#how to celebrate international women's day

[fortunekookie07]

X amount of time ago, I got my first request for a story. I am still over the moon about that. And being that Xavier's new memories just dropped, I chose him per requesters prompt.

Potatosugar this one is for you

Moment Forever Lost

Rafayel, just thinking or hearing his name sent butterflies coursing through your stomach. Your best friend, the person you felt closest to in the world. The one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Rafayel, the one existence in this world you felt you could never reach. Not after she entered the picture. How many plans had been rearranged, canceled, or simply forgotten because for Rafayel, she always came first.

When Rafayel told you that she was the one who had rescued him as a kid, and then confided in you that I'm that moment he fell in love with her. Your heart shattered into a million pieces.

After all, how could you compete with that? She was a hero to Rafayel, and he was smitten. The first time you met her you wanted to abandon all hope. She was beautiful.

Perfect, straight, long dark brown hair. A small frame and delicate features. It was like fate had created a perfect girl and then sent her your way to destroy the future you'd wanted.

You had begun to war with yourself internally. Half of you instantly hated her for stealing your place. The spot next to Rafayel had belonged to you. You'd been the one friend who stuck by him since middle school. Rafayel's personality was a bit off putting to most people after all. Even she had found his manners a bit extreme.

The other half of you actually liked her. She was nice, friendly, and very likeable. Her smile alone put anyone at ease. Then there was her talents. As a Deepspace Hunter, her skills were unrivaled amongst her graduating class. She had been named the best and she'd gotten to join the Unicorns Team that took on the most dangerous missions. It was no wonder that Rafayel was smitten with her.

You constantly compared yourself to her. Frustration rising whenever you thought about the goal you once had. Your Evol had never really developed. Making the ground shake around you would not benefit you or your partner at all. Often times you couldn't even control it. Whenever your emotions got out of hand so would your Evol. It drove you crazy to see someone else living your dream.

You hated yourself for having such negative thoughts about someone so kind. She ha never once been cruel to you. Even if she constantly seemed to but in whenever you were spending time with Rafayel.

*******************************************************

Today was your birthday, twenty four years old now. The same age as Rafayel. By a few months, as he constantly reminded you. Proud of being the older, and therefore wiser one.

Rafayel had insisted on going out to celebrate. He'd wanted to take you to his favorite restraint. It was high class and typically only catered to famous individuals and top notch business men and women. It wasn't unusual to see this place booked out for some high tech companies meeting.

Rafayel had persuaded you to come here. He wanted to make you feel important. Not just to him, but for yourself. He wanted to make this a day to remember. He had reserved a table with a fantastic view of the city below and gotten you a beautiful dress to wear.

The color was a deep, dark blue. A sheer outer skirt of intricate lace. The lace went all over the dress and the sleeves. Fitting your figure perfectly. Complimenting all of your best features.

You arrive at the restaurant and walk to the maitre'D. "Reservation for two. Under Rafayel, has he arrived yet?" You ask with a smile. The man looked down at the tablet in front oh him, scanning the list of reservations for the night.

"I'm sorry miss, I don't have any reservations for Mr. Rafayel tonight". The man looked apologetic as he relayed the news. "Oh maybe he made the reservation under my name"? You say with a question and rattle off your own name. The man shakes his head again. "No miss, no reservations under you either". You felt your heart sunk as you stepped away from his podium.

You fish your phone out of the small hand bag you'd brought and immediately call Rafayel. It goes straight to voicemail so you leave a message. "Rafayel, I'm here at the restaurant but they don't have a reservation for us. I'll just wait for you. See you in a few". After hanging up you go to sit on the cushy bench just outside the entrance doors.

Five minutes goes by and you check your phone anxiously. Nothing, no calls or texts. You tuck your phone back into the bag. Couples drift by you once in a while. Some of them glance at you curiously as they walk inside.

Fifteen minutes go by and Rafayel has still not appeared. A sinking feeling in your stomach knots your insides up. This is not the first time you've been stood up, but like a puppy everytime he calls your name you go running back. A burn in the corners of your eyes start as you desperately try not to cry.

You pull your phone out again and call Rafayel once more. It still goes straight to voice mail. "Rafayel where are you? You are coming right? I'm still here waiting for you". Your voice cracks a bit at the end before you finally manage to stave off your tears.

Still wanting to belive that he would not ditch you on your birthday, you continue waiting. Perched on the seat, hoping, just praying, that Rafayel will suddenly appear. Hair disheveled from running and face apologetic, but it doesn't.

For forty-five minutes you sit on that bench and wait. When some of the people who'd gone in for dinner are now coming out you stand up, shame burning your face red. The looks on their faces clearly peg you as having had your date ditch you. You can't take being judged by people you don't even know and run off. The tears have broken free and are streaming down your face.

You don't know or care where you are going at the moment. Just away from there. You stop running after you stumble and realize you've made it to the edge of the downtown area. The restaurant is some thirty blocks behind you. Thankfully it isn't too late and this is a well traveled area. You're able to get a taxi.

Your phone rings as the taxi pulls up in front of your apartment. Rafayel's name and picture flashing on the screen. You send the call to voice mail and pay the driver.

As you're unlocking your door your phone starts ringing again. Rafayel's name and picture showing up once more. In anger you just turn your phone straight off and stuff it into the bottom of your bag. A voice speaks behind you.

"Wow, are you so against taking my call that your abusing your phone too"? That haughty tone can only belong to one person. Rafayel.

You turn and pin him with your angriest glare. "I don't even want to see you right now, much less hear your voice." You spit, hurling all the venom you can muster with your pain and humiliation.

He reaches out to take your hand and you're quick to slap it away. You hide the wince at the loud sound if the smack and the stinging on your palm. His arm is still held out towards you. The back of his hand red with the marks of your fingers.

Tears gather in the corners of your eyes again. "I get that I am not first in your life and that I never will be, but how could you stand me up on my birthday with plans that YOU made"? You ask not looking at him as your voice cracks. He moves in closer and forces you to look at him.

"You are important to me, you're my best friend. I am so sorry about tonight...". You cut him off placing your hand over his mouth before he can say her name. "I don't want to hear it Rafayel, don't say her name. Especially right now". You feel like your soul will shatter if he utters her name now.

He brushes your tears away one handed and you finally realize he's been holding his other arm behind his back. Before you can ask he's drawing his arm from behind his back and presents you with a bouquet. The fragrance hits you before your mind can register what you are seeing.

In his hands is a dozen of the largest white chrysanthemums you have ever seen. The bloom easily bigger than his hand. You didn't even know the flower could get this big. You close your eyes breathing in the scent of your favorite flower.

"I am sorry, this couldn't be avoided. It was an emergency. Let me make it up to you tomorrow. It's the first day of the lantern festival. Let me take you". You look at him in surprise. It was a well known fact that Rafayel hated crowds, for anything. It was one of the reasons why he so often skipped out on his painting exhibits. He didn't care for all the noise either. You'd never been able to get him to go to one before.

"R-really"?!? You ask hardly believing your ears as your heart soars. He nods before replying. "Really, let me take you". You hug him tightly in response. The ruined birthday all but forgotten now.

"I'll pick you up at 6:30 tomorrow". He says when you finally let go. "See you romorrow"! You tell him excitedly before going inside.

Once in the kitchen you search for your flower vases. Finding the perfect one that can hold such a large bouquet, you fill it with water and csrefully place them in it.

You take a deep whiff of the flowers before heading to your bedroom. As you get your pj's on you feel a sense of dread, like something bad is going to happen real soon. You squash it down and force yourself to sleep.

The following day can't pass fast enough. All day long you are distracted, even you co workers notice that you aren't getting much done. Seeing as you are usually zipping through your work it isn't hard to notice.

Finally the end of the work day has come. You excitedly clean up your desk and shut your computer down. Being an office consultant had its drawbacks but the job was easy and the pay was good. Even if it was boring sometimes. It was the safe and stable direction your parents had encouraged you to take after failing to qualify for the Hunter's Association.

After you got home you were quick to jump in the shower and freshen up. You only had an hour before Rafayel would be knocking at the door.

You decide to wear easy to move in clothes. A white dress and sandals with no heel. The dress is simple and cute. Having a halter style top and a point cut skirt that swishes while you walk.

Just as you finish tying your hair into place the doorbell rings. You grab your phone, keys, and wallet then slip them into your small off white knit bag and run towards the door.

Rafayel smiles in the other side and draws you into a hug. "You're right on time"! You say brightly closing thr door behind you after locking it. Rafayel casually takes your hand as he's done many times before and you start walking.

He asks you what you want to do first when the first lights appear just ahead of you. "Let's walk around the stalls and play some games"! You say just as a familiar figure comes into view. Your blood freezes as you recognize her.

You turn and look sharply at Rafayel and stop short. He tries to mask his expression and you can stop the look of betrayal on your face. You jerk your hand out of his. "Did you invite her to come with us"?!? You ask your eyes darting back and forth across his face searching for a denial.

She quickly interjects. "Rafayel didn't invite me. He told me he was going and I decided to come too. I didn't know I was interrupting a date". She says holding her hands up to calm you down. Her face is genuinely sorry and guilt is written all over her face.

"If it makes you feel better I'm meeting up with someone too. I though we could walk around as a threesome. But we can make that pairs. He's my partner from work. His name is Xavier, he's a good guy. Easy to get along with. You might like him". She says with a bashful smile.

Oh, OH there's that look on her face. You recognize it as you'd worn that same expression whenever you thought about Rafayel before. You glance at the man in question. His face is tight and there is a forced smile on his lips.

"There he is now! Xavier"! She calls waving wildly to someone coming up behind you. Turning you see a tall man with ash blond hair and a pair of the deepest blue eyes you've ever seen. "This is Rafayel and his friend". She introduces the two of you to him. He nods and looks you over before nodding with a small smile. "I'm Xavier, nice to met you". He says going to stand beside her.

This man radiates calmness but you can feel a dangerous aura lurking beneath that. As well as a fierce protectiveness for the small woman beside him. She grabs your hand and tugs you into the bustling crowd ahead. "Come on, or were going to miss all the fun"! Her excitement is contagious and your earlier anger had completely disappeared.

It seemed for once that Rafayel had not interjected her into your plans. That happiness was short lived when you noticed he kept paying attention to Xavier and suggesting that he play this and that game with her. Alot of the time she agreed, sometimes she would decline and play with Xavier. Most of the time she would play twice with both of them.

