#the trio has gotten to me

[uku-lelevillain]

the inevitable has happened and i started writing a fic and guess what i discovered ? writing is hard as hell (breaking news i know) i don’t know how you guys do it it’s incredible

[welcometoteyvat]

jing yuan and yanqing are giving zhongli and xiao if the latter’s canon relationship was Actually fanon’s made up father figure/adopted child dynamic

[hamofjustice]

it's nice that we're getting anything i guess, but, i'm gonna be what may come off as a little petty and whiny here; it'd be cool if either iteration of the gen 9 anime so far was actually about gen 9's characters instead of using them as cameos to promote original stories we have no investment in yet

it's like, i dunno, like the bait and switch with sonic appearing in wreck it ralph ads, except if wreck it ralph existing meant there would never be a sonic movie, and if you were invested in those characters and recognized they weren't generic platformer mascots, sucks for you, nobody cares

maybe they're just giving the DLC space to do its thing with them first (if they do anything at all...) but idk, i was cautiously optimistic about nemona in horizons, only for her to be a character of the day that the episode wasn't about, and pretty excited by "gen 9 prequel anime" only to find out it's going to be like, four short stories about OCs who have quick brushes with them. these are like the lacroix hint of what an anime about the game could've been like and you're left to imagine the rest yourself

i shouldn't be that surprised if the gen 8 anime reduced hero of galar hop to a character of the day with a level 5 wooloo in order to let the galaxy revolve around ash battling his brother because epic charizards, but man. what if it wasn't like that that now that ash is gone.

we haven't seen penny and team star at all because they're the hardest to talk about without bringing up the trauma of school bullying and the fear of being yourself at school when you're way too young to be dealing with all that drama responsibly. she's still learning to love and forgive herself and feel wanted.

arven's story is about, like, being a latchkey kid to a self-absorbed parent, being unsure how to feel about repairing the relationship or how seriously to take them saying they love him, and struggling to make friends due to misdirected resentment toward people he's jealous of for having apparently normal families and the stubborn self-reliance he was forced into. he's still trying to process things, find himself, and let people in.

nemona is supposed to have been a directionless lonely and depressed kid who hated being called gifted when everything was hard for her, until she met the player character and gained a peer who understood and appreciated she was a little different and she didn't have to mask her true self to have friends anymore. she's happy for now, but may still be under a little too much pressure to be perfect at the expense of her own personality, and probably won't deal well with being abandoned.

as much as they resonate with adults and are a little darker than usual pokemon fare, they're also smaller scale and realer. they are all stories that are explicitly about and meant to be relatable to kids going to school! y'know, your audience! you don't need to paint over them with 3-4 new characters and new stories every time like there was nothing there, or something shameful you need to sanitize and cover up! you can just use the game the way it is!

this got a little more heated than i intended, i just feel a little ridiculous waiting anxiously for loose scraps of a sign that this story isn't over and in the trash already and nemona's life-changing attachment to the player character isn't going to go totally ignored, as we are bombarded with what is supposed to be followup material that almost all seems eager to talk about literally anything else like they think the main story was a mistake they need to run away from

now, i'm not one to complain about original stories being told, but this was already a story that had room to grow. imagine a world where the gen 9 anime was actually about nemona, arven, penny, and the friend who brought them together. or what their lives were like before that friend came along. every episode. that would get me to watch the anime again and whatever movie came out for it. ask yourself why we don't have that, or even the traditional, like, 1-2 characters tagging along with the MCs per region thing that would leave us knowing them better than we know some irl friends

how was starting over with 100% original characters and new lore that might conflict hard with the upcoming DLC the safer bet? why is a 44 minute miniseries specifically for fans of the game making up OCs for them to get invested in and scrambling to tell their stories as quickly as possible before throwing them in the trash instead of being about the damn game?

sigh. i shouldn't get invested in a series that's about selling monster plushies just because it had one story that stuck with me

[turtle-trash]

I know no one asked but here’s the moves the nimbasa trio have in the au where they’re pokemon

[victory-cookies]

.

[achilleslyre]

my yahiko is the prettiest boy in the world……….

[aireia]

pretty. — shopping for your wedding gown went a little wrong.

tw/cw: tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, fluff/crack, reader wears a dress + satoru calls them his future wife —masterlist

you smile and place your palms under your chin, wondering how you got to this point. your snowy haired fiancé is currently twirling around with a custom tailored wedding gown… which he wasn’t going to be wearing on your wedding day anyway, because he would never hear the end of it from his first year trio. okay, yuji probably wouldn’t have said anything, but nobara and megumi would bully him out of his own wedding. without a doubt, 100 percent.

your mind tried running through the events that had unfolded over the past two weeks, finally stopping at where everything started.

-

“pretty.” 

those were the only words that satoru gojo had to say the moment the both of you had found the perfect wedding dress for you. detailed right down to the final bits of the dress, it matched you perfectly with your favourite flowers weaved into the design, just the perfect length… it was everything you were looking for.

the sound of your soft laughter brought him out of his awestruck expression. “thank you, but as much as i love it, it feels just a little uncomfortable.” you sounded a little disappointed, and satoru couldn’t help but notice every little shift and movement you made… especially that mischievous look in your eyes and grin plastered on your face the moment you thought of a ‘solution.’ 

“maybe you should be the one in a dress at our wedding. i’m sure the strongest can handle a little bit of discomfort.”  

now, you and gojo had known each other for probably more than a decade. he knew better than anyone else that you were joking. but you were basically challenging him with that last sentence, right? 

he abruptly stood up from the couch he was sitting on once you had gotten to changing out of the wedding gown before marching off to one of the nearby employees and asking about any dresses his size, only to be met with the response of, “this is an unusual request, but there are quite a few dresses that would compliment you-” the employee coughed a few times before continuing, “-but we are closing soon, so there might not be enough time to try them on-” 

“i'll take all of them.”

“pardon?”

“including the one my future wife chose. okay thanks!”

the total came up to about 1.2 million yen. for a dress for you and those 3 gowns the employee picked out, it horrified everyone present at the counter. everyone but him, of course. 

back to present time, that’s how you found yourself being the one and only audience member for your beloved’s fashion show. for a good reason, you wanted to chew him out for spending that recklessly. then again, this is the same guy who decides to buy two of the same items no matter how expensive it is “just in case the other one goes missing.”

you sigh softly before turning your attention back onto him. he’s currently trying on the final dress, and has finally got rid of the sunglasses. you can’t help but admit that he actually looks good in the dress, sparkling with all the right types of gems and jewels, paired with his now visible long eyelashes, he looks pretty. 

“so? how do i look!!?” satoru asks with enthusiasm, spinning around you in circles. 

“hmm, maybe i should be the one wearing your suit that day instead,” you jokingly say to him. he understood, laughing before ruffling your hair. 

“as if i’d let you.” a comfortable silence filled the air afterwards, being broken afterwards by satoru confessing, “i dream of seeing you wearing that in front of me at the altar, you know?”

your eyes at this. you weren’t expecting him to say something like that so sudden. 

“i can wear it at night when-” satoru’s sentence was cut off by a light punch to his gut. 

“hell no.”

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

@rninies still can't write fluff unfortunately, writing this fried my brain

[cupid-styles]

yours (ymls check-in)

in which y/n just wants to be harry's — officially.

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: parenting/family stuff (y/n and harry are parents), smut (breeding kink, slight size kink, literal one "mommy" mention, dirty talk)

ymls masterlist | main masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Parenthood is difficult.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so it takes Harry and Y/N approximately two minutes of bringing Clementine into the world to come to the same realization. Her loud wails break their hearts every time, sleep becomes a luxury, and breastfeeding takes an incredible toll on Y/N’s physical and mental health.

But in the same way that parenting is hard and filled with tears and confusion, it’s just as — if not more — rewarding.

Clementine is the best thing that’s ever happened to each of them. Harry can’t remember a version of his life where he wasn’t head-over-heels in love with his sweet baby girl, and Y/N has softened up a considerable amount now that she spends most of her day cooing to her daughter. 

It’s not perfect by any means — Clem is a tried-and-true daddy’s girl and sometimes it hurts Y/N’s feelings. Clementine also inherited her mom’s grumpy exterior and, in the middle of a visit from Harry’s parents or Y/N’s sister, will starfish her body, going completely rigid until one of her parents takes her. (Harry always thinks it’s funny while Y/N is embarrassed by it. It’s something they’re working on as a family.)

Beyond their little trio, though, lies a larger situation that’s been conveniently tucked away since Clementine was born: Harry and Y/N’s relationship. 

They never decided what they were after confessing feelings for one another. One day, they lived separately and were going the route of platonic co-parenting. The next, Harry moved all his things into Y/N’s, ended the lease on his own apartment, and painted the guest room a pretty pastel pink. 

At first, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Y/N has never cared for labels on relationships, and their devotion to each other was blatant — they were parenting a child together, after all. He kissed her good morning, they held hands on family walks, and at the end of the day, they were crawling into bed together. She didn’t need a ring or a title to reiterate where she stood in Harry’s life.

Until… well, until the supermarket incident.

It was a rainy day, but Y/N wanted to pop into the store before they rounded the corner to head back home. Now that Clementine’s pediatrician gave them the okay to start trying out solid foods — or, as solid as baby food can be — Harry had gotten really into making it from scratch. Currently, their kitchen was a mess of sweet potato, apple, and green bean purees, but Y/N was trying to be supportive, even if the noise of the blender sometimes woke Clem up from her afternoon nap. She remembered him mentioning a new recipe he found for carrots, mangos, and bananas, so she figured they could grab the ingredients on their way home. 

Clementine looked adorable in her cute little rain jacket and matching hat. Harry couldn’t stop taking pictures of her, and as they dipped into the produce aisle, stroller in tow, she remembered they needed another gallon of milk since they were trying to wean Clem off of Y/N’s breast milk. 

“You guys can stay right here, it’s just in the next aisle,” Y/N said, arms stuffed with produce bags. Harry nodded, though his attention primarily laid on Clementine’s gummy smile. Y/N snorted to herself as she quickly shuffled off to the dairy section — the duo were two peas in a pod, but she didn't think she would want it any other way. 

Glancing down at her watch, she put a pep in her step as she walked back to the produce aisle. They had about 15 minutes before Clem started getting antsy and whiney about her pre-dinner nap, and she didn’t want her to get upset on their walk home. 

Only, when she turned the aisle, Harry and Clementine weren’t alone anymore — no, there were two women standing with them, cooing over their daughter. 

“She’s so precious! How old is she?” one of them asked.

“Ah, almost eight months,” Harry replied bashfully, petting down the tuft of brown curls at the top of Clementine’s head. Y/N clenched her jaw. Why had he taken her hat off? It was supposed to protect her from the rain! 

“So sweet,” the other woman grinned, reaching out to thumb over Clementine’s puffy cheek. The vision sent a pang of jealousy through Y/N’s chest — her baby wasn’t some kind of doll that anyone could just touch! Clutching the produce and container of milk in her hands, Y/N all but marched over to the stroller and threw them in the bottom compartment. 

“Ready to go, honey?” 

Harry blinked at Y/N, a world of confusion swirling in the green eyes he shared with his daughter. She stayed silent and still, knuckles white from gripping the stroller handle so tightly. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, leaning down to gently place Clementine back in her seat, “This is Y/N, Clementine’s mum.”

“Oh, your baby is so sweet! Harry was just raving about you!” one of the women nearly squealed. Y/N smiled tightly as she watched him buckle Clementine in.

“Okay, say bye bye, Clem,” Harry murmured. They’d been trying to teach her how to wave hello and goodbye, but Y/N would rather scoop her own eyeballs out than watch her do it for the first time with these women. 

In fact, she was already pushing the stroller down the end of the aisle before they could even get the word “bye” out.

Since that day about two weeks ago, it’s been constantly replaying in the back of Y/N’s brain. Even though Harry didn’t think much of it (she knows this because he immediately started talking about nonsense on the walk home), for the first time, it plucked at a chord of insecurity that she didn’t even know she had. She’d always felt fairly secure in her relationship with Harry — he’d all but begged her for this life together, and he’d been incredibly involved from the moment she got pregnant — so how is that two random strangers at the supermarket tore this out of her? 

It bothered her so deeply to the point where she did something she’d never done before: Ask Lea for relationship advice. 

“In the years I’ve known you, you have never asked me for help with a man,” Lea had said, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly met her hairline. Y/N grumbled as she wrapped her hand around her matcha, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She’d been able to sneak out for an afternoon coffee date with her while Harry took Clementine to the park. “You’re always so… sure of yourself. And you have a literal child with Harry. What gives?”

Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her lips together nervously. “You should’ve seen the way those girls were all over him. It was… gross.”

“It’s normal to feel jealous, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I am not jealous,” she muttered, “I just… he introduced me as Clementine’s mom. Don’t you think I’m a bit… more than that to him?”

