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buryustogether · 1 year

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lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #sony spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel

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reasonsforhope · 2 months

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"Fencing offers a ray of hope to young people living in Nairobi's poorest neighbourhoods.

Despite a lack of equipment, the sword fighting sport is growing in popularity in Kenya.

They cut a striking group as they wander through Huruma in their pristine white outfits.

These young people are heading for their favourite hang-out spot: the Tsavora Fencing club at the local community centre.

The street becomes their arena as they parry and riposte in front of passers-by.

This is not just a hobby for them: it's a force for good in their lives.

Fencing has helped carve a path away from crime, drugs and other social pressures.

"I used to be a gangster," says Mburu Wanyoike, who is now a coach for Kenya's National Fencing team.

"I was in crime and crime makes you feel isolated. It actually puts you in a place where you are isolated, making you feel depressed, having stress and I chose fencing as a way for me to escape out of the hood and escape that lifestyle."

His journey from delinquency to fencing coach and senior athlete in Kenya's national team has been transformative.

Inspired by the personal tragedy of the death of two friends, Wanyoike pursued training and education in South Africa, ultimately founding Tsavora Fencing in 2021.

Tsavora Fencing has made significant strides.

The team has produced 15 talented fencers who have earned spots in the national squad, with plans to represent Kenya in the African Olympic Qualifiers in Algeria this year.

However, challenges persist, particularly regarding the affordability of fencing equipment.

"Sometimes it is tough when it comes to competing with well-equipped international countries that are well organized, so what we do is just to move on with enthusiasm and obsession. The fact that we don't have the equipment, the limited ones we have, we use them. We don't complain that we do not have equipment, we just use what we got and put in the obsession and the enthusiasm and the passion combined, that's what we do, we fence," says Wanyoike.

Tsavora Fencing Mtaani, an initiative under Tsavora Fencing, offers mentorship and training in fencing to the youth of these impoverished neighbourhoods, shielding them from the dangers of their environment.

With 45 members, most of whom are students, the team serves as a beacon of hope in the community.

Participants are required to become disciplined and put on integrity.

"Initially I had bad company at home but now that I am in fencing, it has kept me busy and now it is a better option for me because I feel happy doing it," says Jemimah Njeri, a 17-year-old member of Tsavora Fencing.

"I cannot imagine myself without this sport because it has kept me very busy. In my area many girls have become teenage mothers and that is not a wonderful life," adds 16-year-old Allen Grace...

As Tsavora Fencing continues to thrive, fuelled by the determination of its members and the support of the community, it stands as a testament to the transformative power of sport in, even the most challenging environments."

-via Africanews, April 1, 2024

#kenya #kenyan #fencing #sports #olympics #olympic fencing #nairobi #poverty #good news #hope

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tieronecrush · 6 months

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so much wine

joel miller x reader

summary: christmas is difficult for joel, with and without you.

rating: M

wc: 2.8k

warnings: no outbreak, angst MAJORLY, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, acts of mild violence (NOT towards reader or any other person, it is toward an inanimate object), joel hating christmas, grief, anger, depression, big big feelings, mention of break up, sad joel, angry joel, resentful joel, reader trying to make christmas nice, um i may be forgetting some so if you notice any big ones lmk!

a/n: ya girl is always on her angst grind. ESPECIALLY around christmas cause....issues. hope you all find the means to enjoy this lil one shot based on one of the saddest but still incredibly beautiful christmas songs. here's the link to the song! tysm to @northernbluess & @kiwisbell for beta-ing and encouraging me to post this. love you both xx

“Tommy?”

“Hey, m’so sorry to be callin’ ya on Christmas Eve. I know…Well, I know this is probably the last thing ya wanna be hearin’ but I really need your help. It’s Joel…” The noise level on the other side increases with a gust of rowdiness, clueing you in that he must be at a bar. You press the phone tighter against your ear, listening to Tommy ramble off reasonings for your help interwoven with profuse apologies. Guilt hangs heavy inside of you, the soft music and glasses clinking in the other room a reminder of your own Christmas Eve plans. How it’s supposed to go every year. Peaceful, light, fun, full of love. Your holiday with Joel looked different. Full of love, yes, but overwhelming, stifling with grief.

“I’ll be right over, Tommy.” You can’t turn away, you can’t hang up and go back to your life tonight. Not with knowing how much pain Joel’s in.

The tree lights up as you stick the plug in the socket, your nightly task for the last month just as the sun sets. Clear, warm bulbs illuminate the otherwise dark living room, shining out to the street as a beacon of a lived-in home. Reflections of warmth bounce off of the shiny glass ornaments littered around the branches, heirlooms from your family, and some you’ve collected yourself. Combined with ones from Joel’s past. It’s not cohesive, but it’s a beautiful smattering of your lives. Pine wafts from the sappy center of the tree, filling the room with the scent of evergreen, tinged with the stuffy warmth from the central heat.

You’d decorated the tree on your own a few weeks ago. Joel helped you pick up the tree from the sale lot in the H.E.B. car park, strapping it down in the bed of his pickup. More than willing to help you get it inside, into the basin, and secure it tightly to avoid any accidents. But that’s when his assistance stopped. No humming along to the Christmas CDs you queued, no suggestions of festive movies to watch, no sneaking some Bailey’s into the mugs of decaf coffee you brewed to keep warm. Instead, he retreated up to your bedroom, shutting the door behind him and effectively shutting you out for the evening.

Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway, dropping off Joel for the holiday after last-minute projects were tied off. Joel had mentioned grabbing a drink with Tommy, to celebrate another year gone by with their new business venture, Miller Construction. You didn’t think anything of it, wishing him a good day that morning and sending him off while you prepped dinner and baked cookies to bring over to your parent’s house tomorrow.

As you sit down on the couch, Joel fumbles at the door with his keys, finally getting them jammed in and the lock turned. He stumbles inside, tripping over his own feet despite his eyes being trained on them, grumbling to himself as he frustratingly kicks off his boots. You stand up to greet him, a warm smile on your face faltering when he looks back at you with a scowl.

“Need a drink…” he slurs, avoiding you completely in the middle of the living room, frown lit up by the tree. Joel treks to the kitchen, straight for the whiskey bottle that he takes a long pull from before filling a glass halfway. The amber liquid sloshes as he turns to look at you, holding out the crystal tumbler.

“You want some, baby? S’Christmas Eve! Everybody thinks it’s something to celebrate, right?”

It never snows in Austin, but driving down the highway with your windows down, it smells like winter. Crisp, cool air rubbing your cheeks raw, running your nose. Thin air, fresh. A medicinal feeling, like inhaling the menthols you used to smoke. It’s freezing, but you can’t bring yourself to roll up the windows, to close yourself into your car as you cruise on the open roads. Everyone’s tucked away at home, with family or friends, while you drive towards something as familiar, but much more grisly.

Christmas carols crack over the stereo, painting visions of picture-perfect holidays, the feelings of joy, love, belonging, and warmth that you’ve craved for him since you met him. Something you so desperately wanted to drip back into his life from your hand, dribbling water to a lightless soul.

The glass is empty now, bottle as hollow as Joel’s eyes look. He stands in front of the tree, studying the decorations with a freshly opened bottle of wine in his grip, one you were meant to bring to your parents tomorrow. His brows haven’t relaxed, not one stitch unsewn since he walked in the door. Mumbles of anger have rolled from his chest, never directed toward you, but aimed at the world around him. At the holiday. At the lack of presents addressed to his daughter under the tree, the missing duties of playing Santa.

You met Joel after Sarah passed. He spoke about her often, telling you all about his little girl who was funny, bright, bubbly, better than him in every way. She’s been gone for a handful of years now, the tragedy worn on Joel’s face and in his curls; aged and grayed. He was still so handsome, still held a smile for you despite the deep, open aches he feels the pains of every day.

Never having a holiday with him, you didn’t know that this is ‘just how he is’. Tommy had heeded some warnings to you, had called you in a whisper as he pulled away from the house that evening with apologies — ‘I tried to cut him off, but when I left for a minute to go to the bathroom, he’d gotten the bartender to pour him another double…I tried to take it, but he wouldn’t…’

You expected feelings these days, this month, the whole season. How could a father not miss his only child when the rest of everyone’s happiness, luck, blessings are thrown back in his face? But this…this was a different Joel. Someone angry, someone cursing his own existence. He fumbled around the living room, shoving the coffee table when he bumped into it, picking tinsel off the tree and tossing it to the ground.

At the time, it seemed like a good idea to intervene. To attempt to talk him into bed, or at least into eating something and laying down on the couch. Other issues to address in the morning when he was sober.

Now, you know that was a mistake.

“What do you want from me? What does my brother want from me? Am I just supposed to get over it so everyone can have their merry little Christmas?” His voice strings words together, his drawl thicker with inebriation. Wine splatters across the kitchen tile, Joel’s arms swinging around as he speaks with his hands.

“No one is ever asking or expecting you to get over it, Joel. We just—I don’t want you to be like…to feel like this. Sarah wouldn’t want you to—”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Joel never raises his voice. The calm chill of his voice sends a wash of anxiety over your entire body, words punching clear now despite his physical state.

“Enough. Don’t even say that 'cause you wouldn’t fucking know.”

The freezing air fills your lungs, choking out as it stifles your inhale. Strong heaves of breaths expand your lungs before they squeeze out with sharp exhales, the coughing fit morphing into sobs. Tears blur your vision, flowing over your waterline and burning hot against your cheeks. Carving trails across your face with iron branding. Find the same paths of all their predecessors, all that came before them for the very same reasons.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road to compose yourself, parking near enough to your exit. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you open the door and tumble out, talking yourself down from hysterics. Wading through the thick emotions, the unresolved slashings of anger and frustration, the unanswered love.

Facing the midnight sky, twinkling spots stare back at you, reminding you of your size in the world. How large everything feels, how all-consuming. How it doesn’t seem to be felt all the same by the one person you want it from. Need it from.

Struck with a flash of a star falling against the black backdrop, there’s a brief moment when you think it’s Santa Claus. In his sleigh pulled by reindeer, riding around to deliver joy to families across the world. Another reminder of how small you feel. How much like a kid you feel. Unsure of where you stand in his life, uncertainty facing your future, undecided in what is the right thing to do.

The sky kaleidoscopes in your watery eyes, small shining bursts gazing back at you. And your first thought is how similar they look to Joel’s eyes that night. Sad, glossy, shimmering with anger that sat long enough to finally introduce itself as grief.

You stayed out of the way after that. Let him drink himself into a hole. Dinner is left untouched until the later evening when you wrap it all up and store it away in the fridge. Noting another bottle of wine gone from the cabinet.

Joel’s corralled upstairs with less persuasion the drunker he’s gotten, craving the comfort of your shared bed the closer he gets to passing out. He trips over his feet while you walk behind him, a hand pressing into his lower back to direct him. Hiccups shake his body. Teeth stained red. Life sucked from the day, no more chances at honoring memories, no more magic left to make something special for Joel. Nothing that can sprinkle some goodness into his life.

He’s got an iron grip on his resentment, on his rage. Understandably.