You were beginning to feel like a third wheel and regretting ever having come to this festival. Rafayel was hardly doing any of the activities with you and it stung sharply. Wasn't this supposed to be his apology for ditching you on your birthday?

Finally you could stand it no more and you stopped walking. The only one to notice was Xavier he looked back at you and asked "Are you ok"? You shook your head. "I'm not feeling well, I'm going home". You turned and walked straight back the way you'd come. Ignoring the protests from everyone coming this way and them telling you, you were going the wrong way.

It seemed like it took forever but finally you made it back to the entrance of the festival and you sat down. The tears came again. You just couldn't understand how and why you were so ignored by Rafayel. Your jealousy burned as every scene played back in your head. Rafayel had only played a few games with you and every time had been when she hadn't wanted dtonolaybwith him first. It had only been then, once she'd rejected that he would ask you like a second choice.

Once again you found yourself completely distraught for the second time, for the same man in only two days.

You walked home alone. Mood completely sour and expression dark. Fishing your keys out as you stood in front of your door you noticed your phone. Unlocking it you were unsurprised to find that there were no messages. Either Rafayel hadn't noticed you were gone yet, or he just didn't care. You shut it off and opened the door. Silence greeted you, just as it always did.

"I'm tired of being alone". You say out loud to no one. "I don't want to be in love with someone who doesn't even see me anymore". You cry sinking to the floor and sobbing again. You don't know how long you sit with your back to the front door crying. Your thoughts are jarred when the doorbell rings. You say nothing and listen. The bell goes off again two and then three more times.

Rafayel's soft voice comes from the other side. "Why did you leave without saying anything to me? Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick in the first place. I was worried". He says and the concern in his tone irritates you. You stand up and yank the door open.

"Were you actually worried? How long did it even take you to notice I was gone??? Did you even look for me? Why did you ignore me almost the entire time I was there? Am I just a doormat to you? Am I supposed to act grateful any time you decide to toss me even a SECOND of your precious time"? You hurl all your pent up frustrations at him as more tears slip down your face.

Rafayel frowns and you can see him getting angry but you cut him off. "I'm tired Rafayel, I'm not a puppy that will keep running back to you every time you call my name. I will not be grateful just because you remember that I exist. I can't do this anymore. Loving you hurts to much and I just can't take it. It's killing me inside". You try to wipe your tears away.

"I never asked you to love me. I told you she was important to me a long time ago. It was your stupid choice to fall in love with me knowing all that". He spots back at you angry now. Not since your days in middle school when you first met has Rafayel spoken to you this way.

"You think she'll come to love you back?!? Open your eyes and look you stupid ass! She's in love with someone else too! She won't choose you"! You slam the door in his face before he can respond and run to your room and throw yourself into your bed. You sob yourself to sleep and wish that you had never met Rafayel. He's finally driven you into that dark place you'd tried so hard to avoid.

In the days that pass you feel numb to the world. Two weeks have gone by and not a single message or call from him. Not that you were expecting any or wanted any. The last message was from him and one of the silly stickers he liked to use.

If your heart wasn't broken and you weren't trying to recover from the severe emotional beating you'd taken, you might care that your phone was so silent for the first time that you could remember.

Several times you'd opened your contacts and went to trash all his messages and then block and delete his number all together. You just couldn't bring yourself to do it yet. Maybe in a few more days. You kept telling yourself that over and over again. You were caught in this vicious cycle. Wanting to move on and finally free yourself from him altogether and being unable to do just that.

You had adjusted to your life without Rafayel in it. A few times you'd seen his writing a message bubble pop up in your conversations but he never sent anything. You still didn't care.

Two months had gone by and nothing. Once Thomas had reached out to you asking why you hadn't been to the gallery recently but you didn't answer that message either. Under different circumstances you might have felt guilty leaving him on read.

After work that day you decided to change your pace for the first time in weeks. You went to the coffee shop you used to frequent. The Cafe style had always been cute to you and the chairs were so comfortable. Just as you put your hand on the door you noticed a familiar figure in your favorite chair.

Rafayel was slouched in the chair, completely unlike him. His wavy purple hair was messy and ot looked like he was neglecting his sleep. Badly at that, if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by. His head was perched on his hand and he was tapping the arm of the chair.

As if sensing your gaze he looked up. His eyes went wide and he immediately stood up and took a step in your direction. You let go of the door handle and stepped back blending into the people walking as you hurriedly left. The moment your eyes met you felt a twinge in your heart. You weren't ready to see him again.

The next day at work your mood was positively black, as if a heavy thunderstorm was hanging over your head. Everyone steered clear of you. Only coming to speak to you when absolutely necessary.

The day passed by slowly and you paid little attention to anything around you. By the time you noticed that it was quiet everyone had already gone home. You packed your things up slowly and were getting ready to leave when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. There was a strange energy in the room and your senses screamed danger at you.

Just then a strange screech echoed in the room and something hit you out of nowhere. You flew up into the air and across the room just as alarm bells went off in the building. Metaflux! Your alarmed brain screamed at you through the pain as you were crumpled on the floor where you'd fallen. A Wanderer was inside the room with you and you had no way to defend yourself.

Sheer panic overtook you ss you lifted your head and looked behind you at the horrible monster bearing down at you. That was when the tremors started and you screamed as it's blade bore down on you.

Just as it was about to strike you a gunshot rang out. The monster was knocked sideways and it's blade swung off course. Cutting the desk in two, instead of you. The creature screeched as a flaming dagger sunk into its arm. Rafayel had showed you his Evol many times before. You knew that dagger even at a glance.

The screen around you changed suddenly and then you weren't in your office building. "Protofield"! A female voice called out. Finally you could see Rafayel and her. He called your name and tried to come to you but was held back by the group of Wanderers.

"Just stay put we'll rescue you"! She called tone serious. You couldn't exactly move. Pain and fear had you rooted to the ground. You'd read about protofields before but lacking the skills, you'd never been in one.

Gunshots, screeches, grunts, and communication between the pair sounded all around as they fought the Wanderers off. Just as quickly as it had appeared the protofield vanished. The last Wanderer seeming to have been destroyed.

The two made their way over to you, picking across the damaged desks and scattered paper. Rafayel knelt next to you. Assessing your injuries as she made a call on her watch. Relaying the situation back to the Association as well as medical support.

You hadn't realized it yet, but your breaths were coming in short gasps and you were starting to feel dizzy.

That was when the floor started shaking again. This time the tremors were violent. Rafayel glanced around as he stood up trying to hold his footing. "Earthquake"? He asked glancing at he watch. She shook her head as Rafayel looked around some more.

Only you realized where the tremors were coming from. You'd never told Rafayel you had any Evol at all. He'd believed you when you said you were born without one and had never developed one after the Wanderers first appeared.

The shaking got worse and cracks appeared in the windows as it seemed like the whole building was moving. "Danger"! You managed to gasp out feeling like your energy was being sucked out of your body. You lay on the ground feeling dizzy and nauseous. The windows busted out, sending glass straight to the ground ten floors below.

Rafayel took as step towards you just as a violent shudder went through the building and the floor gave way beneath you. Then you were falling. You tried to scream as you fell. Above you Rafayel was falling too. Seeming to have jumped through the hole after you. Groaning metal and breaking glass was all that you could hear before you blacked out and then silence. Nothing but silence.

*******************************************************

Three months later

Rafayel sat at your bedside. He was usually here at this time of day. It was part of his routine now. He'd gotten used to the beeps of the machines in your hospital room. He'd thought back again and again. The Dr's had determined the earthquake like tremors had come from you. When you had panicked your body's natural instinct to protect itself forced your Evol out of control.

The result had collapsed the building you'd worked in. Thankfully everyone else had gone home for the day. His injuries were nothing compared to yours. Bumps, scrapes, and bruises. He hadn't even needed to be checked into the hospital.

You on the other hand, the list was long and scary. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, skull fractures, a dislocated arm, broken leg, the list went on. He had tried not to read all of it.

The Dr's had treated all your physical injuries and you'd had to under go three different surgeries. The skull fractures had caused the most concern for them. A concussion was the least of your problems.

Right now you were comatose. Your body had shut down all necessary functions to try and repair the damage. The extent of damage to your head had been undetermined as long as you remained asleep.

Rafayel looked at you again, glad most of the bandages were gone now. Beeing wrapped in gauze nearly from head to toe was hard to look at. He took your hand again, careful not to disturb the IV.

"Hurry and wake up, I'll even let you yell at me. I don't mind anymore. You can be mad all you want. Just don't sleep anymore. Please". His voice was a weak whisper as he rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand.

For the first time your hand twitched in his and he looked up sharply at your face. He called your name and the heart monitor picked up your increased hear rate immediately.

He waited anxiously with baited breath and then after what seemed like hours your eyes fluttered open. He leaned over and pressed the call button on your bed after informing the nurse you were awake he turned his attention back to you.

"I'm sorry for everything that happened. You were right. I acted like a jerk, and I didn't treat you very well. I knew for a while that my feelings wouldn't be returned. It's not like she didn't tell me about Xavier before. I just didn't want to listen. If you'll just forgive me, I don't need anything else. " Rafayel said in a rush. Spewing everything out that had crossed his mind in the last three months.

Confusion had knit your brows together. You were looking at him with an odd expression. The door opened as the Dr came in just as you started speaking in a raspy voice. Your words had his heart sinking to the floor.

"Who are you?"

****************************************************

Uwahhhhhh I just realized how long this was editing and proofreading 😵‍💫😵‍💫

I really do torture myself, but then again, short stories aren't very common for me. Oh, well.

I do hope you liked this one. It's a no happy end one. Unless you want to pick it up from my ending and make it happy.

[nifflering]

Six the musical costumes save me

Save me

some examples

[dynamicsofapodcast]

Happy International Women's Day! 😉😁🥰

[imbananasfordananas]

I am like other girls.

I like Taylor Swift. I like thrifting. I like a little treat. I like painting my nails. I like decorating my house. I like putting stickers on my emotional support water bottle. I justify things with girl math. I like crafts. I like sewing.

I am just like all the other girls. And what a way to be.

[weasleyreidstyles]

on a night like tonight

wrote this for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge using the dialogue prompt!! just a fluffy (debatable) one shot for my favourite slytherin boy🫠🫠🫠

prompt 2: "are you speaking parceltongue or am i really drunk?"

