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kaeichi · 2 months

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love is in the air.

. . . and maybe that's why mikage reo can view the world with such clouded, pink-hued vision, and why nagi seishiro cannot breathe at all.

series. nagi + reader + reo. no gendered terms, but some implications of m! reader. reader likes boys. bestfriend! nagi. valentines/white day. highschool setting. swearing. humor. fluff & angst.

a/n. repost bc it wasnt showing up in tags T-T i js want a shoujo anime w these two as the MLs...

prev ┊ next ┊ 01 … 02 … 03

⊹ 01 : my dear partner [wc: 4.7k]

TWO YEARS AGO

“…dude. you're scaring all the hoes away.”

nagi watches your lips move, though he barely registers anything you've been saying since he has stopped listening a while ago—which, honestly, comes as no surprise to anyone.

there’s no real reason to be so lethargic at this hour (it's already late noon, plus he surprisingly had a decent amount of sleep the previous night for once), nor the time to think about trivial things, but he can’t help but think about how exactly every single thing stopped being so bothersome like it used to.

he can't quite pinpoint what brought on this gradual change, but if he had to, then it’d probably be three springs ago—when he’d wake up a little earlier than usual to the gentle kiss of the sun through his window and the cherry blossoms were in perfect bloom. around that time is when he’d received his quiet companion choki, he’d finally scored top 1 in the leaderboards after months and months of grinding in his favorite mobile game, and… when you’d first sat next to him in middle school.

for as long as he remembers, you were simply just there. an unexpected oddity that has not only forced its way through, but has also wedged firmly into every aspect in his life. and somehow, he’d concluded that maybe some things weren't so bad—that some things weren't such a hassle to him after all.

“move, idiot. at this point you might as well hold my hand.” the snow-haired male barely hears your voice over his wandering thoughts, stumbling from the light shove you give him. he has now become acutely aware of your swinging hand, wary of the close proximity and the faint buzz of static that lingers on his skin. huh. maybe it is better to move away.

still, he’d rather not reposition himself. it’s too much work, he’d like to reason, and it's certainly not because of anything else… maybe. he doesn't really know for sure. what he does know though, is that the space beside him suddenly feels strangely empty.

when he looks at you to see a pout forming on your lips, he can't help but sigh. you're being unreasonable. there's something that's been nagging his curiosity for a while now, and it took him quite a bit to realize what it is.

“seishirooo,” you whined one day, allowing your head to sink against his mattress, taking up nearly the whole space while nagi sits at the corner of the bed. you came over to his place that day to bother him, stating that you needed some comfort because apparently, “no one ever looks at me. i feel so damn invisible.” he shrugged and offered you his controller, challenging you to a 1v1 with him as a distraction.

“…but i look at you all the time?” he replied.

“yeah, but that's different.” and he would've asked you to elaborate more, if not for the fact that you've been horribly vague about it when he does ask, and the perpetually sleepy gamer only has so much patience before he gives up and decides it's something not worth spending his energy on.

besides, you're always emotional like that. this was probably just another one of your fleeting phases.

it's not until he notices you've been longingly gazing at the couples on the campus, quietly seething under your breath that it finally clicks. now, he may not have the greatest understanding when it comes to feelings and all its complexities, but even he can tell you’re reeking with jealousy.

despite being pushed off only seconds ago, nagi shuffles closer again as he falls into step beside you. even if sparks prick his skin, it feels right in this way. “dunno why you ‘need’ hoes when you already have me.”

“just because i'm into guys doesn’t mean that i like you in that way,” you mutter, sending him an odd glance like you thought there’s something wrong with his head for even suggesting that. not knowing how to respond, he settles for staring right back without a word.

“what's with that look? you know what i mean, seishiro.” you continue, averting your gaze from him. what look? he asks internally. “it's just, well, literally everyone is getting into relationships. and i know we're still first years, but… it just feels like i’m missing out, y’know?

“do you really? sounds like a hassle to me,” he shrugs, and it truly does—he never saw the appeal of dumb crushes, of drama nearly every day, of possible unrequited “love,” or of wasting half your time and energy on someone just for it to not mean anything at all in the end. video games sound way more fun, and way less heartbreak inducing.

“you can't say that when you haven’t even experienced it,” you argue, still pouting.

“it’s overrated anyways. being single is better.”

“hah! of course you’d say that, you virgin.”

“you’re one to talk,” nagi boredly quips. “i’m celibate purely by choice, but you on the other hand… if you really think about it, you're basically an incel.”

nearly choking on your spit, you exclaim, “hah?!”

“you don't even really talk to other guys except for me, and on top of that, you're barely approached by anybody,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone, oblivious to the way his best friend’s confidence waning rapidly by the second the more he speaks.

“yeah? and who’s fault is it, you cockblocker!”

nagi simply sticks a tongue out as you flip him off.

right after that, the two of you ended up breaking into a sprint as you heard the clicking sound of heels walking on the tiles around the corner, not wanting to get caught for skipping classes. well, you ran, and just dragged him by the wrist. he felt the warmth of your fingers even through the thick barrier of his baggy sleeve.

PRESENT

you try not to trip and fall face first as a cold hand guides you through the crowded hallway.

it's embarrassing enough as it is to be rushing through the middle of the corridor and pushing past the bodies of random students like you're a main character or some sort, but even more so when the (apparently) most popular guy of the campus that you’ve (never) seen is walking right in front of you.

and it gets even more humiliating when said popular guy has taken hostage of your wrist, leading you away to a more secluded area. shocked, harsh whispers echo throughout nearly the whole floor, and multiple eyes shoot daggers at the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of your uniform, and you’ve never wanted to bury yourself alive more than this moment.

after rounding a corner into a miraculously empty hallway, you finally skid to a stop, yanking your hand away, ready to pounce at the culprit who made you go through all that unnecessary attention. however, before you can get a word in, the refined male bows his head low in front of you, and you find yourself face-to-face with sleek purple locks.

“i’m sorry, but i have no time for dating. i’m really flattered, though. i hope we can stay friends still.” he hurriedly says, hope gleaming in his matching purple eyes.

…what.

who is he again? and why is he rejecting you?

for some reason, you find the stranger’s gaze too bright that you have to look away; so you do exactly that, tilting your chin downwards instead and letting your hair mask your expression.

after a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “i'm really sorry, it hurts me to see you look so down… i’m sure we can put this behind us and—”

“nice shoes,” you interrupt, still not raising your head to meet his now confused stare. “i can tell you really love wearing them, judging by the busted, worn out stitches. hey, is it just me or is that prada logo kinda wonky too?”

the male's jaw drops down nearly all the way to the floor.

“pardon me?” he says through gritted teeth, keeping his composure by flashing his usual award-winning smile, albeit a lot more stiffer. “i know i just rejected you, but you don't have to be so hostile…”

when you finally raise your head, your expression can only be described as terribly and solemnly unamused, unimpressed beyond words.

then, you suddenly lean closer, peering closely into his violet irises with thoughtful hum. an unwilling flush of red creeps on the tips of the boy’s ears, his eyes widening comically at the sudden intrusion of space. “you’ll do,” nodding to yourself, you now grab his wrist and pull him away. “come.”

“w-wait, huh? where are we go—”

“you're the one who made me late. let's go!”

reo isn't quite sure why he's the one being dragged away now.

he has only initially planned to gently turn down the person who last confessed to him, whose family just so happened to be related to his father’s business partners—but now he somehow finds himself on a whole date with that person? (the same one who brazenly insulted him by implying his shoes are fake, by the way!)

“i have other plans today, you know…” the heir says, subtly trying to inch away from you.

you tug him back by his sleeve, with twice as much force than he had used on you earlier. “i can imagine, my dear partner.”

