kiss-swollen lips. Then, he's taking it upon himself to straighten out your hair. You let him stroke down your baby hairs without pushback, limply letting him rearrange your appearance as if you were some sort of life sized doll.

Nanami steps back to admire his work. The evidence of foreplay was nearly gone, save for the dreadful state of your stockings and those ugly teeth-shaped indents down the side of your neck. “Take those stockings off before you leave the bathroom,” he utters. “They look…” Slutty is the word that comes to mind first, but he’d never say it aloud. So he leaves it at that.

You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression. If anything, Nanami discerns a little concern in the way your brows turn upwards. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

He wants to oh so bad. To be the lame tattletale and snitch to Mr. Gakuganji because fraternization is wrong, and fraternization in the workplace is double wrong. “I should report you,” there’s a pregnant pause, “but I won’t.”

Why? He asks himself.

You seemed to have read his thoughts. “Why?”

Nanami doesn’t have an answer to that. Where is this slice of mercy coming from? All he knows for certain is that staring at the trembling woman in front of him any longer will have him blow a fuse. “Go home, Y/n.” It’s the last thing he offers before turning on his heel and walking back out into the Christmas function, swallowing down each and every confusing feeling swirling around his brain.

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tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni

[livinghostly]

a family forged in curses – satoru gojo x reader

a/n: sorry i haven't been writing work has been burning me out and i've been playing the sims in my free time to cope wc: 3.2k you and satoru get called to the office after an incident with megumi at school. fluff, mama bear reader, talks of child neglect ((no one is neglected)), tsumikiii and megumiii best siblings. think i went off too hard with the principal idk why i was pressed

satoru gojo sat in one of the stiff chairs of the principal’s office. heavy glands of sweat formed on his temple and slipped down to the hem of his uniform shirt. he braced the clamminess of his hands against the curve of the leather armrest. the air was thick, and as his chest heaved he inhaled the tension that constricted his throat with a tight burn. the fear was unfamiliar, spurring on the unsettling agitation of his stomach.

megumi was seated behind him, seemingly just as terrified– his eyes blown wide in horror as he stared at the black and blue knuckles laid in his lap. there was a dried bloodstain on his thumb, taunting him. he covered it with his opposite hand. 

it was a nice day outside, the sun was shining and it wasn’t too hot or too cold. sunlight filled the room and reflected off of the finish of the principal’s wooden desk.

“these recent developments in megumi’s behavior, truly, are just detestable. i truly can’t say i’ve seen anything like it in the years i’ve worked at this school.”

satoru’s eyes flickered to you, seated closest to the door. your hands were neatly clasped together over your crossed legs, posture straight as if it’d be graded. there was an attempt to portray yourself with amiableness, but he caught the disgust in your eyes. he’d seen it before, when making contact with the blood of a curse, the times utahime tried to cook for faculty parties, when satoru himself shoved his overseas souvenirs in your face that were way too sweet to be considered edible. though, they paled in comparison to the rage you seeped now. your smile was relaxed, polite, but the rest of your face was pinched with frustration. the temptation of smoothing over the space between your eyebrows tugged at his fingertips, but was pushed to the side as he watched the air around you turn to steam. 

on the way in you passed the nurse’s office. with a glance you caught on to the fact that there were a handful of middle schoolers sporting the spoils of megumi’s martial arts training. they were older, bigger, with teary eyes and blubbering incoherently about the recent string events to the staff. among them, tucked in the corner, was a kid much smaller and seemed to meet a different fate. he hugged his knees to his chest and stared longingly at the wall. there were a few scratches on his forehead and a crack in the lens of his glasses.

“it’s my understanding that megumi doesn’t have many friends here, and i’m afraid further acts of delinquency will only disconnect him from his peers.” the principal inhaled deeply. “it’s safe to say he already is considered a disgrace of some sort. his own sister seems to avoid him in the halls.”

your chest bobbed with slow, calming breaths. despite that, your tone was harsh, “i don’t mean to interrupt, but from my understanding, megumi stepped in on another student who was forced to eat pavement in the courtyard.”

megumi visibly winced at your inflection, curling himself into his seat a bit more and tucking his hands under his thighs. in the back of his mind, he knew he’d do it again. but he would do anything to prevent you from showing up to his school like this. the first few times an incident like this happened, it had been gojo alone who was called (he was much closer, with you being sent off on missions. and the staff preferred to speak with another teacher– it would be sound logic if it wasn’t gojo).

gojo, who nodded absentmindedly to the concerns of the staff and took megumi out for ice cream after. ice cream for himself, really– megumi’s appetite was usually flushed out by his embarrassment as soon as they left the office. he would probe gently at megumi’s antics, and conclude their outing by promising to downplay when speaking to you later.

the principal was a stout man, before you sat down you caught the slight wind of his feet swinging back and forth behind his desk. there was a disconnect between where the part in his hair once was and where the shiny toupee settled on his head. every so often, he scratched it with uncertainty and tousled his ‘hair’ into sticking in different directions.

“that is… handled–”

“because he handled it.” you said sharply, dragging your smile to your features again. the principal was seeing through it much more now. 

he sighed. “i called you here more to discuss the state of megumi’s relationships.”

“and how is this relevant to the incident at hand?” you spoke slowly, nodding your head forward as if to say: choose your next words wisely. 

“well, it’s hardly isolated. in most situations like these, the root cause stems from home life.” he rushes out his words, his accusatory stare turning to one of caution as he meets your eyes again. not so much for your sake, but for his. “to be frank, i don’t believe he’s receiving the right attention at home.”

there was a quiet shuffle outside, against the office door. out of your peripheral, you watched as a shadow was cast over the sliver of light peeking through the bottom by the squeaky rubber of what you knew were two pink tennis shoes. 

your jaw, if possible, tensed even more. megumi’s head snapped to you, catching the slightest tick as you jutted your chin in the direction of the principal. once he wasn’t so taken by fear, he could appreciate your ability to contain the cursed energy that flowed through you. he was unable to detect even a rouse of energy, whereas his nerves manifested in the palms of his fists with an unruly flame licking his forearms. beside him, he sensed the presence of gojo’s infinity, activated on pure reflex as his body recognized the looming hostility in the atmosphere.

“i have to say i disagree–” your head tilted to the side, and you ignored the loud gulp of your counterpart. 

“i expected as much. it’s my understanding that neither of you are all that present at home, it’s been said you both take long trips out of town for your work? is that true? have you considered the effects this has on megumi and tsumiki? i’ve heard she often–”

in an instant, your pupils shrank themselves into the size of needles, the color of your eyes remaining concentrated with anger. the muscles around your eyes twitched as you fought off the indignant expression that threatened to reveal itself.

“and i find this an inappropriate conversation to broach with megumi in the room,” your voice raised slightly as you cut him off. “there is a time, a place, and a counselor more suited for this discussion– and you’ve overlooked every measure and jumped to the conclusion he’s neglected? and from what, exactly? things that have ‘been said’ on campus grounds, by other children? rumors? i’m ashamed to see the lack of forethought prior and instead you jump to scrutinize blindly.”

every word was charged with venom, further filling the office space with an uncomfortable strain at their muscles. satoru winced, sliding his palms over the armrest to relieve himself of the sticky sweat he’d accumulated– and he had unconsciously squeezed the metal into a new shape. his chest was tight as you sucked the air from his lungs and used it to break down the principal with the eloquence of your words.

“it speaks to the reputation you’ve accrued, though. i expected as much.”

“excuse me–!”

you raised your palm. “i’m not sure i can. you summon us to an office to insult us and insunitate we aren’t parenting our son, not even present in his life, and on top of it have the gall to call him a delinquent?”

you rose to your feet, narrowed eyes still settled on the man in front of you. megumi and satoru were quick to rise with you, unsteady hands settling on their chairs to prevent them from hitting the floor. the principal went ignored as he urged satoru with his eyes to speak up, to put a stop to the scene before him. unfortunately for him, satoru’s eyes were trained on you with unwavering loyalty, waiting with baited breath for your next move. 

the principal faced his palm to you, gesturing for you to sit. “miss y/l/n–”

“it’s gojo.” you snagged your jacket from the armrest, glowering eyes promptly cutting him off. he gawked like a fish out of water, a thin layer of sweat beginning to sheen over his forehead. “you better update your damn records before the next time i’m back here.”

you opened the door swiftly, catching tsumiki side-stepping at the last second to feign innocence. a futile attempt, you both know, as she reddens with embarrassment and turns her head with a lingering pout.

following you into the empty halls of the middle school was like a breath of fresh air for satoru and megumi, the cool atmosphere consoling them from the warping heat of your vexation. the raven-haired boy gravitated to his sister as they shared a concerned expression, your unaccustomed anger driving knots into their stomachs. your silence was deafening, the only sound being the rapid thumps of your footsteps overshadowing the entourage of much quieter ones behind you.

satoru fell into step with you, slipping his glasses down to the tip of his nose as he observed. it was in his nature to poke the bear, to push and push and push until it broke, and he would relish in the chaos that followed. however, since you were thrust upon his life his mind was overridden with an instinct to preserve your open heart laid bare before him, to ease your tensions and give until there was nothing left of him. to pull you closer and closer until you were one.

at your wish, he’d part the seas and move mountains and throw himself across every puddle in between for you to walk on.

“tsumiki, megumi, can you go get your stuff from your lockers?” your tone softened, despite the crinkle you still held between your eyebrows. even as your anger dissipated, your frustrations lingered like the kindling of a fire ready to light itself again.

they nodded fervently, disappearing down one of the hallways with quick footsteps. satoru kept himself in line with you as you approached the vestibule of the school entrance, a delicate hand finding your wrist and fingers pressing gently into your palm. 

he closed the distance, leaning into you. his voice ghosted the shell of your ear as he teased, “you know, seeing you get all riled up was kind of hot.”

you scrunched your nose, biting back a smile. you didn’t have to look at him to know he was wiggling his eyebrows. unfortunately, even the days you tried to wallow in your anger he was there to sweep it away. “yeah, right. that’s why you were shaking in your boots.”

“shaking? me?” his free hand splayed against his chest and he looked to the ceiling with a roll of his eyes. “only out of concern for that poor principal.”

“you don’t think he deserved it?”

“i think you went too easy on him.” satoru smirked. it was your turn to roll your eyes. 

the two of you fell quiet again, satoru with an unrelenting stare. you finally met his eyes as he silently wished for, he poured admiration into his gaze and hopes you would let it cling to you in the way he was desperate to with his own arms.

your eyebrows narrowed again as a heavy could hung over your heade. as you began to reflect, your shoulders sagged under the weight of your thoughts. “he’s wrong though, right?” 

satoru forced you to take a proper hold of his hand, squeezing as you averted your gaze. 

“of course he’s wrong, we’re great to that little brat.” he threw his arm up in exaggeration, his body closely following as it wrapped itself around your shoulders like it had a mind of its own. there’s a comment lingering on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t utter it, knowing it’s stinging the back of your mind as well– it was either us or the zenin clan. “both of them. if they had any issues i’m sure they would’ve ran away already.”

you frowned at him. long ago, when satoru had first dragged them into your life, the fear loomed over you daily. the possibility of them running away, deciding the streets would be better than two crazed strangers that spoke of monsters and cursed energy, had constricted your muscles with fear to the point of physical exhaustion. 

you always tormented yourself with the question if they really liked living with you, being raised by you despite the chaos of jujutsu (and the excruciating taunts of satoru gojo). 

come to think of it, you don’t know the last time something like that crossed your mind. 

“really. you’re doing a great job, you always have. especially considering our…” he lowered his voice to a playful whisper, “unconventional circumstances.”

“do you think they want to leave?”

“not a chance. i’m sure they’re siphoning money out of my bank accounts as we speak, and they’ll use me ‘til i die.”

you smiled, shaking your head. the fear in your composure was beginning to resolve, as you melted into the warmth of his hand. he took that as his invitation to reel you in closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. he reached forward and gently pressed his thumb into the space between your eyebrows, satisfying the urge that had been buzzing his fingertips for what felt like forever. pride swelled in his chest when he pulled his hand away and you relaxed, your expression no longer holding on to your sorrows.

for good measure, he placed a sloppy, wet kiss in your cheek that you squealed at. he grinned as you tried pushing him away through your laughter, slapping against his chest– a futile attempt as he only tightened his grip on you and pulled you impossibly closer to land another one on your opposite cheek. 

“you– are so– annoying–!” you claimed through giggles, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. his slobber came with it, all that remained being the hot flush of embarrassment.

“how could you wipe away my love so easily?” he pouted. he began to dip you– or rather, you began to dip yourself as he leaned closer and closer. 

“we’re at a school, there could be children around.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, dangerously close to being horizontal. 

“so? at some point they take a sex ed class, right?”

“satoru!”

after scurrying through the halls, tsumiki watched with a bored stare as megumi stretched for the top shelf of his locker for his textbooks, her arms crossed as she leaned against the cream locker next to his. he still had to rise to his tippy toes, being a little less than a head shorter than her. she heard that boys hit their growth spurts later and it was a lot more sudden, she wondered if he’d end up taller.

he slipped each book into the backpack hanging half-zipped on his shoulder at a leisure pace. his pinched expression had a striking similarity to the one you held barreling out of the office, though he held less anger, and he seemed disconnected from his surroundings. there was a fog over his eyes while he mulled over his thoughts.

she rolled her eyes at the mysterious demeanor he fought so hard to maintain. she believed he probably thought he seemed cool that way– too cool to express his vulnerability.

“so, she called you her son.”

megumi glanced at her with a quick side-eye, pausing the rough shove of his textbook into his bag. as much as he wished to stay reserved and withdrawn from the rest of the world, she always seemed to know what he was thinking. annoyance weighed in his chest.

“okay, so?”

she looked at him expectantly. “so, how do you feel about it?”

“i feel fine.”

“are you going to say anything to her?”

he rolled his eyes. “it was a slip of the tongue, tsumiki. there’s nothing to say.”

she glared for a brief moment, before reaching for the last book at the top of his locker. it was tucked in the corner too far for him to grab himself, she wondered how he got it up there in the first place.

tsumiki handed it to him, and he begrudgingly accepted it. as much as he hated asking for help, he hated her offering without asking much more. 

“you know that’s not true. i heard her talking in there, she didn’t stutter once. she knew what she was saying, even if she was pissed off.”

he was quiet, shutting the metal door with a soft click that contrasted his hardened expression. or, the attempt he could muster with reddened cheeks and a gentle understanding in his gaze. guilt filled his stomach, you were really pissed. “so, what, you want me to start calling her mom?” he continued with a mumble, “i’m not calling gojo dad, ever.”

tsumiki didn’t point out that he implied he was open to calling you mom, instead turning her head with a proud smirk. ”pfft, he’d never let you live it down.”

the pair fell into stride in the hallway, soft footsteps echoing in the halls. megumi caught the glances of his peers in their classrooms, peaking into the hall window with curiosity wondering why they’d be roaming.

“maybe we get her a mother’s day card this year,” tsumiki pondered out loud, reflecting on the day in years past. thank you cards had sufficed thus far, despite the lingering tension around the holiday and the bouquets thrown on your dining room table, none of you ever broached the topic of motherhood.

megumi stayed quiet, looking out the window and ignored the growing grin of his sister. she knew well the lack of his pushback might as well have been him jumping up and down with glee. the picture drew out a muffled giggle that made his cheeks burn.

“do you think she’s mad?” he asked out loud. he knew you were. as long as you’d been in their lives there was an everlasting sweetness of your composure, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. 

tsumiki laughed loudly now, though short-lived as they turned the corner and spotted you at the end of the hall. your hair was a bit tousled and your husband had his arms wrapped around you pathetically, whining about something she was sure you could all agree was insignificant. you stood tall to the best of your ability, being weighed down by the stature of a 6’3” man.

your eyes snapped to them with a natural instinct, spotting the slightest figure of your dependents, your kids, and keeping a watchful eye. your gaze softened as tsumiki grinned, grabbing her brother's arm and pulling him to match her quickening pace.

she was always quite perceptive. from afar, she detected the warmth of your admiration reaching out with tentative fingers carefully beckoning them into your embrace. 

“i think she’s over it.”

(p.s. you weren’t– megumi was on dish duty and had to help tsumiki with her english homework that week.)

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

[stsgluver]

Can I get a uhhh...hurt/comfort Choso drabble where he snaps at the reader? Maybe because he's worried about Yuuji or something?

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐎 — kamo choso

synopsis. choso's parent's relationship is struggling and he doesn't know how to handle it.

wc. 1.4k

tags. very slight angst, happy ending, yuuji is choso's 10yo half brother, choso and yn are 18-19, both went to the same school, yn is yuuji's tutor, possible ooc choso I've never written for him before

a/n. MY FIRST CHOSO WRITING!! you never specified an au so I did a post-highschool!au-ish. I hope that's okay <33 thank you for requesting!!

2k event

“can’t you tell i’m busy?” choso uttered through gritted teeth, not even bothering to glance up at you from his sketchbook he was hunched over on his desk. you’d been trying to tell him about the sweet old couple you always saw at the cafe and hadn’t seen for weeks until today. the two of you had become invested in their wellbeing and you’d thought that had been something he would’ve wanted to hear about.

“oh, sorry.” you frowned at how unintentionally pathetic your voice sounded. despite his cold demeanour, choso was probably the, if not the, sweetest person you’d ever met. he was always doting on his younger brother and showing up at your day job unannounced to bring you something whenever you tell him you’re having a bad day.

for all intents and purposes, he was the blueprint, so for him to lash out at you for no explicit reason was the total polar opposite to his usual personality.

“sorry?” choso mocked, leaning his head back to push his hands through his hair which was still damp from showering. still, he seemed more preoccupied with the ceiling than his concerned girlfriend who sat cross-legged on his bed, “geto’s going to be pissed that i’m behind on these designs and you constantly talking in my ear is not helping.”

after graduating, choso had initially taken on an admin role at a small tattoo parlour in town. a couple of months into the role, the owner, geto, had offered him a proper apprenticeship. you’d met geto on a handful of occasions and, from how choso had previously described him, he didn’t seem like the type to be annoyed over a few incomplete designs. especially not considering the additional hours and effort choso always puts into that place.

“you invited me over choso,” you pointed out. it was a sunday and, while you usually have work in the evenings, you’d been given the day off due to staff sickness. your boyfriend’s first message had been to excitedly offer for you to come over and stay the night at his which of course you said yes to.

somewhere between sending you that message and you making the fifteen minute drive to his house, he had a drastic change of heart.

choso sighed, picking up a different pencil to continue his sketch. “well, now i’m uninviting you.”

the bluntness in his tone had you blinking back tears. it was the first time he’d ever been so intentionally dismissive towards you. you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response or an argument, if that was what he was after, and picked up your coat and left his room. 

you hadn’t needed to bring over any clothes or essentials since you’d come over so often his room had designated areas for your spare bits. as upset as he had made you, you weren’t about to scare him with a breakup threat because he was having a bad day and lashing out at you. 

“yn!” yuuji’s bright voice spooked you from your thoughts as you made your way down the stairs and you had to quickly wipe away any tears so as to not worry your boyfriend’s ten year old brother. choso’s golden personality was hidden by dark hair and an introverted front whereas yuuji’s was clear from his pink hair to his loud voice. “are you leaving already? you haven’t even tried my pancakes yet!”

one of yuuji’s incentives to attend the lessons that he didn’t like (ie. anything that wasn’t sport) was for him and choso to make homemade pancakes together. it was a weekly thing that you usually missed because of work and yuuji had been jumping up and down when he had found out you’d be there this evening.

your heart broke a little more at the fact you’d now be upsetting him.

“sorry yuuji,” his little face dropped slightly, bounce in his step gone as he clasped his hands together. you gently rubbed his shoulder, “i’ll be here for friday?”

yuuji scrunched up his nose. “that’s so long away!” it was also the day he’d be sat at the kitchen island with you for several hours doing catch up on his classes.

yuuji was the reason why you and choso had reconnected after graduating school – because when you agreed to tutor a student how could you have known that itadori yuuji was kamo choso’s little brother? you’d never been close in school so you hadn’t even known he had any relatives.

“i’ll bring you a treat,” you promised, making your way out of the house after saying a quick goodbye to his parents. 

the pouring down rain coupled with the ever flowing tears that stained your cheeks meant you had to stop your car several times on the way home just to ensure you wouldn’t crash. each and every time you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you a message, apologising and asking you to come back (which you would have in a heartbeat). there never was.

you didn’t see choso for the rest of the week – not until friday, your usual tutoring session with yuuji. 

he had messaged you a couple times, asking about your day and sending you several pictures of tattoos he had done himself which you always responded to quickly. but the conversations were short and filled with unanswered questions.

most days that you didn’t sleep around his, the two of you would call until one of you fell asleep. for the last five nights both of you had made excuses for why you couldn’t call. 

your relationship was still fairly new and this was the first spat that you had had. neither of you really knew how to cope with the aftermath or even the initial falling out. you missed your boyfriend, though, and you couldn’t avoid this forever.

“is yuuji here?”

you’d knocked twice before the door had been opened by choso. he looked just as tired as you felt (you’d done your best to cover it up with a bit of concealer and highlighter), and his shoulder length hair was messily framing his face. the hoodie he wore was a matching one that you had still hung up in your wardrobe at home.

“no,” choso shook his head, “he’ll be back from fushiguro’s kids in about fifteen.”

yuuji had spoken about megumi a lot to you – his best friend in the whole world, he’d described him as. he told you he’d bring him around one day to meet you.

“okay,” you said slowly and there was an awkward silence that settled between the two of you. on a friday night whilst you were with yuuji, their parents went out for their weekly date night, so right now it was just choso in his house and you at the doorstep. you take a step back, “i can just wait in my car till–”

“i think my parents are splitting up,” choso said quickly – almost too quickly for you to understand – and his eyes dropped down to the ground below, avoiding your worried gaze. “friday date nights are now for marriage counselling,” he continued when you didn’t say anything, still in shock from the confession, “jin… he’s a good guy, but my mum is stressed with work and–”

“and she’s taking it out on the people closest to her.”

choso picked his head up and there was an unspoken understanding that that was what had happened on sunday. he looked guilty as he nodded.

choso and yuuji were half brothers – choso’s dad had up and left when he was only a couple of years old and his mum had had to single-handedly rebuild their life. he didn’t want yuuji to have to experience any of the hardships he did in his broken family.

“i’m sorry for hurting you. i don’t want to lose you too,” your boyfriend apologised and you made the first step on closing the gap to wrap your arms around his waist. he smelt like home, you realised, nestling your face into his hoodie, and you didn’t want to go five whole days without him again.

you lifted your head up to press one kiss to the corner of his lips, “we’ll get through this together, no matter what happens.”

[bokutosbabe]

Daylight

( bllk boys as dads )

a / n — please i love these men a little too much. PREPARE TO BE SICK OF ME

content — aged up! characters, bllk characters x reader, fluff, children mentioned(obviously), character and reader are married, had randomized names given to me for the kids, went crazy with bachira- he's just so girl dad coded, let's act like the WC didnt FUCK kunigami up, idk what happened with the format on kunigamis sorry, isagi yoichi x reader, bachira meguru x reader , rensuke kunigami x reader

synopsis — just a few of the blue lock boys as dads :,)

✿.｡. “ and i can still see it all in my mind , ” .｡.✿

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ISAGI YOICHI

— have yall seen this mans dad? literally so supportive

— is at every single sporting event no matter what!