But that grip drops his hand from his happiness, from his comfort, from his remembrance. It all slips through his fingers now, grains of sand falling through the lines in his palms, the ridges of his fingerprints. What was so ingrained in him, years ago with his daughter, days ago with you, is easily forgotten as the monster of misery uses your kindhearted man as a vessel. Rendering him unrecognizable.

Taking in his sleeping form, fully clothed and half covered with a quilt. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, his coping catching up with him to finally receive the desired effect — feeling nothing. Turning his brain off completely, emptying him to float in a void for at least one night.

His lips parted with slow, even breaths. Brows relax, falling back to lift his eyes, despite them being closed. Delicate eyelashes lay against his cheeks, and you watch as a smattering of exhausted tears slip from the corners of his shut eyes. No more stubborn will to hold them back. The first real emotion you’ve witnessed all evening.

It’s another moment before you turn away, filling the empty glass at his bedside with water from the bathroom tap. Avoiding his soft sleeping form and your empty side of the mattress, you pack a small bag to retreat to your parent's house, a short note left for Joel in the morning inviting him over when he’s feeling up for it.

One last glance at him drives an ice pick into your heart, warm blood pooling around your feet matching the shade of red on his lips. It feels cruel, to pack up and leave for the night, but without knowing if this charade continues through the next day, you don’t quite feel like sticking around to find out.

The bar is busier than you would have thought, with a good amount of groups growing rowdy for the holiday. You imagine they are there drinking in camaraderie, in celebration. The opposite to your Joel. He’s slumped over the bar in his green flannel, hugging his broad frame that shields him from the joy raucous of the room.

Tommy stands next to him, hand on his shoulder in an attempt to draw him away from the wooden bartop, to get him away from the stool and the glass filled with amber liquid.

When the bartender greets you while you approach, Tommy turns toward you, sighing and shaking his head as he leans into his older brother to mumbling loud enough for your to overhear as you settle behind Joel’s seat, “M’sorry I had to do this, Joel, but you’ve got to get home…”

Joel grumbles, shrugging off his brother’s hand. When he’s turned to address his brother with a protest, he catches you in the periphery, reacting with a molasses-like double take. Angling in your direction from his perch on the worn leather barstool, his eyes widen in shock, and he swallows hard. The drink in his hand is left discarded on the bar top, Tommy signaling for the bartender to come by and grab it while Joel stands dumbfounded by the presence of you.

“Sweetheart…”

The name is a punch in the gut, recalling every other time it raised goosebumps in its wake while it was whispered against your skin, each time it was tacked onto a gentle tease, each time it was spoken in place of feelings he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, communicate to you.

Recovering quickly, you right yourself internally, rising tall and holding your shoulders back while tender kindness masks your anguish. A head shake draws up a watery expression despite your efforts, your smile plastering onto your expression. Joel frowns, seeing straight through the guise.

“C’mon, Joel. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Both of you stare at the hand of yours laid on his bicep, radiating heat from the contact that starts to melt the ice that froze your feelings for him in place those months ago. Joel is the first to look away, the burn of his saucer eyes drilling into your profile.

“No. No, I don’t need to—” he argues, always a mule.

“Joel,” you interrupt, voice thickened with sentiment, “please. I wanna go home. Let’s go home.”

The statement isn’t a lie. The furthest thing from an untruth.

It’s exactly what you have been wanting to say to him for months, feeling untethered and lost. You’ve been aimlessly searching for that same solace elsewhere. In other places, in other people. Nothing could compare. Joel is home. And all you want to do is return, to feel safe and warm and welcomed at home. To feel as if there is room for you there, that you aren’t driven out by the torment that tortures Joel, and in turn, you.

That’s what gets him to agree. The promise of home, with you there with him. The same piece he’s felt missing, the second heart of his home stripped from him because of his unwillingness to let up his grip on his anger and resentment. Because of his resistance to cradle his comfort, his contentment, his love for you.

“You wanna go home?” A nod answers him, rolling his actions into motion, “Okay, okay. M’gon—gonna take you home, baby. We can…I can give you your gift.”

“Sure, honey. We can do that in the morning,” you counter, the corners of your mouth turning up for a split second when Joel agrees.

His large form falls from the stool and into his brother when he attempts to get up. It’s a dance between the three of you to get him into your car and to his place. Tommy follows, there to drag him up the stairs with you behind, a hand on Joel’s lower back. He preens into every touch from you, glancing over his shoulder to check that you’re still there. That you haven’t left again. You can’t help but notice the living room illuminated by a Christmas tree, the smell of pine filling the house and the delicate glass ornaments placed carefully around the tree. He tried this year.

You do stay. This time you’re sitting with it all, ready for the confrontation of the next day. With Tommy gone, you and Joel are left alone with each other for the first time in months. In your old bedroom of all places.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed, head hanging in shame while you kneel in front of him, tentatively laying a hand on his knee.

If this time is going to be different, you need a reason to stay. A single brick taken out of his walls, the signal of the start of a wreckage that you will happily clear so long as you can have your Joel feel like a semblance of himself again.

“You’re always gonna see the bottom of your glass, Joel. Nothing can save you from that, not even all the drink in the world. It’s all still going to be there. You have to decide to face it.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds filling the room are your slow breaths in sync with each other’s. Joel picks his head up, angling it to look down at you directly. Tears have carved channels into his face, fight leaving his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak in a rasped whisper.

“Sarah always loved Christmas...”

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landogalore · 2 months

Text

DEJA VU

carlos sainz x singer! reader

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, SMUT: unprotected sex (PLS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS), oral sex (female), creampie.

word count: 2.7k

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The routine began the same as every night had previously started, following the identical steps to prepare herself before stepping onto the stage.

The brunette hair swirled down, reaching just below her shoulders in perfectly shaped curls. she allowed her eyes to glance at herself in the mirror, the bright spotlights shooting towards her face, enhancing her facial features so beautifully it would put any person into a trance. the silver eyeshadow has been carefully placed in the corner of her eyelids, the glistening effect causing her sapphire eyes to become bolder, brighter. As she admired herself one last time, she was able to reminisce the events that led up to this, how her talent was able to become known, and the people who cherished her along the journey.

She originally attempted to boost her career by busking, sitting on a stool in the Spanish humidity, singing the songs that she hoped would attract the most attention from the public, eventually persuading them to drop a mere euro into the bucket below. To most people, this would appear to be a normal method to try and get funding which could help increase her popularity, but to the determined singer and her family, she looked like a pathetic charity case.

‘You can’t continue with this, hija.’ her mother would constantly remind her, her dream was just a fantasy she created, unable to ever truly become the reality she longed for.

‘It can go on no longer. we’ll help you get a stable job.’ her father agreed, once again the truth that she was failing hitting like a bullet, leaving a wound that would slowly shatter her confidence.

‘Just one last day, please papá.’ she begged, she needed one last try, a song to say goodbye to the dream that she imagined when she was a child, the commitment she gave needed to be for something, it had to be.

————————————————————————

Similarly to every other session, she placed the empty bucket beside her while she set up the equipment. The streets in Madrid were always busy, bustling with a mixture of both locals and tourists. And like all the other days, she began to sing, a tiny beacon of hope still fighting in her heart, that she will be noticed.

Two hours went by, and the usual process happened, euros gifted to her by a range of people, even a young toddler waddled over to drop a few pennies into the bucket below. This was finally the end, she thought to herself. She sighed, admitting she needed a break before continuing once again, placing the equipment back into her backpack before slouching onto a nearby park bench.

‘You’re the singer, no?’ A voice asked from beside her, turning to face the stranger who somehow recognised her. His dark hair slightly blowing across his face from the gentle breeze, covering small areas of his features. Although, they struggled to hide the large chocolate coloured eyes smiling towards her, leaving the girl almost mesmerised.

‘Yeah! Well, I busk nearby.’ She confirmed, her grin growing at the realisation she had eventually been recognised for her abilities, the man’s lips beaming wider at the answer.

‘Are you available friday?’ he queried, the girl’s eyes widening in shock at the question. was he about to ask her to sing at a venue?

‘Uh..’ she panicked, her whole body buzzing with excitement, ‘definitely! i’m not busy at all on friday!’

‘Great! I’ve got a few friends coming to this event later this week and our singer decided to get food poisoning and cancel. I’ll give you my number and send you the rest of the details.’ He further explained, reaching out of his pocket to grab a notebook, ripping a small tear out of a page. ‘You got a pen?’

‘Yeah!’ she rummaged through her backpack and handed him the pen, her voice unable to contain the positive emotions overwhelming her, seeming a bit too enthusiastic to give him some basic stationery.

‘Here.’ he passed her the tiny sheet which she also placed inside her bag. ‘I’m Carlos.’ he introduced himself, reaching out his hand, the new view of his arms highlighting the prominent veins, despite mainly being covered in body hair.

‘Maddison.’ She grabbed his hand back, shaking it as she stared directly at the man, a mixture of both delight that she can now sing somewhere that isn’t 20+ degrees in the outdoor heat, but also that she had met Carlos…

————————————————————————

Is this Carlos?

Yes! Please be at this address at 7pm. I’ll see you soon 😊

————————————————————————

When she arrived, the immediate elegance of the building shocked her. It seemed like she had been transported to the victorian era, contrasting the usual settings she had been accustomed to previously.

She inhaled a large gasp of the oxygen outside, trying to control her breathing rate and calm down the nervous butterflies that fluttered around her stomach.

She hesitantly stepped inside of the venue, but became immediately mesmerised by the luxurious decorations that covered the room. It was truly something she had never seen before.

“You’re here.” The familiar accent greeted her once again, her eyes shifting to see Carlos, dressed in a dark suit that appeared more expensive than what the girl had in her whole bank account, feeling almost humiliated by the dress she had slipped on in an attempt to blend in with the crowd. “You look-” He began.

“I know… I’m sorry it’s one of the only dresses-” she apologised, already believing she had ruined a part of the night.

“You look stunning, Maddison.” He interrupted, finally finishing his sentence, admiring the girl standing before him, the unexpected compliment causing her cheeks to flush into a vibrant red shade. “I’ll take you to the stage.” Carlos added, indicating for the singer to follow him, which she easily complied.

“Is there anything specific you want me to sing?” She questioned, unsure on what the routine was for the night.

‘Just sing the songs you like, not always just the popular ones, but the songs you’re confident with.’

‘Got it.’ She smiled; she was now able to play the music that matched her tone perfectly rather than adapting. The contagious expression she wore reflected onto Carlos’ face, before he stepped closer to the girl, leaning in towards her ear.

‘I’m sure that anything you sing will be amazing, cariño.’ He murmured softly, backing away and leaving to allow her to set up the equipment desired for the upcoming performance.

The celebrations continued throughout the night, all the guests pleasantly entertained, she didn’t know much about the reasoning behind the event, but narrowed it down to being a birthday party.

After further confirming that the microphone was functioning correctly, she adjusted the stand to her height, placing the device into the slot as she started to introduce her act to the audience.

‘Hi everyone!’ She spoke, all eyes in the room now focused on the girl standing on the stage. “I’m Maddison and I’ve been asked to perform some songs for you all. This one I will sing is currently one of my favourites!’ She finished, shifting from talking to singing as the speaker began to play a melody.