“w-what?” reo stutters, and he's cringes at himself for how he's acting at the moment. the usually composed and charming mikage reo, now reduced to a stuttering and blushing mess? how embarrassing.

“normally my best friend would do this with me, but he slept in today.” leave it to seishiro to leave me all alone on the day that actually matters, you irritatedly mutter under your breath. “well, whatever. come on.”

as you and him enter the packed bubble tea shop, the fingers that were wrapped around his sleeve slides down to interlace with reo’s own clammy ones. he realizes this a second too late, and before he has the chance to let go, the clerk by the entrance greets them with an enthusiastic “welcome, lovebirds!”

“huh?!” reo’s jaw slackens, dumbfounded. he’s really starting to hate himself now—it's unbecoming of him, really, but it's hard to process everything when you're so close to him that the scent of your shampoo keeps invading his senses and subsequently messing with his head.

“here’s your special tickets for today. thank you for participating, and happy valentines!” you drag him straight to the back, where the colorful claw machines are set up. reo catches a glimpse of the pink posters set up on the walls of the quaint shop, which reads: couples get free special tickets! today only! …ah. that's why he's here.

“aoi-san… you're gripping too tight,” he says, gritting his teeth together into a forced smile.

“aoi?” you repeat, your grip finally loosening until you let go entirely. “huh… i see. by the way, what's your name again?”

needless to say, the purple-haired male is beyond perplexed. “is this your unique attempt at a joke or something?”

“come on, rich boy. we've held hands and i don’t even know your name!”

“right… which i totally wasn't being forced to do…” he lets out an awkward laugh. sure, some admirers of his tend to get a tad excessive, but they were never able to get far with him, much less forcibly drag him out on a date—and it's not even because they want him to spend his unlimited budget on them and spoil them rotten, but just so they can get… a free special ticket for a claw machine. how did he end up getting in this bizarre situation? more importantly, how does he get out?

you simply shrug. “your fault, rich boy. you should try thinking about anyone other than yourself for once.”

“excuse me?” he narrows his eyes, slightly peeved. he's had enough of your rude attitude; potential business partner or not, he hopes that he never has to interact with you again in the future. “stop calling me that. i have a name, and it's mikage reo.”

the way your eyes widen doesn't go unnoticed by him. “and what did you even mean by that?” he presses defensively.

you plop down on the seat, with reo mirroring you as you insert the rouge ticket decorated with pink hearts into the slot of the claw machine. “well, mikage reo. i’m sure you're aware how aoi’s family is important, right?”

yeah, this person is definitely a weirdo, reo muses. who refers to themselves in third person?

“i heard they had connections everywhere… just like you. it's crucial to maintain a good relationship with someone like that, right?” you conclude—that would explain why reo had taken the time to personally talk to “aoi” one-on-one instead of just flat out rejecting them on the spot.

reo tilts his head to the side. “i’m not following…?”

“mikage.” you emphasize, looking at him straight in the eye before turning your attention back to playing. “i’m saying that the poor kid’s still waiting for an answer. your heartfelt and sincere rejection, to be exact.”

a few seconds of silence pass. well, as silent as it can be with the loud chattering of the crowd and the mechanical whirrs of the claw machine you're currently messing with resounding in the air.

“you mean, you're not…” reo trails off, all color draining from his face. “i’m so, so sorr—”

“aoi’s the one you should apologize to, not me. oh, i got a double! how lucky.” you eagerly grab the prize, the limited edition valentine’s merch exclusive to this boba shop; a plushie collectible that comes with a redeemable code for your favorite video game. you want to collect all of them, but you’re broke as hell and you’re only here due to the free ticket. turning to reo, you shove the second plushie to his chest. “here, this is for you. since you did help me out with getting these.”

“ah, thank you…” reo absentmindedly accepts the small toy, still reeling on how he could make such a careless mistake. “listen, i do apologize—”

“i wonder how'd you even mix us up. is it ‘cause we have the same hair color?” you ask, slightly amused because aside from that, you and aoi look nothing alike. your fingers tap on the surface of the control panel, observing reo’s shame-stricken visage. “or maybe… is it because everyone just looks the same to you?”

at that moment, mikage reo realizes two things: (1) maybe he's more transparent and vulnerable than he thinks, and (2) you're dangerous, and it's better to stay far, far away from you. how could you see right through him so quickly? what if that's something you'll use against him?

he doesn't like to admit it, but it's true—in his perspective, everyone's the same. they're just after him for money and status, and at some point, they've all just become faceless, superficial pawns vying for his attention.

and of course, you’re no exemption.

noticing he’s gone quiet, you continue, “but i guess if my world was as vast as yours, i couldn't possibly keep up with everything either, so i get it. i’m not saying i’m in the same situation as you, but i can kind of relate, i guess. i only keep the ones who's important to me close, and the rest just exist and do whatever. i’m selective, but in that way, at least i can give my all to the ones that really matter.”

reo closes his mouth shut. here you are casually saying that you don't matter to him, and while that isn't a lie in the slightest, he still can't help but feel guilty. maybe it's just the people-pleaser in him, or maybe it’s the way the corners of your lips are slightly quirked up and to form a miniscule, accepting smile, but he wants to reassure you, “still, i’m sure you feel that—”

“i don’t.” you don't mind that he didn't know you, because you didn't even know him either—there’s no reason for you to take it personal. you’d be a hypocrite otherwise. “i really don’t.”

you smile at him. he thinks it's out of understanding, but unbeknownst to him you're actually just entertained by how his inner turmoil is so clearly reflected on his expression. “so don’t worry about it. plus, we’re even now.” you add, gesturing towards the prize.

hopping off the stool, you wave at him as you start to walk away. “...happy valentines. i'll see you around, mikage. maybe. er, probably not.”

“wait!” he hurriedly jumps off the stool as well, clutching the plushie in his hand as he follows after you. “i… let me drive you home.” the words stumble out before he even realizes what he's saying. you're probably just using him, and you're dangerous, and you see right through him, and he should stop wasting his time because his actual valentine's date is probably three seconds away from storming out the restaurant he's booked at—

so why is he doing this?

“drive?” you repeat, because of course he’d have a driver. damn rich people, you think internally. “nuh uh. it's like a ten minute walk, and i’d rather save the environment.”

“then i’ll walk with you.”

“you do realize i’m done dragging you for the day, right?” you quirk a brow up, amused; you could've sworn he was itching to get the hell away half an hour ago. “you're free. you can go home if you want.”

reo smiles, a more genial one this time. “i know.”

“so, you into popular guys now?”

“hell no.”

nagi narrows his eyes at you. “you’re just into reo, then?”

while you expected to be grilled first thing in the morning by random people about your apparent relationship with mikage reo (to which you simply replied, “i don’t know who that is, sorry,” and proceeded to run away), you didn't expect to be interrogated by your apathetic best friend as well.

usually, nagi prefers to be completely silent during the 1st period (and actually all the way through lunch), not bothering to utter more than a few words, but today, he seems uncharacteristically on edge, waiting for you at the corner of the gym with a wrinkle between his brows.

“why are you on a first name basis with him?”

“everyone calls him reo.” he shrugs. “why him?”

“i never said i was into him.”

“then what's all that partner thing about?” he asks, which confuses you a bit. you doubt that reo would go around announcing to everyone how you teasingly called him ‘partner’ and practically dragged him to a date against his will, but it's not like him and nagi are close either, so you wonder where nagi has heard this information from. then, you suddenly recall back to yesterday, where you saw the curtain of your neighbor’s bedroom window swinging side-to-side, as if it was drawn close a mere second before you looked up.

it seems that your mind wasn't playing tricks with you after all, and that a certain someone was eavesdropping on your conversation with reo as he walked you to your door.

“fake partners, you mean? and it was a just a joke—i met him that day.”

