#And he's been carrying my team throughout three nations~

[crystalline-kai]

Diluc ❤️🔥

[graneymar]

Hello ✨ 

Can I have Neymar x Reader that the reader is Davi's mother, but they both broke up (like Carol and Ney), but the reader still loves Ney, and when he gets hurt (2014 World Cup), the reader is with him and takes care of him all the time, making Ney realize that the person who really loves him is the reader, in the end they are back as a family again 

your writing is very good, I love it! 💗 Sorry, English is not my primary language.

#12. NEYMAR: BACK TO YOU

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: none

PAIRING: Neymar x fem!reader

"Look Davi, who's there?", I said smiling, pointing at Neymar. "Papai!", Davi exclaimed happily. Neymar immediately noticed us and blew his son a kiss.

The Brazilian national team was warming up for their match against Colombia that was going to start in 30 minutes.

"Oh, hey Y/N", Rafaella greeted me, giving me a short hug. She instantly took Davi out of my arms and smooched him a hundreds of times. "I didn’t expect you to come", she continued, her focus still on her nephew. I shrugged, "I felt like I needed to finally show my support as well now that they’re in the quarterfinals. It was about damn time I attend a match."

Rafa nodded, "Yeah, we've been waiting to finally see you again." She pointed at her parents that sat down right behind us. I greeted them politely before turning around to watch Neymar and his teammates.

Actually, I tried to avoid Neymar and spend as little time with him as possible. We broke up three years ago, right after I gave birth to our son. It was his decision and I still wasn’t completely fine with it if I was being honest. I tried to get over him a million times, but every time he called, even if it was only to hear his sons voice, or came over to pick up Davi, my heart still was racing; I still felt those butterflies in my stomach. We could’ve been a match made in heaven, in my opinion at least, but Neymar seemed to look at it differently. He jumped from one relationship to another, letting me think it was easy to forget about me. Yes, he hurt me, but I couldn’t even blame him. Just because I was unable to become interested in someone else than him, didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to find love and happiness.

Rafaella and I always remained good friends though. She also was the only one who knew about my feelings for Neymar. When we got drunk one time, I accidentally told her, crying my heart out.

——————————————————————————

We were all cheering for Brazil, until only ten minutes before the end of the match, Colombia had a penalty - and scored. It didn’t mean much to me since Brazil was still about to win with two goals, but I noticed the match getting wilder, the Colombians seemed to feel pressured and became more aggressive.

There were only three minutes left when I saw Neymar laying on the ground - again. He has been fouled countless times throughout the match, but I realised something was off the moment Marcelo called the doctors to come. Neymar wouldn’t stop screaming and crying, it looked like he was even unable to move. I watched the staff carrying him off the field and started panicking. Whatever just happened was far from an 'ordinary' injury, I have never seen Neymar like this before. Tears started forming in my eyes, my whole body shivered. I quickly gave Davi to Rafaella and ran down the stairs, heading right into the building. I followed Neymars screams and shouts as the tears rolled down my cheeks. "Neymar!", I shouted out when I finally found him. Staff and doctors were surrounding him. One of them tried to move Neymars leg, which had to be incredibly painful according to how he cried out. "Y/N", he mumbled a few seconds later, just now noticing I was standing beside him, "Are you crying?" Seeing him in pain, not knowing what was going on, I couldn’t hold myself back from bursting out into tears. "Bebê, não chora. Estou bem. [Baby, don't cry. I'm good]" He tried to fake a smile but the pain was clearly visible in his eyes. He got carried away again, while all I did was silently pray that he'd be okay.

——————————————————————————

"Let me help you with your stuff", Neymar said as I entered his apartment with three bags and Davi on my arm. I looked at him in disbelief. "Boy, you're in a fucking wheelchair. You won’t touch a thing, understood?" He rolled his eyes. Obviously he was annoyed at how he couldn’t help with anything, but thinking of the fact that he almost got paralysed, I preferred him being mad at me than see him hurt again. "You really don’t have to do all of this, Y/N. I would’ve called my mom or sister if I needed something", he insisted.

"Mhm, okay, and who will clean the house, who will make sure you don’t slip while showering, who will stop you from doing shit you’re not supposed to do?", I asked raising my eyebrows. Davi already found his way to his fathers lap. "Ahh, you want to shower with me?", Neymar smirked. I held back a laugh, but couldn’t stop myself from grinning widely, "No idiot, I'm just making sure you do not slip, fall and break your neck."

Now that Neymar was finally home after being in the hospital for days, I decided Davi and I would stay at his place so I could take care of him until he got better. Of course his family tried to support him too, but Neymar has always been too stubborn. He was convinced he could do everything on his own. This way, he would’ve pushed his friends and family away sooner or later. I wouldn’t allow him to do me like that, so he knew he had no other choice than let me help him.

The first week passed. I tried my best to keep the house clean, we cooked together, watched a lot of movies and played around with Davi, who was the happiest to finally have both of his parents around. Even the bond between Neymar and me became much better again. We were finally able to talk to each other and hang out without making it somehow awkward. Whenever Davi was already asleep, we would drink one or two glasses of wine, play video games or simply talk for hours. This made me realise how much I missed his presence, but also how much love I actually had left for him. And it was a whole lot.

It was in the middle of the night when I heard a loud noise. "Shit", I murmured to myself. I quickly jumped out of the bed, still tried to be as quiet as possible to not wake Davi up. Getting out of the room, I saw the bathroom lights shine from under the door. I heard Neymar inaudibly cursing himself out. "Hey there, are you okay?", I asked as I softly knocked on the door. "I'm fine", he coldly answered. I rolled my eyes at the mister showing off his attitude again. "Can I come in?"

"Y/N, I said I'm fine. Go sleep or do whatever you want", he replied in a kind of mad tone. I took a deep breath and decided to wait for him to come out, so I could check if he was actually alright.

Only a few seconds later I heard some banging again. "Okay whether you want me to or not, I'm coming in now", I warned him before swinging the door open. There he was, sitting on the floor, looking up at me in frustration and disappointment. "Where’s your wheelchair?"

"I tried to walk on crutches", he said pointing at them laying on the floor. "Ney", I started as I sat down next to him, "You know you're too weak yet. The doctor said you need to use the wheelchair for at least another week." He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "It would’ve been fine if there wasn’t any water on the floor. I slipped, just like you predicted it would happen", he said, a small grin formed in his face at the last part. "Are you okay though? Does anything hurt?" He shook his head left and right, his eyes wandering to the floor. "Y/N, why are you doing all of this?" My brows furrowed at his question. "You do not owe me anything, we’ve been barely talking lately and yet you are the one who’s really there for me. I'm just trying to understand where this is coming from", he explained. I softly smiled. "Remember how I said you could always count on me, no matter what? I promised you - good times, bad times, whatever might happen between us, I would always be there for you. And you know I'm not one to break promises." He chuckled, but his facial expression again turned serious in a matter of second. "But that was before I hurt you." I nodded as I got flashbacks of how broken I was after he called it quits. "To be honest, I often think back and regret it. Leaving you was probably the dumbest decision I've ever made. We could’ve been a happy family now", he said, breaking the silence. "No, it wasn’t stupid of you. There’s no reason to stick around when the love is gone. You've been honest with me and looking back, I can finally say I appreciate and respect you for it. It would‘ve been worse if you played pretend instead", I answered.

"But… but what if… what if the love was never gone?", he suddenly said. My eyes widened. What the hell was he talking about? "I broke up with you because I was naive and egoistic, not because I didn’t love you. I wanted to see what life has to offer, thought I could do better - but I couldn’t. The last days I realised that everything I was looking for the last years was what I left behind… and I'm afraid I'm not getting the chance to get it back." I swallowed hard at his words. There were only two options to what would happen now: Either I was about to become the happiest woman on Earth or this would be the biggest disappointment I experienced in a long time. "Can you please say something?", he interrupted my thoughts. "What do you want me to say Neymar? I'm confused, I'm not sure what you’re on about."

"Do you think that there’s a possibility of us getting back together?" After hesitating for a short moment, I nodded in response. His lips formed a sweet smile and his eyes lit up, "Really?"

"I've been thinking the same, I just didn’t expect you to feel this way", I told him. My heart was racing, I got absolutely weak in the knees. "I didn’t start feeling this way just now, it’s been quite a while", he admit. We simply sat there, looking deeply into each others eyes, both of us grinning like crazy. Neymar was slowly leaning for a kiss that I was about to return, when we heard some weird noises. Turning our heads to the bathroom door, we saw our toddler staying there, expressing his disgust by acting like he’s puking. "Baby, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you sleeping?", I asked, trying to hide the fact that I was slightly blushing. Davi babbled something that I was unable to understand until Neymar replied to him. "Sim", he laughed, "Mommy and Daddy like each other a lot." Davi again crinkled his nose in disgust and walked out of the room. "Get used to it, meu filho [my son]", Neymar shouted after him. I slightly slapped his shoulder, both of us bursted out into laughter.

"Where did we stop again?", he smirked before finally crashing his lips onto mine. "Another one", he whispered after we pulled away from each other.

[usafphantom2]

PHOTOS: USAF F-15E jets return home from the Middle East with "kill marks" and "nose arts"

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 05/11/2024 - 12:26 in Military, War Zones

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A few weeks after shooting down a swarm of Iranian drones during the defense of Israel, the 494º U.S. Air Force Fighter Squadron is back at the RAF Base of Lakenheath, in the United Kingdom, sporting a new and intriguing painting.

Photos publicly released by the U.S. Air Force show the F-15E Strike Eagles returning to their home in the 48ª Fighter Wing with vivid art on their nose, as well as missile markings and bombs alluding to their exploits in the region.

Photos of an F-15E nicknamed "Hellcat" show the aircraft painted with more than two dozen bomb marks, suggesting that he launched a large amount of ammunition. The plane was also decorated with nine red missiles, indicating numerous air-to-air combat. An F-15 called "RAWR" boasts more than a dozen missile and bomb marks. Another jet, "El Jefe", carries multiple bomb marks and a missile mark. The "Mullet" carries nine missile markings and numerous bomb markings. Yet another F-15 has nine missile markings and five bomb markings. These are just some of the F-15s that have recently returned to their base.