— has embarrassed both you and your son on many occasions

— doesn't understand this is a LITTLE LEAGUE soccer game

you didn't understand why children's soccer games had to be played in the middle of summer at the hottest time imaginable. while you were silently suffering from the heat, your husband was far too into the game going on. "Come on, Kazuki! Get in there!" Isagi's voice boomed across the field, startling some of the other parents. Your cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment as you gave him a gentle nudge. "Yoichi, they're just kids," you whispered, trying to temper his competitive spirit. "Let them have fun." every game day was like this. isagi would get so intense over kazuki, who was spectacular for his age, that he would forget where he was for a bit. there were literally other kids sitting down and picking flowers, it was never as serious as your pro soccer player husband believed. Kazuki, his eyes shining with determination, managed to dribble past an opponent and take a shot at the goal. The ball soared through the air and... missed. Isagi groaned loudly, drawing curious and amused glances from the other parents. "Come on, Kazuki! You can do better than that!" Isagi yelled, his fists clenched. You placed a hand on his arm, giving him a warning look. "Yoichi, relax. He's trying his best." with that, the game was over. kazuki's team had still won 3-2, but you could tell that your son was disappointed in himself over the last shot. Kazuki ran over to you both, his face flushed with something that looked like embarrassment and shame. "You did great, Kazuki!" you said, kneeling down to hug him. "We're so proud of you." Isagi crouched beside you, ruffling Kazuki's hair. "You were awesome out there, buddy. I just got a little carried away. Sorry if I embarrassed you." maybe isagi got a little too into the games, but he always apologized after, it had become somewhat of a ritual at this point. " it's fine! did you see my super cool dribbling? uncle bachira taught me!!" yeah, your husband's enthusiasm got the better of him sometimes, but if there was one thing you knew for certain: kazuki couldn't be prouder of his dad and isagi couldn't be prouder of kazuki.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BACHIRA MEGURU

— girl dad, girl dad, GIRL FREAKING DAD

— constantly doing your daughters hair

— you come home from work to find the both of them with butterfly clips in their hair at least 3 days out of the week

You pushed open the front door, feeling the weight of the day’s stress clinging to your shoulders. It had been one of those days at work where everything seemed to go wrong, and all you wanted was to collapse on the couch and forget about it all. As you stepped into the living room, you were greeted by a heartwarming sight that instantly began to melt away the tension that you'd felt in your shoulders. There, sprawled out on the floor, were Bachira and your daughter, Sora, both fast asleep. The room was a delightful mess of colored markers, sketchbooks, and an array of hair accessories scattered around them. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of Bachira with his hair adorned in a myriad of butterfly clips and sparkly barrettes, clearly the result of a spirited father-daughter play session. Sora’s hair was similarly decorated, her small hand still clutching a purple clip. Carefully, you tiptoed closer, trying not to disturb their peaceful slumber. As you knelt beside them, you noticed the soft rise and fall of their chests, their expressions serene and content. You reached out to gently remove a clip from Bachira’s hair. making precautions so it wouldn't get tangled in, but as you did, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked up at you, a sleepy but mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Hey there,” he whispered, his face adorning his usual childish grin. “Rough day?” You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, but seeing you two like this makes it so much better.” Bachira sat up slowly, careful not to wake Sora. He pulled you into a gentle hug, his warmth and the familiar scent of him providing a comforting balm to your frazzled nerves. “We had a lot of fun,” he murmured into your hair. “Sora wanted to have a ‘beauty salon’ day. I think I’m her favorite customer.” Sora stirred beside you, her eyes slowly opening. She blinked sleepily at you both, then broke into a wide smile. “Mommy, you’re home! Look at Daddy’s hair! I made him so pretty!” You leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You did an amazing job, sweetheart. I love it.” Sora giggled, sitting up and wrapping her small arms around your neck. “Can we do your hair next, Mommy?” You laughed, feeling the last of the day’s stress melt away completely. “Absolutely. But first, how about we clean up a little and get some dinner?” In that moment, surrounded by the people you loved most, you knew that no matter how stressful the days could be, you would always have this beautiful, chaotic sanctuary to come home to.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ RENSUKE KUNIGAMI

— has always wanted to be a hero

— having his son made that dream become a reality

— will be playing in his pro games and points to the family section you and your son are sitting in

— plays his heart out for you two

The stadium was buzzing with excitement as fans filled the stands, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. You held your son's hand tightly as you made your way to the family section, both of you decked out in Kunigami's team colors. Your son, Haru, was practically bouncing with excitement, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the massive stadium.

"Mom, look! There’s Dad!" Haru pointed eagerly towards the field, where Kunigami was warming up with his teammates. His hero, his dad, looked every bit the powerful and determined athlete he admired so much.

You smiled, giving Haru's hand a gentle squeeze. "Yes, there he is. Are you excited to watch him play?" Haru nodded vigorously, his face lit up with joy. "He's gonna score a goal today, I just know it!"

As the game began, you settled into your seats, Haru practically on the edge of his. The first half was intense, with both teams displaying incredible skill and determination. Kunigami was in top form, his presence on the field commanding and inspiring.

Then, in the second half, the moment you and Haru had been waiting for arrived. Kunigami received the ball, skillfully maneuvering past the defenders with a combination of strength and finesse. The crowd’s roar grew louder with each step he took towards the goal.

"Go, Dad! You can do it!" Haru shouted, his voice full of unbridled enthusiasm. Kunigami glanced towards the family section for just a moment, his eyes locking onto yours and Haru’s. You could see the fire and determination in his gaze, the unspoken promise he made to his son to always be his hero.

With a powerful kick, Kunigami sent the ball soaring past the goalkeeper and into the net. The stadium erupted in cheers, the sound nearly deafening. Kunigami's teammates rushed to him, celebrating the goal, but his eyes were fixed on you and Haru.

He pointed directly at you both, his expression a mixture of pride and love. You could almost hear the words in your mind: “This is for you. Your hero is here.”

Haru was beside himself with excitement, jumping up and down, waving his arms wildly. "Mom, did you see that? Dad scored! He did it!" You pulled Haru into a tight hug, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. "Yes, sweetheart, he did. Your dad is amazing."

As the game continued, Kunigami played with renewed vigor, his goal having given his team the boost they needed. When the final whistle blew, signaling their victory, the crowd’s cheers echoed around the stadium.

After the game, you and Haru were escorted down to the field to meet Kunigami. Haru ran ahead, throwing himself into his father’s arms.

"Dad, you were awesome! Just like a superhero!" Kunigami laughed, lifting Haru high into the air before bringing him back down for a tight hug. "Thanks, buddy. I told you I'd score a goal for you."

✿.｡. “ all of you, all of me, intertwined ” .｡.✿

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

i may write more parts for this, i really liked it!

[chukys-mouthguard]

fight night

2.5k words

genre: angst, minor fluff, suggested smut

featuring: auston matthews x female reader

summary: after a fight results in auston uninviting you to the nhl awards, you both end up at UFC 303

“Look, you need to chill the fuck out okay? If you don’t like the people I’m hanging out with here, then don’t bother fucking coming tonight. I’ll just see you when I’m back in town.”

Before you could get another word in, Auston had hung up the phone. The two of you getting in a heated argument about the people he was hanging out with while in Las Vegas for a slew of appearances. The most important being the NHL Awards, which you were supposed to attend alongside him. But not anymore.

You didn’t hate Auston’s friend group per say, but he’d been adopting a new workout routine for the offseason, and they didn’t necessarily seem to be helping that. He’d been drinking a lot, something that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him, but heavy drinking was not going to put him on good terms with his conditioning coach.

Having just expressed your concerns turning into a huge fight between the two of you. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t seen in each other in weeks, the awards show meant to be the event that brought you two back together. But now here you were, already in Vegas since you’d flown in that day, with your agenda now cleared. Your flight home not for two days as you anticipated spending time with Auston before flying back out.

As you contemplated rebooking your flight, a call came in from your manager, not something you had been expecting.

“Hey y/n, you’re in Las Vegas for a few days right?”

“Um, yeah, I’m in Vegas right now. What’s up?”

“Well, you know how we just closed that sponsorship deal for you with New Amsterdam Vodka?”

Truly you had no clue how your manager landed you that sponsorship, it being one of the best brands you’d gotten a deal with to date. You’d like to think it was because of how much you publicized your love for Pink Whitney, but who really knows.

“Well, they had some things come up. And long story short, can you attend the UFC fight tomorrow night? We’ve got Olivia on a plane flying in as we speak.”

Olivia was your podcast co-host that was also signed to a deal with New Amsterdam. The two of you were the hottest up and coming podcasters who were quickly gaining notoriety for your ability to talk sports and pop culture, while making it entertaining and understandable for all audiences.

“Um, yeah, I can definitely attend the fight. My schedule is completely free.”

“Great! We’ve got an itinerary for the both of you that I’ll send over shortly, because there’s gonna be some brand activation type things needed. And we’ve got stylists coming to your hotel tomorrow afternoon to help you girls with outfits, hair, and makeup!”

After giving you the last few details, you hung up with your manager. A bit shocked at the opportunity you were getting, but thankful to have some sort of distraction to look forward to and hopefully get your mind off the fight you had with Auston.

-

Entering T-Mobile arena, you honestly weren’t sure what to expect out of the much anticipated UFC 303, but it was something to cross off your bingo card for the year. Despite your lack of interest in the fights themselves, you were excited to attend and at least say you were there.

Olivia had gotten in late last night and you had to fill her in on everything. Why you fought with Auston, how he uninvited you from being his guest at the awards show. And how you were thankful for this appearance to get your mind off of him. The stylists had thrown together a more casual look for you: light wash ripped boyfriend jeans, a white tank top, and an oversized black and yellow racing jacket. Elevating the look a bit with some heeled boots. Olivia’s outfit complimenting yours well, both your hair and makeup done just enough to look minimal but still flawless. And with a few New Amsterdam cocktails already in your systems, you were ready to roll.

The arena had all the celebrities attending enter away from the general public, meaning you’d be passing some familiar faces in the tunnels as you were led to your seats. Everyone from Gordon Ramsey to Aaron Rodgers, even-your boyfriend.

“Well fuck…”

Immediately noticing the reason for your reaction, Olivia tried to block Auston from seeing you. But it was too late. His eyes went wide as he saw you, looking you up and down, thank god you looked this good. He was with fellow NHLer Clayton Keller as they awaited an usher to guide them to their seats.

Though shocked to see you at the event, he knew it must have been something your manager had pulled off for you. A soft smile on Auston’s lips as he watched you interact with the New Amsterdam reps, he couldn’t help but be proud of you. He’s seen how much you’ve poured into your podcast, and how hard you’ve worked for moments like these. Despite the argument, he still cared about you and loved seeing you in your element.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything as you were quickly pulled off in the opposite direction. Most likely to film some type of ad for the brand. Pulling out his phone he shot you a quick text, making sure you got to hear from him in case he didn’t see you the rest of the night.

You look so fucking beautiful my love.

The text brought a smile to your face as you quickly typed back a response before you were pulled aside for an interview alongside Olivia.

“Lastly, y/n, I wanted to extend a congratulations to your boyfriend, Auston Matthews of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Winner of the Richard Trophy last night at the NHL Awards.”

“Oh thank you so much.”

The comment was a bit unexpected, though it wasn’t uncommon to get asked about Auston since your relationship was very much public.

“We didn’t see you in attendance last night with Auston, hopefully there isn’t any trouble in paradise there?”

Laughing off the comment you shook your head, “No, not at all! There unfortunately was some last minute conflicts that prevented me from attending. But I’m so proud of him, I wish I could have been there. Luckily we have a night like tonight where we can just have some fun, and celebrate. So, I’m glad we were able to both be here!”

The interview wrapped up and you took a deep breath, Olivia squeezing your arm in reassurance. “I don’t know how you pulled that answer out of your ass, but that was so good!” The two of you laughed as an usher finally led you to your seats.

“I truly don’t even know what answer I gave, my brain was on autopilot. I’m just glad I didn’t say something stupid.”

“Are you gonna talk to him tonight at all?”

Stopping in your tracks as your usher gestured to your seats, your eyes settling on your boyfriend who was standing with his friends just next to where you’d be sitting for the night.

“Well I might not have much of a choice if I’m stuck sitting next to him.”

The two of you set your bags down at your seats, mingling a bit with the people around you. Remembering how your manager always preached to you both network as much as possible at events like these.

As you were talking with a rep from some coffee brand, trying your best to convince them to send some product to you girls to try, you felt an arm snacking around your waist. Immediately knowing it was Auston as your hand entangled with his at your hip.

Thanking the rep for their time, giving them your agents number, you finally were able to turn your attention to Auston. Who patiently stood at your side, a smile on his face as he watched you doing your thing.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi.”

He gave you a kiss before pulling you into his chest, rubbing your back as he knew you were still frustrated with him. Doing his best to try and make up for being an asshole.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight?”

He pulled you towards your seats, his hand immediately resting on your thigh as you sat down. Eyes fixated on you as he sipped his drink.

“Well, neither did I. Until I got the call ten minutes after someone uninvited me from their awards show last night.”

You shot him a glare as he gently squeezed your thigh. “Look, about that, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that and-“

“Auston, it’s fine. Tonight, I just want to have fun, we don’t need to talk about it right now. Especially because I’ve had enough cocktails that you get me riled up, you and I will end up in that ring as the main event.”

He smirked at you as he leaned in close, stealing a kiss from you. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Pushing him away as you tried to hide your blush, you ignored his horny thoughts. “Auston Matthews, we might need to cut you off. Someone is already feeling themselves tonight.”

A slight whine left his lips as he moved his hand, now draping an arm over your shoulder. “I can’t help that you look so good babe. Plus, I haven’t seen you in weeks, you expect me to not have my hands all over you? Most importantly, I need to make up for being such a dick last night.”

“Well that is very true. I didn’t even get to celebrate your big trophy win with you.”

A pout on your lips as you glanced up at him, deciding that you’d have some fun making him regret not inviting you. “I even brought your favorite blue lace set to wear under my dress last night, but, it just stayed in my suitcase since you didn’t want me there.” Fingers lightly playing with his chains as you spoke, making sure to really get under his skin.

The look in his eyes immediately turning to one of lust as he thought about the set in question. Baby blue lace that hugged your curves perfectly, and while it looked amazing on you he loved it even better on the floor.

“And I said I was sorry baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Tilting your chin up he brought your lips to his, clearly forgetting the two of you were in public as his tongue tried pushing past your lips. A slight chuckle leaving your lips as you pulled away from him.

“Babe, I love that you’re wanting to make it up to me. But maybe not front row for everyone to see, okay?”

He rolled his eyes as he obeyed, simply returning a hand to your thigh as the two of you watched as the main events were set to begin shortly.

You swore Auston’s hand crept closer and closer to your inner thigh with the ending of each fight. The alcohol mixed with the thoughts of you wearing his favorite lingerie clearly having him hot and bothered. And while you weren’t turning down the idea, it having been several weeks since you’d gotten your hand on him, you were still here for work and needed to act professional.

He luckily kept his cool for the remainder of the night, respecting when you had to remind him that you were there for work while he was there for fun. The two of you leaving hand in hand as he definitely was not letting you out of his sight. His mind focused on getting you back to his hotel and making up for not having you by his side at the awards show.

The second the door to his room closed you were pulled into his lap as he sat at the edge of the bed. One hand resting on your hip while the other pulled you in for a kiss.

“You do look fucking stunning tonight baby.”

A smile crept across your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, thanking him as your eyes locked with his. “And, I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve never been that way, I needed you there with me. And, I let some dumb shit get me all worked up. I know you are just looking out for me, and I appreciate that so much. I love how much you care for me.”

Resting your forehead on his, you sighed, not even caring about the fight anymore. Knowing it was stupid, but appreciating his apology.

“I do care about you, a lot. And, maybe sometimes I overstep a bit. But it’s all out of love for you Auston. I wish I could’ve been there for you last night, but I’m here now. And there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“While I couldn’t agree more, I do wish I could’ve gotten to see that blue lace set on you last night. Would’ve been a nice way to celebrate that’s for sure.”

Slipping from his lap as he hands reached out to try and pull you back, you slowly discarded of your jacket. Standing in front of him with a smile on your face as he watched you in anticipation.

“Well, maybe we can still celebrate a day late.”

Pulling your tank top over your head, you revealed that you were in fact in the blue lace number. Auston biting his tongue at the sight of you in the bra, his hands wanting to make quick work of your jeans to see you in the matching thong.

“Fuck…but if you didn’t know you’d see me tonight, why wear the blue?”

“Shut up and just enjoy the coincidence Auston!”

Shaking your head you walked back over to him, pulling him in for a kiss as his hands made quick work of your jeans. Needing to see you fully on display in blue lace just for him. As you kicked off the jeans, he sat back on his forearms, lust filled eyes watching as you did a spin for him.

“God you’re so fucking perfect.”

Without warning he picked you up, lips crashing against yours while his hands rested under your ass gripping tightly as your skin and surely leaving a few marks.

You giggled as he tossed you on the bed, making quick work of his clothes, leaving him in just his briefs as he hovered over you. Tucking some hair behind your ear as his hips ground into your core, earning a moan from you as you felt him growing hard against you. The two of you taking your time, kissing for what felt like hours, no hurry as you wanted to savor every second of your time with one another.

“I love you so much Auston, and I’m so proud of you. But if you ever uninvite me from something like that ever again, so help me god.”

He rolled his eyes as a hand traveled down to the string of your thong, snapping it slightly as his fingers teased at your core.

“Relax baby, I’m gonna make up for it all.”

[lucy90712]

I love your writing!!!! I wanted to ask if you could write a story where the reader is a famous actress and has a crush on Carlos and decides to watch a tennis match, but you didn't expect that Carlos also has a crush on you, he's already watched all your films and the whole team know this

Carlos' POV

"Who was your first celebrity crush?" The interviewer asked 

"I honestly don't remember I remember having a few but I can't think of one right now" I answered 

"Can you give us a recent one?" They then asked 

"God this is embarrassing hopefully she won't see this but y/n is definitely one I love everything she's been in" I admitted 

"That is a lot of people's answers so you aren't alone in that" the interviewer laughed 

Your POV

"We know you are very much into sport you are often seen at football matches and f1 or motogp races but a few days ago you posted yourself playing tennis is this another sport to add to the list" the interviewer asked me 

"Definitely I love tennis I can't watch as much of it as all of the grand slams seem to be when I'm really busy but I try my best to watch as many matches as I can I also love to play tennis it's become my favourite thing to do after I get off set in the evenings" I answered 

"Do you have favourite players?" I was then asked 

"I do I like Sabalenka and Coco Gauff and I love to watch Carlos Alcaraz I always try and watch his matches even if it's late I'll stay up and watch him play" I said 