The music differed to the usual tunes she sung while busking, the more tranquil genre suiting her voice almost perfectly, allowing her to stay comfortable while the whole crowd stared. However the only person she truly focused on was Carlos, his chocolate eyes glistening towards her like he was enthralled not just by the singer’s talent, but also by her immense beauty. The man couldn’t comprehend the reasons why he felt such ways for someone he had approached on the street just earlier this week, all he could do is watch in mesmerisation, cherishing the moment.

————————————————————————

At the end of the night, only a few were still gathered at the party, mostly waving their goodbyes; however, the singer and Carlos being a part of that small group.

When she finished her act, the man waited patiently nearby the stage as she packed away her equipment, desperate to just see her once more, even if it was the couple glasses of alcohol he sipped previously influencing these thoughts, the girl remaining unaware of his presence.

‘Your singing was so beautiful.’ He perked up, catching the attention of the girl as she swiftly turned her head around to face him.

‘Carlos, you’re still here?’ her eyes widened, shocked that he had remained at the event for such a long period of time. ‘I thought you would’ve left already.’

‘Never.’ He stepped closer, standing tall above her, just a few inches away from her face, his brain practically entranced by her beauty, he didn’t care anymore, at this moment all he craved was her, everything about her. ‘I needed to see you again Maddison.’ His voice softening as he approached further towards the singer, his hands moving upwards to gently caress her cheek. Despite the strength the man’s hands appeared, his touch seemed so gentle and loving.

‘Carlos.’ Her breath hitched at the sudden action, hundreds of questions overwhelming her mind. Why did he want her? Is he drunk? Does he know what he is doing? Why did she want him to kiss her so badly?

‘Say it, please cariño.’ The beseech escaped as almost a murmur, praying that she had heard the sentence, his vision purely focusing on the singer’s plumped lips.

‘Kiss me, Carlos.’ She pleased, immediately being met with the man’s lips smashed onto hers, bringing her into a passionate kiss. Her wish was his command. His tongue entered her mouth as the touch became slightly rougher, grasping onto her cheek tighter but still somehow keeping that caring feeling.

‘Not here.’ She pulled away from the connection, placing the hand that was originally situated on her cheek down towards her own palm, signalling for him to hold it. ‘You don’t want an audience now do you?’ The singer lifted onto the tips of her feet to whisper into his ear, lust clearly visible in her throat.

‘You’re right querida.’ He agreed, a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, ‘I’m the only one who deserves to see you naked, desperate for my cock.’ The words leaving his lips making the girl’s thighs warmer, closing them together to release the pressure that was craving something, craving Carlos.

Eagerly, she followed Carlos away from the grand atmosphere, the room shrinking into a narrow hallway before the man reached their desired destination, twisting the doorknob to reveal the bathroom that still remained as elegant as the rest of the building.

Instantly entering, their lips joined together once again, the girl’s body slammed against the counter nearby the sink while Carlos sped up the pace of their kisses, becoming desperate and sloppy, but she definitely wasn’t complaining.

His tongue continued its attack, although separating from her lips, travelling downwards to her clear neck, the man excited to paint his canvas with marks that will leave large bruises.

As he sucked onto the clear skin, the girl couldn’t help but let high- pitched moans crawl out of her throat, not caring about the red, stinging stains appearing, just praying for this sensation to continue forever.

‘This dress is so pretty on you, ángel.’ Carlos smirked, his fingertips brushing against the slim straps on the one-piece, ‘But you’ll look much better with this all off.’ He looked up at the girl for confirmation to continue, which she eagerly nodded in consent as he slid the fabric down her shoulders, slowly removing the clothing in an attempt to tease her. He refused to break eye contact as the silk dropped down to her thighs, revealing the lacy bra underneath, which he also unclipped to uncover her breasts.

‘I need you, Carlos.’ She pleaded, impatience prominent in her voice as the light strokes made her whole body shiver with lust. ‘I need you in me.’

‘Steady cariño.’ He giggle consumed with mischief, ‘Gonna have some fun with you first.’ He planted sloppy kisses trailing from her collarbone downwards towards the lower area of her chest, the crumpled fabric preventing the man moving any further. ‘Can I?’

‘Yes, please.’ She answered, the material rubbing down her legs as she was left almost naked, just a small piece of dampened lace covering her vagina.

‘Mierda.’ He murmured the curse at the sight of her dripping pussy. ‘You’re already that wet for me, bet you’re gonna taste so good.’ His warm breathed pressed near her entrance, leaving a tickling feeling that only made the girl ache for the man even more.

His mouth began to press against her lips, swirling his tongue around areas of her clit, causing inaudible sounds to slip out of the girl’s mouth.

‘Carlos.-’ Was the only word she could muster, unable to focus while the man licked against her walls, her legs beginning to tremble due to the immense pleasure.

‘Dios, you sound so beautiful saying my name.’ He complimented, still working at her pussy, the visible muscles in the neck twitching, only allowing her to become even more aroused of the thought of his defined body. ‘Are you gonna cum for me, princesa?’

The question finally pushed her to the edge, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, allowing the release, gripping tightly on the marble countertops she lay on for support as the liquid leaked out. However, it was quickly being cleaned up Carlos.

‘I knew it, you taste perfect.’ He chuckled, enjoying the meal before him, ‘Can’t wait to get me inside you now, is that okay?’ He looked upwards at the girl, her eyes now fuzzier and makeup smudged.

‘Please Carlos, I need to see you.’ she begged, placing her hand against his shirt, her fingertips pathing their way towards the top button, undoing each button carefully, similarly to the teasing the man had used previously.

‘Like what you see?’ He snickered as she stared in awe at the exposed abs and thick body hair. Continuing, he swiftly unbuckled his belt, slipping his trousers off and tossing them nearby her already removed dress. The man stood now only in his boxers, his bulge noticeable.

He proceeded undressing, the duo both now fully naked, however the room still stayed warm from their lust that circled the atmosphere.

‘You ready?’ Carlos asked, waiting for the confirmation from the girl as he approached, moving his dick nearby her hole.

‘Yes, fuck me Carlos.’ She pleaded, immediately greeted with his cock filling her up, a loud moan escaping from her lips. ‘Oh my god.’ She gasped, shocked by how truly large he was.

‘Mierda, Mads.’ He groaned at the tight sensation, nobody had ever made him feel like this before, almost as if she was the perfect piece to finish the jigsaw, ‘You make me feel so good, hermosa.’ As he increased the pace, the pleasurable screams grew louder. Fortunately, there was most likely not a soul left in the building, allowing more freedom.

‘I’m gonna cum again, I can’t hold on any longer.’ She whined, the thrusting from Carlos turning all the muscles in her body numb, desperate to release the pressure.

‘We’ll do it together, cariño.’ He suggested, preparing for a countdown so they can both relieve themselves together. ‘1, 2, 3.’ Instantly after, they both moaned in sync, their bodies vibrating as they spilled their warmth into each other, connecting together in more than one way.

‘Are you okay, princesa?’ Carlos pulled out of her, his hand carefully caressing her cheek that glowed with vibrance. Her now tangled hair flowed down her face, slightly hiding some features, but he could still spot her beauty.

‘Perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ The girl giggled.

————————————————————————

Despite that moment being so long ago, the memories are still imprinted in her brain, remembering every detail, including every detail of him.

‘Are you okay? princesa?’ Her fiancé wrapped his arms around the singer’s waist, nuzzling his head softly into the crevice of her neck. ‘No before- stages nerves?’

‘Don’t worry Carlos.’ She reassured, the stage didn’t frighten her so much anymore, confidently able to stand before a large audience. ‘I’m perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ She spoke, and a flash of deja vu sent her back once again, to that Friday night, to the man eager to find a replacement singer, to Carlos.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #ferrari #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz blurb #cs55

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perseephoneee · 7 months

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Can you do a isaac lahey imagine where the reader us on her period and freaks out and doesn't know what to do so lydia tells him what to do

hehe yes omg

period talk (isaac lahey x f!reader)

warnings: fluff, period talk, dumb boy

a/n: try the drink mentioned if you want to imagine running through hogwarts on a winter day.

↳ masterlist ↳ want to be shipped with a fic character?

Isaac wouldn't admit it, but he loved the cold weather. He liked when the winter season would hit, and holidays were a topic of conversation. Holidays were the only time his Dad treated him like he was actually proud of him, and despite that fucked up relationship, Isaac couldn't help but romanticize the season. It's why, when Beacon Hills hit a new low for the weather, he was excited to see you at school. Perhaps he could even convince you to skip class and get hot coco with him.

Unfortunately for him, your period had started therefore your mood was sour. The cold just added to your discomfort, and you basically hissed at him when he came by your locker.

"Woah, what did I do?" Isaac recoiled, a nervous laugh on his lips. You took a deep breath before turning and facing him.

"Nothing, you did nothing," you sighed. "I'm just...not doing great."

"Whats wrong?" Isaac inquired, brows furrowed and concern evident on his face. You loved your cute werewolf boyfriend, and while he was very helpful, he probably couldn't do much for you right now.

"I'm on my period," you admitted with a twinge of shame. Talking about these things was never fun, even to someone you trusted. A blush coated Isaac's cheeks as he processed what you said.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Should I, uh, do something?" Isaac stammered, hands in his pockets.

"Just be you, I'm a big girl and can handle myself," you chuckled, lightly slapping his arm as you closed your locker and started in the direction of class. Isaac stood in the hallway a moment longer, before deducing a game plan and targeting the area of the school he knew the familiar red head would be. She was typing on her phone when he ran up beside her, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder.

"I need your help," Isaac said hurridly, earning a squeak of surprise form Lydia. She set two angry eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to run away. Women did not like him much today.

"Stop sneaking up on me like that," Lydia rolled her eyes, putting her phone in her purse. "What is it?"

"Y/N is on her period, and I want to help, but I don't know what to do, and you're a girl and you're smart so I thought you'd have some ideas?" Isaac rushed, lips pressed in a thin line as Lydia cocked a brow at him.

"Why do you have to make everything so dramatic?" Lydia huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Isaac sent her a look though that showed that he wasn't going to figure anything out, anytime soon. "Look, unless she asks for products, don't bother trying to buy her them-- you'll likely get the wrong ones anyway. Get her her favorite warm drink, a heating pad, blanket, maybe an activity or something calming."

"Drink, heating pad, blanket, activity, got it," Isaac listed out everything, brows scrunched together in concentration. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, during this time, she's always right. Even if you think she isn't, just agree that you're wrong and she's right. Otherwise, she'll claw your eyes out," Lydia crossed her arms, daring Isaac to challenge her. He stayed quiet though, and she loosened up her stance. "I have to go, have fun, don't get killed."

Isaac was never that great at social cues, but he really liked you, and that was enough. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling taking pit in his stomach, he skipped out on school to go get the necessary things Lydia listed. Starting off with a butterbeer chai, a concoction you created (two pumps caramel, two pumps toffee, caramel drizzle, and chai); going to CVS for a heating pad and a blanket; then finally the bookstore down the street where he found a book you wanted (after searching through his phone for fifteen minutes trying to find the text where you mentioned wanting a new release). By the time he had finished his grand adventure, school was out and he would be able to surprise you.

