#do you remember at the start of this year when you asked me if i prepared something for your birthday and i said to you that i didn't ?

[definitelysel]

PICK YOUR DOMESTIC HUSBAND 🛒

WHICH HUSBAND IS ON THE DOMESTICITY MENU TODAY?

featuring: diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, neuvillette.

synopsis: glimpses into married life with the genshin men.

warnings: implied fem!reader, occasional pet names, ooc (I have a sparse idea how diluc works, mention of "activities" (just mention I can't write smut pls), silly goofy ah loser coded men, mild swearing (damn, heck)

a/n: *stretching my back and crunching my neck.* I'm back from the dead. apologies for the choppy writing. thanks for the support on the other posts, if only I could write 50-page essays thanking everyone. <33 :')) not proofread.

DILUC 🍷

PRODUCT NAME: BREAKFAST AND KISSES IN BED. Diluc always hated the Knights of Favonius… 

He hated how most of them just stand around like buffoons and do not partake in any actual work that involves saving Mondstadt. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoys playing Batman. He hated them all except for one.

One he was willing to forgive all flaws of. "Knight of Favonius…always so inefficient,”  He scoffed at the pathetic sight of the hilichurls trying to dry roast a few knights roped to a wooden stick for their dinner. “Seriously, You’re so right Master Diluc.” Diluc’s head turned so fast at the sound of a new voice. When did you get here? Were you always there and how did he not sense you around?

That’s simply how you always were. A hard worker amidst slackers – he always termed despite Jean trying to explain that others work hard too. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention, honestly, he would never know what did. “G’morning…” He murmured against your skin, head buried in the crook of your neck, your flushed bare back pressed against him. “5 more minutes…” he heard your soft and groggy voice evoking a chuckle from the usually passive man. “Have I ever told you…how beautiful you are?” Diluc muttered against your skin. You smiled and turned around, “You always do. I remember my Dark-Knight Hero crying at the altar.” You pressed a finger against his chest, while he scoffed at the memory. “Don’t remind me about that, Kaeya doesn’t let me live that down…” He sighed, his brother consistently brought up the matter of him crying whenever he was losing an argument. Foul play if you ask anyone. “So…breakfast downstairs or in the bed?” He planted a kiss on your cheek while you hummed out a response, “Bed, you didn’t exactly go easy on me the previous night.” You recalled the events of the passionate night the day before. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end. “I am so sorry–” He panicked,” You're not in pain are you? I promise I’ll be gentle– I knew I should’ve been more considerat–” You stopped him by pressing a kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling of your soft lips touching his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

“I’m kidding silly… you should stop taking things so seriously unless you want me to start searching for grey hairs amidst those red locks of yours.” You snickered out seeing him release a breath of relief.

If the Darknight Hero really does exist, he's probably just someone in disguise. When he gets up in the morning to brush his teeth, it's the real him. He was his real him in front of you. People may call him a loser for such vulnerability…he was a loser for you.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

PRODUCT NAME: READING BOOKS OUT LOUD. One would say married to someone like Alhaitham was nothing short of a nightmare. They weren't 100% right. Shrouded beneath the aloof and meticulous personality resided someone who was in complete denial towards being loved. He loves it.

Who was he kidding? Nobody in a million years thought someone could put up with his insufferable personality — said Kaveh, his unpaying tenant. That was until he ran into you during his time as the newly appointed Scribe. You were like a painter, splashing heaps of paint in his 90s black-and-white life. Was eating ice cream always this enjoyable or was it because it was with you? Was the gossip between co-workers always this interesting or was it because it included you?

Why was his heart having an entire Queen’s rock and roll concert talking to you? Was it cardiac arrest or– He almost shuddered at the thought of it being what they called love.

“You’ve got flour on your face, sweetheart.” His teal eyes blinked amusingly into yours, a faint smile curling up his lips. You must have saved a nation in your previous life to land this man as your husband. Beige shirt perfectly sculpting around his abs – contrary to him calling himself “feeble,” hair slightly tousled and slight sleepiness in his eyes. He might not act like it but he was a little child whose needs had to be tended to like the coffee mug in his hands which you made, like usual. You wouldn’t want a cranky Alhaitham now, would you? “Hmpf, not my fault, this cooking book is completely bogus!” You rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand, wiping away any remaining flour. “This is so boring…if only someone could provide their poor wife with some entertainment.” You always resorted to theatrics to get him to do things for you, albeit begrudgingly. “No, the same tactic is not going to work again.” “Please…” “No…” He groaned, tone almost pleading not to put him through the torture again. “During better or worse!” You resorted to the ace up to your sleeve. WEDDING VOWS! “Stop quoting the wedding vows.” He sighed in defeat. The most intellectually gifted man in the nation couldn't win against his own wife. Ironical. He got up and grabbed a book out of the bookshelf; a small fraction of his much larger library.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Alhaitham lazily flipped through the pages earning a rebuke. “More emotion! You are ruining the scene.” Alhaitham sighed and cleared his throat, “I love you most ardently…” His tone was feathery soft, emotion surging in it. A smile crept up as he stared at you endearingly.

“That’s much better. Though I seriously think Mr Darcy should’ve said– Miss Elizabeth, allow me to kiseth thy lovely lips.” You mimicked the deep voice of the character with the failing British accent. “Please have mercy on Jane Austen’s ghost and let her enjoy the afterlife.” Alhaitham chuckled and continued reading as you continued baking.  It was a shame that a man of such talent only paid attention to the truth itself and not to the people around him. If only the searching eyes of the ordinary say the exception to his indifference, you.

This was your biosphere, just you, him, novels and food encapsulated inside your small home.

ZHONGLI 🪨

PRODUCT NAME: ALWAYS ON HIS MIND. What is the best but the most useless flex you have? Being married to the Geo Archon. The inability to just tell the whole world that you are married to the frigging god was painful. You yourself were surprised by your ability to control yourself. Zhongli was a man of carefully curated words. Instead of words, straight-up poetry flew out of his mouth. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, every vendor, every acquaintance, heck even Venti. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's mysterious consultant. Handsome, elegant, and surpassingly learned. Excellent memory. A master of courtesy and rules. The amount of poor women who have tried to grab his attention. "Mr.Zhongli, how does this look?" the woman, who he remembered meeting over a history discussion 17 days ago. "Hm?" his amber eyes shifted to gaze at the hairpiece the lady was holding. "Most exquisite.." He remarked, seemingly going into deep thought. Instead of a compliment, he said something that made the woman back away, "Such beautiful craftsmanship...may I ask you to tell me where you found this? I wish to buy one for my wife–" he paused, seeing the lady vanished after pointing at the shop where she got it from. "Zhongli, you should be able to tell why people approach you..." Hutao sighed, standing beside the rather oblivious gentleman. "Let's just continue...we've got customers to find!" Hutao started walking alongside the railing, hoping to find people in need of funeral services. "Maybe we should go and ask peopl– Zhongli??" Hutao looked around for the Consultant, who was caught up chatting with a shopkeeper over some earrings. "Zhongli!" Hutao called out to him, causing his head to turn towards the director. "Oh, apologies...It seems I got too carried away. These earrings caught my eye...I'm sure [Name} would love them.." he mumbled, staring at the jewellery. "I'll take them." "Mister Zhongli? What about the payment..." The shopkeeper meekly asked, causing Zhongli to turn his head fully at Hutao; gazing expectantly. Hutao should've expected this... "Zhongli, we are out here to find customers! Not buying gifts for [Name], her birthday is months away!" "They say the best things should be done first. After all, why must I wait for one specific day to express my love for my beloved?" Zhongli asked curiously and Hutao shaked her head; love was clearly out of her expertise. Zhongli, he is particular about everything. He only attended the best operas and focused on the perfect ratio for the creation of an authentic dish.  On a typical day, all you will glean from him is a few pieces of useless trivia, because he particularly enjoys sharing these fun tidbits with you. He was particular about you and your likings. A smile on your face was what he wanted by the end of the day. For being someone alive for 6000 years, he could proudly say that he loved and cherished something– someone.

"Wait here, Director Hu...Perhaps I should get those flowers over there to accompany the hairpin and earrings..."

WRIOTHESLEY 🐺

PRODUCT NAME: BATTLE TO BUY A DOG OR NOT.

"Wriothesley, I want a dog!" You crossed your arms, staring down at the Duke who was glued to the chair in his office. “But why? That’s just unnecessary responsibility…” Wriothesley sighed, rubbing his temples. This was the 3rd time this month you’ve brought up this topic. Was he that incompetent in terms of filling his role as your significant other? Perhaps not with the never-ending paperwork. Oh, how he wished people would just stop committing crimes. “I get lonely in the Fortress…I want a child.” You put forth your point by using the term ’ child’. Child, dog same thing. You hoped to finally convince him this time.

“We have Sigewinne.” Wriothesley pointed at the head nurse prepping tea in the room with the back of his pen. “I am sorry, Your Grace but playing the role of the child is out of my job description.” The Melusine replied indifferently, pouring freshly seeped tea into the three cups. “Fine, we will go get one…I’ll schedule a meeting with the owner of the pet shelter. Happy?” He asked you, chin resting on his palm. Perhaps getting a dog was a good idea as he was guilty of being unable to spend quality time with you… “No way…” “Isn’t that..?” “The Duke of the Meropide–” “He rarely appears in public..” Wriothesley held out the door to the shelter for you, hoping you would go in and it would finally save him from the gaze of curious onlookers. The two of you walked in, only to be pounced upon by a big dog. “Kal! You sly dog! I knew I shouldn’t have let you out!” The caretaker yelled at the big ball of black fur who had tackled Wriothesley to the floor and was aggressively licking his face, tail wagging in delight. “Are you okay?” You asked your fallen husband, who just chuckled in response. “I am good just– Okay stop! I understand your gesture of love.” Wriothesley got up as the dog encircled him. “This one is so adorable…” you gasped at the cuteness radiating from the dog and its big brown eyes. “You’ve got a keen eye! This is Kal, Shiloh Shepard, one of the finest dogs out there.” The caretaker combed her fingers through the thick and groomed black coat of the canine. “He seems to have taken a liking to the Duke.” The caretaker continued as the dog ran back to Wriothesley, peppering his face with licks. “He even looks like you.” You teased as Wriothesley stared at you in disbelief. You did not just compare him to a dog…he even did a double take at the dog to confirm. “We will take this one then…” He chuckled in amusement. Never had he imagined marrying you and on top of that getting a four-legged beast. Needless to say, Wriothesley proudly walked out of the shelter, holding the big dog in his hands like a child. It felt complete ever since getting Kal; like your own little family. Wriothesley wouldn’t admit it but he loved the dog, despite it hogging all of your love and attention. He didn’t expect to be fighting over cuddling rights with a dog!? 

He watched you and Kal sleep peacefully on the couch, keeping him company while he finished up his work. He felt a sense of gratitude…people of the Fortress knew little of the crime he once committed. The only one who still remembers it like yesterday is Wriothesley himself. And no matter how much glory or repute he has earned, he still considers himself to be the same old Wriothesley he's always known.Neither a good person nor a complete villain. He's just another soul, still living on in this world. However, your eyes always reassured him in ways he couldn’t describe. Everything was perfect…

[Name]!! YOURDAMN DOG PISSED ON MY COAT!! Maybe not that perfect…whoops.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

PRODUCT NAME: HELPING THE OTHER DRESS.

Monsieur Neuvillette, The Iudex of Fontaine, always wondered how his life had come to this. 500 years of serving his position as the Beacon of Justice, a lovely, beaming baker somehow broke the monotony. Well, calling you just a baker was now an insult. With your ring finger bejewelled, with one of the rarest gems– an ode to his undying loyalty and representation of his eternal love. “It’s astounding how a covert mission conducted by melusines could’ve landed someone such as myself a lady like her…” He muttered to himself, seeing his full form in the mirror. “Talking to yourself, again?” You leaned against the door frame, lopsidedly smiling at the peculiar antics of Fontaine’s most distinguished man. “Ah, apologies…I didn’t think you would notice me conversing with myself. Now I find myself in a rather awkward predicament.” He chuckled. Dear god, this man was so beautiful that his beauty was almost blinding with the morning sun perfectly hitting his face.

“Say ah,” You requested and he complied. Who better to take constructive criticism from other than your husband? “New filling?” He covered his mouth while chewing on the croissant. “Yup, how is it? I was experimenting with some Rainbow Roses and these Inazuman berries I bought.” You blinked curiously, waiting for some input. “Hmm it is very pleasant, it is fascinating how you manage to maintain the freshness of the fruit…” You smiled at his compliment, before noticing him struggling with the jabot around his neck. “Need help?” You offered and he nodded his head. “This is absurd..it usually isn’t this difficult.” He frustrated replied, it was amusing to see the cool and collected man all worked up about clothing. “I suggest simplifying your outfit.” You attached the jabot and secured it in with the teardrop brooch, fixing the ruffles. 

“Thank you. I do prefer my outfit as it conveys the message I wish for it to convey.” He explained before staring at you. You knew that look, he looked at you with his eyebrows slightly creased when he was hesitating from saying something. “What is it?” “Do I get a goodbye kiss before I leave?” “Pfft! I didn’t think you would take that seriously!” Conclusion: this man was wayyy to cute.

Neuvillette is a solitary person. Neuvillette is not known for his personal desires.

He was deemed as someone with unassailable impartiality. If only they knew that perhaps the Iudex was just a wee bit biased.

a/n 2.0: the crust will come off...hopefully. i wonder if it's possible to guess which one of them is my favourite??

don't steal, copy, plagiarise, or translate.

©definitelysel

#genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #zhongli fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #wriothesley #wriothesely x reader #genshin diluc #alhaitham #zhongli #neuvillette x reader

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jun has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jun. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jun chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jun who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jun states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jun that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jun asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jun exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jun glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ you're all caught up!

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[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part three)

Previous | Next

Danny never said he knew what he was doing, but he thinks he's doing something right if the kid hasn't started crying yet. so you know, that's great. now, he just needed to get the kid out of here, so Danny could have a moment to mourn his retirement plans.

He wasn't going to blame the kid, ancients know Danny would have gone back to hero work eventually. He just couldn't let things go if he could help it, and he could in this situation.

"Alright, here's the plan." Danny announced, slapping his legs as he stood up. "it's late, you're a kid who needs sleep. let's get you home, then we can get a game plan on how to do this."

Tim had been nodding his head, even if it was reluctantly, before freezing in sudden realization. Danny raised his eyebrow in question, wondering what was wrong now.

"you want my help?" Tim asked, absolutely gobsmacked.

Oh, the kid thought Danny was just going to send him away like any reasonable adult would. Ha, Danny wished. but no. He had no clue what he was doing and this kid was his only trump card for making any of the half-assed plans still forming in his head work. AND he had a feeling if he didn't keep Tim close by, the kid would run off and do something stupid.

"Yep," Danny snorted, "you were smart enough to figure out who Batman was, and then you decided to take it upon yourself to help him; whether by convincing me to do it or yourself."

"Now then," Danny said as he walked over to the couch and pulled his hoodie from under Sam. Sam, to her credit, told him to fuck off and went back to snoring. Tucker, somehow having heard her, responded with a 'Go fuck yourself'.

Shaking his head, Danny turned back to Tim. "Let's get going. It's-" Danny turned to look at the clock, his eyes narrowing when he found it; 4 am. The kid was up and coherent enough to try and blackmail someone into being Robin at four in the morning. "-four. you seriously need to get some sleep kid. It's a school night." actually, what day was it???

Tim rolled his eyes but started to follow Danny out the door. "It's Saturday, and I've stayed up longer," he grumbled.

Danny snorted, "So have I, but we still need to sleep." He should probably try and prevent the kid from staying up longer than he should. Danny knows what years of not sleeping properly does to someone. The kid's obsessed with Batman and Robin, right? He'll just use them then.

"Robin needs all the sleep he can get. Otherwise, Batman will bench him. If Robin is benched, then who is out there helping Batman?" That's convincing, right? Does Batman even have the power to bench Robin? From the sounds of it, Robin is his kid's vigilante name. Which means he totally has the power to ground them.

Wait...

If Danny was going to be Robin, does that mean Batman would think he's his kid?

Oh, hell naw. He was not going to be adopted by another fruitloop! If Bruce Wayne even thinks about it, Danny will be out of there so fast even the Flash couldn't stop him.

Tim stumbled, his eyes wide in surprise. "Really?" he asks, turning to look at Danny in horror. Danny blinked, brain failing to remember why the kid would be surprised.

shit, what were they talking about?? Robin... It's four am... Right!

"Yep," Danny chirped, leading the kid to his car. "Now, I know everyone says not to get into a stranger's car and all that jazz, but it's the only way I'm getting you home. So, hop in."

Tim didn't even hesitate to jump into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt across his chest. Danny stared at him for a second, before opening the car door and sitting down.

"kid, you do know you're not supposed to get into strangers' cars, right?" Danny asked, closing the door and buckling up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and started the engine.

"Well, yeah?" Tim replied, turning to face him, "But you're not a stranger. You're Robin. You protect people not hurt them."

and well? Danny can't argue with that, now, can he?

"Right, fine. Just promise not to get into strangers' cars. I don't care how much you think you know about them. It's not safe, and you could get hurt."