"Have you ever been to a tennis match?" The interviewer asked 

"I haven't yet but I'm hoping to make it to one this year I think I will be in London at the same time as Wimbledon so hopefully I will have some free days to be able to go and watch a few matches" I answered 

~~~~~~~~~~

After my interview saying that I love tennis and would love to go and watch a match at Wimbledon one of the organisers contacted my manager and offered me tickets to centre court for a day. Of course I had to say yes but I couldn't make any day in the first week as I had it be on set every day but I have a few days off during the second week so they gave me tickets to the day with the best matches on. One of those matches happened to be involving Carlos Alcaraz which is the one I'm most excited to watch as I can't lie I have a bit of a crush on him which I didn't mention in that interview as I didn't want him finding out. 

Usually I'm not supposed to go to events like this on my own, my manger likes to arrange security to come with me or makes sure I have a friend with me but this time I insisted that I go alone as I want to experience everything properly. Even if there is a lot of people around who might want pictures I don't care I just want to take it all in without someone stopping me from doing some things. The one thing I couldn't get out of was having someone drive me there and wait for me to leave but I'm ok with that compromise as it's for my safety and I'm still free to roam around Wimbledon all day. 

First thing this morning I had a meeting but by lunchtime I was free to go so I grabbed some food and then got the person driving me to head to Wimbledon. Heading inside the grounds were spectacular there was so many flowers and every green space was perfectly maintained. It wasn't long before people started to notice me and I had fans coming up asking for photos and lots of photographers trying to take pictures of me. Most of the time I try and avoid all of this attention but today I don't mind as I'm just so happy to be here and be able to watch the best tennis players in the world play.

I spent a while walking around looking at all the courts and just exploring before I headed to centre court to watch my first match. My seat was right behind one of the player boxes which meant I got to listen to the instructions they gave to help the players below. I had so much fun watching the match that I didn't even really pay attention to the score but Swiatek won in straight sets then it was time to prepare for the next match which is the one I'm looking forward to the most. There is quite a gap between matches to allow people to leave and get drink and to prepare the court but I stayed put wanting to see everything. One of the perks of getting given tickets is that I've ended up in the vip area so they have been bringing out drinks and snacks which means I really don't have to leave. 

While waiting for the next match to start I decided to actually look at my phone and of course there is lots of pictures from today but I ignored most of those and just looked at what my friends have been up to and what has been going on on set as I like to know what they are filming. After scrolling for a minute I came across a video of Carlos from an interview with Wimbledon so it must be recent so I watched it. They asked him a lot of questions then they asked about his celebrity crush which is when I heard my name so I had to rewind it to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I wasn't hearing things Carlos actually named me as his celebrity crush I mean sure he could be lying but it sure seemed like he was being genuine which has me feeling so much more nervous about watching him play. 

While I was freaking out people started to file back in and there was people starting to take their seats in the box in front of me. I wasn't really paying attention to who was walking in until I saw Juanki sit just a few rows in front of me which is when I realise all of Carlos' team were sat in front of me. I'm not sure if this is a dream or a nightmare there is so much going on in my head it feels like it's about to explode. There was still a bit of time until the match was due to start so I just tried to gather my thoughts but as I did that I made eye contact with Juanki who then climbed up the few rows to stand right in front of me. 

"Hi you are y/n the actress right?" He asked 

"Yes I am it's great to meet you you've done an incredible job coaching Carlos" I said trying to be nice 

"Thank you but he makes it easy" he laughed 

"I wanted to ask you if you are free after this match to come and meet Carlos I know he loves your shows and would love to meet you" he said 

"Yeah I would love to do that I'm a big fan of his tennis so I'd love to meet him" I said 

"Great after the match you can follow us out of here and we can sort things out" he said 

With that he went back to his seat leaving me to watch the match while thinking about the fact that in just a few hours I'm going to meet Carlos. Most people would think that because I'm an actress I'm fine with meeting new people but the thought of meeting Carlos who is someone I admire as an athlete as well as thinking he's extremely attractive is nerve wracking. That being said this match can't finish quick enough as I'd love to talk to him and find out what he's like as a normal person and not the tennis player. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The match was long but Carlos won in four sets and is through to the quarter finals. Once he won he had to do his interview on court and he looked up at his team and I'm convinced made eye contact but I couldn't keep looking as I got nervous. Once he left the court his team started to leave but Juanki stayed and helped me climb over the little wall between my seat and the box and then showed me the way out of the stands. We ended up in a very official seeming building as there was lots of staff and security as well as a few other players then we went down a corridor that had security at the end checking people's passes so Juanki had to assure them that I was with them and eventually they let me through. Juanki led me to a room that had some tables and chairs as well as a few other people I recognised from Carlos' box and told me that Carlos would be here as soon as he's done his media commitments. 

Waiting there made me so nervous it was like I was back on the set of my first big shoot all over again. That day I was nervous that I'd mess up in front of the many seasoned actors and make myself look like a fool but today I'm nervous that I won't be the way Carlos expects me to be. That's something I often struggle with everyone expects me to be a certain way and I always struggle with trying to live up to the high expectations but I'm hoping that by just being myself I won't disappoint. 

After waiting for around half an hour Carlos walked in and looked right at me so I just smiled as I didn't really know what else to do. Our little staring contest went on for a few seconds before I decided to get up and greet him before things got too awkward. As I walked over he started to smile too which made me feel slightly less nervous. 

"Hi congrats on the win you did great out there" I said not really knowing what else to say 

"Thank you I can't believe you watched my match" he said clearly thinking out loud 

"Well I love tennis and you are one of my favourite players so it was an honour to get to watch you play" I said 

"It's so cool to actually meet you in person I think I've watched everything you've been in and made others watch you are an incredible actress" he complimented 

"You haven't seen that awful vampire movie I did right my acting was awful in that it was so awkward" I laughed 

"I have seen it I thought you were great not the best thing you've been in though" he smiled 

After that our conversation flowed a lot easier we sat down together and just got to know each other. We talked about how he got into tennis and how much of his life is dedicated to it and about my career and what it's like working all around the work and with so many different actors. We also got to know each other on a more personal level which was really nice as in our careers you don't really get to know people properly so it's nice to make a human connection not a networking connection. He was so lovely and we got along really well to the point that we didn't notice how much time had gone by until the sun started shining right into our faces as it was setting outside. Both of us have busy days tomorrow so we really had to get back to our normal lives if we want to get enough sleep for tomorrow. 

Before we left his team wanted to take pictures of us together and we both agreed as we both know that those posts will get a lot of interaction as we have mentioned each other in interviews before. He also asked for my number so that we could keep in contact which I was happy to give him as I'd really like to keep getting to know each other. Him and his team walked with me back to my car to make sure I was ok but then they left me and Carlos to say goodbye to each other. He took the initiative and gave me a hug and kissed my cheek as he did so which had me blushing like crazy which I was a bit embarrassed about until I noticed he also had a pink tint on his cheeks. 

We said one last goodbye to each other before I got in the car and taken back to my hotel so I could eat dinner and go to bed. While I got myself ready for bed I scrolled on my phone and of course my picture with Carlos had been posted on his account and then reposted to Wimbledon's account. Of course I had to repost his post to my story which I know will make my fans crazy as I was with a guy but I don't care I had fun today. Right before I went to bed Carlos sent me a text saying that he enjoyed our conversation and asked me to contact him if I'm free at any time both of us are still here so we can spend some more time together which made me smile as I thought about when I have time off over the next week or so. 

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Chapter Three

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Jos overhear a conversation and the trio finds themselves in a confrontation

Warnings: Jos being Jos, Oscar throwing hands, implied homophobia and slurs

Notes: I definitely wasn’t listening to eye of the tiger while writing this…

Previous <-

Masterlist

It’s was only a matter of time until someone noticed. Max had been more then smiley as of late and it wasn’t just because he was dominating the sport. He’d fallen head over heal and looked like a love sick puppy.

His smile tends to grow a little extra when someone brings up either of his partners. He just blamed on the fact he thought they were doing well and had become friends with both.

Christian didn’t fall for it. He wasn’t team principal for nothing. He’s an observant man and had seen it in the way Max moved, his he talked, even in his driving.

Max found himself being pulled aside by Christian into a space where the people either didn’t bother them or didn’t care what they were talking about.

“Care to tell me what has you so happy lately?”

Max panics and stutters, then ends up just shrugging his shoulders. “The weather.” He mentally face palms at the terrible lie.

Christian laughs at him and grabs his shoulders. “It’s a miracle you can make it through interviews sometimes.” He releases him again before continuing. “Are you going to tell me the truth now.”

“First promise me you won’t be mad and that you won’t judge.”

“Would you like me to pinky swear it?”

Max rolls his eyes but continues one. “I’m in a relationship.”

“Well I already knew that part.” A skirt tugs on Christian’s lips. “Who is the lucky lass? Or is it a lad?” The playful eyebrow raise puts Max oddly at ease.

“Both actually.” His hands get clams and he wants nothing more to disappear at the confession. The fear of judgement giving him nervous energy.

“… Like two partners or gender-fluid?” The genuine curiosity in the older males voice made him relax. He wanted to know and was supportive it seems.

“Two Partners. Y/N and Oscar, actually.” He is hopeless. He can’t even say their names without smiling.

Christian is also smiling widely. “I’m so happy for you! Remember this is a safe space and if anyone says anything please let me know. If not afraid to tell someone off.”

Max feels the tension leave his body. His initial panic evaporating into think air. “Thank you, it means a lot really.”

“Are you three going to go public? If so then please tell me sooner rather then later so the team is prepared.”

“No plans for that right now, just figuring things out. But I’ll make sure to let you know.”

Despite their plans to not go public or let more people into their secret, someone was ,siting just around the corner.

~

Max texted them immediately after the conversation. They still had a few hours before the race so he wasn’t to worried about time.

Max: Christian knows

Y/N: … is he upset?

Max: No, he’s actually really supportive

Oscar: interesting turn of events

Max: you two aren’t mad with me?

Y/N: why would we be mad? Christian is basically your dad!

Oscar: we made a decision that we are disowning Jos

Max: I don’t think that’s how that works

Y/N: don’t care. He’s disowned.

Max chuckles at their comments. They are both younger then him but neither would hesitate to protect him from anything. Including his aggressive father.

He didn’t notice a problem at first. He thought it was normal until he got up to formula 1 and Daniel told him that it’s not. Christian and Seb followed after him. Soon Max was in a position where he had to come to terms with his childhood.

He’d yet to do that because despite it all, Jos is still his father and he loves him.

All that to say he wouldn’t be surprised if the female in their trio ended up punching him one day.

~

It had been an absolutely shitty race for her. She’s on the verge of tears when she’s getting ready to leave until Yuki comes sliding around the corner. “They have more stuff to talk about.” She can hear the annoyance in her his voice.

“What if we just run away.”

“I may be fast, but my legs are short. We’d never make it.”

She groans and sends a quick text to the boys telling them she is going to be late and they can leave without her. Instead of the response she was expecting, they said they’d wait for her by the paddock entrance.

She smiled reading the text, then locked her phone again.

~

Her legs feel heavy as she walks through the dark and almost deserted paddock. Her brain has already shut off and she wants nothing more then to curl up with her lovers and sleep until next year.

A pair of heavy footsteps fall in line behind her. She assumes it’s just leftover staff and continues her journey. That is, until she hears the thick Dutch accent of Jos Verstappen. The last person on the planet she wants to see.

“Can we talk for a moment?” He yells out to her.

“I’m late for something, sorry.” She doesn’t look at him. She fears if she does she might not be able to hold her tongue or hands and the last thing she wants to do it get in trouble.

It doesn’t take long for him to catch up. She blames her uncooperative appendages.

“We need to talk.” He grabs her bicep and she yelps in surprise.

“I really am la-“

“You and the Australian keep away from my son.”

She panics. Her breathing gets labored faster then she would’ve liked. Questions fill her mind of how he knows. She tries to yank her arms away but he tightens his grip.

“Never.” She spits. He used his free hand to wipe his face. She can feel him heating with anger as his movements become jagged. She readies herself for the possibility of a swing. At least if he hits her first then she can hit him back.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” The much more soothing Dutch accent yells from behind her.

“Is it true? You’re really lumping yourself in with this nonsense?” Max had almost forgotten why he doesn’t tell his father things. He’d had to relearn everything when he was finally able to spend time with people who wanted him to understand that the internalized homophobia that he’d grown up with was not okay in any sense.

“Yeah, I am.” Max keeps his distance. His father is prone to aggression and Max fears for the girl currently in his hold.

The fear and simultaneous relief flood through him as he pushes her straight to the ground. The look of pain and exhaustion in her eyes is hard to look at.

She doesn’t move. She can’t find the energy to do so.

“Your no son of mine. My son would never be a fa-“ He does not get the chance to finish his sentence. Oscar had connected his fist to the Dutch’s face and sent him stumbling backwards.

She could feel Oscar seething. She’d never seen him lose his temper. Ever. Since she’d known him. He could be cold and calculated but this was a whole new level.

She looked at Max who was now gently hugging Oscar from behind and trying to calm the anger behind the Australians eyes. He also looked at her for some sort of understanding. Neither of them had any clue what to do.

“Say it again. I fucking dare you.” Oscar held his gaze on the older man. It felt as if time had frozen around them. “You have no right to say such things.”

Oh. It clicked for her then. He’d done this before with one of her exes. A few of them actually.

It’s not like she’d never been with a female before. She’d been called that F slur before and it definitely didn’t feel right. Oscar had also punched them. There was no hesitation behind his swing either.

Jos just stares back at them and Max had no other ideas except to get Oscar away before he gets himself in trouble. She watches as he starts tugging him back towards the entrance. Stopping to give you a hand up. Then she held Oscars hand in hers the entire way back to the hotel. Despite his earlier anger, he held her hand so gently and occasionally placed kisses on her knuckles. Reciprocating the action to Max when they came to a stop sign or red light.

He’d still not settled down when they got to the hotel room. His frantic pacing and angry rant seemed to help, but only so much.

“Love, pretty sure there are other ways to help you get some of this energy out.” She purrs. Had she noticed max is turned on? Yes. Is she also turned on? Yes. Have both of them been whispering about the rage fueled Aussie being turned on? Again, yes.

He freezes and eyes both of them with a rather lustful gaze.

Sometimes the best cure to pent up energy is really good sex.

~

Max wakes up to the awful sound of his phone buzzing. The blissful feeling of his lovers tangled in the sheets with him now ruined by the terrible sound.

Still he looks at the caller ID and almost chokes when he sees Christian’s name on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey Max… I was wondering if you could shed some light on why your father called to tell me not to let, and I quote, ‘the deranged McLaren Australian’ anywhere near out garage?”

Max laughs. It’s probably not the right time and the other two are now awake and trying to tug him down into the bed, but he can’t help it. “Oscar punched him last night because he used the F word.”

“The F word? Doesn’t Oscar say fuck? I’ve heard him before I think.”

“I should clarify: the F slur.”

Silence falls from the other end of the line. For a moment Max things he lost connection until he hears Christian grumbling. “Tell Oscar he’s allowed in anytime he wants and your father will be receiving a strongly worded letter about how he’s not welcome back.”

Again, Max can only laugh at the situation and how it’s unfolded. He’s not complaining though. It’s nice knowing that he doesn’t always have to fight for himself.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

That Haunts Me Everyday

For years, you hid your feelings for Natasha, and one night, the floodgates opened. But the aftermath in the following days is what dictates your relationship going forward- if there is one.

TW: angsty, Nat is a cocky asshole, Wanda calls bullshit, poorly translated Russian, ehhhh yeah. That covers it, I think XD

Word Count: 8.6K

The wind howled by your window as you drove down the highway toward New York City. You were tapping along with the song playing through the radio, approaching the needed exit. Your phone buzzed with a text from your mom. "Just finished the project," you wrote back, a smirk playing on your lips. Your heart began to race as you neared your destination, the events of the last week's passion playing in your mind.

The week had been eye-opening, to say the least, Natasha finally cornering you, and confronting you about your feelings. You had always harbored romantic feelings and sexual tension for the redhead. But you didn't want to taint the working relationship you had, so you kept the emotions and feelings at bay, masking your pain when she would leave for a mission, the despair when she would return hurt, or the jealousy and rage when she would drag a conquest through the compound for the night.

Now you were going to face her again, and you didn't know what to expect. Would she be cold and professional, or would she finally acknowledge the fiery chemistry between you two? The car grew warm as you thought about the night you had shared, the touch of her skin, the way she had looked at you as she whispered sweet nothings into your ear. She had laughed at your hesitancy but reassured you as she held your bare body to hers after an evening caught in the throes of passion. The wind outside seemed to mimic the tumultuous emotions swirling within you.

As you pulled into the secure parking lot, you looked up at the building before you. The compound was lit up like a fortress, the fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows across the concrete. The smell of summer was in the air, not doing much to quell your current whirlwind of emotions as you neared where the redhead was. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the unknown as you stepped out of the car. You could hear the dull thump of music, telling you that Tony was likely throwing a get-together, a celebration of the most recent successful mission.

Walking through the main doors, you felt a sense of déjà vu. The same hallways, the same agents passing by, but something felt fundamentally different. Your heart thudded in your chest as you made your way to the living quarters. You hadn't seen her since that night, the night that had changed everything. You were stalking down the hallway, mentally preparing yourself for what was waiting at the end. Would she greet you? Hug you? Or completely ignore your presence?

The music grew louder as you approached the source of the party. You could hear the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional roar of victory from the guys watching a sports game on the giant flat-screen. You took another deep breath and pushed open the door to the common area. The room was a blur of motion and sound, but your eyes immediately found Natasha, standing across the room, surrounded by a few of the other agents. No one seemed to notice your arrival, and you set your bag by the door before silently walking towards Nat. For a spy, she seemed none the wiser to your presence, and it was then that you realized what she was talking about.

One of the rookie agents she was talking to caught your attention. "Come on Romanoff, you always have someone in your bed." they all laughed at this, including her.

"True, I do," she began. The room seemed to grow quiet, the laughter dying away as Natasha's words hung in the air. "But not just anyone can handle it," she finished, a cocky smile playing on her lips. "No one can handle me for more than a night." Your stomach dropped, and your chest tightened as you took in her words. You stood rooted in your place as she continued, clearly inebriated and oblivious to your presence nearby.

"Oh please, Romanoff. You had to have had someone in your life that was worth a second spin around the block." Benson, another rookie chimed in.

"No, that's my number one rule," Natasha said, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark that sent a chill down your spine. "Never let them get too close, and never let it mean anything." You watched her, trying to gauge if she was referring to you. It was as if she had slapped you across the face with her nonchalance. "No emotions, no feelings. Sex is just sex, and it hurts when it means something."

Her words felt like a knife twisting in your gut. The room was a sea of faces that you had worked alongside for years, but none of them looked at you. The room felt like it was spinning as your mind raced. Before you could react, Tony's voice boomed over the music, announcing your arrival. "Look who the cat dragged in!" His eyes locked onto you, and the room swiveled in your direction. You couldn't process what you had just heard, especially after the hours-long conversation the two of you had, you discussing your reluctance and fear in letting the woman in. Was she so cold, to say the right things just to get you into her bed?

Natasha's eyes searched the room, and when she found yours, she froze. The smile dropped from her face, and the color drained from her cheeks. For a moment, you thought she was going to stride over to you, apologize, explain. But she didn't move. She just stood there, looking at you as if you were a ghost.

You turned on your heels, your eyes now brimming as you willed your tears not to fall in front of everyone. The only one in this crowd who knew was Wanda. She had long been your confidant about your emotions and feelings, and while she normally didn't read your mind, your thoughts were currently too loud to ignore. She shot Natasha a stern glare as everyone seemed to watch you run out of the room, and down the hallway. You needed to be alone. To think. To breathe.

You decided against the elevator, opting to run down the stairs, your shoes slapping against the dull grey concrete as you descended towards your car. Each step brought a new wave of pain crashing into your chest, Natasha's words echoing in your mind like a cruel mantra. "Sex is just sex, and it hurts when it means something." Did she truly believe that? Was she capable of feeling anything beyond the physical? You had caved, finally telling her how you felt, and much to your surprise, she said that she had felt the same way, for a long time. Since you had joined S.H.I.E.L.D, in fact, but didn't want to change your working dynamic.

But here you were, feeling like a fool. Like you had let your guard down for a woman who saw you as nothing more than a conquest, a notch on her bedpost. You reached the parking lot, the night air cooling your flushed cheeks as you stumbled into the quiet solitude. The door of your car slammed shut behind you, muffling the outside world as you gripped the steering wheel and took deep, ragged breaths, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You struggled with your keys, finally fidgeting with them enough to find the correct one, probing it around until you finally stuck it into the ignition, turning it with a shaky hand and hearing the car come to life.

The engine purred under your palms as you sat there, unable to move. You felt like a teenager who had just had their heart broken for the first time. But you weren't a teenager, you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., trained to handle the most intense situations with poise and grace. You had faced gods and aliens and survived, but Natasha Romanoff had managed to cut you deeper than any blade ever could. You leaned back in your seat, closed your eyes, and let the pain wash over you.

Natasha's words continue to echo throughout your mind, jumbling themselves with the sights and sounds of the two of you tangled between the bedsheets, the vision of her begging for you to make her cum, bleeding into "sex is just sex" as the tears finally cascaded over. Your anger began to boil, and you slammed the gear shift into reverse, peeling out of your parking spot, as you drove away, tires squealing into the night with a cloud of dust and debris.

The drive was a blur, the only things keeping you company were the tears running down your cheeks and the painful knot in your chest. You didn't know where you were going, you just knew you had to get out of there. The wind rushing through the open window felt like ice against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of Natasha's embrace from just days ago. You couldn't believe that she could be so callous, so cold. But then again, you told yourself that you shouldn't be surprised. She's a Black Widow, after all. She's trained for this. You were a fool to believe any different.

The oncoming lights were hazy, a halo ring of light as you continued to speed down the road, wiping your face with the back of your hand. The wind whipping in your cracked windows stung your eyes, mixing with your tears and leaving a salty taste on your lips. You had never felt so humiliated in your life. The woman you had bared your soul to had just casually tossed aside your confession like it meant nothing.

You reached a deserted stretch of road, and without thought, you pulled over, slamming the car into park. The engine ticked as it cooled down, and you sat there, feeling the adrenaline leave your body. The night was eerily quiet except for the occasional hoot of an owl or rustle of leaves. You felt like you were going to be sick, so you opened the door and stepped out into the cool air. Leaning against the car, you took deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart.

The stars above looked down on you, indifferent to your plight. You felt small, insignificant. You had thought that maybe, just maybe, Natasha had felt something for you. That the connection you felt was real. But now, it was clear that she had used you, played you like a fiddle. Deciding that you would go back to your apartment for the night, instead of the compound, you took a deep breath before climbing back into the car.