“that day? why are you acting so close if you've just met that day?”

“you're awfully talkative today, seishiro.”

“i know. it's making me exhausted, and it's all your fault.” he then presses his weight against you, leaning his forehead on your shoulder—as he always does when he's tired and you're within reach. your eyes widen immediately, darting around the gymnasium to see if any of your classmates has noticed.

you don't want people to get the wrong idea about you two. it's not because it kills your chances with anyone due to the assumption that you aren't single (which you still very much are, by the way), or even because of potential issues of being a two-timer due to a certain rich boy—it's just that whenever you get asked if you and your best friend are together, you can't help but flinch from the idea, like ice is being poured inside the back of your shirt. you don’t really know what to call it, but you do know that you've answered the question a hundred times and you're positively sick of it.

“i told you to stop doing this in public,” you hiss, trying to push the giant, clingy sloth off you. “and stop whining, nagi. i’m not going anywhere. besides, i’m not even looking for a relationship or anything like that. not after… you know, what happened during our first year.”

he lifts his head up, frowning at you. “don’t call me nagi. just ‘cause you met a new guy doesn't mean you get to call me nagi.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. what’s his problem? “only if you stop whining.”

“…‘m not.” he slurs his words together, only proving your point.

“yes you are!”

“why do you have to be so annoying? you're such a pain,” he sighs, now walking away from you.

“i'm the annoying one?! and don't call me a pain, you—!” without hesitation, you promptly snatch a red ball from the steel ball cart beside you before swinging your arm at him, slamming the dodgeball right to his head. well, you tried to, at least; even with his back facing towards you, nagi only takes one step to the side to avoid it.

“your shitty aim sucks balls,” the tall male comments unenthusiastically, his white fringe falling over his eyes as he gazes at you over his shoulder. his nonchalance only spurs you on, now hauling multiple dodgeballs at him.

“how about you suck my ba—”

“give it up already. you're never gonna hit me.” and nagi actually has the audacity to yawn mid-dodge. of course, it only fuels your irritation even more. you eventually run out of balls to throw, so you mindlessly grab the nearest object to your right and chuck that as well.

…which unfortunately, happens to be nagi’s phone that he's snuck inside the gym, peeking under a face towel on the bench.

“oh, fu—”

because of your (rightfully) so-called shitty aim, it swung way up high to the left, a few steps away from nagi. in less than a second, he realizes what you have flung at him, and his body moves instinctively; he throws himself towards it, swinging his leg upward and trapping it with his foot with perfect ease before it has the chance to plummet down on the floor.

“why are you making me move so much…” he sighs. “what a pain.”

“you’re supposed to move anyways, we're in PE. you're welcome,” you smugly reason out. and then not even a second later you fold, shoulders curling inwards as you glance toward his phone; if it weren't for his godly reflexes, you would've broken it. with a small voice, you meekly add, “sorry.”

nagi shrugs in response.

when he saunters over to place his phone on the bench again, a silver glint catches your eye. a small charm swings lightly, small beads of white and black strung haphazardly together attached to the side of his phone case.

“wait, this is…” a phone charm crafted by hand, which is your birthday present for him four years ago. “i didnt know you still had that.”

“why wouldn't i?”

“where was it this whole time? this wasn't here a few days ago.”

“i just kept it in my drawer ‘cause i don’t wanna lose it.”

tilting your head to the side, you ask, “so why'd you suddenly decide to attach it to your phone now?”

he looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “…dunno.”

eyes dropping into slits, you mutter, “you know, that kinda sounds sus—”

“hey! that was amazing! nagi, right? you should play soccer with me!”

nagi and yourself both turn to the direction of the sudden voice, seeing a familiar figure running towards you, vivid purple eyes gleaming under the gymnasium’s stark white lights.

“mikage?” you exclaim.

ever so slightly, nagi sharpens his usual droopy eyes. “nah.” he immediately says, turning on his heel.

“seishiro? wait, weren't you supposed to be looking for a club?”

“don’t really care.” you follow him, lightly jogging to keep up. as soon as you catch up by his side, the taller male glances at you as he asks, “will you join too?”

is he seriously asking you that… “no?”

“then i won't.” nagi concludes as he continues to walk away from reo.

“hey, wait up!” reo calls out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “ah, i was completely shut down… say, will you help me convince him?”

your brows shoot up as your gaze flicks down where he's casually touching you. after your initial confusion of who he is yesterday, you then recognize him after learning his name—the most popular boy in school, known for his good looks, charisma, and most especially, his wealth. he gets along well with literally everyone, and acts genuinely close with them even if they aren't.

“uh, why should i?”

“remember that limited edition merch you like? i can get you the rest of the collection. in fact, i’ll even buy out the whole place just for you.”

“wha– seriously?” you feel your eye twitch. damn rich people. “it was limited edition. they all ran out of stock already.”

“i have my ways.” well, that's not shady at all. he flashes a grin at your skepticism, winking at you, “anything for my partner.”

and you now understand why he's earned his title. this is probably how he always gets what he wants—with a smile like that, anyone would drop to their knees and do whatever he’d ask. two years ago, you would've keeled over for attention like this, but now, you're nothing but indifferent.

he places his hands on both of your shoulders now, completely stopping you from taking off. wide violet eyes scrutinize your own, making you scrunch your nose at the close proximity. “shouldn't you be begging him and not me?”

“yeah, but...” reo swears he feels an air of animosity radiating from the white-haired male, and that's why he has decided to turn you instead. “you wouldn't leave your partner hanging, right? as partners, we help each other out, riiiight?” he says, dragging his words out.

you lean as far as you physically can from his grip, but he doesn't seem to care, excitedly looking at you with stars evident in his eyes. “mikage, you—” he smiles at you, bright and blinding, and you find yourself withering under his intense gaze. “okay, fine, just—”

“well, that's settled then! they’re joining the club too, nagi seishiro. they can be our manager.” you briefly wonder why he didn't outright offer to have you join the team, but he probably saw how you threw the dodgeballs earlier… though it's not like you have to use your hands in soccer, so what the hell, this is kind of insulting.

“says who, mikage?”

“you're gonna come watch all our games?” he negotiates.

“why don’t you offer that i join the team?”

“ahahaha. haha. hah.” he laughs awkwardly, swinging an arm around your shoulder and ultimately evading your question.

because you were too busy trying to shrug him off, you miss the way nagi’s eyes zero on to reo’s arm around you, wordlessly observing the whole interaction with his lips pressed taut.

you still don’t know why reo hasn't moved away; he's so close that you can see the dark amethyst specks in his irises, the long strands that frame his face are lightly tickling your cheek, and if you lean in even just an inch, you can practically—

“you said anything i want, right?” your voice drops to a low whisper, and reo nods slowly, still seemingly oblivious to the lack of space between you.

“then... what if i said i wanted a kiss?”

reo’s smile drops immediately, recoiling away from you as if you've slapped him, his whole entire face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears. finally out of his grasp, you erupt into boisterous laughter, shaking your head as you leave the flustered boy alone and catching up to nagi.

likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated ♡

#blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you

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wikiangela · 7 days

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fuck it friday

tagged by @theotherbuckley 💖

can't believe im still not done with this fic but this week has been *a lot* and so chaotic and i just want sunday to have a day off to write lol (I had to check like five times to make sure it is, in fact, friday even tho the episode aired last night on thursday, what is time anyway lol)

so, more 7x06 buck's pov, and hopefully the last snippet before I post this lol

prev snippet

___

As soon as he sees Tommy walk through the door, he feels heat and want and desire mixed with affection and endearment consume him. Because this man – this gorgeous, cool, interesting man, with the most adorable cleft, and so smooth and charming he makes Buck turn into a blushing blubbering mess – this man is walking in, still in his turnout gear, completely covered in soot and ash, hands held up apologetically, a remorseful, worried look on his face. Tommy seems to have rushed here straight after work, clearly not even stopping by the station to change or shower, or even wipe his face, goddammit. And he looks hot. Buck’s seen firefighters look like this, hell, he looked like this himself many times, but there’s something about Tommy, in his gear, all dirty and disheveled, and here – something about this image takes Buck’s breath away, and he can’t help the smile spreading across his face.