Tim hummed, thinking about it for a moment before nodding his head. "Yeah, alright. I promise."

"good." Danny sighed, turning to look at the road to see if it was clear. then he sighed again, "Don't tell strangers where you live, please."

Tim looked at him in amusement, a small smile spreading across his face. "Drake manor. 1015 Mountain Drive. It's in the Crest Hill community."

"You're killing me here, kid." Danny groaned, hitting his head against the steering wheel. Then he slowly lifted his head and turned to stare at Tim, "Kid. How the hell did you get all the way over here? Mountain Drive is all the way over in Bristol??? That's, like, twelve miles outside of city limits?"

"I have my ways."

Danny narrowed his eyes, "You bribed someone, didn't you."

Tim looked away from him, fiddling with his fingers.

sighing, Danny sat up and started driving down the road. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the chaos that was Gotham City as they drove. Tim eventually slumped over, his head resting against the window.

It took a good thirty minutes before Danny could turn onto the bridge out of town. The traffic wasn't heavy, just the occasional car here and there. It was almost peaceful.

"Turn here," Tim suddenly instructed, startling Danny.

"Tim!" Danny cried, turning to look at the kid, then back at the road. although, he did do as the kid instructed. "don't do that! you'll give me a heart attack or something! Ancients!"

Tim blinked, then shrugged. "ok," he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"my house is the one with really stupid-looking ducks carved into the gates." Tim supplied, waving his hand at the road ahead of them. "Bruce's is the one with bats, but you knew that."

"Right," Danny agreed. What were the chances that Batman happened to live in a place called Gotham and in a house with black iron gates covered in bats? It was almost as coincidental as Danny's last name sounding like Phantom. Fate really had quite the sense of humor, didn't they?

after they passed a few more dirt roads, Tim pointed at a specific one, "Turn here. The gates a little further back than everyone else's."

Danny hummed, turning the car onto the road. What was his life at this point? Driving children to their huge houses at four-thirty in the morning? agreeing to become Robin? coming out of retirement because a kid asked him to?

Bruce Wayne better appreciate all the effort this kid was going through...

A tall gate slowly popped into view, making Danny slow the car down until he could stop right in front of it. "Alright, kid. You're home. get some sleep. Go to school, I don't know, what do you rich kids do on the weekends? actually, you know what? It doesn't matter, do you have a phone?"

Tim blinked as he slowly unbuckled, "yes?"

"One that's not monitored by your parents or anyone else?"

"..."

Danny sighed, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. "Here," Danny unlocked it, went to settings and pressed the factory rest option. Once the phone finished the reset, he quickly scanned through it to make sure it was all gone before adding his second phone number. once done, he tossed it over to the kid. "here, should work for now. Don't let anyone else have it."

If this was any other situation, Danny would have gone straight to the kid's parents; but considering it was past four in the morning and there wasn't a city-wide amber alert? He has a feeling the kid needs a safety net, and well? What better than a direct line to him?

"I can't just take your phone!" Tim cried, catching the phone before it could fall to the ground.

"It's my backup one. I tend to break my phone pretty often, so I always keep an extra one on me. my current number is saved on it, you can reach out and get in contact with me now." Danny waved off the kid's concern, reaching into the back of the car to grab a bag.

with how often his phone had broken during ghost fights and how frequently his parents dissected his phone for parts? It's a habit at this point to have a backup. or Ten. Pulling the bag to the front, Danny showed the kid what was inside.

"..." Tim blinked, then looked up at Danny. "why do you have a bag of broken phones in your car?"

"Because my phones keep breaking and I figured it would be easier to just keep them for extra parts than toss them. Now," Danny tossed the bag into the back, ignoring how it tipped over and spilled the contents all over the seat. He'd clean it up later. Maybe. "It's early. You need sleep, I need sleep. We can pick another day to sit down and build a game plan."

Tim sat in silence for a moment, staring at the phone in his hands, before glancing up at Danny. "You really mean it?" he asked, turning the phone around anxiously, "you really want my help?"

"kid, Tim," Danny started, tilting his head so he could make eye contact. "with how bad you say Batman's gotten? I'm going to need all the help I can get. Who better than the one who went out of his way to try and actually do something about it?"

Tim's eyes watered as he looked back at the phone. "ok," he whispered, nodding his head. Reaching up, he wiped his face clean before taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"ok," he repeated, voice stronger now. "I'll help. I want to."

"Good," Danny nodded in agreement, then smiled. "get some sleep kid, you need it."

"I don't need it," Tim grumbled, turning to open the door and get out. "but if that's what it takes for you to allow me to help, then I guess I can take a nap or something."

Danny snorted, watching as Tim closed the car door and started making his way to the gate.

as soon as the kid was out of view, Danny slammed his head onto the steering wheel and groaned. He had definitely jinxed himself earlier. How hard can being Ribin be? Yeah right. He hasn't even gotten to meet Bruce yet and he's already stressed.

...

Glancing up, Danny watched as the clock glitched then turned to five am.

...

Well then, he might as well do something productive since it was unlikely he'd be getting any more sleep if he went back. Sam would be up by the time he got there, which meant he'd have to answer all of her questions... which would wake Tucker up, which would mean Danny'd have to explain all over again.

Glancing around, Danny suddenly realized something.

Batman.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Bruce Wayne; as in, Gotham's own himbo billionaire.

Who lives in Bristol.

Which is where he is right now. Logically speaking, he'd be able to find it pretty fast if he just looked at the gates. It's probably just a few houses from Tim's too, now that he thought about it...

Oh, this was a terrible idea, but when had that ever stopped Danny?

Jazz was so going to kill him for this.

Next

#Tim Drake saw someone do a quadruple somersault #It was Danny using his powers to do it #And thought for years Robin was Danny #He still figured out Bruce #But thought Dick was in the dark #Danny pretends to be Robin #Post Jason's death #The Wrong Robin Au #danny's only had tim for two hours #but if anything happened to him #he'd kill everyone in the room and then himself #Bruce has no clue what's about to happen #Tim is definitely sticking around to watch this go down #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #tim drake #Wrong Robin Au #bruce wayne #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dick grayson #i think i got all the tags #but i don't know #oh well #there's already alot of them

[lnfours]

* ✰. — birds of a feather | l.n

summary: i’ll love you til the day that i die.

warnings: the result of the new billie eilish album being on repeat and me having this song stuck in my head, so this was born. fluff, fluff and more fluff bc i said so. slowly getting my creative juices back, so bear with me.

masterlist | soundtrack

you hadn’t been looking for anything when you had met lando. a freshly graduated student who finally had time to find interest in their personal life, rather then spend their time consumed with textbooks in front of them, trying to navigate your way through the chaotic mess of life.

but the moment the curly haired brit bumped into you in the paddock, sending your notes and fresh cup of coffee all over you and the ground, you were doomed. falling head first into the comforting chaos that was lando norris.

and you thanked your stars every morning when you woke up that you had been running late that day, or else you would’ve never met the sleeping boy next to you. wouldn’t have ever gotten the chance to get to know the sought after driver with a big heart and who loves with his whole soul.

you smiled to yourself, sitting in the bed and taking in the way he slept peacefully, not aware how pretty he looked in the morning sun as it peaked in through your blinds. his cheek pressed against the pillow, his lips slightly parted as he slept.

you couldn’t help but reach out and brush the stray curl away from his face, smiling softly as he stirred in his sleep at your touch. your silent way to keep going, your nails scratching at his scalp gently. a soft hum came from him, followed by the gorgeous sight of his green eyes shining up at you. his eyes fully adjusting to the brightness as he squinted, his hand reaching out to yours.

“c’mere,”

his voice was hoarse and sleep coated, but it never failed to send shivers down your spine. you scooted closer, letting him pull you into his side. your face nuzzled in his bare shoulder, his head laying on top of yours.

“we need to be up soon,” you said, poking his ribs gently, “your family’s coming to see the new house and have dinner, remember?”

he didn’t, actually. and if it wasn’t for you, he’d be certain he’d miss all of his meetings, call times, and hell, even sometimes the start of his races. thankfully, you were never far from him on the pitlane. the perks of working with sky, who he should really thank. he’d make a mental note to do it next race. right now, he was going to enjoy the peaceful month he got to spend with you. uninterrupted peace, free time. where you got to whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted.

he groaned, nuzzling his face into your hair. you laughed softly, “lando,”

“i like when you say my name,” he mumbled, “say it again.”

you chuckled, and in your best flirty tone you could muster up in the moment, you did, “lando,”

he pressed a soft kiss to the skin of your neck, right where your neck and collarbone met. his favorite spot to kiss whenever he teased you because he knew you were ticklish.

and as if on queue, you giggled, shoving his head from your neck, “stop it,”

“just five more minutes,” he pleaded, “with my girl, in our bed, that’s all i ask.”

you sighed, “fine, but not one second longer.”

he smiled, knowing he could always get you to fold. you hated to admit it, but you’d always cave for him. do whatever he wanted. he had you wrapped around his finger and you had him wrapped around yours. smitten for each other, young in love, whatever you wanted to call it, you were it.

“how’d you sleep?” you asked, finger tips tracing the lines in your mind that you drew with your fingers every morning. connecting the moles on his skin, from his shoulders to his chest and down to his sides. your own little routine you had incorporated, a habit you picked up after the first night you spent together a year and a half ago.

“good until you woke me up.”

“you love when i wake you up.”

“you’re right,” he mumbled, “getting to see that pretty face every morning is the highlight of my day.”

you chuckled, leaning up on your elbow, reaching around and grabbing his cheek into your hand. he smiled softly as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his.

he pulled away, a smile on his lips as they brushed against yours, “and your morning kisses, i love waking up to your lips on mine, or on my-“

you shook your head, laughing and covering his face with your pillow before pulling yourself out from the covers, “alright, time to get up!”

“that wasn’t five minutes!” he gasped, tossing your pillow your way softly, teasingly. you laughed, walking into the connected bathroom, calling back to him.

“long enough! you killed the romantic mood,”

“i’m only speaking my truth, baby,” he said, footsteps joining you in the bathroom, watching him lean against the doorway out of the corner of your eye, “is a man not allowed to speak his truth?”

you popped the toothbrush in your mouth, sending him a glare. he laughed, pressing a kiss to your head before grabbing his own toothbrush from his side of the sink. he joined you in brushing your teeth, wrapping an arm around your waist. you smiled softly, trying to ignore how good he looked. sweatpants loosely hanging around his waist, bare chest on full display, curls wild and in serious need of taming.

you two looked good together, and even though he wasn’t necessarily considered ‘tall’ he still stood a few inches above you. his green eyes met yours in the mirror, and he knew you were subtly checking him out. he sent you a wink and you rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finished brushing your teeth.

he finished shortly after you, watching you as you rummaged around in your drawer. you pulled out the skincare he had seen you put on every morning and night, and even has put on for you after nights where you’ve had one too many vodka redbulls.

he leaned against the counter, watching you in the mirror as you rubbed the product into your skin, “can i have some?”

you giggled, moving to stand between his legs. you squeezed a little bit of the moisturizer onto your fingers, rubbing into his face. he grinned softly at your gentle touch, “that smells good.”

you nodded, “and it has sunscreen in it, it’s good for you.”

he motioned towards your drawer, “do you have any lip balm?”

you hummed, putting the tube back before grabbing the lip balm. you went to hand it to him but he raised an eyebrow at you. you sighed with a laugh, shaking your head.

“gimme,” you said, grabbing his chin and swiping the lip balm against his pursed lips. you couldn’t help but giggle again, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips when you were done, “there.”

he rubbed his lips together and hummed, “hmm, is that coconut?”

you nodded, “like it?”

he nodded, pulling you in closer by your waist, “love it.”

you grabbed his wrist, checking the time on his watch, “they’ll be here in an hour.”

“so what i’m hearing is-“

“no,” you shoved his shoulder with another laugh, “what im saying is that i need to run to the store and get flowers for the vase on the table.”

“who needs flowers,” he said, pressing a kiss to your chest, “when i could have you back in my bed, all to myself for a little while longer until i have to share you for the rest of the day.”

you ran a hand through his hair, his eyes looking up to meet yours, “as tempting as it sounds, i really do have to run to the store. plus, i have to get some stuff for dinner.”

he sighed dramatically, “okay,”

you walked into the closet, rummaging through his side and stealing one of his hoodies and fishing out a pair of sweatpants. a quick outfit to run a few last minute errands.

he had found his way to the kitchen, standing at the coffee pot. you pinched his side, kissing his shoulder. he turned his head and smiled, leaning down and kissing your head, “need anything while i’m out?”

“mm,” he hummed, “breakfast? i don’t feel like cooking.”

you laughed, “me either. i’ll pick up something.”

he nodded, smiling playfully, “i guess you can take my car.”

“oh i was going to,” you said, grabbing his key off the hook, “even without your permission.”

“rude!”

you laughed, blowing him a kiss, “i’ll be back. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

your trip to the store was quick, making it back within a half an hour, arms full of things as you carried everything inside, closing the door with your foot. you set everything on the counter, hanging the keys back on the hook.

“i’m back!”

“i’m in the bedroom!” his voice called back to you. you made your way down the hallway and into the bedroom, smiling as he held up two shirts in the mirror.

“which looks better?” he asked, holding both up against the pair of plaid pants he had picked out. you hummed, standing behind him and watching his reflection. his hair being perfectly styled and his cologne filling the room telling you he had been getting ready while you were gone.

you pointed to the white shirt, “that one.”

“you think?”

you nodded, watching him take it off the hanger and slipping it over his shoulders. you stepped in front of him, buttoning the buttons. purposefully leaving the top few open.

he rolled up the sleeves, sending you a look, “might as well have my whole shirt unbuttoned.”

“i wouldn’t complain.” you joked and he smiled, before quickly realizing your attire. you smile as he started pulling at the hem of his hoodie that sat on your frame.

“hey! this is mine.”

the baby blue hoodie looked better on you anyway, but he still liked to joke around with you, “i know.”

“thief.”

“come and get it then.” you shrugged, crossing your arms.

“oh, so now you’re in the mood?” he asked, “what was it? the buttons?”

you laughed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “maybe.”

“you’re going to be the death of me.”

“you love me.” you smiled, his hands finding your warm, soft skin under his hoodie.

“damn right i do, baby. til the day i die.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader fluff #lando norris x reader imagine #lando norris x reade fluff imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 #fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader fluff #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x you #ln4 one shot #ln4 fluff imagine #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren formula one #mclaren formula 1

[pbueckerslover]

kate smut pleasee☝️

anniversary - k.m. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

pairing(s): kate martin x female!reader

warnings: femme reader, kissing, smut, oral (kate!recieving), fingering (kate!recieving)

summary: it’s kate and yours one year anniversary and you decide to surprise her with a couple different things.

you and kate have officially been dating for one year and today was your anniversary. kate had been out for the past hour running errands so you took this time as the perfect opportunity to set up a surprise for her. you bought her a couple presents, decided to make dinner for the two of you and even decorated the apartment for her. you couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

you started to get ready by taking a shower, doing your hair and makeup and putting on a cute outfit. you also decided to slip on a new bra and underwear you had bought previously underneath your outfit for later. once everything was ready to go you decided to sit on the couch and wait for her to come home.

about 30 minutes later you heard keys starting to unlock the door. you knew exactly who it was so you got up from your spot and stood close to the door anticipating her entrance.

kate opened the door and walked in to see beautiful decorations covering the place along with candles, flowers and a meal for the two of you on the table. she was shocked to say the least, she had no idea you were planning this for her. “babe…. oh my god.” she said taking it all in. she started walking closer to you and once she was next to you the first thing she did was place a soft kiss to your lips.

she pulled away to look at you. your eyes met hers and you asked, “you like it?” she smiled at your question. “baby i love it this is so cute.” she said before wrapping you in a big hug. you giggled and rested your head in the crook of her neck.

when the two of you pulled away she couldn’t help but kiss you again. “come on let’s sit down.” you said as you grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the table. you both sat down and she stared at you from across the table.

“i love you.” she said as she started to eat the food. “i love you too, kate.” you replied and opened the bottle of champagne that you had laid out on the table. you guys talked and laughed nonstop while eating the food you had prepared. once you had finished you got up to grab the gifts you had bought for her.

“happy anniversary baby!” you said as you handed her two small boxes. she opened them while smiling. the first one had a silver necklace with a small “K” on it and a heart. the other one had some clothes that you remember her talking about wanting in the past.

you sat on her lap after she finished opening the gifts. “i love these so much, thank you babe.” she said and placed a kiss to your cheek. you smiled at her knowing she was truly grateful. “i have another surprise.” you said as you stood up from your spot on her lap and started walking towards your bedroom.

she followed after you excited to see what was next. when she walked into the room you had completely stripped out of what you were previously wearing. you had on a matching bra and underwear set that was her favorite color and you were now laying on your guys’ bed.

her mouth had practically dropped to the ground as she looked at you. she walked over to you and joined you on the bed. “you look so fucking pretty.” she said as she kissed you again and started to place kisses down your neck.

you then moved so you were on top of her and kissed her again. you asked her to take off her shirt and she did just that. you kissed all over her neck and chest and then started to leave kisses on her stomach. she let out soft moans as you started getting closer to her pussy.

she quickly removed her pants and underwear needy for more. you smirked up at her as you started to move down her body. you placed soft kisses to her thighs and she moaned more. “don’t tease me baby… need you so bad.” she said.

you placed one more kiss to her lips before moving back down to your original spot. all of a sudden your tongue was on her clit and she was moaning louder than before. you added a finger in her hole to increase her pleasure. she placed a hand to your head guiding you as you started to move faster.