As you turned the key, the engine roared back to life, and you eased onto the road, the quietness of the night settling in around you. But fate had other plans. A blur of headlights in the distance grew larger, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized the car was hurtling towards you at an alarming speed. Panic set in as you frantically honked your horn, trying to get their attention. But it was too late. The collision sent your world spinning, the crunch of metal and shatter of glass piercing the quiet of the night. The impact threw you against the side of your car, and everything went black. 

~3rd Person POV~

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff!” Wanda growled as she approached the widow before her. “Kak ty smeyesh' obrashchat'sya s ney tak, budto ona vsego lish' yeshche odno iz tvoikh zavoyevaniy!” She snarled in Natasha’s face, where the redhead was too stunned to speak. She hadn’t moved since Tony called out your presence, her stomach dropped when she saw how close Y/N was to the conversation she had been having with the newest recruits. She knew she messed up, she saw it the moment the pain flashed in your eyes, the tears shortly thereafter. Natasha knew you wanted to cry, but wouldn’t do it in front of everyone.

“Oooh! Nat’s in trouble! The witch is yelling at her in Russian!” Someone chimed in from the back, Wanda didn’t seem to quite care who as red tendrils drifted from her hands as she silently told whoever was chiming in to shut up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, witchy!” Tony steps in between the widow and the witch, unsure of what is taking place.

Natasha’s heart was racing, she felt her body tense up as Wanda’s words hit her like a slap to the face. She had never seen Wanda this angry before. The Avenger’s base was eerily silent, all eyes on the two of them. “I... I didn’t mean it like that, Wanda. I just-“

"You just crushed that woman's heart, Natasha!" Wanda's eyes were glowing red at this point, her fury making no effort to hide. "How many times do I have to remind you that she's not just another mission or conquest for you to charm your way through?"

Natasha's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "You don't know what you're talking about, Wanda," she replied through gritted teeth, her Russian accent thickening with her emotions. "It's not like that."

"Oh? It's not like that?! Suka! Tell me what it is then!" Wanda stepped closer, her chest bumping into Tony's side as he stood between the two, separating them albeit halfheartedly, with a look of bewilderment on his face.

"What is going on?!" Tony and Steve yelled at the same time, everyone else sensing that this party was all but over, and leaving quietly. This was not a conversation for thier ears anymore.

Wanda's glowing eyes never left Natasha's as she continued her verbal assault. "You think you can just use people, Natasha? That your charm and good looks can get you out of any situation without consequences?!"

"Jesus, you two! What the hell is going on?!" Steve yelled louder, finally stepping in, pushing Tony out of the way so he could guide Wanda back away from Natasha.

Natasha took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes never leaving Wanda's. "I didn't use her, Wanda. I care about her," she whispered, the words barely audible over the pulse in her ears.

"That one," Wanda pointed over at Natasha, her fury evident in her tone. "Y/N finally told Natasha how she felt, after being scared for so long that Natasha didn't feel the same. She didn't want to be used, she wanted a serious chance with Romanoff." she started, hardly hiding her disappointment with the Russian. "And what does Natasha do? She plays it off like it's some kind of game like she doesn't understand the gravity of Y/N's feelings!"

Tony's face paled as he realized the severity of the situation. Tony had always seen you like a daughter, your passion for technology and science instantly endeared you to the older man. "Oh, Natasha," he murmured, shaking his head. Steve, equally shocked, turned to Natasha with a stern look. "Is this true?" Natasha's shoulders slumped, Wanda, tilting her head as they waited for a response.

"It's complicated," she began, but Wanda cut her off.

"No, Natasha. It's not. You either care for her, or you don't. You either respect her feelings, or you don't. There is no 'complicated' when it comes to someone's heart! You slept with her AFTER she told you her feelings, and how scared she was." Wanda's voice had gone eerily quiet. "And now, after she told you everything, and you helped her to feel EVERYTHING, you tell people that 'sex is just sex?', that it means nothing to you?!"

Steve's eyes were narrowed, his grip on Wanda's arm tightening slightly. "Natasha, is this true?" he asked his voice firm but not unkind.

"And for what? To fit in with the boys? To be like one of them? Just because?!" Wanda's voice raised again, her anger evident with Natasha.

"No... that's not," Natasha started, now staring at the floor to avoid the gaze of all the Avengers surrounding her. Even Clint's usually understanding gaze was suddenly cold to the Russian. "That's not what I was doing, that was never my intention Wanda. You know that."

"Then what was your intention?!" Wanda's voice echoed through the room, her words laced with pain and accusation. The silence was so thick, it was as if the very air had turned to ice.

"Enough, Wanda." Steve finally cut in, breaking through the tension.

Natasha took the opportunity to find her voice again, looking up at Wanda with a mix of sadness and defiance. "My intention was never to hurt her, Wanda. You know that. I care about Y/N. A lot."

Tony, sensing the opportunity, stepped in. "Natasha, follow me. Everyone else, continue as before." he turned and walked away, a silent command for the redhead to follow. Wanda turned and went to her room, intent on trying to connect with you to make sure you were ok. Steve and Clint returned to the dinner table, thier beer in hand as they sat in silence, digesting what just happened.

Tony led Natasha into his lab, motioning for her to sit on one of the stools. "I'm going to talk for a little bit, and I expect silence unless I say," he began, a cold, stern look crossing his face. "You need to understand, Natasha, that Y/N is not just another mission or asset. She's a person, with feelings, dreams, and fears. Just like you. And she's part of this family." Natasha opened her mouth, but Tony quickly held up his finger, telling her to be quiet. "Now, I have had my share of playboy moments, Natasha." He stood over by his window, looking out on the city below. "Of all people here, I can understand the notch on the bedpost. However," he turned around, facing her. "This is low, even for you. You know that I see her like my own daughter, I've taken her under my wing. Y/N and I work many late nights together, oftentimes, working on equipment and technology for all of you."

Natasha nodded, a distant look in her eyes as she fiddled with her hands. "Many of those nights, Y/N confided in me, about numerous things. You- were one of them." Tony's voice was softer now, filled with a mix of sadness and disappointment. "She talked about her feelings for you, how she was afraid to confess because she didn't want to ruin what we have here. But I could tell," he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "She is crazy about you. And not in a high school crush sort of way."

Natasha swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in her throat. "I didn't mean to lead her on, Tony. I just didn't know how to handle it. I've never-" he stuck up his finger, telling her to be quiet.

"While you may not have felt like that was what you were doing," he began, sitting himself before the widow. "You need to look at this from her point of view."

"How so?" her voice was slightly higher than usual, a result of her trying not to cry.

"Well, Nat. Y/N has been with us for," he thought for a moment, trying to recall when they all first met Y/N.

"Six years." Natasha cut in.

"Ah, yes. Six years. However- she had known about you for much longer, most of the world had." his gaze became distant as he continued. "She thought that at first, it was just a celebrity-type crush, that her crush would go away. But it didn't, Natasha. She harbored these feelings for you for a long time. But she waited and watched. And when she finally gathered the courage to say something, you threw it back in her face. You just had to go and tell someone that there are no feelings, no chances for anyone with you." Tony leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you know how much courage that takes, for someone to confess thier feelings and face one of thier greatest fears?"

Natasha's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, trying to maintain her composure. "I do, Tony," she whispered. "More than you know."

Tony sighed, his face softening. "Look, Natasha. I know you've been through a lot. And I know you've got walls around your heart taller than the Snap's dust. But you can't keep using people to keep those walls standing. You can't keep telling yourself that you don't deserve happiness because of your past. You, of all of us, deserve happiness, and to feel love."

Natasha's eyes searched Tony's, seeing the concern and the care that the billionaire had for her and Y/N. She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "What do I do, Tony?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"You go and you talk to her," Tony said firmly. "You tell her the truth. Not the 'it's complicated' bullshit, Natasha. The truth. What you truly feel."

Natasha nodded slowly, her heart racing at the thought of facing Y/N after everything. She knew she had hurt her, and the weight of it was crushing her. "But what if she doesn't believe me, Tony?"

"You'll have to find a way to make her understand, Natasha," Tony replied, his voice gentle but firm. "This isn't about convincing her or fixing things with some charm or clever words. It's about being honest with her, with yourself."

"I love her, Tony. I always have." Natasha's voice was barely a whisper, the weight of her confession hanging heavy in the air.

Tony studied her for a moment, searching for any signs of deceit, but all he saw was pain and regret. He knew Natasha had walls, but he also knew that when she did care about someone, it was deep and genuine. "I know you do," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But you shouldn't be telling me that. You need to tell her everything. And if she's willing to listen, you two can figure this out together."

"Guys, we have a situation," Clint cut in, a distant look in his eyes as they darted between Tony and Natasha.

"What situation?" Natasha's voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife.

"Y/N." was all Clint said before turning around and running out of the room. Natasha and Tony both shot each other a distraught look on thier faces. They both ran out of the lab, through the maze of hallways before coming back to the living room.

"What happened?" Natasha asked quietly, a tremble in her words. Wanda shot her a resentful glare, before chiming in.

"I've been trying to check in on Y/N, to make sure she's ok," Wanda's icy stare never left Natashas as she continued. "I couldn't get a hold of her, I realized she left her phone here in her bag by the door when she left."

Natasha's eyes widened with concern. "Where did she go?"

"Well, F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed she left in her car," Clint chimed in.

"I can't," Wanda's emotions began to surface. "I can't make a connection with her. I tried," she started to cry as the thoughts of what could be wrong with her best friend hit her light a ton of bricks.

"Wha-what do you mean, connection, Wanda?" Natasha asks, her voice trembling as she tries to be strong.

Wanda sniffles, "I mean, I can't feel her. She's either blocked me out," she began, the others waiting on edge. "Or something has happened." She turns away, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"We need to find her," Natasha says, her voice firm as she stands up, her mind racing. "We can't just sit here."

"Agreed," Tony nods, his mind already racing through the possibilities. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you track her car?" The A.I. voice cuts through the silence.

"Y/N's vehicle was last detected upstate, near Poughkeepsie. It's since gone offline."

"How long, F.R.I.D.A.Y?" Natasha asked, her voice now exceedingly stressed as her mind raced to the worst.

"The signal was lost approximately fifty minutes ago." The A.I. responded, cold and emotionless.

Natasha ran, not even grabbing her coat as she flew down the hall to the elevator, pressing the button over and over, willing the steel cube to move any faster.

"I'm coming with you," a cold voice came from Natasha's left. She turned, seeing the tear-stained face of Wanda next to her. "She's my best friend, Natasha. She better be ok. I cannot lose another," Wanda began to cry again.

Tony nodded solemnly, the seriousness of the situation weighing on everyone's shoulders. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, gather the team. We need to find Y/N," he ordered, his voice carrying the gravity of the situation. The A.I. acknowledged with a beep.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, come on!" Natasha yelled at the elevator, seemingly going slower than ever. Wanda remained silent beside her, her eyes swollen and red, her grip on her jacket tight. She had never seen Natasha this scared before, and it scared her even more. The elevator doors finally opened, and Natasha bolted out, running to the garage where the Corvette was parked. Wanda followed close behind, her fears growing with every step.

Natasha hopped in the car, and Wanda took the passenger seat, the silence between them thick with tension. Natasha revved the engine and sped out of the Avengers compound, her eyes focused on the road ahead. They drove in silence, each lost in their thoughts of worry and regret. The little arrow on the vehicle's GPS led a speeding Natasha toward the last location where Y/N's car was detected. 

When you came to, the taste of blood was in your mouth, and your vision was blurred. You felt a sharp pain in your side as well as your head, and the world was tilted at an odd angle. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your head as you tried to move. You realized you were in the driver's seat of your car, the airbag deflated around you like a sad, lifeless pillow. Panic began to set in as you took stock of your surroundings. The car was off the road, deep in the woods, and the smell of burning metal filled your nose. You had been in an accident.

Your car had slammed into a tree, and the side of the vehicle was crumpled inwards, the glass shattered like a jagged crystal sculpture. You fumbled with your seatbelt, trying to free yourself from the confines that had just saved your life. Your thoughts raced back to Natasha, the words she had said, and the look on her face.

Realizing you were upside down, and that you were trying to move, but nothing was happening began to panic you. A warm drip was running up your back, inching towards your neck as you moved your arm, touching to see the crimson liquid coating your fingers. Blood, your blood, was everywhere. The faint sound of a horn was coming from the distance, but you couldn't move. You were pinned in the car. 

The cold air was seeping through the cracks in the glass, sending shivers down your spine. You took a deep breath, feeling the pain in your chest and the pressure on your side. You had to get out of here. Your attempts were futile, and you finally gave in to the creeping pain and exhaustion washing over you, your adrenaline quickly wearing off.

Natasha and Wanda were rapidly approaching the area, Natasha's spy senses heightened as Wanda sought any form of connection with you. They wound through the mountainous terrain,  coming across a long pair of tire marks on the pavement, leading them to an 18-wheeler that was separated from its trailer, which was a mangled wreck of metal and rubber on the side of the road, the truck on its roof on the side of the road.

"Oh god, no," Natasha whispered at the sight before her.

"Do you think?" Wanda asked the spy, not wanting the confirmation.

"There's another set of tire tracks, but no car," Natasha whispered.

They both jumped out of the Corvette, Natasha's heart racing like a wild horse. She saw the blood on the window and the crumpled metal of the truck, but her concern was elsewhere.

"Call for help!" she yelled at Wanda, running off where the second set of tire marks left the road. She followed the grooves cut deep into the earth, as the tracks led down a steep embankment into the woods that ran below the road.

Her boots crunched through the frosty leaves, and she heard the distant wail of sirens, but Natasha ignored them, focusing solely on finding you. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of a car, hoping against all odds that it either wasn't you or that you had somehow survived.

As she reached the bottom of the embankment, Natasha's eyes fell upon the crumpled form of your car, wrapped around a massive oak tree. The sight sent a cold shock through her body, and she couldn't help but let out a strangled cry. She sprinted towards the wreckage, her mind racing with scenarios of what she might find.

"WANDA!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, needing the witch's help to get you out of this mangled mess, and fast. The amount of blood coming from the car sent a chill down her spine.

Wanda was already halfway down the hill, her jacket billowing behind her like a storm cloud as she rushed to Natasha's side. "We need to get her out," Natasha said through gritted teeth, her eyes scanning the damage. Wanda's eyes were rimmed with tears as she recognized your car and noticed the blood dripping out of the wreckage.

"Natasha," she let out a strangled sob as she looked at the redhead. "I know this isn't the time or the place, but I swear. that if I lose her, I will make your life hell." she gritted out between sobs, as she allowed her magic to fill up her emotions, her hands glowing red as she began to lift the vehicle the embankment.

Natasha nodded, not arguing with Wanda. She knew she deserved whatever the witch threw at her, and if it meant saving Y/N, she would take it. The car groaned and creaked as it moved through the air, the metal protesting against the invisible force lifting it. Natasha watched in amazement as Wanda managed to pull the car out of the tree, setting it down gently. She rushed to the driver's side, her heart in her throat.

Your body was slumped against the steering wheel, you were unconscious, but breathing.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat as she saw you, her eyes taking in the blood and the bruises that marred your face. She reached in through the shattered window, gently feeling for a pulse at your neck. It was there, steady and strong, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Hold on, Y/N," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're here, love."

Wanda rushed to the other side of the car, her magic now aiding in the more delicate task of unbuckling your seatbelt and carefully moving you away from the wreckage. Together, they managed to get you out of the car and onto the cold ground. Wanda ripped off her jacket, wrapping it around your trembling body to stave off the cold.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Natasha said, her voice shaking as she assessed the extent of your injuries. Wanda nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. The ambulance pulled up just as Tony and Steve arrived, the Quinjet whirring down just up the road.

"What happened?" Tony called out, rushing over. Natasha could see the fear etched on his face, but she had no words to offer.

"Truck," Wanda managed to say pointing down the road, her voice a hoarse whisper. "It's bad."

Tony and Steve took in the scene, their expressions mirroring Natasha's and Wanda's fear. Without wasting another second, Tony called out to Clint on the Quinjet, "Get Dr. Cho on the line! Tell her we need medical assistance now!"

By now, the police, fire department, and more ambulances had arrived, assessing the scene.

Natasha couldn't move, her eyes never leaving you as the medical personnel rushed over, taking over the care. You were still unconscious, your breaths shallow and uneven. Wanda stood next to Natasha, her hands hovering over your body, trying to find any sign of life, any connection she could use to help you. But it was as if you had completely shut her out.

"Move aside," one of the paramedics said, gently pushing Natasha away. She stepped back, watching as they worked quickly and efficiently to stabilize you. They checked your vitals, applied pressure to the wound on your side, and carefully placed a neck brace around your neck. The sight of your bloodstained clothes and the bruises on your face made Natasha's stomach turn.

Wanda stood next to Natasha, her eyes never leaving your unconscious form. She clenched her fists, the fabric of her jacket around you, her mind racing with every possible way to help. "Go ahead, get in the ambulance with her," Natasha said, her voice strained with emotion. Wanda nodded, understanding the urgency in Natasha's voice. Wanda climbed into the van, Tony finding out what hospital they were taking you to.

Natasha remained outside, watching as the ambulance doors slammed shut and the vehicle sped away, lights flashing and sirens blaring. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Steve, his face etched with worry. "Let's get you to the hospital," he said, his grip firm but gentle. Natasha nodded, swiping at the tears that had started to fall.

Her car's engine roared to life, and Natasha climbed in opposite Steve, her thoughts racing. She had to fix this. She couldn't lose you like this, not when she had just realized how much you meant to her. As Steve took off, she leaned against the passenger door, the engine's vibrations echoing the tremors of fear and regret coursing through her body.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, a cacophony of sirens and flashing lights that seemed to stretch on forever. Natasha's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, her mind replaying the conversation with Wanda, the accusations, the truth behind her words. It was all so clear now; she had been blinded by her fear of vulnerability, pushing you away when you had only ever offered her warmth and understanding.

When they arrived, Natasha was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop. She sprinted through the hospital doors, the cool antiseptic air slapping her in the face like a cold truth she couldn't escape. Steve followed closely behind, his eyes filled with a silent promise that he would stand by her, no matter the outcome.

The chaos of the emergency room was a stark contrast to the quiet drive, and Natasha felt a new kind of panic set in as she approached the reception desk. The nurse looked up, her eyes scanning the blood and dirt on Natasha's clothes before she spoke. "Miss, can I help you?"

"Y/N, she was brought in by ambulance. Where is she?" Natasha's voice was shaky, her hand gripping the counter's edge.

The nurse's eyes softened as she recognized Natasha, "Room 12, we're doing everything we can.”

Natasha nodded, her legs moving on autopilot as she followed the signs pointing to the emergency department. She could feel Steve's presence behind her, a comforting weight in the sea of chaos that was her world right now. When they reached the room, the sight that greeted them was more than Natasha could handle.

You were surrounded by doctors and nurses, whose hands were covered in your blood as they worked to stop your bleeding. Natasha's eyes filled with horror as she took in the sight of you, so vulnerable and broken. Wanda stood in the corner, her hands shaking as she watched the medical staff fight to keep you alive. The sirens from outside were a muffled echo in the background as if they were in a different world entirely.

"Let's get her into surgery," one of the doctors called out, and Natasha felt her legs give out beneath her. Steve caught her before she hit the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. He whispered something in her ear, but she couldn't hear him over the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest. Steve guided her over to a chair, tears pouring down her face as she broke down. Wanda came over, a somber look on her face, tracks of dried tears evident on her cheeks.

"Tasha," she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "This isn't your fault, no one could have predicted this." Wanda's hand was cold, but the warmth of her concern was palpable.

But Natasha knew better. She knew that if she had just been honest if she had just allowed herself to love you openly, maybe you wouldn't have felt the need to run. Maybe you wouldn't be fighting for your life right now. "I need to be with her," Natasha choked out, her eyes pleading. Wanda sat next to Natasha, opening her arms for the redhead. "I'm so sorry, Wands." she sobbed, fisting Wanda's shirt as she sobbed into her shoulder.

The witch held her, her own eyes filled with tears. "It's not your fault, Natasha. It's just...fate." Wanda's voice was a mix of anger and sadness, but she knew it wasn't the time to place blame.

Natasha pulled away, wiping her eyes. "No, it's not fate. This is my fault! It's all my fucking fault, Wanda!” she shouted, not caring who heard her. The words were like knives in the air, cutting through the tension. Wanda squeezed Natasha tighter as sobs wracked her body. "If I had just-" she couldn't finish the sentence.

"Nat, no," Wanda cooed quietly, her own emotions beginning to show as the stoic Black Widow broke down in her arms. "It's not your fault," she whispered.

"I...I love her, Wands," Natasha sniffled. "And I hurt her so badly." Wanda squeezed her hand, her eyes brimming with understanding. "I should have never, ever made her feel like that. Like she wasn't enough. All I've wanted is her, for a long time. And you- you're her best friend, I'm so sorry, Wanda."

Wanda took a deep breath, her own heart breaking for Natasha. "I know you do," she whispered. "But she loves you too, Natasha. And she's stronger than anyone I know. She'll pull through this. Just, please, promise me one thing."

Natasha looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "Anything."

Wanda's voice was firm, "When she wakes up, you tell her. Tell her everything. No more hiding, no more games. You owe her that much. All she asks for is honest communication. And if you ever, ever have any doubt, talk to me. Please. Don't hurt her again." Natasha nodded, feeling the weight of Wanda's words sinking into her soul.

The two sat in silence, holding each other in the hallway as Steve and Tony paced in the background. The tension in the air was palpable, a stark contrast to the sterile white walls and the rhythmic beeps of hospital machines. Natasha felt the coldness of the floor beneath her as she leaned against Wanda, the weight of her guilt a heavy burden. They sat for what felt like hours, waiting for any sort of update.

Finally, a doctor emerged, his face a mask of professional calmness. "Miss Romanoff, Miss Maximoff," he said, looking at the two of them. "Your friend is stable, but she's sustained serious injuries. The surgery helped to stabilize her injuries, but she needs rest. We're taking her to her room now."

Natasha shot to her feet, her hand still in Wanda's grip. "Can we see her?" she asked, hope and fear fighting for dominance in her voice.

The doctor nodded solemnly. "For a brief moment. She's still in critical condition, and we need to monitor her closely.”

Natasha and Wanda followed the doctor down the hallway, their hearts pounding in unison with each step. The room was dimly lit, and the beeping of the machines was the only sound that filled the space. You lay there, your face bruised and your body connected to various tubes and monitors. The sight of you, so still and fragile, brought Natasha to her knees in the middle of the room, unable to get any closer to you. Wanda approached silently, rubbing the back of your hand slightly, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Steve and Tony stayed outside, looking in the window of your room at the scene before them.

"One of you can stay here," the doctor told them, his voice low and understanding, sensing the distress in the room. "But we need to keep the room as quiet as possible." He left them alone with you, and Natasha could feel the weight of the world on her shoulders as she took in the gravity of the situation.

Wanda looked at Natasha, her eyes filled with unspoken words. She squeezed Natasha's hand before letting go and walking out, leaving Natasha by your side. Natasha approached the bed, her eyes taking in every detail of your bruised and broken form. She reached out tentatively, her hand shaking as it hovered over yours, before finally making contact. Your skin was cold, but the warmth of Natasha's touch seemed to seep into you, giving Natasha a glimmer of hope.

“Mne ochen' zhal', moya lyubov'. Ya ne mogu izbavit'sya ot oshchushcheniya, budto ya eto sdelal, kak budto ya vrezalsya v tebya gruzovikom.” Nat whispered, her hand slipping into yours. The feel of your skin on hers calmed her down, as she silently began to cry.

You lay there, unresponsive but alive. The machines beeped in a steady rhythm, and Natasha felt a tiny squeeze in her hand. "You heard me?" she asked, hope blooming in her chest. Another squeeze, slightly stronger this time. "Oh, god. Y/N, baby."

Her eyes searched your face for any signs of consciousness. You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering. Natasha leaned in closer, her voice a whisper, "Rest baby, you need your rest. I'm not going anywhere. We can talk when you're in better condition." The words felt heavy in her mouth, like a promise she wasn't sure she deserved to make. But she would keep it, she had to.