“Sorry I’m late.” Tommy apologizes, as if him being here at all, instead of passing out in bed after a long, exhausting shift, wasn’t making a thousand butterflies come to life in Buck’s stomach. “That fire was a beast.” he adds, and Buck-

Buck can only respond with a simple “So are you,” and crash his lips against Tommy’s. Because Tommy is. God, he’s such a beast.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway

btw should i make a separate tag list for snippets and/or fics for bucktommy? bc I know it's not everyone's thing so if anyone wants me to stop tagging them for bucktommy, just lmk - and if anyone wants to start being tagged, also lmk! (I am still writing buddie, and I'll be back to posting them soon-ish but rn this is more fun for me sns haha but whenever i do, bucktommy is not going anywhere anyway 😝)

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moralesmilesanhour · 5 months

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mad props! 04

summary: in the week leading up to the show, your grades begin to slip. whatever will you do... word count: 1820 a/n: hiii i rlly enjoyed writing this chapter bc some of the stuff in here has definitely happened to me lmao. if you feel up to it, reblog and tell me what your favorite song from any musical is in the tags! songs mentioned: 'Chip On My Shoulder' - Legally Blonde the Musical (Original Broadway Cast Recording) prev next

“Max, you’re a little flat, hun.”

The choir director pulled her shawl tightly around her as Max–the chosen casting for Emmett Forrest–ran through some of his sung lines for ‘Chip On My Shoulder’.

The brown-skinned, dark-haired boy was an excellent actor; he breathed life into the words on the script and delivered them with all the earnestness and humor required to play Emmett. Hell, he even improvised his own jokes.

But he couldn’t hold a note to save his life.

For some lines, Max could get away with half-singing, half-talking, but he was practically tone-deaf once the song got more involved. The choir director–Ms. Johnson–had to be called in to help get him somewhere that was at least within the ballpark of the correct pitch. His high notes remained painful to all present in the room, no matter what she did.

You huffed from your spot on the fake park bench, resisting the urge to scratch your scalp beneath the itchy wig. Everyone had heard the exact melody on the piano by now. Hear it, sing it. Like Spanish vocabulary, you couldn’t comprehend how people got that sort of thing wrong.

Harmonizing with Max went about as expected; you lost your place several times because of the distracting dissonance between your voice and his, like hearing a parrot and an eagle squawk at the same time.

Regardless, it was too late to recast Max now. He had a leading role with too many songs and lines to memorize.

“Alright, take five!” the director yelled with a clap of her hands.

A collective sigh could be heard as students dispersed for their well-earned water and bathroom breaks, the tension in the air dissipating. You stepped carefully off of the stage, when you heard a snicker in your direction.

Miles was in the middle of painting a cardboard sorority building in an obnoxious shade of hot pink, shaded with strokes of fuchsia and cyan that managed to work together somehow. You frowned at the fact that you couldn’t say anything bad about it.

The boy struggled to hold back a laugh, looking up as you stood over him with crossed arms.

“Something funny?”

Miles stood to meet your eyes, carelessly wiping bits of paint onto his pants.

“That frumpy-ass 613 wig you got on, for one,” he replied with a teasing grin. “Are you gonna wear that for the actual show?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, for your information, I’m not. This is a placeholder wig,” you ripped it off of your head for emphasis. “Why are you even here, anyway? Don’t you got posters to make?”

In actuality, you knew about the art club lending some of its members to paint sets for the show. But you wanted to make sure Miles knew he was unwelcome.

“Just doin’ what I do best,” he shrugged. “You should be grateful for my sacrifice.”

You snorted, “What ‘sacrifice’?”

Miles jabbed his thumb behind him towards the left side of the stage, where Max was going over his lines. “I gotta listen to that nigga sing for over an hour. I’m sacrificing my time and my ears.”

Despite yourself, you laughed brightly at the comment, causing a more genuine smile to spread across Miles’ face. You looked pretty when you laughed.

“Oh my god, he sucks, right? Spent the whole damn song looking for the note.”

“Too late to replace him now, though. Show’s in two weeks.”

You nodded.

There was a brief pause before Miles asked, “So what made you sign up for theater? I was kinda surprised to see you on a stage.”

You gave him a wary look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he raised both hands in defense, “You just seemed like more of the quiet type, that’s all.”

I signed up to avoid you, you thought, but didn’t say aloud; That would’ve given him the satisfaction of knowing that you thought about him that much.

Instead, you answered, “I used to do theater at my old school. Got the lead part most of the time, if you can believe it.”

There was an arrogance in your voice as you said that last bit that soured Miles’ expression.

“I believe you, no need to convince me,” he said flatly. “Legally Blonde’s an interesting choice, though.”

You shrugged, “The part really lets me show my voice off, so...”

“Showin’ off,” Miles muttered beneath his breath, “Sounds like you.”

“Excuse me?”

Before you could start to argue, his eyes went wide, like he’d just heard a noise that no one else could hear.

“It was really nice talking to you, Y/N, but I gotta go,” he said, spinning on his heel and bolting towards the auditorium door. “Watch my stuff for me!”

Your jaw dropped in offense. Was he allowed to just bail on a club activity like that? And with the gall to ask you to watch his things for him. You totally did, though.

Once you got home, your feet throbbed and your muscles ached from all of the choreography. You were just barely out of your school uniform when you decided to lie down for a quick nap. Or what you thought was a ‘quick nap’.

The blaring of your alarm made your heart jump as your eyes flew open, half of your face damp with drool. The early morning washed over your room in a pale blue shade, and the sight would’ve relaxed you if not for the sudden realization that you weren’t in your pajamas.

You shot up, wiping the side of your face with your sleeve. Your Spanish and AP Physics notebooks were still strewn across your bed, along with several worksheets that had remained blank. Unfinished.

…Oh no.

Your heart was practically in your throat when you explained to Mr. Sanchez why you didn’t have any homework for him to collect.

The man noticed your glassy eyes, and held up a reassuring hand in the middle of your frantic explanation.

“That’s fine, it happens,” he said gently, “Just bring in the missing work tomorrow, and it’ll only be ten points off. Don’t make it a habit.”

He adjusted his glasses, and returned to grading the pile of worksheets on his desk as you trudged back to your desk, a pit forming in your stomach over those precious ten points.

“You good?” Miles asked as you sat down, concern coloring his features. He ran a finger over a small band-aid on his right temple. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

You buried your face in your arms on the desk.

“Nunya.”

He sighed, “I dunno why I even asked.”

Unfortunately for both you and Mr. Sanchez, missing assignments did, in fact, become a habit.

You began to spend more time lingering in the auditorium after everyone had left, practicing your line delivery. Adding little details, like extra hair flips or twirls. The spirit of Elle Woods had practically taken over your body.

You got home later and later into the evening, sometimes flopping down onto your bed and falling asleep before your head could even hit the pillow. This new ‘habit’ had you scribbling down vocab words and formulas in a frenzy, balancing your notebook on your lap on the bumpy bus ride to school. The flashcards that you had made for Mr. Sanchez’s class were now sitting untouched at the bottom of your bag.

By Friday, it landed you in front of his desk for office hours after you received your very first ‘F’.

“As you’ve probably noticed, Y/N, your grades have fallen a significant amount in a very short period of time, and I’m a little concerned,” Sanchez slid your weekly grade report towards you and placed his finger on your Spanish grade. “What’s going on? This is very unusual for a student like you.”