“Of course you are. But you’ve never had that conversation, have you?”

“Like you said, we have a baby together. What else could you need?”

Lea smirked, “That’s all that you need. But he probably needs a bit more confirmation than that.”

Y/N bristled as she stuck her straw between her lips, taking a long sip. 

“He knows we’re in a relationship, doesn’t he?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “Dom and I used to hear all the gossip about you two before Clem was born, but since then, I think he’s just been focused on making sure you and her are both taken care of.”

“So what do I do?” Y/N asked through a sigh, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth. 

“Talk to him,” Lea said easily, “But… maybe don’t do it in your rough-and-tough-Y/N way. Maybe… make it a little special. He likes that, y’know? Little romantic gestures?”

Y/N scrunched her face. Lea was right — Harry was all about the little things, like surprising her with flowers or waking her up with breakfast in bed on the weekends. And while Y/N was positive she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, she’d certainly attempt to find one if it meant making Harry happy. 

. . .

A few days later, Harry walks into his shared apartment with Y/N to the scent of something delicious. 

“Y/N?” he calls as he toes his shoes off in the entryway. They weren’t due for company, were they? He doesn’t think so, but with eight months straight of four to five hours of sleep each night, he had trouble remembering anything that wasn’t Clementine-related. 

He follows the fragrance into the kitchen, where Y/N is standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of some sort of sauce. She jumps, hand over her heart, when he goes to greet her. 

“Jesus fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, the wooden spoon nearly clattering to the floor. He smirks and lets out an amused laugh as he walks towards her, observing the array of pans on the stovetop. 

“What’s all this for?” he asks. Y/N presses a hand to his muscular chest and attempts to block him from seeing anything. 

“I’m making you dinner,” she mumbles, nibbling on her bottom lip, “Clem’s with my sister for the night.”

“Oh?”

She nods. 

“Did I forget a special occasion?”

She shakes her head.

“Then how come I’m getting spoiled tonight?”

Her cheeks warm at that, but they both pretend her blush is invisible. “I just wanted to do something… romantic for you.” 

“Romantic?” he repeats the word like it’s a bizarre concept and it makes a pit form in Y/N’s stomach, “That’s… sweet of you. Thank you.”

She nods, albeit a bit robotically. “Um. Yeah. It’ll be ready in like 5 minutes.”

“Sounds good,” he replies, “Do you want me to set the table?”

She shakes her head bashfully and Harry raises an eyebrow. “I already did that.”

Her demure nature makes a smile form at the edges of his lips and he reaches out to press a hand to her hip, squeezing gently. 

“Y’okay?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at her. “You seem nervous.”

Y/N shrugs and it supplies him with a tepid answer. “I just wanna make this nice for you.”

His heart breaks a bit at that and he ducks lower to catch her lips in a short, sweet kiss. PDA isn’t irregular for them — not with touch being Harry’s primary love language — so it’s unsurprising to be on the receiving end of one of his dizzying kisses, even if it ends quicker than she’d like. 

“This is already so special to me. I do miss Clem, though.”

She snorts at that as he brushes his nose against hers. “Of course you do. She’s your mini me.”

“Except when she’s making that grumpy little face. That’s all you.”

Y/N lightly bats at his chest before mumbling out to go sit down in the dining room. 

Harry’s eyes widen when he sees the candlelit table — he can’t remember the last time they ate on actual plates, always opting for take-out containers or paper plates for the sake of convenience. He swallows as he sits down and listens to Y/N shuffle around the kitchen. He hears her curse, followed by what sounds like her emptying pasta into a colander — she always burns herself whenever she does that, and he can envision the slight grimace that appears on her face. 

Just as he’s getting antsy and preparing himself to ask if she needs any help, Y/N appears from the kitchen with a big bowl of pasta. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she places it on the table, then stands up straight. She looks like a soldier waiting to be told to return to their duties.

“Um… I made us that roasted red pepper pasta you like.” she says, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s great,” Harry nods, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Sit down. You look like you’re gonna have an aneurysm. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Y/N grumbles as she sits down, and the sound of her grouchy voice makes him chuckle as he grabs her bowl to serve her, “I know I’m not, like… the most romantic person, or even the easiest person to be around, so it’s important to me that I make this really good for you.”

“I hate when you say that,” he murmurs before placing her full bowl in front of her. He moves to serve himself, “You’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around. You’re a great mum and I love being a parent with you.”

Y/N swallows as she listens to him, leaving her food untouched. He watches her and takes a bite of his pasta, chewing slowly. 

“Is that… all I am to you?” she asks softly with low eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… am I still just a co-parent to you?” 

He sets his fork down and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, we never really talked about it, I guess. But you know you’re more than that to me.”

“You’re more than just Clem’s dad to me,” she continues. “And it kinda hurt my feelings when you introduced me to those girls as ‘Clementine’s mom’ a few weeks back.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Oh. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I know.”

His heart strains at the thought of hurting her feelings, but he also knows that what happened in the supermarket was weeks ago. Had she been sitting on it and thinking about it all this time?

“I never want to make you uncomfortable, Y/N. To be honest, I don’t know how to refer to you but… I’d say you’re my partner, yeah? You’re my teammate in raising our beautiful girl and I love getting to live life with you.”

Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest. “But what if… what if you called me your girlfriend, too?”

Harry’s silent for a moment. He reaches out to place his hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

“Would you want that?” he asks. “I’ll only do it if that’s what you want.”

She looks up at him and nods. Her eyes are glassy and it makes Harry’s chest tighten. Suddenly, he needs to be closer to her, so he stands up and scoops her into his arms. At first she rejects his touch, mumbling out sentiments about still having postpartum weight, but Harry shushes her and pulls her into his lap. 

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Y/N.” he murmurs. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers and he keeps his hands as solid anchors on her hips. 

“I want you to call me your girlfriend,” she says, lifting her gaze to look at him. “I don’t want you to entertain any other person or let them flirt with you or touch our baby. I just want it to be the three of us, always.”

If Harry’s being honest, he would have been content with living in this gray, in-between area with Y/N for the rest of their lives. He was happy — so incredibly happy to be in her life, to sleep next to her every night, to raise a gorgeous baby girl with her. He felt fortunate to be there for every moment, good and bad — but he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the day where she told him what was really going on in that pretty head of hers.

He presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says quietly, soft fingertips smoothing over the expanse of her hip, “You’re my girlfriend, okay? Not just Clemmie’s mum. You’re so much more than that.”

She nods her head and Harry smiles gently at how flustered she continues to be — it’s a side of her that he rarely sees, and the sight makes a low chuckle sound from deep in his chest. 

“You’re silly,” he mumbles against the shell of her ear. “Isn’t that what you are? A silly baby desperate to be mine?”

Y/N bristles and swallows harshly, keeping her gaze low in his lap. His smirk only grows as he begins to press slow kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. Her eyes flutter closed. 

“Everyone thinks you’re this pretty, grumpy girl, but I know better than that,” he continues, sliding his hands beneath her tee-shirt to feel her warm skin, “You’re loving and kind. The best mum I’ve ever seen. The best partner and the best girlfriend, too. Isn’t that right, mama?”

She gasps wetly and he feels her thighs threaten to clench, but his hips prevent her from getting any relief. He hums, satisfied with her response and, in a quick movement, pulls her shirt from her body and tosses it to the floor. Her swollen breasts sit prettily on her chest and he tries his best not to groan at the sight. 

“Don’t tease,” she mewls. He chuckles as she grasps at the fabric of his own tee-shirt, the soft material in the tight clutch of her knuckles. 

“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, though he knows the answer is an obvious and resounding yes. They haven’t had actual sex in at least a month, not with Clementine occupying 99% of their time. Even if he’s attempting to play it cool, his cock is hard and throbbing beneath layers of his clothing. He swears he can even feel the warmth of her pussy through her own clothes and it’s taking everything in him not to thrust up and grind against her. 

“Yes,” Y/N pants, shaky fingers digging beneath the waistband of his trousers to pull his length out, “S-stop playing around. You know it’s been too long.”

Harry laughs lowly and lifts his hips up to grant her enough space so she can retrieve his cock. She doesn’t even bother pushing his pants or briefs down, swallowing tightly at the sight of the ruddy tip already leaking with pre-cum. 

“Relax, baby,” he mumbles, grabbing one of her trembling hands and intertwining their fingers together, “Breathe, yeah? I’ll take care of my girl.”

Her pussy clenches at that — my girl — and she nibbles on her bottom lip eagerly when he pushes her soft shorts to the side to reveal her pussy. He wishes he had more willpower to look at what he’s been missing out on and his throat bobs when his eyes flicker down to the puffy clit tucked between her lips. He thinks they’ll both explode if he doesn’t get inside of her in the next two seconds, so he gives his cock a pump before he positions himself beneath her and slowly pushes in. 

Immediately, she whimpers out and he stalls, his free hand pressing rigidly into the skin of her thigh. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Yeah,” she whispers, “Tight fit.”

“I know.” he mutters, glancing up at her to read her expression. “Do you need me to pull out?”

She instantly shakes her head, “No, no. Keep going.”

Harry leans up to seal their lips in a messy, wet kiss as he continues pushing in as slowly as he can. He supposes he should’ve spent more time stretching her out, but if there’s one thing he’s learned about Y/N over the past year, it’s that she’s always eager and ever determined to take him, even if it’s been weeks since their last time together.

When he’s finally all the way in, his balls snug against her bum, their kiss slows, though it doesn’t seem like Y/N has any plans to separate their mouths. He doesn’t move a muscle, even if he knows his cock is throbbing from the tightness of her pussy. And then, after what seems like an eternity, she nods.

Slowly, he begins to fuck up inside of her and breathy moans depart from her swollen lips. Harry’s mouth catches each one, punctuating every whimper with a gentle peck. 

“There you go, mama, take my cock. You’re doing so good, aren’t you?”

She only responds with a lilting whimper and he moans, feeling the way her pussy clenches around his length. It’s not the dirtiest sex they’ve had — not by a long shot — but god, if it doesn’t feel incredible knowing that they’re completely devoted to one another.

“You make me feel so good,” she mewls, making his eyes nearly roll back, “I love your cock— ‘s so good, Harry, want— want you to give me another baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing her hips hard, “Can’t just fucking say that stuff, baby. I’ll bust before you even cum.”

“D-don’t care,” she shudders, but he can tell she’s reaching her peak by the way her thighs begin to tremble, each of her muscles tightening. “Cum inside me, m-make me a mommy again.”

His chest vibrates with a deep groan and he reaches between them to pinch at her pearly clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. He’s seconds away from bursting himself, but he refuses to finish before she has a chance to. 

It barely takes a few loops around the bundle of nerves before she’s shaking in his lap, her pussy tensing around his length as she moans out his name over and over again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and he presses his forehead against her sweaty shoulder, shuddering as her orgasm triggers his own. As requested, he pumps his cock deep inside of her as he comes, pushing his seed as far as it’ll go. She whimpers from the sensation as pants fall from her lips, shivering every time he thrusts another rope of cum into her.

They’re both shaking by the time both of their orgasms taper off. Harry wraps his arms around her sweaty form, pulling her chest against his. 

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You and Clem. We’re a family.”

Y/N nods, echoing his words. “Yours.”

They settle into a comfortable silence; Harry’s softening cock still inside. He’s unsure of how how long they stay there, but he does know that they’ll have to move eventually so he can clean her up. It’s only then that she sits up to look at him, her eyes soft and tired. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” 

“Will you get me Plan B tomorrow?” she asks, biting her lip. “I think Clem is… more than enough for me right now.”

He laughs and nods his head. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.”

[fathomlessgaze]

bring your child to work day: zayne and his daughter spend a day at the hospital

fluff, dad!zayne/reader (a little bit), ~2.2k

warnings: reader only makes a small appearance it's mostly about zayne + his daughter spending quality time together tbh, allusions to zayne + mc's lore (no specific memory idt just the overarching theme of their story), zayne is a devoted girl dad bc i believe in girldad!zayne...

a/n: mc/reader + zaynes daughter is named zenith here bc i liked the idea of them sharing an initial 😭 meaning the highest point/the point right above you in the sky bc i think thats what she would be for zayne+mc like one of the best moments of their lifetimes :( anyway it's mentioned in the fic but shes the spitting image of zayne thats his mini-me fr

“good morning,” zayne says, passing by the nurses’ station without much fuss. it’s an ordinary wednesday, after all.  

“morning,” greyson echoes with a curt nod, his eyes still focused on the files he’s reviewing from an overnight patient. 

“mornin’!” a third voice calls happily. 

greyson freezes, his papers falling unceremoniously on the floor. “huh!?” he exclaims, a little too loud for a hospital corridor. 

however the chief pays his outburst no mind, and he suddenly sees why, greyson’s gaze finding the little girl perched on his boss’ hip. of course, he remembers, it’s “bring your child to work” day. but for some reason, he never thought that zayne would actually bring his child to work. perhaps that explains why he’d made sure no surgeries were scheduled for this day weeks ago. 

zayne strokes her dark hair, brushing a loose strand from her pigtails behind her ear. “this is dr. greyson,” he speaks softly, pointing in his direction. “dr. greyson, meet zenith.” 