You were having a crappy day with a side of more absolute garbage, so you were very pleasantly surprised when your golden hair boyfriend comes bounding up the street as you exit the school building.

"Woah, where's the fire?" you chuckle. You finally take notice of the bags he's carrying, as well as the drink.

"These are for you," Isaac stutters, passing you the drink. You peer in the bag and can't hide the grin on your face as you take in the plethora of supplies he got. "I know you weren't doing well, and I felt bad, so I got some stuff."

"Isaac, you are the sweetest puppy of a boyfriend a girl could ask for," you smile, wanting nothing more than to pick him up and twirl him around (he is too tall, you are too small). "How did you know what to get?"

"I asked Lydia," he mumbles, staring at his feet. You fight back a chuckle.

"Probably the smartest thing you could've done."

"That was my thought process as well," he chimes, scratching the back of his neck and shooting you a grin. You lean up, kissing him on the corner of his mouth and looping his arm through yours.

"C'mon, lets go hide from the cold together and I'll bitch to you about life," you chime, the cold dusting yours and Isaac's cheeks in shades of pink.

"Sounds perfect, just like you," Isaac smiles, kissing the top of your head as you walk off back home.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #fluff #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #my fics #fics

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surielstea · 3 months

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No one, But you

Based on this request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader feels as if she isn’t cultivated enough, Cass comforts her.

Warnings: Slight insecurities | mention of a pregnant reader | pure fluff

2.1k words

The cold wind nipped at my cheeks as I walked along the cobble stones of Velaris.

My mates hand intertwined with mine, the only thing heating me up. Cassian and I were doing some last minute shopping for solstice presents, he had four bags on his right arm and in his left, his fingers were busy being intertwined with mine, refusing to let me carry anything.

Amren is the only person we have yet to buy anything for, so we had one more stop at the jewelers before going home.

It wasn't often the General of the Night Court roamed Velaris so casually, especially not with me. It was rare I went out at all, but with Cassian? That was once in a year. I was a quiet person, liked to mind my business and hated being approached by strangers. So I typically left the house with Azriel or Amren, civilians knowing better than to talk to them. But Cassian, he was a seven foot tall beacon of light practically calling people to gawk at him, and they did.

I was young, only a century or so years old and had nothing on Cassian. He'd had enough stories to fill a library, all before I was even born. We mated nearly a decade ago but still, people were lost on who I was or what I was to any of the Inner Circle. Even if I liked to keep my peace it had some negative sides too; for example, every girl I've ever met thinks Cassian is single.

Which has become glaringly obvious now that I've become attentive to it. The cashier that bagged our gifts wouldn't peel her eyes off of him, even when he was talking to me.

At another store we bumped into a gorgeous female who Cassian supposedly bedded for a few nights in his twenties.

We walked along the streets and people straight up ogled at him, ignoring me at his side. I didn't want the attention, but it'd be nice if I was at least noticed.

Palace of Thread and Jewels sat on the bank of the Sidra that was frozen over this time of the year. Cassian reached out and opened the door for me, letting go of my hand as I entered the toasty shop.

Neve, a dear friend of Rhysand's, stood behind the display of gems and jewels, she was one of the only people outside the Inner Circle who knew of me and Cassian.

"Neve, afternoon." I smile at her. "Hello you two, shopping for Amren I presume?" Her glowing eyes flash with knowing and I shyly smile. "Have the rest of them already been here then?" I tilt my head and she nods. "I'm certain it's your group that keeps my shop in business." She claims and I shake my head with a small breathy chuckle. "Though we did just get a new collection in, the delivery men were just here I have yet to even unpack the items." She admits and my brows shoot up. "We'd like to see those." Cassian's arm slings over my shoulders. She gives both of us a smile before going into the back room.

I look at the display while I wait for her to return, peering down at a pair of tear drop ruby earrings that reminded me of Cassian's siphons. They matched the wedding ring on my left hand, I twisted it subconsciously, fiddling with the red gem. Cassian seems to notice, his eyes trailing to what I was staring at.

Neve returns in a flurry of shadows, carrying a long display shelf filled with large rocks and gems, placing it on the counter in front of us. I take in the collection, eyes glancing over every glimmering stone, freshly polished and gleaming like a star. Then I halt when coming across a black diamond bigger than my fist and most likely more expensive than an entire months’ paycheck. But this is the one.

Cassian seems to get the hint. "We'll take this one." He gestures to it, learning from last time not to touch. "Splendid." Neve smiles and plucks the gem up with a gloved hand before wrapping it and placing it in an ornate box. "Anything else?" She arches a brow. "That's it—" I begin. "Those ruby earrings as well." Cassian interrupts, pointing towards the jewelry I wanted. "Cass, it's too much." I shake my head with creased brows but he only waves me off and nods his head at Neve. She smiles and fetches those from the display, placing them in their own box with a delicate white bow tying it all together.

Cassian paid without so much as a blink while I grimaced in the background, the price far more than I had in mind— and if Cassian is buying me stunning earrings just because I looked at them, it made me wonder what he got me for solstice.

I had yet to tell him I'm pregnant, planning it all out so the last gift he opens tomorrow night will be a small pink pacifier. I was nearly a month in, barely even showing so Cassian hadn't noticed. We had been trying for a child for a few months now. I've had my scent glamoured and Madja told me last week we're having a girl, I was so excited I nearly told him, nearly came home and attacked him onto the floor with the amount of pure joy I was overwhelmed with.

But I maintained it, telling the shadow singer instead— who was the only person I knew could keep their mouth shut, the spy-master happened to be awfully good at guarding secrets. Lucien found out as well, somehow able to see through the glamour on me with his whirring golden eye.

We left the shop with a farewell to Neve and I wrapped my hands around his bicep as I look up at him with a bright smile. "You didn't have to do that." I say and he shakes his head. "It's all worth it for that smile." He hums, not watching where he's going as he mindlessly stares into my eyes. "Thank you—" My words are cut off by Cassian's head whipping up and pulling me back from a group of girls who were about to run into me. "Sorry ladies," He nods, flashing them a polite smile that could easily be mistaken for something else. "We don't mind." A blonde blushes as they pass by us, giggling amongst each other. "That was weird." Cassian mumbled as he continued our walk home, pulling me along.

Was he really so oblivious to not notice that every single one of those girls were prepared to open their legs right then and there for him? So blinded that he didn't even notice the way any of them looked at him?

Something like dejection overwhelmed me, perhaps Cassian should be with girls like that, girls who radiated pure joy and high energy, not someone's who's social life consisted of a close circle of friends and occasionally a shopkeeper.

Every girl I've met who used to have a thing with my mate has always been the sheer opposite of me. Perhaps that's what he preferred, just settled on me because we're cauldron willed, mates. Sometimes I thought that fate got it wrong. He was too good, too fun and upbeat, the life of the party. I couldn't be further away from the Generals type. He needed someone who has just as much experience as him, someone who loves to go out and dance until daylight— not someone who cuddles into bed with a book and a cup of tea.

His hand squeezes mine and he tears me from my thoughts, looking up at him confused. "Did you hear me?" He asks and I curse myself. "I'm sorry," I shake my head no. "Don't be sorry. I said, do you want to grab food or are you ready to go home?" He raises a brow and I swallow. Wondering what he truly wanted.

"Is it okay if we go home? I'm tired." I admit and he nods. "Of course sweetheart." He smiles down at me, I was foolish to think he'd ever want something I didn't, foolish to think he'd ever want someone other than me, but still, those thoughts lingered in the back of my mind at a constant.

Once arriving back to The House of Mist, food is already on the table. The residence seemingly knowing my growing cravings because every dish on that table held breakfast food. "Pancakes for dinner then?" Cassian hummed and I blinked, then shrugged.

I sat myself at the table as Cassian went to our bedroom to put down the gifts. I quickly thanked the magic House for the meal and it replied by placing a plate in front of me, eager to help me in any way it can.

I stack a tower of pancakes onto my plate, then nearly drowned it in maple syrup sourced from the Autumn Court. My mouth watered at the meal and Cassian returned, freshly changed into lounge clothes before sliding into the seat beside me, plating his own meal.

"I wonder what sort of crazy gift Mor will get me this year," Cassian thought absentmindedly and I shrugged, still a little down from my lingering thoughts— though the pancakes helped. "What's got you down, my sweet?" His knee nudges mine and I glance to him, his eyes searching my features for any clue as to what's wrong.

"It's hard to explain," I shake my head, looking back to my plate. "I've got time." He excuses and a sad smile tugs at my lips. "You're just very, experienced." I try to simplify but his brows crease, clearly confused. "Forget it." I mumble, picking up my plate and carrying it into the kitchen, he's quick to chase after me.

"Talk to me sweetheart," He pleads as I place my dish in the sink. "Please." His words seem to kill any doubt I have and I turn to him, looking up, and up, into his warm, hazel eyes. "It's just, when we were out shopping today you got approached by ten different females." I explain and he blinks.

"Which is fine, I know that's not your fault but— I don't know, they all seemed so exotic and fun. Seemed like the kind of person for you." I shrug and his gaze softens. "Oh my love," He sighs, hands going to mine, guiding my palms to his jaw. "There's only one person for me," He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Mates or not, I truly believe you were made for me, and I for you." He hums. "And there's something so attractive about the fact that I'm the only male you've been with." He purrs and I roll my eyes with a flush. "But if you think for even a second you're not the one for me then you've been lied to." He rules, finally pressing a kiss to my lips.

"Opposites attract right?" He arches a brow and I shake my head with a soft giggle. "You're awfully nice to me." I say with a meek voice and he presses another kiss to my lips, his mouth slotting over mine and fitting me like a puzzle piece. I smile against the action and pull back with a wide grin. "There's my pretty girl," He whispers, hands on my cheeks as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

"Solstice is tomorrow." He reminds and I nod. "Did you get me something special?" He flutters his lashes. My hand subconsciously goes to my stomach. "Maybe," I say evasively, twirling out of his grasp and walking down the hall. He whined and wrapped his arms around me, his heavy body being dragged along with my movements down the hall.

He’s been trying to coerce what I got for him for days now. "You're relentless." I roll my eyes. "Just tell me." He groans and I shake my head. I've held out about being with a child for a month now, he'd have to wait one more day.

"Sorry Cass," I shake my head, leading him into our bedroom as he continues to drape himself over me. "Why don't you distract yourself by preparing for your annual snowball fight?" I offer and his arms snap away from me, scowling as I recall his losing streak.

"Maybe you'll win this year, General." I wink at him with a smirk and he grumbles a curse, flopping down onto our large bed then opening his arms for me. I smile and crawl into his embrace, allowing his large muscular arms to twine around my body as I pulled a book from my nightstand and opened to the page I was on.