Your sweaty fingers clutched the sides of your seat as you stared down at the report. How did you let it get this bad? Elle Woods would never.

“I-I just…”

You shook your head. “I’ve just been busy with extracurriculars and stuff, so assignments slip my mind sometimes.”

“You’re having trouble balancing them with your schoolwork?”

“Yeah, basically,” you leaned forward, looking desperate. “Can I still re-take that quiz? I didn’t really get to study, and–”

“Oh! That’s actually what I called you in for, one second.”

Sanchez rose from his seat, and made his way over to the door.

“You know about our Study Buddy system, yes?”

You nodded slowly, skeptically. “Am I getting a ‘Study Buddy’?”

“Pre-cisely. Come in!”

He opened the door, and you almost groaned audibly at the lanky figure that appeared at the entrance.

Miles entered with a friendly smile on his face that dropped the second his eyes landed on you.

“Oh. You.”

The Spanish teacher sat back down and gestured towards him.

“Miles here is both a native speaker and beyond proficient in this class. He was so kind as to sign up for the program, so I thought it might be nice to pair him up with someone in the same period.”

Shocked into silence, you were unable to say anything other than a quiet “Okay” as you stared blankly in front of you.

Study buddies. With the guy who didn’t even study. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

“He’ll be giving up a bit of his lunch time to tutor you in my classroom. I’d also highly recommend you two study with each other after school as well, if you can make the time. Sound good?”

“Yes,” you both said in miserable unison.

“Well, that’s all,” Sanchez waved his hand. “You’re both dismissed. Have a lovely weekend!”

“You too!” you smiled tightly as you got up and made a beeline for the door, nearly bumping into Miles as you did so.

Your weekend would be anything but ‘lovely’.

You fixed Miles with a glare as soon as you got out into the hallway.

“I’m not giving up my lunch period for you,” you yell-whispered. “I hope you know that.”

He took a step towards you and fired back, “Neither of us have a choice, your highness. If we’re not both up here during lunch, I get in trouble, and you gotta take the L and fail this class.”

“I’d rather fail, then. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Oh?” he laughed mirthlessly. “You were in tears over a damn ‘89’. Makes no difference to me, but I think you do give a fuck.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back a rebuttal, then closed it. Miles raised an eyebrow.

“I’m lying?”

“...No.”

Miles leaned forward until he was only inches away from your face. “Then cooperate. Or we both lose.”

You sighed in defeat, “Fine.”

He nodded curtly, then left to go grab his things from his locker.

In a forced attempt at courtesy, you called out towards his back, “See you next week–”

“Whatever!”

taglist (comment to be added!): @vhstown @alaoraangelix @shuna-boin

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x fem!reader #atsv x reader #miles morales fic #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #moralesanhour

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agnesmontague · 9 months

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another really fun (stupid as fuck) thing staff has done to the dashboard is removing the username of the person you reblogged from if they appear anywhere in the body of the post

there's a bigass fucking void where the username of the reblogged blog should go. why? for what purpose?

it's bc anthonyampersand reblogged it from halftype, the last commenter. the fact is that if you reblog a post from anyone who appears in the post, whether it be OP or another commenter, or even yourself, it just does not show the username. it is quite possibly the biggest fuck you i can imagine to everyone complaining about losing prev tags, bc now you can't even tell who prev even was.

#rambles #staff #tumblr #great fucking job everyone. hit the showers #sorry for using u as an example tony you were the last person on my dash #and you STILL can't view prev tags like this

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thedvilsinthedetails · 3 months

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rosekiller band au microfic pt4

heyyy guys pt4 is hereeeee

ok so this one is a bit shorter bc I’m a bit tired today but I rlly wanted to write it anyway so I did lol but it’s not been edited like at all so there may be typos pls point them out if u spot them so I can fix them tyyyy

yayyyyy I love this one

Ok ppl who wanted to be tagged/wanted the next part: @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @picklerab23 @nikholascrow @always-reading @weirdtinkerbellversion @lady-stardust-incarnate @depressedtheatrekiddo @y0url0verb0y @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @lulublack90 (as always pls lmk if u want to be added to the taglist/don’t want to be tagged x)

link to part one

link to prev part

(EDIT: link to next part)

***

Barty’s stomach flipped as Evan looked at him, stunned and stunning. Then the moment was broken and Evan turned his head to look at Dorcas who seemed to be fighting back a laugh. This was stupid fuck this was stupid.

“Did you know about this?”

Evan asked Dorcas who shook her head.

“First time I’ve heard about it.”

Stupid, STUPID. You’re so stupid Barty why would you go and say that. You should have said no when Marls suggested it, should have said no straight away.

“It’s um- to make a statement. Kiss on the stage to piss of Riddle but it’s fine you don’t have to-“

“It’s a good idea.”

Evan said quickly.

“Oh, yeah it was Marls’. Wouldn’t want to um…steal the credit.”

Wouldn’t want you to think that the idea of kissing you plays on repeat in my mind every second I’m awake.

“Yeah. I um- I want to. I think it would be good-“

Brilliant actually it would be fucking brilliant Rosier.

Barty amended Evan’s statement.

“To make a big statement.”

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yeah what other reason would there be Barty? What were you hoping for? Pathetic isn’t it. The way you would gladly lick the crumbs left on his plate if he asked you to. He doesn’t want to kiss you, he wants to piss of homophobes. Don’t forget that.

It was in fact too late for Barty to not forget that because all that was ringing in his ears was ‘I want to. I want to.’ Because honestly Barty was going to kiss Evan. Maybe for the only time ever in his life. But he was going to. He’d never even thought it a possibility before.

•••

I figured out that this modern world is turning the wrong way round

There’s something about the way our bedsheets turn religion upside down

So we just have sex to solve all our problems

Let’s do it again

It had been Pandora’s idea for the kiss to happen during ‘cotton candy’ and everyone had immediately agreed. It was a stroke of genius really. Barty had originally thought it should take place in a love song, but that wasn’t what this kiss was about. This kiss was about the freedom, the liberation everyone deserved to be who they were, to test their limits and experiment and not be judged for being queer or straight or promiscuous or prudish. Cotton candy was just that. A call for sexual liberation, a call to stop demonising young people for living their lives.

And I wanna get stuck between your teeth like cotton candy

So you remember me darlin’

Barty turned his head to look at Evan. Their microphones were too far apart on separate sides of the stage, everyone hated it. He felt uncomfortable so far from Evan, they just performed better when they were up close together. The crowd had actually been pretty annoyed when they saw it at first. Still when he looked he saw Evan staring back at him. He cocked his head sideways, a silent, last minute ‘are you ready?’ Evan nodded.

Im losing myself in you

In you

I know

Evan stopped playing the guitar and let it just hang around his neck as he took the microphone out of the stand. Barty watched him before taking his own mic out the stand too.

I’m losing myself in you

In you

I know

They turned to face each other and Barty began to walk.

Leave me in the morning, although

I don’t wanna be on my own

They met somewhere in the middle of the stage and suddenly the scream of the crowd dulled and the music stopped and for a moment there was nothing except Evan. Evan Evan Evan. His eyes staring straight into Barty’s. The hushed sound of their soft harmonies. The warmth of his breath dusting Barty’s face as they pressed their foreheads together.

I’m losing myself in you

In you

I know.

And they kissed. The crowd screamed. And suddenly the world was filled with colour even though Barty had his eyes screwed shut. Kissing Evan was like…fuck Barty was no wordsmith, Regulus and Pandora wrote their songs. But kissing Evan was everything. He tasted sweet and minty like the gum he’d chewed right before the show. His hand was warm and calloused and currently threaded through the hair at the base of Barty’s neck, tilting his head up just so.