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!slytherin reader (although its not that important to the one shot, honestly)

warning(s): slightly suggestive (towards the end), alcohol consumption

~∞~ i love writing for mattheo😫 idk how i feel about this one but i enjoyed writing either way lol. and yes i titled this after a niall song (im still not over the fact that i saw him in the flesh like a whole week ago!??!?!) also happy international women's day to all of you sexy, beautiful women xxxx

The Slytherin common room was ripe with activity. The Quidditch team had beaten Gryffindor by an utter landslide (250-110), so it was only appropriate for them to throw a huge party to celebrate. The team were in the middle of the room, surrounded by their most loyal band of lovestruck followers, as they drowned in all sorts of alcoholic beverages.

Spheres of magical light littered the high ceiling, glittering like stars and creating an eerily green glow as they reflected off of the murky waters of the Black Lake. The seating areas had been cleared, and in place was a makeshift dancefloor of sorts, filled to the brim with students dancing, singing and laughing to whatever music was playing on a stereo that Blaise had brought in from his Ravenclaw friends.

You were stood against a wall beside Pansy, who was busy glaring at the girl who had draped herself against Theo's arm as he laughed heartily at something Enzo had said. Your best friend was seething with jealousy, but she was far too stubborn to do anything about her feelings for your Italian friend.

The two of them had been dancing around their feelings for months; it was downright infuriating.

"I don't understand why you won't do something about it, Pans!" You say to her loudly, so that your voice could be heard over the earshattering bass music. "I'm getting sick of the back and forth between the two of you!"

Pansy finally takes her eyes off of the floppy haired brunette, who is now whispering in the ear of the girl, with a suggestive smirk on his face. "I'd say the same for you." She scoffs and you turn to her with furrowed brows.

"Oh don't act dumb." Pansy says with a laugh as she turns towards you fully, the drink in her hand sloshing over the rim of the cup as she does. "I see the way you look at Matt. You're very obvious. Both of you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You say reluctantly, taking a lengthy sip of your firewhiskey to avoid her knowing look.

Had your affections for your friend really been so blatant?

And did he really return them?

You turn towards the middle of the room and the liquid in your cup is suddenly drained to empty as you watch Mattheo dance closely behind a pretty Hufflepuff girl.

You and Pansy return to your mutual solitude, letting your friends revel in their win against their greatest rival, while simultaneously becoming more and more drunk, the more you watch as Theo and Mattheo obliviously break your hearts some more.

~∞~

It's much later into the night, and the party has not died down. In fact, it only seems to have gotten busier as more and more people from the other houses joined in on the debauchery.

You are so drunk. Practically stumbling along behind Pansy as she drags you to and from the dance floor to get more drinks. The two of you are dancing on each other, her hips grinding against your's to the beat of the music as you both giggle tipsily. You're unaware of your surroundings and have surely pissed off many other partiers with your drunken moves. But it doesn't bother either of you, content to enjoy each other's company, until there is a presence behind you that has Pansy smirking cheekily at you.

You narrow your eyes at her, vision hazy as you feel hands cradle your waist, almost possessively. Looking up, you come face to face with the underside of Mattheo's sharp jaw as he says something to Pansy that you don't comprehend. Whatever he says has her disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to his mercy.

"Hello, Princess." He mumbles lowly, mouth brushing against the soft shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down the length of your spine.

"Matty! Hi." You say, voice slightly slurred and you grimace at how drunk you sound. He only smirks before he's gently spinning you to face him.

"Haven't seen you since the start of the match. 'S been ages." He replies, voice raspy from how much he'd shouted and cheered during and after the match.

"It's not been that long." You say with a teasing smile as you take in his appearance. In place of the emerald quidditch robes he'd been sporting that afternoon, he's wearing a dark, black t-shirt which stretches tightly across his torso, emphasising his Beater physique and a pair of dark trousers drapes over strong legs. Your observation is slow and purposeful and the smirk on his face widens even further as you admire him more openly then you ever have before.

He's chuckling to himself and then says something that you can barely hear over the loud music that reverberates through the room. But the cadence of his voice and the way they almost seem to have been hissed out in a way you do not understand, makes you tilt your head to the side as he smiles.

"What did you just say?" You ask him, or rather shout so that he can hear you. He copies you with a tilt of his head as he looks down at you with his captivating onyx eyes.

He repeats it again, his hands tightening against your waist when you stumble slightly as someone jostles you in an attempt to get past, smirking when your face scrunches in confusion.

"Are you speaking parceltongue or am i really drunk?" You ask, your hands coming to rest against his firm chest when you were pushed into him.

"Gods, Princess. How much have you had to drink?" He asks with gleaming eyes. It's the mischief in them that has you opening your mouth in feined outrage.

"You were speaking parceltongue!" You accuse and he lets out a laugh as you lightly whack his chest. "What did you say!?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" He replies, his face leaning closer to your's. You can smell the alcohol on his hot breath, mingling with your own and you can feel every breath he takes as it fans across your face.

"Because I'm your best friend?" You say with a smirk as you unconsciously wrap your arms around his neck, leaning on your tip toes slightly so that you can be at eye level with him. The move has your hips brushing against his. You swear his eyes darken as you do.

"Theo's my best friend." He says in a tone of faux obviousness, mischief laced in his rough voice.

"But I'm your favourite, right? If you admit it, I promise that Teddy will never know. It can be our little secret, Matty." You tease and he's laughing again, before he says something else in that strange, reptilian voice, eyes flicking from you eyes to your lips.

You've always been my favourite, darling.

The ways his eyes sparkle, despite the harshness of the sounds against his tongue have you acting upon instinct as you surge forward and press your lips to his. It's as magical as you've always imagined, despite it being tainted by your twin inebriation. But you'll take what you can get.

Because Mattheo Riddle is finally kissing you and you reckon you could fall into a abyss of happiness as his pillowly lips caress your's with loving grace.

~∞~

The next morning, you wake up in an unfamiliar, yet familiar dorm room and Enzo is smirking at you with glee. A tanned, muscular arm is draped across your middle and you're using the other as a makeshift pillow. Your face warms as you recognise the large, veiny hand that stretches across your stomach.

"Fun night?" Your friend asks with a snicker and you flip him off in response. He leaves the room after he's done teasing you, his loud laughter echoing in the corridor. You move to stand but an arm tightens around the skin of your waist.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?" Mattheo mumbles, his voice low and raspy from sleep.

"Well good morning, sunshine." You reply, a smile spreading across your face as you turn to face him, to find that he is already staring at you, with adoration in his onyx eyes.

"Am I still dreaming, or are you really in my bed right now?" He asks as you trace a finger lightly over his naked chest.

"Oh it's very real. And I'm sure Enzo has already told the others what he just discovered." You reply with a giddy laugh.

"About bloody time, don't you think?" Mattheo's question is muffled against the skin of your neck as he nuzzles his face there. You smile in response, giggling as pieces of his curly hair brush against your soft skin.

"I'd still like to know what you said last night." You say but he doesn't give you the answer. Instead, he rolls the two of you so that you lie beneath his toned body, strong arms caging you in.

"That's my little secret, Princess." He mumbles as he presses languid kisses down your neck and chest, travelling lower until your rendered a moaning mess beneath him.

[inkskinned]

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience. 

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs. 

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!" 

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.  

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.  

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.  

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow. 

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service. 

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.  

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"  

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?" 

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage. 

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed. 

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

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[fumikoshi]

Happy Women's Day, my sweet wifey~

— Your beloved hubby, Gojo Satoru

✧ — SUMMARY; Gojo celebrates his wife's, your women's day.

''Yeeeeeeeeey, today is an exceptional day. I'm so excited~ Eh!? Why is it a problem that I'm excited about International Women's Day? I don't have to be a woman for that? Of course not! You are breaking your husband's delicate heart with your sexism.''

''Anyway, your extremely handsome, strong, and lovely hubby Gojo Satoru bought a whole shop for this important day~''

''Huh? Is that too for you? Well, I bought all of the products in that shop. So, technically, that's true. But don't be mad at your hubby~, the clothes, pieces of jewelry, shoes and the other things were all so beautiful that I wasn't sure which one my wifey would like, so I couldn't help and buy the whole shop~ ''

''Don't worry~, it wasn't that expensive. After all, what kind of husband would I be if I only got flowers for such a special day when I had all this money? ''

''Sooo, how about giving your hubby a kiss in return~? Why don't you try on a set of underwear for your hubby? After all, I must make sure that the clothes you buy fit your body, right? ''

Fufu~ Don't be shy, don't be shy, you'll embarrass me too~ ''

Gojo: I'll be sure to celebrate Women's Day in the bedroom~

Note: he tore your lingerie set

[matan4il]

Today is Erev Yom Ha'Shoah (Eve of Holocaust Memorial Day) in Israel. It will be observed by Jews outside of Israel, too.

The Hebrew date was chosen to honor the outbreak of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. It's also a week before Erev Yom Ha'Zikaron Le'Chalalei Ma'archot Yisrael (Eve of Israel's Memorial Day for its Fallen Soldiers and Terror Victims), which is itself observed a day before Yom Ha'Atzmaut Le'Yisrael (Israel's Independence Day). A lot of people have remarked on the connection between the three dates. On Yom Ha'Atzmaut, we celebrate our independence, which allows us to determine our own fate, and defend ourselves without being dependent on anyone else, right after we remember the price in human life that we have paid and continue to pay for this independence, and a week before we mourn the price we've had to pay for not getting to have self defence during the Holocaust. NEVER FORGET that in one Nazi shooting pit alone (out of almost two thousand) during just 2 days (Erev Yom Kippur and Yom Kippur 1941), more Jewish men, women and kids were slaughtered than in the 77 years since Israel's Independence War was started by the Arabs. This unbreakable connection between the living and the dead, between our joy and our grief, is often addressed with the Hebrew phrase, במותם ציוו לנו את החיים, "With their death, they ordered us to live."

On this Erev Yom Ha'Shoah, I'd like to share with you some data, published on Thursday by Israel's Central Bureau for Statistics (source in Hebrew).

The number of Jews worldwide is 15.7 million, still lower than it was in 1939, before the Holocaust, 85 years ago (that is what a genocide looks like demographically).

7.1 million Jews live in Israel (45% of world Jewry) 6.3 million Jews live in the US (40% of world Jewry)

Here's the data for the top 9 Jewish communities in the world:

There are about 133,000 Holocaust survivors currently living in Israel. Most (80%) live in big cities in central Israel. Around 1,500 are still evacuated from their homes in northern and southern Israel due to the war (back in January, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, there was a report about 1,894 survivors who also became internal refugees due to the war. Source in Hebrew). One Holocaust survivor, 86 years old Shlomo Mansour, is still held hostage in Gaza. He survived the Farhud in Iraq.