Perhaps I didn’t need to be fun or exotic, maybe he liked the tranquility of all this. He pressed a reassuring kiss to arch of my neck, peering over my shoulder as he read along with me.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogersbarnesxx @loviseamms

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#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #fanfic #sarah j maas #x reader #bat boys #request #acomaf #cassian x fem!reader #cassian x reader #cassian #lord of bloodshed #x you #fluff #acotar fluff #suriels tea

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best-childhood-book · 10 months

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#best childhood book #poll #preliminary round #the lost conspiracy #mister max #the puppy place #macdonald hall #beacon street girls #rose #chronicle of the dark star #the chronicles of dragon #the kid who ran for president

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kahran042 · 7 months

Text

See if you can spot the mistake here!

#beacon street girls #spot the mistake

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novankenn · 6 months

Text

J/C - the Idols of Beacon

--==(Table of Contents) ==--

(Chapter One - the Beginning) Jaune was a nervous wreck. His breathing rushed, and his heart crashing against his rib cage. He was convinced this was it. That his dreams would be shattered... but deep inside he knew it was his just reward for his actions. Images of what his family would do, and echoes of what they would say, caused Jaune's legs to start shaking.

Cardin glowered, he wasn't not the least bit impressed at being called out by Professor Goodwitch. So what. He picked on other students, he was a equal opportunist when it came to tormenting people. Male, female. Human, faunus. It's didn't matter to him. If you couldn't stand up for yourself, then why were you even training to face grimm.

Professor Goodwitch hadn't specified why she had sent Jaune and Cardin to the Headmaster, she just called them out at the beginning of combat class and ordered them to the Headmaster's Office. the man of the hour sat in his chair behind his desk, studying the two young men.

"Mr Winchester. Mr Arc. I has been brought to my attention that both of you have been acting in ways that contravene what is expected of a trainee huntsmen or huntress in attendance here at Beacon." Ozpin leaned forward, clasping his hands before him, "Do either of you have anything to say in your defense?"

"Defense for what?" Cardin snorted. "I've done..."

"Blackmail is a serious offense Mr Winchester... one that requires expulsion, not to mention the nearly endless complaints about your negative behavior and blatant harassment of other students."

"If they can't stand up for themselves, they they can't stand up for people when they are..."

"Interesting sentiment, Mr Winchester, but you have readily showcased your complete lack of regard to values that a huntsman or huntress should ascribe to."

"Whatever. Kick me out. I can..."

"No you can't. Once you are expelled, you will be blacklisted, and thereby unable to seek any training through one of the Academies, though it possibly wouldn't prevent you from finding a licensed huntsman or huntress who could take you on as an apprentice."

"You..."

"We can, Mr. Winchester, and we will." Ozpin stated flatly. "Now Mr Arc..."

"With your permission, I'll go and pack my things." Jaune offered, knowing full well he had no defense for his crimes.

"Unfortunately, Mr Arc... your actions while commendable for your intentions... however are far from legal. You I am afraid will be facing criminal charges."

"But... but..."

"You purposefully used falsified documentations to gain admittance to what legally is a governmental facility. That is a crime." Ozpin informed the completely panicked young man.

Ozpin regarded both young men before him with a practiced eye. Taking a sip from his mug, he prepared to give his counter offer to the young gentlemen.

"Beacon currently has a public relations issue that requires addressing. You will probably be unaware of it, but it is there and it needs to be rectified."

"What's this have to do with us." Cardin growled.

"I have done some digging into both of your backgrounds, much further and more in depth than what we traditionally do for applicants to the huntsmen and Huntress programs." Ozpin let his words sink in, before continuing. "Both of you have... skills and talents that would be perfectly suited to the task I have in mind."

"Skills? Talents?" Jaune looked at the Headmaster with pure confusion. "You already know I'm a fraud... I have no..."

"On the contrary Mr Arc, you do have training, just not in combat. Twelve years of ballet, classical and contemporary dance training to be specific."

"What does that...? I don't understand."

"As for you... Mr Winchester..." Cardin's smirk was erased as soon as Ozpin started speaking to him. "You have about eight years of dance training, some vocal coaching, and musical instruction... for what six years?"

"How?"

"I have my ways. Now to be honest I saw potential in both of you, which is why I was being lenient in regard to your behaviors and actions... however you pushed the boundaries too far with Professor Goodwitch, and as such you are now... my problem."

"So... so what's going to happen to me?"

"You Mr Arc will be give a change to stay, and avoid prosecution, however it will NOT be in the huntsman/huntress program."

"My team?"

"Unfortunately as of this moment both you and Mr Winchester are no longer team leaders, or even members of any team."

"You can't!" Cardin growled.

"I assure you I can, and have." Ozpin responded to Cardin's outburst with a flat voice and stern look. "So here is the offer, you will sign a contract with Beacon and join our Public Relations initiative, for a term of four years less the time you have already been enrolled as a students."

"And if we don't?"

"Yo, Mr Arc will face criminal prosecution, and Mr Winchester will be black listed and expelled." Ozpin picked up two almost book thick stacks of paper and placed one before each of them. "This is the agreement. Please read it. Ask questions if you have them. If you wish we can provide access to legal representation, and if you accep..."

"Do you have a pen?" Jaune asked.

"Aren't you even going to read it?" Cardin asked a little shocked at Jaune's rather uncharacteristic decisive action.

"Why? I agree or I possibly end up in jail. I'm too pretty to be in jail... I'd end up becoming someone's wife!" Jaune replied, before taking the pen Ozpin offered him.

"Please sign on the indicates lines on the first and last pages, and initial the bottom right hand corner of all other pages." Ozpin turned his gaze to Cardin. "So Mr Winchester will you at least consider the offer, or should I arrange for security to escort you and your possessions from Beacon's grounds?"

"This straight up coercion." Cardin commented as he idly flipped the pages of the document. "It's no better than blackmailing us. We either agree or we get punished... not much of a choice, especially for Jauney-boy."

"I don't care." Jaune countered, "It's like a plea deal. I do something for them, they do something for me, and if it keeps me from having forced prostate exams... all the better."

"Still..."

"You are correct Mr Winchester, this is very similar to, no it is exactly that... but it is also much like Mr Arc has described. It's a plea deal. You are admitting your mistakes, and we are taking the action NOT to punish you to full extent we are capable of."

"I'm still..."

"You can take some time to review the document... but I do need an answer before Friday."

"So two days?"

"Unfortunately, yes. With the Vytal festival being hosted by Vale, and the recent dust robberies... I have other constraints on my valuable time... your situation is not as pressing or as complex so... short deadline."

"Don't know why you're not signing." Jaune commented. "I mean it's not like they're going to more from us."

"Keep your advice to yourself Arc."

"Whatever."

"I can provide temporary lodgings for you while you consider your decision, Mr Winchester." Ozpin informed the burly young man.

"Fuck it. Give me that pen." Cardin scanned the documents sporadically as he went through the required actions. Once done he tossed the pen down on the desk and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Signed. Now what?"

#rwby #jaune arc #cardin winchester #fem!jaune #fem!cardin #henshin #genderswap #Beacon PR Campaign #theme inspired by back street girls

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mbruben-stein · 2 months

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Being Takemichi Hanagaki's twin sister and dating Mikey/Manjiro Sano would include.

As Takemichi Hanagaki's twin sister, you are just as tough and determined as he is.

Dating Mikey would include late-night rides on his motorcycle, secret kisses in secluded alleyways, and intense battles alongside Toman.

Your stubborn and feisty nature makes you a force to be reckoned with, holding your ground in every fight.

Being the first girl to ever join Toman, you earned the respect of the entire gang with your loyalty and bravery.

Your love language with Mikey is physical touch, always intertwining your fingers with his and resting your head on his shoulder during quiet moments.

Dates with Mikey are never boring, whether it's exploring the streets of Tokyo or simply sitting on a rooftop watching the city lights.

Mikey always falls asleep on your shoulder after a satisfying meal, his peaceful expression making your heart swell with love.

With the ability to time travel just like your twin, you and Takemichi work together to change the course of history for Toman.

Your determination to protect Mikey and your friends knows no bounds, and you will stop at nothing to ensure their safety.

Overall in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, your bond with Mikey remains unwavering, a beacon of light in the darkness.

Together, you and Mikey are unstoppable, facing every challenge head-on with unwavering courage and love.

#Tokyo Revengers #Mikey #Takemichi #Takemichi Hanagaki #Takemichi Hanagaki x sister reader #Mikey x twin sister Hanagaki reader #mikey x Hanagaki sister reader #Mikey x Hanagaki reader #mikey headcanons #toman x reader #toman headcanons #Takemichi Hanagaki x reader #Takemichi x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader

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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 1 month

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Hi! I just stumbled upon your profile when I was searching for jonathan crane x reader fics, and can I just say that I loved Behind The Mask so so much! Would it be possible to request a fic Jonathan x reader that is inspired by You are the right one by Sports? If so, thank you so much! 💕✨

You Are The Right One - Jonathan Crane x Reader ONESHOT

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 8016

Warnings: High School!Jonathan Crane, bullying

Summary: !!Request!! High school was a cesspool of misery for Jonathan. After the cruel prank from his crush and biggest bully, he believed his days would be forever marred by the shadows of ridicule and isolation. Until a beacon of light emerged in the form of one girl who reached out with a helping hand.

A/N: (This gif does not match the vibe whatsoever, but oh well!) Bro, I had never heard this song before, but the second I listened to it AHAHHAH!!! the way this song tingles my brain~ chefs kiss. Thank you so much Anon for introducing this song to me 💚 While writing this fic, I really got into the comic book Jonathan, so the whole time writing this, instead of picturing Cillian Murphy, my brain went off and thought about the lanky ginger Jonathan from the comics...smash. This doesn't really affect how you read it or anything, I don't bring up his appearance (I think) but yeah, fun fact! Thank you so much for the request, Anon, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else likes it as well 💚

"Hey! Scarecrow!" The jeering shout pierced the air before a rotten pumpkin collided with Jonathan's head.

With a jolt, he crashed onto the unforgiving concrete, the impact scraping his knees raw and sending his glasses tumbling from his face. Laughter and mocking taunts echoed from the other side of the street, adding insult to injury. Wiping the slimy remnants of pumpkin from his face, Jonathan retrieved his glasses from the ground and carefully replaced them, picking himself off the floor and rushing to his house.

Jonathan hated his time at school, not due to its academic challenges, they were a mere breeze to him. It was the individuals within the school walls who soured his experience. Each day seemed to bring a fresh onslaught of taunts, shoves, and the relentless pursuit to make him feel small. It was an existence he loathed.

Bo Gribbs stood out as the ringleader of torment, his cruelty unmatched by any other. Jonathan couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve such relentless bullying from Bo, but he found himself powerless to retaliate. Physically overpowered and painfully aware of his own frailty, Jonathan's slender frame seemed almost translucent beneath his clothing, a stark testament to his vulnerability in the face of Bo's tyranny.

Yet, even within the supposed sanctuary of his supposed home, peace was still not found for him. If he managed to escape the torment of school, he found himself ensnared in the clutches of his eccentric great-grandmother, whose own torture made every moment a living hell. The irony of her religious fervor contrasted against her treatment of him was not lost on Jonathan.

Though Jonathan's existence felt like a descent into inferno, he clung to the belief that it was merely a chapter in his life, not the entire story. Determined to carve out a brighter future for himself. He vowed to end the torment, one way or another.