Wanda stepped back into the hallway, her eyes wide with hope. "Tony, Steve, she's okay!" she called out into the hallway, her voice carrying the relief she felt. The two men rushed towards the witch, their faces a mix of concern and hope. "Natasha is in there with her now, it's probably best to let Y/N rest for now," she told them, as they watched Natasha hold your hand against her forehead as she knelt next to your bed.

Tony nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Good, keep us updated," he said before leading Steve to the waiting room. Wanda followed behind, feeling a sense of relief that you were ok. Natasha remained at your side, her grip on your hand tightening slightly with every shallow breath you took. She rose, going to the chair in the corner, reclining the seat so she could watch and rest with you within arms reach.

The night was long and painful, filled with Natasha's silent vows to never let you go through this again. She watched as the nurses checked on you, the beeping of the machines the only consistent sound in the quiet room. Every time your hand twitched or your eyelids fluttered, Natasha was there, whispering comforting words, hoping they'd reach you.

As dawn began to break through the windows, the first rays of light touched your pale skin, and you opened your eyes, groaning in pain. Your eyes darted around the room, coming to rest on the redhead who had not gotten a restful sleep, her disheveled state in the chair by your bedside endearing, yet heartbreaking to see. Natasha's eyes shot open, her hand squeezing yours with a sudden jolt of hope.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the hours of silent vigil. "You're awake."

You blinked, the pain in your head making everything feel fuzzy and far away. "Tasha?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha leaned over the bed, her eyes brimming with tears of relief. "Yes, love, it's me." She took your hand in hers, her thumb gently caressing your knuckles. "You're okay, you're going to be okay."

A pained expression crossed her face when you pulled your hand away from hers abruptly. The memory of what led up to your accident flashes through your mind. "I... I can't," you whispered, the words feeling like shards of glass in your throat.

Natasha felt the blood drain from her face as she watched you push her away. She knew that look, the look of hurt and betrayal. "Y/N, please, let me explain," she begged, her voice cracking. But you were already shaking your head, the effort causing you to wince.

"No," you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. "You had your chance."

Natasha shook her head, rising quickly to kneel next to your bed. "Krasivaya devushka," she started. "Please, let me talk. Let me say my piece, and if you still feel the same, I will leave you alone. But please, let me tell you something first."

You studied her, the pain in your chest not just from your injuries but from the raw emotion in Natasha's voice. You nodded weakly, giving her the opening she desperately needed. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving yours. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she began, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I've been scared, Y/N. Scared of letting anyone in, scared of losing control. But you...you've never been like anyone else. I have always watched you from the shadows and observed how you treated everyone else. You have a heart of gold, and I was afraid that if I admitted my feelings, I would only end up tarnishing it."

Your gaze softened as she continued. "But when you told me you had feelings for me, I was terrified that someone felt the same way I did about them. I couldn't hide anymore. I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I'm sorry it took me so long to say it, and even longer to truly understand it." She paused, her thumb gently wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye. "Those things I said, I said out of fear. Fear of my feelings, fear of hurting you, and fear that someone else would see my weakness. Please, let me make this right."

You took a shaky breath, the pain in your chest not just from your injuries but from the ache of Natasha's words. "What...what do you mean?" you managed to ask, your voice a mere whisper.

Natasha looked into your eyes, the depth of her regret and love clear. "I mean that from the moment I met you, I knew you were different. You saw through the walls I've built, you made me laugh, you made me feel...human. And I was scared. I've lost so much, I didn't want to lose you too. So, I pushed you away, hoping that if I didn't let you in, I wouldn't get hurt. But all I did was hurt you, and I'm so sorry." Her eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of forgiveness.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, the pain of the past hours mixing with the pain of Natasha's confession. "But why now?" you whispered, your voice frail. "Why tell me this when I'm like this, after what happened?"

She let out a deep, watery sigh before continuing. "Malysh, that is my fault. I should have never, ever let it get this far. That night, I felt so much emotion with you. But I kept quiet. I should have told you everything, all of how I felt. I'm so sorry."

You stared at Natasha, her words weighing heavily on your mind. The pain from your injuries was intense, but the emotional turmoil was almost unbearable. You felt torn between your anger and the love you had for her. "I don't know what to say," you murmured, your voice cracking.

Natasha reached out, her hand hovering over your cheek, but she didn't dare touch you, not yet. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered. "I just needed you to know. To understand. I'm not asking for anything in return. I just... I had to tell you."

For a moment, you didn't say anything, just stared into Natasha's eyes, searching for the truth in her words. The silence stretched out between you, filled with the steady beep of the heart monitor and the sound of your shallow breathing. Then, with a sigh, you reached up and took her hand, bringing it to your face. "I love you too, Natasha," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't... I can't just ignore what you said."

Natasha's eyes filled with a mix of hope and pain. "I know," she murmured, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I don't expect you to. I just... I couldn't let you think I didn't care."

You nodded slightly, the movement causing your head to throb. "It's a lot to take in," you admitted, your eyes drooping with exhaustion. "I need time to process."

Natasha's heart sank, but she nodded, understanding. "Of course, malysh. Take all the time you need. I'll be here, whenever you're ready." She leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, the warmth of her lips against your skin sending a shiver down your spine despite the coldness of the hospital room. She turned to walk out of the room, a distant look in her eyes.

"Tash?" you whispered.

Natasha stopped at the door, her hand lingering on the handle. She looked back at you, the hope in your voice resonating through the room. "Yes, baby?"

"Stay."

The word was a mere breath, but it hung in the air like a lifeline thrown to Natasha. She turned back, her eyes searching yours for any sign of what you truly meant.

"Please," you whispered, your voice still weak but filled with a desperation Natasha hadn't heard before. "I don't want to be alone right now."

Natasha's eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but all she saw was pain and longing. She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips as she returned to the chair beside your bed. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised, taking your hand in hers once more. The warmth of your skin was a balm to her shattered soul, a silent confirmation that she hadn't lost you completely.

“Kak ty smeyesh' obrashchat'sya s ney tak, budto ona vsego lish' yeshche odno iz tvoikh zavoyevaniy!”

“How dare you treat her like she's just another one of your conquests!”

“Mne ochen' zhal', moya lyubov'. Ya ne mogu izbavit'sya ot oshchushcheniya, budto ya eto sdelal, kak budto ya vrezalsya v tebya gruzovikom.”

“I'm sorry, my love. I can't help but feel like I did it- like I hit you with that truck.”

[bberetd]

Mario and Daisy Headcanons

Currently on the road to go on vacation for the next week (and then go back to uni two days later 🫠) so I decided to take some time to write up some headcanons for Mario and Daisy! They’re a lot fun to draw, and just as much to write ☺️ I was originally going to pair it with the short ‘prologue’ story I had for them, but it got too long, so I’m gonna have it separate.

@vulpixfairy1985 @kelbreyworshipper @peaches2217 @itsavee4117 @supergay-64 @megamagimugi @pinkcreamypeach @wahooitsamee @silenzahra (when you’re ready <3) @mikibaby94 and @akiiame-blog I think you guys will like these 🤭

==

Meeting Each Other

• In their first few months of knowing each other, Daisy absolutely THRIVED on getting a rise out of Mario. “It’s funny seeing tiny people mad,” her reasoning was. It was always a good day for her, but it was a GREAT day when a vein was popping out of his forehead.

◦ Of course because everything is a game to Miss Daisy 😗

• The two had a rocky start… well, more on Mario’s end; Daisy was just there for a good time. For the most part, he remained civil towards her because she was Peach’s best friend and Luigi seemed to really like her (somehow).

• Not that Mario could never handle the truth, but to him, Daisy was ALARMINGLY blunt, ESPECIALLY around him, and had energy like he’s never seen before.

• What made him uneasy about her was how she interacted with people. She’s a physically affectionate person, so she’d do little things like shoulder punches/shakes, arm around the shoulder, hand on shoulder, playful pokes, etc. this was especially the case for Luigi, adding on spontaneous hugs, sometimes in the air.

◦ Luigi had to assure Mario over and over that he wasn’t uncomfortable, but the deep shade of red on his face around her convinced him otherwise.

◦ What made Mario snap was when she took Luigi on a solo tour around Sarasaland, but unintentionally got him badly hurt (more on this here), and immediately wanted nothing to do with her, no exceptions.

◦ Despite her questionable ways of showing affection, Daisy grew to genuinely like the bros, so she was disheartened when she heard the news. She wrote several letters to explain herself to give to Peach so she could give to Mario, but he was having none of it.

◦ A month after Luigi fully healed, Mario thought that maybe he was too harsh, but he still kept his distance.

• [insert event where Luigi is in trouble and they come together and bond over how much they care about him and learn a little more about each other in the process but NOT THERE YET… but at least Mario can stand to be around her again]

• What DOES make them closer is their love for sports and hands-on activities. Daisy is more eager to get her hands dirty unlike Peach, and unlike Luigi who would be more reluctant and stand behind Mario most of the time (of course the company is always appreciated)

◦ What starts off as a mission to annoy Mario (affectionate) turns into hours of cracking jokes, banter, life vents learning more from each other (whether it was what they were doing in the moment, from life or both).

Nicknames

• Mario’s nicknames for Daisy are Testa di spina (thornhead), D, Firecracker, Sriracha Queen, Crazy Daisy (more frequently when they were just meeting), and Petals

• Daisy’s nicknames for Mario are Red, Shortie, Short stack, SuperBoy, Fire hydrant, teletubby, Mawio, Mar-maid Man, Mustachio, Cap’n Lou (ironic right? also if you know you know), and Stimpy

Misc Headcanons

When these two work together in sports, they are a FORCE. They’re both jack of all trades on the field and on the racetrack.

When competing against each other however, it’s war. No mercy, no going easy on each other, but it brings out the best in them. Just to show respect and a sign of leaving their rivalry on the field, they do a long handshake.

Mario: *breathes*

Daisy: YOU’RE SHORT

and she’ll never go a day without letting him know it, but finds a unique way to show it each day.

They’re THE best hug givers. Mario and Daisy are incredibly warm people (Mario with his firebrand and Daisy ruling in a bright and humid environment). Mario’s stocky, so he’ll completely cover you with his love and warmth (and there’s plenty of him to hug in return), while Daisy’s hugs are tight but meaningful.

When these two hug each other, uh, let’s just hope they don’t squeeze the life out of each other 😅 they’re so competitive that they even need to compare who hugs better (creds to @teegeeteegee)

[Luigi and Peach walking and talking, then spotting Mario and Daisy either hugging or choking each other]

Peach: …What are you guys doing?

Daisy, not moving her head: We’re hugging, duh.

Peach: Why? (Not used to seeing the two showing this much affection to each other)

Mario: To see which of us hug better.

[L&P share a glance]

Luigi: Do you guys wanna, you know… unhug?

Mario and Daisy, realizing how nice the hug feels: …nah.

They’re partners in crime! They love pulling pranks on the koopas, goombas and other baddies, and maybe a harmless prank or two on the Toads and citizens over in Sarasaland.

It would take a near-death experience for either of them to ever say an emotional “I love you” to each other. At least Daisy mostly; Mario is more willing to say it. Daisy would usually say it lightheartedly (ex. “love ya!” followed by a punch to the shoulder or “you too” when Mario expresses his love out of habit). But they do show their care/love for each other through actions.

Mario knows Daisy is far from a princess who needs saving, but he still can’t help but have the need to protect her when the time comes.

Oh, and if you insult or hurt Mario, you better hope Daisy isn’t standing within a ten-mile radius with a steel chair.

Daisy loves to mess up Mario’s hair beyond recognition, while Mario loves to come up behind her and poke her sides (i imagine her making the “ah!” noise if you know, if not then this at 0:35)

When they feel playful, they talk to each other in funny accents.

==

[106allibi]

dive into you ; MARK LEE

pairing: swimmer!mark x sportsreporter!reader

genres: fluff fluff fluff!!, slight childhood friends to lovers?

disclaimers: mark and yn are so awkward and shy it's kinda painful

wc: 4.1k

a/n: my friend had requested for a bonus scene inspired by the pole vaulter who went to kiss his girlfriend after breaking the world record and I folded in half and ended up writing a whole ass part 2 so expect a part 2 🤗 also feedback is so so greatly appreciated!

you wiped your clammy hands on your cotton pencil skirt and tugged at the collar of your blazer for the nth time. you were feeling unbelievably stuffy in your formal wear, but you couldn't complain when you were given the privilege of free front row seats to one of the world's biggest sports events, more specifically, the swimming category of the event.

being a sports reporter for one of the mainstream news channels in south korea meant that you were sent to these international events and the task of bringing the victories (and losses) of your home-grown athletes back home. having been in the job for just over 2 years now, you've seen your fair share of matches and become acquainted with quite a few local and international athletes from various after parties and social gatherings, but this time round there was a new face on lane two.

you didn't expect to know every athlete in the world, not when you were still considered relatively new to the field, but your eyes couldn't help but travel to lane two, who seemed to be doing extraordinarily for an athlete you didn't recognise. maybe it was the comically blown up maple leaf on the top of his swimming cap, or the way his entire demeanor changed as he pulled his goggles down to his eyes. there was something about the air around him that drew you in even though you were there for the korean swimmers.

you couldn't help but applaud him along with the rest of the crowd as he swam up to the edge of the pool shortly after the second contestant. he was in third place, and you couldn't help but be amazed even though you weren't normally all that interested in swimming.

"absolutely phenomenal, did you know this is his debut event? I wonder where canada was keeping such a gem" one of your friends, who was a reporter for china, leaned over and commented, both your eyes never leaving the lanes. you finally got a front view of mr canada's face when the big screen panned over from another competitor, with his timing, ranking, and most importantly, his name showing up on the screen. "mark lee, third place." the serious, stone-cold gaze he held was now broken by the cutest shy smile you've ever seen as he swam over to the other lanes to congratulate them and receive his own for literally placing third on his debut event.

great, another athlete to add to my list of cute athletes.

your thoughts were interrupted by your colleague, who you now realised was waving frantically at you from the side of the pool while you were in a trance (read: mesmerised by mark), and that was your cue to leave the stands and do your job.

you bowed and congratulated your athlete once again for his gold medal as the cameras stopped rolling. as your team of camera men moved around you, transporting equipment and packing up, you felt something bump into your shoulder. something wet. you jumped at the damp sensation, whipping around to apologise to who you assumed was one of the swimmers, yet you were only met with the face of your newest addition to top 10 cutest athletes ever.

"oh my goodness, i’m so sorry-"

"no wait, um..."

mr canada, or mark lee, bronze medalist on literally his debut event, scratched the back of his head awkwardly. droplets of water dripped from the ends of his black hair like icicles as he held the towel around his bare chest with one hand.

"I saw you staring at me from the stands earlier."

you blinked at him as you felt heat creep up into your cheeks from embarrassment. when did he even find the time to catch you ogling at him?

"I just wanted to ask, do you perhaps... remember me?"

now you were blinking at him in confusion, your head tilting as your mind flipped through every sports-related memory. maybe team canada had brought him to an event before, maybe he had visited korea for a training session.

"oh if you could remind me where we met, I might have a more vivid recollection!"

you chirped shamelessly, forcing a polite smile onto your face. being a reporter, you’ve been in this situation far too many times, you knew how to save yourself! Mark cleared his throat, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

"oh uh...sejeong middle."

"huh!?"

your confusion had escaped your lips faster than you thought as you clapped a hand over your mouth to stop your exclaims from embarrassing you even further. you expected him to name a country, an event, maybe even a person, but not your middle school.

"we were partners for PE, remember?"

your eyebrows furrowed as you pulled up a hazy memory of you back in Sejeong middle, with your PE teacher, Mr Jung, making you and your partner run laps around the field for forgetting to lock the gymnasium storeroom the day before. your partner, who you had to drag by the arm to complete the final lap, was a small, scrawny kid who was a whole head shorter than you, and had chubby cheeks that made his head seem rounder than it already was from his bowl cut.

"lee…minhyung?"

you blurted out from the memory and watched as mark's eyes lit up. he nodded like an excited puppy and started bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"that's me!"

you knew minhyung had migrated overseas later that year, but you didn't know he had gone to canada, or even started swimming.

your eyes subconsciously traveled the length of his body, from his slicked back, pitch black hair you traced the features he had grown handsomely into; his high cheekbones that were hiding behind his baby fats and his boyish smile that was still reminiscent of the lee minhyung you remembered. his stick-like arms were now defined biceps that flexed underneath his skin whenever he crossed his arms. and now you even had to look up to speak to him.

"you look so…different.”

red crept into his cheeks as you trailed off. he cleared his throat nervously again.

"um, if you don't have any plans after this, team canada is throwing an after party later tonight and I'd love to have you there. of course, that is if you want to!"

he completed anxiously, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. you nodded blankly, still trying to process the fact that your ex-middle school classmate was now an international-competing swimmer, and a bronze medalist for crying out loud, and also the embarrassing fact that you had unintentionally ogled over your ex-middle school classmate.

both of you exchanged contacts, with mark promising to pick you up from your hotel. light pink dusted his cheeks as the offer left his lips, his eyes looking at you expectantly for some confirmation. for some reason, your heart skipped a beat, quickly nodding in hopes that he didn't notice the way your body stiffened or the way your breathing changed. it wasn't the first time a guy picked you up, in fact your colleagues, regardless of gender, did that all the time when it was convenient. he was just being a gentleman, and you were just being weird (and painfully single), you told yourself.

“okay, um, see you later!” was all you managed to blurt before scrambling away.

you had changed out of your blazer and skirt into a pair of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. you stepped out of your hotel lobby and instantly regretted not choosing the sweater as the breeze tickled your arms and permeated the thin fabric draped around your torso. you hugged yourself, rocking back and forth as you waited for mark to arrive.

mark. you weren't sure if you could get used to calling him mark.

lee minhyung was all you had known him as.

the little boy, significantly shorter and smaller than the other boys in class, who always got picked on for his thick, owl-framed glasses that always slid down the bridge of his nose, his comically gigantic school bag, and of course his metal spider-man lunch box.

the little boy who was always on chalkboard cleaning duty, which you soon realised was one of the ways he was picked on as the boys just loved to see him struggle to clean the top.

the little boy who didn’t know how to stand up for himself, and that infuriated little you, who had a bad habit of being painfully straightforward. you suddenly remembered your argument with his bullies that had sent you and the bullies to the principal’s office, where you continued to fight in front of the principal herself.

your trip down memory lane was cut short when the said boy arrived, his lips stretching into a smile when he saw you waiting for him.

his eyes traveled to the way your upper body curled as the breeze blew again and, without a word, immediately slid his team canada windbreaker off his shoulders and wrapped them around yours, exposing his bare (and broad) shoulders and the black tank top that hid under his windbreaker.

“wait- minhyung- I'm alright-”

“you get cold easily, don't you?”

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. had you mentioned it to him before? he seemed to read your mind as he quickly added,

“oh it’s just that, you often wore a cardigan to school so i assumed…”

you did, and you were speechless because you couldn't believe that he remembered something as insignificant as that after all these years, when you could barely recognise his face earlier. your ears burned and you couldn't tell if you were touched by his gesture, embarrassed that you couldn’t recognise him, or the fact that his bare biceps were now staring at you (you always had a thing for biceps.)

you quickly looked away before he could catch you staring.

“let's get going, shall we.”

you always thought you were pretty social for an introvert, or you were at least skilled at looking social, but all the confidence in your social skills went out the window when you entered the hotel suite.

all eyes had turned to you and mark as soon as the door swung open. you had no idea you were even late for the gathering, but you must've been considering that almost all the canadian athletes were already present.

you suddenly felt small under their gazes. you squeezed the hem of mark’s oversized jacket for some comfort.

“oh my god, mark brought a girl.”

a voice piped up as the entire room erupted into ‘ooos’.

you were sure they were teasing mark, but you couldn't help but feel like you were being teased too. your hand stretched out for a small wave and you squeaked out a “hello”.

“it’s not like that guys, and you're scaring her.”

you had been conversing in korean with mark the entire time, but it hadn't occurred to you how hot his accent would be while speaking english. and you hoped it had never occurred to you because now you couldn’t get his voice out of your head.

“this is y/n, she works for team south korea, but she's an old friend from middle school.”

the athletes swiftly came up to greet you and shake your hand as you struggled to keep up with the names. you had planned to stick to mark, but the plan flew out the window when some of them dragged you for a drink with them on the couch.

“by the way, how come you're wearing markie's jacket?”

a female gymnast you already forgot the name of asked, her and a few other athletes leaning closer to get the gossip.

you would've laughed at the cute nickname they gave mark if they weren't implying that there was something going on between the both of you.

“oh uh, I get cold easily and he must've noticed. mark has always been a sweet boy!”

you ended off your reply with a forced laugh. you attempted to address him in the most casual, nonchalant tone you could muster to convince them that you felt nothing for each other.

but in reality, you were feeling… a lot. nostalgic at the reunion, awe for how far he has come, and unexplainably shy around him.

as time passed, you could feel your energy seeping out of you. another polite laughter and ingenuine ‘really?’ and you knew you’d be out. gossip and chatter grew softer around you as you sunk deeper into the couch in exhaustion, your brain automatically drowning out the conversations while you fiddled with the tab of the beer can with your thumb. you still made it a point to look up from time to time, just enough in order to come off as not rude.

but mark, who had been observing you ever since you were dragged away from his side, noticed the way you rubbed your hands against your lap, the way your lips curled into corporate smiles and let out strategic laughs he knew weren't genuine, and the way your cheeks didn’t quite reach your eyes when you smiled. it could’ve fooled everyone, but definitely not mark.

mark, who has had the biggest crush on you ever since you stood up for him against those bullies. and that crush lingered in the back of his mind unresolved and unrequited even as he moved across the globe.

“hey y/n, could I have my jacket back?”

you snapped out of your daze, your attention now on him as you let out an ‘of course’ and stood up almost too quickly to slide yourself out of his jacket, too eager to escape the suffocating, superficial conversations. you immediately missed the warmth of his jacket.

and his smell.

your cheeks flushed at that thought. his jacket smelled like a vanilla-scented candle; sweet, familiar, comforting.

and that was what Mark was in this very room; the sole candle burning brightly, bringing you warmth in this cold, winter-esque room.

he met you halfway across the living room, not even bothering to stretch out his hand to take his jacket when he dipped his head so that his lips were at your ear-level. his breath sent goosebumps up the back of your neck as he spoke, his voice low.

“wanna leave?”

your eyes widened as his head lifted to look at you. not just at you, into you. his eyes seemed to search yours and once it did, it held you in its grasp relentlessly. it was magnetic. for an entire second, you lost yourself in his eyes, and the longer you looked at him, you felt your exhaustion and fatigue dissipate.

you would’ve said no. you would’ve smiled and shook your head and lied that you were perfectly fine. but today, you just couldn't help it. maybe it was the familiarity of an old friend, or the way his eyes seemed to already know your answer, because strangely, you felt like you could be honest around him. you gave him the slightest nod, still unsure if you were being an inconvenience to him, but the small smile that followed quelled any doubts you had.

“hey guys, it's getting late and y/n has work tomorrow so she'll be taking her leave.”

he announced on your behalf definitively. you gathered the remainder of your social battery to force out friendly goodbyes and see you agains (you really didn't know if you wanted to) as mark guided you out of the room with two hands firmly planted on your shoulders.

as the door clicked shut behind the two of you, the initial confidence you had to be honest with him was immediately replaced with a sense of guilt. you worried that you had ruined the mood of the party, the party that he out of everyone should be enjoying. it was his debut, and an extraordinary debut for that matter, and probably his first after party as a debuted athlete with his dear teammates, and you were taking up way too much of his time.

“hey, um, I can head back by myself.”

you stopped in your tracks, folding his windbreaker neatly in your arms and passing it to him.

“you should enjoy your after party, I'll text you when I reach back if that'll reassure you-”

“no.”

you blinked at his interruption. his eyes seemed to widen at his own assertion.

“I mean, no, it's no big deal. they'll be fine without me.”

“but-”

“y/n.”

the way your name rolled off his tongue so softly, so sweetly, had your next word lodged in your throat.