Photos released by the Air Force show that the first jets arrived on May 8, and a spokesman for the Air Forces Central (AFCENT) confirmed on May 10 that the 494º Fighter Squadron had returned to the RAF Base of Lakenheath.

Violence in the Middle East increased after Hamas' attack on Israel on October 7 and Israel's subsequent military operation against the group in Gaza, causing unrest throughout the region.

In February, the U.S. conducted airstrikes against targets in Iraq and Syria in response to more than 170 attacks on U.S. troops and recently helped Israel defend itself from a massive drone and missile attack from Iran.

In April, U.S. Air Force aircraft shot down more than 70 drones that Iran launched against Israel on the night of April 13 and in the early morning hours of April 14. These planes included F-15Es of the 494º Fighter Squadron and the 335º Seymour-Johnson Air Base Fighter Squadron, North Carolina, as well as American F-16s.

"I am very confident and proud of our joint strength and what they were able to do with our allies and partners," said Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Charles Q. Brown Jr., to reporters on April 26.

The 494º Fighter Squadron first arrived at CENTCOM in October, a few days after the Hamas attack. More F-15E were rushed to the region on April 12, just one day before Iran's attack.

"One of the fighter squadrons appeared, like, the day before, and was right in the middle of the flight, and that says something about our level of training, our level of capacity," Brown said.

The 335º Seymour-Johnson Fighter Squadron is now the only F-15E squadron in the region, deployed in the Middle East along with the F-16 and A-10. The A-10s of the 104º Maryland National Guard Fighter Squadron and Seymour-Johnson's F-15E recently completed a three-week Desert Flag exercise.

"Maintaining multi-capable and ready teams is essential to fulfill the mission," said AFCENT commander, Lieutenant General Derek C. France, in a statement of May 9 reflecting on his first month in charge. "I was impressed by the level of dedication of AFCENT's aviators. They have been operating beyond my expectations and I am extremely proud to be part of this team."

Tags: Military AviationF-15E Strike EagleUSAF - United States Air Force / U.S. Air ForceWar Zones - Middle East

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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Gladiators 2024: The Review

Gladiators 2024 is in the books, and we have our first champions in 15 years! The new series started with high ratings and has continued to deliver throughout its 11 episode run, capturing the imagination of the general public so strongly that a second series has already been commissioned by the BBC.

Now that it's all over, I think it's fair to say that the show has been a creative triumph as well as a ratings hit, running much closer to the glory days of the 1990s ITV run than the disappointing 2008-09 Sky One revival. While it's fresh in the mind, it's a good time to take a look at what the show did right, as well as identifying any weaknesses that can be improved next time around.

The Good

First off, I think the overall look of the show is fantastic. One of the biggest weaknesses of the Sky show was the small studio setting, and thankfully Sheffield Arena gives the feeling of a big time event that Birmingham's National Indoor Arena did back in the day. The set retains plenty of elements of the 90s presentation, like the padded silver platform edges and the big imposing backdrop of The Wall, but with great modern touches like additional projection. I never hated the water element of the Sky show but I don't miss it, and the added pyrotechnics are a nice touch. I can't think of anything I'd change, except for maybe a move to a bigger arena – more on why later.

The presenter duo of Bradley and Barney Walsh have been somewhat divisive among fans, and there are definitely criticisms to be made. Having said that, it's clear that they're excited to be involved and I think that they're both totally fine on interviews, with Bradley's natural charisma and rapport coming through well. Guy Mowbray has been good value on commentary too.

The on-screen graphics all look very nice, and the introductory video packages and recaps of previous shows are a nice way to get to know the contenders. Likewise, the Gladiator intros are useful in familiarising the audience with the new cast, although it's very clear that they've been reused from episode to episode. I also really liked the touch of having all of the Gladiators welcoming the contenders into the final.

The selection of events was pretty much dead on – all of the returning games were top tier choices from the classic series, though they weren't all handled correctly. I think all three new events are worthwhile additions to the roster, with The Edge being the highlight and really the signature game for the modern show. I wasn't sure about it at first because the initial contenders were quite tentative, but once they started to sprint across, I was hooked. The scoring was initially too generous, but the revision to the rules in the semi-finals was perfect.

The Ring is very simple, but I can understand the need for that from a TV production perspective – you do need some low-setup, low-tech events to balance out the more elaborate events. Thankfully it is also very hard-hitting, so it's quite entertaining to watch. As for Collision, some people prefer Hit & Run but I actually prefer the new event, thanks to the greater visual involvement of the Gladiators. The need to carry the ball to score also adds an extra wrinkle to the whole thing.

I think the Gladiators this year mostly did a fantastic job in terms of both gameplay and establishing themselves as personalities. For me, there are a few standouts. Nitro is an absolute all-star – he's very charismatic and he seems to be an incredible all-rounder on the events. Legend's heel schtick is highly entertaining, with “There's no I in team, but there are five I's in individual brilliance” being my favourite line of the entire series. I've become a big fan of Fury – she's relentless whether she's on The Ring, The Edge or Powerball, and has a strong sense of fair play. Dynamite's performances stand out as being particularly impressive given that she's not the biggest of the group.

The standard of the contenders was also very high this year. I couldn't pick between Marie-Louise and Bronte for the women's final, and while I did predict the winner of the men's final, it was closer than I was expecting. There were some absolutely cracking close Eliminators along the way, and very few major mismatches. In most cases, even the lowest-scoring contenders managed to pick up points in the majority of their events.

The Bad

I really hate to say this as I'm a huge fan of Bradley Walsh's work on The Chase, but as good as he and Barney are on interviews, their scripted links have been arguably the weakest aspect of the show. Event introductions have frequently made me cringe, with some lame jokes and banter that comes off as forced. They're so much better when they're just allowed to operate naturally, and I hope that if they return, they'll be given room to play things a bit more off-the-cuff.

One aspect of the presentation that winds me up is an occasional lack of information. The clock is displayed on screen for the full duration of every event except The Ring, during which the timer is only shown for the final ten seconds of the game. Why? That's admittedly a small peeve, but I have a far bigger one – the Eliminator times of runners-up determine progression to the quarter-final and semi-final rounds, but we're never shown them. Since this information is so important, it's really frustrating that we never get to see those times, either via a clock running during the event or a leaderboard at the end of the show.

Of course, that only matters because the structure of the competition was a bit unusual – a factor of the 11-week format. I've got to be honest, as good as the action was, I'm not entirely sold on a tournament format that lets you theoretically lose two episodes in a row and still end up in the semi-finals. Also, the criteria for choosing replacement contenders in the case of injury was not especially transparent – lots of people were confused by the addition of Wesley as a brand new contender in the Quarter-Finals, and it's not entirely clear why Matt was brought back from the heats to replace Chung. Hopefully, next time will have more episodes and a simpler single-elimination tournament structure.

Before the series, I never thought that my criticisms of the events would be about the classics. However, Hang Tough was only featured on three episodes – a crazy low number for one of the most iconic events from the original show. I understand it's because The Edge and Hang Tough can't be set up during the same taping, and I get the need to establish the new event, but let's have a better balance the next time. As for Gauntlet, every single woman scored maximum points and most of the men did too – it's just too easy in its current form. I feel like there's no good reason no to revert to the 1994 rules, with five Gladiators, a 30-second time limit and time-based scoring.

I don't think any of the Gladiators were bad value, and I actually believe that people have been rather unfair to Viper in particular – he's been widely criticised for his performance in events, but in reality his performance has been similar to Wolf's contributions in the original run. The problem is that his villain character isn't quite connecting, and I hope he's allowed to show more personality than “silent and grumpy” if he returns. It's also sad to see that Athena has been given very few one-on-one events and very little interview time, so I hope she gets more focus if she comes back.

Further thoughts

Ulrika Jonsson has complained about the loss of the cheerleaders from the ITV show. I don't particularly miss them, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have them? Also, I'm a huge fan of the event music from the ITV version of the show, and not having such prominent tunes did bug me at first. However, over the course of the series I did become used to it and it's not something I'd look to change now.

Jet has mentioned that she and other past Gladiators would have liked to have been involved in the show, providing colour commentary or some sort of insight. This may be controversial, but I actually think that not including them was the right choice for the first series. The problem with bringing the old favourites back from the start is that you immediately run the risk of overshadowing the new cast, as well as pigeonholing the show as nothing more than a nostalgic product – something I think the show has very successfully avoided, as it's hugely popular with both kids and adults.

Having said that, I do think that bringing them in for a second series would be a good move now that the new cast is established. If the production team can bring back additional classic events, the veterans can speak with authority about what it's like to play them, and young fans can get a glimpse of the people their parents keep mentioning. What's more, if someone like Jet were to come back, it would be nice to have a woman as part of the presenting team, as was the case in the ITV and Sky versions of the show.

I have no doubts over the professionalism of everybody involved in the health and safety aspects of the show, and it was good to see stoppages and such when needed. However, I was quite surprised by the number of equipment malfunctions – lost shoes on The Wall, helmets coming off, all that stuff. There were also plenty of injuries – Comet, Sabre, Finley, Dev, Chung, even Finlay forfeited an event due to being banged up. It's obviously a high-impact show, but hopefully the next series won't be quite like this.

Although the arena used was good for the show, I feel like it may benefit from a move to a bigger venue for the next series. Public interest is sufficiently high I don't think you'd have trouble filling out the seats, and it would give the benefit of increasing the space available for the events - especially if a third event requiring ceiling space is added, since The Edge and Hang Tough should both be prominent.

Wishlist for next series

Three new events, two returning/revised and one new (return preferences: Skytrak, Atlaspheres and Danger Zone)

Gauntlet rules revised

Two to four additional Gladiators

Better utilisation of Viper and Athena

More episodes with a simplified tournament format

More transparency about the competitive aspects of the show

Presenters given either less scripting or better scripting

Fewer injuries!

Final thoughts

As a huge fan of Gladiators since the very first series, I was really apprehensive about the show returning. Would it live up to my expectations? The Sky show never managed to match the ITV run for me, even though I had the good fortune to attend a taping for the second series. Would it hit with the public? I've watched enough worthwhile retro revivals fall flat to know that it was by no means guaranteed.