The instrumental was over, they’d missed their cue. Barty didn’t care. They kept on kissing till the song faded to a close and even then kept going till the clap of the crowd died down. They softly broke away but Barty couldn’t hide the grin that broke onto his face. Evan just grinned right back.

***

AHHH YAY OK I LOVE THIS SONG CAN I JUST START BY SAYING THAT

Watch the music video for this song (cotton candy by YUNGBLUD)

LOOK AT THE SKIRT HE WEARS AND TELL ME BARTY WOULDNT WEAR THAT

Also what do we thinkkkkk they finally kissed!!!!!!

Ayyyyyy

ok stay tuned for the FIFTH and FINAL part (probs gonna be released tmrw hehe)

Also I’m probably gonna put this on ao3 btw, not gonna change it bc I don’t have the patience to properly lengthen it (at least rn, ig u never rlly know) but it’s just like if ppl want to bookmark it or reread or whatever it’ll probs be easier

ANYWAY LMK WHAT U THOUGHT

😘BYEEEEE

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wellofdean · 1 month

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Just wanted to split this off from this post about why Mary Winchester is excellent because it's getting so long, but I wanted to respond to these tags from @kayliemalinza :

#sometimes i feel people hate john for reasons that while valid in our universe less valid in the spn universe#but mary gets it way worse#<-- prev tags yessss#also doing the math wasn't she like 28 when she died#i'm glad they didn't recast and of course samantha smith looks her own age#but mary is in fact YOUNGER THAN SAM AND DEAN AT THIS POINT#they are not children#and the tags copied above i think explains so sos ooo much#bc so many fans glommed onto dean because of similar family issues#and that means they are struggling as much as dean is in s12#and just can't disconnect that quite yet#but god#GOD how she struggles with that emotional intimacy#she was raised as a hunter you don't think she's chockablock full of maladaptive coping mechanisms too?

Because I whole-heartedly agree with this. John Winchester was not a good father in some major, major ways, and Sam and Dean had a childhood straight out of a...well, a horror/fantasy genre show...but I think people forget that Sam and Dean also do truly love John and truly are more or less at peace with their memory of him later in the series, and there has to be a reason for that, too. It's not that he's a mustache-twirling villain; it's complicated. He loved them, but he wasn't always able to do it right. They love him, but he hurt them and made the what they are, which is a double-edged sword.

It's really natural that we all identify with Dean, and get angry at people who hurt him, but I think it's important to realize that Dean processes his anger about Mary leaving pretty quickly, because it's not really anger and resentment, it's confusion, disappointment and hurt. And I think Dean is grown enough to own his own feelings, and able to accept that she needs time and space, and he's not such a child that he isn't capable of separating his legitimate feelings from her legitimate needs. It takes him time, but he gets there, because, and this is another conversation, Dean is really very reflective and emotionally intelligent, actually.

I also do agree that a lot of fans, in identifying with Dean, map their own feelings about their parents onto Mary, and dislike her for reasons that have nothing to do with the story being told on Supernatural, which is essentially a very healing one. Since I'm a Gen-X old, and the mother of an adult son, I actually had a pretty different experience, and as much as I love Dean, in this storyline, I identified a lot with Mary.

On the one hand, she has to be so proud of her two big, beautiful, brave and heroic sons, but at the same time she does not know them! They don't need her, and they are trying to protect her from the things she feels they should have been protected from, and at the same time, as adult men who are still, in some way, motherless boys, they are hungry (especially Dean) for her to be something that she never had a chance to grow into. I loved it that her own exigencies were too strong to LET her stay. I loved that she could not accept the role of mother that had been stolen from her, and could not sit still to let it just kind of settle on her shoulders.

It made me think that (aw yeah!) there was a difference between John's sainted white nightgown conception of his dead wife (his motivation to be what he was), and Dean's memory of her as the cutter off of crusts from his sandwiches, or the mother that he comforted when she was sad, and he was just a little man. I'm so glad that Mary turned out to be so much more than that. She is a woman with her own competencies, her own damage and baggage, and her own ideas about how to make things right, who doesn't agree with her sons all the time, who makes mistakes, who fucks the wrong guy, still loves her problematic husband, and can't actually cook, thank you very much. I love that her own disorientation and her own will are so strong that she really can't allow who she actually is to be subsumed into the communal role of 'mother'.

I think that socially, we don't really think about what we ask of mothers, or how hard we judge them. We underestimate what they give up of themselves to satisfy that role. My son was born when I was really young, and fellas, IT WAS HARD under more or less perfectly normal circumstances, to make the transition from being just me to being a mother. My magnificent son is amazeballs, and is a human being that I am so fucking proud to have made out of my very own actual body and raised to be the excellent human he is, and we are really close, but I was not always prefect, and even now when he is a grown adult, I still chafe against the perception of me as 'his mother' and not just ME all the time. One of the very greatest things about my son is his incredible ability to let me live, and make space for the fact that I am also a person, and not just his mother, and I am so, so grateful to him for that, so....

Yeah. As much as I didn't want to see Dean hurt, I LOVED Mary, and love that they wrote her as her a full human being and not a tropally perfect mother. I loved seeing her as a flawed parent that deserved her adult children's understanding and mature love, who deserved her own space and her own processes. What's more, I loved seeing Dean process his feelings about her, and seeing him become a son who was capable of loving a real human woman who happened to be his mother. So... yes. I love her.

Mary Winchester forever. A+.

#Mary Winchester #Supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sorry y'all for another long ass post about this #but #I just have a lot of fucking feelings about Mary ok?

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oh-saints · 1 year

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sunshine becomes you (final)

Being a footballer means Martin possibly has every resources in his whim, and that includes obliterating the blurred lines between him and Eve.

Grumpy!Martin Ødegaard x Sunshine!OC

Word count: 3.7k

tw: 18+ for graphic sexual contents included inside (aka a sprinkle of smut); unprotected sex

Note: i know i've made you guys as frustrated as Martin in the gif above so i'm putting you out of misery (#spoiler) and i hope you guys forgive me lolol but as usual, i happen to write this around dawn so ofc not beta-read yet. oh, and i'm changing the term solstrålen into solskinn (including in the prev parts) bcs it turned out google search failed me, thanks @multifamdomfan12 for correcting me! <3

Tags: my lovely loves @julianalvarez9 @formula1tina @okayline @mehrmonga @mrswhitethornbelikov @notleclerc @laurensficrecs @soccerwag9 <3<3

sunshine becomes you masterlist here

“I expect to see you again soon, dear Eve,” was the last words Martin’s mother muttered before she and the rest of the family boarded the car Martin had chartered to get them to the nearest tarmac.

With the glint on her eyes, Martin knew her mother meant what she said and he, frankly enough, didn’t think he’d be ready to face the day he had to break the news to her mother that Eve and him were no longer happening. Her mother seemed so delighted with Eve, utterly wishing deep down that Eve was already a part of their family by some sort of extension called marriage.

Doors were closed behind Eve, and suddenly Martin’s house was too humongous for the two of them. Instead of appreciating the big space, Eve hated the way the hollow silence that followed after. It was suffocating, to say the least, and Eve wanted to run away as soon as possible.

Martin noticed the uncomfortable shift Eve played between her right and left legs, indicating she was in an awkward situation, and Martin already hated the fact he needed to have a legit justification to have her in his arms without any fight.

To have her in his arms like they still had someone else to impress, but without having to put up the act.

But who was he to wish upon the stars when the object of all his desires repelled him the way mosquitoes repelled the hazardous substance men made to annihilate them?

Who was he to wish something too futile to happen?

“Let me get the car keys—”

“No need, Martin,” Eve wrapped her arms around herself as she looked around the living room in search for her totebag. “I can go home by myself.”