I haven't seen any official number for how many survivors had been slaughtered as a part of Hamas' massacre, despite everyone here being aware that Holocaust survivors had been murdered on Oct 7, such as 91 years old Moshe Ridler. Maybe, as we're still discovering that some people thought to have been kidnapped during the massacre, were actually killed on that day, no one wants to give a "final" number while Shlomo has not yet been returned alive.

Out of all Israeli Holocaust survivors, 61.1% were born in Europe (35.8% in the countries of the former Soviet Union, 10.8% in Romania, 4.9% in Poland, 2.9% in Bulgaria, 1.5% in Germany and Austria, 1.3% in Hungary, 4.2% in the rest of Europe), 36.6% were born in Asia or Africa (16.5% in Morocco, 10.9% in Iraq, 4% in Tunisia, 2.6% in Libya, 2.1% in Algeria, 0.5% in other Asian and African countries) and 2.3% were born elsewhere.

Out of all Holocaust survivors in Israel, 6.2% managed to make it here before the establishment of the state, despite the British Mandate's immigration policy against it (up until May 13, 1948). 30.5% made it to Israel during its very first years (May 14, 1948 until 1951), another 29.8% arrived in the following decades (1952-1989), and 33.5% made Aliyah once the Soviet Union collapsed, and Jewish immigration to the west (which included Israel) was no longer prohibited by the Soviet regimes (1990 on).

The second biggest community of survivors in the world is in the US, the third biggest (but second biggest relative to the size of the population) is in Australia. I heard from many Holocaust survivors who chose to immigrate there that they wanted to get "as physically far away from Europe as possible."

For a few years now, there's been this project in Israel, called Maalim Zikaron, מעלים זיכרון (uploading memory. Here's the project's site in Hebrew. In English it's called Sharing Memories, and here's the English version of the site) where Israeli celebs are asked to meet up with a Holocaust survivor (it's done in Hebrew), and share the survivor's story and the meeting on their social media on Erev Yom Ha'Shoah (which is today). Each year, there's also one non-Israeli Jewish celeb asked to participate (in English. This time around it's Michael Rapaport, he's meeting Aliza, an 81 years old survivor from the Netherlands, who was hidden along with 9 other Jewish babies for two years. He uploaded a preview of his meeting with her here, where he asked her what it means to her to be a Jew, and from what I understand, he will upload more today to the same IG account). This year, there will be an emphasis on Holocaust survivors who also survived Oct 7 (with 6 of the 20 participating survivors having survived Hamas as well). Here's a small bit from an interview with one such survivor, 90 years old Daniel Luz from kibbutz Be'eri:

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

María Félix:

She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.

"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz

María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

[sebscore]

THE GRID'S DELIGHT | SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: the shenanigans of female gen z driver and the formula one grid.

author’s note: I started this series, because I'd like to imagine what it would be like to be part of the group of drivers and how it would be like to interact with them on a regular basis. It's all fun and games, and I don't know these people in real life. everything is fiction! the stories aren't written in chronological order, but I try to put them in the right order below! 

Requests are always welcome in my inbox! Opinions, thoughts and feedback are also greatly appreciated.

— ABOUT THE OC

HEADCANONS || MORE HEADCANONS

:: Things about being the only female driver on the ‘22 grid.

DRIVER X TGD HEADCANONS

:: The dynamics between driver!reader and the formula 1 drivers. in the link you can find the masterlist.

EXTRAS

:: this includes thoughts, opinions, etc about the series. it doesn’t include requests.

— 2018

WELCOME TO THE STRANGE WORLD 

:: Y/N makes her F1 debut at the 2018 Australian Grand Prix. 

THE PRIZE THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

:: Y/N accepts the 'Rookie of the Year' award and receives a suprise from a special someone on stage.

— 2020 

TWITCH WAR

:: lando insults Y/N’s gaming skills and the events that followed.

PLEASE RISE FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

:: An error in the sound system causes for the wrong song to play instead of Y/N’s national anthem.

— 2021 

THE MORE YOU KNOW

:: Y/N teaches Sebastian and Fernando what ‘bop’ means.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

:: Y/N receives a complaint from the FIA during the driver's briefing and no one is happy about it.

BREAK UP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND, I'M BORED 

:: Y/N flirts with a stranger not knowing she's the girlfriend of another F1 driver on the grid. 

THIS IS ALL I NEVER WANTED

:: Y/N goes through a rough patch and the drivers notice.

LET IT SPIRAL

:: Y/N gets into a crash and Seb & George come to the rescue.

SLOW DOWN, RED FLAG

:: The commentators are shocked by Y/N’s red flag habit.

BE YOUR WINGMAN

:: Y/N tries to get through an interview with Jenson, Daniel and Sebastian. 

GIDDY GOODBYES

:: Y/N and Kimi bid each other goodbye at the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

— 2022

A MAN’S WORLD

:: Y/N is asked about Christian Horner’s sexist comments.

THE ORIGIN OF RUSSY BUSSY

:: the title is pretty self-explanatory.

WHAT HAPPENS IN MONACO, STAYS IN MONACO

:: Y/N goes on a blind date and returns with a hickey the next day.

THE HELMET BET

:: Y/N and Zhou decide who the second best dressed driver on the grid is through a bet that involves holding the other drivers hostage at the driver's briefing.

GOSSIP GRID

:: Charles and Pierre don't trust Y/N when it comes to rumors around Oscar Piastri's move to McLaren.

RUMOUR HAS IT

:: Y/N and her fellow younger drivers react to certain rumours that have been going around about her love life, and it might include two colleagues of hers.

MONZA MANICURE

:: Daniel makes it up to Y/N for breaking her nail during a race.

LITTLE MISS BLACK DRESS

:: f1 drivers and their reactions to Y/N looking gorgeous in a dress.

KEEPING UP WITH THE GRID

:: What happens when Y/N takes over Martin's grid walk? 

THE LAST SUPPER

:: The drivers celebrate the life and career of Sebastian Vettel at Abu Dhabi and Y/N has a great story to tell.

— 2023 

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY 

:: Daniel, Lewis and Sebastian show their appreciation for Y/N on International Women's Day. 

GLASS HALF FULL KINDA GAL

:: Y/N goes on Instagram live to try out Daniel’s new wine, and the drivers react to it in the comments.

MONTE-CARLO MADNESS

:: Y/N meets her old mentor after months and experiences a chaotic qualifying in Monaco.

PUT IT INTO SPEED DRIVE

:: Y/N and the Twitch Quartet go on a small adventure in the streets of Monaco.

SNITCHES GET STITCHES

:: A collection of moments at the 2023 Austria Grand Prix.

LATE NIGHT TALKING

:: Pierre asks the question: “Out of all the drivers, who would you date?”

— 2024

EXCUSE ME

:: Y/N finds out about Lewis’ Ferrari move before the official announcement.

[dejwrld]

summary — the story of how international rockstar & the international pop star met at gojo satoru's party

warning readers discretion is advised ⸻accumulated word count of 4.9k, female reader, rockstar!choso, popstar!reader, famous jjk au, told in third pov (choso pov), mentions of gojo being an actor, alcohol consumption, profanity, mentions of yuji, kechizu, & eso, kechizu and eso are described as humans, mentions of choso winning a grammy, mentions of grandpa itadori owning a onigiri shop, setting: tokyo, japan, thigh fucking, do not do the do in your grandpa’s onigiri shop, minors do not interact!

sticky note from deja — somebody asked how choso and reader would have met. so i am here to write that! i accidentally deleted the ask lmfao. so here is something quick, that turned into something long. this fic is a standalone from my previous choso fic, it takes place before that fic though | divider credit @/v6que

Choso wasn’t the biggest fan of parties when he had just gotten off tour three days ago and wanted to spend his one-month hiatus disconnecting from practically everything and everyone. He knew as soon as the month ended, it would be crunch time to prepare for his next album—plus being a judge on this music competition show. He wanted to prepare himself mentally and spend time with his brothers. But here he was wall hugging with a drink at one of Gojo Satoru’s parties. The insane thing about this party is that it was at Satoru’s place; he oddly trusted every celebrity that littered his place to be comfortable with it. Choso’s anxiety would go through the roof at the thought of someone possibly spilling wine on his couch, but this was Gojo Satoru. If he needed an interior designer to redecorate his place in four days—he’d do it. 

“You’ll never guess who just messaged me saying they’re coming through because they’re in Japan for two weeks.” Satoru’s voice shrieked over the music. He waved his phone in Choso’s face so aggressively that Choso couldn’t see what he was showing him. 

“The Y/N L/N.” He said. “The three-time Grammy award-winning one!”

“I’m a Grammy winner.” Choso joked, sipping from his cup, and Satoru’s crystal blue eyes stared at the raven-haired male as if he’d grown an extra arm. 

“But you aren’t a three-time Grammy award winner, and I know you, Choso. We all know each other.” He corrects as he eyes his best friend, Geto Suguru, playing pool with movie director Nanami Kento. “So, if you see her. Don’t be weird. You tend to be weird around beautiful women.” 

Choso’s lips parted to argue, but Gojo just shook his head, not wanting to hear whatever excuse would come out of the rockstar’s mouth before eventually going to tend to his other guests. Choso took that mental note to avoid the woman altogether. He had heard about her. If you didn’t, you had to live under the ground because everyone knew her. Even here in Japan, she had a solid fanbase. She was Pop’s current it girl, and Choso highly doubted she was going anywhere at the time, especially considering that her latest single was Number 1. 

As Choso stepped outside on the balcony of Satoru’s luxury penthouse, the sound of the music blasting was left behind as he glanced out at the skyline of downtown Tokyo. His mind attempted to find peace until a voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Crap, someone found my hiding place.”  

When Choso glanced over, he saw her. The one that Gojo was raving about her arrival. He straightened himself up, immediately remembering Satoru’s words. He was in front of a rising music legend at the moment. The talk of Japan since the news dropped that she was coming here. 

“You do know the party host is currently anticipating your arrival?” He closed the gap between them as she stepped closer so she could hear him a bit better.

“I mean, yeah. But I just wanted to enjoy the alone time before I’m bombarded with the sea of taking selfies with so many people,” She responds with a chuckle. “I stole this bottle of champagne from his bar, though. I hope he doesn't mind.” She sips from the bottle before placing it down.

“You’re hiding from the party, huh? Didn’t think a rockstar wouldn’t be the life of a party right before him.” 