The new series has exceeded my expectations - I genuinely didn't think it'd be pulled off this well, and I'm so happy the show has been given the revival it deserves. Overall I think the entire team has done a fantastic job, and hopefully it's clear that the criticisms that I've made come don't come from a desire to knock their hard work, but are provided with the most constructive intent. The show was great this year, and I'm confident that a few tweaks will make it even better next time around.

Hope you enjoyed this review - let me know your thoughts, and I'll be back soon with some statistical analysis for the series.

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

Love is all you need

Love is all you need (Caring BAU!Reader pt 1)

Idea: Being the youngest in the bau but the caring concerned one of the team. Getting Reid to drink water throughout the day. Giving Hotch your noise cancelling headphones when you first notice his ears bugging him after the explosion. Staying with Penelope after she gets hurt, etc.

Requested: Nope.  @halloween-is-my-nationality​ This was not the spencer idea I had that I said I would write.  I have three more already in my drafts, but I thought you would appreciate this.  

Author’s Note:  I’m working my first 12 hr night shift tomorrow.  Please give me strength.  I’m not the best at making titles. I really want to make a pt 2 for the rest of the members, but these were the ideas I had initially.  Tell me if you want a pt 2/what scenes I could use.  Requests are still open.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new.

Warning: Spoilers based on episodes (I think through mid season 3.  The spoilers are in Hotch and Penelope’s part).  Mentions of shooting, being shot, and injuries. 

Word Count: 1,605

It may have been your previous job as a psychiatric nurse and your love for sherlock and crime stuff that led you to your current job in the BAU, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.  However, the nurse in you still has learned to always be prepared for any situation. Carry extra bandages, ibuprofen, a jacket, pants, extra anything in case something happens or you can't find what you need when you need it. If you didn't have what you needed, you made it work with what you had. You were no different when you joined the BAU. You most likely had whatever anyone on the team needed at any time. You only did this kind of behavior for those you cared about and the BAU became your extended family very quickly.  Since you all delt with psychotic killers, there needed some support system that could truly help keep your heads above water during the times when you’re not working.   The BAU family was very good at looking out for their own.  Therefore, this was your way of paying them back.  

Of course you had your to-go duffel bag for cases, but you kept anything extra that may be needed in a backpack you kept with you most of the time (well, anything except sensitive documentation that anyone can steal at any time and weapons, but extra knives and other things you still had on you). You always made sure to have your bag either in the SUV, at the police station, or on your back.  It was something you never went anywhere without.  Some could call it possessive, but you liked being prepared to care for those who took care of you.  

How you would help the team was a little challenging.  You were all profilers, you were ment to look for behaviors and interpret them into results. You knew of the unspoken rule profilers is to not profile eachother, however, they can forget that they have their own obvious behaviors that you've picked up, if something is going on. 

For instance, caffeine was a necessity to you all, with the crazy hours and multiple time zone flights that you all worked, how could it not be. However, you saw that Spencer would drown himself in coffee and get frequent headaches when he tried to focus on the case throughout the day. That's when you decided to intervene. When you saw his coffee cup empty at one point you offered to get a refill for the both of you. But instead of coming back with coffee, you came back with two ice waters in those tall cups.  You thought it may make him feel better and less secluded if you followed the habit you were trying to get him into.

"Y/n, this is not coffee." God he is so cute when he not trying to be.

"I know. You don't get anymore coffee until you drink two of those." You could hear Emily snicker from her desk as you sat back at yours across from Spencer. It was the middle of the day, you were both awake enough to not need anymore caffeine for a while.

"You know I can give you facts and statistics of how caffeine helps performance?" He's trying to get out of this one with logic. Not today pretty boy.  You leaned in as not to yell and looked in his caramel chocolate eyes.  Derek may be a hunk of dark chocolate, but I prefer those caramel chocolate eyes that you could swim in for hours endlessly.  Focus. 

"You know I can see the symptoms of your headaches as evidence by your frequent eye squints and head holding related to your dehydration from the diuretic effects of the caffeine." He stares at me mouth open, lost for words for once.  I broke the eye contact with him trying to be nice about the situation.  "I'm just trying to take care of you and make sure your okay." Even if I did whisper that part, I'm pretty sure he could hear me. 

"You're right. I need to drink more water." Spender said as he took a sip of the water I just gave him and then went back to doing his paperwork. Never would I thought I'd live to the day where Dr. Spencer Reid said I was right.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time it happened, you've fully realized you've become the prepared mom of the team. It was the case after the almost terrorist attack where Hotch was really close to that car explosion. I honestly didn't know how he didn't become deaf Hawkeye being that close to it.  You saw that he kept putting his head in his hands like he had a headache, but you knew Hotch drank water and was very on top of his health, so it wasn't that.  The moment where it clicked in your mind that his ears were bothering him, was when a gun was fired next to his head toward the end of that case.  He covered his ears and buried his head into your body in pain as the rest of the team took care of the unsub.  

"Spence. Go to the car and get me my backpack."

Having a trust that you knew what to do in these situations, Spencer didn't question you. He went and got your backpack from the car and brought it back to where you were on the ground with Hotch curled in your arms crying in pain. You looked at the rest of the team handling the sceen so you can stop being in FBI-agent-mode. You unzipped your backpack with one arm and pulled out your construction headphones that you use when you need to focus or block out the world. However, Hotch needs it more than you right now.

You put them on over his ears and you sat there for 10 minutes at least with his head in your shoulder and you stroking his hair to keep his mind off of the pain he must be feeling.

You shooed everyone else off to finish up at the crime scene and so Aaron wouldn't have to lift his head to see his whole team/family staring at him. You knew he wouldn't like the attention. 

He raised his head and gave you a nod saying 'thank you' and that the pain was starting to subside. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck that dude!”  That basically summarized it all.  Fuck the dude who dared to shoot the ray of sunshine that was Penelope Garcia.  Like I understand that he shot her because she was going to expose the dirty work he was doing, but still fuck him.  You were with Penelope and Spencer watching the cameras of the BAU when that idiot of a guy thought he could hold up the FBI with a pistol.  This is literally the place where everyone is trained in guns, fighting, and reading the mind and body language of a person.  Like, how bad of an idiot could you be.  To be fair, the only thing I admired about him was willing to go down with his ship.  He deserved the bullets JJ put in him.  The fact that he is dead is the only good thing that happened for Penelope.  That way she wouldn’t have to worry about him getting out on parole or anything, even if there was plenty of evidence that would probably get him life behind bars.  

For the next few weeks you refused to be anywhere else besides next to Penelope.  She even suggested you go home or to work, so did Hotch.  You still refused.  You stayed at her house because you know how going back to the scene where something tragic happened could trigger bad memories in someone.  You stayed at the BAU in the Batcave while the rest of the team did the field work on cases and you slept at Penelope’s appartment.  “Y/n I’m fine.  You don’t have to be by my side anymore.  As much as you know I love you, you don’t have to be here.”   

“This is my last case I will be sitting back from.  From here out I will be going with the team for the field work.  I just wanted to stick around and make sure you are doing ok.  There’s only so much work you can bury yourself in, and only so many sparkly inanimate objects you can talk to.”  I looked up at her while her body still faced her screens, and she was crying silently.  Tears streaked down and dragged the purple eyeshadow she had on with it.  She tucked her head into the crook of my shoulder and hugged me with everything she had.  God you never want anything bad to happen to her.  She is too pure for this world.  

“Thank you for staying here with me, for staying at my place.  I don’t think I would be this comfortable existing again so soon after it happened without you being here for all the breakdowns, scared moments, flashbacks, and adjustments.”  You ran your fingers through her hair getting out all the tangles as well as calming her.  

“Don’t let your opinion of men who will be with you stoop to that level.  Your man will treat you like the queen you are.  Keep on believing that.” You both stayed like that the rest of the evening until you packed up for Penelope’s apartment.  

Something no criminal or incident could ever take away from you.  Your love and care you have for your team members as you navigate the craziness that is your lives.  

[mountswhore]

𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 — mason mount

summary: chelsea’s massage therapist, and mason’s long term crush, had moved to a different club. but after reuniting at nationals, you realise just how much you missed him.

notes: requests are open, just ask! this is so fucking long, please read when you have time.

“I will take care of you.” + “I could never get tired of you.”

for @masterclassbaby

“she’s pretty,” mason hummed, chin in the palm of his hands and eyes gazing at you. chelsea’s newest sports massage therapist. he watched as you conversed with a few of the injured teammates, the boys on either side of him laughing at his blushed cheeks.

“mounty’s in love.” chilly sang, pushing mason gently. the three of them were laying on the turf, waiting for their trainer to arrive and being introduced to the pretty lady who would be massaging their injured limbs from now on. “go on, make a move before kai does. you know he will.”

“i’m not making any moves,” mason huffed and pushed himself to his feet, ben following suit and pulling a ball towards him with his foot, “can i appreciate her beauty without wanting to make a move?” ben rolled his eyes at his friend, eyes now focused on the ball for the first time in twenty minutes.

“so you’re just going to stare at her, like a creep.” ben stated, stopping the ball with the side of his foot and kicked it back to mason. “noted.” mason was barely focused, looking over to you every time you laughed or your voice echoed. he’d laugh with you, crinkling his nose when you did, it was sickening.

ben had kicked the ball to mason’s feet, where is stilled and hadn’t even broken his stare. he had ‘regained control of the ball’ by kicking mason’s ankles, which had definitely caught his attention and caused him to hiss in pain. “you fucker, what did you do that for?”

“i just gave you a reason to talk to her, you clown.” ben revealed sarcastically, mason limping over to you as you held a look of concern.

“everything okay, mount?” you politely asked, the slight touch on his back as well as hearing his name fall from your mouth was sending him into a frenzy. he just nodded, and followed you inside to where your new office resided. “what the hell happened? last time i looked, you were kicking a ball about with chilly.”

your voice was as silky as he’d imagined. “yeah, he’s a bit slow. so he thought kicking me in the ankles would be a wise idea.” you couldn’t help but giggle at the man’s joke, avoiding his gaze as you were sure to blush. this man was attractive, but it was your first day, you had to remain professional.