“Out of the question, Angel—”

“You should drop the pet name now,” Eve’s stern tone stopped Martin on his track. To say he was surprised was an understatement, and he wished he’d never seen the exasperated look in her eyes, for it was laced variously with emotions he’d rather not name. “No one’s around. No need to put up an act.”

“But…” At Eve’s outburst, Martin didn’t realise his arms fell helplessly on his sides. “That’s your name.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not what I’m talking about.”

For several, intense moments, neither of them did anything but to hold each other’s stare.

“Fine, Eve. Have it your way,” Martin finally conceded to the pressure because if there was one thing he couldn’t do well was holding grudges. Put Eve as the subject and Martin would be fucked twice over. “But you should let me explain something in return.”

An eye for an eye, Eve realised was what Martin’s modus operandi, so she nodded. Anything to get this agony done and over with, anything to free her of him. Her body and soul couldn’t take anymore of Martin she somehow fell in love with in the midst of this whole charade, knowing that version of Martin never existed in the first place.

“What is it?” She said as she looked up slowly to meet the oceanic blue eyes she had grown accustomed to, but she never expected those magical orbs to be right in front of her in a flash of a moment like a lightning struck.

Before she could register on anything, Eve felt the plush cushion of his lips closing down on hers, sealing her voice box from the world with a surge of desperation lingering in the upper and lower parts of his lips, and she was scared of what he asked of her behind the kiss.

She was afraid of what he asked of her, as he goaded her parted lips for a further access to the mouth he’d always loved for saying all the right and wrong things that made Eve as she was now. The smart, the funny, the witty Eve.

She was terrified of what he asked of her, as she lost herself in the mortifying pleasure of having him traced the inside of her cavern with his tongue while tracing the curves outside with his hands, and before she knew it herself, he’d pinned her into the nearest wall, his hands holding hers up in a lock on top of her head.

She was frightened that, despite her fastened hands, she felt liberated this time around—and maybe Martin had liberated them both with the kiss—because everything felt so right in this moment.

Because while she was now familiar with his lips on hers now, Martin had never poured his body and soul and everything of his existence into a kiss. This was new, and this was raw, and Eve was so overwhelmed by the sensation because only now did she realise this was Martin—all of him, bared to her, desperate to cling on whatever’s left of her that he’d come to love.

This was real.

“Ask me something I never do.”

Eve gasped as she felt the pad of Martin’s thumb wiped away a streak of tear running down her face. She really should tell Martin it was out of happiness now. “Martin—”

“Ask, Angel.”

Another trail of waterworks escaped Eve as Martin’s eyes stared down at her intently, yet somehow so… forlorn. She never wished any of this to happen to either of them, least Martin of all people—the one who’d brought back her dignity the night of Christmas Gala. “What’s something you never do, Martin?”

“I never pretend when I’m around you,” Martin whispered the words against the pair of lips he’d come to love so much, for both the taste and the sensation that came with it, and Eve could feel the desperation lingered in the small space of air between them; of not being able to kiss her, not before she understood his points of elaboration, not before she had all her questions answered. “I’ve always kissed you the way I want to, having audience or not. I don’t care if anyone else sees us or it’s only between us just like right now.”

“But you’re pretending to be my boyfriend at the—”

“You think I was pretending but I never say anything about me pretending from the beginning, Angel,” His eyes reflected immense anguish, yet his words resonated with truth and determination, and Eve’s head was spinning beyond belief. “So I never have. Everything I do whenever I’m with you is within my purest intention and everything I say to you is my outmost honesty.”

It took Eve a full 5 seconds to digest everything, thanks to Martin’s intoxicating scent that was able to short-circuit her brain. “So the gala wasn’t a sham.”

“It never was for me, at least.”

“But it’s your idea to do that.”

“It’s my one and only crazy idea so I can get closer to you,” Martin rested his forehead on hers gently, in hope she could see what he was trying to convey; that he was tired of this charade as much as she was, especially when they were fooling themselves by denying everything that could’ve been between them. “It’s the only way I know how.”

“You used my desperation to—”

“Yes, but I don’t regret a thing,” Now Martin was truly wearing his heart on his sleeve. Eve never said about not giving a fight to him, and he’d expected that. “I don’t regret anything I do with you, and I’m sure I never will. Call me selfish but I was desperate, too, at that time so you can see me.”

Still, it hurt Martin the same every time Eve’s head moved back inches more than the distance he’d managed to claimed before. “But if you never pretend around me, you must’ve absolutely despised to see me every day.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You never reply whenever I say good morning.”

“So ask, Angel,” Martin’s hands headed south and back to cradle her face like she was a fine china—and for him, it felt that way, for how precious she was to him—and his thumb caressed out the crumpled lines between her eyebrows ever so softly. “Ask me why I never reply your good morning.”

“What?”

“Ask me why I never reply your good morning, Angel,” The Norway’s youngest captain repeated, and Eve was relieved when he reached up to her forehead to place a featherlight kiss on the same spot where her crease of confusion appeared, for she couldn’t stand another second of Martin looking down on her as if his world would end the moment she said anything that implied no to him. “No matter how much I want to give in.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to have to end with her asking the one thing she’d been dying to know but the way Martin’s lips tickled her skin and the way he inhaled the scent lingering from the shampoo she donned earlier… she’d choose this over breaking the fragile bubble they were in. “Did you hate them?”

“I abhorred them, Angel,” And there he was—Martin was back gazing down at her, and gone was the gentle but miserable captain that was hanging his sanity on a thread. He’d returned with force under his arsenal yet this time, Eve wasn’t intimidated like the last time she’d encountered this side of Martin. “I hate them because it reminds me that you treat me like everyone else,”

And Eve couldn’t hold back her stupefied gasp.

“I thought I made it obvious on my first day that I’m so… enamoured by you,” It was tragic to Eve that Martin was spewing every of these meaningful words about reality he’d been living with a smile that was anything but, and it took away her joy from the fact that this was real and she wasn’t hallucinating that she thought this was real. That she wasn’t the only one who wanted this to be real. “But you certainly think I’m just being friendly to you when in reality, it’s not it, and I hate it so much,”

And Eve vowed, as well as shooting upon the stars, that she didn’t have to see that bitter, artificial smile ever again.

She didn’t waste another breath to pull Martin down to her, capturing his lips in a deep kiss—so deep she had to close her eyes in contentment, and a sigh escaped her lips. The huffed air was Martin’s sign to ask for entrance, and she granted him the entire access to her body and soul the way he’d bared his earlier, and the clash of tongue was a rather welcomed reaction, along with the messy movements of their hands finding each other’s available exposed skin.

“Please tell me I didn’t mess up my chances with you yet,” While one hand was resting on the nape of Eve’s neck, the other one was tucking away the strands of her hair to the back of her ear. His eyes were roaming from the hair, to her eyes, to her lips, and Martin had to close the gap between them once more because he couldn’t help himself. “I’m so afraid I’ll fuck up and I lose you again before I know it.”

“Just don’t put me through such thing again.”

Eve didn’t have to open her eyes to know Martin was hiding his smile behind the smouldering look he granted her—a slight movement of his lips against the rim of hers was all it took for her—before he closed the gap between them with nips on the corners of her lips, the cupid bow, her nose, and finally landed perfectly back on the middle of her lips, claiming the gate of his existence once more like he never left her bereft.

And to be graced by the silent proclaim was Eve’s honour, for she had never felt an abundance of emotion from deep within of one’s self unlike any other from Martin. Should anyone catch them in their current position, it would be palpable for anyone to see that Eve was close to liquefying herself into a shape only Martin could mould of her, in only ways Martin could forge. Her lips were beyond repairable from the nibbles left on the trail every time the blonde man changed his course to devour her to the very last taste, her garments were beyond salvaging from the harsh movements that reminded her of the captain’s passion on the pitch and yet she welcomed the crude touches full of desperation on her skin.