“to be honest i…i only invited you ‘cause i wanted to spend time with you. can we spend some time together? just us two.”

he eyes had suddenly found interest in the hotel carpet as he spoke in a quiet voice. you couldn't find a polite response, or any response at all for that matter, because your heart was beating too fast for your lungs to keep up. you only had enough breath to stand there and stare at him.

with your lips sealed shut, you nodded, squeaking out the only ‘okay’ your lungs would allow you to. he looked up and smiled. you could get used to that smile.

the two of you strolled back to your hotel, which was thankfully not a long walk away, catching up on the years and time lost. upon mark’s insisting, you had reworn his windbreaker (you almost want to buy it off him). you had learnt that mark took up swimming as a co-curricular in high school and fell in love with the sport.

“and, to be honest…”

he trailed off. you tilted your head in curiosity, prompting him to finish his sentence.

“i decided when I moved that I'd pick up a sport. as much as I hated the bullying, I hated it more that I couldn't protect myself. i really wanted to get stronger now that i was on my own. you always jumped to my rescue and that made me fall for you, but-“

your feet stopped moving, and mark seemed to understand why as you gaped at him, his words reverberating off the walls of your mind. he let out a nervous chuckle, his hand automatically rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh I thought I was really obvious. why do you think I requested to be your PE partner?”

“I just thought you…didn't have any other friends…”

“ouch.”

mark clutched his chest jokingly with a small chuckle. a beat too long of silence ensued between the two of you before you decided to break it.

“but…you don’t like me anymore, right?”

you didn’t know if you wanted to hear his answer or not. you didn’t know if you even could, considering how loud your heart was beating in your ears. in fact you almost felt embarrassed for even asking that question.

of course he didn’t like you anymore, it’s been quite literally years since the two of you talked, and you've changed since then. you were most definitely bolder at the age of 13, when all you cared about was bossing your classmates around and sucking up to your teacher (which earned you your role as class chairperson). life after middle school had taught you to hold your tongue and your thoughts. corporate had taught you not to speak unless spoken to, to bow your head to your superiors and nod meekly if you wanted next month's pay.

you weren't the protector mark knew you as, in fact you felt like the opposite. you went from the lion to the lamb in the years you were apart and you were ashamed at how lame you had become. how disappointed would he be to learn about the you now?

while you were lost in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed him inching towards you.

“the way you feel about me will determine my answer.”

he answered softly. you weren't dense. you knew what his words implied.

“minhyung, I'm…really not the same person you liked in middle school.”

you breathed out, your heart hammering against your chest as you awaited his disappointment.

“I know.”

“then what else is there to like about me-”

“I don't know.”

you felt your heart sink at his answer. maybe, deep down, you had secretly expected a legitimate answer. maybe you had hoped to be proven wrong. but mark wasn't finished.

“I don't know. it's been years since we've spoken, since we've met, yet my heart still beats the same, fast-paced rhythm that leaves me breathless when I look at you. when I saw you in the stands, and I'm not kidding when I say this, my legs turned to jelly and I almost slipped back into the pool. thank god you didn’t see that- you didn’t right?”

you let out a small laugh at his silly question, gosh just how cute could he be? he mirrored your expression, letting out a small chuckle of relief. his eyes softened at the sight of your laughter, internally cheering that his stupidity had somehow managed to release some tension in your features. his fingers reached to touch yours gingerly, testing the waters to see if you'd recoil, and your lack of reaction and expectant eyes gave him the green light to hold more of you. his hold on your pinky was almost phantom, as if any sudden movement would cause a fracture.

“i know you've changed, but so have I. I don't know if we'll work, but could we try anyway?”

he looked at you in anticipation. this was your cue to speak. the line preceding yours. but like an unrehearsed substitute, your mind failed to form your line. what was your line even supposed to be? you wanted to say yes and no and maybe and you're crazy and I'm crazy. but all you managed to say was

“friends?”

you cracked a shy smile as you buried yourself deeper into his windbreaker, and he seemed to get your message. you weren't sure if you could date mark just yet, you were never one to jump into a relationship, but you knew a small part of you didn’t really mind dating him.

mark released a breath he didn't know he was holding. at least you didn't reject him, was what he thought. he smiled and nodded reassuringly.

“friends.”

though, with the way your ears turned red and the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him, mark didn’t need a psychic to tell him that your friendship wouldn't last very long.

“minhyung! someone is here to see you!”

his teammate hollered from the pool side, wiggling his eyebrows as he gestured to something behind him. nobody called him minhyung, and he would never allow anyone to call him minhyung, except for you.

mark pulled his goggles off his head and looked up at the stands. god, he had never jumped out of the pool so quickly.

without bothering to grab the towel his friend was holding at him, he ran up the steps of the stands, almost slipping on the steps as he yelped, grabbing onto the railings. he looked up sheepishly, watching you cross your arms with a quirked eyebrow. he knew he was supposed to be embarrassed, but my goodness you just looked so. damn. cute. in the denim jacket he thought he had lost and the white polo cap he had mailed to you a few months ago. and that little frown on your face from watching him make an absolute fool out of himself in front of you, he thought he would have folded right there and then.

”mark lee minhyung don’t you dare-“

before you could even complete your threat, he threw himself onto you, wrapping his wet arms around your torso and pulling you in. he buried his dripping hair in your neck as you cringed at the dampness soaking through your shirt. you groaned, your hands come up to his bare chest to push him away, only earning an even tighter hug, literally trapping you in his arms.

”i miss you too, minhyung, but you’re getting me all wet.”

“dude i actually hate you. but i hate long distance more.”

he huffed, his breath tickling your skin. you chuckled, bringing up a hand to run through the back of his wet hair as the other wrapped around his shoulder. you pulled his face away from your neck, tip toeing to place a soft peck on the lips you missed so much. mark’s lips chased yours as you pulled away, a natural pout forming on his lips as your warmth slowly dissipated, his eyes practically begging for another. you giggled, placing one last kiss on his cheek to soothe him.

“enough, pretty boy. before I have to report my own scandal.”

mark rested his forehead against yours with a sigh, your presence filling him with comfort.

“you know, y/n, I think you're a much better swimmer than me with how you dived straight into my heart.”

“oh my god, shut up."

“you love me though.”

you rolled your eyes, unable to fight the small smile from creeping onto your face. he was right, though. you did, and you think you will for a long, long, time.

[erwinsvow]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

summary: you and aaron are having a hard time deciding on a baby name.

word count: 1.5k

author's note: eeeeeeee x3. cannot stop writing for aaron, especially domestic, happy aaron. not bau!reader but i stole elements from that story too, linked here. i really loved this one!

now spinning

You had thought time would fly by during pregnancy, or at least that’s what everyone else made it seem like. You felt like all you’d heard so far was warnings to enjoy this time with ‘just the two of you’ and spend your days preparing as much as you could. 

You’d taken it very literally—your evenings after work were spent reading baby books and prepping food to store in the freezer.

Your days off from work, and even the rare, treasured weekend Aaron has off, is spent looking at paint samples (all yellows and greens, even though you’ve known it’s a girl since the two of you had Jack take a big bite out of a cupcake with raspberry frosting inside) and browsing websites for a car seat and a stroller. Aaron digs through the garage for Jack’s old things, and comes out with a sturdy wooden crib and a beautiful bassinet. 

Aaron doesn’t worry as much as you, of course, and he has the best dad instinct you’ve ever seen. It comes so naturally to him, you almost worry about yourself. Will it be this easy for you? 

You have experience parenting now, thanks to Jack and all the time you spent with him and Aaron even before you got married, but he barely counts. He’s an angel child—one who asks for extra servings of vegetables, does his homework without being asked, and never complains when you have to remind him to tidy up his room. 

Besides a few puzzle pieces and various, outgrown sports gear scattered throughout the house—your house, your family home, you think fondly— he always puts away his belongings in the proper place.

He even reminds you and Aaron of his upcoming school projects and which commitments he penciled in for—a friend’s birthday party next weekend (When should we go get the gift?) and a class field trip next month (They need two more chaperones. Should I ask Uncle David?)

You’re convinced you’ll never have it this easy with another child. You start over preparing the week you find out you’re pregnant, after Aaron smothers you in kisses and hugs.

He takes you out to dinner with the team—another rare, treasured event, but not because he doesn’t want to, just because they’re always on a case—and you break the news to them when you turn down a glass of wine from Emily, who looks at you quizzically. No more wine for nine months, you had said. Ten, JJ corrected.

You’re seven months now, halfway to eight. Pregnancy brain is very real and has affected you like crazy. You keep forgetting to go grocery shopping and then you keep misplacing the paper grocery list Aaron keeps on the fridge with a little magnet. You and Jack have been eating a lot of take-out, and he’s not complaining but he still inquires about his vegetable intake over slices of pizza. 

“You know, the baby is the size of a coconut right now,” you tell Aaron on the phone, rubbing your stomach. Your back has been killing you lately, another thing you had read about happening nearing month eight in your baby books of horror.

Aaron offers a massage when he’s around but it always hurts the most when he’s gone. Besides, his massages are what got you into this predicament in the first place.

Jack is asleep on the sofa right next to you. He had asked to watch Star Wars before bed—it’s a Friday night and he has no soccer practice tomorrow, and you are a perpetual good cop who can’t say no—so you had cozied up with him and a bowl of popcorn on the couch while The Empire Strikes Back played quietly in the background. You move your hand back to stroke his hair while he sleeps.

“Really, sweetheat? A coconut?” Aaron says. The team is up in Connecticut, and though he’s gone and you wish he was here with you, you’re thankful he’s in the same time zone.

You’re not sure about the case and can’t stomach the gory details anymore, but you think they must have made some strides since he’s staying on the phone with you and not in a rush to leave.

“Uh-huh, that’s what my book said. Never knew a coconut could kick this hard.” Aaron laughs on his side of the call, a sweet sound. You smile. “Maybe she’s kicking now to let us know she wants to play soccer like her big brother.”

“A prodigy in the making. Speaking of, does Jack have practice tomorrow?” Aaron likes to remind you of these things because he knows you keep forgetting.

“No, nothing tomorrow, I triple checked. And this little brainiac is just like you, keeps reminding me so I don’t wake him up at seven-thirty tomorrow.”

You hear Aaron laugh again. It all feels very domestic. Your mouth hurts from smiling.

“Aaron, it’s getting to that time. We need to pick a baby name soon. Any crazy ex-girlfriends or female serial killers we need to avoid?”

“Well there’s certainly a few. Serial killers, that is, not the other thing. What are you thinking so far?”

“Well my book said-” Aaron groans on the other end. “Hey! Don’t knock my book, it’s helpful.”

“Honey, your book had you convinced the baby would be missing fingers and toes if you had a turkey sandwich.”

“Deli meat is bad during pregnancy! So is sushi, thank you very much. I’d rather not risk my baby’s digits just because you wanted subs.”

“Reid said that’s not true and everything’s fine in moderation.”

“I’m sorry, has Reid ever birthed a human before?”

“Point taken. Your book also said your heartburn isn’t a big deal because it just means the baby will have a full head of hair-” “JJ said that too! And she said Henry had lots of hair-”

“And it also said sex during pregnancy is bad. Remember that?” Your face heats up. Damn him, making you blush even when he’s hundreds of miles away. 

“Oh, whatever. Just tell me which names we have to avoid. I think we should do something with a J, though. Make it matching.”

“Very sweet, honey. Jordan? Juliet? June?”

“Hmm,” you ponder carefully. Even if it’s silly, this feels like one of the biggest decisions you’ll ever make. “I like them all but I don’t love them. They’re too… something. Too new maybe.”

“Older names, then? Joy, Josie, Julia?”

“I like those too. Should we really name our child after a Beatles song though?”

“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you?” You can almost hear it in Aaron’s voice—he’s relaxing for the moment. Either they’ve already caught the unsub or you have a bigger impact on him than you thought you did. 

“Well if we’re gonna do that then we should at least use Eleanor or Michelle. Or Lucy! I like Lucy.”

“I’d prefer not to name our daughter after a song written about hallucinogens.”

“Aw, you're no fun. How about Anna?”

“What happened to wanting to match with Jack?” he asks.

“Ah, let the kid have his own identity. If he had it his way we’d name the baby Leia or Yoda.”

“Leah’s not bad. Pretty and simple. Four letters, keeping the trend.”

“That’s not a Beatles song!” You hear Aaron groan.

“You have too many demands, honey.” “No, I’m just picky. You should consider it a compliment, I’m choosy and I chose you, remember?”

“Vividly. Prudence, then?”

“Oh, that’s pretty.” You try to picture it written on holiday cards and homework sheets. Prudence Hotchner. You say it aloud to test the feel of it. “Prudence Hotchner. Prue Hotchner.”

“Sweetheart, I was joking.”

“You should never joke around a pregnant woman. I like it, it’s so pretty. Pretty Prudence.”

“You don’t think it’s a little old?”

“Well, her father is an old man who wants to name her after a Beatles song, so yeah, it’s very fitting. Doesn’t it just roll right off the tongue? Prudence Hotchner? We could call her Prue.”

“Prue is very cute. I like Prudence Joy.”

“Oh, I love Prudence Joy. Prudence Joy Hotchner. I like it so much. I’m tempted to wake up Jack and ask if he likes it.  Will you ask the team if they like it too?”

“I will, honey. Isn’t it time to sleep now?”

“Yes, I’ve just been putting it off. Jack’s asleep next to me, I have no idea how I’ll get him upstairs without waking him.”

“If you wake him he’ll be able to fall asleep again, as long as it’s quick-” “I know, honey, don’t worry about us.”

“Can’t help it.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads, cheek to cheek. You have a feeling he’s smiling too.

“You’ll ask the others, right? About Prudence?”

“Yes, honey, I will. I’ll see them in a little bit, I stepped out to call you while I made another cup of coffee.”

“Oh, Aaron, it's so late for coffee,” you chide, lovingly. Don’t drink a whole cup please. I wish you guys would drink tea instead. Or at least decaf.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I gotta go now. Kiss Jack goodnight for me?” “Of course.”

“And play Prudence her song, then?” You can’t contain the smile on your face.

“Of course. Good night from all three of us, Aaron.”

[scottsstreet]

Glad you came

PAIRINGS: Luca Fantilli x Reader

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR’S NOTE: please let me know your thoughts, opinions and suggestions. enjoy!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you first met Luca in your Econ class.

he was late on the first day and since there were no other seats available, he sat down next to you and began politely asking for the notes he missed.

the next time you had that class you sat in the same spot, enjoying being off to the side away from everyone else. you didn’t expect him to come in once again and ask if this seat was taken?

and that became routine. you would be one of first the people to arrive in class since you walked from your off-campus apartment not too far away and then Luca would arrive a few minutes later, take the seat next to you and start talking about whatever he did on the days you hadn’t seen each other.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you had been in Econ class that morning and just like any other day Luca was catching you up on all the things you’d missed on your days apart. his friends, his other classes, hockey, his favorite tv shows, etc.

you would give your input every now and then to let him know you were still engaged and listening, but let’s be honest it was hard not to be engaged when Luca was talking.

“then he scored the winning goal and Ethan was pissed,” he laughed “it was hilarious. you had to of been there.”

“and you were playing what game?” you asked trying to understand what exactly he was talking about.

“NHL 23.” he said.

“interesting, you’ll have to show me sometime.” you responded absentmindedly, you didn’t even realize the weight your words actually carried.

“you should came to one of my games sometime, that way you can see first hand how to play the game.” he suggested shyly, shrugging.

you finally raised you attention from you notebook and turned to him with an are you serious? look.

“yeah. i know you aren’t the biggest sports fan but you should come. We play Friday.”

before you could even try and muster a response your professor dismissed class and you and Luca parted ways.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

now its not that you hated sports. you watched the occasional Saturday night football game with your family growing up and you went to your siblings sporting events to show your undying support, but you just never got into it. you never really found it enjoyable.

regardless your easily influenced and after talking to your best friend about what happened with Luca, she convinced you to at least go for a little bit of the game because it could be fun and because he seems like a really nice guy.

so you decided to go.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

when the game ended you were a bit sad but you shrugged the feeling off and just chalked it up as an experience you didn’t completely hate.

before the game had started Luca had tossed you a puck that said meet me by the locker room. so that’s where you headed as you made your way through the crowded halls of the Yost Arena.

when you neared the locker room you saw Luca standing there waiting for you talking to a few of the other player on the team.

when he saw you coming his way, he parted ways with the other boys and made his way towards you.

“you came? and here i thought you hated sports.” he greets you.

you shrugged, “i do, someone has to cheer for you right? otherwise it’s just-“ *ignoring all the people still crowding the Arena dressed in maize and blue who were obviously there for the Wolverines, waving around vaguely* “embarrassing, no one here for your team. clearly” you replied back continuing with the banter.

“clearly.” “what would you do without me?”

his smiles widens “i don’t know. in fact, you might have to keep coming to the games, you’re probably the sole reason we won tonight.”

“probably.”

[semidecentpoet]

What gets me ab western mainstream news coverage of the genocide in Palestine—besides the obvious lack of morality—is that it’s, frankly, shit journalism.

(For context, I’m a journalism major with a focus in print reporting. This is literally what I’m going to school for.)

(Forgive me if this is slightly disorganized. Harder to write when I’m pissed.)

My instructors tell me ab the importance of active voice over passive voice all. The. Time. There’s a difference, for example, between “More than 30,000 Palestinians have been killed” and “Israel has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians.”

More recently, I’ve had instructors tell me to be more skeptical of official sources (e.g. police), fact-check their claims and get alternative sources whenever possible.

But, from what I’ve seen, a lot of outlets seem to just take Israel’s word as fact without searching for further evidence. For example, when Israel made that claim—with no real evidence—ab the 40 beheaded babies and it was everywhere. And then they said they can’t confirm shit, and now these outlets have to backpedal.

And of course, on top of the blatant misuse of language (beyond just active vs passive voice) and the false/unsupported reporting, there’s the lack of reporting.

I don’t see western mainstream outlets quoting the assholes who call Palestinians “human animals.”

I don’t see them pointing out the sickening abundance of social media posts of Israelis celebrating the genocide, of IDF posing in front of the rubble of what once was Gaza or with the undergarments of the Palestinian women and girls they raped.

I don’t see them setting their headlines ablaze with the countless historic holy sites Israel has destroyed, mosques and churches alike that were some of the oldest in the world. (But when Notre Dame was on fire—)

I don’t even see the context of the more than 75 years of Israel’s bullshit leading up to now.

Where is the coverage of the entire families Israel have wiped out? Where is the coverage of how Israel treats its hostages? Where is the coverage of the Palestinian people’s injuries, physical and mental, and the reason for the lack of proper medical aid?

Countless children in Gaza have to undergo amputations in unsanitary environments without anesthesia. Where’s the coverage?

Who is asking Biden the important questions? Like, if you’re trying so hard for a ceasefire, why has the United States vetoed United Nations resolutions for an immediate ceasefire three times since Oct. 7? Why a temporary ceasefire instead of a permanent one?

How ab Israel’s attack on Rafah during the Super Bowl?? Rafah the designated safe zone?? While airing a $7 million ad?? During what is arguably the most famous and most-watched sports event in the U.S., which has given billions of dollars in support of Israel’s genocide?? How are these outlets not blowing up????? This is a U.S.-funded slaughter during a national event???? Is this not newsworthy enough for you??????????????

Maybe they include some of these things in their articles. But when and if they do, is it a full-fledged story or just a brief?

Is it toward the top of the page or buried lower? (Journalists typically use the inverted pyramid style, which means the most important information in a story is at the top.)

I understand that, as journalists, we have to be objective. But this is not objective reporting. It is clearly biased in favor of Israel. If it were any other country, any other people under siege, this would all look a lot different.

On the topic of objectivity, I’ve heard a few arguments along the lines of, “We can’t pick a side.” But is there truly more than one side to this crisis?

One instructor of mine has said that “both sides” is a false dichotomy, meaning there are rarely ever exactly two sides to any given issue. Sometimes that means there are more than two sides, and sometimes that means there is really only one.

Coincidently, an example he gave of only one side was the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. Even though there are assholes who say otherwise, it was real. It happened. It was wrong. There’s no other way to look at it.

Ik that journalists bending objectivity and imposing morality in reporting is a relatively recent and controversial debate within the media industry.

But.

If we do some actual goddamn reporting—take the numbers and the quotes and the experiences caught on video and add them all together—we start to paint a pretty clear picture of who is the victim here. And who is responsible for the atrocities.

Just bc our government supports Israel does not mean Israel perspective is on equal footing with, much less more important than, Palestine’s.

When Palestine’s death toll is roughly 30 times that of Israel’s, there’s only one side.

This is some pretty shit journalism.

I’d look forward to hearing from other journalists/student journalists what they think ab coverage of the genocide.

Personally, I’m a little heartbroken that some of these outlets I’ve looked up to and dreamed ab being a part of someday have been so lacking in their coverage—to say the least. Especially since journalism is so important and is supposed to be a major means of holding people in power accountable for their actions.

Life’s bitter irony, I suppose.

Free Palestine.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ WHY IS THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER PUBLISHED ON DECEMBER IDK IM SLOW, also politics yay ig— MENTIONS OF MY COUNTRY! 🇵🇭💥🇵🇭💥💪💪 Also uh VERY long chapter

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @l0starl @depresssedcowboy

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You and Montrell seem to share a few qualities. In the midst of talks of politics with Miles, you find yourself parted from the reality you were raised in, instead finding a new world in Spirit Halloween.

This chapter is not sponsored.

FIC MASTERLIST

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".. You should've definitely worn a coat over that."

You fiddled with your sleeve, staring comfortably past the window and out into the shining streets of Brooklyn. The comment was unnecessary , but it didn't entirely fly past your ears— in fact you swallowed it like a bad egg, making your stomach churn. As you turned your head away from the window, you're brought back to acknowledge your brother, Montrell, sitting beside you with his hand over the wheel.

"I like it as it is." You answered. "It's soft, fluffy, and big. Fragrant too." Because it belongs to Miles.

"It's the first time I've seen you wear something so.." His words trace away, but even without finishing the sentence, you knew what he meant. Unsophisticated— a little too boyish in comparison to your usual, refined clothes. The classic sort of unrefined your dearest mother taught you not to embody.

"What? It's comfortable." Was your attempt of a justification. Montrell shrugs, and you catch a twitch in his eye.

Your family had similar, refined tastes. Montrell, like you, was taught to imbue stylishness in every aspect of his life. He was often Armani-clad. Brunello Cucinelli, Hermes— and every other European household name you could recall. But in special events, he usually sported suits specially tailored to his tastes. His palette was consistently ashen, monochrome, with hints of cherry red. Like his car, which had been only recently cleaned after the staff was updated with his upcoming arrival, a slick, grey Aston Martin. It was likely the peak symbolism of his tastes.

You were never really fond of vehicles, particularly their strong, Italian leather scents (Or stench, as you called it). It was because of your sensitive nose that you often requested the seats to be replaced with anything but leather. Scentless polyester was your more preferred option. Leather alone was enough to urge your stomach to clear out your last meal, by ascending to your esophagus.

"I'm not insulting your tastes. I'm glad you're exploring new aesthetics." He manages to lure out his teeth, a compliment— a not-so-good one at that. "What is this?.. Like, street style? Grunge?.. What's that other one— e-girl, I believe? Or was it Emo?"

"You sound not twenty-five years old."

"Don't be mean. The idea of it is new to me, okay?" He clears. "I haven't seen you in three years. The last time I saw you, mom was the one in charge of your wardrobe. I only ever saw your pictures and you seemed more high-end. Saint Laurent, Dior, Dolce Gabbana."

"Those are my brands, I'm just taking a break. I'm not a walking advertisement. I don't want to get robbed in the middle of Brooklyn either."

With a three-second pause, Montrell looks at you and queried.

"Does that jacket belong to a boy?"

You sit right up, ready to defend yourself when Antonne adds. "You would have to introduce him to me immediately— I won't stand aside while some boy prances around your presence. You're sixteen, and that's a prey-able age for stupid and good-for-nothing men… Unless,” He pauses. “You’re gay.”

"What— What are you talking about!?” You feigned ignorance. “I'm not g— this is— it doesn't belong to a.. Well, it does belong to a boy, but it's my friend's jacket okay?"

Oh, the way Miles would glare at you had he been there.

"Don't try to outsmart me." He shot back. "You’ve got little to no friends.”

You parted your lips. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m only stating the truth.” He sighs. “You’re too condescending, and you hate people.”

“And your sources are what? A small interaction I had when I was twelve?”