“feels so fucking good.” she said and that was your queue to add another finger. she tilted her head back at the sudden contact. you moved even faster noticing that she was getting close. “such a good girl.” she said and you could practically feeling yourself getting wet just from her words.

“gonna cum baby!” she said as she could feel the all too familiar feeling growing. you took this as a sign to continue what you were doing, but faster.

moments later she was releasing all over your tongue. you moved from your position and went to lay down next to her. you turned to face her and she grabbed your face and kissed you once more. you leaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around her waist.

she pulled away and smiled at you. “thank you for everything baby i really loved it.” she said. “of course kate. i just really wanted to do something special for you because you deserve it.” you replied while smiling back at her.

this made her smile grow larger. “i love you.” she told you once more. “i love you more, babe.” you said and placed a kiss to her forehead. she wrapped her arms around you and you rested your head on her chest.

you pulled the blankets up so they were covering both of you. you both moved around a little bit until you were comfortable before drifting off to sleep.

⇾ be sure to checkout my masterlist if you enjoyed!

⇾ ty for reading all the way through! first kate fic i hope you guys like it :’) i’m trying to get to more of my requests for pride month so expect more fics soon!!!!

#kate martin #kate martin smut #kate martin x y/n #kate martin headcannons #kate martin fanfic #kate martin fluff #kate martin x reader #las vegas aces #lv aces #wnba #iowa wbb #lgbtq #wlw #pbueckerslover

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell x reader #celebrities x reader #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon aemond

[mssainz]

PART 12 | AFTER FIVE YEARS

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz met his son he had with her ex-wife, Y/N.

Warning: None

BIRTH OF "CARLOS HAVE NO BALLS" GC

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GET TOGETHER

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We arrived at the resort early in the morning. The breeze feels cold as it touches your skin. You have Cael in my arms who is still asleep. You let Lando grab our things into your room. There you saw a familiar figure sitting in the lounge area. He is just casually browsing through his phone. You're about to follow Lando to know where your room is, when Carlos intentionally clears his throat to stop you from taking another step.

“Good morning,” Carlos greeted you. “There's nothing good in the morning having you as my view,” You replied, wanting to turn him off. He was stunned by your hostility and left him unspoken.

“What do you want?” Yn said, waiting for Carlos to snap out. “Ah, Am.. How's your drive here?” Carlos blurted, not knowing what words to choose to keep the conversation going. “It's none of your business,” Yn responded, before leaving Carlos.

Barrier, barrier, barrier. I gotta build the Great Wall of China.

You take the lift to reach your room. There you opened the door, revealing a wide view of the beach from your window. You then carefully lay Cael down on the bed and let him sleep a bit more while unpacked your stuff. “Mama..” Cael said, immediately after waking up. “Hi baby, how’s your sleep? We’re at the resort already,” You replied to your son, who is barely opening his eyes.

You changed his clothes to a more appropriate one, Hawaiian shirt and a white shorts. You also changed into something that suits the beach vibe. You put on a black one-piece and layered it with a slitted long black skirt.

The boys were playing beach volleyball when you arrived by the shore. Cael got excited and went straight to his father who now acts as the referee. He immediately climbed into his father’s arms.

“You gave birth to such a beautiful boy,” Kelly said, who is walking towards you with Penelope and Alexandra. You gave them a smile immediately as you recognized her voice. “Hey. Hi P!” You said, greeting the dazzling ladies. “Wanna join them? It’s been a while since we get together,” Kelly suggested, which you agreed upon.

You played beach volleyball with them and step-out for a bit to take a breath. Carlos is stealing glances at you, mesmerized by your beauty. "What are you staring at? You're not the only one who has beach body here, you know" Yn said as she caught Carlos looking at her from head to toe. You continued to watch the game, your eyes following the ball.

“What are you glaring at?” Carlos asked, who is standing next to you. “I'm not even glaring at you. It's just the sun is too bright,” You replied, slightly squinting with furrowed eyebrows. Carlos lent you his sunglasses but you rolled your eyes and was about to walk away to get some drink. You quickly rejected his offer or…. not.

You remembered that you actually didn't bring sunglasses so you swiftly walked back to Carlos and snatched his. You breezely face him away to increase the distance between you two. Carlos watched as you walked away, smiling from ear-to-ear.

“You might want to stop staring at her and start frowning, Carlos,” Max said.

“Yeah, I can see all your teeth including your wisdom tooth from here dude,” Daniel added.

“You can’t blame me. Doc is hotter than the sun,” Carlos replied.

“You might not want to look directly at the sun,” Charles responded.

“I’ll stare at her and look after her even if it hurts. I’ll be happily loss my vision,” Carlos said, eliciting a chuckle and cheers from his friends.

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P and Cael were building a sand castle not far from you. “Cael, baby come here for a bit,” You called out for Cael to put some sunscreen on him. “Thank you, Mama,” Cael said, before running back to P. The kids get along so well that they are now inseparable.

“Why don’t you put some on Carlos?” Lando blurted out, appearing from nowhere, holding a soda in his hand. “Huh?” You replied with a frown. “Carlos! Caaarl…” You cut Lando off by putting the bottle of sunscreen in his mouth. Carlos looked back at you two with a confused expression.

"Lando you and your big fat mouth," Yn said, giving Lando death stare. He was about to open his mouth again when...

"One more word, and I'll make youa swallow this bottle," You warned him.

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The day was filled with fun, teasing, and bickering between you and Carlos. Despite your hostility, Carlos never misses the chance to take care of you and Cael in his own subtle ways. He gets you to drink when you need it. He takes care of Cael so you can enjoy yourself too. It is small things that you appreciate, especially since it's been awhile since you get to have vacation. It’s a rare occasion to take a break from being a mom and a doctor at the same time.

P and Cael are already down on their bed and are already in the dream land. Everybody was just hanging out and having a drink in the common area. You decided to walk by the shore alone and take a peaceful break.

The sound of the waves brings serenity to your ears. The stars up the night are shining brighter than they usually did. The breeze just makes you feel safe and sound. You’re just walking through the sand allowing your feet to be buried in the debris as you take every step. You are just in peace, no thoughts coming in. It’s just clear and serene. You sat down and just feel the moment.

“Hey” a familiar voice sat beside you. “Carlos,” You replied. “What are you doing here alone?” Carlos replied.

“Nothing. Just nothing,” You said. After that, a silence filled the air. It’s just the wave going back and forth.

“How are you?” Carlos said, breaking the silence between you two. “But please, before you become hostile, I’m asking a genuine question, okay. How are you doing? How are you and Cael? How are you able to take care of our son, despite your busy schedule?” Carlos immediately followed up before you can even unleash the “it’s none of your business”.

“I’m doing great. Me and Cael are doing great. Well, uhm… yeah, busy schedule as always but I manage. I try my best to spend time with our son. As much as possible, I wanna be with him all the time,” You replied, this with a longer sentence. Before silence filled your conversation again, you began talking about your son.

“I introduced you to Cael, immediately as he began to understand things. I talk about you to him, so he’ll have an idea who you are. But recently, he was just adamant to meet you. That’s why I decided to come here,” You continued.

“Thank you, Yn. I really appreciate it,” Carlos replied.

“That’s the least thing I can do for him,”

“Does he ever question our situation? Why were we not together? Why were we not living on the same roof?” Carlos curiously asked.

“He does. He always does. Well, it’s given, he’ll wonder why it's only me. And… I was just honest with him. I explained that we were divorced because things didn’t work as we expected it to be. And, of course, he had many questions and I tried to explain everything in a way he could understand. And I’m grateful that Cael is so understanding about our situation. He was just cool about it,” You replied with a smile on your face, thinking how lovable your son is whenever he carefully asks you about sensitive questions.

“He is understanding because you did a great job raising him. You raised him very well, Yn. I can see that in him. He is very polite, lovable, and genuine. He is a ball of sunshine that makes everybody smile when he is around. He is like that because he was raised by a wonderful woman. A woman of her values and morals,” Carlos said. You faced Carlos with an awe in your eyes. You're barely holding your tears in your eyes. It was the first time you were praised about something that people always refer to as a normal thing to do, raising your child well. His words made you feel that you finally did a great thing out of all the mistakes you made, after thinking that you are the worst person in the world. He assures you that you are doing a great job and notices the things that for you are just normal and nothing special.

Carlos looked at you with confusion. “Why?” Carlos asked you as he can see the crystals that are forming in your eyes. “Nothing, it's just.. Thank you. Thank you for saying that.” You replied, wiping the tears on your cheeks.

“You're welcome. Well, I’m just mentioning what I see,” Carlos replied, making you smile.

“Let’s go inside, it’s getting cold here,” Carlos said and you two walked back to your respective rooms.

AN: Sorry for late update. I'm just really really busy nowadays. I hope you like this one. Let me know your thoughts and if you wanna be added to the taglist. Thank y'all!

TAGLIST:

@seasons-in-hell @charizznorizz @itsjustkhaos @celesteablack @timmychalametsstuff @viennakarma @i-love-ptv @evie-119 @somepeoplemaybe @amberpanda99 @gotthatname @karlossainz @khaylin27 @hc-dutch @avengers-assemble123456 @likedbygaslyy @yukiotadako @barcelonaloverf1life @heyheyheyggg @sunny44 @mxdi0 @casperlikej @ironmaiden1313 @biitch-with-wifi @elia-the-bibliophile @nataliazzzz @bernelflo @lillunna @loloekie @jinimon-tr @glai1023-blog @not-nyasa @jolixtreesunn @changetyre @thatsusbitch @distancedss @miarabanana @voidsfics @jasminesacademia @glow-ish @ccallistata @carpediem241108 @thearchieves @kenzeyeballs @formula1simp @dessxoxsworld @hoeforsirius @norwayxo

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #f1 imagines #afterfiveyears

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (III)

alexia putellas x sister chapter I, II

edited this in 25 minutes and now I am going to bed... but alexia debut in here today :)

~~~~~~

I sat in the back of the car as Ingrid drove Mapi and me to Johan the next morning. The car was silent, my eyes focussed out the window, hyperaware of the glances that both defenders threw back at me every so often.

Mapi is worried about me. That much I can tell, but I don't know why Ingrid, who I've barely spoken to, seems to think the world is coming to an end. She was in the room this morning when Mapi told me that Mami had called to say that she would see me there. I don't think the tension in the room was hard for the Norwegian to identify. Or it could have been Mapi's wide eyes staring at me that made her think something was wrong. 

Alba is also coming to watch this game even though I told her I wouldn't be playing.

"you are part of the first team for the first time ever, hermanita! It is exciting just to watch you warm up."

I had rolled my eyes as she pulled me into a hug that day, but I appreciated it either way.

Ingrid led me to the changing rooms as Mapi made her way into the stands with some of the other injured players. My locker is beside Aitana's and she beams up at me when she spots me. I thank Ingrid quickly and make my over to Aitana and into her open arms.

"You ready?"

I nod, a smile on my face. For the first time in a long time, I do not think about my sister or what she would say, what her opinion would be. It is hard to grasp the idea that my dreams are maybe becoming a reality. 

E. Putellas 29

It is a dream that I have had for a long time, to have my name on a blaugrana shirt, to be in this very position. It is something I have wanted since I could kick a ball, since I watched my sister do the same thing all those years ago.

They had asked me what name I wanted on the back of my jersey. Because Alexia just had her first name, I could take the last name without the E but Mami said to keep the E. I think she wanted me to just use my first name as well but that is for Alexia. I am only new to this, I thought.

I will not play today, Jonatan told me, but he said he wants me to be a sub in a game with lower pressure after I've spent a few games on the bench and trained with the team for more than a week.

Despite this, Mami and Alba are sat in the audience, between a bunch of relatives and family friends.

A red flush creeps onto my cheeks as I hear them all cheering when I run out of the tunnel to start the warm up. Aitana's arm is around my shoulders and she gives me an extra tight squeeze before winking at me and releasing me from her hold.

I know I will be sitting on the bench for the whole game but just warming up with the team is exciting. The cheering from the audience during the warm up is ten times louder than any crowd I've played in front of, even in the most stressful part of a match.

I try to shrug off the goosebumps that creep over my arms as I take in my surroundings. It is surreal and I think I am in a state of disbelief when Patri approaches me.

"You ok, pequena?"

"I'm good." I look at her as she places a hand on my shoulder. "This is just big."

"I get it. You are very young. You should be very proud of yourself, Elena. You a right, this is a big thing. A huge thing. We are all very proud, remember that."

She squeezes my shoulder before letting go.

"Now get to warming up, stop drifting off with the fairies!"

~~~~~~

It only took Barcelona 5 minutes to establish their dominance through an early Salma goal and by half time they were already up by 4 to 0.

The second half started and by the end of the match we were up by 8 with a decent scoreline of 9-1. Patri pulled me off the bench to go on the rounds to all the opposition and the fans. I have seen this happen so many times that it still feels surreal to be experiencing it.

"Where is your sister?"

Patri's whisper is meant to be harmless but her words are like ice water down my back and my stomach flips inside out. She continues when I shrug my shoulders.

"I saw her earlier with Olga, she's probably sat with the other injured girls."

At the mention of the girlfriend I have not met, I resist the urge to throw up, saying goodbye to Patri and heading over to where my family was in the stands.

My whole family tells me how proud they are and I think Mami takes about a thousand pictures of me and Alba and gets Alba to take some of me and her as well. I am grateful that she ignores Alexia's absence but that does not mean any of us are happy about it.

Mami is frustrated, angry maybe and that is evident in the way she scans the stadium every few minutes and shakes her head or releases disappointed sighs every once in a while.

Alba is sad and it is obvious because she makes no effort to hide the tears that brim in her eyes behind her smile. She tells me it is proud but I know when she looks longingly over to where Alexia should be standing beside me that she is just as upset as I am.

I am offended but I do my best to hide my emotions. I try to be as happy as I can because I am somewhat exhilarated from the experience despite sitting on the bench for the full 90 minutes.

Keira and Ona were being rested for the whole match and it turns out that Keira is hilarious and Ona can provide the best commentary on any match. They are a good pairing and I enjoyed making fun of Keira as she struggled to keep up with our (very slow) Spanish.

I am definitely looking forward to playing at some point. The thought makes me so incredibly nervous but I don't think there will be a better feeling than finally stepping out onto that field with my name on my back and representing my childhood club.

Mami holds me in her arms after she's satisfied with the pictures and I feel a tear drop onto my head.

"I am so proud of you, nina, you have made me proud from the day you were born and you will continue forever. This is just the start of everything. Papi is looking down on us right now with pride too, he's telling all his friends that you are his baby bear and that he taught you everything you know."

I sniffle in her arms.

"Thank you for everything you have done for me Mami, I would be nothing if not for you."

"Oh, hija, I love you."

"I love you too."

Alba throws herself into the hug and proclaims it is now a group hug. Mami chuckles and extends one of her arms around her.

"Mi hermanita is all grown up!" Alba cheers quietly so only me and Mami can hear. "15 years old and in the first team, a record?"

"Only a record when I leave the bench, Alba." I whack the back of her head with my hand and she recoils from the hug in mock annoyance.

"I should go, Mami, I'll meet you out the front?"

She nods and I kiss her cheek before wandering back to the changing rooms.

I am surprised when they are empty but the sound of the showers tells me that I will not be alone for long.

It is supposed to be a happy feeling, but I can not help but feel alone in this room, full of the belongings of people who are older than me, more experienced, skilled. People who know my sister better than I do.

People who will always look up to La Reina. Who will always hang off her every word.

I wish that was me still because if it was, I would not be alone in this locker room right now, I would be celebrating with my sister.

But she is nowhere to be found.

She didn't even say hello to me, she didn't say congratulations, she didn't even acknowledge my existence. It hurts me more than I care to admit, but maybe that is what she meant when she said I was weak.

I wipe the tears out of my eyes before they spill and it is good timing because a whole group of girls walk into the locker room at the same time that Ingrid and Frido return from their showers.

"Our pequena!" Marta cheers when she sees me in my cubby and paces over to pick me up. "You are one of us now, welcome to Barca!"

Everyone cheers and a big smile takes over my face as I am thrown amongst the group of people, being hugged and patted on the back, loud yells in Spanish bouncing round the room.

Aitana holds me for longer than everyone else and whispers her congratulations in my ear.

"You need a lift home today?"

I shake my head and smile.

"Mami and Alba are taking me out to dinner."

Aitana nods and begins talking about how exciting it is that I have finally been introduced to the first team and how I have grown up and I zone out and scan the room.

The loud chatter is a far cry from the near silence that engulfed the room five minutes ago.

I spot Mapi in the corner of the room speaking animatedly to Ingrid.

Frido is also there, laughing with Caro and Marta

Jana is beside Bruna, a giddy smile on her face as they chat to Esmee.

That can only mean one thing, Alexia is somewhere in here but I do not want to speak to her. I do not want to see her and I do not want her to see me. I excuse myself from Aitana to quickly grab my change of clothes and I go over to the showers, spending the longest possible time rinsing myself and washing my hair and an even longer time drying myself and getting changed.