“i better get to work,” you huffed, rubbing some hand sanitiser onto your hands and pulling his socks down. “we can’t have chelsea’s best player injured a few days before the game,” you’d finally met eyes and stared at each other for a brief second, before bashful looking away.

“you think that?” mason almost sounded unsure of himself.

“of course,” you grinned and applied some pressure to the side of his ankle, “i’d say you’re one of the best.” mason hummed almost silently, resting his head back on the table. it didn’t hurt, and if anything, he’d have to thank chilly for kicking his ankles, as it got you two talking.

weeks had passed, mason visiting your office most days with random excuses.

“my legs are fine. but maybe a shoulder rub for good luck?”

“i bought you a smoothie.”

“it’s cold outside, and i told the boys my thighs were sore.”

“now i’m just bored.”

every time he’d appear, you’d just pull up a chair instead of prepping the table. he’d talk to you about the most random of things, the pair of you having an intense debate on whether or not ross and rachel were on a break. he’d quickly become your favourite visitor.

“mr. mount, to what do i owe the pleasure?” you questioned, knowing it was him just by the way he fiddled with the handle before opening the door. he grinned at the nickname, sitting in the desk chair beside you.

“i actually came to ask if you wanted to go for a drink tonight. the boys were meant to, but now it looks like i’m all alone.” mason explained, a white lie thrown into the mix. he wasn’t being left by the boys, he asked them to cancel, so he could spend some with you. “so, you fancy it?”

“sure.” you smiled, accepting his invitation before you could overthink your way into cancelling. “i’ll text you my address.” he nodded his head, resting his head on his hands as you got on with paperwork. you could see out of the corner of your eye, he was staring at you as you worked. he had no training to be getting on with, and saw a better pastime in watching you work.

when you’d finally finished work and gotten yourself dressed up, mason was even more in awe of you. you looked adorable at work, and now he’d seen you in a new light. it’s like seeing your crush outside of school, it’s weird not seeing them in uniform, but seeing a new layer of them was good. he’d picked you up and taken you to the nicest pub he could find, it was a quiet one. it was a pub you had to pay extra for to sit on the terrace with a table to yourself. but he was willing to go the distance.

“it’s weird not seeing you in your kit.” you mentioned, staring at his impeccable sense of fashion. like he’d been ripped from the front page of asos. mason chuckled loudly and sipped on his beer, after doing a brief ‘cheers’ with you. it was british tradition, after all.

“i know. i’m used to seeing you in leggings and a chelsea top.” mason observed, his cheeks blushing at the way you looked at him. he felt the butterflies begin to swarm in his stomach, like they did on the way here. “now you’re in a dress, i can see your legs.” his eyes widened at the weird statement that just fell from his lips, face burning with embarrassment. “sorry, that sounded so creepy.”

you burst into laughter, feeling anything but disturbed. in fact, you felt more comfortable with him. “don’t worry about it, you’re easy to feel comfortable with.” mason took this chance to hide his rosy cheeks by sipping on his beer. the pair of you conversed for well over an hour, your conversations from work spilling into the mix too. and soon enough you were laughing on the walk back to your home.

“that’s hilarious. i can’t believe we could’ve almost met years ago.” you exclaimed, mason proud of recalling that memory. the pair of you remembered an awful christmas concert that happened in a town near central london, and were almost inches apart unknowingly covering your ears at the screeches made by the backup singers.

you’d ended up at your door, mason standing just centimetres away from your face. you knew what he wanted, and you wanted it to. so, with the confidence given to you by the mixer you’d just downed a while ago, you closed the gap between you and engaged in a sweet kiss with him. it was well overdue, mason’s teammates would say as he told them the following day.

you’d settled in really nicely with the team, enjoying every day you spent at the training grounds. you’d only been on that one drink date with mason, always planning to reschedule another but you’d both be too busy to do so. it didn’t stop you from texting nonstop and have some late night facetime calls. you were really beginning to like each other. it was as if nothing could ruin your happiness you felt with your life at this moment.

until you’d been pulled aside and told by chelsea’s own manager that a man united massage therapist had quit, offering you the job. it would mean your whole life would shift, you’d have to move, you’d have to make friends with a team all over again, and leave mason. you couldn’t bear telling him, which you’d also been told to do. you’d have to break the news to your beloved team, who would come and cheer with you after a win, and always pester you with random requests. you were each of their’s personal assistant almost, loving your relationship with them all. and mason, you knew he’d be crushed, the girl he was so deeply falling for, being told to move to another club.

you were on edge since that very morning, not being your usual joking self with your boys as they came in for their sessions. you’d weakly smile at them and make small talk whilst tending to their stiff joints, then let them leave. all the boys carried on with their day, assuming you were just having a bad day. but mason could see through you, he could tell something was playing on your mind.

as you were putting pressure on mason’s ankle, which he’d been take off the pitch for last week, he grabbed your arm gently. sitting up, he pulled you close to him and held you how he usually did. his hands grazing your sides and his eyes almost burning holes into your own. “talk to me, pretty. what’s on your mind?”

you shook your head. “i’d go easy on the foot today, mount. i don’t want to see you benched next game.” would you even be able to see their next game? it brought you close to tears throughout the day, but being trapped in a room with mason, you were bound to cry and tell him everything.

his grip didn’t leave your arm, instead he pulled you closer to him and held you close to his chest, now standing and towering over you. you felt a sob erupt through your chest, opening the flood gates as you cried into him. he’d never seen you like this, you were always his smiling ball of sunshine. “talk to me, y/n.”

“they’re moving me.” you simply stated, hoping not to say another word and him just understand completely. but it didn’t work like that, none of the team knew. mason would be the first to know, and you had to tell the rest of the team before the day was up. as this weekend you’d be arranging accommodation in manchester whilst you looked for permanent residence, as well as meeting the team and staff you’d be working for.

“what?”

“they’re moving me to united, mase. a therapist quit over there and they asked for me, your manager signed me over a few days ago. and i’m gonna be leaving you boys.” you explained, mason’s grip on you loosening as he tried to come to terms with what you were saying. he’d had his fair share of bad news in his life, but this was the biggest blow he’d felt in a while.

“they can’t do that,” mason stuttered over his tears, a frown cast upon his face, “they can’t just expect you to pack up and leave.” you placed your hands over his cheeks, forcing him to look down at you. that’s when his tears began to fall, looking so vulnerably at each other in this time of sadness.

“they can, mason. and they have, i need to go this weekend to meet the team and look to move up there.” you admitted, your hands refused to leave his face. you were soaking up every bit of mason you could before you left. long-distance didn’t work for either of you, especially with how busy you both were. the only time you’d see each other would be if chelsea were to play united.

“i can’t lose you, y/n.” he confessed, pulling you into him and resting his head above yours. it wasn’t just losing a girl he was seeing, it was losing someone he loved. he’d fallen deeply in love with you — but telling you would just hinder your movement. he couldn’t make it any harder than it was, it would ruin you. he just had to let you go.

that afternoon, you’d thought about what you were going to say and met the boys on the pitch. the second mason saw you, it took everything in him to not cry into his hands. but he managed to stay strong. you stood weakly beside the team manager, avoiding everyone’s eyes and fiddling with your jumper sleeves.

“afternoon boys,” you greeted them, hearing a few cheers and whistles, they loved you, “i have some news. today will be my last day working with you. i’ve been transferred to united, which will take full effect this weekend. you guys have my number if you just want to talk rubbish, or have any questions for me.” it was a long while of hugging them all, laughing with them and repeating little inside jokes with them.

“what are you going to do without me, huh?” you asked reece, who just chuckled and gave you a squeeze. “i’ll miss you all, you know who i’ll be cheering on if you ever go against united.”

you’d settled in at united perfectly, but something was missing. it was always going to feel this way, nothing would ever break the bond you shared with the chelsea boys. even when they went head to head, and you’d catch mason’s eyes on the pitch, you’d have to hide your smile when they scored, and try even harder if mason was the one putting it in the back of the net. you got on well with the boys here, but you found yourself missing the boys back at chelsea, and most of all, mason.

months had passed since your move to manchester, and you were heading out of your office on a particular tiring friday afternoon, walking past united’s manager, who always seemed to be on his way to something.

“ah, y/n, just who i needed to see.” he commented, stopping you as you were headed out to find a late rashford for his session. “keep an eye on your emails tonight, please. you’ve been included in an international offer.” you nodded, not hearing anything past the word ‘email’. and when you’d gotten home that evening, waiting for your takeaway to arrive, you mindlessly scrolled your emails.

something about the upcoming world cup, saying you’d been selected as the teams massage therapist. it burned your eyes as you danced around your tiny living room; so happy to have a chance at seeing any of the chelsea boys again. you’d thought that after all these months of just seeing mason’s face in his instagram posts, he’d have forgotten about you and moved on. but it was the furthest from the truth.

mason watched over your socials for months, seeing your various pictures with the likes of rashford, shaw, and lingard. he made sure you had friends and was having a good time up north. but every night he’d go to bed, yearning for you and the time you both spent together. missing your first kiss, missing hearing the sound of your laugh in real life, not just through another footballers videos. he missed spending hours on the phone. and although he had a chance to reconnect with you, it would be too much for the both of you to handle. he’d miss you so much more, knowing you were simply unobtainable.

after signing all of the correct documents to show you could in fact work for the national team, you were on your way to the training grounds and coping with living in the camp alongside the boys and other members of staff. it was better than your tiny manchester apartment, that was for sure. you weren’t really needed outside for training, so you set up your office and began on your paperwork. time passed a lot quicker here than it did when you worked at united, it was nearing your lunch break already. a knock was placed at your door, bringing your out of your work daze.

“hello, stranger.” you heard from behind you, heart overjoyed that it was actually him. it was your mason. you turned round to greet him, standing up and immediately pulling him into a hug. it felt familiar, the only bit of familiarity you had in this place. “god, i missed you.” he even smelt the same, as creepy as it was to say.

“i knew you’d be called up,” you admitted to him, looking up at his red face. it was just like the first time, he was so nervous to talk to you, “you’re still my best player.” his hands found your cheeks, taking advantage of the affection not feeling awkward. it was as if you never left.