Choso’s cheeks heated at her words. One.) Her eyes scanned him as if she was checking him out. Two.) He realized that she may have known who he was. 

“I get one month off after a worldwide tour. I kinda didn’t want to use this night partying with people who only hit me up when they want me on the guest lists of their party,” He responds. 

“So, what would you do?” The popstar asks. 

“Probably hang out with my brothers. It’s been months since I saw them in person.” Choso comments with a sigh. “We have so much catching up to do,” 

“Then let’s go,” She responds as she turns around to grab her miniature purse that Choso was sure could only fit about three things at most. 

“Huh?” He questions. “Did you not hear me say that the party's host is waiting for you,” He repeats.

“I did, and I want to go with you to hang with your brothers,” She sighs. “I’ve been going to parties since I arrived here in Japan. Missing one won’t hurt,” She pushes the oversized shades on her face with a smile, and Choso felt his cock & heart flutter. “I haven’t been able to enjoy Japan, so why not enjoy it with a rockstar instead.” 

Choso chuckles before he nods in agreement. “Well, how do you feel about motorcycles?” He asks. He rocks back and forth on his heels before giving the woman a grin as she is thinking.

“My manager would oppose me getting on one, but my manager isn’t here.” She points out. “So, what the hell.” She throws her hands up. “But we also have another problem.” She peeks over the balcony, and despite being many floors up from the ground, she can still see the flashing of paparazzi cameras. 

“Oh, I came in through the backway. I’ve been to Satoru’s penthouse parties many times and learned the many exits and entrances. Don’t worry; your fans won’t get any photos of you leaving a party with some sleazy rock slash alternative musician.” He grins at her and decides to enter the place, fully not expecting her to follow behind him. 

Choso can only imagine the photos if they were caught together. They probably would think he was corrupting her, or she was in her bad girl phase. Either way, he didn’t mind. But he hated people in his business, and being seen with her meant people would be in his business. It’s a reason why he’s paying off restitution to a paparazzi guy. The guy was in his business, and Choso may have broken his camera. 

“Wait up! I’m coming!” Her voice screams over the music as she catches up to Choso to grab upon the black leather jacket he wore. 

Just like that, the international rock and pop stars quickly left Gojo Satoru’s party. Choso had taken the elevator to the second floor, Y/N not far behind him as she was more aware of her surroundings than he was. Then, they used the emergency fire exit to exit the building. There, Choso’s BMW R18 motorcycle was where he left it. He picked up the spare helmet and gave it to Y/N.

“Just hold on to me. I promise I won’t hurt the world’s favorite pop princess.” He pulled the helmet over his face as she giggled at his comment.

“I hope not because my fans would want your head on a pike.” She smirked as she got on the motorcycle right after him. Instantly, Y/N’s arms are snaking around his waist. 

“Well, good thing I also have insane fans.” Choso backfires before turning on the motorcycle, the engine roaring out Y/N’s snarky comment in response. 

Choso knew that his brothers probably were at Yuji’s grandfather's onigiri shop because on Fridays, it’s busier than usual, and the old man was too stubborn to hire anybody else when he had (and Choso quote) ‘strong grandsons to help an old man out.’ Choso did not pay for the ten-year-old shop renovations for him having to come back from tour to throw on an apron and go home smelling like seawood and rice. But it was pretty late; the shop was probably closed, and his siblings were circled around a table eating what hadn’t been sold. Yuji would blabber on about his senior year and exams. Because of his dance classes, Eso would most definitely have his leg prompted up on a chair with bags of ice on it. In contrast, Kechizu head would be into his Steam deck console to even care about Yuji swiping fish cakes off his plate. He knew his brothers like he knew the lyrics he wrote; they were imprinted in his brain because they were all he had if fame, money, and luxury were taken away.  

When he parked the motorcycle, he helped Y/N off it and removed the helmet. “I hope you like Onigiri.” He says. 

“Well, I only tried it once from a convenience store.” Her fingers combed through her braids that traveled down her back before smoothing out the black jumpsuit she wore. 

“I promise these are better.” He held the door open for her, and as he had expected, the place was closing. Chairs were placed on most tables except for the one his brothers occupied. 

All of them had different dads; it was a frequent talking point in Choso's interviews with magazines, radio stations, and so on. Yes, the world knew their mother, who wasn’t the best mom—slept around. It wasn’t a secret; maybe it did help some bloggers throw jabs at him. However, Choso wasn’t ashamed of where he came from and how he was raised. Regardless if all his brothers looked differently, they were still his brothers. So what if Yuji resembled his father with his pastel pink-shaded hair and bright eyes? Or Eso, who was the tallest despite being the middle child and he had a passion for ballet dancing. Then Kechizu, who people assume was the youngest, was as quiet as can be—very observant but knew every fuckin’ fact about some retro video game. They all acted so differently—looked so differently, but they were still so close as if they were raised in the same household. 

“Holy shit!” Yuji exclaimed as his eyes beamed at the door when he saw Choso and Y/N walk in. “Holy shit!” He repeated. 

“Language,” Choso exclaimed as he stepped forward to ruffle Kechizu’s green-colored hair. The second youngest child swatted his brother’s hand as he tried to continue to play Fortnite. “Do we have room to add another to the table?” 

“Of course, the Y/N L/N is in my presence. Todo is going to freak out when I tell him.” Yuji squeals as he moves his chair over for Choso to add a chair in between him and Yuji for the pop star. 

Y/N gives them a smile that Choso has seen her give to many people—interviewers, musicians, her fans. She took the seat in between Yuji and himself, and Choso couldn’t help but to slap the back of his younger brother's head as the pastel pink-haired teenager leaned back to take a peek at Y/N’s while she sat down.

“So are you two like-”

“It’s none of your business,” Choso interjected as he glared at Yuji because he just had to be the curious cat within the brothers.

The group continued to eat, with small conversations about things from the tour to Y/N’s music. Even though she had just met his brothers, she fit in perfectly with them. Granted, he didn’t like that she did about five math problems for Itadaori. The way she made the room feel much brighter made Choso’s cheeks heat as he observed the room. Now she was talking about dance with Eso, completely lost in the topic as they gushed about the first dance classes they took. 

“I was eight when I took my first dance class. It was ballet; I practically had two left feet.” She chuckles after taking a bite of the onigiri. “You have wonderful legs, Eso, so I know you’re a killer dancer.” She compliments him. 

Her glossed lips formed a straight line as she thought about something, “You know, I have a show at this festival before I go home. If you don’t have any plans, I’m down a dancer for my team. I know it’s short notice, but some pretty important people will be in the crowd…” Her voice trails off as a smile appears on Eso’s face. “Only if you’re down. Don’t feel pressured because it’s me.”

“I would be honored. Send me where you guys rehearse, and I’ll be there.” Eso smiles at her as they exchange phone numbers and socials.

“Well, since you’re giving out opportunities. Can you set me up to meet a couple of people?” Yuji opened the notes app on his phone with his list. “Jennifer Lawrence, Tom Holland, maybe Megan thee Stallion too.”

“You have a rockstar older brother. Why can’t you ask him?” Y/N questioned as her eyes playfully glared at Yuji. 

“He said, and I quote…I refuse for you to embarrass me.” Yuji mocked Choso’s tone and was met with a chopstick thrown at him. 

Just as Choso was about to interject, Wasuke Itadori came from behind, questioning who would close up. Silence overcame the group, and Yuji even slumped lower in his seat to prevent himself from being chosen. He had closed the shop for three days straight because his brothers were ever so busy with their lives. 

“Choso, since you have a guest…you guys will close up.” Wasuke tugged on his jacket just as Yuji and the others collected their things to leave. “Before you lie and say you have some band thing, I know you’re off tour and on vacation.” 

“Shit,” Choso uttered as he stood to collect the shop’s keys from the older guy. “We’ll clean up and lock up the shop. Don’t need to worry.” 

“Good, and don’t keep your lady friend out so late. That’s not very gentlemanly. But what can I say? Chivalry is dead when it comes to your bunch.” He gives Y/N a wink as he leads the others out of the shop, leaving the two musicians all alone.

“You have a unique family.” Y/N stands.

“You don’t have to stay to help me close up? Like he said, I don’t want to keep you out so late.” Choso tears his leather jacket off and tosses it on one of the chairs. 

He sported a black t-shirt that reasonably fitted him. His biceps bulged just a bit with each flex of him picking up dishes to clean them in the kitchen. Even Y/N couldn’t help but stare as he moved around the eating area. 

“I don’t mind helping, plus you’re kinda my ride back to where I’m staying.” She collected the other dishes and followed Choso into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s hurry because I don’t want to have you out too late. You probably have something to do in the morning.”

“Just rehearsal that starts at noon.” 

“I remember those days. Gosh, so glad the tour is over with.” He emptied the plates and put the dishes in the sink. 

“How was the tour for you? From the looks of social media, it seemed like it wasn’t a dull moment,” She points out as she rolls her sleeves up. She took the place next to Choso with a cloth to dry the dishes that Choso was washing.

“Fun. Sometimes, I love being on the road, but I like being around my family more. I get homesick like shit when I’m touring. But when I go out and perform—do what I love to do, and it reminds me why I do it.” Choso explains while passing a dish to Y/N to dry. “It feels like just yesterday I was singing in bars in Roppongi district.”

When he turned his head, he was met with her gaze. His whole body betrayed him because he immediately felt the heat in his cheeks. When Choso blushed, it was as noticeable as can be. His cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of red that took minutes to go away. 

“I’m sure your brothers are very proud of you.” She smiles and places another plate to the side. 

“What about you? It’s your first time performing here?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I’m nervous. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

He hummed at her words before the two returned to washing the dishes. Their arms briefly bump into each other, and they find themselves uttering apologies for something so subtle. 

“So, I’m curious to ask. Since other than the news of you performing at this music festival this week. Are you still dating that guy? That actor…” His voice trails off, wondering if that was an intrusive question. 

“Why’d you ask? For yourself or your little actor friend Satoru?” Her elbow nudges against his side after she puts another dried plate to the side.

Choso was quiet for a second. When he talked to Gojo earlier, the actor didn’t seem interested in the popstar—but it was Gojo. He had his way of trying to get with someone that left many (including Gojo) confused. Choso wouldn’t deny that Y/N was attractive, but he knew she had heard it from many guys. Perhaps she didn’t want someone to view her in a lens that she’s used to the whole world viewing her as. The sultry, sexy popstar whose Playboy photoshoot went viral on every social media platform down to fuckin’ Reddit. 