I spend a humiliating amount of time in the stall but I do not hear anyone else come into the bathroom so I don't really think anyone had noticed.

If I had known what was been waiting for me when I opened the door of my stall I probably wouldn't have opened it.

Because the bleached blonde hair was the first thing I clocked, but her confidence oozed out of her as she leant against the wall, her arms crossed, her head resting against the blue paint like she was bored.

I don't say anything when I see her, trying my luck by just walking straight past her but her hand reaches out and stops me from leaving.

"No, Elena, don't run away from me."

"What do you want from me, Alexia?"

She let out an exhale and her features softened slightly. I look down at her feet, willing myself to not make eye contact.

"Why did I find out you had joined my team through a post on Instagram?"

I roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders, making an unintelligible sound that tells her that I do not know and I do not care. I try to leave again but she just stops me again.

"Why do I not know anything about you anymore? Why did Mapi find you in the middle of the park near her house last night when you should have been in bed like Mami thought?"

At least Mapi didn't say anything. I was worried, she is terrible at keeping secrets.

I just scoff because I don't know how else to react to the irony.

"Where is your girlfriend?"

She sighs.

"Olga is in the changing room with the others. You can meet her if you would like."

"I do not want to meet her."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I just wanted to confirm it wasn't just another one of Alba's rumours. You never told me."

I am proud that my voice doesn't falter, that it doesn't break. It is calm, level, despite the emotions that are raging inside of me.

"And whose fault is that?"

I roll my eyes but I avoid saying anything. She hesitated before continuing.

"We were best friends Elena, what even happened? Why did you stop talking to me, why did you start skipping our thursday night dinners?"

I scoff as she tries to make eye contact.

"I am not having this conversation now, Alexia. This is supposed to be a happy day but you are ruining it. You don't remember, that is the problem."

"I should be part of this day with you. I am your captain now."

I hold back a laugh.

"yes, captain, anything you say captain." I salute her weakly and turn around to leave, pushing past her outstretched arm.

Mapi looks at me cautiously as I walk back into the changing rooms but she is chatting with Olga and I do not want to have any interaction with her. I wave goodbye to her and Ingrid and say goodbye to a few of the others.

"What did she say?" Aitana had walked out with me and had apparently seen Alexia enter the showers earlier as well.

"That she is my captain now." I don't think I will ever forget her coldness.

"She is also your sister, Lena, she must be proud?"

If she is she has not shown it.

"She is my captain before she is my sister." My voice is monotone and I stare straight ahead of me. "Football always comes before family. It always has for Alexia."

Aitana shakes her head.

"It should not, it is not healthy."

I can't help but agree with the midfielder beside me.

~~~~~~

Dinner with Mami and Alba is nice, although I shouldn't have expected the topic of my oldest sister to be completely neglected the whole evening. Thankfully, she waits until we are all in the car driving home to bring it up.

"Your sister should have been there today, Elena." She makes eye contact with me through the rear view mirror and I look away.

"There are many things she should have done but didn't." I mumble quietly so Mami can't hear me, but Alba does and she looks back at me weirdly.

"Alexia said she was going to talk to you, she told us how proud she was and I said that you would want to hear her say it to you."

"She's... proud of me?" My voice is soft and I can see my mother's eyebrows furrow in the mirror.

"Of course she is, you are her baby sister and you have just joined her team. She was upset that you didn't tell her and I don't think she really understood why but, Lena, she was practically crying. She is a very proud big sister. I told her to come with us tonight and she seemed keen, said she would meet you in the changerooms and come out with you."

"Why does she tell you all this but when she talks to me she is so cold?" My voice is barely a whisper yet both Mami and Alba hear me loud and clear.

"She went to meet you in the dressing room, she was excited for you to meet Olga and Olga was excited as well. What did she say to you?" Mami frowns, her eyes flickering over to Alba who also had creases in her forehead.

I shrug.

"She asked me why I didn't tell her that I had joined, why she doesn't know anything about my life anymore. She said she was my captain, she should be part of my life. I think she meant my football life, not my actual one."

"What makes you say that?" Alba is the one who speaks because Mami looks devastated.

I look around dramatically. "If she wanted to be part of my actual life she would be here right now, no?"

Alba runs her hands over her face in frustration but I don't think she is frustrated at me. Just the situation. I think it has upset Alba more than anyone else and I feel guilty.

"Sorry." 

"No, hermanita, this is not your fault, I just don't understand what is going through Alexia's head."

"It's ok, Alba, Mami. I don't mind. Really, I don't."

Mami just shakes her head. She is not happy and she clearly does mind.

"No, you and your sister need to sort this out, pequena, I simply cannot stand it any more. You will be home for dinner this Thursday and you will talk about it."

"But I have train-" I am interrupted.

"No you do not, you are not playing with the B team at the moment, don't be ridiculous. You will be there and we will discuss it then. We also need to discuss what we are going to do about your school."

I groan, although the change in topic is appreciated.

"Mami! I don't want to have to go back to school because I'd rather do this." She sighs and I roll my eyes.

"La Masia has made an arrangement that will allow you to continue your classes there but your days will be rearranged. You will go to training with the first team until 2, then you will go over to La Masia and do your school classes with your peers there. They will get you a tutor to study with you in the evenings when training usually is to make up for the school you missed in the morning."

Unfortunately, Mami has always been adamant that we get a good education despite mine and Alexia's obsessions with football.

I was quick to get out of the car when we arrived home, having dropped Alba off at her apartment on the way back. I went up to my room quickly, changing into my pajamas and heading to bed quite quickly.

Mami called out to tell me that she was going to see Alexia before bed, so I sat on my phone for a while, the doors locked and my lights switched off.

But my phone was plugged in and my eyes were closed when a soft fist hit my door twice. Thinking it was just mami, I called for her to enter.

But when I registered that bleach blonde hair for the second time that day, all I felt was regret.

"I am tired, Alexia. Please, just let me sleep."

"Elena, please." I hadn't noticed the tears that dripped down her face, the slump in her usual perfect posture. Her voice cracked when she said my name. "I miss you."

"Alexia. It has been a long day, I am tired, I want to sleep. Please, Alexia. Let me sleep." I am acting immature but I am tired, and I don't want to have this conversation now.

She let out a soft exhale, stepping towards me and placing a kiss on the side of my head that is exposed to the air.

I try to ignore the warm shivers it sends down my spine, it has been so long since she did that; since she did something she used to do every night.

She walks slowly back to the door, stopping as she reaches it and resting her hand on the door handle.

"Mami says you don't think I am proud of you. It is not true. I am so proud of you and I love you, pequena. But I don't think you need me anymore, I think you're fine without me. I am sorry, Elena. I am sorry for not being there for you when I should have been, but I will take a step back. I am so proud of you."

She pushed down the door handle and was gone just as quickly as she came and I resisted the urge to call out and tell her she had got it all wrong. I want her to take a step forward, she has already taken a step back. She has already taken 50 steps back.

I need her. More than anything.

But I can't rely on her. I can not be weak in front of her.

I am a Putellas. I can not be weak.

She has to be right. I am fine without her.

~~~~~~

She is still home when I walk downstairs in the morning, her eyes puffy and hair a mess as she sits on the kitchen table with a coffee. My sigh alerts her to my presence but I turn my back on her as soon as I enter the kitchen.

"Elena, please." I don't know how I changed my sister from a leader to a beggar, but today is not the day to ask when that happened.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal silently and head straight back upstairs, locking my bedroom door and eating my breakfast before sitting down on the piano stall, my fingers immediately jumping onto the keys, improvising and experimenting with new notes, chords and rhythms.

I don't know what Mami said to Alexia when she visited last night, but to be quite honest I don't want to know. I just need to keep being ok without my older sister, no matter how much I miss her. She said I should be fine without her, so I will be.

For some reason, I neglect to consider the other words she said.

"I miss you."

"I am so proud of you."

"I love you."

I think I ignore those statements because I can't seem to grasp their validity. If she missed me, she would have seen me; she would have come to my games. If she was proud of me I would already know, she would have told me like Mami had, like Alba had. Like everyone else who is proud of me has.

If she loved me... If she loved me she would be my older sister again.

I miss her, I am proud of her and I love her. It is true and I have never once doubted those emotions.

But it feels like she is just saying what she wants me to hear. What Mami said that she should say to me. I don't think she actually means it.

How could someone who loves me tell me that I am weak?

How could someone who is proud of me tell me that she doesn't want me to achieve my dreams, that she never wants to share a shirt because I am haven't had to work for it?

I don't understand how it could be true, both things at the same time.

I curse at the tear that spills out of my eye, rubbing it away aggressively and shaking my head at myself. No. I can not be weak. Not today, not ever.

My sisters words from today, from yesterday, from three years ago spin in my mind and my fingers become more and more aggressive on the keys of my piano, my song increasing in intensity; reflecting my emotions in the only way I know how. The keys are my home, the notes are my head and the song is my heart. 

Though sometimes the song sounds broken, like right now when there is so much going on. So many chords, rhythms. Increasing speed, increasing volume. My fingers moving at a million miles an hour, barely hitting one key before moving to the next. 

There is so much going on that it is overwhelming, so much going on that it could just explode. Into a million pieces. So many pieces that it would be futile to even try and put them back together.

It does that sometimes, and I have to fall back down to the softness and calmness of the easy rhythms, easily sailing away from the broken song like it never even existed. 

But it always existed, and it's remains will always be there at the bottom of the sea, haunting me, threatening to re-emerge. 

I realise I have been grieving my sister like she has died. I grieve the death of our relationship and how it has changed so quickly and so aggressively. I miss her more than anything, but the thought of what it used to be is overwhelming, it fills me with dread, with complete sadness. 

Those notes that exploded so long ago, still lying dormant somewhere, never gone, never forgotten. There are so many of them, I just wish she would help me pick them up.

My song has already exploded, so I resort to playing soft chords, tears now spilling from my eyes in a continuous stream. There are too many to wipe away and I know that my eyes will be red and my cheeks puffy when I eventually do. I have lost my sister in a way that is almost impossible to comprehend.

Because Alexia isn't dead, and somehow that makes her distance so much harder to understand, so much more hurtful.

She isn't dead, she has just decided she does not want to be a part of my life any more.

The song comes to a conclusion, and my fingers rest on the keys, my eyes staring ahead at the empty stand in front of me, trying their very best to not slip upwards towards the picture that I know hangs directly above it.

The picture of me and my family the day I was born, held in Alexia's arms as Alba tried her best to share me, both of them sitting beside Mami in bed as Papi watched on with a proud smile.

I would go back to that day in an instant if I was given the opportunity.

~~~~~~

I don't go back downstairs until I hear the front door close and Alexia's car drive away. I give it a few minutes before I actually leave the safe haven that my bedroom has become, ignoring Mami's watchful eyes as I slump onto the sofa, using the remote to switch on the tv.

I only watch it for five minutes before my mother switches it off, standing by the door and looking directly at me.

"She is confused, Elena. She doesn't know why this has all happened but she is angry with herself for not being there for you more."

I roll my eyes. Of course she doesn't remember.

"Maybe she should use her brain. Maybe she should just think."

Mami shakes her head at me, it could be in frustration, maybe disappointment. I still do not look at her.

"Maybe you could just talk to her! She doesn't know how to love you when you won't let her. She wanted you to meet Olga yesterday, but you left. She wanted to speak to you last night or this morning but you ignored her."

"But Mami, it is not my fault! It should not be up to me to fix what she has broken."

"She is trying, Elena, and at the moment that is what matters. This just can not go on, you are in the same family, the same football team! Mapi spoke to me yesterday, you know. She was practically crying, Elena, it's effecting even her."

"I never should have opened my mouth to her. Now she has involved herself in something that is not her business." My voice is poisonous and my words aggressive. I know Mapi would be heartbroken if she could hear this, she always has tried so hard to do what is best. Especially when it was about me.

I love Mapi, I always have. She never thought I did because I never gravitated towards her at training when I was little, but that was just because I thought she was another sister - she was like Alexia, always around.

When I was 11, maybe, I didn't realise how upset she got about me 'not liking her', and I had made a joke about never hanging around with Mapi. It was when she left the room that Alexia pulled me to the side harshly.

"Even if you don't like her, Elena, you have to pretend! She is my best friend and she loves you so much."

I remember looking at her with my mouth agape - I love Mapi, I always did. I was confused, it was a meaningless joke - a version of a joke I made all the time to Alexia.

Alexia didn't need to tell me to go talk to her, but I didn't know what to say when I walked out the door and found her sitting down with her back to the wall, tears pouring down her face. I explained everything and she apologised for being dramatic.

Since then, we have gotten along well and I have tried to spend time with her when I can.

It has been harder in the last couple years when I have fallen out with Alexia. They are best friends, I don't want to get in the way of that.

Mami's anger brings me right back to reality.

"That is enough, Elena! Maria only wants to help, but she can't, nobody can do anything except you and Alexia."

I resist rolling my eyes, instead releasing a huff of air.

"I'll think about it." 

My arms are folded and I turn back towards the blank screen, ignoring the way Mami sighs and walks away. 

It is only when I hear her door close that I let my angry facade crumble, my body shaking as I resist the tears. 

I need to stop crying. 

Alexia thinks I am strong enough to do everything by myself.

I need to prove to her that I can. 

Maybe then she will tell me she is proud of me. 

~~~~~~

this is pretty much all the prewritten stuff i have, will write more soon once my exams are done

let me know if there's anything you want to see in the next parts

#woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #putellas reader #fcb femení #barca femeni

[bunny584]

JUJUTSU KAISEN'S ANATOMY

A/N: God I LOVE when you guys let me break the 4th wall. Most of you guys already know my specialty but in my junior years of residency I had to rotate on different services as part of training. Everyone loves a well rounded doctor. 

Anon, you’re insane for this ask. I could never write a full medical fan fic because it’s TOO close to home and I already spend 100 hours/week at the hospital I need to escape it somehow. 

Nevertheless, I’m SO happy to indulge you, baby. Let’s get into it. I’ll break this up into two parts. The Attendings, then The Residents. 

ATTENDINGS ON CALL

Dr. Satoru Gojo:

Specialty: TRAUMA SURGERY

Most people incorrectly assume trauma surgeons to be stern and intense. I would argue that they are the opposite. They are so deeply unserious. My co-residents and I legit played pranks on our attendings 24/7 during the rotation - right up this blue-eyed psychopath’s alley. When push comes to shove, they get the job fucking done. The most calm under pressure. A patient comes in coding and requires a thoracotomy and its your first one. You have less than 5 minutes to access the heart and massage — Satoru would stand behind you. Steadying your hand. 

“Good. More pressure on the incision. Spread the fascia. Good. Don’t puncture the lung, they need that right?” 

And the second you get to the heart he gives you a tiny nod of approval. Takes over at the head of the bed. You’re in for a LONG OR night with Dr. G, hope you had dinner.

Dr. Suguru Geto: 

Specialty: PLASTIC & RECONSTRUCTIVE SURGERY

Alright chat, hear me out. I know what you are about to say. I am biased because it’s my specialty and the boy is fucking pretty. But contrary to popular belief aesthetic surgery is 10% of our field. We do burn, hand, bony and soft tissue craniofacial (cleft lip, palate, etc), cancer reconstruction, trauma reconstruction, etc. Suguru is meticulous. He can sew up a severed 4 mm peripheral nerve with his eyes closed. He demands perfection in EVERY case. In the OR he watches your hands like a hawk. 

“Don’t skive the blade or the dermis will be uneven.” “Approximate, don’t strangulate.” “Cut that stitch out and do it perfectly the next time.” 

And when it’s good. I mean fucking flawless. He looks at you over his mask with those violet eyes. ONLY smiling with his eyes. 

“Good job. Make it perfect next time.” — This is the highest form of praise you will ever receive from a plastic surgeon. We are chronically unimpressed. Take it and RUN. 

Dr. Kento Nanami:

Specialty: TRANSPLANT SURGERY 

Phew this one is going to make me emotional. Nanami has a very special and private ceremony he does to honor those that have given life to others with their bodies. He sits on the top of a hill by the airport. For each plane that takes off, he names a donor patient, thanks them, and says his goodbye. Your first kidney transplant (personal experience) you cry like a little baby when they pink up and the patient starts making urine at the end of the case. 

Nanami tilts his head and chuckles. “Congratulations, doctor. You just made your patient urinate. How does it feel?” 

For a patient who has been on Hemodialysis for a decade. Chained to machines 3x/week. Can’t remember the last time they’ve independently gone to the bathroom? It feels fucking amazing. You’d cry too. 

Dr. Ryomen Sukuna

Specialty: ORTHOPEDIC SURGERY 

Who here is shocked? Raise your hand? Because I don’t know WHAT contract the orthopods have with the Gods but every single one of them is 6’5, works out 3 times/day and drinks muscle milk in between cases. The thing about Ryo is that he doesn’t give a single FUCK if the patient is 99 years old on blood thinners, 10L of O2 at home because of COPD — he WILL take them to the OR and he WILL smash that hip to smithereens because a hip replacement is a hip replacement okay?

I kid you not, my attending and I came into the OR to finish reconstruction on an ortho case. I’m 5’3, my attending is 5’0. The orthopods were 6’5 and 6’6 the patient table was basically touching the ceiling. When we scrubbed in they had the audacity to say:

“Can we lower the table to plastics height?”