Montrell grows uneasy a bit, tapping his nails over the thinly veiled compartment. ".. So who is he?" He starts. "From which family? Who are his parents? And how did the both of you meet?"

"That's none of your business, Mon." You sighed, running a hand across your face. "I'm not seeing him, I'm simply hanging out with another friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, it surely wouldn't hurt for me to meet this friend of yours, then? If he's not a boyfriend."

Your mouth hung open, a steady sigh escaping your lips while you sink a little deeper into your seat. As a hand runs across your cheek, you looked at Montrell as he eases the car down to a red light.

"He doesn't know that I'm a Chávez."

ＢＥＥＰ

Suddenly, you're jolted to a sudden halt— nearly flying out of your seat upon Montrell's way of hitting the brakes. You grabbed onto the board before you with widened eyes and a curse in your mouth.

He remains calm, but slightly irked.

At that moment, he pulls a finger to his lips as if to hush you. He signals with another finger as it leads up to boost the music from the radio. The song blasts, and swiftly, he takes his jug hidden by the side of his seat, unscrewing the top before pouring some of the water onto his palm, flicking at the air conditioner.

Oh, he was checking if the car was bugged.

You hold out your hand, gesturing him to give you some of the water. Together, the both of you took care of the recording devices, from the front of the wheel to the back of the car. Upon gathering all of them, you stuffed it all inside the water bottle, permanently eradicating its usage.

Finally, Montrell places his hands on the wheel and speaks.

“I want you to be honest with me, [Y/n], and cut out any of the bullshittery.”

You feared that at that moment, you and Montrell weren’t brother and sister, but rivals in a battle for power.

ＳＨＯＵＬＤ ＷＥ ＥＡＴ ＹＯＵＲ ＢＲＯＴＨＥＲ？

Your finger twitches.

Wait.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes off a little too similar to tasteless poison. It’s a gamble in itself— and it leaves you sitting upright and crossing your legs.

“He makes me feel alive,” Was your starter. “That’s a power no other boy could do, and it’s a rarity, since I’ve always lived for other people, but he makes me feel like I’m living for myself.”

A short hum exits his lips. “And your happiness? Does he make you happy?”

You harshly swallowed. “What difference would it make if I tell you that he does make me happy?”

Montrell’s gaze narrows a bit, the heel of his boots pressing against the gas as the green light shone. “… I ought to applaud you for your sneakiness if by now, dad still doesn’t know anything about his existence.. Unless,” Gulp. “He ordered you to spy on him.”

“And for what reason?”

“It could be anything,” His grip on the wheel tightens like the coil of a noose. “Hostage, information, any of the latter. I’m not sure why father would send you off to spy on a fifteen-year-old boy, but I’m sure the truth’s far deeper than petty business rival bullshit.”

Your mind blanks.

“It’s nothing like that. I just.. Like him, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie to you about how much he means to me?”

“Because we’re not just siblings, [Y/n],” He whispered. “If anything, we’re not a normal family, but, I’m here for you because I think you’re a good kid, even if everyone else says you’re not.”

“Cease the speech, Mon. I’m not a good person. Stop romanticizing me.”

“But why?” He adds. “Is it because you managed the media and the hotel?”

And hearing those words, you come to face the fact that there was a reason Montrell was your father’s favorite. The effortless way he’s able to read every situation, the effortless way he managed to read through your emotions. It was a talent you could only wish for.

“It was so obvious, you know.” He chuckled. “I knew— I already knew before I came home.”

“Why?”

“Because Antonne handles things messily. He makes decisions without thinking about the consequences, and he despises planning things on the long run. Dad wouldn’t trust anyone outside the family after what happened with Mom, nor would he allow just anyone to handle such shaky affairs. It’s not like it’s beyond father’s morality to hire his own children and calling it practice.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Montrell took one look at you. “The Warehouse. It’s said that it was recently burnt, and that Antonne had to fight the Prowler, but Antonne wouldn’t have had the time to take care of all that because he was investigating you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spat.

“Also, no one but family takes care of the Warehouses.”

“No— I know that, fuck that. You were going to find out one way or another, but what the fuck was Antonne investigating me for?”

Your brother simply shrugs, his shoulders dropping comically.

“It was about that boy.”

“What!?” Your voice breaks a little. “Jesus fuck, what is wrong with him!?”

“Evidently, he’s worried about you.”

You snorted. “Worried!? Worried my ass!” The vulgar way you spoke caught Montrell so off-guard that he had to look at you twice to check if you were still the same person. “I’d rather believe the world’s ending. Antonne and I stopped being siblings the moment he dropped responsibility for all those who were killed, forcing me to step up and do damage control because Dad stopped trusting everyone else.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Plus, there’s nothing to be worried about. The boy I’m meeting he’s.. He’s just.. I like him. That’s it. I know it’s hard to believe since most of the time I’m a conniving bitch, but I genuinely, wholeheartedly like him. Like how a normal teenage girl ought to like a boy.”

Montrell hums. “… Alright, I’ll believe you. It’s not too far off from unusual, when I’m also facing a similar issue.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“… You see, [Y/n], I’ve got also got a girl for myself.” He announced so suddenly. “Met her at Oxford. Like your boy, she bore no idea of who I was.. Who I am, and understandably, and I know you know about this too— but it’s a refreshing feeling to not be recognized as the potential inheritor of a business empire.”

You part your lips, processing the information with confusion all over your expression. “But— there were no reports of you being in a relationship.”

“Of course there weren’t,” He laughs. “I had her carefully hidden from everyone’s sights.”

And that could mean two things. You didn’t want to think of the latter.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Montrell added, turning the wheel. “Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance. It’s frightening to think how Malachi’s going to inherit our tendencies.”

“I’m not,” Your heart raged within the cage of your ribs. “I’m not like that to him. I can never allow myself to trap him.”

“You can either be one of them.” Montrell sighed. “Mom or dad, I mean.”

The good ol’ bird or the cage.

“But I won’t be able to stand by and watch when that does happen,” He straightens his lips. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You can hear the voice whisper back in your mind.

“Which is why I’ve got to meet.. [Y/n]?”

Your hands slithered up against your ears in an attempt to block out the voice.

“[Y/n], are you okay?”

You gasped for air, a familiar voice taunting you like the one from your dreams. Except, this one didn’t speak like the voice of the symbiote, rather, it endowed this sweet allure as though it could sing you a lullaby to sleep.

Before the symbiote, there was someone else who plagued your thoughts and mind and actions.

Before the symbiote, there was your mother.

“Stop the car.” You croaked, palms still over your ears. Montrell speaks, but his words were blurred out into the void of nothingness. The more he speaks, the more your mind shreds itself into pieces. After a long second of thinking, Montrell finally pulls up by the sidewalk, taking his hands off the wheel and pulling one in front of you. He waves it hesitantly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Breathe, [Y/n], breathe.”

“I-I,” You lengthily stammered. “Mon, I’m sorry, but can I go?” As he’s about to answer, you add. “I’ll introduce you another day, I promise, I just, I need to be alone right now.”

“But isn’t it unsafe? We’re in the slums, you’ll never know how—“

“Mon, I can fight.” You ended the conversation with that alone. Hesitantly, he nods and unlocks the door. You reach for the handle, moving along with the click as you turned to leave.

“Can you at least message me when I can pick you up?”

You looked over to Montrell.

“… Okay.”

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Miles!”

And he could already hear you from a block away, jogging with steady and loud steps.

Without even looking up from his phone, he unconsciously opened his arms to welcome you with an embrace— closing in immediately upon your arrival. You felt like you were going to stain his jacket with your glossed lips, but you barely managed to care anymore at this point, as this hug was beyond a need. You clung onto his neck, burying your aching head into the nape of his collar, taking in this familiar scent of spice and wood. A subtle homage, or a reminder of your older brother, Montrell.

What was it about men and their perfume?

It felt like you hadn’t seen Miles in such a long, long time. It was like you were a child who’d parted from their favorite blanket for a little too long that it made you uneasy. You liked the world and space you had between his arms— it was your warmth, your only true home, and it was yours.

All yours.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, simpering around with you in his arms.

“I just want to stay like this for a moment.” You whispered. “I need to steal the warmth off of you.”

“Well, nena, why are you only wearing my hoodie? It’s so cold out.”

“It’s not that.”

Miles’ ears metaphorically perked up upon hearing you sniffle.

“Who the fuck hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

Oh, Miles, you can’t possibly kill off a multi-million dollar industry.

“Can you kill a car, then? My brother drove me here and his car’s smell made me age twenty years,” You grumbled. “I’m boutta die at thirty-seven, I swear.”

“Your brother?” He lightly jolts away, eyes journeying from road to road in search of him. “God, where is he? Is he here?”

And at that moment, Miles subsequently fixes his posture, his words suddenly endowing some strange sort of politeness. You nudge at his shoulder, “I told him to drop me off somewhere else. I didn’t want him to meet you yet.”

“Awe,” He pouted. “Well, that’s aight. I’m gonna dress up real nice when I meet your family.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “And what are you going to be wearing?”

“I’m gonna borrow my unc’s suit, and I’ll talk business with yo father.”

“Only business you’ll be discussing with my father is your damn funeral, Miles. My papa don’t want me out here dating, that’s why he put me in private school.”

“With a face like yours?” He smugly grinned. “Your daddy’s kinda underestimating the power of your pretty face.”

“Oh, so you like me ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking unbearable, that’s what you is.” The boy joked. “M’just kidding. I like you because you’re pretty much everything to me.”

Despite the fluttering of your stomach, you persevered with your little game. “Doesn’t answer anything— what do you like about me? Did you like my face or my personality?”

“I liked you ‘cause of your pretty face, and stayed for your amazing personality.” He answered as though he’d been preparing for the question his whole life.

“Amazing personality?”

“Extravaganza bonanza personality.”

“I’m not a banana split sundae, Miles.”

“Might as well should be with yo damn split personality.”

Your hands dangle away, Miles unconsciously attempts to reach for it but instead accepts defeat when you held his hand. “So where are we going for halloween spirit, exactly?”

“Halloween spirit?” He queried.

“Yeah, didn’t ya mention something about being in halloween spirit?”

Miles paused, holding back a loud laugh in the middle of the street. “My girl, I said I was in Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween?”

“Holy shit,” He verbalized. “You’re in for a scare, nena.”

And he meant those words a little too literally.

Growing up, it wasn’t within your household to make halloween one of your yearly traditions. Your father deemed it unnecessary, while your mother was anything but fun (Same difference, really). Your brothers have celebrated halloween, one way or another, but since you were the child closest to your mother, you were anything but free of her beliefs.

So being greeted with a large, bloodied skeleton first-thing upon entering the building was a first for you.

“WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN THAT!?”

Miles simply explodes into laughter, holding his phone up just to record your reaction. You fall right back, hand still holding onto his. “Come on, nena, you can do it, let’s get past the entrance.”

“Miles, what in THE FUCK is that!?”

“Don’t be mean to your brother, ma.” He attempts to drag you inside as you sat down by the floor with petrification scribbled all over your face. “[Y/n], come on, introduce me to the rest of your family.”

“FUCK YOU!” You whisper-yelled.

“It’s not even moving yet, come on, [Y/n].”

“THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MOVE!?”

After managing to drag you past the animatronics (Which Miles described was a work out in itself), the both of you marveled at the isle where all the costumes were, skimming through the racks and looking at each and every picture. “Oh, Miles— look at this,” You pluck one out, the hanger dangling from your fingers. “It’s Emily from the corpse bride! Shit, I haven’t seen the movie since I was eight.”

“Look at this one, Ma, this shit’s so you.”

He pulls out an Elsa costume.

“Even got the white ass wig and everythin’.” He giggles as you playfully smacked his arm. “Let it go. Let it go.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t hold this shit anymore!~”

“MILES.”

“LET IT GO!”

You tried to hush out his horrible singing, but the way he giggled was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle yourself. When bystanders started walking past the both of you with weird ogles in their gazes, you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughing.

“Puñeta,” Miles added, pulling out a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtles costume. “You’ve got to fucking try this, ma.”

“Miles—“ You couldn’t even continue a sentence without wheezing.

You did eventually find a costume— unlike the original plan, the both of you couldn’t find a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague, but Miles did manage to find a dark priestess costume along with a plague doctor costume.

“We’re like business partners. The patients go to me, and when they die, you send them off.” Was what he said.

“Wouldn’t that make you a really horrible doctor?”

“Doctor’s still a doctor, ma. I mean, it’s the police’s job to protect all of us but if that’s really the case, they’re doing a pretty fucking horrible job at it, but hey, we still call them the police.”

You looked at the mirror, watching the confusion materialize over your face as you heard Miles’ rant behind the curtain. As you clumsily tried on your costume inside the changing room, you couldn’t help but ask. “What makes you say that? That they’re doing a horrible job at protecting y’all?”

As you zipped up the bolero, you hear Miles’ curtain open.

“Well, Ma, brutality’s been upper than hell compared to the last few decades, so’s poverty. For the last four years, the economy’s been going downhill, which made us have a recession. ‘Cause of that, a lot of the cops had to kiss up some of the wealthy folks’ asses to keep their jobs.”

“So that makes them corrupt?”

“That makes them desperate,” He alluded. “No one wants to die of starvation, and they all have families to feed. It’s divide and conquer, really.”

“Divide and conquer?— oops,” You pick up the fallen headdress from the floor. “Expand on that.”

Miles hums a bit. “Imagine the crab mentality. I’ve read about it before for a philosophy research, and it’s a term used in the Philippines. Put a fuck ton of crabs in a bucket. You’re gonna see the crabs drag each other down in order to pull themselves up, but in the end, none of them ain’t gonna reach the top.

Because the true problem was never the crabs, it was the person who put those crabs inside the bucket in the first place. Same goes for us, the poor. We all have to fend for ourselves so we put others down— because if we’re too busy surviving, we don’t have to pay no attention to the rich who put us all inside the damn bucket in the first place.”

The way he described it was so familiar.

It was like he was describing you with your siblings.

ＨＥ’Ｓ ＳＭＡＲＴ. Ｉ ＬＩＫＥ ＨＩＭ.

Hearing the symbiote’s approval echo in your mind, you couldn’t help but smirk.

He’s not just smart. He’s a genius.

ＤＯＮ’Ｔ　ＯＶＥＲＰＲＡＩＳＥ　 ＨＩＭ,

ＳＷＥＥＴＨＥＡＲＴ

Don’t call me that, ever.

His experiences and your experiences were similar despite being so contradictory, and it didn’t make sense. You were rich, so extraordinarily wealthy that the recession was never a part of your problem, hell, the decline of the economy was never your problem— and Miles was struggling along with his family to keep themselves afloat.

And you could never put yourself in his shoes, as you knew nothing of the loss he felt.

But the both of you were kids in line to shape the future, and if the generational trauma ever continued, you’d only end up the oppressor, but you knew, Miles was going to tear himself apart from the title of ‘victim’, and he was going to stand up against you— maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,

But soon, as villain versus hero.

You pushed the curtain away, unveiling the costume to Miles.

But rather than seeing him, he was nowhere to be found.

You lifted the veil, stepping out of the dressing room to take a peek at him, but you couldn’t find any trace of his broad-shouldered figure anywhere. You softly called out for his name, head spinning from constantly turning. Your feet took you forward. You try ignore the giggly and bloodily-clad animatronics whose haunting stares scared you far worse than any unwanted confrontation with any of your family members.

And there he was, talking to a girl.

That sort of closeness— the way they spoke. Laughing, catching up, or something like that. Acquaintances? Friends, maybe?

Something ugly pricked at your skin from within.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

Montrell’s words began to spiral inside your mind. ‘Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance.’

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

The feeling seared your veins, making you dig your nails into the bed of your palm. Your knuckles quivered from the intensity, like a sort of anger you felt when you saw any of your elder brothers being praised for the bare minimum, except.. This one felt different.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

You watched the way her braids fell, wondering if you could pull it off with such grace. High society’s always been too picky, which forced you to drown out most of your interests, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. You wanted to wear the clothes you wanted to wear, try out the makeup you wanted to try.

It felt like your mother’s shadow was being cast on you, making you embody the very phase you feared, your mother’s daughter—

and like your mother, you were quick to get jealous.

And it devoured you, whole.

You faltered, taking a step back before fully pivoting your heel and running off back to the dressing room. You shut the curtain behind you, only now finding the symbiote staring right at you through the mirror— its grotesque body mirroring your move.

“For a girl who knows how to handle most of her emotions, you can’t seem to handle jealousy well.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.”

“And I’m Sofia Vergara.“

“How the fuck do you know who Sofia Vergara is?”

“Memories, my dear.”

You felt a surge of panic take course of you.

“This is unhealthy. I can’t be like this, I don’t even know who she is.” You exasperatedly murmured. “I need to calm down— Miles and I aren’t even official yet.”

“Exactly, so be the lady that you are and introduce yourself, damn it. You have no friends.”

“I have friends.” You seethed. “I’m popular as hell in Acadia.”

“If I had a dollar for every friend you have, I’d be the one giving you a poverty rant.”

“[Y/n]?” Miles pulled you out of your thoughts yet again.

“Y-Yeah?” You called out, whipping your head back. “You done?” He asks, shuffling a bit. You hesitantly open the curtain to reveal yourself, your sights eventually welcoming the image of Miles dressed in all black— with a long, beak-like mask over his head. As you were too busy trying to find his little acquaintance, Miles gawks at you from behind his heavy façade.

The faux black silk draped over your curves seamlessly, the crimson of the bolero gleaming beneath the light as it contrasted against the dress. You lifted the veil past the dark crown like a bride, lashes fanning up to meet him by his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” He sighed. “Wow, you— the woman that you are.”

There was something about the way he looked at you.

It was like you were all that consumed his mind and being. Nonetheless, it was the truth.

But even now, as Miles held out his hand for you to hold, you couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’ll look at you like this until it manifests from love into something else.

“It’s a halloween costume, Miles, not a wedding dress. I can’t possibly be lookin’ all that great.” You took his hand, drawing closer to the mask. “God, you look like a big bird.”

Lost in the way you looked, Miles’ hands unconsciously trailed around your waist, looking down on you with a dumb stare that you couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, the both of you were disrupted by an abrupt cough. You both turn your heads, finding the same girl you’d seen him talking to just a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” She beamed, waving her hand at you. “Hope I ain’t disturbing anything?”

“You definitely were.” Miles’ gaze narrowed. The girl laughed, her white grin wide like a crescent moon. You couldn’t help but think, she’s got such a pretty smile.

“Mind introducing me, Miles?”

With a hand still on your waist, Miles gestures towards you. “This is my lady,”

“[Y/n],” You held out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Both Miles and the girl stared at your open palm.

“Wow, ain’t she prim and proper? Like a princess.” She teased, accepting your hand. “I’m Amadi, nice to meet you too.”

Her palm was warm and smooth, decorated by the lacey sleeve of her periwinkle sweater. She stood in heeled boots, a couple inches taller than you— an inch or two off of Miles’ height. As she shook your hand, the girl couldn’t help but helplessly marvel at you as though you were a statue carved from marble.

“God, how in the hell did you land on Miles? You’re just,” Amadi’s hands airily traced your figure. “You’re just wow. I-Is Miles keeping you hostage or sum? You don’t look nuthin like human. You look outta this world.”

“Thank,” You stifled a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I can hear you, Madi.” Miles churned.

“M’just stating truths ‘cause—“ She clicks her long, acrylic nails. “Why she be lookin’ outta this world while you’s lookin like you snuck onto earth?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your hardest, you very hardest, not to laugh. Miles pulled you back away from her with a disintegrating glare.

“Tu puta madre,” He spat. “.. Go back to Monique.”

“Monique?”

“Mi novia— love of my life, we’re off halloween shopping too. Gotta big date tomorrow, we gon be watching horror movies n shi.” Amadi added, decisively looking around. “Speaking of which, Ionno where she went.”

“She might be with Voshon.” Miles piqued.

“Voshon?” Your head started to spin with the amount of new names you were processing. “That’s a.. Interesting name.”

“Mama was gonna name him Joshua, but my dad wanted to combine or grandparents’ names together, so— Vaughn and Shontelle.. Voila, Voshon.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” You queried. Amadi hums. “Unfortunately. I mean, I’d always preferred being an only child but we all don’t get what we want most of the time.“

“Oh, I definitely get that.”

“No way, you got brothers too?”

“Yeah, I’m the only girl.”

“Can’t imagine the mess in your house, damn.. Hey!”

Amadi soon joins a pair, one with a much brighter and pinker style and the other satisfied with a mere hoodie for marking a fashion statement. You fiddled with the skirt of your dress, evidently nervous as a million thoughts flooded your mind. You weren’t the friendliest person out there, nor were you the most likable out of all your siblings.

It was never easy for you to make friends. Too many found you overbearing, the rest condescending. Your position was overwhelming enough for any other person your age, and those who knew about you were ambitious to make connections and forge deals.

What if they won’t like me?

What if I mess up?

What if I come off as too condescending?

But Miles took your hand, grabbing your attention from the spur of your overthinking. He took off his mask, easing you with the familiarity. One look at him and home found its way back to you.

“You wanna meet ‘em, ma?” He asks.

With an anxious smile, you nodded.

“Of course.”

And like a whirlwind into the night, you were off.

For the first time, you part yourself entirely from the world you knew and entered Miles’ world.

“Oh, hello!” Bubbly and sweet, Monique greeted you with such warmth that it melted away all your previous worries. “Oh my god— don’t tell me,” She glances over to Amadi for confirmation. “Are you the [Y/n] Miles always talks about!?“

“Nica— please—“

“You ARE!”

She spoke of you as though you’d been a legend told to the latter, like a tooth fairy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve been dying to meet you and– wow, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Your cheeks were bound to be flushed. “I think you’re very pretty too. I-I really like your hair and your makeup, it’s super well done.”

“Awe, thank you so much!” She placed a hand over your heart, wholeheartedly touched by your compliment. Monique looks at Miles with a pout.

“… Miles, can you fight?”

“Fuck you mean ‘Can you fight?’, I will square you the fuck up r’now.”

His friends were sweet— welcoming without the need of a surname. Monique, with her free and silk-like curls, was a firecracker who liked glitter on her lids and her nails and her clothes. Amadi was ever-so loving of her, despite preferring black and chains for her aesthetic. The two girls were a stark contrast of one another— and unsurprisingly, Monique already had her mermaid costume prepared and was just helping out Amadi pick her Dracula ensemble.

Voshon, although quieter, was one you recognized as similarly withdrawn and reserved like Miles when the both of you first met. Amadi described him to be a total nerd, and quirky— later proven when he and Miles chased each other with fake swords, running across the aisles while exchanging hits.

When Voshon tosses over the sword to you, however, chaos truly ensued.

“GO GET HIM!” The girls cheered as you and Miles managed to create a questionable chase scene of a Priestess holding a Minecraft sword chasing after a Plague Doctor with a scythe. Onlookers couldn’t help but watch on as the both of you squabbled.

Like a livid cat and its cheesy mouse.

“Esto en un mamey. You too fuckin’ slow!” He teased in between a heave. “Can’t catch me for shit!”

Shit went down as you bent over to take off your boots.

“That ain’t changing, nun— aye puta.” Miles narrowly avoids one of the shoes that came flying at his direction. He looks over like a child in awe, head following the direction of wherever it went.

“I never knew you were Latina, mam– MIERDA LOCO, CEBOLLA COÑO!” And a couple other curses exit his tongue as you tackled him to the ground with a loud crash.

You let a hearty, chesty giggle escape your lips. The adrenaline got you cackling like a comical villain, that even Miles couldn’t help but laugh helplessly along with you. Seeing you like that, with your hair all wild and your smile at its wildest, it softened his whole being.

“… You’re so pretty, mami.” He airily sighed with a cough to the side.

“.. Sure.” Was all you could answer.

And of course, after getting an earful from the staff, you and Miles finally ended your tiny sword-fighting sequence. After changing out of the costumes, all five of you prompted to test out the animatronics.

It was about taking turns.

“AYE, MAMAHUEVO.”

And it was also when you realized, Amadi was Dominican.

You learned a lot of Spanish that day, especially from one step of a button to activate an animatronic.

Everyone’s mouths were.. Extraordinarily filthy.

But you liked it— from watching bursting and spinning animatronics screaming bloody murder at you, to going around talking about all kinds of things with his friends.

“God, I’ve always wanted one of those.” Amadi points at the lace parasol one of the mannequins were holding. “It’s so Morticia Addams.”

“Well, maybe you should get it.” You suggest. “It’d look great with your vampire costume.”

Amadi sighed. “I only got money for the costume, can’t buy sum like that. Maybe I’ll just DIY it with my nana’s old umbrella.”

You squinted a tiny bit, eyeing the sign that announced in bold lettering: $16.99.

And for privileged little you, the sixteen was just change for a hundred dollar bill, which made you inadvertently blurt out. “I can pay.”

“Nah, girlie, it’s gon’ take me whole two to three months ‘fore I can afford to pay you back.”

“I mean, it’s fine—“ You realized just how spoiled you were sounding. “I recently got my paycheck so I guess I can buy you something.”