“Who knows with Satoru? His publicist ensures his love life is on lock. But for me, I don’t know either.” He foolishly admits. He grabbed a hand towel, dried his hands with it, and turned to face the hideous cat clock that was ticking with each second.

“You don’t know?” She asked; she stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the clock—but of course, Choso didn’t mind. 

Choso sighs and tosses the cloth to the side, “If I admit it, I’ll feel like I’m viewing you in the same lens that every other guy views you as. The sexy pop star who caused a guy to faint when he met you,” Choso chuckles. “Just forget I asked..” 

“Hm, you view me as something other than a sexy pop star.” She stepped forward, and Choso could get a whiff of warm vanilla-scented perfume. Her eyes glanced up at him through her lashes, and again, she saw the faint red color stain Choso’s cheeks.

“From this conversation and you ditching a party despite being the main reason everyone came, I can tell that you want to be viewed through a lens other than the sexy popstar,” Choso admits. “And I think that’s why you decided to come with me. You knew I would be able to view you in said lens without trying.” 

He couldn’t read her expression, but he could tell just by her taking a step forward, suffocating his personal space, that he was correct. He bites at his lower lip before speaking again, stepping forward also. “If I’m right, selfishly enough—I’ll make you mine right now.”  

“Quite bold of you to say Mr. Rockstar because if I remember correctly, in your GQ interview, you don’t do relationships because you hate people being in your business. The world’s most popular rockstar slash alternative musician and the pop’s current it girl being together…everyone will be in our business.” 

“Fair point, but I guess that’s a risk I’ll take and many NDAs to give out.” 

Choso was always a man to make the first move, but here, the popstar was leaping forward to kiss him. Gosh, he let her. If he could, he’ll let her use him as she pleases. His hand guided her to the top of the counter as he kissed her deeply. Her fingers combed through his dark locks of hair, tugging gently for a response just to slip her tongue into his mouth. She tasted so good. It's like the best bottle of champagne that someone can offer. A moan vibrates from the back of Choso’s throat as the two make out. Tongues taste each other like the last meal you two can have. 

When they broke apart, Choso cupped Y/N’s face. His thumb drags alongside the soft flesh of her cheeks. “I don’t think we should take this any further in his fuckin’ onigiri shop—but fuck.” He sighs. “I don’t think I can make it to my place.” His eyes averted behind Y/N at the employee bathroom. 

It was hardly used, considering that Wasuke practically ran the shop himself. Usually, it is only used when one of the brothers stops by. 

“You can’t be that horny not to wait.” Y/N laughs before she feels Choso collect her hand and press it against his crotch. Her eyes enlarged at what she was feeling.

“Look what you’ve done to me; I can’t wait.” His head fell upon her shoulders, and his words were a stubborn whine. 

Y/N pushes him back from in between the space of her thighs, and she hops off the counter and walking towards the bathroom. Like a dog receiving a treat, Choso follows behind Y/N in the bathroom. When the two were in the enclosed space, he turned her around so that she was facing the sink. His hands unzipped the front of her jumpsuit while his lips ghosted over her brown skin. He was nipping at spots on her neck like a hormonal college student. 

“If I knew that I was going to be receiving dick from the Choso Kamo, I would have worn something much easier to work around.” She helps him pull the upper part of the jumpsuit down. 

Her breast broke out the tight spandex material as soon as it came down, and Choso felt him grow even harder—aching, entirely for her. His hands snaked around the front of her waist to feel inside her nude, seamless panties. 

If Choso concentrated hard enough, he could feel his precum stain his bottoms at the feel of how wet she was. His index and middle fingers that strummed countless guitars and rubbed slow circles on her clit. With the mirror that was above the sink, he was able to see her come undone. It was similar to pulling at a loose piece of thread on a piece of clothing and watching it unravel with each pull. Y/N melted in front of him. Her plump lips gasped apart to let out a sweet tune: her moans. With each motion of his million-dollar fingers, she moans louder—this time gasping out his name like a lyric in one of the love songs she’s written. 

Before Choso wanted to quicken his teasing, he unbuckled his belt quickly. The sound was like music to Y/N’s ears because she attempted to step out of her jumpsuit, but Choso stopped her with a brief slap on her ass. It took her by shock, but she felt herself grow wet at the feeling of the sting going away. 

“Who said you were getting my dick tonight?” He asks as he pushes the jumpsuit down. 

“I’m the world’s biggest pop star now, I think I deserve it.” Y/N points out as Choso nips at the tip of her ear. 

“And I’m the world’s biggest rockstar, with the current #1 album on the charts. So I think I outrank you at the moment.” He smirks as he’s pulling his boxers down just a bit for his cock to spring out beautifully. 

“My tour grossed the highest,” She proudly bragged.

“In your dreams, pop star.” Choso's fingers hook the band of her panties, sliding them down—his hand palms at the fatness of her ass. 

Choso could give her what she wanted. Stuff her full with his cock, but she’s been given what she wanted ever since she established herself as this star. 

“So, you’re just going to edge the world's most popular pop star on like this?” She questions; a teasing tone drops from her tongue, and her eyes stare at him through the mirror.

“Something like that,” Choso brought his hand up to his mouth, gawking up a fair amount of spit to coat his cock in, and his lips curved into a devious smirk seeing Y/N eagerly wiggle herself further on him. His hardened cock poked her, but the musician had other plans. 

Instead of helping slide into Y/N’s cunt, his cock wedged in between her thighs—right above the little bit of space of her panties being pulled down. Which was as lewd as can be simply by if Choso would come, his cum not only splattered upon her thighs but decorated her panties also. With the first rock of his hips, while his cock was between her thighs, the tip of it brushed against Y/N’s folds causing her to moan. The traction causes an incoherent hiss to pass by Choso’s lips as he’s rocking his cock in between her thighs. 

“Fuck.” He uttered, realizing that if just thigh fucking Y/N was causing his brain to feel fuzzy like it did when he smoked weed for the first time—how the hell was he going to feel when he finally got the opportunity to be inside her. His fingers dug into the flesh of her waist as he’s thrusting his cock inward and outward of her thighs. Each movement caused her breasts to jiggle salaciously, and that seemed to add to the list of little things that turned him in while being crammed in this bathroom with her. 

“This isn’t fair,” Y/N shutters over the lewd sound of Choso’s cock thrusting between her thighs.

Even though she would complain about how he was only getting off at this. That her clit was throbbing and aching for attention as Choso’s cock was between her thighs. He didn’t even acknowledge her response but instead used his feet to kick at her own to bring her thighs together just a bit more. Even brought his cock up a little bit more—finally giving the woman what she wanted. His cock was just inches away from rubbing against her folds that were decorated with her slit—occasionally, the tip of his fat cock bribes against them before he guided it back to its rightful place. 

“Fuck,” Choso uttered, bringing her closer, her back now placed upon his broad chest as his hips bulldozed his cock forward. 

He was trying too hard to imagine that this is what her pussy would feel like. That the fiery pit that grew at an increasing rate in his ball sack was a feeling you’ll get immediately when you indulge in her cunt. A couple more pumps of his cock in between her thighs, Choso’s cum squirts out the tip of his cock. To add to the mess he made in between her thighs, he’s pumping his cock some more sloppily. His thick ropes of cum decorated her thighs and her underwear, and Choso finally went limp as his face was red like a tomato, and his cock was a sticky mess. He just thigh fucked the world’s most famous pop star at the moment in the bathroom of his brother’s grandfather's Onigiri shop. 

He reaches behind him at the paper towel dispenser to help clean her up. Silence overcame the two before Choso tossed the dirty paper towels in the trash. His face was heated from the interactions, and that tint of red still decorated his face shamelessly. His hair fell in his face, and some strands stuck to his forehead due to the sweat on it. He pulled his boxers and pants back up, buckling them immediately.

As the two shameless musicians were awkwardly cleaning themselves up, Choso, being the gentlemen, used a wet paper towel to wipe off Y/N’s thighs, and his phone that was shoved in his back pocket rang. He ignored it as he figured it’d be Yuji urging him to grab something he forgot in the shop. Or Gojo asking him where he ran off to. But instead, his manager was spam-calling him each time he didn’t answer the phone.

“You should answer that; it could be an emergency.” Y/N points out while fixing her clothes. She knew that as soon as she stepped foot in the apartment she was renting out, she would take the longest shower. Even so, she adored the scent of Choso imprinting her skin.                                       

“You really can’t transition off a tour without a scandal. What the hell happened to you were going to spend time with your brothers and lay low.” His manager’s voice yells through the phone, causing him to pull the device away from his ear.

“I don’t know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Answer me this, Choso. Are you with Y/N L/N right now?”

Choso’s eyes look at Y/N, who is applying a coat of clear lip gloss. Her body is leaning slightly to be closer to the mirror above the sink.

“Maybe…” Choso’s voice trails off, expecting the worst.

“Well, the world knows you’re with her right now. I sent your bodyguard and a private car to come pick you guys up immediately. They’re probably already surrounding that freakin’ onigiri shop.” 

Choso didn’t let his manager talk his head off any second longer as he ended the call to force a smile on his face that Y/N knew something was wrong. She’s seen the fake smiles from many people that she has lost count. Something happened.

“Well, my little popstar. I think our careers are about to take a turn.” 

[greynatomy]

secrecy

lucy bronze x reader

thanks for the request!

———

Keira, Leah and Georgia have know Lucy Bronze for years. They would always be around each other whenever they had their international duties. They aren’t called the ‘three best friends and Lucy’ for nothing.

However, the three have been noticing some changes in their friend’s behavior. For the past two years, Lucy has become more secretive. She would also lie a lot more to them, something she hasn’t really done before.

They didn’t think much of it until the past couple of months. Lucy’s been canceling on plans more often than not. She would leave right after training ends, not even showering at the facilities. Most importantly, she would have some secret phone calls, making sure to be away from prying ears.

The three best friends wanted to do their own little investigation, wanting to figure out what was happening to their friend and what she was hiding. Yes, it’s a bit of an invasion of her privacy, but they knew Lucy wasn’t going to be telling them anytime soon.

The Lionesses had just finished up a training session, moving into the recovery room for an ice bath. The four friends were in the bath together when a ring of a phone interrupts their conversation. Lucy, knowing it was her phone, grabbed it, seeing the name on the screen and excuses herself to take the call.

Answering the video call, Lucy is met by a face so close to the screen.

“Hi, Paisley.”

“Mama!”

Lucy makes it to her room, a room she isn’t sharing with any of her teammates, getting comfortable at the chair in the corner of the room.