RUDE. 

Dr. Shoko Ieiri 

Specialty: NEUROSURGERY

This one is obvious. Neurosurgeons are brilliant. Naturally some of the most gifted humans I have ever met. Special grade. And given the unfortunate outcomes a lot of their patients face, they all have a darkness about them. Both charming and intimidating. Twisted humor to cope with devastating loss after loss. I don’t have to explain much here. After a 15 hour Chordoma case, Shoko walks outside the HOSPITAL to smoke a CIGAR.

Literally everyone is like???? Aren’t you a literal doctor??? Our moody brunette just takes a long drag and says:

“Do me a favor. If I ever need a ventilator to breathe for more than 48 hours, pull the plug and smother me with a pillow.” 

(Shoko I’m here anytime if you want someone to smother—what?! Who?)

Dr. Utahime Iori

Specialty: ANESTHESIA 

The Gas Gang. EVERYONE loves the anesthesiologists. Fiercely intelligent. Insane handle on physiology. The sleeper pick. They are the smartest person in the room. Surgeons are just fancy plumbers. Anesthesiologists actually keep the patient alive. And the thing about our Gas Gods, is that they WILL take a coffee break, ok? All that standing for 10 hours shit is NOT for them. 

Part II: Meet your first year residency class. Grunts. Bottom of the surgical food chain. Hope they slept after med school graduation because the first shift lasts 36 hours. And you work every second night until you drop.

Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. And DON'T fuck with the pancreas (and for the love of GOD don't fuck the attendings)

#bunnyblabs #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk headcannons #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #ryomen sukuna #utahime iori #jjk sukuna #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #shoko ieri x reader #shoko x you #ryomen x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk nanami #gojo jjk #jjk satoru #jjk smut #geto smut #gojo smut #jjk fluff #nanami fluff

[gglitch1dd]

Hello hello again Glitch! How are you doing? I hope you're well :) Hope you're not getting annoyed with me flooding your notifs half the time lol

I've been thinking about something recently and that is "what if there were twins in the Midoriya Family"? What if Bakugou never got together with Y/N and Izuku was just the ONE for our girl Y/N from the start.. Would it be a possibility for them to conceive twins? Since they would considerably be younger when they first meet each other

AHHHH @genkioo You could never annoy me. I love seeing your comments and I'm glad you are asking!!

This is an interesting thing. Let me be frank, the reason I don't bring the girl, Inko Jr, into my Midoriya Family is exactly that reason. Reader is just not at the age to have more children and a reminder to those, her pregnancy with Koda was already high risk and Izuku never wants to see his wife like that again.

If anybody remembers, in the Contract, in chapter 2, when reader expresses the fact that she doesn't want to "waste her time" anymore. She spent around 5 (it could be 7, I don't remember) YEARS with Katsuki and she felt like it was all for naught. it was. Before she got with Izuku. It was implied that Izuku was reaching that big 30 mark before he met reader and he had been number 1 for 5 years. So Izuku and reader are both 28/29 when they get married. And since in my Husband!Izuku lore, its state that it takes them around 2 years before they fall pregnant with Toshinori. So Reader and Izuku are only 30 when they start having kids and are currently 46/47.

NOW. to answer your question, genkioo, THEY MOST DEFINITELY WOULD HAVE MORE KIDS!!!

Originally this was how the Midoriya family is supposed to be if Reader never dated Katsuki.

Izuku and Reader are the type to get married fast, like after a year of dating and they'd be engaged. (which isn't a bad thing when done right). So I thought they'd be around 24/25 because that aligns to the time Izuku becomes Number One.

So then they have 7 kids in my head. (chuckles in breeding kink)

Toshinori stays as the eldest, then it was actually supposed to be Inko Jr (who's a more rebellious one in the family and ends up being Kane's girlfriend considering she's only like max a year younger than Toshinori (Izuku and reader did not hesitate). Then there would be Asahi. Then there would be Hero and his twin. Technically Hero wasn't even supposed to be called Hero. He was supposed to be part of identical twins, Izumi and Itsuki. They're both Hero just separated into two bodies basically. Then there would be Shoyo and Koda.

THAT'S how it was supposed to be if Reader never fell in love with Katsuki.

Toshinori- 17

Inko Jr -16

Asahi- 14

Izumi and Itsuki - 11

Shoyo- 5

Koda- 3

(Notice the huge jump from the twins to Shoyo. Yah Reader was TIRED.) If you want me to I can...try write an alt universe with them. Won't be all that different, minus the extra boy and a girl.

-Glitch1d.

#dilf midoriya #dilf izuku midoriya #dilf izuku midoriya x reader #dilf izuku x reader #midoriya family shenanigan #midoriya family shenanigans

[laneywrld]

call out my name | Lewis Hamilton

request: heyy, can we get a story with call out my name by the weeknd as the base line of the story .

word count: 3.6k

warnings: none

When you first met Lewis, you had a feeling it'd end like this.

If you could go back and change that night, you would, with no hesitation. You missed the days when Lewis was a nonfactor in your life when you didn't know he existed.

You remember that night all too well. Miami was always alive when the Grand Prix came around, your friends, like the partygoers they were enjoyed taking the opportunity to take on the vibrant nightlife and enjoy the crowds the race brought in.

It was an annual tradition, you could say, to party like tomorrow didn't exist when the lights shut down and engines roared to life.

When you first moved to Miami, you hadn't understood the essence of the sport or the crowds it brought in, until you met an overly enthusiastic Daniel Ricciardo.

You had no clue who he was when he quite literally stumbled into your path; his boyish smile and golden retriever energy made it almost impossible to be mad at him as his drink soaked your dress.

"I'm so sorry!" He calls out, stumbling over himself.

"You're not from here?" You called out as you reached down to help him stand up straight. His thick accent was a dead giveaway.

"No, I'm Australian."

"Long way from home," you shouted over the music, dragging his frame into an open seat further away from the dance floor.

"I'm working." He slurs, smiling up at you.

"Mhmm, doesn't look like you're working," you trail off, "what's your name?"

"Danny. After work fun."

"Ahh," you hum, "okay, understandable. I'm going to get you some water, okay? Did you come here with friends?"

"No. Was actually planning on making some friends." He laughs, and it makes you chortle as well.

"Miami is not the place to make friends Danny." You informed. "Stay here, I'm going to grab that water."

You saunter away, keeping an eye on the lean man as you approach the bar. You order a water, paying for the overpriced bottle with your Apple wallet, and quickly return to the drunken man. You don't know why you helped him; it was just in your nature to assist anyone you could.

Danny smiles up at you with an appreciative smile as you uncap the bottle for him, "Can you hold it, or do I have to give it to you?" You inquire.

"Give it to me, please."

You both break out into childish snickers at his words. "Easy there, buddy," you warn, tilting his chin up and directing the bottle to his mouth.

You pull it away, tightening the cap and placing it in front of him on the table. You then slide into the booth beside, "I'd feel better with myself if I stay with you for a while, just to make sure you're okay."

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, "Yeah, I get it; I'm so shitfaced right now."

It is quiet between the two of you for a while, you constantly reaching over to make sure he's hydrated and him smiling at you all dopey-like.

"You from here?" He asks as he starts to regain his sober mind.

You shake your head, "No, just moved here though."

"You can be my Miami friend." Danny grins.

"I'll probably never see you again after tonight, Mr Australia." You joke, nudging his shoulder with your own.

"I come here every year around this time." He announces. "Work."

"Work," you nod. "Right."

"Yes or no?" He prods.

"Have to see if you can hang; it doesn’t look like you can." You joke.

He scoffs, leaning away and eyeing you. "Please, I am a good time, the best time."

"Sir, I've just met you, and I'm taking care of your drunk ass." You cackle.

"How about this, stick with me for the rest of the night, and if we have a blast, every time I'm in Miami, you ride with me."

"You're going to get white girl wasted every time?" You inquire with a raised brow, and he laughs hard.

"Probably."

It was safe to say that Daniel was a blast. Even if he did party like a fratboy, you enjoyed his company. He gave you the energy of a teenage coming-of-age movie, doing whatever and saying whatever with his friends. It was a connection you hadn't experienced before.

And you enjoyed it, you liked spending time with your Australian friend. Which is how you ended up meeting Sir Lewis Hamilton six years later.

Lewis didn't know why he allowed his enthusiastic coworker to convince him to spend a night in Miami with him. The only solace he found in the situation was knowing that he wasn't the only driver there. Everyone was there, in a section booked by no one other than Daniel Ric himself.

It was nice for sure, and Lewis was curious as to how Daniel, of all people, knew so much about the lively city of Miami and their restless nightlife.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Lewis, just felt out of place a little bit, without his usual crew.

"Hey Guys, I'll be back in a second, I'm going to grab my friend."

Lewis rolls his eyes taking another sip from his glass.

He doesn't know who he was expecting, a Ken doll, a high-energy frat boy like Daniel, or even a valley girl with a high-pitched voice. This was Miami, so logically his smartest anticipation would be a surgery-riddled Kim Kardashian lookalike. But not you, Lewis would never expected you to enter the section, arm wrapped around Daniel's waist as you cackle at whatever nonsense leaves his mouth.

He is instantly intrigued, his phone being powered off and stuffed into his hoodie pocket.

You were beautiful with your rich complexion and beaming grin as he walked you down the line introducing you one by one.

His eyes never leave you as he watches you interact with everyone. You cloud his vision as you get closer. His eyes trace your hair and flow down to your brows and your alluring eyes. His view travels down your nose and lingers on your spread lips. And he physically lets out a sigh as he traces over your body.

You would drive him mad. He knows it.

-

As you take the time to introduce yourself to Danny's coworkers, you aren't surprised to see, well, to make it short, people who are not of your crowd.

But to your surprise, they're all friendly and welcoming. You're not surprised to see that you have met some of them before on your trips with Daniel or when you fly out to see him.

When you reach the end of the line you see him and your confidence falters as your eyes meet his. You should've known by the way his eyes were drinking you in that he'd be a problem.

With conviction, you approach him, bearing a sly smirk on your face.

"I'm y/n." You declared, and Lewis returned the same decency.

"I'm Lewis."

Your hands meet in the middle and he has a soft grip on you, refusing to let go.

"What's a girl like you doing with Daniel."

"He's my friend." You reply.

"Just a friend?"

"Just a friend." You confirm, and the way he looked at you through his fluffy lashes was evidence enough of what was to come between the two of you.

-

Lewis wasn't all that the media portrayed him to be. He wasn't overly confident or carefree. He actually worried a lot and was stressed a lot.

You knew that he felt like he had something to prove. You met him at his peak, and even now, when he feels like he's at the worst in his career, you're still here.

"So you're going to leave?" You hum, rubbing your fingers through his parts.

"Do you think I should?"

He looks so stressed out that is it has your heart is aching for him.

He's slumped like a kid in your lap with his face set in a frown. "I think that if you're unhappy and there are ways that you feel can change that, that you should look for something new, yes."

"Did you mean what you said last time?"

You think back to the last time you were in his presence, how he had gotten drunk for the first time in years. You wince internally as you recall how you had to nurse him back to health that night, how he cried like a baby when he mentioned how alone he felt at Mercedes. Lewis Hamilton wasn't used to being an afterthought.

"Yes, I don't think they appreciate you, Lewis. I don't think they are valuing your feedback or honoring your talent. I think they are making you miserable." You confess. "There are so many other teams that would love to have you, who would fight for you to reclaim your eighth. I don't think you should keep going through this with that team. Look at how they have you."

"Is your favorite team still Ferrari?" He opens his eyes and stares up at you.

"Duh,"

When you first met Daniel, you had only heard of the sport, but as time went on, he fully immersed you into the world of Formula One. You quickly took a liking to the red team and its intricate history in the sport. When you met Lewis in 2018, he was shocked that you knew so much about them (and barely anything about him).

"Don't tell me you're considering Ferrari, Sir Hamilton." You grin and he only smirks up at you.

"We'll see."

-

After the eventful first night you had spent with Lewis nearly six years ago, Miami has become a frequent destination of his. And New York of yours. The two of you guys had a chemistry unlike any other, every night filled with breathless pants and chants of each other's names. It was electric and erotic all at the same time.

You were fully aware that you and Lewis weren't necessarily together.

You were fun for him and him for you.

It was a mutual agreement, a bond strictly built from the amazing sex that the two of you had together.

You were aware that when the time came for Lewis to settle down and spend the rest of his life together it probably wouldn't be with you. You had believed you'd come to terms with the fact. But the idea of you two being together in the future still lingered in the back of your mind.

But as you scroll through Twitter, images and small clips of Lewis walking hand in hand with a Brazilian model have your heart tightening.

It wasn't like Lewis hadn't given you that false hope of a relationship, because you'd like to think that all of those little small things were him giving in. Surrendering that stupid ideology of his that made him believe he was a permanent bachelor.

You'd been by his side and in his bed over and over again for the last six years. And you’d be doing the same again tonight.

You almost feel grimy, sitting and waiting for him in his hotel room as he takes another woman out on a date, but a part of you knows that you’d accept anything from Lewis. You had standards and you had morals, but for a man like him, you always seem to throw them all out of the window.

Your phone vibrates and pings as your social media erupts in a frenzy.

That was another thing that had your mind in shambles right now.

How open he was when it came to you.

How quick he was to show you to the public, none of his other flings had gotten that opportunity, well until whoever this chick was.

Before you, Lewis hadn't introduced his "fun times" to his friends or even bothered to take any of them to the track.

That was something reserved only for you, though, you feel sort of naive, watching the tan and leggy woman prance around hand in hand with Lewis as he leaves the paddock.

You feel like you're stuck at the crossroads as you wait for Lewis to return.

He'd flown you out here partly because he claimed he missed you so much and the other half because of how much of a hard time you'd been having with your life in general.

Lewis was also a sort of saving grace for you, when you were with him, none of your other problems mattered. So you were quick to accept his invitation.

You'd never have accepted if you knew that he'd be playing a cruel game with you like this.

When the door creaks open and he emerges with a happy grin on his face, and bags filled to the brim with what you know are gifts for you, you can only grimace. Your attempt at a smile seems good enough for him as he approaches you and places a sudden kiss on your head.

"Hey love," He smiles, "I've got some gifts for you, yeah, knew you'd need a pick me up."

And you can't help to wonder if you'd needed the pick me up from his actions or what had transpired within this last week which was the sole purpose of you going to see him.

"I'm going to wash up, really fast, yeah? And then it'll be me and you tonight."

You say nothing as he places the bags at your feet and rushes into the bathroom.

You don't move, but you allow your eyes to skim through the bags and sigh as you see just how much he spent on you.

You had gone and done it.

Gone and made some glorified elaborate fairytale out of a man, who'd only treasured your body and in return showered you with gifts.

You laugh at yourself as your hand comes up to palm at your forehead.

You were his goddamn sugar baby, not the kind of woman he'd settle down with.

You feel even more stupid at the realization, that all of the nights you'd lay with him and console him after giving him your body were not as you had made them out to be.

It wasn't romantic, it was transactional. Those nights where you offered Lewis emotional solace always came with a hefty reward the next morning.

And now, you feel tainted, knowing that all it took was a simple call of your name for you to come flying to him and land in his bed, wrapped around his body.

You found Lewis in his prime and stuck by his side through his decline. You comforted him throughout his entire descent down the totem pole. Helped him out of that broken place, and gave him reassurance and something to look forward to.

You treasured this man.

Put him on top, time and time again, when he would leave you feeling used after your time together. And if it was up to you, you'd probably continue this cycle. Giving him your all and getting nothing in return.

You really wanted him, you wanted him to want you, which is why you were fine with keeping his bed warm, at least he wanted you in some kind of way, craved you even if it wasn't the way you wished to be desired.

When he emerges from the steamy bathroom, body clad only in a pair of briefs and his body soft and glowing, you swallow back all of your thoughts allowing yourself to take him in.

He nestles beside you on the bed, taking one of your hands in his, "everything okay?"

You can only push out a meek "yeah."

And the night goes on as planned.

The dim light of dusk spills through the blinds of the grand hotel room, casting long shadows that dance across the walls. You sit against the headboard, The melancholic melody of the empty night mirrors the turmoil in your heart.

Six years ago, you met Lewis at a nightclub, your paths crossing in a haze of neon lights and pulsing music. He was charming and mysterious, with eyes that held secrets and a smile that promised adventure. Your connection was instantaneous, a spark that quickly grew into an all-consuming flame. You spent endless nights talking, laughing, and dreaming about a future together. Well at least on your end.

But as the years passed, you began to notice the cracks in your seemingly perfect world. Lewis' past as a bachelor was a shadow that loomed over your situationship, a constant reminder of the freeness he carried within him. He would disappear for days on end with no communication, leaving you in a state of anxious uncertainty, your mind racing with thoughts of where he might be and who he might be with. Yet, you had no right to concern yourself with these sorts of things.

As you lay in bed, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you, you find the courage to ask, "Lewis, do you love me?" His silence is deafening, and the look in his eyes speaks of a love that is nonexistent, a love that is more of a need for you than a want.

"I care about you," he finally whispers, his voice tinged with regret. "But my heart belongs to someone else. I’m sorry."