“nice to meet you!” she exclaims, waving a chubby hand in the air, paying no mind to his wide eyes and slack jaw. 

she can��t be over four judging from her height, and, of course, greyson knew zayne had a daughter, but he didn’t really know. he remembers you mentioning her at your appointments, the photos on his desk and, of course, zayne’s paid time off actually being used at personal all time highs (which had already been on the incline after you moved in and then got married) since a few years ago, but it still feels surreal to actually see him with his child. 

if she has any opinion on greyson’s lack of response besides the cartoon birds that would appear around his head if they were in an animated tv show, she gives no hint. instead, she smiles brightly, her green eyes sparkling as she takes zayne’s glasses off his face and fists the lenses, trying to rotate them in her tiny hands and fit them on her own face. 

somehow, with the much too large frames perched on her nose, she looks even more like her father. everything, from her dark hair tied with ribbons to her hazel eyes, the curve of her brow and little nose, she is her father’s daughter to a t. perhaps the only un-zayne-like thing about her is the permanent cheeriness in her gaze and her gummy smile. that she must’ve gotten from you. while greyson has definitely noticed how his boss has become a little less taciturn and stern over the years, he would be lying to himself if he said he ever thought zayne would become even a miniscule fraction as bubbly as the daughter he holds close right now.

“i didn’t know you were bringing your daughter in today!” greyson exclaims, the realizations of today finally settling and coming together in his mind.

there’s a fondness in his eyes as he glances to zenith, his lips quirking the slightest bit upwards. “she’s been asking for weeks to come with me; i figured now would be the best time with the other kids here. i know you’ve seen the schedule for today, but—”

“oh my god!” yvonne gasps, speeding towards the trio gathered. “you brought your daughter, dr. zayne!” she extends her hand to the girl, which she happily takes. “i’m yvonne, i work with your dad.” 

“i’m zenif,” she babbles, her syllables getting caught on her missing tooth. 

simultaneously both greyson and yvonne coo at the little girl. 

“aren’t you the cutest thing? i’ve seen so many pictures of you but you’re just the dearest little one, hm?” 

and word of mouth travels fast, because, soon enough, a whole crowd has come to fuss over the most adorable little girl who looks exactly like the aloof department chair and has the sweetest smile. she graciously accepts their compliments with quiet ‘thank you's' and hides her face in her father’s neck and shoulder, causing even more ‘aww’s to fall from his colleagues’ lips. when the attention dies down, zayne finally gets to his office, nearly an hour later than he usually would have by now, but he can’t even be annoyed. his little girl is the most precious; of course, he would react in the same way. 

he shuts the door behind them and puts his bag down by his desk, moving zenith so she has a place on his lap when he sits down. “what would you like to do today, hm?” he asks, booting up his computer and finding a pile of files from the depths of a drawer. 

“what do you do?” she asks.

he hums. “well sometimes i see patients who don’t feel well, sometimes i do surgeries on them so they feel better, and sometimes i have to do paperwork. i don’t have any patients or surgeries scheduled today, so we can do whatever you want; how does that sound?”

“what about paperwork?” she exclaims. “you said that’s what you do?” 

“would you like to do paperwork with me?” 

she nods firmly. “i wanna spend time with daddy!” 

his heart softens, his already abnormally warm (at least for work standards) gaze growing even more endeared by his precious, favorite little girl. “you want to spend time with me?” 

her head bobs and she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “of course! i love you, daddy.”

pressing a kiss to her cheek, he can’t help a smile. of course he knows she loves him, loves spending time with him. when he’s home she’s practically glued to his hip. and he tries his best to make sure she knows the same. but sometimes it’s just nice to hear it from someone you love. “and i love you, princess.” 

it used to be a foreign expression on his tongue many, many years ago, before you’d returned to his life, and especially before she came into his life. but as time flew by, thanks to you and your help, he’d grown familiar, comfortable, fond with it. while he knew you didn’t mind him not saying that as much as other boyfriends and husbands might from all your conversations, knowing he expressed how much he loved you and then some through other ways, he knew she might not have understood just how her father expressed his feelings and fondness at her young age. 

so beyond his quiet actions, he makes sure to tell her. whether it’s a post-it note in her lunchbox, right next to the heart-shaped sandwich with the crusts cut off, just how she likes it, whenever it’s his turn to make her lunch, or a birthday card she’ll know how to read one day, he tries to tell her through words too. ‘i love you’ went from an expression he seldom said or heard, to one he couldn’t get enough of, whether it be from your lips or hers, and one he always wanted you both to know. 

“let’s see what kind of paperwork we can find for you, then.” coincidentally a knock sounds from the other side of the door. “come in.” 

“they brought some donuts and coloring pages out in the lobby,” yvonne says, popping her head in. “i figured you’d both be interested.” 

“thank you, yvonne.” when the door shuts, zayne leans back to look at his daughter, brushing her hair. “what do you think about that? do you want to take a look?” with her eager nods, zayne stands.

“i wanna walk,” she pouts, tugging on his once crisp button-up, and he puts her down accordingly, taking her small fingers in his. 

they make their way hand in hand down the corridor, drawing even more endeared coos from the staff until they reach the table. kneeling down to her height, he points at a smaller kids table in the corner.

“how about you get some coloring sheets and crayons? i can get you a donut and we can head back and do some paperwork,” he explains.  

she happily obliges, skipping over and inspecting the books with a familiar seriousness (which also makes the other staff coddle her just as much as her bright smiles. “aren’t you so precious!?” “she’s just like her father!” zayne can’t help the small quirk of his lips when he hears how cute they find his daughter, because she is, speaking from his personal experience.). meanwhile he grabs a strawberry donut with sprinkles and a chocolate one, both her favorites, placing them on a napkin and grabbing a few extra knowing how she takes after you in terms of her messiness. 

meeting her in the corner, he bends down, taking a quick look at the drawings she’s taken. “find anything you like?” he asks.

raising her pages to his eyes, she beams. “they have the bears!” 

he smiles softly, tucking her loose hair away. “yes, they do,” he hums. “who knew?” 

it totally wasn’t like he’d ordered specific character coloring books when it was time for the cardiology department to refill their kids’ activity section. it totally wasn’t like he’d looked for some ones he knew his daughter would love. it wasn’t like that at all; zayne maintains he’s as impassive and serious at work as ever…he’s lying to himself.

when she gathers her crayons, the duo make their way back to his office. the day flies quickly by, her babbles and light, curious questions bringing a new level of comfort and joy zayne never thought he’d get from his job. he loves what he does, of course, but everything just seems more enjoyable and memorable with his daughter by his side. or rather, with her on his lap, in her own little world of just her and her beloved dad, oblivious to the seriousness of the paperwork her father is dealing with as she busies herself with her own “paperwork” and scribbles vibrant colors all over the once black and white image.

and zayne thinks he would be perfectly content if it were to stay like this forever. even with all his prizes and awards, nothing could compare to the reward and title of being your husband and zenith’s father. 

he lowers his pen to the desk from his fingers, using his free hand to rest his head as he admires the precious life before him. “i love you, princess,” he murmurs, pinching her cheek. 

“i love you too, daddy!” she turns to face him, crumbs of donut glaze still around her lips. 

he takes a napkin and dabs at her face before checking his watch. you’d said you’d meet them around now… “how about we get lunch soon?” 

right on time, a knock sounds from the door, which opens to reveal you. “how are my favorite doctors doing?” you exclaim. 

“mama!” she cheers, hopping off zayne’s knee and running into your waiting embrace. 

kissing her head, you give her a squeeze. “how’s work with dada going?” 

“i love it here! daddy colors and eats dessert all day,” she cheers. 

glancing to your husband, you chuckle. “is that so?” 

he makes his way towards you both, giving you a peck as you stand, your daughter now on your hip. “something like that,” he mumbles. 

“then maybe i should become a doctor too,” you tease. “is now a good time for lunch?” 

he nods, opening the office door once more and allowing you to pass first. 

“i wanna become a doc-tor, too,” zenith ponders, suddenly serious with her small fingers tapping at her chin as she thinks, a habit no doubt from her father. “then daddy and i can color and eat snacks together forever!” 

“is that so?” you ask, but you can’t help the smile you shoot at your husband. 

she bobs her head, a determined furrow in her brow. “i wanna be with mama and daddy forever.” 

zayne has a warm fondness in his gaze as his eyes find his daughter. she looks up to him with wide eyes and her gummy grin, reaching her small hand out for his own, which he happily obliges. her tiny fist wraps around two of fingers, and he briefly wishes that she could stay his little girl for eternity. she doesn’t need to know how hard her dad’s job actually is, how much work he had to put in to get to where they are now, the sorrows of her parents’ past. she is a precious gem, the shining peak of all your shared lifetimes. 

this one existence, finally at peace, a happy ending for you and him, domestic bliss with the two, now three, of you, he thinks it’s worth every tear that’s been shed before. and maybe in another universe and lifetime, the you’ll get another happy ending. he thinks that even if it’s a simple life, as long as it’s with the two of you, it’d be one he cherishes and treasures close to every fiber of his existence, one he would fight all there may be to remember, for no god could tear his devotion. maybe he’d even bet every splintering past life that led to this one was worth the years he’s gotten to spend with you in this one, and the years still to come. so he hopes she stays as optimistic and bright as ever, that you stay by his side in this heavenly life he could only once dream of. after all, ice is made of crystals.

[demieyesore]

You - Theodore Nott

Currently listening to Hollywood undead while I write this fanfic, anyways I’m a big whore (unfortunately) and I see that currently my poll is around the same votes for Mattheo and Theo…so this one will be for Theo (since my first fanfic was for Mattheo) and then my next fanfic after this one will be Mattheo x Reader x Theo bc I absolutely love men and poly relationships‼️

Summary - Theo notices someone being too handsy with GN!Reader in class and gets possessive

Warnings / Mentions - Reader is not in a specific house, no use of Y/n, kind of strangers to lovers? Reader is friends with the golden trio, Harry is the one being touchy, Possessive!Theo, Yandere!Theo, Stalker!Theo (but doesn’t really mention anything creepy except claiming the Reader)

I am willing to make a smutty part two of this if anyone wants it and I hope y’all recognize what I’m loosely referencing in this fic at the end LOL

Requested - No

POV - 1st person

Word Count - 1979

I fiddle with my tie, trying to re-adjust the cloth as it hangs loosely around my neck. I had originally loosened it because it had gotten really hot in the class room but that can be expected when you’re working on potions from time to time.

Harry was assigned to be my potions partner. Ron and Hermione were sat next to us as we read off all the needed ingredients.

Harry begins listing the items while counting them on his fingers in 3s. Once he’s mesmerized part of the ingredients, his eyes drift towards me. His eyebrow quirks up when he sees me struggling with my tie.

Immediately he forgets the stuff we need as he reaches over to my tie, gently removing my hands from the area as he re-adjusts it for me. A small blush forms on my face at how close he has gotten. I can very easily see his scar up close and how his glasses are settled on his nose.

Has he always been this pretty?

As if on command, his hands drop from my tie. I look down at his hands and back up as he gives me a cute but awkward looking smile.

The kind of smile you give someone when you realize just how close you are before moving away.

Harry stands and goes to grab the ingredients.

Hermione smiles at me with a grin that just screams, “I told you he liked you.”

I roll my eyes at her, watching as Ron fucks up something in their potion, causing his eyes to go wide. Hermione’s attention is redirected as she hits the back of his head, pushing him over to fix whatever he’s done.

As I wait for Harry, I look around the room. Some people are already done with their potions, some are restarting. And by restarting, I mean that Seamus’ is covered with dust and his hair is everywhere.

Well now I know why it’s so hot in here.

My eyes wander next to him to see the next table of students. At this table, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott are sitting and just talking.

Looks like they’ve finished their potion.

I realize that Theo is looking at me and quickly look away.

I’ve talked to him a few times before but I really tried to stay away from his friend group. Except Enzo and Blaise, they’re really the only two I get along with well.

Being friends with the golden trio is nice but that just means that Draco’s friend group bitches about it all the damn time.

Harry walks back over, holding a tray in one hand with everything we need. He stands behind me, placing his free hand on my shoulder as he leans over me in order to place the tray on the table.

My eyes widen as a reaction at the touch. It’s not necessarily a touch that most people would think about however, I wasn’t used to people being physical with me.

#TouchStarved, I think to myself before cracking a smile at my own humor.

Theo and Blaise’s table is right behind where Hermione and Ron are sitting so I furrow my eyebrows when I see Theo staring directly at me still.

Ah shit he looks pissed.