Walking through the corridors proved to be a difficult journey for Jonathan, each step fraught with the anticipation of another cruel encounter. As he traversed the halls, barely two minutes had passed before a forceful shove sent him careening forward, his body meeting the cold embrace of the linoleum floor. His knees, accustomed to such harsh treatment, absorbed the impact with resigned familiarity.

The clatter of his glasses hitting the ground echoed amidst the cacophony of jeers from passing jocks, their laughter cutting through the air like a serrated blade. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan reached out, his fingers fumbling as they sought the familiar frames now lying abandoned on the floor.

To add insult to injury, the contents of his binder lay strewn across the corridor in a chaotic array of papers and notebooks. With a resigned sense of foreboding, Jonathan began the arduous task of gathering his scattered belongings, readying himself for the inevitable shit day that lay ahead.

Amidst the din of the bustling hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps caught Jonathan's attention, his heart sinking as he braced for yet another harsh confrontation. However, what he beheld was not the expected boot poised for a strike, but rather a figure, a girl, crouched beside him, her hands reaching out to aid in gathering the scattered papers.

Stunned into silence, Jonathan could only watch in disbelief as the girl worked alongside him, her actions a stark contrast to the hostility he had come to expect. Caught in a moment of bewildered confusion, he found himself unable to move, his mind reeling with questions. What was she doing? Was she helping him?

As Jonathan's mind struggled to catch up with the whirlwind of events, he watched in astonishment as the girl collected the scattered papers, her movements somehow appearing graceful. With each piece she retrieved, she seemed to breathe life into the crap that had enveloped his world just moments before. As she stacked the papers before him, Jonathan couldn't help but marvel at the dexterity of her fingers, a stark contrast to the clumsy awkwardness he felt coursing through his own limbs.

When she finally glanced up, her face illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the corridor, Jonathan found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight before him. The delicate curve of her jawline, the softness of her features, and the warmth in her eyes sent a flutter through his chest, igniting a blush that crept up his cheeks. It had been an eternity since he had been in such close proximity to a girl, let alone one this attrative.

Despite the pounding of his heart and the flush of embarrassment that suffused his face, Jonathan couldn't help but brace himself for the anticipated rejection and humiliation. Yet, to his astonishment, the girl's expression remained neutral, devoid of the revulsion he had come to expect from others.

In that fleeting moment, as their eyes met, Jonathan felt a spark of hope ignite within him, a glimmer of possibility amidst the darkness of his reality.

"I'm not sure they're in order, sorry," she offered apologetically, handing the papers over to him.

Jonathan's mind raced, struggling to process the flood of emotions and sensations crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, his voice lost amidst the thoughts within him. His cheeks burned with a fierce blush, the heat spreading across his skin like wildfire as he fought to steady his erratic breaths.

Despite the turmoil raging within him, Jonathan found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the girl before him. Every delicate movement, every subtle shift in her demeanor, captivated his attention like a mesmerizing dance. He watched as she nervously nibbled on her lower lip, her brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

A pang of self-reproach stabbed at Jonathan's heart as he cursed his own awkwardness, berating himself for his inability to ease the tension that hung thick in the air. He longed to reach out, to offer some semblance of reassurance, but the weight of his own insecurities held him captive, shackling him in silence.

In the midst of his internal turmoil, Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he was the cause of the girl's discomfort. Was it his presence alone that had driven her to such nervous agitation? The thought only served to deepen his sense of self-condemnation, a bitter reminder of his own inadequacy in the face of this unexpected encounter.

Taking the papers from her outstretched hand, Jonathan murmured a barely audible "thank you," his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

"It's okay," she reassured softly, straightening up.

As Jonathan remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixated on the ground, he felt a sense of regret wash over him as he watched the girl gracefully rise to her feet. Every movement seemed to unfold in slow motion, each subtle shift of her body conveying a depth of emotion that left Jonathan feeling utterly captivated.

The soft rustle of fabric as she straightened her posture, the delicate sway of her hair as she lifted her head, every detail etched itself into Jonathan's memory like a scene from a cherished dream. He longed to reach out, to capture this fleeting moment before it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, but the weight of his own insecurities held him firmly in place.

As she turned to leave, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, each step a somber reminder of the distance that now lay between them. Jonathan listened intently, the rhythmic sound of her footfalls fading into the silence like a whispered promise lost to the wind.

Only when she was finally out of sight did Jonathan dare to lift his gaze, his eyes scanning the empty space where she had stood mere moments before. The memory of her presence lingered like an echo in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the connection he had felt, however fleeting it may have been.

As the final bell reverberated through the hallways, signaling the end of lunch and the impending arrival of the last period, Jonathan's thoughts were consumed by the memory of the girl he had crossed paths with that very morning. Her image lingered in his mind like a vivid dream, each detail etched into his consciousness with a clarity that was exhilarating and mildly disturbing.

The mere thought of her sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could almost feel the weight of her gaze, piercing through the veil of his thoughts, igniting a fire within him that he struggled to contain.

This crush felt different, unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't merely a passing fancy or a fleeting attraction. It was a connection that transcended the boundaries of mere physical appearance. There was an ineffable quality about her, a magnetic allure that beckoned him closer with each passing moment.

As he gazed out into the tranquil expanse before him, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that destiny had intervened, weaving their paths together. And in that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the afternoon, he allowed himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, this encounter was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

It may have seemed naive, even foolish, to harbor such aspirations, but for Jonathan, it was a rare moment of respite in an otherwise shitty landscape. To entertain the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe held something extraordinary in store for him was a welcome change.

Jonathan’s previous crushes seemed like nothing compared to the emotions that stirred by his encounter with the mysterious girl that morning. Recollections of past crushes, like shards of fragmented glass, pricked at his consciousness, reminding him of the superficiality that had defined those fleeting attractions.

Sherry, with her beauty and captivating presence, had been the subject of Jonathan's affections not so long ago. Yet, his admiration for her had always been tempered by the harsh reality of her social circle. Despite the allure of her charm, Jonathan found himself relegated to the sidelines, but he knew he could never have anyone like her anyway.

But it wasn't just Sherry's group that posed a barrier to Jonathan's desires, it was her association with Bo Gribbs, the boy that tormented him every day. Bo's looming presence, like a dark cloud on the horizon, served as a constant reminder of the toxicity that permeated Sherry's world. And yet, despite the danger that lurked beneath the surface, Jonathan remained steadfast in his pursuit, blind to the warning signs that whispered caution in the wind.

It wasn't until Sherry played a cruel prank on him, a twisted joke that left him humiliated and vulnerable, that Jonathan's rose-tinted glasses were shattered, revealing the harsh truth that had eluded him for so long. The sting of betrayal, like a venomous serpent coiled within his heart, forced him to confront the reality of his situation, a reality where he made judgement off appearance alone.

As he reflected on the events of that fateful night, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the time wasted chasing after hollow dreams. But amidst the ashes of his past disappointments, a flicker of hope ignited within him, a hope born from the promise of a new beginning, forged in the fires of his encounter with the mysterious girl who had captured his heart with a single glance and kind gesture.

This girl, she was unlike anyone Jonathan had ever encountered before. Every detail of her presence seemed to exude an air of kindess, something that he didn’t experience often.

It wasn't just her appearance that set her apart, it was the way she carried herself, with a confidence that bordered on defiance, as if daring the world to unravel the enigma of her being. There was an undeniable magnetism about her, an intangible quality that drew Jonathan in like a moth to a flame.

And for the first time in his life, Jonathan dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something more than mere admiration from afar. He allowed himself to entertain the possibility of forging a connection with this stranger.

As Jonathan settled into his usual seat at the front of the classroom, he arranged his books on the desk before him. The desks were arranged in pairs, accommodating two students each, yet Jonathan found himself occupying his table alone, a solitude he had grown accustomed to and even appreciated.

The rest of the class filtered in, taking their usual places. But just as the bell signaled the start of class, the door creaked open to reveal a newcomer, a sight that caused Jonathan's heart to skip a beat. Like a vision materializing, she stepped into the room, the girl who had occupied Jonathan's thoughts since the start of the day.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Jonathan's eyes traced her every movement, drinking in the graceful sway of her stride, the subtle tilt of her head as she looked around at the desks before her. It was as if the very essence of her presence infused the room with a palpable energy, setting Jonathan's heart ablaze with a flurry of emotions he struggled to contain.

What was she doing here, in his classroom, when she wasn't supposed to be? The question echoed through Jonathan's mind like a mantra, a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel.

As she cast her gaze about the room, seeking out an empty seat, Jonathan's breath caught in his throat, a knot of anticipation tightening in his chest. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, her eyes landed on the spot beside him before drifting up to his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips like a secret shared between them.

The rush of heat that flooded Jonathan's cheeks was as sudden and unexpected as a summer storm, his pulse quickening with a fervor that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a moment suspended in time, a collision of worlds that left Jonathan reeling in disbelief.

He sat there, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum echoing in the hollows of his chest. Every nerve in his body seemed to hum with electricity as he watched her draw nearer, her presence casting a spell upon him that left him breathless with anticipation. It was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, each passing second stretching into eternity.

"May I sit here?" Her voice, like a melody woven from silk and honey, broke through the haze of Jonathan's thoughts, drawing his attention to the question hanging in the air.

Jonathan swallowed hard, the sudden dryness of his throat betraying the ruckus of emotions raging within him. With a shaky nod, he managed to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence, meeting her eyes with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer's eve as she settled into the seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful.

"I just moved classes," she continued, her tone casual yet tinged with a hint of frustration, "I had a clash with English and Statistics, which messed up my whole timetable."

As she explained the reason for her unexpected presence in his class, Jonathan found himself captivated by the sound of her voice, each word a symphony of warmth and sincerity that washed over him like a soothing balm.

Jonathan drank in her words like a man parched in the desert, his thirst for her presence growing with each passing moment. He wanted nothing more than to listen to her voice for eternity, to lose himself in the melody of her speech.

"I'm Y/n, by the way," she said, turning to look at him with a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room with its radiance.

"I'm Jo-" Jonathan's words were abruptly cut off by the sharp impact of a book colliding with the back of his head, jolting him out of his trance with a start.

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom, echoing off the walls as Jonathan winced in pain, his hand instinctively flying to the back of his head, fingers curling around the tender spot where the book had struck.

"Holy fuck! Are you okay?" Y/n's voice cut through the chaos, her hand landing gently on his shoulder in a gesture of concern.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the touch, a jolt of electricity coursing through him at the warmth of her hand against his skin. If he weren't in such agonizing pain, he might have choked on his own saliva at the unexpected intimacy of the moment. "I'm fine," he managed to whisper, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

As Y/n leaned in to check on him, neither of them noticed the approach of the culprit responsible for Jonathan's suffering. It wasn't until he spoke that their attention was drawn to him, his smug tone slicing through the air like a knife.

"Sorry, Scarecrow, my hand slipped," Bo said, his voice dripping with malice.

With a heavy thud, Bo's hand landed on Jonathan's back, causing him to flinch and cough in response. Leaning in closer, Bo loomed over Jonathan, his presence like a dark cloud casting a shadow over the room.