Your world shatters at that moment, the pieces of your heart shattering like broken glass. You know you have to let him go, to find a way to heal from the pain of a love that was never truly yours.

You realize that you have been holding on to a love that was destined to fade, a love that has left you feeling empty and lost.

You deserve a love that is real and true.

He’s like medicine, he makes you feel good and at the same time, he’s like poison, running through your system and finding a new part of you to sicken. Lewis is a walking contradiction, you don’t know if he’s helping you or hurting you, if he loves you, or if he hates you. Surely, he hates you, why else would he be okay with making you feel like this?

And as the city lights flicker on, you vow to never lose yourself again.

You shouldn't ask, because you know you can't bear the weight of his answer but you do.

"The woman from earlier?"

He sighs, his response weak, "Yes."

"So no more us? Right?"

"I think this is the last time." He admits and you swallow back your tears.

"Okay."

"I still want to be your friend."

"We were never friends Lewis, and we're not going to be friends after this."

Lewis swallows, sitting up to catch your gaze through the darkness.

For years, you and Lewis had maintained a delicate balance, a friends-with-benefits arrangement that allowed you both to keep things uncomplicated. You cherished the intimacy, the shared moments of laughter, the comfort of his presence. But deep down, you always knew that this arrangement had an expiration date, an inevitable end that you tried not to think about.

And now, that end has arrived. Lewis has fallen in love with someone else. You can only turn away from him.

You stand up, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. You begin to gather your clothes, each movement mechanical, your mind numb with the reality of it all. You glance around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings that now feel foreign and distant.

As you pull on your jacket, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are filled with unshed tears, your expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. You know that this is the moment you have to let go, to walk away from a love that was never truly yours.

You think it's kind of ironic.

How you'd been there for Lewis, and when you needed him most, he's leaving you behind.

"Do you love me?" Lewis' voice echoes from his place on the bed.

"No." You lie. "It was fun, was fun being a pit stop for you." You chuckle.

"It wasn't like that-"

"No, it's fine, we weren't anything, you fucked me and brought me gifts in return, I ate that up, that's all. I knew I was only here until you made up your mind, I'm happy you did."

You had a tendency to become a bitch when you were hurt and you knew that your words were low blows, but your pride was too hard for you to allow Lewis to see himself affect you in real time.

In reality, you'd hoped that if the unfortunate and impending doom would occur, that Lewis would have the decency to allow you to fall out of love with him first.

Then it wouldn't hurt.

You knew what the arrangement was, you knew that you and Lewis were technically nothing and you always thought that when the day came for him to finally leave you, you'd be fine. You'd feel nothing. But you do.

It feels like when that one character who doesn't care about dying has a sudden brush with death, how almost dying rids you of every sane thought you have, a person who fears nothing all of a sudden fears death, fears everything.

You always thought you'd feel nothing, but losing, could you even say losing Lewis? 

Being left by Lewis feels terrible, being left by him feels scary, like everything you knew before was not as it seems. 

You always thought you'd feel nothing, but you feel everything you thought you never would.

And in the end, you still wanted him to stay. You wanted him to choose you. Even if he didn't want you.

here you go babes @greedyjudge2 !! I'm sorry it took so long <3

part two in the future fs.

#lewis hamilton #black reader #lewis hamilton imagine #formula 1 #black reader friendly #lewis hamilton x black reader #f1 #poc reader #sir lewis hamilton #laneywrld #angst as always

[jordyn14]

Request: Teenage Girl Dad Joe

him meeting his daughter's first boyfriend, who also plays football in high school as a quarterback

You’ll always be my little girl | Joe Burrow

Pairing: Joe burrow x fem first person reader

Words: 3632

Notes: this one was so fun to write, thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Taglist: @wickedfun9

Today was the day Joe met his daughter’s boyfriend for the very first time since he was taking her out on a date, and to say that nerves were high from every side was an understatement. From the very start of finding out that I was having a girl, Joe always preached about how he always wanted to be a girl dad, but wasn’t ready. The part he wasn’t ready for was the fact that one day, his precious little girl would turn into a teenager who was going to be interested in boys, and he didn’t like that one bit.

Joe thought he had so much time and that he would be prepared for when the day finally came, but it’s very evident that even now, he is very ill prepared for this. Part of me felt bad though. I mean he couldn’t help it. His daughter is going to be going on a date for the very first time and there’s nothing he can do. She’s hung out with the boy numerous times after school and did typical things people do together when they have a crush on each other, but nothing major like this. What he can’t stand is the fact that he can’t go to make sure she’s safe and he obviously can’t stop them from going, though he begged me to lie about having plans that we forgot about.

“Mom, can you please make dad behave? What if he intimidates Brady so much that he decides he doesn’t want to be my boyfriend anymore?” Ryan asked me as she looked through her closet, deciding on what to wear. Ryan wasn’t nervous about their first real date since they’ve been friends since they were in middle school. She wasn’t nervous for riding in Brady’s car for the first time and she wasn’t nervous that it wouldn’t be a good first date. She was nervous that her dad, who she loves so extremely much, would ruin the whole thing and drive the boy that she has had the biggest crush on for years away.

I sat on her bed and swung my legs back and forth, smiling at all of the pictures of friends and family she has in her room. My favorite picture was the one we took together at Ohio State when Ryan was born. Yes, Ohio State. When Joe and I met in High school, we had the perfect little relationship built around trust and loyalty. Then one day, we got pregnant. Being pregnant at 19 was terrifying, but it was the most incredible thing to ever happen to the both of us. Though we were terrified of being parents, we accepted it and when she was born, we were on top of the world.

“Your dad won’t scare him away, I promise. He’s happy for you.” I said in more of a question tone. I knew Joe was happy for his daughter. He was happy that she was going on her first ever date at the age of 16 and had her first real boyfriend, but it still made him nervous. “See? You say that like he’s not happy. What if he ruins this, mom?” She asked me and hung her shoulder low, a defeated look on her face. I tilted my head and then patted on the bed next to me, wanting her to come over and sit by me. With a sigh, Ryan walked over to me and plopped herself down on the bed next to me.

I wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into me and rested her head on my shoulder. “Your dad is just nervous, and that’s understandable, right? Not only is he meeting your boyfriend who is about to take his daughter away from him for a few hours, but you have to remember that we got pregnant at 19 and you’re only 3 years younger.” I said. Ryan looked up at me with a shocked expression on her face and shook her head. “Ew, mom. I’ve told you a million times that I’m waiting for marriage, I would never. Does he not trust me?” She asked me.

I laughed a little bit at her quick response to tell me she was once again waiting till marriage. “It’s not you that he doesn’t trust sweetheart, It’s Brady. But once he see’s that he’s harmless and a sweet boy, he’ll love him just as much as I do.” I said. The only reason I’ve met Brady before is because I go to all of the Friday night games with Ryan so she can see Brady play football since she doesn’t have her drivers license yet. Joe hasn’t met him because if he’s not at home, he’s at practice or games being the starting quarterback for the Bengals at 35 years old. Even though we’ve talked a lot about retirement, he thinks he still has a few more years left. It works for me though since I absolutely love watching him.

“Can you go talk to him and try to get him to be as nice as possible? Maybe tell him that we can all watch SpongeBob when I get home from the movies?” She asked me. I rubbed her arm and with a little smile, nodded my head and got up off of the bed. “I’ll try my best. But really sweetheart, try not to worry. It’ll be fine.” I said and left her to get changed into her little dress that she picked out a few months ago for when Brady finally built up the courage to ask her out.

Brady and Ryan have Been friends since middle school and despite them obviously having feelings for each other, never admitted those feelings. Throughout their freshman and sophomore year they always hung out and I always drove her to his house, but they were just friends. But, a few weeks ago, Brady finally admitted that he’s had feelings for her for a long time, and the rest is pretty much history.

I headed out of the room and then down the stairs. As I turned to walk down the stairs, I saw Joe sitting on the couch, hunched forwards. Both of his fists were clenched and so was his jaw, and his expression was tense and serious. As soon as he heard me walking down the stairs, he turned his head to the right to look at me and when we made eye contact, he just sighed and shook his head. “Oh Joey. This is a good thing. You knew this day would come.” I said.

As I walked around to the front of the couch, I tried to study Joe’s expression and read him, but he looked so standoffish. There was absolutely no way he could greet Brady looking like that. When I sat down next to him and crossed my legs, Joe placed one hand on my thigh and gave it a small, unsure squeeze, but never looked over at me. I then put my arm around him and rubbed his back a little bit. “I know. It’s just hard, that’s all.” Joe said. Frowning a little bit, I nodded and kissed the back of his neck. “I know it is. It’s hard to see her getting older, but it’s so rewarding.” I said, continuing to rub his back. “That’s not why this is hard for me.” Joe said.

“Talk to me about it then,” I said and patted his thigh with my other hand, “because your daughter is up there freaking out because she thinks you’re going to scare Brady away.” I said with a small laugh. Joe let out a sigh and leaned back against the couch, so I repositioned myself so I was facing him and I tucked my legs under me. “I know I’ve never met him before, but boys these days are stupid and disrespectful. I don’t want her to go through that, ever.” He said. I frowned a little bit but tried to still be cheery. “Brady is a respectful young man, Joe. Once you meet him you’ll see.” I said, trying to redirect him slightly.

I get why he’s unsure about this. The most important person in his life is going to be going out with a boy he’s never really met before and he’s nervous. “I was a teenage boy once too. I know how they think. And a lot of us are dicks,” Joe said and looked over at me this time, “boys want to know what’s under a girls clothes. I don’t want anyone thinking that way about my daughter.” I sighed a little bit and tried my best to assure him that Brady was a good boy and that they’be been friends forever, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m not a guy. I don’t know what they think about girls or what they want to do to girls.

The only thing that I could say to possibly make him feel better was, “do you know all of those ufc moves you taught ryan? Our daughter is going to be perfectly fine.” I said. “I’m serious about this.” He said with a small glare, thinking I was trying to be funny. “You think I’m joking but I’m not, she can be scary and mean when she want’s to.” I said. Joe chuckled a little bit, thinking to all the times they’ve practiced ufc moves on each other. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, Ryan can defend herself. “Plus She’s been raised around nfl players her whole life, she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.” I said.

Joe leaned forwards and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer to him. I let out a little laugh as he practically placed me on his lap. “I know, I know. But I swear, if he even tries anything, I’m going to fuck him up.” He said. I smiled up at him before leaning forwards and placing a kiss on those pink lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything different. But since he hasn’t done anything wrong, please try to be civil.” I said. “I will be.” He said.

With a little smile, Joe leaned forwards and started to kiss my neck. I let out a small sigh, but just as he started to kiss me, I heard footsteps on the stairs. “Really? Get a room, please.” Ryan said with a small laugh. I turned around to look at her and saw the most disgusted face in the entire world. With a laugh, I scooted off of Joe’s lap and onto the couch next to him before I stood up. Joe followed after me and looked at his daughter in her dress.

“You’ll be doing that with Brady soon enough, don’t worry.” I joked with her. Brady just looked even more disgusted since her father was right next to me to hear that. I turned to look at Joe as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are really not helping.” Joe said through squinted eyes.

As if on queue, I heard Brady pull into the driveway and excitedly looked over to Ryan who looked at me and then Joe, giving me a worried look. Before I walked to the door, I mouthed to her, ‘don’t worry, I talked to him,’ and then excitedly walked to the door. To be honest I was ready for Ryan to go on her first ever date and for Joe to meet her first ever boyfriend. I knew this time would come one day and now that it’s here, it’s exciting. I feel like I was just a 16 year old girl going on a date with Joe for the very first time. Granted, I hope Ryan doesn’t get pregnant in college, even though getting pregnant was the best thing to ever happen to me since it gave me Ryan.

As I walked to the door with Joe and Ryan following after me, I heard a knock on the door, so I opened it up and was met by Brady’s huge smile. “Hello Brady, it’s so good to see you again. How are you?” I asked him and let him come inside. “I’m doing really good Mrs. burrow, especially since I get to take Ryan on a date.” Brady said and looked over at Ryan. Immediately, I could see him start to blush as he looked at her.

I couldn’t help but think about Joe and how he couldn’t stop blushing on our first date. He even blushes now every time he looks at me. “Oh wow, you can call me by my first name, Mrs. burrow makes me feel old. It reminds me of my mother in law.” I joked with him, getting a laugh out of him as well. I could tell he was nervous, but he was doing surprisingly well given the fact that he was meeting Joe for the first time.

As soon as Brady stepped inside, I shut the door since I didn’t know how long it would take and watched as Brady took a few steps towards Joe. “It’s great to meet you, Mr. Burrow. Ryan talks about you a lot in school.” He said and shook Joe’s hand that was extended out towards Brady. I looked over at Ryan during their first encounter and gave her a little shrug and she just gave me half a smile. At least it was going good so far. “I hope all good things,” Joe chuckled, “It’s good to finally meet you.” Joe said.

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding in and smiled at the both of them. Then, out of nowhere, Joe said, “can I speak to you privately? It won’t take more than a few minutes.” My eyes shot up at Joe and then Ryan who looked terrified of what her dad was going to say to Brady. Was he going to threaten Brady? Or try and scare him away? Oh shit. I could’ve sworn this thing was going to go good and he was going to behave himself. If he takes Brady in there and gives him the talk about ‘if you hurt my daughter I will fuck you up,’ like he said he was going to do a million times, I am going to kill him.

Brady looked to Ryan quickly and then back to Joe with a hesitant nod before Joe signaled to the living room. “Can you both wait in the kitchen?” Joe asked me. Brady walked past him and to the living room and Ryan slapped her forehead and walked to the kitchen. I walked over to Joe before following Ryan and glared up at him. “I swear, if you scare that boy away, I will kill you.” I whispered to him. “I’m not going to scare him away. I want to get to know him a little and try to get him to be less scared of me. He might’ve put on a brave face, but he was shitting bricks, believe me.” Joe said before turning around and walking to the living room where Brady already was.

Taking a deep breath, I composed myself a little and then went into the kitchen where Ryan was. “What’s going on?” She asked me nervously. I put my hands up a little bit to calm her down and then leaned on the counter opposite of her. “He’s trying to get to know him so he isn’t so nervous around him.” I said. Ryan raised an eyebrow up at me and her mouth hung open. “What? Get to know him? I thought he’d be all uptight and shit.” She said. “Right? I guess we both don’t know him.” I laughed. I could see the worry and tension leave Ryan’s face as she started to calm down and let herself take a breather. And here we thought Joe was about to ruin everything.

“So, do you think he likes Brady?” She asked me with a slightly weary smile on her face, not knowing whether or not her dad likes the boy she is about to go on a date with. “Yes and no. I think he knows that Brady is a nice boy, but no because he’s taking you on a date. No matter how old you get, your dad’s always going to worry about you.” I said, giving her a small smile. She sighed while nodding and then walked over to me and stood next to me. Once next to me, she leaned on the counter like me and then rested her head on my shoulder. “I know. I’m glad I got good parents.” She said and looked up at me. I stuck out my bottom lip while looking down at her and wrapped my arm around her. “You’re not too bad yourself, kid.” I joked with her.

After about 5 minutes, I could hear Brady and Joe walking towards the kitchen before Joe peaked his head in and said, “we’re all done. You ready to go?” Joe asked Ryan. Ryan excitedly looked up at me and then to Joe. I watched as Ryan nodded quickly and then headed towards Joe who turned around and walked back towards the door as we followed him. “Thank you so much again, Mr. Burrow, I’m really looking forward to Sunday, sir.” Brady said while looking up at Joe, then to Ryan. I couldn’t help but smile at the way Brady’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red while looking at our daughter. It reminded me so much of Joe and how his cheeks and ears always flush red when he see’s me.

“Please, call me Joe. Why don’t you go wait in the car for a second while I talk to my daughter.” Joe said with a smile. Brady reached out his hand to shake Joe’s hand, so Joe reached forward and grabbed ahold of his hand, giving him a firm handshake. “Alright, Joe. She’s in very good hands, and we’ll be back before her curfew.” Brady said. I raised my eyebrows slightly at how professional Brady was being right now and then looked over to Ryan who also looked kind of shocked. I could tell she was extremely relieved by this whole thing. “That’s what I like to hear,” Joe chuckled slightly, “it was really nice to meet you, Brady.” Joe added in. “You too Mr. burrow-I mean Joe.” Brady said with a smile and then turned around and left.

I stood off to the side with my hands on my hips and smiled up at Joe as he turned to face Ryan. “Dad…you are amazing. Thank you so much.” Ryan said and walked towards her dad. Joe started to laugh when Ryan wrapped her arms tightly around Joe and buried her head in Joes chest. Joe wrapped his arms around Ryan and then glanced over at me. I gave him a small smile and nodded, happy with how this turned out. “Of course, Ryan. Just know that no matter what, I’m always here for you, and I love you,” Joe said and put both of his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could look into her eyes, “you’ll always be my little girl no matter how old you are, you know that, right?” Joe said. “I know, dad, and I love you too, no matter how old you are.” Ryan laughed at the last part and stood on her tippy toes. Just like always, Joe leaned down so Ryan could place a kiss on his cheek, and then she excitedly jumped backwards. “Wish me luck!” She giggled and started running out of the door.