“you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you all these months, y/n,” he whispered, face centimetres away from yours. “how much i’ve wanted to kiss you again.” you wanted it too, you finally felt like you found your missing piece. but you had to remain professional, this was national level now, not just club level.

“trust me,” you whispered back at him, holding your hands above his own, “i’ve wanted to kiss this pretty face, too. but we have to be professional.” he nodded, understanding that if they were caught, you’d be the one facing repercussions, not him. so he respected your choice and stood back.

“what about when the day’s over, and we go back to the camp,” he suggested, a hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning around, “what would you say to me then?” you just shrugged, sitting back down in your chair and continuing your work. the remainder of your day was quiet, just talking about a few people tomorrow that have stiff joints that need loosening. you’d made your way back to camp, opening your door and sighing as you took your shoes off.

what room are you in? mason texted, waiting outside his door.

you’re eager, i just finished work. but i’m on the floor above you, room 39. you texted him back, speedily changing your attire for something more comfortable and freshening up. mason would be up here within seconds. and whilst there were no rules stating that the squad shouldn’t be in staff members rooms, it felt wrong.

“you’re gonna have to leave when nobody can see you.” you sighed, opening your door to an eager mason. he wormed past you and sat on your bed, semi annoyed that your bed was comfortable than his.

“so not only do you get a room to yourself, you get a bed that doesn’t feel like a plank of wood.” mason stated, clearly getting comfortable on your bed. “i just might have to stay here.” you rolled your eyes and sat beside him, resting your head on the pillow. “you tired?”

instead of saying anything, you nodded and inched closer to him. his right hand was drawing delicate patterns on your exposed arm, whilst the other was wrapped around you. this was the moment he wanted with you, even when you were working at chelsea. but it’s happening now and that’s all he cared about. holding the girl he still deeply loved in his arms.

“i’ll go down to dinner soon,” he mentioned, even if you could hear him or not, “maybe i’ll bring you something up.” a small kiss was placed on your temple, mason snuggling into you a bit more.

the next day, you knew you had some sessions. so you were up early, a text from mason on your phone.

i left late last night, i fell asleep once i came back from dinner. i hope you had a good night.

you blushed at his text, getting yourself prepared for the day. the boys had a match coming up soon and you wanted to be on top of your game, making sure they were all stretched and ready. you sat in your office, prepping your table and your paper work for the first person to enter.

you’d worked with grealish, bellingham, and lingard today. and they only had a few more hours training until they were done for the day. you sighed in your seat and rested your head against your desk, arms and hands sore. your handle was violently shoved down, your door opening in the process. startled, you watched declan carry his best mate in.

“he rolled his ankle taking a kick,” declan explained, helping his friend onto the table. you quickly sanitised your hands and pulled his sock down to observe his ankle. “will he be okay for the game in a few days?”

“yes, dec. he’ll be out in no time.” you reassured his friend, mason smiling through the sharp pain shooting through his ankle. declan had left shortly afterwards, leaving you to giggle at mason.

“what you giggling at, hm?” mason questioned, a finger tickling your side. you squirmed and brushed a hand over his head, his features relaxing under your touch.

“it’s always the ankles, hm?” you retorted, mason rolling his eyes before letting out a laugh of his own. “let’s get you back on your feet in time for this game.” you had taken his boot and sock off, applying gentle pressure to the sides of his ankle and seeing how badly he reacted to the pain.

after the next few days of training, it was finally time for the match. you stood nervously on the side of the pitch, watching the ball being passed around. you watched as it had gone to mason, someone from the opposing team sliding into mason, and knocking his ankles together. he fell and began to yell in pain, the medics rushing over to him and assessing the pain. after realising it was not too serious, but he still had to be taken off, they’d given the job to you.

mason sat on one of the chairs beside you, head leaned back as you pulled his socks down. he winced as your small, cold fingers had pressed different parts of his ankle, but it didn’t feel bad. in fact, it was quite relieving. “it really is always the ankles,” mason finally agreed, making you chuckle and sit on the floor opposite him, “god, it fucking hurts.”

“i will take care of you,” you mentioned, your hand sliding into his. he smiled at the contact, his free hands gently tickling your side. this small amount of public affection felt scary, but good. you knew someone would pick up on it, but you didn’t care in the slightest. you had been away from mason for far too long. months and months apart, yearning for each other every second you were awake.

when the match was over, england scoring a whopping 4-0, mason was by your side for the rest of the evening. even getting onto the coach to go home, he sat beside you the whole way; his hand in yours and his head gently resting against your shoulders. when heading back to camp, knowing you had a day’s break before the boys were back on for training again in time for the next match, mason followed you to your room. you didn’t mind, neither did anybody else really.

you’d gotten into bed beside him that night, eyes heavy from the amount of work you’d both put in today, and the buzzed feeling from declaring victory had awoken something in him. he had the urge to kiss you, like he has every moment he’s spent with you recently, but more than that. he wanted to tell you he loved you, but decided to keep quiet. he wanted to save it for another day, maybe someday more special, when you weren’t trying to catch up on sleep between games.

“are you tired of me?” mason asked, releasing his voice into the darkness. he had no idea whether you were awake or asleep, as half an hour had passed of you both enjoying each other’s presence. you were wide awake, although your eyes told a different story.

“i’m tired in general,” you admitted, rolling over to face him, barely catching his pearly whites in the dark, “but i could never get tired of you.” mason’s heart was beating through his chest, reaching out for your hand to place onto it. it was a special moment — feeling his heart rapidly paced from your words, you’d barely noticed mason’s arm around you as he pulled you into him.

“good, because i’m not letting you go again,” he spoke quietly, your hand now replaced with your head, feeling his pulses on your cheekbone. you smiled for the millionth time that day, happy you had your mason back.

[tsukishumai]

pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn word count: 3.2k summary: In which Osamu finds that the stranger lurking outside his store window has a connection to his restaurant that he could have never expected.

Osamu remembers every single face that has walked through the doors of Onigiri Miya since the day they’ve opened. He has yet to hire another worker, manning all stations of his business himself. The rush hours always provided him with a bit of a heavy work load, but Osamu has learned a lot about diligence and patience. Business had been good enough; traffic was steady throughout the day, and he had his fair share of regulars whose orders he had already memorized.

The stuffy, salt-and-pepper haired man in the pressed three-piece suit always ordered two umeboshi onigiri and a medium iced green tea. The kind old woman that ran the shop across the street would come in for his salted salmon, and if he had extra, Osamu would throw in an extra tuna mayo. She’d always smile and give him a pat on the shoulder, her eyes crinkling in a way that reminded Osamu of his grandmother.

It was when the shopkeeper had slowly walked out of his establishment and back to her own that Osamu noticed you standing a few feet away from his storefront. You had been wearing a face mask, but Osamu could see that you were staring at his sign. Your eyes squinted at the block letters that looked down at you, before they trailed down to land directly on Osamu. You seemed a little startled at the fact that his eyes were already staring at you, but you were standing outside his restaurant, weren’t you?

Before he could lift a hand to wave you in, you quickly turned and walked away.

Every few days, either during the dinner or lunch rush, Osamu would catch a glimpse of you outside of his restaurant. You’d stare at his sign for a few seconds; maybe glance at the menu board that stood a few feet away from his entrance, or look at the pictures of his full menu taped to the restaurant window. he would see the way you studied each item, yet you always walked the opposite direction.

It bothered Osamu. Why didn’t you want to come in? Did his menu look boring? Was his sign uninviting? Is his decoration too traditional? Should he have made it look a little more modern? He grumbled to himself about it each time you peeked in, and walked away. Why do you bother coming so often if you didn’t want to try his food? Osamu huffed.

It wasn’t until four weeks later, when Osamu had posted three brand new flavors on his menu board that you finally deemed his restaurant worthy enough to step in.

You had stopped by a little bit later than usual today, the dinner rush had come and gone, and the only ones left in the restaurant were you and Osamu. He stood patiently waiting behind his counter, desperately trying to look busy and as if he hasn’t been waiting for this moment for weeks. 

He waited until you were close enough to his counter to say his greetings. You nodded at him in acknowledgment, taking a seat at the bar in front of him. He handed you a menu, and your eyes roved over the words as if they hadn’t done so dozens of times prior. 

“Can I get ya anything to drink?” He asked, and you took off the baseball cap you had been wearing, setting it down on the counter beside you. Your finger hooks along the ear loop of your face mask and Osamu realizes he’s seeing your face for the first time. You place the piece of cloth in your pocket, and Osamu fights the heat across his cheeks. 

“Just water,” you said, and Osamu was quick to set a fresh glass down in front of you. 

“What’ll it be?” He asked after a few moments, adjusting the bill of his hat and settling his hand on his hip. 

You hum a little, tapping your finger against your lips before you reply. “I’ll have the combo #2 with the gyoza.” 

Osamu nodded, “What two flavors onigiri would you like?” 

“For the first one, I’ll have your most popular flavor,” you say, before closing the menu and handing it back to him, “I’ll let you choose the second one.” 

Osamu raised an eyebrow at your odd request, but nods anyway, putting the menu away and walking back to give his hands a quick wash. 

He begins to gather his ingredients when he noticed you take out a notepad and a pen from your bag, placing it on the counter in front of your water. 

“So,” he says, starting the process of making his number one seller (salted salmon), “What was it?” 

“Excuse me?” You asked, pausing the drink that was half way to your lips. “What was what?”

“Well, ya stood outside for weeks, so I gotta know,” Osamu said, placing the delicate filling into the ball of rice he was kneading in his palm, “What made ya decide to finally come in?” 

You tightened your lips, awkwardly setting the cup back down on the counter and placing a palm on your forehead. 

“I was that obvious?”

“Were ya trying not to be?” He laughed, looking at you expectantly. 

“It was the flavors on your board,” you finally replied, leaning back in your seat, “There was one that my grandfather used to make.”

Osamu smiled to himself, wrapping his first finished onigiri in the seaweed he had roasted earlier that day, placing it gently on a serving platter and moving over to make the next rice ball. 