I avoid eye contact with him because we all know that a mad Slytherin really isn’t someone you want to be around. Although I can’t help but wonder if he’s pissed at me for something. I never talk to his friends though so there shouldn’t be any problem.

I brush it off as Harry begins speaking.

“Alright. Um- could you hand me that knife?” I nod at his question, grabbing the blade next to me and handing it to him. He nods in appreciation.

Soon enough the potion is done and was a great success. Harry and I were really happy with how it turned out since this would be very important for our grade.

Harry and I smiled at each other and raised our arms, celebrating the victory. Harry’s hands make contact with mine in a double high five. At this I smile even bigger, entwining our hands before he pulls away.

We begin laughing as Ron groans, upset with how his potion was turning out. Hermione rolled her eyes before grinning at the Potter boy and I.

Harry had the greatest idea of standing up from his stool and pulling me to stand with him. Our hands were still locked as he began to make me dance with him. At first we were doing the waltz that we were taught for the Yule ball but after he spinned me, I came back to him and instead of having our hands together, he settled for placing his hands on my hips.

He began using his hands to guide my hips in a very different dance than the waltz.

My hands were around his neck as my hips swayed from the pressure of his hands. And honestly if we were at a party this would seem extremely sexual, but since it’s just Harry and I, it’s platonic fun.

Although it definitely brought yet another blush to my face, but I was like 100% sure that Harry didn’t like me. I think he’s just a very physical person when he becomes close with people.

The Professor looks over at us, staring us down as we both laugh before scrambling away from each other. Rushing to sit down before we got yelled at.

Once the Professor looks away, a note flies over and hits Harry in the glasses. He picks up the note with his eyebrows tensed in confusion. We both look over from where it came from and it was definitely from Theodore Nott.

The only way I could be sure is when I saw him motion for Harry to read the note.

I watch as Harry reads over the words. Clearly becoming more and more confused, stealing glances between me and the note.

“What is it? What’s it say?” I vocalize, inquisitively.

He shakes his head as if he were clearing an echa sketch. But instead of a drawing, he was clearing his thoughts.

“Ah- um- it’s nothing really.” Harry stutters, licking his bottom lip. Which I’ve become aware is one of his nervous signals.

His eyes connect with Theodore, who in return stares back. His stare is clearly more frightening since he has what I like to call “dead eyes”.

Those eyes are absolutely gorgeous but when the light fades from them when he’s pissed, it’s the most terrifying thing.

I make eye contact with Hermione, having a conversation with just our eyes. Asking about what’s happening seeing as the two boys look like they’re holding back to urge to jump the tables and punch each other in the face.

Granger shrugs.

I quickly try to gain control of the situation again by calling the brunettes name. “Harry?”

“Hm?” Instead of breaking eye contact with Nott, he just makes a hum of acknowledgment.

“What’s wrong? What did the note say?” I whisper to him, trying to cover our chat from Theodore.

Potter doesn’t make an effort to say anything, instead he throws the note in front of me to read. I pick up the note and begin reading from left to right.

“Back off from what I’ve been trying to claim.” Is the only sentence written on the piece of parchment.

My mouth drops open in surprise, my mind immediately drawing the dots together like Stiles does in teen wolf.

Man he’s a smart character. But also really stupid.

I get off track with my thinking, refocusing on the important thing at hand.

But honestly, I don’t care all that much. Is that a bad thing?

Now that I know why they’re both death glaring at each other, I can only feel my stomach erupt into butterflies.

I crumple up the note, trying to be sly as I slip it into my pocket but I see as Harry’s jaw clenches and Theo now has a shit eating grin on his face.

It lasts for a couple more seconds before Potter breaks eye contact first, scoffing at the Slytherin. Harry stands abruptly and turns to leave the classroom. Ron following after him as I hear the ginger exclaim, “Bloody hell mate!”

Hermione and I look at each other again, an expression on our faces that is making it very evident that we both thought that was attractive.

Like oh my god, two guys getting jealous and possessive over me.

Perhaps it is wrong to find it attractive but I love feeling wanted.

Class soon ends after that, Harry and Ron never returning back for anything. Hermione is left to pick up after them while I exit the class. Hermione agreed to cleaning up, knowing that my next class is basically across the school and with all the moving staircases and students. It’s just torture to arrive on time.

I walk as swiftly as I can, dodging people and walking between random people in order to reach my destination.

But before I reach my class, a hand is promptly placed on my upper back. I look over my shoulder to see Theodore standing tall over me. His hand still resting on the small of my back, showing his possessive and dominant side. Practically towering over me as he guides me over to a private area.

Which happened to be a janitor’s closet. He opened the door and gently but still roughly shoved me inside. He steps in after me, clicking the lock.

I was about to speak up but he cut me off.

“I want to make you mine.” He said with a completely straight face as he put it bluntly. His voice low and deep as he kept eye contact with me.

I froze with my eyes wide as a small smirk formed on his lips.

“What? Cats got your tongue, Amore Mio”

Oh okay that got me a little bit.

I feel a small wave of attraction wash over me, something so intense for just a moment it could visually be seen in my eyes.

“Oh oh ohhhh, you like it when I speak Italian don’t you, Dolcezza?” He inquires, his eyes searching my face for some kind of a reaction as a smile grows on him.

And the answer to that question is 1000% yes but why would I admit that???

Unfortunately my body betrays me as I swallow anxiously, giving him the flustered response he was hoping for.

He could literally be calling me a cunt in Italian and I wouldn’t know except based on his tone but I would still find it attractive.

His captivating eyes look down at my lips as he closes the space between us. He slowly looks back up into my eyes as he gets on his knees in front of me.

Oh I like that too.

Theo grabs my arm gently, placing a kiss on my inner wrist as he still keeps eye contact.

My stomach flips and I shuffle a little closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” He questions, and holy shit I swear to god if he doesn’t look away I will because his eyes are literally hypnotic.

I nod but it’s not enough for him. His eyes are trained on me, pulling me down to be level with his height.

“Words.” Is all he says. Yet it’s such a powerful thing for me to hear right now.

“Yes, yes you can kiss me.” My face heats up, I turn my head away from him out of embarrassment. But he just grabs my face with his hands, aligning the kiss.

He hovers over my lips for a moment,

“If I wasn’t about to kiss you, I would’ve beat Harry bloody for the way he touched you.”

And just like that, our lips meet.

[howtfdidthishappen]

Howdy hey, I'm Threa, and damn that feels good to say again. Either way, here's some drawings I made that I forgot to update last time

First, larger drawing that I've been working on for a week and a half and should be able to finish on like Wednesday

And then, smol worm doodle because I got a shiny giritina in Pokémon omega ruby recently :)

[erwinsvow]

please do bsf rafe flirting with reader while he’s drunk and she’s trying to put him to bed but he just cuddles her and tells her how much he has feelings for her

this with kook trio readerrr omg <3 in my head, rafe's version of admitting feelings is being aggressively posessive. when they finally start dating shes like why didnt you say something sooner? and hes like wym ive been claiming you since the start

you were so used to rafe taking care of you—bringing you home to tannyhill with him, making sure you took a tylenol before you fell asleep on his bed, a clean frat shirt of his waiting for you in the bathroom.

he was such a good friend to you. when times like this came along, you tried your best to repay the favor.

you think rafe's got it easier, though. he alway manhandles you into position, can carry you up the stairs when you're stumbling and force the pill and water down your throat when you're resisting. you're usually too drunk to remember rafe's hand on your jaw, opening your mouth for you and trying to coax you into taking it, telling you repeatedly you'll be grateful he did it in the morning.

"you are such a dick," you mutter, staring at the bottle of tylenol in your hand and the empty cup of water on the nightstand. he's just spilled the water all over his floor in a drunken stupor, and you suddenly hate that he ever made you feel bad about how much he has to take care of you when you're the drunk one.

rafe is ten times worse than you could ever be.

"thinkin 'bout my dick, are'ya?" he slurs back at you, and then laughs at his own joke. he's laying flat on his bed now, still in the same clothes he wore to the party, shoes and watch still on. getting him into the house and up the stairs was hard enough, even with top and kelce's help, but they'd jumped ship the second you got rafe into bed.

"all yours now, princess," kelce said, grabbing the keys to his car.

"yeah, good luck. i've never seen him so drunk," top adds.

"you're both just leaving me with him?" you cry out, but the hallway is empty when you finally get your wrist out of rafe's grip. rafe had mumbled something from his position, but you hadn't heard it.

twenty minutes later, you still hadn't gotten rafe to drink any water or change his clothes. all his energy seemed to be focused on getting you to curl up next to him.

"c'mon! just get into bed, m'fuckin tired-" he grumbles again, latching onto your arm while you try to at least get his shoes off.

"you can't sleep with your sneakers on, rafe-"

"who cares? i like my sneakers-"

"that's great, but your sheets-"

"but not as much as i like you. hah. that's fuckin' cheesy." you turn to look at your drunken best friend, his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes are closed while talking to you. you laugh, unable to hold it back.

"thanks, rafe. i like you too. enough to get your shoes off because you will so regret this tomorrow morning."

"don't regret anything." his eyes open, staring at you while you stare at his shoes. "shit. you're pretty."

you don't even address his comment—he's drunk beyond belief and you know you're pretty. after you untie his laces for him, he kicks off his shoes. you sigh a breath of relief.

"okay, rafe, do you want to sleep in these clothes or should i find pajamas?"

"how 'bout we sleep naked? there's an idea."

"stop being a perv. otherwise i'm gonna go cuddle with kelce instead." you laugh to yourself—the whole thing is a joke. you and rafe don't cuddle, at least not on purpose. you go to bed facing him but somehow always wake up with your limbs tangled and your hair in his face.

"sure. if you want me to kill kelce."

"oh my god, dramatic much?" you turn back to rafe to see if he's laughing, but he's not, looking right at you and sitting up.

"m'not kidding. don't joke about that. you're fuckin' mine, don't forget it."

he lays back down. you pause, eyebrows knitting while you think about the sentence rafe just said. he's drunk, so he must be joking. right?

"c'mon wanna sleep. get into bed." he grumbles again, and you comply, still a little shellshocked. you turn off the lamp and get into bed, and you don't even feel surprised when rafe pulls you in. you rest your head against his chest, and you don't stop thinking about what he said until you fall asleep.

[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?

[driaswrld]

lovers rock — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 2.7k

summary : over a bottle of ill-gotten vodka, the trio has a tipsy conversation about kisses.

part of : the star paradox collection.

(comment if u wanna be tagged for tsr!!)

notes : this is heavily based off the fact that reader DID in fact have secret feelings for geto and gojo but never said anything ab it until before the star plasma incident (fic ab that coming soon dw) you may interpret this as reader fell first, they fell harder bcus that's exactly what happened fr

other : satosugu makes fake IDs (based off that one fanart), literally underage drinking??? toru cant hold his alc but wbk this, suguru smokes here too, suggestive convo, mentions of like one curse word i think

current casette : lovers rock - tv girl (anything by tv girl is a tsr song okay?)

The dorms at Tokyo Jujutsu High operate on one solid rule.

All lights out by ten, no exceptions, no buts, ands, ifs or becauses. Curfew is at ten, be in your damn room by ten.

Naturally, Satoru and Suguru mistake ten for twelve.

It’s 9:53 when you walk into your dorm room, and the first thing that greets you are hushed whispers and a smoky smell.

Why is it so dark in here?

From your place at the door frame, your eyes flit to the back of Satoru’s head, silver white strands tickling his nape, uniform replaced with a blue hoodie. Suguru’s sitting across from him, slouched, cross legged like Satoru, hair tied into a ponytail and lips twisted into a thin scowl.

“—wasn’t yours.” Suguru grumbles beneath his breath, a pair of dice clinking softly in his palm, the light from your bedside lamp giving you a sneak peek of the numbers resting.

Three and six. Oh, no, that's definitely five.

“Cost me six hundred yen to get it.”

Satoru seems to ignore him, letting out a huff in defiance.

Suguru grunts, leaning over the side of the bed to pick up a half smoked cigarette, pressing it softly against the edge of your favorite incense holder to collect the stray ash.

“Broke ass.” Satoru mumbles, and though you can’t see his expression from here, you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Freeloader.” Suguru counters, cigarette lodged between his middle and index, and he brings it up to his lips and draws in softly.

He leans forward to drop the dice on Satoru’s leg.

“We’re supposed to split it equally.” You hear a clinking noise coming from Satoru’s lap.

“Like hell we are.” Suguru scoffs, a wisp of smoke leaving his mouth.

“I should get first share, it’s only fair.”

Suguru gets up from the bed, back turned to you as he slides the window open halfway. “We’re not sharing anything.” He flicks the cigarette outside. “I don’t know where your mouth’s been—”

“You tryin’ to fight—”

“Are you two getting high in my room?” Your voice makes them both freeze, and Satoru folds over the bed backwards, head upside down and staring straight at you with a guilty grin, all while Suguru is discreetly trying to fan the rest of the cigarette smoke out the window.