Joe and I came together by the front door where we watched Ryan run to Brady’s car. Brady was leaning on his car and when he saw Ryan, he walked to the passenger side door and opened it up for her. Joe wrapped his arm around me, so I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder. “What’s Sunday by the way?” I asked. “I invited him to the game so he could be up in the suite with you and Ryan and meet my parents. I figured it was a chance for them to hang out some more.” Joe said while smiling down at me. “You honestly handled this much better than I thought you would.” I smiled up at him and kissed his shoulder. All along I thought this would be some dumpster fire and he would embarrass Ryan. I guess I should’ve given him more credit.

“Yeah, well they remind me of us when we first started going out. Everyone deserves a first love and I’m glad that Brady’s the one she chose. He’s a good kid.” Joe said. “They remind you of us? Well let’s just hope history doesn’t repeat himself and we become grandparents in a few years.” I joked with him. Joe immediately pushed me to the side slightly and sealed his eyes shut, punching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t even fucking say that, what the hell?” Joe said and then looked down at me. I laughed and then pushed him right back. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” I giggled and got into a fighting position, making Joe laugh. “Get over here.” Joe said and grabbed my hand, pulling me to him. Once I got to him, he moved me in front of him and wrapped his arms around my neck. Reaching up, I rested both of my hands on his arms and watched as Brady and Ryan drove off. “There she goes.” Joe said with a sigh. “She’ll be back.” I said and kissed his arm.

#joe burrow #joeburrow #cincinnati bengals #nfl #joe burrow bengals #joe shiesty #joey b #bengals #joey burrow #joe burr #joe x reader #joe #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #nfl imagine #imagine #nfl fan fiction

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (The Untamed) 1/?

I let the crowd pick which two blacklisted shows I would watch from my Petty List, so I flew through the first one knowing I had this 50-episode beast waiting for me. People have warned me that the first two episodes wouldn't make sense, there are a ton of characters to keep track of, I need to watch it at normal speed, and I need to keep the sound on. Therefore, I was already mad before I hit play, yet somehow I started the first episode, blacked out, and emerged five episodes later.

Which means I like it so far, and here's some quick reasons why:

Before I start, these two better be an item because they are my favorite BTS song aka "🔥" and since I haven't seen them in the present yet, I'm fearing something happened to them in that great battle in the past, and if so, I'M GOING TO BE BE LIVID! I've had them for three whole minutes, and they are everything to me, so I feel this story is going to fuck me over.

Everyone is chasing after this golden black snitch, yet nobody is catching it, so although there is a lot of death happening, I'm laughing.

If you squint, My Stand-In and The Untamed are the same. Boys who fell off a cliff come back in another body only to live the same life with the same people and make the same bad decisions. Cool cool cool.

This current lecturer is stating nobody could find the body but he fell into fire/lava, so what body were they thinking they would find?! Also, don't think I didn't catch homeboy getting in trouble in the past for asking in class what happens when a spirit demands revenge and the instructor got upset because look where we are now! Possession of a body for the sake of revenge. Should've entertained the question, professor, because sixteen years later, it will come back to haunt you, literally.

And homeboy applied his own theory of making the possessed bodies work for him to fight the other body. He is a smart cookie, and that's why the original Moo Moo person gave his body up to him.

@dribs-and-drabbles, if this is why you told me I needed the sound on, I'm confident I'm not going to remember this melody. And how is he playing a leaf right now?

I can't take this seriously. This feels like an 80s music video, and he is about to hit me with the hottest synthesizer intro.

And the sword has the golden black snitch in it. *Pikachu face*

I can't play an instrument but for a DIY flute made out of bamboo on the spot, I thought his playing was excellent. For people being saved from being squashed, they are some haters, and I would have stopped playing just so they could suffer.

I picked up that sister is dead in the future, but her kid is a brat, and I would've been mean to him too.

And did the brother really kill him in that battle on the hill because when the entire crowd was like "you killed him, right?", he was looking like . . .

So this is the brat's daddy? It would make sense that a man who shut down an entire hotel for his party would have a son who sets 400 traps so nobody else can catch anything. The privilege is genetic.

I like him AND I respect him. He has priorities and they are to drink and party because even when he came back in that other body, he snatched the liquor. As the opening showed, he's here for a good time, not a long time.

I don't like Fuddy Duddy. He can remember 3,500 rules (this place is where fun goes to die), but couldn't remember to tell my party bro that his sister and brother were inside? Everybody just left homeboy without a note saying where they are, and Fuddy Duddy had the information, yet was too busy lecturing about rules. AND committed the ultimate party foul and wasted the liquor. Make that the 3,501th rule! He's lucky he can lay the synthesizer so well.

This is where the big battle is/was (Nightvale, Nightshade, NightWhatever), and I hope this man died in it because he is doing TOO MUCH! "I don't fear death; I fear boredom" YOU'RE boring! Shut up and go collect the pieces of that dumb rock, Thanos Jr., so we can get this battle going.

HE BROUGHT A BIRD INTO CLASS! This is the everyday American high school class.

Why is everyone in the Fire Nation so pissed? Is it because it's hot there? All of y'all are doing too much except for that sister and her brother. I know that brother was the zombie guy from the statue fight, so that means the main homeboy was talking to Fire Nation sister at the graves. That was her family's grave, and she must be a good person, who is probably dead now too.

So they can all play magical instruments? They're like Josie and the Pussycats, playing gigs between fighting crime.

The brat's dad is gold, the Cloud Recesses (what is this name about because they should be a lot more fun with a name like that?) are white and blue, and the Fire Nation is red, so it's odd that homeboy had the dark blue robes with red underneath before coming to school, and keeps getting really friendly with the fire people. Plus the cloud people's power is blue, but his comes out in bursts of red. Is his daddy really Fire Nation? Get Maury on the line.

So his bird buddy gave him porn, which he gave to Fuddy Duddy, who then ripped it up. No wonder why he is so good at school and remembers 3,500 rules. Got nothing but time on his hands since he isn't using his hands doing anything else by being so repressed.

Fuddy Duddy just said he doesn't touch people, yet in the very beginning he snatched homeboy's hand without hesitation, so he wouldn't fall to his death. Then, he snatched that premium liquor for him. I see you and your heart on your sleeve, my man! Just like this water demon, the feelings are sneaking up on you and snatching you up!

Should've bought her the comb, bro, because she's going to be dead after that big battle since she was sent to snoop for the Fire Nation. Even though she is trying to help her brother, I feel this will be y'alls Romeo and Juliet moment.

So the brother was always going to come back from the dead since he already was cursed(?), and my homeboy is once again proving to be a friend to all. I like you, and I will learn your name, hopefully by episode 28.

Only three marks healed in the present, so whoever is the last mark has to be one of these hoochies, and the more backstory I get, the more I think it's going to hurt when I find out who the last mark is.

Half these people have already died leading up to that big battle and the other half will die as homeboy sets out on his Kill Bill journey, so like . . .

"You and I have unfinished business"

*slams on the 'next' button*

#pride petty watch #the untamed #that was a quick five episodes #I'm not confused #but I am making my Velma from Scooby Doo face a lot #jinkies #I'm not getting attached to any of these people #because they are either already dead or going to die #but I want the first born son of the cloud people and the illegitimate son of the other folks to have a long life together #AND I KNOW THIS PLOT WILL SCREW ME OVER! #I don't like Fuddy Duddy so far #He is Killjoy and a Vibe Killer #But I think homeboy is the best #so I should probably learn his name

[honeytama]

Make Your Move - Chapter 1

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Matt Dierkes

Fic Masterlist

A/N: Very excited to begin my first long fic! Enjoy <3 I'd love to know what you think. I have an idea of how long it will be, but maybe I’ll have more ideas as we go on.

Fic Summary: Having known Matt for a year already, he knows your talents and hires you as his assistant for Bad Omens' upcoming tour. You’ve had a crush on Matt, your friend, and now boss. However, his good friend and your celebrity crush, Noah, takes a liking to you the second you step through the door. What happens when your feelings develop? What happens when they find out? You only hope your heart doesn’t break trying to care for two others.

Content and Warnings for Ch. 1: Fluff, mention of sex toys/masturbation, all of my works are 18+ only

Word Count: 2.7k

Matt called the other day.

“Y/N, do you happen to have plans from June 3rd to July 7th?” He asked.

You remember him asking you, but at that moment you didn’t even process what he had said before responding, “Whatever you need, I’m all yours!”.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. He was cocky, overly flirtatious, and arrogant some of the time, but he had an effect on you that didn’t waver.

You wanted every moment to be around him and didn’t consider the amount of responsibility he would put on you in the upcoming months.

It’s the beginning of April and you agreed to be Matt’s assistant tour manager on Bad Omen’s summer tour. Their full tour route has already been posted online and fans could begin buying tickets by the end of the week.

Today, you have to meet with Matt and the band for the first time to discuss tour logistics. Tour production, mixing, and lighting were nothing new to you, but you'd never gone on the road before, let alone with a band you'd never met… in person, at least. You're a Bad Omens fan– big time.

Matt and you have known each other for a year having met while you were on a walk. His dog, Zeus, had got off-leash and sauntered on toward you. It was fate the way the world brought him to you. He thanked you for grabbing Zeus’ collar before noticing your Bad Omens merch.

“I like your shirt,” he nodded at your chest with a smirk.

“You're their tour manager,” you said with wide eyes.

“Among other things,” he smiled.

The man had you wrapped around his finger starting that day.

You two exchanged numbers and have been hanging out and talking ever since. It was your favorite to go on walks with him and his dogs when he was home from tour. He flirted with you and with every hand touch and compliment it made your affection for him grow. However, you knew he was a ladies' man and decided to keep your feelings secret early on.

Now, he’s your boss.

—

The walk from your car to the door of the studio felt a mile long. The beat of your heart thumped in your ears as you thought about how your first meeting would go.

Would they like you? Would you do well or make a fool of yourself? Would they notice you had a crush on Matt? Will they just think you're his puppy to play with on tour?

These thoughts made your stomach lurch and nearly convinced you to dial Matt to call in sick.

Nevertheless, you wanted to prove yourself to them, so you put on your best smile and turned the door knob.

You were immediately met with a packed room and heads turning to meet you.

“There she is!” Matt exclaims while leaning against the long mixing console. “Everyone, this is Y/N. My new assistant.”

“Hell knows you needed one,” Folio gets up from the couch on the side of the room and goes to shake your hand.

“I’m Nick,” he points to another guy in the corner in a rolly chair, “he’s Nick, too. So, it’s ok for you to call me Folio.”

Nick, Nicholas Ruffilo as you know him, gives you a smile and a small wave before returning to his laptop screen.

“That’s Jolly,” Folio points to a rugged man sitting on the rug on the floor next to the coffee table.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he smiles.

“And this is Noah,” Folio walks over to Noah and pats his shoulder.

“Hey,” he waves.

How can he be even hotter in person? You thought.

Being a fan of the band already, you had already attached their names to their faces, and Noah’s was your favorite. You thought he was attractive and started to develop a bit of a celebrity crush on him when you discovered the band, but once Matt came into the picture you thought it best to ogle over someone tangible. Now, Noah is really in front of you and you hope your fan feelings won’t make things complicated.

“Nice to meet you guys. I’m such a fan,” you say, professionally.

“Oh! You’re a fan! Matt, you picked a good one,” Folio grins.

You make your way across the room toward Matt to hug him. You couldn’t help feeling eyes on you from the direction of the couch, but your conscience convinces you to ignore it.

Matt embraces you before telling you to take a seat in the rolly chair beside him.

“Alright, my friends,” he claps. “Now that we’re all here, we have a lot to do. Y/N, I sent you our to-do list, mind getting that out for me?” Matt nods toward the laptop in your tote bag.

“You’re already giving orders? It’s day zero,” Nick whines.

“Treat her like an equal, man,” Noah is lighthearted, but his face says “Don’t do this right now”.

“Guys, I’m kidding,” Matt groans and pulls out his phone. “Ok, so we need to source crew, talk to management about who else is on the bill, create video wall graphics, arrange a setlist, mix intros for each track in the setlist… plus lots and lots of other shit.”

You smile across the room to Noah and mouth, “Thank you”.

He winks at you before looking down at his notebook and beginning to take note of Matt’s list.

Matt continues, “Noah, do you want to finalize the setlist? We can work on some other stuff while you get that done.”

“Actually,” he raises his head from his notebook to make eye contact with you, “I would love to have Y/N’s opinion on what I have so far.” He faces Matt, “She’s a fan and it would be nice to have some insight from someone else who enjoys our music.”

“I like that idea,” Matt agrees.

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you say excitedly. Time to prove yourself, you thought.

“Sweet,” Noah says. He gets up from the couch with his notebook and pen in hand. “We can go out to the patio,” he nods his head at the back door of the studio.

You grab your tote and fix your outfit before following Noah to the door that he so chivalrously holds open for you.

“After you,” he smiles. “Let’s take a seat on the bench.”

The atmosphere completely changes as you can hear birds chirping and cars driving down the nearby highway. The back patio is covered with a finished, wooden awning and it faces a small yard with deep green grass and vines that trail up the fence surrounding the studio. Being here with Noah, alone, it felt like a dream.

You take a seat next to Noah with around two feet in between you. Your heart flutters watching him flip through the pages of his notebook as his hair falls into his eyes.

“There it is,” he announces as he tucks his hair behind his ear, only for it to fall again to his temple.

Noah hands you his notebook and on the open page is a list of songs. Some of them are scratched out and then rewritten, while others have question marks next to them.

“I hope you can read my handwriting,” he says sheepishly.

“I like your handwriting,” you smile, hoping to ease him. Why was he nervous? You thought.

You read aloud,

“Artificial Suicide,

Nowhere to Go,

V.A.N,

Glass Houses,

The Grey,

Never Know,

Limits,

IDWT$,

Like a Villain,

Just Pretend,

The Death of Piece of Mind,

Concrete Jungle,

and Dethrone.”

“This is perfect,” you gush. “The fans will love this show. I know I will.”

Your praise earns you a toothy smile from him. “Are you sure there is nothing you would change? You can be critical. I can take it,” he leans in urging you to say anything.

“You–,” you blush, “you forgot to add my favorite song.”

“What’s your favorite?” He’s still so close to you, yearning to hang onto every word you say.

You reach across his lap to pull the pen out of his hand. His gaze follows your hand to his notebook. The pen is brought to the page of setlist ideas and at the very bottom, you scribble If I’m There.

Noah laughs and rubs the tops of his thighs. “Really?”

Taken aback by his reaction, “‘Yes! What do you mean, ‘really’?”

“Hey,” he smiles with his hands up, “it’s a great song. I know the fans love it…” He holds up his forefinger, “But, one, we haven’t played it live in forever.” He holds two fingers to you and laughs, “Two, you put it as the third encore after Dethrone.”

You laugh along with him. “Fine, no If I’m There for the fans I guess,” you tease. “I just was thinking about when you and Jolly did an acoustic live stream during quarantine and played it. The song means a lot to me and your voice sounds amazing in it, of course,” you admit.

Noah bites his lip and fixes a steady gaze on your eyes. “Thank you, that means a lot. Maybe you’ll share with me what it means to you sometime?”

“Sure,” you nod.

“How about, when we’re on the road and you’re feeling down,” he looks off to the yard, “you say the word and I’ll play the song for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you.”

“Why?”

“I want to sing it again; the song means a lot to me, too,” he looks to you.

–

“Matt,” you call out, “am I going to be feeling down when we're on the road?”

It was now almost two months later and the first show of the summer is in two days. This morning, Matt is over at your apartment helping you pack for your first tour trip. You have to leave to meet everyone at the tour bus to pack everything up and head out by noon.

“Feeling down,” he pauses, “like, sad? Where’d you hear that?” He comes out of your restroom with your travel bottles and extra toiletries in his arms.

“It was a passing comment that Noah made when we first met. I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” you look down at your suitcase on the bed.

“I’m sure he didn't mean to freak you out. But,” he opens up your mini bag to set everything inside, “yeah, it can get lonely.”

“Aw, you get lonely?” you tease. “Then, I’m glad I���ll have my best friend on the road with me,” you smile at him.

“Yeah, me too,” he smiles back at you, “Noah and I are going to be hanging out a lot.”

“Fuck off”, you flick the brim of his hat. Letting out a sigh, you ask, “Do you think I have everything I need?”

“Lemme see…” He hunches over your suitcase and rummages through the piles of clothes. It’s a minute later that you realize that he’s probably putting his hands all over your underwear. “Y/N.”

“What?” You ask. He’s still hunched over, unwavering. “Matt, what is it?” You repeat urgently.

“What are– Why do you have these?” He turns around to you holding your palm-sized vibrator in his left hand and your pink, five-inch dildo in his right.

“Matt!” You reach forward trying to grab them, but he pulls back. “Oh, my God!”

“You can’t bring these!” He yells waving around your personal items.

“I can do whatever I want! Give them back!” Your cheeks feel red hot as you try to reach for your things being held above his head.

He looks down at you with fire in his maple eyes. “You’re going to be staying on the bus with us. When did you think you were going to use these?” He laughs, and you hate it when he’s right. Honestly, you questioned why you even bothered to pack them, too.

“None of your business, Matt,” you huff letting your arms down, defeated. “I just thought, like, what if we got hotel rooms at some point during the tour and I could blow off some steam.”