“That’s a coincidence,” Osamu said, “Your grandfather must have had great taste.”

“He used to own a restaurant,” you blurted out, and Osamu hummed. 

“You’re kidding,” he said, “Whereabouts?”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, shifting your eyes side to side as if debating on whether you wanted to divulge him in your greatest secret. Eventually, you leaned forward, resting your elbow on the counter and placing your chin in your palm. “Actually, it was this one.”

Osamu’s fingers froze. “Ya don’t mean—?”

You nodded excitedly. Osamu lets out a scoff. “Now you’re just messin’ with me.”

“No, I swear!” A bright smile erupted across your cheeks as you jumped a little in your seat, “My grandparents used to own this restaurant.”

“I thought this was a boutique before I bought it?” Osamu questioned, putting his final touches on the second rice ball. 

“It was,” you agreed, taking a sip from your water, “They owned this place until I was in high school, and sold it before they retired somewhere in the mountains. It’s been a few different stores since, but this is the first time it’s become a restaurant again. I was pretty surprised when I first saw it.”

Osamu felt an odd sensation of pride began to brew in his chest, shown in the way he sprinkled his sesame seeds a little extra forcefully. 

“Well,” he said, placing the plate of two perfect onigiri right on the counter in front of you, “I hope I do this place some justice.” 

You smiled, and Osamu found himself smiling with you. He pointed out the shake on the left, and the surprise flavor on the right. You nodded, intrigued, picking up the onigiri lying on the left side. 

Osamu makes the gyoza while you take your first bite, nearly pumping his fist in victory when he sees you close your eyes in satisfaction, the tension he didn’t even know you carried slowly melting from your shoulders. He sees you quickly jot down comments on the notepad next to you, and Osamu tries to peek at what you wrote when he gives you the gyoza. 

“Ya jottin’ down comments about my food?” He joked, and you jumped a little at his voice, “Got any suggestions, then?”

You smile sheepishly, “It’s just a little hobby of mine.”

He nods, grabbing a towel and wiping down the counter that he had just used. “Well, ya let me know if ya need anything else.” 

“It’s just you working tonight?” You ask, grabbing your chopsticks and picking up a piece of gyoza. 

“It’s just me every night,” he chuckled. 

Your eyes widened as you chewed on your food, swallowing with a loud gulp. 

“Doesn’t that get exhausting?” You ask, quickly jotting down your notes before diverting your attention back to him. 

Osamu just shrugged. “I poured my everything into something I didn’t love half as much as cooking. This is just how I know how to do things.” 

You tilted your head to the side, “What did you do before this?”

Osamu takes a deep breath as he lifts his hat up a little bit to ruffle his fingers through his hair. He flips the cap around and puts it on backwards, his vision no longer half covered by the bill of his hat and he can now look at you fully. He almost wants to laugh because no one has ever asked him that version of this question before. It was always, ‘What are you going to be doing after volleyball?’

He hated the fact that any answer other than ‘I’m going to play professionally’ was deemed a shame, or a waste. For Osamu, he didn’t want to waste another second not pursuing his passion.

So it was refreshing to tell you about volleyball as if it was just a footnote in his food journey; something that he had done prior to finally recognizing his actual potential.

You gawked at him in disbelief, “Volleyball? Were you even any good?”

Osamu actually recoiled in offense, “I’ll have ya know I was on a team that went to nationals three years in a row.”

You raised your eyebrows appreciatively, and Osamu straightened a little.

“So why food?” You question him again, and Osamu wonders if you’re always this inquisitive. He’s answered this question hundreds of times, swore up and down that he would shoot the next person that even dared to say ‘Why food?’ in front of him. Yet for some reason, he felt more than happy to divulge you. 

“Because food is more than just something ya eat when you’re hungry. It’s coming back from a long trip, and it’s the warmth that spreads through your body when ya eat your mom’s cooking for the first time. That taste of victory that spreads across your tongue when ya go out for a meal with your pals after a game. The sensation of closing your eyes in satisfaction when ya take a bite out of a fresh onigiri after a long day,” you pause your scribbles at that moment, looking up to shoot him a playful glare. Osamu chuckled and continued, “It’s laughter shared around the table, and memories made over a plate that makes food more than just nourishment for our body, but also for our soul.” 

Osamu feels his cheeks heat up as he finishes his speech, embarrassment beginning to sink in at the end of his long tangent. You looked at him with a soft look on your face as you finished the last bite of your first onigiri, and dusted your fingers from any stray grains of rice.

“Words to live by,” you commented, lifting your glass of water up in agreement before tilting it back for a drink.

He let out a breath of relief that lasted only a second when he saw you reach over to pick up the onigiri with toppings he picked out for you. He held his breath as you took a bite, not expecting to see your eyes widen so fast, snapping your head down to the innocent rice ball that now sported a bite mark.

“Shio kombu cheese?” you say hurriedly, holding the onigiri closer to your face.

Osamu steps forward, “Do ya like it?”

You take another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors as they melded in your mouth, and your eyes nearly begin to water.

“I never thought someone other than my grandfather would be weird enough to come up with this,” you laughed, scarfing down the rice ball in less than two seconds. “Yet here it is.”

“It’s not weird,” he defended, “It’s refined.”

You laugh as you dive into a story from your childhood spent sitting in this exact restaurant. Osamu listens intently as you recount how many different failed recipes your grandfather had forced you to ty and review, helping him decide what to put on the menu, or which combinations would bring in the businessmen that always seemed to just walk passed the restaurant.

He tells you of the tantrum his brother threw when he told him he was quitting volleyball, but still, Atsumu was his first sale. You pester him about his secret ingredient, and give him an incredulous look when he says it’s the rice. (“My old volleyball captain is a rice farmer.” “… what an interesting volleyball team.”)

The furniture was different, and the lay out was unfamiliar, but the atmosphere around Osamu’s counter had brought you right back into your childhood, reminding you of all the reasons why you loved what you did in the first place.

Long after your plates had been emptied, and the hour hand on the clock had extended way passed closing time, you finally paid for your meal, stood up from your seat and prepared to take your leave.

“Thank you for the meal, and the conversation,” you lean forward to read his name tag, “Miya-san.”

“Osamu,” he corrects, and raises an eyebrow at you.

You tell him your name, and Osamu repeats it in his mind over and over again.

“Come back soon,” he calls out his usual greeting as you walked out the door, but it felt different when he said it to you.

“I will,” you smile, waving a hand before stepping into the night, leaving Osamu with a dizzy head and fluttering stomach.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

In the following weeks since his late night encounter with you, Onigiri Miya had ceased to be a simple stop along someone’s route to work, or an afterthought on the way home.

One could imagine Osamu’s surprise when he arrived an hour and half before he was due to open, and already a line began to form down the sidewalk. He thought, perhaps it was a fluke, or maybe there was some sort of business convention in town nearby – something to explain the sudden spike in popularity.

Yet day after day, the crowds of people came to him by the dozens, climbing over each other to get a taste of his cooking. He couldn’t stop to wonder how long this was going to last, barely having the time to stop and give himself a break.

He finally realizes it’s not merely coincidence when the lines get longer, yet the faces he sees stay the same. Osamu remembers every single face that walks through the doors of Onigiri Miya, and it’s the ones that he sees over and over that truly give his restaurant its meaning. 

The last customer of the dinner rush left thirty minutes ago when Osamu’s phone rang.

“‘llo,” he greets, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he sweeps the floor, thinking about how he needed to start looking for someone to hire.

“Hey, asshole,” the voice of his twin comes through loud and clear, “When were ya gonna tell me ya invited that food blogger to your restaurant? And how the hell did ya get them to like your garbage cooking?”

Osamu stops in confusion, grabbing the phone and holding it up himself. “Did ya finally get hit in the head a little too hard at practice? What the hell are ya talking about?”

Atsumu curses at Osamu, telling him to hold on a second as he sends him the link.

Osamu pulls the phone away from his ear for a second, quickly pressing on the blue url that popped up from Atsumu’s chat bubble.

It took a second for it to load, but when it did, Osamu’s jaw dropped

ONIGIRI MIYA IS AN ONIGIRI MUST HAVE by L/N Y/N

Beneath the obnoxious title was a photo of his sign, shining brightly against the wooden panels of his building, looking very much like a beacon for those searching for the perfect plate.

“Your shop is all over the internet and I had to find out about it on my news feed?! What the hell kinda brother are ya...”

Atsumu’s voice faded into the background as Osamu read the flattering words you had written about his restaurant. You complimented the decoration he had been insecure about, and he chuckled at the way you had described the fluffiness of his rice. He was captivated by your use of prose, painting the perfect picture of exactly everything he wanted his food to convey.

It wasn’t until he got to the last paragraph when he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Though the years have passed, and the season have changed, the sentimentality of this particular shop had never lost its meaning for me. For the first time in years, I felt the soul of my grandfather, the curator of my inspiration and passion, all around the atmosphere of what is now Onigiri Miya. I have every faith that the new owner has already done him justice.

“Excuse me, are you still open?”

Osamu tore his eyes away from the screen, the very author of the only review that will ever matter to him stood a mere few feet away from his counter.

“Call you later, Tsumu,” he said hurriedly.

“Hey, wh—“

Osamu slips his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to you. You had a cheeky smile on your face as you waited patiently.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya,” he says dryly, and you laugh at his tone.

“Should you be on your phone while you’re on the clock?” You joke as you settle in the same seat you occupied the last time you paid him a visit.

“I don’t know,” Osamu crosses his arms, “Should ya be writing articles about people without telling em?”

You winced a little at his words, holding your hands up in surrender. “You saw it then?”

Osamu nodded.

You looked to the side, rubbing the side of your arm. “Did you like what I wrote?”

Osamu smiled, uncrossing his arms and walking to the back to wash his hands. You watch him curiously as he walked back to you, and pointed to a spot on the wall directly to your right.

“That’s where I’m gonna put it,” he said, “when I print it out and frame it.”

You laughed at the seriousness of his face, and he smirked in satisfaction.

You ordered the combo #2 with a side of gyoza, letting Osamu pick the two flavors. You mentioned how you tried to visit a couple of times, but the line was always so far out the door. He realizes that he has you to thank for that, and you blush deeply when he sincerely tells you so.