“Did you take Mommy’s phone again?”

“Yeah! Wanted to call Mama. Miss you.”

“I miss you too. Where’s Mommy, bubs?”

“She-um-she watching Potter. Again.”

“Mommy loves Harry Potter. Can you give the phone to Mommy? Mama wants to talk to her.”

“Kay!”

Paisley runs over to the living room where you’re sat, watching a movie.

“Mommy! Mama talk.”

“Mama?” The phone gets shoved into your face where you see the very attractive face of your wife. “Hey, sexy.”

“Hi, beautiful. How are you?”

“Doin’ okay. Pretty uneventful day. How was training?”

“Training is training. I’ve just got done with recovery and gotta take a shower.”

“Ooh, take me with you.” You say with a smirk.

“Down, girl. Keep those pants on.”

“It’s all the hormones talking and it’s all your fault.”

Meanwhile, in the recovery room, Leah, Georgia and Keira all look at each other with a knowing look.

“She never used to leave when taking calls before.”

“Yeah, that’s weird.”

The three quickly got showered and dressed, making their way to their friend’s room, Keira knocking on the door.

The door opened to a freshly showered Lucy.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to see where you went off to.” Georgia answers.

“Um, okay. Well, it’s nearly dinner, so I was just waiting until we can go.”

“Hmm, okay.”

Lucy is confused by the three’s behavior, but thinks nothing of it.

———

It was now the day of the Women’s Finalissima against Brazil. You were in the friends and family section with Paisley, sat on the seats.

In the twenty-third minute, Ella Toone gets a goal in from an assist by your wife. Paisley jumping up and down from her seat. That was the only goal until halftime.

The second half started, many substitutions and a couple of yellow cards being given out. In the three minute of added time, Brazil got a goal in, disappointing the England team and fans.

Eventually, the match went into penalties. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. England winning 4-2.

“Mama won, Mommy!”

“She did, baby!”

Once the England players got their medals and trophy, friends and family were allowed onto the pitch. It took a while to get down and see where Lucy was, but once Paisley did, she ran straight to her, running into her legs.

The three best friends and Lucy were all celebrating together, hugging and dancing when a force almost knocks Lucy off her feet.

“Paisley!” Lucy grabs her daughter, throws her up in the air and catches her, leaving her on her hip.

“Mama, you did it! You got a trophy!”

“I did! I’ve also got a medal, see.” She lifts the medal, Paisley inspects it.

“Wait!” The mother and daughter are broken from their bubble by Georgia. “Is this why you’ve been so secretive? You’ve got a kid?”

Before Lucy could answer, you finally made your way to her, giving her a kiss.

“Now, who’s this?” Keira asks.

The three best friends were now in shock, mouths wide open.

“Oh, well. Guys, meet my daughter my Paisley and my wife Y/N.”

“You have kept a whole family a secret.” Leah states, a bit hurt, same were the other two.

“Sorry ‘bout that. We’ve just loved our little bubble, especially since it’s gonna get bigger soon.” She places a hand on your stomach.

Leah, Georgia and Keira finally notice your bump, jaw dropping to the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you three. Lucy loves to talk about you guys and all the shenanigans you go through.” You get a couple mumbles for replies.

“Why don’t you guys come over to our place soon. Get to know the family?” Lucy suggested.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

[mysunshinetemptress]

You Promised

Disclaimer: angst

Leah Williamson x reader

To say you and your girlfriend played the same sport just at different levels was an understatement.

Leah played for Arsenal in the WSL and is Captain of the Lionesses on the international stage whereas you played for and Captained Newport Pagnell FC an East Midlands women’s regional football team.

Now you where proud to play for them every time you walked out onto the pitch it was like you had led out an army ready to battle for the next 90 minutes. Only it was a pitch in the back arse of no where and the changing rooms where prefabricated buildings and your subs bench wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit but you wouldn’t change it for the world this was your team.

Dating a world class football player who had captained the English women’s team to European champs meant that many people began to have opinions on her life and in turn yours, and most of the time it was about the different levels you both played at.

Both yourself and Leah grew up in Milton Keynes and although you where a life long Arsenal fan you hadn’t began playing till the later Leah’s of primary school, unlike Leah who had been playing at Arsenal since the age of 8. You had both met later in secondary school and a friendship soon blossomed, your parents would often find you both either playing, talking or watching football together, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you both played at different levels.

It had become something you where rather insecure about. Watching as Leah made her senior debut in 2014 you had also been chosen to play on the women’s first team but your success would have to wait as you celebrated Leah’s and you honestly didn’t care as long as Leah was living out her dream and happy you would never care to celebrate yours. That was until recently.

Leah had asked you out on the night of your 20th birthday stating she simply couldn’t wait anymore and if it meant fucking over an amazing friendship for an even better relationship she would do just that. The first four years had been blissful. Leah played at Arsenal and had won the WSL as well as the FA cup and each time she just had to look into the stands to see your gleaming smile telling her how proud of her you where. Leah had played on the youth squads for England but in Russia in 2018 you had stood next to her family to cheer her on as she made her senior debut, as well you where the first person she called after Sarina Wiegman had asked her to be captain of the Lionesses heading into the euros, ultimately you had been asked to become the Captain of Newport Pagnell the same day but not wanting to take away such a moment from her you kept it quite. You had been there at every match of the Euros and had ultimately burst into tears at the sound of the final whistle on the 31st of July grabbing Amanda as you both sobbed with pride for the English captain, who had jumped the barrier and ran up the steps to kiss you right after. You had been there to witness all of Leah’s best moments from the minute you met, but you had also been there to witness her hardest moments. You had been sat in the west stand of Leigh’s Sports Village with Amanda and Leah’s cousin Holly hair still wet from training when she had gone down. Amanda had immediately grabbed your arm out of instinct before you stood stating you would go check on her. You had found her tear stained lying on physios bed “oh darling.” Leah had immediately burst into tears once more at the sight of you before explaining what the medic team had told her. There wasn’t anything you could do but hold her and listen wishing for it all to be wrong. Sadly it didn’t workout that way and it had been announced your girlfriend had torn her ACL and would be unable to Captain her team at the World Cup this summer.

It had been a selfish wish one that you immediately felt guilty about but you had hoped with this forced break Leah might attend a few more of your matches, maybe meet the team and the girls who had become some of your best friends, normally she either had training or was playing in one herself whereas you had a job as a teacher and trained night and played on Sundays. But what you had really hoped for was to turn to see Leah standing beside the pitch cheering you on as your team played their final match of the season and one that could potentially see your team winning the league.

“Lee, my love.” You had walked through the front door expecting to find your girlfriend sitting on the couch typing away on her computer, instead you found her in the kitchen with Lia Walti “oh hey Wally .” Lia stood pulling you into a hug “Y/n how are you.” You smiled dropping you bag before picking up the girls cups and refilling them making one for your self “I’m good Wally tired but good how are you.” Leah grabbed your hand pulling you to the chair beside her resting her hand on your thigh “I’m good, thought I would come check on this one since I’m out for the rest of the season as a precaution.” You smiled “thank you, speaking of how is your ankle I watched it after it was hard to watch no idea how you did it.” Leah squeezed your leg “she’s just built different love, you have to be to play at our level.” You froze slightly at what Leah was implying but chose to ignore it instead asking Wally if she was staying for dinner.

You lay in bed head on Leah’s chest as she stroked your hair softly “Lee.” Leah hummed “I was wondering if you would come to my last match on the 27th kickoff is at 2pm.” Leah smiled “I’d love to my girl.” You squeezed her gently “only if you want to.” Leah kissed your head “I promise to be there my love I want to be there.” You kissed her jaw before settling back down content with Leah’s answer.

Leah was still asleep when you woke up Saturday morning getting all your things ready to head to meet the team for the last match of the season. You ran back up the stairs after making yourself breakfast before leaning over to kiss her head “I’ll see you shortly Lee.” You had taken your jersey from last season and left it on her night stand hoping she would wear it before running out the door.

The team had been on a high the minute you had all met at the clubhouse the excitement of the last match and potentially winning the league had set you all into a buzz as you all danced around the changing rooms getting ready to go out for warmups. “Anyone special coming Skip.” You turned looking to your best friend and teammate Tegan Mallor, you couldn’t help your cheeks get all read “oh is the wife making an appearance.” You laughed “she’s not my wife yet haven’t asked haven’t been asked but yes she told me she was coming as well as her Mum and cousins plus my parents.” The girls cheered at the thought of the Lioness captain coming to watch the final match.

Walking out on to the pitch for warmups you looked over to see your parents stood on the sidelines with Amanda,Holly,Ben,Jordan and a few others of the Williamson/Baker bunch it had made your heart swell at the sight you had grown up with no siblings and so Leah’s cousins and brother had taken on that mantle, but you couldn’t help but notice Leah wasn’t here yet. Putting it down to her being late you got on with training and put your captain head on ready to win.

The first half had gone terribly, the opposition had scored twice all in the span of 10 minutes of each other and you found the girls began to lose hope, you had never been more grateful for the half time whistle grabbing your team into the changing room and trying to hype them back up “what’s going on this isn’t the bunch of girls that where dancing around this morning we have 45 minutes to do this 45 that’s plenty of time turn it around come on.” The girls had jumped up and began running back out as the second half began. You turned looking to the sidelines hoping to catch your girlfriend but instead it had been the same group you had seen at training, Holly had caught your eye and shrugged letting you know she had no idea where Leah was.

The next 45 minutes flew in and your team had managed to tie the game but with a minute to go you had found yourself screaming for a cross in at the edge of the box from Tegan. The team held their breath as you sent a scream to the top right corner before they all piled on top of you screaming as the red blew the whistle stating the match was over and you had won both the match and the league. You all stood running to your family’s on the sidelines grabbing your dad into a hug as he cried “oh peanut I’m so proud that was amazing.” You squeezed him letting go as you hugged your mum before moving to Amanda “that was incredible darling no one deserves it more.” You pulled away thanking her before hugging everyone else “where’s Le.” Everyone froze “Go celebrate we will talk after.” You sighed shoulders sagging in disappointment “she promised.” Holly squeezed your arm “I’m sorry Y/n.” You shook your head “can I take him with me.” You turned asking Jordan if you could kidnap her son to help raise the trophy wanting to move away from their pitiful stares “want to go with Auntie Y/n buddy.” The baby simply smiled raising his hands for you to take him as you thanked Jordan and walked off to get your medal. “I’m going to kill her.” Holly punched Ben in the arm before Amanda spoke “you will have to get in line.”