“Where do you work, though?” Monique added, clinging onto your other hand as the left one was occupied by Miles. “Like do you work at a café or a restaurant?”

“Family business,” You vaguely replied. “Boring stuff. But my dad pays me well enough, so I guess I can live with it— so maybe I can pay for that.”

“No, no, no.” Amadi answered, accent thick. “Really, we can pay for it ourselves.”

But you couldn’t ignore it. Not when you could see Miles openly contemplating on buying the costume or not— as he’s been fiddling with the price tag the whole time you two were walking. And you’ve seen the way Voshon’s been eyeing the diamond sword for a while now.

So you made up your mind.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a moment— can you hold this for me, Miles?” You gently nudged your costume towards him before walking away without another word. As you did so, the group gawked in confusion.

“… Where’s she going? The bathroom’s that way.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Chávez’s office, how may I help you?”

A simple, roundabout greeting, said over and over for the last few years. Usually followed by a “No, he’s not available at the moment” or a “I’ll take word”, but for the first time, the secretary stammers in embarrassment with her nails clutching onto the phone for dear life. The old man behind the wide, glass doors took note of his poor assistant’s sudden faltering, yet he maintains naturally unfazed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put him on the phone with you right this instant.”

Stumbling in her high heels, the secretary staggers inside the man’s office with the whole telephone in her hand.

“Sir, you’ve got an important call.”

“I’m busy, Nicole.”

“It’s your daughter— Miss [Y/n]?” She uttered your name as though you’d materialize out of thin air after chanting it three times. She was horrified of you.

With a click of his tongue, your father picks up the phone.

“What do you want?” He instantly asks of you.

“Dad, remember how you’ve always claimed that the celebration of halloween is unnecessary?”

Without even uttering an answer, you decisively went on.

“Well, in November, there is a tremendously large spike of sales when it comes to anything horror-related. It’s always been capitalist to clad November as a scary month in order to convince people to buy into scary things—“ He hears something tumble in the background. “— and since late October to early November is usually one of the hotel’s lowest months, I figured my proposal would be a perfect proxy for my apology for the way I acted during dinner.”

You didn’t even know what you were talking about at this point, but you were willing to try.

“.. What are you talking about?” He snaps.

“Well, I—“ You hesitated a bit. “I researched a bit, and I’ve come with an unsure solution.”

“What is it?”

“… Can we buy Spirit Halloween?”

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Forever & Always | cowboy!Wilbur x Reader

Wrote this one over the course of the past week. Feels so good to write again :) Sorry for being so incredibly absent the past few months. Blame my university.

Summary: Wilbur finally makes it to the state championship in barrel racing, although he seems off afterward. Thankfully, you always know how to cheer him up.

Warnings/Tags: Smut, a tiny bit of angst and hurt/comfort (barely), oral sex (reader receiving), good ol' riding a cowboy, mostly fluffy, soft sex, reader is afab but gender neutral

Word Count: 4.8k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

Inside of a massive, indoor, horse-riding arena, you sat on the stands. It was a crowded event, the audience having come from a variety of places throughout the entire state. The crowds cheered and the announcer’s voice blared over the speakers. “And next up, our first-time, state championship competitor…”

You were hardly paying attention. Instead, your eyes searched for Wilbur, who you knew was just behind the gate to the arena, sitting atop his prized horse. The crowd was cheering, the place full of people. It was the yearly barrel racing championship. Your boyfriend had been preparing for this for years, trying again and again to make it to the state finals, but never quite doing it. 

This was finally his year—-you were sure of it. You’d seen him race barrel patterns a million times now, watched him and his prized mare wind effortlessly between the obstacles as if they were one being. There was a sort of majesty to the movements, a dance that seemed effortless whenever he did it. Sure, he’d taught you how to ride, but you couldn’t ride like he could. He’d been working at this his entire life. 

It’s rather stereotypical, he’d said once. The ranch boy who grows up wanting to be a barrel racing champion. And then he’d paused, biting his lip as he gazed nervously at his horse. I just hope I get to be one of the ones who actually does it.

There had never been a doubt in your mind that he could. As the gates to the arena opened, Wilbur and his horse came dashing into it. At a speed so quick that your eyes could hardly follow the movements, they rounded the first barrel, then the second. You watched as the horse dashed all the way across the area, kicking up dust in its wake. The crowd cheered. You joined them. Despite your anxiety for him (you knew how devastated he would be if he lost), you smiled and cheered louder than all the rest. 

There was no way that he could hear you; you knew that. And yet, you tried. At least he knew that you were there. You watched as he continued, the announcer carrying on his commentary on the performance.

And then, as soon as it started, it was over. Wilbur rode his horse out of the arena just as fast as he had entered it. The announcer called it “a perfect run.” The total time for the run was only eleven seconds, the fastest run so far.

The rest of the races crawled by. It seemed like an eon before all the races were over. You sat in the stands the entire time, watching the other racers, zoning out. Only one other racer had managed Wilbur’s eleven-second time, but she got a penalty for knocking over a barrel, meaning Wilbur still had more points. 

Your heart pounded. Wilbur had won, right? Or had you zoned out and missed one? You couldn’t remember. As the announcer walked to the center of the arena, microphone in hand, you waited, hardly able to breathe. So many hours put into this sport…you couldn’t bear to see Wilbur lose.

“And the winner of the state barrel racing championship is…” The announcer checked his notebook before looking back up at the crowd. “Wilbur Soot!”

You cheered so loud that you nearly gave yourself hearing damage. A couple nearby audience members gave you startled looks, but you hardly noticed. All you could think about was the fact that he’d finally done it. You stood up, clapping and cheering for him, watching as he walked into the arena and claimed his ribbon.

You’d watched him succeed at the local level, then the regional level, and now the state level. Next, he could go on to national championships if he wanted (and you knew he would). You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your face even if you tried. You saw the smile on Wilbur’s face even from your spot in the audience, the joy that radiated off every inch of him. He thanked the announcer before walking back out of sight.

After the audience filed out of the arena, you got a text from Wilbur.

Out by the truck. Meet me there

You smiled and tucked your phone back in your pocket before practically running out to the parking lot behind the arena. The second you caught sight of him, you rushed into his arms. He laughed as he picked you up off the ground. 

You giggled and wrapped your legs around him to help him hold you. “I told you you’d do it,” you said breathlessly. 

“I fucking did it,” he replied. His tone was almost surprised, as if it was a shock to him. And perhaps it was, but it certainly wasn’t a shock to you. “I still can’t process it.”

You laughed softly, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he set you down. “I’m really happy for you, Wil.”

Wilbur was absolutely beaming. In the weeks leading up to the championship, he’d hardly smiled at all. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said. He gave you a quick kiss. “Now give me a second. I gotta make sure the horse trailer is still hooked to the truck.”

You rolled your eyes. “You really need a better trailer…” Your eyes fell on the old truck, Wilbur’s first ever car that he still used. The paint was blue and peeling off its frame. Wilbur had called it a “proper farm truck,” although you saw it primarily as a safety hazard.

“I know, I know,” Wilbur said as he checked the hitch. “It all looks good, though.”

You wandered behind the truck to the horse trailer, where Wilbur’s horse could be seen trying to poke her head out between the window bars. You laughed and gave her nose a quick pet. “Looks like Annie isn’t happy being locked up,” you said.

Wilbur sighed. “She never is.” He opened up the passenger side door of the truck and motioned for you to get in. “She’ll be fine. She’s gotta be worn out, anyway.”

You shook your head, smiling as you got in the truck. “Nah. That horse has always got energy.”

“Maybe.” Wilbur shut the door and continued talking only when he got into the driver’s seat. “But I have been working her hard.” He frowned. “Poor girl hasn’t had many breaks.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “She’ll get a nice break after this.”

Wilbur started up the truck. “Yeah,” he said quietly. The truck’s engine roared to life, making a few concerning mechanical sounds as it did so. 

Something about Wilbur seemed…off. He looked almost deflated. You weren’t sure if it was simply the adrenaline wearing off or if there was something more to it. As he drove the truck out of the parking lot and started down the road, you couldn’t help but be worried at the sight of his expressionless and unreadable face. You could almost always read him, but you were at a loss.

“You alright?” you asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “I mean, I just won the state championship. I’ve been working at that for years.” 

“And yet,” you said, “you don’t seem happy.” 

“I am,” he said, unconvincingly. “I…it’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know?”

“Is it just not as good now that you have it?”

“It’s great,” Wilbur said. “It’s awesome. Now can we please just…talk about anything else?” He definitely looked tense, his usual, relaxed posture nowhere to be found. He’d also raised his voice the tiniest bit, which he never did with you before. It was a hardly noticeable change, but a change nonetheless. 

“Sorry,” you replied quietly. You looked out the window. It was late evening, and the sun was going down. The drive back to the ranch would take about two hours, and it seemed that it was going to be a long one. 

Wilbur turned the radio on. Some country song that you didn’t recognize played over the speakers—-an old Johnny Cash tune that you couldn’t place. Wilbur loved Johnny Cash, but he wasn’t singing. He wasn’t even humming. 

You thought he would be ecstatic. He looked ecstatic. Holding that ribbon in the center of the arena, he looked beyond happy. When he’d scooped you into his arms in the parking lot, he seemed happier than ever. 

What changed? The only thing you could think of was that your presence had somehow ruined things. The thought worried you. You glanced over at Wilbur, but he wasn’t even looking your way. Maybe you hadn’t been supportive enough. Maybe you’d pressed him too hard, given him too much pressure, stressed him out. You wanted to apologize, but you weren’t sure what to apologize for. You’d done everything right…or at least, you hoped so.

Two hours passed in near-silence except for the songs on the radio. You tried to make small talk, but your attempts quickly fell flat. It was a relief when the truck finally hit the familiar dirt road that led to the ranch. 

The truck rolled up the road and toward the barn. When it finally came to a stop, Wilbur murmured something about needing to put Annie in her stall.

You rested a hand on his shoulder. “I can take care of Annie if you want,” you said softly. “Just go inside and get some rest, maybe.”

He nodded and gave you a small, weak smile. “Thanks, darlin’.” He paused, glancing away before his soft eyes met yours again. “I’m sorry for…for being…”

“It’s okay,” you said, “but can we talk about it when I get inside?”

“Of course.” He gave you a quick kiss before climbing out of the truck. You sighed to yourself and got out as well. 

For a moment, you watched as Wilbur walked up to the house. You then turned to open the door of the horse trailer. Once you did, Annie looked at you curiously. “Hey, girl,” you said softly. “Time to get you home.” You approached her and slipped her halter over her head so that you could lead her into the stall. She nearly ran you over as you led her out of the trailer, so happy to not be cooped up anymore. 

She was a good horse. Caramel-colored, built sturdy, with a small, white spot on her nose. Wilbur had rescued her from a horse sale. She was so scrawny back then, a poor, mistreated thing. I’m gonna make her into a prize-winning barrel horse, he’d said. Everyone thought he was crazy trying to turn such a wild mare into a champion, but he managed to do it. Annie had become the sweetest horse around, with endless amounts of energy. The perfect horse for Wilbur.

You opened the gate to her stall and tucked her inside. You removed her halter, checked her water and her hay, gave her a few pats, and left the barn. Wilbur had a few horses, Annie and two others that he was training up to sell for a profit. After rescuing Annie, he’d decided to do the same for more horses, giving them better lives and then selling them to good homes. He’d promised that after those two were sold, he would buy you a horse of your own. Something sturdy. Good for trail rides, he told you. He’d been begging you to go trail riding with him, and you were more than excited for it. In the meantime, you just had to figure out what was bothering him.

You walked up to the house, coming in the back door. The ranch house was relatively small, cozy in a rustic sort of way. Wilbur had inherited it from some uncle of his who passed away, and there were still vintage photos and artwork on the walls. The kitchen cabinets were worn and faded, and the furniture had been in terrible shape until Wilbur saved up to replace it. The back door led into the kitchen, and from there, you could walk down the hallway, past the living room and to the bedroom.

When you entered the bedroom, Wilbur was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was still dressed in his rodeo gear. He looked up at you, and this time, his smile was less forced. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey you.” You sat down beside him. “Annie is settled in the barn.”

“Did you double-check the gate latch?” he asked, “Because you know that thing doesn’t close—-”

“I checked it,” you said. “It’s all good.” You gently took his hand. “Now what’s wrong?”

He looked down at the floor, unable to meet your eyes. “...I don’t think I…no, I know I don’t want to go to nationals.”

You couldn’t hide the surprised expression on your face. “I…what? But you’ve been working at this for years.”

“I know,” he said. “I…I get that you’re probably confused. I just…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of it. It’s not fun. It all feels like a chore. And these past few months, I feel like all I’ve done is run barrel patterns again and again and again. I’m just so tired of it. It’s not worth it anymore.” He sighed. “And I don’t want to travel around, going to rodeos. I want to just stay here on the ranch with you rather than dragging you everywhere.”

“I never minded it,” you said. “I don’t feel like I’m being dragged.” You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch. “But, Wil, if you’re done with racing, I support you. I may not understand fully, but I support it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me put it this way,” he said slowly. “I’ve found something else I want to do.” 

That made you perk up a little. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He immediately seemed a little happier, a little more himself. “Do you remember when I bought Annie from the horse sale, and she was all…you know. Not in good shape?”

“Of course I do,” you said. “You were so excited to train her up.”

“And I did,” he said. “And I…loved doing that. Rescuing a horse, giving her a better life, and training her up.” He smiled, more to himself than anything else. “I want to keep doing it. Keep buying horses out of shitty situations, training them up, and selling them to good homes. It makes me some money, but it also saves these horses from potentially being put down and gives them something to do, you know?”

You smiled softly at that. “You did really like training Annie. And she’s a fantastic horse now.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I think it’s a good plan.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you, his expression somewhat worried. “What if…I don’t know. What if I’m not good at it?”

You laughed softly, bringing another smile to his lips. “I’ve seen you train horses, Wil. You were raised training horses. You’re good at it. And I think you’ll be really happy doing that. Plus, I think it’d stress you out a lot less than barrel racing.”

He let out a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true.” He gave you a kiss on the forehead. “So you’re alright with it? Me shifting gears like that?”

“I’m more than happy with it,” you said. “I’m proud of you, Wil. You’ve worked hard, you’ve done good. You deserve to choose whatever path forward you want.”

He smiled at that. “Thank you, hun. Nobody supports me quite like you do.” He paused, and then a small smirk came to his face. “You know…I did just win the state championship today…”

“Oh? Does my cowboy want a reward?” you asked teasingly. You figured earlier that he’d eventually say something of the sort. You teasingly flicked the brim of his hat, nearly knocking it off his head. 

“I think he deserves one, wouldn’t you say?” Wilbur grinned, and just like that, he was back to the Wilbur that you knew, the Wilbur you fell in love with. Cocky, teasing, sarcastic, but simultaneously as soft as they came. 

“Maybe he’ll get a reward,” you said. You gently took off his hat, holding it in your hand as you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling your faces close together. “If he asks nicely.”

Wilbur shrugged. “Seems to be a fair tradeoff.” He gave you a quick kiss. “So, darlin’, would you please give a reward to this poor, lonesome cowboy?”

You laughed. “I would hardly call you poor or lonesome.” 

“I would be without you,” he said. 

“Well, thankfully this ‘poor, lonesome cowboy’ asked very nicely,” you said. You gently took Wilbur’s hat off his head and set it on the bedside table. “So yeah, I think I’ve got a reward or two to spare.”

“Then he’s very lucky,” Wilbur said. He pressed his lips to yours, and you immediately reciprocated. His hand rested on your lower back before pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your other arm around his neck, one of your hands playing with his messy curls. His hands both went to your waist, pulling you close against him. It was as if no amount of closeness would be enough, like he needed your bodies to melt into one in order for him to come anywhere near satisfaction.

His tongue met yours, and you let out a soft hum as he continued to kiss you. His hands on your waist were gentle: firm, but soft. You could easily get away if you wanted to (but of course, that was the last thing on your mind). You cupped his cheeks, gentle fingers resting upon his skin. His lips were soft, gently touching yours. Even with tongue, the kiss was lazy and soft, more a tender meeting than a passionate one. 

He sighed between kisses, pulling away just slightly to get some air. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Just wanted you to know.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “I know. And I love you too.” Your lips met again, this time somewhat more desperate. You heard Wilbur hum softly against your lips as you kissed, a sound almost like a moan. He was often vocal in softer moments like this one, which you loved every time. 

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, and you held back a gasp. He pulled away once again. “Can I take this off?” he asked, brown eyes looking at you in the warm lighting of the bedroom.

“Please.” Your hands reached for the hem of your shirt as soon as he did, and you helped him pull it over your head. His lips immediately went to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the length of it. His lips went to your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he could easily reach. Your hands went back to his hair, running through his curls as you let out soft sighs and moans. You couldn’t help but start to rock your hips against him, grinding against his lap, to which he responded with a quiet laugh.

“Not very patient, are you?” he asked teasingly. 

“Not tonight, no.” You reached for the bandana tied around his neck and untied it before tossing it aside. “That's okay with you?”

“I’m definitely not complaining,” he said. His fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, an elaborate western shirt with fringe and embroidery. He had complained about having to wear flashy rodeo gear. You, on the other hand, were a big fan of it. 

It didn’t take long for you both to get his shirt off, then his undershirt. His belt went next, although you had some trouble getting it off considering how shaky your fingers had become. There was eagerness and excitement flooding through you, knowing what was to come. You unbuttoned his jeans as he unbuttoned yours, and without much more thought given to it, you stripped yourself of them. 

He gazed at you, eyes wandering your body. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. Many people in these parts were religious. Wilbur had never been that way. Why would I worship a god, he’d said, if I could worship you instead?

It seemed that the same thought was running through his head. His hands gently ran down your sides as he gazed lovingly at you. “Let me get you ready,” he murmured as he kissed your jaw. You nodded wordlessly, at a loss for what to say. He didn’t seem to mind, easing you onto your back and pulling down your underwear by the waistband until it was discarded on the floor along with the rest of your clothing.  

He kissed his way down your body, taking extra time with your chest and the insides of your thighs. You squirmed a little, frustrated by the tease, but he held you down gently with his hands on your hips. It only took him another few seconds to bring his tongue to your folds, licking and kissing the sensitive skin.

You moaned, lips sealed shut to try and prevent the sound from escaping. After a few more attempts to quiet yourself, you gave up and let yourself go. Wilbur became even more enthusiastic after that. His hand found yours, and he held it gently in his hand as he continued with his mouth. He alternated between licking your folds and teasing your entrance with his tongue to lightly circling your clit. Your free hand gripped the sheets. Wilbur moaned against you, and the vibration sent tingles up your spine. 

“Feels so good, Wil,” you said, panting. “Keep going.” Your hand got a small squeeze in response, a signal that he definitely wasn’t stopping anytime soon. He spent some more time kissing and licking near your entrance before finally focusing in on your clit.

He licked it a few times, light and teasing, before properly sucking on the skin. You cried out, hips twitching against his face. You thought you heard him chuckle, felt the vibration of it against your skin, but you weren’t sure. Your mind was too foggy, too lost in pleasure to fully process anything he said.

His movements got more eager, more rough. Before long, you were gasping, back slightly arched, gripping his hand tight in one hand and the sheets in the other. You murmured an incoherent string of pleas before finally climaxing, letting out a few moans and small cries as Wilbur slowed his movements to a stop. 

He kissed the insides of your thighs and let go of your hand. He got out from between your legs, opting instead to lay beside you and pepper your face and neck in kisses as you came back to reality. 

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked. His voice was hardly above a whisper and honey-sweet. 

You smiled, cupping his cheek before giving him a soft kiss. “Perfect,” you said. “Now grab a condom before I get impatient again.”

He laughed and kissed the tip of your nose before complying, rolling to the other side of the bed, opening a bedside drawer, and grabbing one. He tugged his boxers off, revealing how hard he was. You watched with thinly veiled eagerness as he rolled the condom on. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?” he teased.

You shrugged. “My mother also told me not to date cowboys, so I’m not on a great track record when it comes to following her orders.”

Wilbur smiled. “Clearly I was right earlier when I said I was lucky.”

“That makes two of us.” You kissed him again. “Alright, lean against the headboard a little.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You takin’ charge tonight, sweetheart?” 

“If it’s alright with you,” you said. “You’ve been working hard. The least I can do is help out a bit.” You winked, and he chuckled in response.

“Again, I’m not complaining.” He leaned against the headboard as you got on top of him, straddling him. You watched his face as you sunk down onto him—-the way his breath hitched, his mouth fell slightly open, and his eyes closed. “Jesus…”

You giggled, leaned down to give him a kiss, and started to move. At first, your hips lazily moved back and forth against him. His hands rested on your hips, gently guiding your motions. You reveled in the way he looked at you. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes unfocused. You couldn’t resist leaning forward briefly to give him a quick kiss before starting to move again. 

You moved in small circles on top of him. One of Wilbur’s hands moved up to your waist, and he lazily smiled up at you. His smile quickly turned to an open-mouthed moan as you started to move up and down, slow and almost teasing.

His hand slid back down to your hips before sliding it between your legs and rubbing your clit. It took everything in you to keep moving despite the stimulation. You made a few clumsier movements as you tried to keep yourself upright. Wilbur chuckled at your predicament. “Too much, sweet thing?” 

You shook your head rapidly. Truth be told, you felt dizzy. The combination of Wilbur’s cock filling you repeatedly as you moved up and down and his fingers on your clit had you seeing stars. You looked down at him through half-lidded eyes and kept moving despite the fact that the muscles in your legs were starting to complain.

Your attempts to keep going faltered more as time went on and your muscles grew more and more tired. Wilbur kept rubbing your clit, circling it with his fingers. You were getting closer, but you could tell that Wilbur was having trouble getting there. You attempted to keep going, and gasped loudly when Wilbur thrust up into you.

“Let me help, darlin’,” he said between soft pants. He started thrusting up against your movements, keeping you going as he got you off. 

That was all it took for you to finish. You kept moving clumsily as Wilbur’s fingers continued to work magic on your clit, helping to prolong your orgasm. You were vaguely aware of how loud you were moaning, but it was the last thing on your mind. All you could think about was the shivers going up your spine, the overwhelming feeling in your core, his fingers, his cock…

You realized quickly that you had practically slowed to a stop. Before you could start moving again, you felt his hand wrap around your back. Your world tilted as he flipped your positions effortlessly. It always surprised you how strong he was: a side effect of growing up on a ranch and doing hard labor, you supposed.

You let out a breathless giggle, and so did he. He immediately started moving again, trying to finish himself off. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your legs wrapped around his back. His breathing was heavy, and it only took him a few thrusts before he finished too. His hips stuttered, and you felt him twitch inside you. He groaned softly, burying his face in your neck. You rested your hand on the back of his head, gently combing through his hair as he settled against you, gasping softly.

For a few moments, you laid there, Wilbur resting against you. You played with his hair, and he kissed your neck softly. You could hear the quiet sounds of the crickets chirping outside and the whisper of Wilbur’s breathing. “I love you,” you murmured.

He kissed your jaw again. “I love you too.” He sighed softly before forcing himself to pull out. You let go of him as he moved away to pull off the condom and toss it in the bedside trash can. Before you could miss his absence, he was back by your side, pulling you gently against him. 

You laid your head on his chest, and he rested an arm across your shoulders. You felt his lips kiss the top of your head. “Alright, lovely?” he asked.

“More than alright.” You snuggled closer and closed your eyes. “You?”

“I mean…it’s been a pretty damn good day for me,” he said. “And, um…” He paused, and you opened your eyes to look up at his face. “Thank you for everything. Being supportive all this time. It means the world to me.”

“Of course,” you replied. He leaned down and kissed you, and when you parted, he was smiling softly at you.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “I’m yours, you know that?” 

“I know.” You laid your head back down. “And I’m yours.”

“Forever?”

You smiled and closed your eyes as he kissed your forehead again. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I could do forever.”