“What gave you that idea?” Suguru murmurs, squinting his eyes to make out your expression in the dim light with a faux innocent smile.

You breathe a chuckle, dropping your bag by the door and clicking it shut behind you. “How did the studying with Nanamin go?” Satoru asks, as if you can’t see him folded over the bed like he’s hiding something while Suguru fans the smoke through the window.

“I fell asleep halfway through, we got boba with Haibara instead.” You say, feeling blindly on the wall for the light switch.

“And you didn’t bring some back for me?” Satoru gasps, near offended.

“Don't change the subject,” you roll your eyes, pinky finger bumping against the light switch, and you flick it upwards with your index. When the light comes on and you face them, your jaw drops.

“Surprise…?” Suguru’s cheeks puff up in a wide thin lipped smile, almost mockingly. Satoru is still hanging off the edge of the bed, cigarette ash curdled on your incense holder, the pair of dice laying on the bedsheets and sure, they kinda made a little mess of your room.

But it's the bottle of vodka sitting between Satoru’s legs that takes the cake.

“You have to be kidding me—”

Suguru shrugs his shoulders, sliding the window fully open, the night air wafting inside.

It's almost curfew. And here they are. You're not even surprised, this is totally in character for them. “Wow, no, Satoru, you're such a rebel?” Satoru kicks his legs back and forth, voice mimicking a girly pitch. “Bad boys are so hot! Tell me all your secrets, toru-kun! None of that?"

“I was there too, idiot.” Suguru grumbles, shoving one of Satoru's legs aside as he steps over to the bedside table to grab the ash covered incense holder.

Satoru flails his legs like Suguru just smacked him, ever so dramatically. “How did you do it though?” You ask, with a near wince, exasperated but curious.

Unexpectedly, Satoru swings the vodka bottle sideways and into Suguru’s arms, the glass making a soft set of clink! sounds from Suguru’s rings as he catches it, both your eyes going wide as Satoru stands on the bed, striking some sort of elaborate pose.

“The date, June fifteenth ‘06—”

You turn to Suguru, confused but he only shrugs in response. “My assistant Sugi-san and I walked into Shinanoya—” Satoru continues his elaborate presentation, meanwhile you and Suguru whisper between his words. "Never call me that again—"

“So that's what you two were doing while you were supposed to be exorcising that curse?”

“He forced me to go along—”

“With these!” Satoru pulls out a mini plastic card, which is supposed to look like an ID, but really it's as flimsy as a piece of paper. You had to admit though, they really did get his good side in the picture. If he even has a bad side, that is.

“And we got the liquor at half price.” Suguru mumbles as you nudge him, and he pulls out his own fake ID, which looks the same as Satoru’s — you think you might want to print these pictures for a scrapbook or something some other time.

“I thought you said it was six hundred yen!”

“I added my service charge.”

“Service? What are you, a whore?”

You take the bottle from Suguru to feel the weight in your hands, and the liquid inside sloshes a little to the side.

Out of sheer curiosity and despite your better senses, you mumble, “Let's play a drinking game then.”

Forty minutes later.

It's drawing near to eleven. The lights are turned off and all that's coming from your dorm room are the sounds of yours and the boys’ whispers and hushed giggles from time to time, barely drowned out by a soft song playing from Suguru’s phone, playlist laying open on his phone, one of Satoru’s picks.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

“—turn it to your head if you can't answer.” Satoru grins, cheek resting on his palm as he lays across the bed. “Have you ever gotten freaky with a milf?”

A chortle leaves your mouth when Suguru twists his lips into an expression of shock and utter disgust, and you have to cover your mouth to not laugh out loud.

“A milf? Like… forty or something?”

“Not really — just like a hot older woman.” You say.

“Oh, she was around that age then, I guess…” Suguru grumbles, clutching the half empty vodka bottle in one hand, eyes squinted. “I didn't sleep with her though— I don't just… sling dick around like Satoru— I have morals.”

“Says the one who sucked tongue with an elderly woman.”

Suguru scoffs and takes a swig from the bottle, passing it over to you.

You shrug, coming to Suguru’s defense with a mumble. “I mean, Satoru… you are common—”

“Don't pretty it up, he's ran through—”

“Like hell I am!”

The three of you fold over in a fit of laughter, gasping for air, faces hot from the alcohol and the sheer idiocy of the moment.

It takes all your energy to muffle your combined laughs, and Satoru leans over Suguru’s phone to increase the music volume just a little, lightheaded and nearly knocking the vodka out of your hand, mouthing the lyrics with a lopsided toothy grin.

You like a pretty boy

With a pretty voice

“Your turn.” Suguru nods to you and the liquor in your hand sloshes to the side. “Make it good—”

Satoru tries to interrupt but has to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when you take a whiff of the vodka, head tilting back and mouth forming an ‘o’ shape — sure, you three were already a little tipsy, but you’re pretty sure this is way past your limit.

Not like you could hold your alcohol anyway.

Suguru was the only one who could survive, you and Satoru were certified lightweights by default.

“Dare me to do anything and I’ll throw up on you.” You huff, and both boys raise their arms up in surrender.

It’s these things, small moments like these that make you want to live forever.

Minus the aging part, or maybe with the aging part — if it meant doing stupid stuff with Satoru and Suguru, young or old, you’re sure you’d have no complaints.

Because it’s them.

“You scared?” Satoru chuckles, drawing you out of your thoughts.

The way he says it, in that tone – it’s the same tone that would make you follow him anywhere.

The same tone that makes Suguru roll his eyes so far in the back of his head you’d think he had a leading role in The Conjuring.

“Should I be scared?”

It’s paired with bated breath, and the way Suguru looks up at you, dark eyes glazed over with a hint of inebriation, waterline bordering on crimson from the lit cigarette tucked between his middle and index – it makes you feel naked.

In a way you’ve never felt before.

“That depends,” he murmurs. You gulp. It’s like the air in here has changed, foggy with a foreign feeling surrounding you three. “Do you wanna be scared?”

Suguru takes a deep inhale of his cig, leaning over to breathe out a plume of smoke. You and Satoru inhale it like you’ve neglected oxygen your whole lives.

Maybe if it were anyone else you’d call it want. Or need.

Something in your soul tells you it transcends that.

She might want a kiss before the end of the song—

“Suguru—” His name doesn't get the chance to leave your mouth entirely, Satoru’s thumb and forefinger already have your chin in his grasp, turning your gaze to him instead.

“What’re you looking at him for?” Satoru mumbles, and you hear Suguru stifles a laugh across from you.

“You think he’s gonna save you?”

You want to laugh, it’s a running joke anyway.

No matter what, you run to Suguru to put Satoru in his place. That time Satoru got you kicked out of a movie theater, or the time Satoru tripped you up during a mission in front of the first years, or the time Satoru ate the cheesecake you hid in your mini fridge —

Whenever little name gets her strings pulled by Satoru, she goes running off for Suguru to save her, right?

But it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about that.

“You need me to save you, name?” Suguru chuckles, and from the corner of your eye, you see him pull his hair loose, dark strands cascading over his shoulders.

“Gonna let him call you weak like that?” He chides, and the cool pad of Satoru’s thumb taps against your bottom lip twice, as if challenging you to say something – to give him your attention instead.

“Nah, don’t need a hero.” You whisper, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Toru might though.”

Suguru bites back a snicker, head tilting back as he draws in another inhale of smoke. “Aw, don’t bully him, name.”

Because love can burn

Like a cigarette

“C’mon, don’t look at him,” Satoru tilts your head in his grasp, a soft grin forming on his face, dimples on showcase. “Look at me.” He whispers, tugging you closer, and you have to tighten your grip on the neck of the bottle so it doesn’t slip, your palms sweating from the proximity.

“Satoru—”

“Don’t double back now, you laughed a bit too hard at me just now, y’know?”

You open your mouth to protest, shivering when the tip of your tongue grazes the pad of his thumb. Satoru makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a groan and a scoff.

You wonder if the vodka made you imagine the way his pupils dilated. “Just ask the stupid question—” You try to turn your head away in vain, and this time, Suguru laughs at your expense.

“You ever been kissed before?”

And leave you with nothing

You stiffen, gaze snapping up to meet Satoru’s, only to find him dead serious.

Ofcourse you’ve been kissed before. But not like that— not like—

Like… oh no…

And if you start to kiss—

You bring the bottle of vodka to your lips, and both boys watch with amused gazes, and hint of something you don’t have a name for yet.

“You could’ve just—” Satoru’s hand falls loose over your shoulder as you take a swig, and Suguru shifts forward in curiosity. “—said no.”

“Nobody’s kissed you?” Suguru echoes and you grimace from the alcohol and the sheer embarrassment, shoving the open bottle to stand in the space between Satoru’s legs.

“Your turn,” you grumble, wiping remnants of the sweet liquor from your mouth with the back of your palm.

And the record skips—

Satoru and Suguru exchange a look, one you immediately assume is them reading each other’s minds and gearing up to laugh in your face.

Truly, you wouldn’t blame them — because here you are about to graduate in a year and still haven’t gotten your first kiss.

And it’s not like you haven’t like… gotten close to it— it’s just that the circumstances are never perfect and other things always get involved and you get all in your head and your mind just starts to do the thing—

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and your palms go clammy, folded over your lap. “We don’t care about it, it’s nothing.” He whispers.

“Pretty sure there’s nobody who even deserves to kiss you anyway.” You glance over to Suguru, who’s already outing his cigarette and scooting closer.

Flip it over

And sit a little closer

If anything, it makes you swell with shame rather than comfort.

“Not like that, I didn’t mean—”

“Great job, Suguru—”

“As if you were doing any better—”

And despite yourself, you chuckle. They’re idiots. God, they’re fools.

Now, how many men have you kissed?

Satoru’s fingers dip under the collar of your shirt, playing around with the loose thread.

They made you laugh, that’s enough for him, always has been. He knows Suguru feels the same, but why… why doesn’t he feel satisfied with just that? Like there's something else he should be doing?

“Not fair,” he mumbles beneath his breath, cheeks flushed as he slumps forward, resting his head in the crook of your neck. You think he might be past his drinking limit, he always gets all babbly like this when he is.

“Not fair?” Suguru questions, resting a hand over his knee.

“Yeah, ‘s just not fair — who wouldn’t wanna kiss her?”

“I’m literally right here—”

“Keep listening then, it’s not like I’m lying or nothing.”

You’re not strong like Satoru and Suguru.

You’d say you’re not as beautiful either, or eve half as smart sometimes – you never compare yourselves to them but in the great grand scheme of things— you’ve never wanted to be kissed anyway, not by anyone you don’t feel for.

Not by someone who doesn’t know you in the ways you don’t want to be known.

Very few

In the way you know Satoru hates alcohol, but he only ever drinks it when you and Suguru are around. The way Suguru never likes taking pictures but manages a smile when you and Satoru pull him in for a group photo.

“If I kissed you, I’d never stop.” Suguru breathes, laying back on the bed, rumble of a sigh leaving his lips.

But you offered me a kiss

In the way they both know what you’re thinking before you even say it. The way grocery runs, 24 hour mart stops, week long missions, midnight talks, belly laughs and breaching curfew feels like a love language – something only the three of you speak – like something so foreign yet so familiar.

Why?

“I don’t think I’d remember to breathe again if I kissed you.” Satoru grumbles in the crook of your neck, somewhere between a yawn and whine. “You could have anyone you want, name, a whole line full of kisses…”

“Never really wanted to be kissed to be honest,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, your eyelids drooping shut.

Such a foolish reason, I’m afraid.

I just wanted… to kiss you.

[neoplatinum]

we can't be friends - ariana grande | minatozaki sana

summary: the earth only has one moon, are you really the moon to sana's earth?

pairing: childhood-friend!sana x fem!reader

themes: extremely angsty, best friends to ?? to ??, internalized homophobia, gender dysphoria, sana's not too great of a friend, reader is a pushover until she isn't, implied sex, original male character, [----] x reader

wc: 3.2k

(side b: north and south poles | minatozaki sana)

from what you've learned in school, at the very early age of kindergarten is that the earth only has one moon, only one. mars has two moons: phobos and deimos.

when you were kids, you were called deimos, sana was called mars, and fuji was called phobos. it was always you three together, running through the streets of the countryside of japan.

causing so much trouble for your administrators, running around yelling down the halls of your school, the terrible trio of class 2-A. leaving school was always fun too, running around for snacks and jumping at the sight of cats.

you and sana were always closer, whenever fuji had to go home early because of his strict extracurriculars, you spent time with sana. walking by the train tracks, looking for lost coins for the vending machine or even staying for dinner with sana’s parents. it felt like it was you three taking on the small town.

until it didn’t. when middle school rolled around, you were excited to see them two after a couple of weeks of summer. each of you was busy with other things in life, making it hard to meet each other. so on the first day of school, you strolled in, ready to take on the new school year with sana and fuji by your side, when you noticed they weren’t talking much to each other.

fuji found basketball friends in his group, clinging to them like they were his new lifeline. sana has gotten close to the popular girls, they were nice but very superficial, all having drama with each other but in front of the group, they all faked smiles for each other.

you found yourself in between two different worlds, you tried calling to them after school, but they both dismissed you saying they had extracurriculars. fuji had gone off to play with his friends during basketball practice, while sana participated in school government association.

you got tricked into becoming treasurer for the sga that very year, so it was nice to still be around sana. although you could feel her distance.

it isn’t until one spring afternoon, you feel your first ever heartbreak. sana rushes into the sga room while you were napping on a desk.

she taps your shoulder excitedly, “wake up!”

you rub your eyes and focus on sana, who’s shoving a letter in your hand. you read the first line and yeah, your heart is crushed.