She was exposed for anyone nearby to see, being the most daring she’d ever been in presence of someone else and her mirror at home, yet she felt so secluded and secured in Martin’s arms, for his body engulfed hers in ways she knew he wouldn’t compromise her dignity—to anyone, even to him.

Her head was busy configuring as to how Martin could orchestrate everything she was feeling like it was second skin to him but she should’ve known better. The moment she lost herself into his touches and was only brought to Earth when his hands grazed her bosom and only teasingly passed by the core of her heat, just to settle one of her leg on his waist, that Martin Ødegaard was truly living up his moniker of the maestro.

No one could’ve played her frustrations down to being close to a string left like he could, no one would’ve played the sanity she was hanging by a thread the way Martin did, and managed to get away with it unscathed of wrath. Yet, Eve was nothing but a puddle of mess under his subtle dominant.

“Martin, please…”

Her moans, masked by broken gasps, were enough for Martin to take her away from the poor plastered wall. Not because he didn’t want to take her against the wall—partly because he wanted only the best for her, partly because there was another time for that—but because he knew if they’d become undone right here, right there, he wouldn’t have the energy to hold them together. He knew they’d be sensational together, conjoined in the hips and lower in an earth-shatteringly manner, and he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, despite being an athlete.

And he knew, as he lied her against the white faux material of the rug he’d immaculately placed in front of the fire place in this wintry weather, with the faint yellow glow casted on her face and her refined, soft silks of hair strands behind her, that his decision was proven better than he thought it would be.

Eve had never looked so ethereal, and he couldn’t believe this goddess-like being was now captured under him, helpless against the arms locking her sides—his angel, his fallen angel.

“Hello there, my angel,” Martin peered down at her, nuzzling his nose against hers, and Martin Ødegaard was unequivocally enraptured by the bedazzling smile she granted him at the gentle gesture, and he hadn’t even begun the ministration of what he had in mind. “You fit perfectly in my arms,”

And he was truly a goner by the way she was giggling—how much he’d been missing that gleeful sound without the constraint of a mere fake couple play between them—as he settled his nose deeper to the crook of her neck, sniffing Eve’s signature parfum she liked to spray along the length of her neck, while his fingers ran down the outer sides of her arms. The ticklish feeling was what probably enticed the melodious sound of her carefree laugh, her true carefree laugh, not the one he was used to hearing paraded around the London Colney for mere courtesy.

But Martin was something else altogether when Eve let out unrestricted whines as his nose and lips pursued the track downwards, from the neck to the open space of her chest, against the space between her ample breast, on the small space under the mound, across her ribcage. So uncalled for, especially for the effects those sinful sounds imposed on his cock. So dirty, so disgusting, yet he yearned for more.

Thus, explaining his bold move further down south.

Just as he was peppering kisses against the inner parts of her thighs, Eve arched in the ways that could put half-moon to shame, with her agape mouth and breathless pants as her hands were practically flailing to find the most stable ground to help herself, only to end up with plucking the faux material with one hand and another one gripping his shirt for life.

She sat up at the sudden realisation Martin was yet discarded from his clothes, and he stopped his deliverance at her movement. “What’s wrong?”

Eve didn’t say anything verbally but her hands lifting up the colour that complimented his skin very well said it all. Martin halted her rushing hands effectively, like he did hers when they were pushed up against the wall a bazillion years ago. “Oh no, my love. Tonight’s about you.”

Eve couldn’t hide the shivers that ran down all over the body at both the newfound nickname—and she loved being called by nicknames Martin found suitable for her—and the intonation he used to cover his obvious intention.

Martin sat back up on his knees, and the sight of him shedding his shirt was certainly something that would haunt her for days and days after today, especially when he had to be away for his job. Realising Eve was ogling at him, Martin laughed unreservedly for the first time since the both of them scrapped off the last bits of their shitty acting withstanding.

“Oh, shut up, Martin,” and the man could certainly get used to being pulled down by the woman who’d never vanished from the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to erase her. She kissed the way she looked; sun-blazingly hot with passion and fierceness like she wouldn’t see the light of the day tomorrow, and he could feel the last restrain of himself melted away as her hands travelled down his chest, his ribs, his well-built abdomen.

“I like this,” Eve traced down the sixpack line stretched across his midriff, her movement so gentle yet it constricted the muscle tighter than the workout machines at the gym. “Don’t show it off to anyone else.”

“Say you’re mine and it’s all yours to see, Angel,” Eve looked up to the man towering her, covering her against the moon wanting to peek at the moment they’d been dying to have, and Martin almost came undone at how innocent she looked, face held in his hands, in contrast to how devious her fingers were at. “It’s always been you.”

Eve didn’t need further reassurance to pull him down to her, crashing their lips together in ways that reminded her of waves crashing against the solid rock on the edge of the ocean. His lips were showering her with cold water against the warmth of hers, and hers were pouring him calmness against the sun. Yin and yang found each other, at last, and they both moaned at the sensation the both of them had been liberated at best from whatever holding them down.

They were floating on the rough waters, so high in each other’s frustrated and desperate kisses to find solace in each other’s undone, but nothing could compare to the moment the lovers were fully, entirely intertwined with each other. Eve felt so full of Martin, and she wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Martin had to control his breath, just as what his trainers told him to do on the pitch ironically enough, as he felt Eve welcoming him with the warmest hug he could ever receive from someone, both inside and out. He couldn’t help himself but pull her closer to him, flushed against him, every air making their way in between them was something he considered a disturbance.

“Oh, Martin,” Her breathing was ragged, so did Martin’s, and it pushed Martin to drive her closer to the edge. “You feel so good against me.”

At her words, he went the deepest he could plunge himself into the sweetest hellhole that was Eve, and her body went tighter, inside and out he could see veins almost bulging out against her temple. She was halfway there; he could see it in her gaze, in what he could make out of her extremely flushed cheeks. Who was he to grant delayed gratification to her?

“Say you’re mine, mitt solskinn,” One touch against the swollen, pretty clit of hers, and she slowly peaking her highs. She was so beautiful, chasing her release under his touch as he pounded himself into her relentlessly for his own end, despite the dirty, slick mess she was making against his hands. She panted his name like a prayer, and it delighted him to no end that he was the only one who could provoke such a sensuous siren. “No more denying between us, Angel.”

“I’m yours, Martin Ødegaard,” and he felt that down to the bones as he’d reached his high at her words, like the passcode to his own ending, and as the morning came lazily upon them, he’d never felt as whole as that moment. Although he’d had Eve in his arms countless times before, because he now knew that despite the stormy weather outside, he’d always have his sunshine shining brightly in his arms, beaming radiantly as she whispered, good morning, baby.

Martin didn’t have anything else to respond her but to give her the same blinding smile—the biggest he could muster, anyway, which was still pale in comparison to the force in his arms, settling well like a little spoon she was.

“You really lost against me.”

The once-wonderkid could only laugh at her comment. You could count on Eve for her smart mouth. “Well, if this is what losing feels like, I really don’t mind at all.”

“That’s it?” Eve had to pull her head back from the tight cocoon they were sharing, and she absolutely wouldn’t complain to wake up to those clear blue Nordic eyes every day. “Where does your whole athlete competitiveness go?”

“You feel like my biggest victory anyway.”

Because sunshine has become Eve.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊THE END＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

and that concludes my first ever (mini) series! wow, i didn't think this was possible in any way so thank you, to each and every single one of you, who's spared your time to read the entire series and even left comments on the posts. i hope i didn't disappoint you midway or in anyway. bcs really, if i could hug you guys rn, i would so i'm just gonna send loves to you guys ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and see you on the next one!

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