“So,” you say as you munch on the honey garlic pork onigiri he prepared, “Aren’t you glad you did this instead of boring, old volleyball?”

Osamu nearly chokes at the insult. “Volleyball is not boring.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, “Let me take you to a game some time. We can eat something other than rice balls.”

You look up from the half eaten onigiri at the chef who made it so carefully, looking so bashful and nervous you couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah. I would love that.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

thank you for reading! reblogs are highly appreciated <33

[namjoonchronicles]

the money project | 8

↳ pairing seokjin x you

↳ genre melodrama, angst, enemies-to-friends-to-lover, fake marriage, intense pining on each other

↳ words 7.1k

↳ warning slightly strong languages, fluff, suggestive content

↳ chapters one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten completed!

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I have a family to protect now. Not your version of a family, but my version of a family. Seokjin had released a statement on national television regarding the accusation. The company is undergoing general auditing, and on the contrary beliefs that he would be against it, he was actually for it. A general auditing will reveal malicious funds transferred and transacted to suspicious accounts. That would also reveal Ian’s connection to the bribe and eventually drag his father along— and they will all fall like dominoes. Seokjin understood how important the image is to the company and on shaky grounds, he would have to further emphasize his duty as a husband, hoping to win the public favor. You were good for his image.

“Toiletries?”

“Check.”

“Facemasks?”

“Check.”

“Clothes. Books. Laptop.”

“Check. Check. Check.”

Seokjin carries the duffel bag over his shoulder and places them in the backseat. You were scheduled for a uterine polypectomy. It is a surgical removal of polyps that will require general anesthesia and take up to 2 weeks to recover from. Your doctor decided on incision since the ultrasound scan and vaginal inspection represents a particularly large (but harmless) polyps. Under Seokjin’s (frantic) advice, you decided to proceed with the surgery. He is now driving you to the hospital where you will be admitted for 2 weeks. Upon arrival, they readied a wheelchair for you. Seokjin hijacked the wheelchair and insisted on pushing you. He also placed the duffel bag in your lap.

“This is ridiculous, I can walk,” you groaned and cowered, trying to make yourself small.

He scolds you with a hiss.

“Ninth floor, ObGyn ward. Room 2,” he reads the scraggly writing at the top of the pink card you brought with you, “You have to change to the ugly hospital clothing.”

Settling into the spacious room with wide windows overlooking the busy city, you lift yourself from the wheelchair and open the duffel bag to begin organizing the stuff you will need for your stay. The nurse and doctor came to greet you and your designated husband. Rich people have different perks, that’s for sure.

“I hope we will be able to provide you with excellent hospitality and medical service throughout your stay, Mrs. Kim…” the doctor bowed slightly and bowed back at her.

“If there are no complications, you might be discharged earlier than planned. The surgery itself will not take very long as it is simple. We will do our best.”

“Please change into the hospital clothing and press the call button if you need any assistance,” the nurse reminded you and your husband with a smile. Seokjin raised his hand and asked, “Is my portable bed arriving soon?”

Portable bed? Is he going to stay here?

“Yes they are preparing it, they will have it transported here as soon as it is ready,” the nurse nodded in enthusiasm.

Seokjin smiled widely, satisfied that his request had been granted. He glances briefly at you, who was brewing in confusion. Seokjin rests his hand behind his back as he watches the medical team leave. He slid the door shut and turned to you.

“Portable bed…?” you raised your voice, ever so slightly.

“I am not going to sleep alone in that house,” he shakes his head while maintaining a smile, letting you know how outrageous the idea is. He would much rather sleep here than the house without you.

“There are no neighbors, and it’s dark at night,” he pokes his head into the fridge, choosing the snacks he feels like eating. With the seriousness of a man who was on an over-extended honeymoon trip. He lifts his eyes at you while hugging a potato chip bag in his arm and shoving a gummy into his mouth with another, “What are you doing? They tell you to change to the hospital’s garment, don't they?”

You glared at him over your shoulders. There is no curtain in this room. No visible barriers. No privacy. Seokjin stared blankly at your dragon eyes. They look like they’re about to spew out laser and it got him clutching his dear self until he realised,

“Oh,” he gasped. Must grant the wife some privacy she clearly doesn’t need.

Seokjin gets pushed to face the wall. While you unbutton your blouse one-by-boring buttons, your phone shrills the familiar ringtone. Bad news is, your phone is on top of the duffle bag next to where Seokjin is standing. In the other corner of the room. And to say that you were underdressed was an understatement because apart from your bras and undies, you have practically nothing else on. Walking over to that man over there is not an option.

“Can you answer that for me?” You pleaded, “It might be important.”

Seokjin glanced at the screen and saw the caller ID, “Namjoon.”

“No, actually,” he rolled his eyes to the back of his head and tilted his head back.

“Seokjin, please, it’s my research,” you begged while putting one arm through the striped pajamas.

“Fussy,” he shot and swiped his thumb over the phone and tapped ‘Loudspeaker’.

“Hey,” the honey dripping deep voice resonates throughout the room, “I’ve been trying to reach you, the phenolic content comes out in positive numbers today, I can send you the black-and-whites if you want.” Melodic was his voice and they seem to echo on the strings of your heart, if you dare say so yourself. But it is difficult to be perfectly bare with your feelings because the reason for your secrecy is standing right there listening to the whole conversation.

“I am sorry, I’m a little caught up with some things,” you chuckled breathlessly, “Is it possible for you to email them to me, so I can do the calculations?”

The young man hikes a breath in, through his teeth, whistling, “I’ve printed it out though. Thought it would be easier for you to demangle the number crunching with the papers in hand,” Namjoon bit his lower lip, “I’m just going to be straight forward now, I wanted to see you. Let me know where you are… I’ll buy you coffee.” The young lad added a little bribe at the end.

You smiled, before remembering that Seokjin was in the room and listening to everything. Clearing your throat, you intend to reply to another plausible rejection but the nurses knock on your room to send Seokjin his portable bed.

“Mr. Kim, your portable bed has arrived,” the nurse slides the door open as you put on your trousers. You dashed towards the phone and grabbed them. Hastily put it against your ear and turned off the loudspeaker mode. You succumbed to Namjoon’s request. Seokjin shifted himself to the other corner of the room and waited as they set his bed up. Then he sat on your bed as you got needles pierced into your vein so they could insert an IV line for your IV bag. You ended the call with Namjoon, ensuring that he could stop by in the evening. And because of that, you need Seokjin to disappear for the night.

“Well, it doesn’t look half bad on you,” Seokjin commented on your hospital gown.

“Leave me alone for one night, just one night I’m asking from you,” without missing a beat, you said, begging, clasping your hands together in desperation, “Please! I happen to really like him. I sacrificed my entire life for you, can I just have this one person, one man fall for me? For who I really am and not who I pretend to be.”

So that’s how he wound up kicking air outside the hospital garden as the night grew darker. His lower lip jutted out, chin’s touching his chest, hands dug deep into his jeans pocket. He shudders, shivering at the cold. Cold breath escapes his mouth as he braves the chilly weather with thin clothing.

“What is so great about him…” he huffs angrily. Another pebble kicked from the pavement. He hung his head down.

“I called you day and night, just to hear your voice even when you were miles away despite the timezones. Took care of your stupid ankle. Wrote you a postcard. One guy came when I was away and suddenly, he’s all you see. What about me?! Don’t I matter?!” He glared at the building where your ward is to scream, “You blind women! Why do I even bother about you!”

He fishes his phone out of his back pocket to see zero notifications.

“She said she’ll call when it’s done, what is taking her so long?! It’s been 25 minutes!” he groaned to his phone, “It’s not even that cold anymore now that I am angry…”

Rubbing the palm of his hand together, he covered his ear shells that are turning red at the freezing temperature, “Nevermind, it’s still cold.” He shudders violently this time, kicking himself to jog to generate some heat in his body. He ends up running round and round the park for real, actually exercising. He did some sit-ups, push-ups and mimicked a boxing match with himself. Complete with the sports commentator played by himself and his opponent is the guy named ‘Namjoon’. Sweat came beading on his forehead, trailing down his jaw. The back of his shirt was damp with a wet patch the size of a book.

Through the bushes, he saw Namjoon leaving. The boy got long legs and a baseball cap on, covering half of his face. He carries a backpack with its strap on one shoulder, steadily making his way down on the declining road. Seokjin squinted his eyes at the oblivious guy and made his way inside.

When he arrived at your room, the lights were off. You had your back turned to the door as you lay to your side facing the window.

“Sleeping?” he asked gently, leaning against the wall, hiding at the corner.

“Was,” you shot dryly, “What is it?”

“The nurses outside asked what you wanted for your breakfast tomorrow,” Seokjin continued.

You finally turned to him, “Why are you talking to me from there?”

“You asked for space,” he blinks, “How does an omelet sound?”

You nodded, “Are you staying here tonight?”

“If you want…” Seokjin drew circles on the wall, pouting.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. Might as well let the facade live on. Omelet sounds great…”

His heart broke a little. You called the relationship a facade. The fact that you’re not entirely wrong about it— makes his heart crumble a bit. Like water. In extensive hunger for any nourishing love, yours were like water on his desert. And he is dying of thirst he hasn’t quite recognised yet.

“Seokjin,” you called for him softly, “What does it mean when a guy says he wants to be a safe place?”

“What else could it mean, it means he wants you to regard him as someone to confide in,” Seokjin answered mindlessly. His eyes blasted open when he realised what he’s done.

“W-why?” he stammered.

“The guy earlier, Namjoon. He said he wants to be my safe place,” you sighed.

You continued to tell Seokjin how Namjoon had been occupying your mind ever since you met him. He didn’t mind running errands for you. Started to watch movies together. Lunch and breakfast. You spent most of your time in the lab with him and it felt natural since it feels like work. Love would be the meeting of the minds, you’d say.