“fuji confessed to me!” she shouts excitedly, doing a little dance by herself as you read the lines.

“oh, congrats.” you hand the letter back to her, she looks at you a bit puzzled by your simple reaction.

“he asked me out! im so excited.” she explains, going into detail about their supposed first date. “he might kiss me, what do you think?”

“if you want to kiss him, then kiss him.”

she rolls her eyes at that, of course she knows that. that’s not what she’s implying.

“what i mean is, i’ve never had my first kiss! i don’t know what to do.” she goes on, thinking about it seriously. “what if he kisses me, and i suck and he doesn’t want to kiss me.”

“sana, if he thinks you being a bad first kisser is a deal breaker then dump him.”

you explain, placing your head back on your arms.

“you have to help me!”

“help?”

“kiss me, pretend you’re fuji.”

“no way sana.”

“why? too much of a chicken to kiss me?”

“no im not!”

"bawk bawk bawk" sana mocks you. making flapping arm motions to imitate a chicken.

“fine!” you hold yourself together (as much as you can) and place your lips gently against sana, pulling her in by the neck. caressing her cheek before letting her go. her eyes are dazed.

“wow yeah, that was good.” she fiddles with her school skirt, “i wish you were a boy, you’d make a girl very happy kissing her like that.” she blushes and leaves you alone, you feel that jagged break in your heart tear a little longer.

your tears don't stop as you try and go back to taking a nap, feeling your breathing getting heavy and you stay the rest of the afternoon, crying about not being born a guy for sana.

--

that was the last time you really talked to sana, too hurt that you cut your hair short the next day in the bathroom sink. crying tears into the porcelain bowl, with tears filling around your choppy hair. when you finally stop, you try liking the idea of it being short like a boys. but sana doesn’t spare you a glance. suddenly the hair feels too choppy and the air that you didn't feel when your hair was long starts to bother you.

it doesn't bother you for long, once your hair grows back. it feels right, like you were meant to look this pretty and feminine. you stay away from both sana and fuji as much as you can.

until one day sana knocks rapidly at your door, you haven't had her over in years. high school created even more distance between you two, you found your own people to be around. people that never overlapped with sana and fuji.

--

until you see sana staring at you from across the door, eyes still sparkling as they always have, in that charming look. and the longer face, the warm smile and comforting scent of flowers. as much she is the sana you remember, you don't think she's the same sana you once knew.

"hi."

"hi sana, are you okay?" you let her in. and it's like you're transported back to when you were thirteen, letting sana come over whenever she needed to complain about fuji and his "boy" tendencies. now that you're both 18 and ready to set off into the real world, you feel a little strange having sana visit.

"yeah, i need your help." she starts, dropping her bag onto the floor. you feel your heart rate spike a bit, was sana in trouble?

"help with what?" you offer her a bottle of her favorite drink, royal milk tea.

"you remembered." she says softly, grabbing it and downing it in a few quick seconds, a sign she's nervous and with the tapping of her foot. you're feeling anxious just at the sight. "fuji asked to have sex."

you nearly spit out your own water, "what?" your eyes are wide and you stare at sana as she keeps her eyes away from you.

"i need your help."

"did he do something sana? i'll kill him myself." you get up.

"no, none of that. i want to, have sex i mean. i just can't with him first."

"why not?"

"well, i...i want my first time to not be him. i just know it in my heart."

"okay. so how am i supposed to help you?"

"be my first."

"sana! you can't ask that of me."

"why not? we're best friends, of course we can."

"sana no, you love fuji, he should be your first if you love him. you're dating him too, that would be cheating."

"i dont, i dont think, i just." she shakes her head. "it can't be with him first." she ends it softly, hands in her lap. looking like she's been scolded. you feel the guilt bubbling up in your stomach; here she was being vulnerable, and you just accused her of being a cheater.

"what's really going on?" you ask, she's not making sense anymore.

"i need you to be my first, i want you to be. it can't be anyone else." sana is firm. standing up and taking your hands in hers. with her eyes looking into yours like that, like she knows how much you love and adore her. you can't find yourself to say no, even if it betrays fuji.

"okay."

"yeah?" her eyes light up.

"yeah." you pull sana upstairs, and begging her to forget about fuji, just for one night. to only focus on you and to pull out those pretty sounds of sana uttering your name into the night.

you don't stop until you feel sana against you, like it's where she belongs, right in your arms.

--

when sana leaves in the morning, you feel that gash that you've been trying so hard to heal get ripped apart again. she thanks you like you're someone who was there to provide a service to her, like that's the only purpose you served her that night.

as if you didn't pour your heart out as you kissed down her torso, cherishing her body like the gods sculpted it. as if she isn't the only woman in the world, you begin to think maybe that's what you were made for. someone to exist for sana, and never with her.

this hurtful thought bumps around your brain, hitting every surface of it, you feel your heart break into two. like you're led on a leash by sana, without her letting you ever leave.

it becomes a habit, a habit you can't break. you circling between the sana and fuji whenever it was the holidays or birthday parties. each year you feel more and more of your soul slip away. you can't begin to tell where your identity begins and ends without sana.

doesn't help that fuji is a good man for sana. always considerate and careful, giving her the space and time she needs when she's overwhelmed. you think sana chose well, a good man in her life that'll never waver his loyalty for her.

but it leaves you in disarray, sana contacting you for her relationship problems. leaving fuji all alone as she calls you to escape. weeks spent away from fuji, where you two meet hidden away from the world. a hidden place filled with drunk kisses and hookups, ones you would never utter to fuji.

you being invited at her parties, seeing his arms draped around her like you weren't caressing them just days ago. it's all too much, you don't know if you can be friends with her. ever again.

until she marries fuji, she hands you their invitation card herself. how dare she? after years of being a secret she hands you a knife for you to stab into your heart, and she does it with a smile. explaining how happy she is to have the wedding of her dreams, while you feel the woman of your dreams slip right through your fingers.

but then the reality hits, she was never yours to begin with, you two are simply friends. just best friends that know each other's bodies too well.

you play your part well, giving a dedicated speech to them two. reminiscing of the early days of you as a trio. days of mischief, talking about learning of their feelings for each other, making jokes about how they were polar opposites, destined to find each other magnetically. you leave out the part where you think you would fit well with sana even if you aren't the opposing magnet.

you try and stay away from her as much as you can after the wedding, to save your own heart (as much there is left). blocking her number and taking time away from japan. going overseas to travel, and it works out well, you meet a woman named momo, you don't mention the woman to sana. you don't hear from sana and you feel your heart calm a bit, like it's finally able to take a break.

when you return to japan, you find her at your doorsteps, fallen asleep at your door. she wakes up to the sight of you and hugs you immediately, complaining about how worried she was that you disappeared. you don't mention how you blocked her number. letting sana into your apartment and she drops the biggest news on you that you could ever expect: shes pregnant.

"congratulations sana!" you fake a smile and she goes on to explain that it's going to be a little girl. and she's so excited to dress her up and have a daughter.

you feel like you're hearing static noise as she goes on, sitting on your couch talking animatedly about the new nursery and all the books she's been reading about motherhood. it isn't until she finally steps away to go home that you realize that you never said more than congratulations.

--

months later, she births the beautiful baby girl. you wait outside the room, a balloon in one hand and a pack of diapers in the other. the nerves of having to see sana after so long made you vomit in the hospital bathroom just ten minutes ago. you try to focus on anything else, the sterile walls, the smell of sanitizer, the sounds of nurses chatting. then you see fuji step outside, looking like a tired first-time father.

"congratulations fuji!" you say as you pass him the diapers. he laughs at the sight and thanks you before saying he's going outside to get some food and that sana is awake.

you step into the hospital room and hear the rhythmic heart monitor and low beeps of machines. there sana is, exhausted as ever but happily babbling to her baby. you can see the little baby in the swaddle. you walk up to the bedside.

"hi sana, congratulations on your new baby." you tie the balloon to her bed, and she smiles at you, tired but always warm. "she's beautiful, sana." you wash your hands and poke at her cheek.

"isn't she? i think it's too early to say, but she might have my eyes." you look back down and see the baby, eyes closed in bliss. you think they look like sana's too. ones that you used to look at as kids.

"i want to name her after you." she starts, gently caressing her head. you stop, leaning back quickly.

“dont do that sana, don’t give it the same curse you gave me.” you bite out. sana stops caressing the baby's face to look at you. “forced to love someone who will never love them back.”

"what are you talking about?" sana says gently, you've never raised your voice at her in all the years you've known each other.

"sana, you can't give her my name. i forbid you to." you say sternly; after how much she destroyed you, you're not letting her name her daughter that.

"but, why?" she's still perplexed, eyes wide.

"it's not right." you look away from sana, years of pain resurfacing just at the idea. "you really hurt me, i don't want you to name your daughter after me."

she doesn't press you on the matter anymore, anxious eyes darting all over the room, trying to find an escape from this conversation.

"what about being her godmother?"

"i'm moving away sana."

it's like the final nail in the coffin, both phrases being said at the same time. you realize there's no other way to say it, not over text or a call. it's better to say it here, ripping off the bandaid completely.

"moving? where are you moving?" you can hear the heartbeat machine beeping faster, and you see her heart rate climbing steadily.

"korea, i got a job over there." you say dismissively.

"oh wow, when do you move?" sana's voice is timid as she tries to hold back tears at the idea.

"i leave in a week." you say, picking your stuff up getting ready to leave. "congratulations again sana, your baby is beautiful and healthy. tell fuji that he'll be a good father, i know it." and with that you step to leave, and just as you turn the knob you can hear it, the sound of sana crying.

you try not to cry yourself, but you can't stay here. orbiting around two people who are building their life together. you weren't supposed to be here to begin with. earth never had two moons. you nearly bump into fuji when he opens the door.

"oh fuji, i'm sorry i couldn't stay long." you offer when you see him outside, food in hand and excited to talk to you, he smiles sadly. giving you a hug as you walk outside.

feeling like for once you control your own life, your love is yours, and no longer sana's.

"stay a while longer, sana is so excited to see you!" he says, trying to urge you to come back inside.

"it's okay, we'll see each other around." you turn to look back at sana, and she stares right into you with tears running down her face and glaring at you. you just told your final lie to sana, closing the door behind them, like you closed your relationship with sana.

--

you don't see sana for years; it's strange. growing up with so much hurt and pain made it difficult to enjoy your romantic relationships, but you realize there is always a person for you, yours being hirai momo, not sana minatozaki.

here at incheon international airport, you stretch from your seat, needing to get some movement in before you sit in that cramped airplane seat for hours. so you make a beeline to the bathroom, walking directly into a young girl.

she falls backwards, nearly hitting her head on the floor, but you catch her in time.

"hi sweetie you okay?" you pat her down, pulling her shirt down. she nods at you and you see her eyes, and you feel your memories shift back to when you were five years old, meeting that girl that sat near you in class 2-A. she runs towards someone.

you stand up and recognize those eyes immediately, sana minatozaki in the flesh after five years. eyes wide as she stares at you. fuji right by her side.

you can see the recognition in sana's eyes. you walk right up to them, offering the couple a hug. sana's arms grip onto you so tightly you feel your ribs in her hold. then you feel a tug at your pant leg.

you turn around and smile at the girl by your leg.

"say hi hana, this is sana and fuji." your little girl waves to them hi, while sana is still staring at you. fuji starts congratulating you, excited to see that you have a daughter. you let out a laugh. then you feel a pat on your back, with momo walking up to kiss you.

then you let your daughter down to play with sana's daughter. eyes fond at the two little girls chasing after each other.

“it’s been a while.” sana's voice cuts into your thinking.

“yeah, i guess it has.” you reply, finally looking at her after so long. sana gulps, willing the tears away.

"honey, you’re crying.” fuji says wiping away sana's tear, you smile at that. he's good for her.