"Do you mind?" Y/n's voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade, her gaze locked on Bo with a fierceness that made him falter for a moment.

"Mind what, Y/n? I’m fine, how ‘bout yourself?" Bo retorted, his smirk never faltering, even under the weight of her glare.

"Go be a dick somewhere else," Y/n shot back.

Jonathan's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and admiration as he watched Y/n stand up to Bo, her unwavering determination a stark contrast to the fear and apprehension that had gripped him only moments before.

For a moment, Bo seemed taken aback by Y/n's assertiveness, his usual swagger faltering in the face of her unwavering gaze. But then, with a mocking snort, he straightened up, his smirk morphing into a sneer as he turned his attention back to Jonathan.

"Looks like Scarecrow's got himself a little protector," Bo jeered, his words dripping with contempt.

Ignoring Bo's taunts, Y/n turned back to Jonathan, her expression softening with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

Jonathan couldn't help but nod, a surge of gratitude flooding through him at the genuine concern in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

As the tension in the room began to settle, the teacher cleared their throat, drawing attention to the front of the classroom. With one last glance at Y/n, Jonathan turned his focus to the lesson.

Jonathan felt a gentle tap on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to find Y/n looking at him with a kind expression.

"Sorry, I never actually caught your name before Bo started being a dick," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of apology.

"Jonathan," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, before turning her attention back to the front of the classroom.

As Jonathan watched her, a warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the lingering discomfort from Bo's earlier antics. In that brief exchange, he felt a connection form.

As Jonathan sat beside Y/n in class, his mind couldn't help but drift back to her. Her presence beside him seemed to fill the air with a quiet warmth, casting a soft glow over the otherwise mundane surroundings of the classroom.

He stole furtive glances in her direction, marveling at the way the sunlight danced in her hair, illuminating strands of gold like a halo. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her eyes flickered with concentration as she followed along with the lesson, every detail of her being seemed to captivate him in ways he couldn't quite comprehend.

He longed to hear her speak again, to lose himself in the melody of her words and the warmth of her smile. But more than anything, it was the way she made him feel, the sense of comfort and ease that washed over him in her presence. For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope stirring within him, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something special blossoming between them.

As the final minutes of class ticked by, Jonathan's attention remained divided between the lesson and the gentle presence of Y/n beside him. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, savoring the fleeting moments of shared proximity.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Jonathan felt a pang of reluctance as he realized their time together was drawing to a close. He began gathering his belongings, his mind already drifting ahead to the remainder of the day.

But before he could make his exit, Y/n turned to him with a smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth and kindness. "Hey, Jonathan," she said softly, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the prospect of spending more time with her. "I don’t mind," he replied, almost too quickly.

Together, they made their way out of the classroom, the bustling halls alive with the energy of students eager to begin their weekend. As they walked side by side, Jonathan felt a sense of contentment wash over him, grateful for the unexpected situation that had brought them together.

As they stepped out of the building, Y/n cast a fleeting glance behind them before returning her focus to the path ahead. "I just really didn't want Bo to bother you any more than he already has. If you don't want me to walk with you, I totally get that," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

"It's fine... I don't mind," Jonathan replied, his words tinged with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips as she looked at him. "Then I'll walk with you," she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity.

As Jonathan processed Y/n's offer, a swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him.

On one hand, he was overwhelmed by a sense of disbelief and wonder that someone as kind and compassionate as Y/n would willingly extend such a gesture of friendship to him. It was a glimmer of light in the darkness of his daily struggles, a ray of hope that pierced through the clouds of uncertainty that hung heavy over his life.

But as he considered the practicalities of the situation, a nagging sense of apprehension gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that allowing Y/n to accompany him all the way to his house would only invite trouble. Grandma Keeny was not one to tolerate such liberties, and Jonathan knew all too well the consequences of crossing her.

With a heavy heart, Jonathan weighed his options. On one hand, he longed for the companionship and warmth that Y/n's presence offered. But on the other, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the wrath of Grandma Keeny.

In the end, Jonathan found himself at a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally, as they reached an intersection. With a heavy heart, he turned to Y/n, his expression a mixture of gratitude and reluctance.

"I'm going this way," he murmured, the words stumbling awkwardly from his lips.

Y/n's smile faltered slightly at his words, a flicker of confusion dancing in her eyes. "You don't want me to keep walking with you?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to confide in Y/n and the fear of burdening her with his troubles. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head gently.

"It's not that," he began, his voice soft but resolute. "I just don't want to inconvenience you. It's a bit out of the way, and I wouldn't want to make you late home or anything."

Y/n regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her gaze searching his face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. After a moment, she nodded understandingly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Alright then," she said, her tone warm and reassuring. "Just know that the offer still stands if you ever need someone to walk with."

Jonathan felt a surge of gratitude wash over him at her words, a sense of warmth and belonging settling in the pit of his stomach. Though he couldn't bring himself to explain the full extent of his situation, he was grateful for Y/n's understanding and compassion.

With a final nod of thanks, Jonathan watched as Y/n continued on her way, her presence a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in his struggles.

As Jonathan made his way along the footpath, the memory of Y/n lingered like a gentle breeze, offering a brief respite from the turmoil of his thoughts.

But as he neared his house, the weight of reality came crashing down upon him like a leaden blanket. The giddiness he felt began to wane, replaced by a sense of foreboding dread.

He couldn't bring himself to call it a home, not with the constant cloud of tension that hung heavy in the air. Grandma Keeny's presence loomed over the house like a specter, her disapproving gaze a constant reminder of the hell Jonathan endured within its walls.

With each step closer to the front door, Jonathan's stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and apprehension. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be something for Grandma Keeny to find fault with.

But as he steeled himself to face whatever awaited him inside, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder of the brief moment of solace he had found in Y/n's company. And for that fleeting moment, Jonathan allowed himself to cling to the hope that one day, he would find a place where he truly belonged.

As Jonathan entered the house, the air seemed to thicken with tension, each creak of the floorboards echoing through the house. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, steeling his nerves against the onslaught of Grandma Keeny's disapproving scrutiny.

Sure enough, as soon as he crossed the threshold, he was met with the sharp pang of her voice slicing through the silence like a knife. "You're late again, Jonathan," she scolded, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

He hardly needed to glance at the clock to know she made that up. Jonathan bit back a retort, knowing from experience that it would only incite further wrath. Instead, he offered a mumbled apology, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he braced himself for the barrage of criticism that was sure to follow.

But to his surprise, Grandma Kenny's response was not as scathing as he had anticipated. "Don't let this happen again," she said curtly, her voice carrying a tone of warning.

Though her words lacked the usual venomous edge, Jonathan still felt the weight of her disapproval bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He nodded silently, knowing better than to provoke further confrontation.

As he retreated to his room. While he was grateful to have escaped unscathed this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Grandma Keeny's temporary leniency was merely the calm before the storm.

As he settled into bed, the memory of Y/n's kind smile lingered in his mind like a flickering flame in the darkness. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there were moments of warmth and kindness to be found.

But that moment of rest was short-lived. The tranquility shattered as Grandma Kenny's sharp voice pierced through the silence, demanding that he come downstairs to make her a coffee. Jonathan's shoulders sagged as he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly pushing himself off the bed.

Jonathan stood by his locker, the light of the hallway casting shadows across the floor. The low hum of students milling about filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or snippets of conversation. He slowly grabbed each book from his locker, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of graphite wafting up as he sifted through the contents.

With each item he retrieved, Jonathan's mind wandered, lost in the potential chance of Y/n walking past. He imagined the rhythmic tap of her footsteps echoing down the corridor, the soft rustle of her clothing as she approached. His heart quickened at the thought of her warm smile, the playful glint in her eyes that never failed to captivate him.

In his mind, Jonathan pictured Y/n strolling alongside him to class, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for years. He envisioned himself maintaining composure, staying cool, without the usual nervousness that plagued him in social interactions. Imagining her radiant smile directed up at him, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, hoping to see her.

Sure, he had only met her the day before and their only interactions were brief. Yet, in those fleeting moments, Jonathan felt a something with Y/n that bet any connection he had ever thought he shared with Sherry. The memory of his last crush on Sherry now seemed trivial and shallow in comparison to the depth of feeling he harbored for Y/n, he cringed just thinking about it.

Lost in his imagination, Jonathan nearly missed Y/n's presence walking through the hallway. She was a vision, just as captivating as the day prior. His heart quickened with anticipation, hoping for a fleeting glance from her. Yet, she passed by without so much as a glance in his direction.

Feeling a pang of disappointment, Jonathan turned back to his locker, cursing himself for entertaining such fantasies. He berated his own foolishness, knowing deep down that she wouldn't notice him. As he watched her move toward her own locker, he couldn't shake the sense of longing that lingered in his heart.

Jonathan couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched a guy approach Y/n at her locker. He felt a surge of jealousy rise within him, coupled with a gnawing sense of unease. His mind raced with scenarios, imagining the worst possible outcomes. What if this guy was her boyfriend? What if she preferred his company over Jonathan's?

He had completely forgetthen the about the possibility that she might already be in a relationship. A knot formed in his stomach as he watched them engage in conversation. He strained to hear snippets of their exchange, trying to decipher their relationship. His grip tightened on the books in his hands, his knuckles turning white with tension.

Jonathan's thoughts swirled with insecurity and doubt. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that washed over him. As he watched the interaction unfold, a sense of resignation settled over him. Perhaps it was best to keep his distance, to spare himself the inevitable disappointment of rejection.

As Jonathan closed his locker, he couldn't help but overhear the exchange between Y/n and the guy who had approached her. He lingered nearby, discreetly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you every time, I don’t want to go out with you,” Y/n's voice carried a firmness, her words laced with frustration.

The guy persisted, undeterred. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m not a bad guy. What have you got to lose?” he argued.

Y/n didn't mince her words. “I’ve watched you and your friends bully people, yet you’re gonna stand there and tell me you’re not a bad guy?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air with conviction.

With a dismissive roll of his eyes, the guy retorted, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Y/n's response was final. “Goodbye, now,” she stated firmly, closing her locker and walking away, leaving the guy behind.

Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him as he listened to the conversation unfold. Not only did it confirm that Y/n was single, but it also revealed her refusal to entertain someone disrespectful like that guy. Yet, alongside the relief, a simmering anger brewed within him. The audacity of that guy to treat her with such disrespect ignited a fire within Jonathan. Upon getting a closer look, he recognized the guy as one of the same guys who had tormented him before, one that hangs with Bo. Aaron was a real piece of shit.

Jonathan's gaze must have lingered for too long, for the Aaron turned to face him, his expression twisted with anger. "What are you looking at, Scarecrow?" he spat out aggressively.

Jonathan felt a surge of panic coursing through him, his muscles tensing in preparation for confrontation. However, before he could respond, the bell rang, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade. With a sense of relief, Jonathan hastily made his exit, heading off to his own class, leaving the guy behind in the hallway.

Jonathan managed to navigate his classes without encountering Aaron again, a small relief in an otherwise nerve racking day. As lunchtime arrived, he found himself in the crowded cafeteria.