“And, you thought that you’d get a room to yourself?” Matt laughs, annoyingly. He hands you the toys and you throw them into the bag in frustration.

“I have to room with you boys the entire month?” You whine. “How am I supposed to change my clothes?”

“You’ll have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I don't mind if you change in front of me,” Matt smirks.

“You would like that, huh?” You jab.

“Y/N, watching you change would be my favorite show; better than any Bad Omens set, and I’m great at my job,” he taunts.

“You’re gross,” you scoff.

“You love me,” Matt relaxes on your bed.

He’s right, you think.

–

The sun was out again outside of the studio. You reminisce about spending time with Noah on the patio two months ago, and there were only a couple of days you spent alone time with him since then. Each time, you try to brush off the sense of guilt you have when Noah looks at you with his almond eyes; Matt is still unaware of the celebrity crush you had on his friend. Even though Matt isn't yours, you still liked and knew him first and it made it feel wrong to give Noah the attention you did.

Though, there’s no time to focus on that now. Today is your first official day of being Matt’s assistant and assistant tour manager for Bad Omens.

You met everyone: crew, the other touring band, Bad Omens, and Matt outside of the studio where the tour trailers and buses were parked. With your suitcase by your side, you kept track of everything on your iPad. You instructed where everyone was meant to be by the first show day and took inventory of all gear kept in the trailers.

And then after forty-five minutes of organization, everyone was ready to load onto the buses.

“Alright,” Matt calls out, “crew and our other band, you'll be in the first bus. My guys and Y/N, we’ll be in the second. Decide on your sleeping arrangements. Let’s go.”

“You ready?” Folio comes to your side.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” you answer.

With that, you load onto the second bus, and you’re astonished at the sight before you.

The bus is long. There’s a kitchenette with cabinets as you enter and a TV hanging above the entrance of the bus. After the kitchenette, the bus is lined with smooth, black leather couches and one small table for dining. There's a sliding door that separates the bunks from the rest of the bus; six beds total, two sides of the bus set with three bunks on top of each other. After the bunks, there is another sliding door that can block off a room with a leather couch that lines the walls of the bus. The back is decorated with pillows and twinkly lights from which you can see.

“Y/N, take your pick of bunk. I’ll sleep near wherever you choose.” Matt suggests.

You choose the second bunk on the right side of the bus. Matt chooses to sleep above you and Folio follows suit below you. As everyone is settling in, Noah trails in last.

He’s left with the second bunk on the left side of the bus, right across from you.

“Hey, neighbor,” he smiles as he puts his backpack in his bunk.

“Noah,” you blush while unpacking your blanket, pillow, and plushies onto the bed.

Matt finishes unpacking his sleeping gear and leans against the wall to address all of you, “Now that we’re back, I just need to remind everyone about the rules of the bus.”

Nick groans from his bunk near the floor.

“Well, actually, y'all know there’s only one rule,” Matt maintains eye contact with you. “No pleasuring oneself or another on the bus.”

Oh, my God, you think.

"I hate you", you silently mouth to Matt.

Beside you, Noah chuckles and crosses his arms. Turning to look at him, his cheeks are pink.

Did Matt fucking tell him something? You thought.

Matt raises his eyebrows at you. “Driver! Let’s roll.”

#noah sebastian x reader #matt dierkes x reader #bad omens x reader #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #matt dierkes fanfiction #she's HERE

[lordprettyflackotara]

hitchhiker || chapter one || the proxies

tw: mentions of murder

<— prologue

Brian frowned as he picked up a can of soup, examining the label.

Grocery shopping is pointless.

He sighed as he put the can in his shopping cart. His gaze didn’t stray from the shelves, searching for his favorite. Tomato soup.

Not like we stay in one place long enough to really eat all of this shit.

Brian pushed his shopping cart forward, grumbling to himself. Since your meeting the proxies, they had done everything to avoid you. He cringed at the thought of Tim’s weakness. For the first time in years the roles were reversed, Brian the harsh one and Tim the blind softie. He reached forward to grab a can of chicken soup, his cart ramming into something.

His eyes flickered over to the hard stop, shock washing over him like a brutal wave. There you stood, a tiny red shopping basket accompanying your arm. In your hand sat a can of his beloved tomato soup. “Holy shit, Brian?” You asked. No no no no. What the actual fuck were you doing here? Brian awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. They had driven outside of the city to avoid you and here you stood.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else-” Brian began. An overly optimistic Toby popped over his shoulder, dropping a container of oreos into the chart. His face lit up at the sight of you.

“Hi Y/n!”

Goddammit.

This reminded Brian why he thought Toby was a liability a smooth eighty percent of the time. The other twenty was Hoodie being impressed someone as slender as Toby could chop up a body so fast. You grinned as you walked around the shopping cart. “I didn’t realize you guys lived so far away from the city, I would’ve driven you closer,” You say. Brian admired your sober look, your face flushed with more color and your words no longer slurred.

“We work out here. Just grabbing some groceries on the way home,” Brian answered. Toby pranced around behind you, peaking over your shoulder. “T-t-tomato soup is H-, Brian’s favorit-te,” Toby said. Brian sighed, silently wishing Hoodie was fronting so you couldn’t see his face. You held out the can to him. “You can take it, it’s the last one,” You say, offering him a small smile. Brian hesitated, before remembering how much he enjoyed tomato soup. He reached his hand out, grabbing the can. His fingers brushed against your soft skin, which was radiating a comforting warmth.

You were like a bundle of touchable joy.

Oh fuck he was becoming soft.

“Thank you,” Brian mumbled, placing it in the cart. You eyed the cart suspiciously, noting the lack of substantial food. “I know you guys are middle aged men, but shouldn’t you have some real food in there?” You asked curiously. Not exactly like we have a lot of time for cooking. “We burn a lot of calories when we-” Toby started. Brian sent him a look so viscous he was surprised the kids head didn’t explode. “When we’re a-at work,” He finished. You raised an eyebrow, exchanging glances between the two. You were about to question the men’s relationship, the faint sound of static causing you to close your mouth.

It was overwhelming, the sensation making the left side of your temple throb. Brian was about to excuse them from the situation, a familiar voice interrupting his saving face. “Hey what’s taking so long?” Tim asked. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of you. “Hi Tim,” You greeted. It was interesting to you that not only had you ran into them again, you had managed to run into all three of them. Your drunken night had wiped away the awkward moments during your interaction.

Tim had thought you would’ve forgotten them entirely, but it was the rather opposite effect than he wanted. Instead of forgetting them, you only forgot the awkwardness and tenseness of the car ride. “Hi there,” Tim greeted. Brian could practically feel Tim’s flusteredness. Over the years they had slaughtered many women without a second thought, including attractive ones. And sure, the three of them hadn’t had intimacy in God knows how long. But Brian just couldn’t understand Tim’s infatuation with you. You were just a girl.

“So um, about dinner,” Tim continued. Brian refrained from visibly showing his distain. There was always the possibility you would’ve forgotten about the dinner proposal. What the fuck was Tim’s problem? It wasn’t as if Brian wanted them to all die practical virgins, it just wasn’t logical. Having any form of relationship would only result in a tragedy. Brian had racked his brain about it long ago, back when his freedom was first stripped away from him. What could he say? He was a horny motherfucker whose potential lovers would be slaughtered or tortured.

“Yeah?” You say. Brian could tell you were getting excited. You were practically bouncing on your heels. Man, maybe you’d make a good match for Toby. Brian shoved the the thought out of his head, looking away. “Why don’t we go grab some burgers or something tonight?” Tim suggested. Brian noticed the slight raise of your left eyebrow. Tim must’ve too, clearing this throat before following up with, “All of us. Our treat.”

You couldn’t have put on a bigger smile even if you had wanted to. “That sounds great. How about the corner burger joint on twenty eighth avenue? It’s near my apartment,” You suggested. Brian watched in horror as Tim grinned, giving you a confirmative nod.

“It’s a date.”

Brian couldn’t usher the three of them out of the store fast enough. Once comfortable in the car, Brian turned towards Tim. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You practically gave her a headstone with her name on it,” He spat. Tim rolled his eyes, digging in his pocket for his faithful box of cigarettes. “One dinner is harmless, isn’t it kid?” He asked, glancing at Toby in the rearview mirror. Brian sighed as the younger man nodded excitedly. “M-most interaction we-ev’e had with another human in a longgg time,” He agreed, his neck twitching to the side again. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Don’t weaponize Toby against my argument. We both know this is a terrible idea,” He said flatly. Tim started the car, driving past a fallen over shopping cart on the overgrown field. “If the Operator gets interested in her for even a split second-” Brian continued. Tim rolled his eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Thats not going to happen, we’d never bring her to him. Besides, she’s just a girl. What’s the worst that could happen?” Tim answered. Out of the seven years they had been partners, Brian had never heard Tim be more nonchalant.

“O-one of us could g-get laid for once,” Toby added. Brian frowned as he reached into one of the grocery bags, pawing away to find the oreos. “Yeah we won’t bring her. But you know they will,” Brian pointed out. The sound of Toby crunching on oreos and the smell of Tim’s cigarette smell overwhelmed Brian’s senses. “They have no reason to be interested in her, nor do they have any reason to front tonight. We already took care of our mission for today. Boss gave us an easy target,” Tim reminded him. It was true, the latest assignment one that would begin easy.

In the trunk of their car sat a corpse of a middle aged man, one who was a detective. He had been investigating the proxies symbol and the various murders they had committed. He was putting all the pieces together, something that led him to a dangerous fate. It was the proxies responsibility to conceal the identities of all creeps. It was their literal job to clean up the messes the Operators mansion residents had made. It became more than personal though once someone began looking into their lives more than they should.

After all, Toby was still considered wanted. Tim and Brian were considered missing. Brian folded his arms, frowning as he looked out of the window.

“Oh yeah that reminds me, how the fuck are we going to discard of the body before dinner?”

\/

You held your phone to your ear, navigating through the whimsical rack of your closet. Your closest friend Nova was on the other end, helping you choose an ensemble for your dinner with the boys.

“Who are these guys again?”

Her voice was laced with concern. You held up a black dress to your figure, analyzing every last detail. “I met them on Halloween. Just a couple of hitchhikers,” You replied. You tossed the black dress aside, grabbing a white one instead. “I read cases of hitchhikers being cannibalistic murderers almost daily you know,” Nova replied. You had grown up with Nova, the two of you remaining close friends into adulthood. Despite the two of you having gone two separate waves career wise, you always made time for each other. She had chosen to be a detective. Despite her constant complaining, her passion was truly driven to seek justice for the victims of psychopaths.

You on the other hand, had made a more reckless choice. Your childhood dreams of being an actress had traveled over into adulthood. Leading in your long term employment at the Steak and Shake as a waitress. “Not all hitchhikers are crazy Nova. Besides, these guys seem nice. You’re the one who’s been telling me to get out there again,” You reminded her. After your nasty breakup with your ex boyfriend, you had become a bit of a reclusive. Halloween was the first time you had been out in months, Nova leaving early with her hookup of the night.

“Yeah but there’s three of them. They’re going to make you pick one,” She informed you. You rolled your eyes. You set your phone down on your dresser, putting it on speaker. “You know with how woke you are i’m surprised you don’t believe in being polygamy,” You said. You shoved your jeans down to your ankles, stepping out of them. You glanced up at a photo of you at graduation, Nova occupying your side. Her caramel skin was always polished and soft, her soft brown eyes always lit up in a smile during photographs. Her hair framed her face just right, giant curls practically bouncing in the picture.

“It’s not that I don’t, I just don’t see you being the polyamorous type,” Nova told you. You shoved off your shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. “If you’re so worried why don’t you go with me?” You suggested. You knew Nova would immediately decline, you just wondered what excuse she would come up with this time. The two of you ran with two very different crowds. Hers more professional, yours more wild. “You know I don’t have time for that right now. Winston just disappeared. Godwin couldn’t wait to throw this case in my lap,” She sighed. You began putting on the dress, struggling to put your arms through the complicated arm holes.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” You asked, trying to sound out together as you put your neck through the wrong hole. You awkwardly shifted on your feet, questioning why you bought this dreaded thing in the first place. “There’s a bunch of murders he thought were connected by some weird symbol. All of them have been gruesome. The chopped up bodies have all been dismembered the same way,” Nova informed you. You grinned as you finally managed to maneuver the dress, admiring yourself in the mirror. “Dude i’m going out to eat in like fifteen,” You reminded her.

“Yeah yeah my bad. I forget regular citizens don’t interact with this kind of stuff,” She said. You refrained from rolling your eyes, reminding yourself she wasn’t being egotistical. She just lived in her own world a majority of the time. You picked your phone up off of the dresser, taking her off of speaker before putting the phone up to your ear. “Well do you think Winston was onto something?” You suggested. Nova seemed to ponder it for a moment before responding. “You know I thought he ran away with his mistress but you’re onto something. He must’ve been on the right track,” She said.

“Most detectives don’t disappear overnight with their wallet still at home,” You reminded her. News headlines had been broadcasting Lewis Winston’s disappearance all morning. “Look at you becoming a little detective. You gotta get your degree so we can become partners,” Nova chuckled. You smiled, pulling on a pair of shoes. “Let me star in at least one blockbuster hit before you force me to change career paths,” You replied. You admired yourself in the mirror, ignoring your antsy nerves. How long had it truly been since you had been out on your own?

“You know i’ll be in the front row of the premiere. Maybe your hitchhiker boyfriends will be there too,” She laughed. Nova meant it as a harmless joke, but the idea alone made you incredibly flustered. “Yeah yeah very funny, i’m going to go have dinner with my hitchhiker boyfriends now,” You told her, guiding the conversation to end.

“Uh huh. Call me if your hitchhiker boyfriends are killers!”

You took your friend’s warning as a joke, but looking back, you should’ve taken her advice.

#masky and hoodie smut #masky smut #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #creepypasta masky #masky and hoody #tim wright #ticci toby smut #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #brian thomas #brian thomas smut #hoody marble hornets #hoodie marble hornets #masky marble hornets #marble hornets #toby roger’s #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta lemon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta #marble hornets smut

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Some observations

I was perusing the local Barnes and Noble (as one does when she needs to kill time) and discovered this magazine in the periodicals section:

I thought it was interesting that Meghan wasn't included on the cover. Say what you want about her, she still holds a pretty significant place in the royal family: the first person of color to marry a senior royal and give birth to children of color. One would also argue that she also counts as a noteworthy person for the BRF because she was the "first" divorcee bride to marry in (that is, the first divorcee marrying a single not-married-before royal).

The table of contents:

The first mention of Meghan is in their timeline, within context of Kate and Charlotte appearing together:

Meghan's second appearance comes in the "Modern History" section, which talks about royal marriages becoming "modern" when divorces were first permitted. First the article talks about Margaret's groundbreaking divorce, then how Anne pushed the royal bar on divorce further by remarrying, leading to the following section:

But reference of Meghan is essentially a throwaway. She's not even a whole sentence. But she does get two pictures in this section, so progress!

So after the "Modern History" section, we start getting mini-biographies of the royal ladies. There are "chapters" each for Kate, The late Queen, Camilla, their fashion, Anne, and Diana. Then we get to "The Other Royals"...a catch-all for royal women who aren't important, I guess, or noteworthy of their own standalone chapters.

In this chapter are the Yorkies - they don't even get their own sections, they're just all lumped in together, Sarah Chatto (Margaret's daughter), and finally, Meghan, who is also featured with Lili.

What I find really interesting about this publication is how and where they've placed Meghan. And I think it shows how shortsighted she was about joining the royal family. If her ultimate goal was global fame and fortune, then all she had to do was bide her time. After all, Sophie gets her own chapter - but of course, Sophie worked 31 years to get it (6 years dating + 25 years married) - and so does Zara, for her career accomplishments in sport, which Meghan could've had as well. But Meghan wanted everything and she wanted it now, no waiting, no toiling, no practicing, no working. And the result is that she's lumped in with the Yorkies and Sarah Chatto.

But the placement is also unfair to the Yorkies and to Sarah. Because remember, Meghan quit. Yes, technically Sarah Ferguson quit too (when she divorced Andrew), but her quitting came after 10 years and despite it, she still turns up to support the BRF when called. Same with Beatrice, Eugenie, and Sarah Chatto; they support the BRF and they work for the BRF when they're called to do so. To lump them in with Meghan, who doesn't work for the BRF when called, who doesn't show up when they ask for her, and who doesn't support the BRF, it doesn't bring Meghan "up to their level," or however you want to phrase it. It brings them down to Meghan's level. They don't deserve that.

But probably most importantly, this placement of Meghan proves that despite what her PR tries to convince us, more and more people are seeing her as the Fergie/Yorkie equivalent, not the Diana equivalent she wants us to see her as.

Personally, I think the sooner Meghan abandons her vision of Diana-like permanent A+ elite success and embraces the Fergie/Yorkie vibe (especially the "laugh at your own self" and "be gracious, be humble, be thankful" parts), the greater her chances are for stability and long-lasting staying power on the C-List.

(Also. I've never liked the sapphire tiara on The Queen but I love it on Camilla. Camilla's big fluffy hairstyle 100% suits the tiara and it looks like the tiara was made for her. The Queen wore her hair too...tightly (for lack of a better word) and that hairstyle with such a sculptural tiara made a strange look for me.)

#brf #sussexes