“oh i didn't notice.” sana laughs, rapidly wiping her tears away.

you let the three of them talk, momo joining in and introducing herself. you're left feeling a bit better about your decision to leave sana's side all those years ago. waiting for her to love you back would've costed your relationship with momo, especially since you would have never had hana.

it's important to know when being friends turns into we can't be friends anymore.

--

a/n: hehehehehe, angst is so fun to write, that's probably why it's everywhere in my writing. thank you to the anon who requested this! i wrote this in like 6hrs. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 14 - Speed, I am Speed

WE'VE MADE IT TO THE 2024 SEASON. IT IS LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!

When I started this fanfic, I never would have thought that people would be interested in it enough for it to get past the first few chapters. But everyone has proved me wrong! Here's to a great fictional season!

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Much love <3

TAG LIST IS OPEN - 6 SPOTS LEFT!

Screams echoed through the paddock as whispers of your arrival seeped through the cracks of the buildings. The drivers watched with smiles as crowds of girls, boys, and adults alike flooded the entrance area to maybe catch of glimpse of you. Only a select few would be lucky enough to get a signature or for you to even take what they offered. But that didn’t damped the electric atmosphere that was quickly building. 

The moment you scanned your card and stepped through the turn-style, all hell broke loose.

Max stood next to Christian in the garage that was placed in the middle. The Ferrari garage was to the right, and McLaren sat to the left. 

“Quite popular. Isn’t she?” a stray mechanic commented as he worked on one of the RB20s. 

Christian only smirked. “She’s great for the media that’s for sure.” 

Max stepped through the entrance to wait for you. He was already in his Red Bull kit with a signature can in his grasp. He watched as you quickly signed multiple things and stopped to take few pictures. He noticed that you really only stood still for the squirming kids who really looked nervous to be next to you. 

You were hastily ushered farther into the paddock as you were a tad bit late. The outfit you had on was similar to Max. Jeans adorned your legs while a Red Bull polo was hidden behind your famous blue bomber jacket. Dark red sneakers completed the look. A winter flavored red bull sat comfortably in your hand. You had talked to Max about how the flavor was far superior than his preferred original. He would only eyeroll and then sip his own can. 

A bright smile shone on your face as the cameras clicked around you. Video cameras followed your every move. 

Lando and Charles had joined Max. They too were in their respective Ferrari and McLaren kits. The bright orange clashed with the bright red, while Max was the neutral navy between. Some cameras were pointed their way hoping to get a few shots of a not so common friendship and a decade old rivalry turned friendship. Yet, the trio’s attention was all on you. 

You had finally gotten to the garage. However, you completely missed the three and walked right in, excited to greet your mechanics, Christian, pit crew, and Mitch. The one thing the crew all liked about you was that you made sure to try to say hello and check in with how they were doing. 

You had surprised everyone with coffees or other drinks for preseason testing as a way to share your appreciation. 

As you went around the garage, you gave a quick side hug to Christian and then walked over to Mitch. Your eyes lit up at the sight of another familiar figure next to your strategist. You stood and talked to the two. 

While you stood there, completely oblivious to the three men standing outside, they of course didn’t miss anything.  

Lando stood there with open eyes. “Did she just walk right past us?” 

Max just continued to be unbothered and sipped his drink. 

Charles had a familiar knowing look in his eyes. “Who is she talking to mate?” 

The British driver scoffed and waved his hand. “Her strategist.” 

The Dutchman sighed before maneuvering the papaya man to a better angle. 

“Can you see now?” The driver in red questioned as he smirked at the now visible scene. 

“Oh.” 

The three stared as you talked to your best friend, who was now clad in a Sky Sports polo and khaki pants. You threw your head back as you laughed at something the younger Monegasque had said. Mitch also chuckled where she stood. 

Finally, your head turned and eyes made contact with steel blue ones. Your smile somehow got even bigger at the sight of the Dutchman and you other friends. You said something short to the two around you. Arthur gave you a side hug before he ducked out the side entrance, probably going to get ready for the driver’s parade. You’d hope that he was the one to interview you. 

You were now making your way to the other three drivers. Your maroon Red Bull was still in your hands. 

“Top of the afternoon to you gentlemen,” you spoke in a posh accent. Lando rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up that was a good impression. You’re just a hater.” 

“As if. You live there now, you could at least learn how to properly speak.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You barely live there anyway now. You should be talking like Charles if you expect me to be able to finesse a British accent.” 

“Oh so now I have to speak in some hoity toity French accent?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused Charles.” 

“Stay out of this Max.” 

“Ladies, ladies, you’re all pretty, but let’s save the fighting for the track,” a new voice that was attached to one Oscar Piastri sounded as he walked up to the four of you. 

“What’s up pastry?” you asked him. “And where is your better half?” Your eyes ran wild around the paddock. 

“Uh who?” 

“You know? The smell of gunpowder and the cry of eagles follow him where ever he walks?” 

Oscar sent you a deadpan look and sighed like a middle-aged dad. He turned just a bit to show the bright blue suit that belonged to the American Williams driver. He was looking at an iPad before he suddenly sensed five pairs of eyes on him. He looked up, grinned stupidly, and waved. You were glad to wave back, while the four men waved small ones. 

“He’s such an iPad kid.” 

“So are you,” Max finally. You squawked like a bird as you stared at him.

“If I’m one, so is Lando. Mr. I play Fortnite all the time.” 

Charles was done with your bickering. “Oscar did you need something?” 

The Aussie looked so done with everything, but perked up at the question. “Yes. Zach sent me to fetch Lando. We need to get ready for the parade.” 

A look of enlightenment crossed over both Lando and Charles’s faces as they said quick goodbyes before turning to go back to their own garages. That left you and Max to stand out in the open. He closed the gap between you and wrapped an arm around you. At that motion, multiple cameras clicked but the two of you didn’t care. 

“Are you ready for today?” he asked as the two of you walked into the garage where you’d be escorted to the parade. 

“Yep! I mean, you’re starting pole and I’m starting P6, so we’ll see what happens.” Your shoulders raised in a shrug.

“Kid that’s good for your first race.” 

“I know. I think I thought that I’d be higher up.” 

Max squeezed you a little tighter. “You just have to worry about overtaking George, Lewis, and Lando. Once you get them, you could be forecast for a podium.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’d be happy with just staying in the points.” 

Christian clapped the your backs as you passed him to line up in the back for the parade. You found a small corner of the room to just sit in. Your headphones had been given to you in your garage, and classical piano music filled the speakers. You knew you probably looked so anti-social right now, but you didn’t care. You needed to find your calm before the storm hit. 

Many drivers didn’t even send you a second glance, yet one found himself on the floor next to you. The Monegasque’s cologne filled your nostrils as you put your head on his shoulder. You flashed him a thankful grin as you showed your phone screen. 

MON23 was the song that was currently flooding your headphones. Charles rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed on his face. Max was the one to come get the two of you once the signal was given that the parade was about to start. You and Max walked out together, and there was Arthur, ready with his microphone. 

He turned to the camera that was in front of you. “I am joined by Max Verstappen and Y/n L/n. Thank you for joining me, even if you didn’t have a choice.” 

Max and you let out a laugh at the comment. 

He continued. “So we saw some domination from the RB20 in the free practices with you Max snatching P1, P2, and then P3 respectively and then taking Pole Position for the first race of 2024. How is the car handling this year and do you expect the same amount of untouchable-ness as last year?” 

The Dutchman leaned into the microphone, while you stood next to him waving at the spectators. 

“Yeah, well we saw that the Ferraris and McLarens were going to be close after the preseason testing. I was glad that I was able to take pole. I know this one,” he pointed at you which made your attention shift to the conversation, “was wanting a higher position. But the car is fantastic, yet I think that it’ll be a closer year.” 

Arthur looked happy with the question as he turned to you. 

“So Y/n, we know you’re starting P6. What are you plans for that?” 

You huffed as you now talked into the microphone. “Well I plan to just fight as hard as I can. I know that Max and I have very different strategies today. But, overall we just want to bring as many points to get a jump start on the Constructors.” 

You were given a nod from some personelle signaling that it was time to wrap thing up. 

Arthur turned back to the camera. “Well thank you both for your time and best of luck!” 

The two of you were led to a car with an open top. Thankfully for this time, you and Max would be together. Funny enough, they told you to drive. Your eyes widened so much when they handed the keys to you. 

You kept turning around asking if this information was correct. Max was just sitting in the car laughing. You climbed in and turned the car on. Once the parade started, you pushed the gas pedal and the car started to move. 

The lap around the track was a nice one. Max and you made small talk while waving to the crowds who seemed to yell louder when your attention was turned to them. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in your race suit and helmet in your hand, going over your race strategy one more time with Mitch. 

She explained it once more. “So by turn one, you need to be up at least two places. You need to get the jump on George, Lando, and Lewis. They tend to go inside, so going wide will be your best friend even if it seems tricky. You're faster than they are. Try to get up to Max who can give you a tow if needed. And kid?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just have fun. Points are points. You don’t need a podium to show your worth.” 

You nodded at her revelation and put your balaclava on. Arthur had somehow snuck in to do your handshake beforehand. He knew that it would calm you down just a bit. You slipped your helmet on and connected the different wires. With one foot over the car and the other following suit, you quickly adjusted your race suit before slipping down into the car. One of the mechanics put the screen on the nose for you to go over data and tyre degradation one more time. Your eyes flickered across the screen before it was taken away and your car was pushed out. 

At that time, you put your visor down. Your fingers touched where your lips would have been without your helmet and rose to the air. A second ritual you would call it – a special motion for your godfather. 

Starting Grid:

Max Verstappen 

Charles Leclerc

Lewis Hamilton 

Lando Norris 

George Russel 

Y/n L/n 

Oscar Piastri

Fernando Alonso

Carlos Sainz 

Alex Albon 

Lance Stroll 

Logan Sargeant 

 Pierre Gasly 

Yuki Tsonda 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Esteban Ocon 

Zhou Guanyu 

Kevin Magnussen

Valtteri Bottas  

Nico Hulkenberg 

They put your car on the P6 grid mark and stayed near with the tyre covers. The five guys smiled as you began to move about, nerves making it hard to stay still. Your eyes closed and a smile made its way to your lips. 

“Speed. I am speed. One winner, nineteen losers. I eat losers for breakfast.” 

“Kid, you know the radio is on right?” 

Your eyes shot open at the sound of Mitch’s voice. 

“Uh now I do.” 

Her chuckle came through the speakers in your headphones that where under all the face layers.

“At least we know the radio is working.” 

One of the men must have gotten the signal because the tire covers came off and everyone who wasn’t a driver fled the scene. Up ahead, you noticed Max start to drive off. After him was Charles, then Lewis, then Lando, then George. And now it was your turn. Using the pedals, you gently eased your car into movement. You were starting on softs. The team had let you know that you were going for a three stop strategy. Softs, hards, then finish the race on softs. Max was going for the soft, soft, and then hards. 

The team were hoping that by putting you on the softs, you’d be able to help Max with the last stint of the race. Softs were your specialty, especially used softs. So the last bit of the race should be your fastest.

Your formation lap consisted of weaving back and forth, warming the tyres up and getting them ready to grip the track. Once you were back in your spot, you were careful not to go over the line and stay in the half box. Your eyes shifted up to watch the lights. 

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

Blink. 

Your feet hit the pedals before your mind even comprehended. Your head swerved back and forth to look at your mirrors. Behind you, there was the dark green Aston Martin of Fernando Alonso and the other papaya colored McLaren of Oscar. However, the beginning of this track was a giant straight. 

With tyres still warm, you quickly got into George’s slip stream and made your move. 

For the viewers everywhere, Croft’s voice rang out. 

“And it’s lights out and away we go! 

"Max Verstappen gets the upper hand on Charles Leclerc on that initial jump but Leclerc is not giving up just yet. 

"There goes the Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton right behind Charles Leclerc as they go into the first corner of this race. Seems like Leclerc was able to keep his position.  

"Oh! And around the outside is Y/n L/n getting the jump on both George Russell and Lando Norris! An overtake on the outside is really tricky but she has made it work for her favor.  This rookie is making moves right out the bat. 

"I see we have some congestion in the back. Looks like the Haas of Kevin Magnussen has found the side of Alfa Romeo of Valtteri Bottas. 

"Let’s have a replay of that beginning shall we? We’ll start onboard with our rookie.”

The camera is on your car as the viewers can see the lights go out and your car lurches forward at the start. Your head swivels as it seems like you’re making sure not to hit the Aston or McLaren that were behind you.

But once you found George Russell’s slip stream, your head stayed straight as you exited to the left of George to go around the outside of both the Mercedes and Lando’s McLaren. As your RB20 continued forward George and Lando quickly left your camera’s view as you now had seven time world champion Lewis Hamilton in your sights. 

“And what a great overtake that was on L/n’s part. Let’s head back to see that little kiss between the Alfa and Haas.” 

You had now found yourself right behind the Mercedes. Yes, they possibly had the faster car, but you had the pace. 