For Jonathan, lunch was a simple affair. His pockets rarely held enough spare change to afford a cafeteria meal, and even if they did, the thought of eating the food they served was revolting in and of itself. Instead, he relied on the sandwich he'd prepared at home earlier that morning. A humble meal, but one that brought him comfort.

In the corner of the cafeteria, Jonathan sat in solitary silence, a lone figure amidst rest. With a library book propped open before him, he stole moments between bites of his homemade sandwich to immerse himself in its pages. The book was a refuge, a small rebellion against the suffocating grip of Grandma Kenny's stringent beliefs.

Jonathan didn’t want to imagine the consequences if Grandma Kenny were to discover his forbidden literary indulgence. Her wrath was legendary, her punishments cruel and unpredictable. From stupid chores to brutal beatings. Jonathan shuddered at the memory of being locked in the decrepit church, surrounded by the menacing caws of circling crows. An ordeal he'd endured more than once for daring to defy her rules.

He barely noticed that person approaching his table. Jonathan's heart jumped in his chest as he watched Aaron's hand descend upon the table with a thud, the sudden noise echoing in the cafeteria. His grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself for whatever confrontation was about to unfold.

Aaron's smirk widened as he snatched the book from Jonathan's hands, flipping through its pages with a mocking chuckle. "What cha reading, Scarecrow?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Jonathan remained rooted to his seat, his silence a stark contrast to Aaron's brash demeanor. Yet, beneath the surface, a torrent of emotions churned within him. Fear, anger, and a deep-seated sense of vulnerability.

With a swift motion, Aaron swatted Jonathan's sandwich off the table, the force causing crumbs to scatter across the surface. Jonathan flinched at the sudden movement, his fingers twitching as if instinctively reaching out to reclaim his meal.

But he held himself back, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Aaron. He knew better than to provoke further confrontation, especially in such a public setting. So, with a clenched jaw and a steely resolve, Jonathan remained silent, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil raging within.

Aaron's smirk widened at Jonathan's restraint, clearly relishing the power he held in this moment of dominance. With a swift motion, he tossed the book aside, its pages fluttering in protest before settling on the tabletop.

"What's the matter, Scarecrow? Cat got your tongue?" Aaron taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot against Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan's jaw tightened further, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He refused to give Aaron the satisfaction of a response, knowing that any retort would only fuel the bully's ego. Instead, he focused on maintaining his composure, willing himself to remain calm in the face of adversity.

As Aaron continued to mock and jeer, Jonathan's mind raced, searching for an escape from this uncomfortable confrontation. He knew he couldn't let Aaron intimidate him, not again. With a deep breath, Jonathan forced himself to ignore the taunts, his eyes flickering momentarily to the scattered crumbs on the table.

Just as Aaron seemed poised to escalate the situation further, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"Hey, Aaron, leave him alone."

Y/n stood at the edge of the table, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. Her presence seemed to catch Aaron off guard, his smirk faltering for just a moment before he composed himself.

"Mind your own business, Y/n," Aaron retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

"And you wonder why I won’t go out with you," Y/n shot back, her voice unwavering.

Jonathan watched in awe as Y/n stood her ground, her confidence radiating in the face of adversity. He felt a surge of gratitude towards her, knowing that she had once again stepped in to defend him.

Aaron's eyes narrowed as he glared at Y/n, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged. For a moment, the cafeteria seemed to hold its breath, or atleast it did for Jonathan.

But then, with a frustrated huff, Aaron shoved himself away from the table, casting one last menacing glare at Jonathan before stalking off into the crowd.

Y/n exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the immediate threat dissipated. She turned to Jonathan with a sympathetic smile, offering him a reassuring nod.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, concern evident in her eyes.

Jonathan nodded, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thanks to you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's smile widened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. "Anytime," she said. “You wanna come sit with my friends and me?” Y/n offered, her voice carrying a warmth that melted away some of Jonathan's anxiety.

Jonathan felt his heart flutter in his chest. Was she really inviting him to join her? He glanced down, adjusting his glasses to hide the nervousness he felt bubbling inside.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just don’t want Aaron coming back to bother you,” Y/n added, her concern evident in her tone.

“I’d like that,” Jonathan replied, his voice soft but resolute.

Y/n's smile widened. Jonathan began gathering his things, carefully stowing his book in his bag before turning to his sandwich. However, his heart sank as he realized it had been scattered across the table, a casualty of Aaron's aggression.

With a frustrated huff, Jonathan began collecting the remnants of his meal, his movements tinged with embarrassment. Y/n watched him with a sympathetic gaze.

“Do you have anything else to eat?” Y/n asked gently.

Jonathan shook his head, a pang of hunger gnawing at his stomach as he disposed of the ruined sandwich in the nearby bin.

“I have some food you can have if you’d like,” Y/n offered, her voice warm and inviting.

“It’s okay, you should eat your food, don’t worry about me,” Jonathan replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s fine, my dad always packs me too much anyways,” Y/n insisted, her smile unwavering.

Y/n reached out a hand towards Jonathan, silently inviting him to join her. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and gratitude, before accepting her gesture.

As they walked together towards Y/n's table, Jonathan couldn't help but steal glances at her. She walked with an effortless grace, her presence exuding a sense of comfort that eased the tension coiled within him.

Arriving at the table, Y/n pulled out a sandwich from her bag, “You can have this one, I don’t feel like eating two ham sandwiches today.” Without hesitation, she handed it to Jonathan, a small but genuine smile gracing her lips.

Jonathan accepted the sandwich with a grateful nod, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of the unexpected meal. He glanced around the table, noticing Y/n's friends chatting and laughing amongst themselves. They didn't seem to pay him much mind, but Jonathan didn't mind. His focus was solely on Y/n, her presence casting a comforting glow that made him feel at ease.

Settling into his seat, Jonathan began unwrapping the sandwich, the simple act of kindness from Y/n filling him with a sense of warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time. As he took a bite, he couldn't help but steal another glance at Y/n, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over him for her unexpected kindness.

It was perfect that he shared lunch with Y/n, not just because Jonathan cherished her company, but also because they had a class together, offering the perfect excuse to stroll side by side. With each step, Jonathan felt a sense of pride swell within him, as if walking with Y/n wasn’t just out of practicality, but because they were together, almost like a couple.

Y/n's lively chatter filled the air as they walked through the corridors, but Jonathan found himself lost in her presence, captivated by her every word and movement. Arriving at their classroom, they settled into their familiar seats, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as Y/n's arm brushed against his own, sending his heart into a flutter.

In that moment, Jonathan felt a sense of certainty wash over him. Y/n was meant for him, of that he was sure. Her smiles, her kindness, her very essence seemed to affirm his belief. No girl had ever shown him such warmth, and he couldn't deny the connection he felt with her.

As he sat beside her, Jonathan knew he had to ask her out. It had taken him over a week to muster the courage to ask out Sherry, but with Y/n, it felt different. She lifted his spirits effortlessly, instilling in him a newfound confidence. Though they had only known each other for a short time, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that she was the right one.

Walking out of class together, their steps echoing faintly in the empty hallway, Jonathan and Y/n exchanged casual conversation. Their last periods were both study periods, which gave them the opportunity to leave school early. As they stepped into the open air outside the building, Jonathan's heart drummed against his ribcage. He knew he had to ask her out. There was no turning back now.

Approaching the familiar corner where their paths diverged, the pair came to a halt and turned to face each other. The soft afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow around them, highlighting Y/n's radiant smile.

"Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow," Y/n said, her smile warming Jonathan's heart as she prepared to bid him farewell.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Jonathan spoke up, his words hanging in the air between them like delicate wisps of anticipation. "U-uh, Y/n?" he began, his voice betraying a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Yes, Jonathan?" Y/n replied, her eyes fixed on him expectantly, a gentle curiosity gleaming within them.

This was his moment. Jonathan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. "I-I was wondering… if y-you'd like to go out with me?" he managed to utter, his heart pounding furiously against his chest, his hands trembling ever so slightly with nervous anticipation.

As he observed her reaction, he detected a subtle change in her demeanor. The radiant smile that had graced her lips moments ago seemed to wane, replaced by a hint of saddness that creased her brow ever so slightly. Jonathan's stomach churned with apprehension as he realized he might have misread the situation.

In that moment, he felt like a complete idiot. He berated himself internally for being so stupid, for daring to hope for something more. Jonathan's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to the ground in a gesture of defeat. He cursed his own foolishness, reprimanding himself for misinterpreting Y/n's kindness as something it wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I never should have asked," Jonathan murmured, his voice tinged with shame.

Y/n's gentle touch on his arm made him glance up, meeting her gaze once more. He was met with a look of sincerity and understanding, her eyes soft with empathy.

"No, it's not that, Jonathan..." Y/n began, her voice tender as she sought to reassure him. "I'm sorry, I do like you, Jonathan, it's just... I'm not really ready to date anyone at the moment," she explained, her words laced with a hint of guilt.

Jonathan felt a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over him. He appreciated Y/n's honesty, but he couldn't shake the sting of rejection. Nevertheless, he managed a small nod, acknowledging her words.

Jonathan's heart sank as he prepared himself for rejection, his mind already forming apologies for his audacity. But then, Y/n spoke, her voice soft yet firm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

"It's okay, Y/n," Jonathan replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me."

Y/n's expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. You're a good friend."

The weight of her words settled over him, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth blossom within his chest. Despite the outcome not being what he had hoped for, he found solace in the bond they shared and the prospect of their continued friendship.

With a faint smile, Jonathan mustered the courage to meet Y/n's gaze once more. "I'm glad we can still be friends," he said, his voice soft yet sincere.

Y/n returned his smile, her eyes reflecting warmth and gratitude. "Me too, Jonathan," she replied, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm.

Jonathan's heart swelled as she suddenly pulled him closer, wrapping him in a warm embrace. His breath caught in his throat, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture. He hesitated for a moment before tentatively returning the hug, savoring the fleeting moment between them.

As Y/n pulled away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, wishing he could hold onto the moment just a little longer. He watched in awe as she walked away, her figure disappearing down the street. Despite the bittersweet twinge of unrequited feelings, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Y/n's grace and kindness.

He knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. Her kindness, understanding, and genuine nature spoke volumes to him, reaffirming his belief that she was worth waiting for.

As he watched her walk away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a profound sense of connection to her, a feeling he hadn't experienced with anyone else before. He knew that their bond was special, even if it wasn't romantic just yet. And while he longed for more, he was willing to be patient, knowing that good things often took time.

With a wistful smile, Jonathan silently vowed to cherish their friendship and support Y/n in any way he could. He was willing to wait for her, confident that their paths would eventually align in the future. And as he continued on his journey home, he carried with him a sense of hope and anticipation, knowing that she was worth the wait.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to come out, as usual, uni shit 💀 (cause I'm a dumb ass doing a double major) I set this after the Halloween party, so Jonathan probably should have been more aggressive and all that shit, but in the comic, he's all shy and all that stuff with Sherry (before the prank), so I wanted to keep along those lines. I really hope I did this request justice as I loved it so much. Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it 💚

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