You had been stood in the changing room dancing with the girls when Tegan had tapped you on the shoulder showing you her phone. You felt your stomach drop as you watched your girlfriend hobbling around the pitch at meadow park wearing a Rafaelle jersey as the girls shook hands and did their lap around. “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up it was so stupid.” Tegan grabbed your arm “hey it’s her fault she let you down ok you asked her to be here and she said no promised you she would ok.” You nodded turning to pack you bags just wanting to get home and change before heading to Amanda’s house for dinner.

You had arrived at Amanda’s and where currently sat on the floor playing with Jordan’s son while you laughed and talked about your summer plans when Leah had walked through the door “Hey.” You ignored her calling out in the hall as you talked about what you where bringing to Ibiza with Holly as well as possible things to do with Ben, “I’m bringing four bikinis max but my mum wants me to bring a rash vest if we are going jet skiing this year Ben after I came back the same colour as a strawberry last time.” They all laughed as Amanda grabbed Leah from the hall taking in her appearance dressed in an Arsenal jersey “you are in big trouble missy.” Amanda didn’t get to say anything else as you walked in with Jack (made up the name) resting on your hip, you stopped watching as Leah turned a smile taking over her face “Hi gorgeous.” You turned looking to Amanda “we thought we would come ask if you needed a hand with anything.” Amanda walked over taking Jack from you “no all good darling, I’ll leave you both to talk.”

You sighed turning to check the food as Leah went to grab you hand “hey what’s going on.” You shook your head “you promised.” Leah looked at you confused “what.” “You promised me you would be there, I thought you would be there, do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to tell my teammates your coming and then not show up only to see you all over instagram at Meadow park Le.” Leah shook her head “what are you talking about be where Y/n I have no idea.” You cut her off scoffing “oh my god you didn’t even remember, your telling me you didn’t care enough to remember.” Leah was getting annoyed now “what are you talking about.” You huffed not wanting to raise your voice “my match, the final match of the season where i captained my childhood club to win the league the one I asked you to come to the one you promised you would only to never show.” Leah froze “Y/n.” You shook your head “I left my jersey out for you to wear to it, I thought since you where injured you might come to just one of my matches heck even the most important one but you stood me up to go see Arsenal at Meadow park.” Leah sighed “it was Rafa’s last game.” You rolled your eyes “it was the most important match of my career.” Leah scoffed “you don’t have a football career Y/n your a teacher that’s your career not football for crying out loud your acting like I missed a World Cup final or a match at the emirates I missed a match in a field where the toilets are porta potties,the teams stand on the sidelines at half time and a bunch of wannabes pros run around so sorry I chose to go a more exciting match to support my friend in her last one for an actual professional team.” You felt tears spring to your eyes begging them not to spill over “so supporting your own girlfriend..” Leah scoffed “come on Y/n seriously I get bored watching you play at least my matches aren’t mind numbing.” You froze as Leah slowly began to realise what she had said “y/n” “ no your right, I don’t think I can do this anymore Leah.” Leah looked at you confused “do what Y/n let me explain please.” You shook your head “I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support me they way I support them it’s not fair and I’m so tired of it Leah I really am and I’m so sorry because no matter how much I love you because believe me I really do I can’t keep being the only one putting in the effort or support so I’m done.”You began to turn to walk back to the living room where you knew everyone could hear “Y/n.” You just shook your head walking into the room collecting your stuff as Leah walked in behind you “eh thank you for coming I’m so sorry I can’t stay for dinner I have eh I really have to go.” Amanda stood up not bothering to look at her daughter “Y/n.” You shook your head “it’s fine enjoy dinner I’ll see you later.” You brushed last Leah and headed straight out the front door. “Mum I.” Amanda shook her head “I don’t know who you are but you are not the girl I raised the girl I raised would have understood how important today was for her girlfriend she would have been rushing the pitch after watching her girlfriend score the winning goal, the girl I raised would have been there point blank.” Leah felt her eyes fill with tears “they won.” Holly nodded standing up “your girlfriend led a team who hadn’t won a game in ten years to wining the East Midlands league in a season and she scored the final goal.” Leah shook her head “I didn’t mean it.” Amanda laughed “I have known you long enough and so has Y/n to know that you did and you know she is insecure about not being enough for you as a human being and as someone who plays football yet you told her today right to her face that those fears where true. I’m sorry I can’t even look at you right now.”

Leah stood hopeless “Holly I…” Everyone stood up leaving the room as Leah was left to think about what she had said “oh god what have I done.”

[niabang]

Club Sessions

Pairings: Bangchan × fem reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Your boyfriend decided it would be fun to see how long you could hold up with a vibrator in you for the entire day.

Warnings: Smut included (MINORS DNI.), soft dom chan, sub reader, use of sex toys, semi public sex?, edging/overstim, unprotected sex (I'm sure y'all don't want babies)

You and your boyfriend were what people would call adventurous, risk takers, and maybe even crazy.

You couldn't disagree with them though because you were out in public, a club to be precise, with a vibrator deep in your pussy, and your boyfriend was constantly playing with the controls making you drop down at different intervals.

How did you get here? Well, it started as kind of a "punishment" for you being too feisty earlier today, and you had it in you all morning while doing your chores.

You were also very stubborn and told chan that you'd be able to take it just to get a reaction out of him, and you got what you wanted when he suggested that you keep it in for the whole day.

"But aren't we going out today?" You asked your boyfriend.

"What difference does that make?" He replied to your question with a question.

"Aren't people gonna know?" You asked.

"How would they know? Is this you trying to say you can't take it?" He knew exactly how to make you agree with him.

"I don't know how many times I'm going to tell you that I can take it, Chan." You said in a bit of a rude tone, and he turned up the settings just to make you eat your words.

"Okay, then be quiet and take it like a good girl." He said and placed a kiss on your forehead, then went to go do whatever he was doing.

Your boyfriend left the vibrator in the same setting for a while, and that made you think he had forgotten about you.

Just as you were celebrating internally, he turned the setting up as if he knew and you started having trouble standing.

He took it back to the lowest setting after a while and called you upstairs, where he told you to get on the bed.

You got so happy because you thought he was finally going to give in and fuck you.

You were so pathetic. You moaned just from him spreading your legs, and all this man did was take out the vibrator.

He was insane. Your pussy was pulsing and clenching around nothing and he didn't seem to care.

"Don't wanna wear you out too much before we leave." He said as he took it out of you.

Your boyfriend might have been mean, but he wasn't evil.

You both started getting ready to leave, and he called you to his work desk when you were fully dressed.

"Baby, can you come here for me." He said, tapping his desk.

When you sat down, you guys had a mini make-out sesh to prep you for the vibrator.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

You nodded your head, and he proceeded to put it in you.

"I'm not going to turn it on till we get there, okay?" He said while you guys were in the car.

He actually stayed true to his words and turned it on just as you were getting out of the car.

You almost fell, and you heard him laugh from the front seat.

You were so not going to survive this.

You both went out with friends and naturally split into groups of men and women, so everyone was doing their own thing.

You were having a drink and a conversation with your girls when you felt the setting go a bit higher, and you almost choked.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Your friend Melanie asked you, looking concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Drink almost went down the wrong pipe, that's all." You reassured your friend.

You looked around the crowd of people in search of your boyfriend, and you caught him laughing and drinking with his friends well aware of the suffering he was causing you.

Time passed, and chan was going up and down with the controls, which made you lie to your girls and tell them you were beginning to get a slight tummy ache.

You managed to keep on dancing, but it seemed chan wasn't too happy with that because he turned it up to the highest setting, and this time, he left it there.

"Oh my God." You said, and you had to squat because you really couldn't take it anymore. So much for all your smack talk.

Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" Your friend Melanie asked you again.

You shook your head in a no motion, and the next thing you knew, Melanie was going to get chan for you.

The next thing you felt were two strong hands picking you off the floor, and you knew it was Chan.

"Let's go." He said into your ear and dragged you along with him.

That was how you ended up in the bathrooms.

"Oh, baby, don't cry." He said as he placed you on the counter and wiped your tears.

"Do you want me to take it out?" He asked you sounding concerned, but you knew it was all fake. He loved seeing you suffer.

You nodded your head and at your signal chan reached under the black mini dress you were wearing, slid your panties to the side, and then took the vibrator out, making you moan.

"Chan, please." You said after he put the vibrator in his pocket and was about to leave.

"Please, what?" He asked you.

"I need you." You replied.

"Okay, baby, let's get back home first."

"No Chan please I need you now." You whined.

"But we can't go here, baby someone might walk in." He said while leaving kisses all over your neck.

He was getting you too riled up for someone who was disagreeing.

"It doesn't matter." You told him.

"Oh, you naughty girl. Come here." You finally got what you wanted as chan wrapped a hand around your throat and started kissing you hungrily. You couldn't help but moan.

He brought you down from the counter and helped you take off your panties.

"Baby, I'm going to need you to be quiet for me, okay?" He parted your lips, scrunched your underwear, and then put it into your mouth to act as a gag.

He then turned you around and bent you over the counter. He rolled your dress up so your ass and cunt were exposed to him and you heard him groan.

He gave himself a few pumps and told you he was going to be fast.

It was almost as if you weren't stretched out and violently edged for hours because all chan could talk about was how tight you were and how well you wrapped around his cock.

Chan was moving in and out of you fast and hard, and he just knew how to hit that spot.

The panty he shoved in your mouth was practically useless because he had to use one hand to cover your mouth, too.

It wasn't your fault he was a literal sex god.

Chan let you cum so easily he probably felt bad about edging you for so long. Your legs were shaking at your release, and he took your panties out of your mouth and put them in his pocket.

He pulled your dress down and wiped your tears. Plus, a kiss on your forehead. He always gave you kisses whenever you guys were done.

"Let's go home." He said to you.

"What about our friends?" You asked him because it'd be rude to leave without letting them know.

"We'll tell them that you got sick, let's go." You both made your way to the car.

There was just something about chan. He always made sure you finished first or together. He didn't bother if he didn't get to. He always said he was happy as long as you did.

"Chan, you didn't finish." You said as you buckled your seat belt.

"It's fine. I'm good as long as you're good." He said while starting the engine.

"Use me." You said to him.

"Huh?" He asked you.

"Fuck me the way you want to and use me to cum." You told him meaning every bit of it.

"Fuck." Chan said and took off his seat belt.

Thank God it was late in the night, and your windows were tinted.