And you were gaining. 

You pressed the radio button. “Gap to Hamilton?” 

Mitch was quick to respond. “Two point three-seven behind. But you’re gaining two tenths a lap. Keep it up.” 

“Thank you.” 

In the next nine laps, you were right behind him. 

“What is the gap to Leclerc after I get around Hamilton? 

“Five seconds. But we will pit before you get there. You have about five laps left before tyre degradation gets too terrible. Use three to get around him and two to widen the gap.” 

“Perfect.”

Yet, in about two laps you were right on his tail. Using DRS, you were able to get him on turns 14 and 15 as the DRS was coming to an end. 

“And it looks like Y/n L/n is about to make her move on Lewis Hamilton! She goes wide once more on turn 14 and cuts him off by going deep into turn 15, does she have it? 

"She does! What a move!” 

You fly down the straight with Lewis trying to get back ahead of you. Yet, you were quick with the defensive moves. 

“Hamilton is not giving up that spot. Will he be able to take it back at the corner of turn one? He does not gain the position back and has to be fine with fourth for now.” 

“Good job. Keep it up.” 

“I’m trying,” your voice rattled. In three laps you were called into the pits. 

“Looks like Red Bull is calling L/n into the pits for her first stop. Now drivers are losing about 15 seconds so this will put her down back to P8 right after the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz who has gained to positions since the start 14 laps ago. 

"And that is a 2.0 second pit stop. Phenomenal for Red Bull whose pit crew seemed to be bored this winter break.” 

“Good stop. Can you let the boys know?” 

“On it kid.” 

“Looks like L/n wants a message relayed to the crew. What a sweetheart she is.” 

You apparently were the first one to start the pit stop train, because either one, two, or three laps later the pits were full with cars coming in and out. Like strategy, you were now on hards. Yes, they weren’t your preference but, you needed to change the tyre type at least once during the race: it was mandatory.

You somehow were leading the Bahrain Grand Prix. For about the second half. 

Surprisingly, Max had gotten overtaken by Charles right out of the pit exit. You knew you needed to extend the gap between you and the Monegasque Driver, so that you and Max could pit at the same time. 

By the 37 lap, you were calling in your radio. 

“I need to box. Left tyre is almost dead.” 

“Got it. Max is in a good position as well so you will come in and Max will follow. Stay focused.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Looks like the Red Bulls are coming in to box. And who is that as well? Charles Leclerc follows Max Verstappen inside. But there is a significant gap as L/n is already leaving the Bull area with new tyres and Verstappen is getting fixed as well. Leclerc will have to have a perfect pit stop to at least catch up to the two. 

"And that is a rather slow stop for Ferrari with a 3.2 second stop. Will this be the mistake that leads to yet another Red Bull 1-2?” 

You and Max bolted out of the pit exit once it was safe to do so and you were over the line. You were told to keep giving him the tow for a couple of laps since you were now on the softs while Max was on the hards. 

However, after a couple of laps, something seemed off. 

You pressed you radio. “It feels like the tyres are wearing down a lot more. Do we have something for that? I could make it to the end, but I might get overtaken.” 

“We’re checking. Just keep being nice on the corners. Max has been given the go ahead to overtake you. GP will tell him about your tyres and he should help you keep going.” 

“Is this the moment that the Bulls will switch? We know that they’d like to keep their champion at the front as soon as possible. Ah, there it is. Nice pass on the straight going into the fourth corner.” 

GP came on over Max’s radio. 

“Max, Y/n’s tyres are degrading faster than expected. I’ll keep you updated but she will fall out of DRS or any tow help in about five laps.” 

“Are we sure there isn’t anything else to do?” 

“Positive. You just keep going. She said that she’s going to try to fend off Leclerc who is gaining 2 tenths per lap but is 3 seconds behind Y/n with 10 more laps to go.” 

Max watched you fall out of help-range in the predicted 5 laps. He could catch glimpses of you when he slowed down on the corners but that was about it. All he focused on now was being the first one across the checkered flag. 

You were coping brilliantly. By going slower around the corners you were slowing down the tyre deg but also slowing down Charles.

“Gap to Charles and then Max please?” 

“Gap to Max is about nine seconds now. And Charles is still gaining and is now in DRS so watch out on the corners.” 

“Got it. My tyres are done for and I have no grip. Might be safer to let him pass. I don’t want to pull a George Russell 2023 Singapore.” 

“Focus.” 

Well, you didn’t thundercunt yourself into a wall, but on the first corner of the last lap, you had a lock up.

“That is a bad lockup for the Red Bull rookie and there goes Leclerc, taking advantage of the small mistake. Props to Y/n though for handling the car well and getting it back on track.”  

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed as your car went wide allowing Charles to slip by. “Sorry for the language.” 

You turned your radio off, a bit embarrassed and annoyed at yourself, not wanting to hear Mitch’s reply. 

You tried desperately to catch back up but it was no use. Your tyres were done as you crossed the finish line in third place. You quickly turned your radio back on. 

“And good job Kid with points, third place, and a podium on your first race. Congrats.” 

“Aaahhhhh thank you team! This was an experience for sure and I can’t wait for the next one! Sorry for that lock up, we’ll get them next time.” Your hand stuck out the top to wave as you drove significantly slower.  

“Wasn’t your fault kid. We’ll go over in debrief. Enjoy the celebration, you earned it.” 

Max had already parked in the first place spot as he got out of the RB20. He turned and expected to see you in the second place spot, but was a bit disappointed when he saw his childhood rival. His heart sank for a bit as he thought you might have been overtaken more than once. But his spirits rose when he saw your RB20 pull into the third place. 

He watched as you stood on the nose and lifted your arms up in celebration, put one down, and keep the other raised with a fist clenched as you brought it down sharply. He knew the cameras were eating it up. 

If his history knowledge was correct, and it usually was, you were the first woman since Lella Lombardi to score points, but were the first one to get on the podium.

You were making history.

And the people were eating it up. Your name was heard above everyone’s. He would meet you in the cool down room. 

He was escorted over to the weighing station where he stood for a few moments before going over to the cool down room. He was soon joined by Charles. The two stood like middle-aged dads who were watching their neighbors mow their lawn and silently judging them as they watched the recaps. The main one was your first overtake around the outside. 

“Dang she’s quick in that car.” 

Max nodded. “Her simulator times were a bit faster than me during testing.” 

“I don’t know how then I got around her. Seemed like she was just falling behind the last five laps.” 

“My tyres were degrading too quickly and were basically done by the time I crossed the finish line.” You walked into the room, sweat glistening on your forehead where your hair also stuck. Although you hadn’t gotten your second place, third place was still impressive. A smile was probably permanently stuck on your face now. 

Max held his arms open for a hug and you dove right in. His hands rubbed up and down your back. Your gaze was now turned to the TV where you watched Lando and Lewis dance for multiple turns before Lewis finally took P4 on the second to last lap. 

Charles brought you into a quick hug and kissed your forehead. You wanted to talk some more, but you had been queued to go up to the podiums. You went out first, Charles followed, and then Max. You stood still as the Dutch anthem rung, followed by the Austrian. 

And now it was your favorite part. Your grabbed your bottle and shook it, before hauling it up on your shoulder like you always did. 

The "champagne cannon" as people liked to call it. You showered the older drivers with the sticky liquid, but was quickly turned against and sprayed as well. You then walked over to the banister and sprayed the team below. 

When your bottle was finished you picked up your trophy and made your way down to celebrate with Red Bull. 

You quickly found Mitch and gave her a giant hug like you had done once you got out of your car earlier. Christian also gave you a big hug and told you how proud he was of you. 

The night for you didn’t last much longer as the adults had said that they were going out to a club to celebrate. You were a bit saddened to hear that you couldn’t come with, being on the podium and all. But, your time would come. 

And instead of celebrating, you changed out of your suit and fire proofs and got into comfier clothing. However, you couldn’t stop yawning. 

Thinking that Mitch, Christian, or Max would come get you to leave, you lied down on your small bed in your drivers room. An alarm was not set. 

Your eyes closed and you fell asleep soon after. Dreams of first place danced behind your eyelids. 

You’d get there if it was the last thing you’d do. 

skysportsf1 has posted

skysportsf1 we are excited to introduce our main interviewer line up for the 2024 season. David Croft will still lead our main commentary, but we welcome Nico Rosberg, new-comer Arthur Leclerc, and Jensen Button to our team!

liked by formula1_fan, y/n.89, charles_leclerc, y/nxarthur, and 22,830 others

formula1_fan YEESSS so happy to see this trio! maybe we'll actually have good interviews now

y/nxarthur this is just fueling the delulu

leclercbros4life so happy to see Arthur still involved in Formula 1

change_ur_f-car I know right! I would have thought he'd given up charles-marry_ME now he can be near Charles and Y/n all the time y/n-is_my-romanempire I mean, I would have liked it to be Arthur Leclerc "Y/n L/n's Partner" but we'll get there

y/n.89 THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND RIGHT THERE! WHOO!!!!!!!!!!!

landonorris I think you missed an exclamation mark maxverstappen1 I thought I was your best friend arthur_leclerc sorry mate, but I was here first oscarpiatri he would like to be more tho *this comment was deleted* y/n.nation UH HELLO????

arthur_leclerc thank you for this amazing opportunity!

arthur-4lifers baby boy is BACK

sebastianvettel good to see you here kid! can't wait for the future

f1_fanatic this seems suspicious

RedBullRacing has posted

redbullracing a phenomenal start to the 2024 season with an RB 1-3! See you all in Jeddah!

liked by y/n-on-top, lestappenlove, logansargeant, and 93,822 others

y/n.nation YEAH PODIUM AND POINTS FOR OUR ROOKIE

box_box_offical I totally see her breaking Hamilton's rookie year in points - place your bets here ladies and gents

charles_leclerc glad to share a podium with Max and Y/n, but tell them to watch out next race

y/n.89 yeah, we'll be watching you...in our mirrors as you eat our dust maxverstappen1 what she said

emotional_support_rivals loved the lestappen moment, y/n is their kid at this point

y/n.89 whose last name would I take? maxverstappen1 mine charles_leclerc mine y/n.89 you're both wrong, I'm taking Geri's :) arthur_leclerc hyphenate?

maxiel-lover that start, middle, and finish were just the best

y/n's_version I will have a new Roman Empire every weekend at this point

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 race one of freshman year in the books! first woman since lella to gain some points and first woman to stand on any step on the podium. next stop - the number one spot

liked by martagarcialopez19, liakblock, kellypiquet, and 73,209 others

martagarcialopez19 my hero and role model everyone!

liakblock mine too! y/n.89 gonna cry :(

iamred_iamyellow literally number 1 driver, max get out of the way

redbullracing ROOKIE! ROOKIE! ROOKIE!

y/n.89 ADMIN! ADMIN! ADMIN!

arthur_leclerc favorite girl *liked by y/n.89*

landonorris I'll get you next time

y/n.89 surreeee

hE_tUrned_inTo_mE this was one of the best opening races ever, that double overtake around the outside was amazing

y/n_updates this race is going in the history books

Race Stats:

Max Verstappen 

Charles Leclerc  +3.583

Y/n L/n  +1.264

Lewis Hamilton  +2.840

Lando Norris + fastest lap +1.264  

Carlos Sainz +1.830

George Russell +2.375

Oscar Piastri +4.284

Alex Albon +3.001

Fernando Alonso +2.904

Logan Sargeant +1.992

Lance Stroll +5.932

Pierre Gasly +6.200

Daniel Ricciardo +1.209

Yuki Tsunoda +2.092

Esteban Ocon +3.871

Zhou Guanyu +6.997

Nico Hulkenberg +8.287

Valtteri Bottas – DNF 

Kevin Magnussen – DNF 

Driver's Championship Standings:

Max Verstappen – 25 points

Charles Leclerc – 18 points 

Y/n L/n – 15 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 12 points 

Lando Norris – 11 points 

Carlos Sainz – 8 points 

George Russell – 6 points 

Oscar Piastri – 4 points 

Alex Albon – 2 points 

Fernando Alonso – 1 point 

Logan Sargeant – 0 points 

Lance Stroll – 0 points  

Pierre Gasly – 0 points   

Daniel Ricciardo – 0 points   

Yuki Tsunoda – 0 points  

Esteban Ocon – 0 points   

Zhou Guanyu – 0 points   

Nico Hulkenberg – 0 points   

Valtteri Bottas – 0 points   

Kevin Magnussen – 0 points  

Constructor’s Championship Standings 

Red Bull – 40 points 

Ferrari – 26 points 

Mercedes – 18 points 

McLaren – 16 points 

Williams – 2 points 

Aston Martin – 1 point 

Racing Bulls – 0 points 

Alpha Romeo – 0 points 

Haas – 0 points 

Alpine – 0 points  

If you want a continuation, read this chapter of Besties for the Resties!

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