“He burns into my mind like an acid, erasing what I knew about friendship and love. So I had been thinking about us,” you huffed, feeling the heaviness in your chest weighing you down like an anchor. Seokjin grips tighter on the tips of his pillow, lying on his side, curled into a ball. He would run miles to escape this impending separation. He stood between hanging on and letting go. Was it even love to begin with? Was he in love or has he used the circumstances to trap you, tricking you into possession? Seokjin’s knuckles turned white at how hard he was gripping the pillow.

“Do you like him?” Seokjin asked.

“I know I don’t dislike him…” you shot back, a hint of a smile on the corner of your lips before it vanishes when you switch to your side to look at Seokjin bed beside you, “What do you think?”

Seokjin forces his eyes shut with his back to you, and he mumbles back, “Does it matter what I think.”

It does. Your heart whispers.

Your meals were served at 8AM, 1PM and 6PM everyday. Seokjin leaves the hospital for work as usual. He leaves at 7AM and returns at 9PM, sometimes 10PM. Despite the auditing going on, Seokjin works with the planning department for a new product launch. He has his head hung low, hunched over a pie chart of buyer demographics. He would return to the hospital no matter how late to check on you. He rises up at 5AM and heads home to cook. He prepares a menu for you to choose from and asks the nurse to pass them to you, saying that it's from the cafeteria. The night before the operation, you weren’t allowed to eat. He sat outside the operation theatre hall, glancing once in a while to the screen indicating the names of the patient. He paces left and right. Makes a couple of bathroom trips to vomit and defecate. He checks his phone but he feels anxious. The continuous caffeine intake proves to be detrimental to his anxiety. It took over 5 hours.

The operation was a success but your oxygen level was low so you had a non-rebreather mask covering your nose and mouth that would aid the oxygen intake. You had been responding positively towards the anaesthetic recovery. The doctor commanded for you to move your right fingers and hovered a flashlight over your eyes. It constricts in the presence of light. Though slowly, you managed to lift your forefinger no higher than the bed frames. You were transported back into your ward to recover, where you rested until the numbness subsided. You managed to clutch on the nurse’s uniform to ask where Seokjin was.

She said that he left not long ago.

What did you expect? For him to wait for you?

Yoongi knocks on the door for you. He holds a tray of food: porridges, anchovies and warm drinks wearing a big smile. He held his hand out before you tried to sit up and raised the upper side of the bed with a remote.

“Seokjin…”

⸻

A week has passed. You came down with a fever but the doctor said it was common after penetrative surgery. With some antibiotics and painkillers to cope, Seokjin comes in with a cooling patch whenever your body heats up and an extra blanket when you feel cold. He fed you with soups he said he bought but you clearly heard him from the kitchen with the pots clanking and vegetables chopped. There were varieties of the porridges he made. Most of them have abalones slices he claims for strength. Once, you took a spoonful of rice from him and your face crumpled.

"Chicken gizzards?"

"Chicken gizzards, yes. I know you hate them, but it is good for you," he said in a coaxing way.

"They taste so bad," you made a sad face to him but he wasn't swayed. Not even the slightest bit.

But that was how it is. The week after you are discharged from the hospital. He can't really go anywhere without the press hounding him like maggots over rotten meat. He had to hold meetings online because of the pandemic and you had to attend online lectures since you were unwell after the surgery. It was nice to see him at every corner where you were. He had his office remade to house another desk for you so you don't have to use the dining table. So when you are typing your thesis, you would trail your eyes to where he is and watch his mouth turn into little pouts as he proceeds thinking. He responds dramatically to every hiss and winces you make. Concerned washed over his face. He lets you borrow his computer when yours was taking too long to update and you have a lecture to attend while he uses the iPad in the living room so he won't bother with his pressing questions towards his planning department. He learns that you like coffee in three ways: bitter, sweet, milky—depending on the mood of the day. He accommodates it, accordingly. If it is bitter, it's black, 1 teaspoon of coffee, no sugar, no milk. If it is sweet, it's 1 teaspoon of coffee, 2 teaspoons of sugar. If it is milky, it is 1 teaspoon of coffee, and 2 teaspoons of sweetened condensed milk. Bitter is for days you require brain power, productivity. Sweet is for days that are stressful and a little anxious. Milky is for days that are good and usually fridays. Seokjin would pass you a mug while he had his earphones on. You would clasp your palm over its warm body while you mouthed 'Thank You' for him to ignore.

The auditing is wrapping up soon, and with lack of evidence to charge Seokjin over the bribing accusations, the investigation seems bleak and uncalled for. The accuser will begin to name names. As to who made him file a false report and why. So for that Seokjin isn't worried—he already knows several names that are going to be on there without question.

Light shone from the hallway downstairs suggests that Seokjin had returned home. You look at the time, rubbing your eyes. The long strenuous hours in front of the computer screen is taking its toll. It's a little past 2AM. He had been distant. A little quiet. Ever since he saw you and Namjoon walking home from the campus. He was peeking through the shades as you both spoke in the garden. You were holding a bouquet made of dandelions and street-plucked flowers. They were from Namjoon. You told Seokjin he picked them from the garden along the campus greenwalks. Seokjin simply nods. Then he says he is leaving to get a contract paper he needs to sign in the office building. You knew it was a shabby excuse to leave the house when he could have had Yoongi deliver them by car. Maybe he needed the fresh air. Couped up in the house isn't healthy. But still. Coming home at 2AM is… unlike Seokjin. Your feet pads downstairs softly. And you saw him sitting by the kitchen counter.

“Might as well stay the night at the office if you were coming home this late,” you tied your hair up in a ponytail to catch him eyeing at an empty green bottle of soju before reaching out for another one. Something’s wrong.

You hurried to pinch his chin and do a scan on his face. He didn't push you away.

His face was busted.

Primed bruises. Dried blood patches at the corner of lips. Swollen cheekbone. Bloodshot eyes. Buttons on his shirt flew off, leaving his chest open. His busted knuckles and chipped nails. He stuck rolled tissue tips in one of his nostrils and there were traces of blood dripped on his otherwise white dress shirt. His blazers were torn at the seams with its strings sticking out.

"I'm fine," he turns away, escaping your hand and proceeds to snap the soju bottle open.

"I hope the other one ends up in the hospital if you came home like this," you dashed to the cabinet and took out a first aid kit.

"Dad knew about our deal," he hung his head low at the same time he put down the bottle of hard liquor, "That bastard Ian told him."

You flipped the clip on the box open and brought it to him. You grabbed his knee and turned him to face you. He looked at you with a heavy lidded eye, chin tilted slightly upward. You fetched a cotton pad and dabbed a bottle of disinfectant on them before rubbing them on his wounds. Gently. His eyelids flutter at the pain. But that was it. He locked his eyes on you and grabbed the soju bottle from the side and drunkenly put the mouth of the liquor between his lips. He tips a little until the liquid enters his mouth in copious amounts. He is quite known to have a higher alcohol tolerance. And to have him in this state of drunk, it must’ve been his 3rd or fourth bottle.

"So I punched the life out of him," he slurred.

"Good job," you hummed, standing in between his knees to treat his wound, "Is that what you want to hear from me?" You tip your challenging eyes up at him. He didn't reply. He just glued his eyes on you. Follow your every move.

"Are you worried about embracing the homelessness?" You paused, grabbing the cotton tip and squeezed a thin amount of ointment on it before you gently graze Seokjin's cut and wound. You grabbed his chin and stayed inches away from his lips. He was docile, and tame. He let you do anything to him.

"You shouldn't be… you have a new project now, you have your own savings, you have made a team that is loyal to you, you have nothing to be afraid of," you kept your voice clear and firm and soft. You also told him how he helped your family get a head start in their life, even helped you afford a house for your parents and helped pay for your medical expenses.

"For the divorce, can I have this house?" You cracked a smile and joked. But he didn't share the humor.

“If I'm honest, you can have anything you want but do you know what I want?” Seokjin bats his eyelashes at you, arching one eyebrow.

With a small smile at the tips of your lips, you hoped to play along with the wounded boy you see. To you right now, he is drunk, beaten black and blue and the words that are leaving his mouth sounds like a tall tale aside from the fact that he revealed what he father knew. But you knew this was going to happen sooner or later. You have somehow prepared for it. The tip of the cotton bud barely touched his skin.

“What possibly could the majestic worldwide handsome Kim Seokjin want?”

“Live a life where I will see you when I come home,” His eyes sparkled with impending tears, and he lifted his left finger and showed his wedding band, “And wear this ring. Falling asleep and waking up next to you.” Not once, his eyes left you.

Your limp arm dropped to your side. The cotton bud followed after.

“If you ask me to live in this house without you, I don’t want to,” he raised his voice, tears spilling on either side of his cheeks, “So you can have it.”

“Seokjin, w-what are you saying?”

His eyes shift, trying to study yours.

“I could take hundreds of punches from my father’s knuckle, and bludgeon with a baseball bat till I am half dead but I have never felt as much pain as seeing you with someone else,” he pounded his fist against his heart repeatedly. Tears falling on either side of his cheek, polling at his chin until finally, create a wet stain on the floor too minute to even be seen. He gathers your hips in his arms, nuzzling his face in your stomach, sniffling. His face turned red from crying. Strong smell of alcohol clouded your thoughts. What is he saying?

“I don’t know when it began,” his voice muffled against your shirt, “Might have been when you saved me from drowning in the pool. Or when you cooked for me. Or when you held my hand in the car. Or when you hugged me at the airport. Or when you called through my phone. Or when you showed me a world I never knew about. Somewhere, I begin falling for you.”

“Seokjin, it was… it was staged,” you unveiled his arm from around you, pushing him back as hard as you can, and you took his chin in between your thumb and forefinger. Trying to pull the sense out of him, “You told me to pretend.”

“You feel it too, don't you?” he pleads, “Along the way, you stopped pretending, I could feel it.” You froze in place. Unable to form a word to your jumbling thoughts. Your emotions were all over.

“Isn’t that why you keep seeing Namjoon? To stop yourself from falling in love with me? I saw you take off your ring whenever you meet him… you gave an impression that what we have is real, sacred, even. You heart trampler, you.”

He releases his chin from your grasp and turns his chair away from facing you. He sways drunkenly along his way to the couch in the living room, just a few steps away. He falls facedown on the seat with one of his legs dangling off one end. You fetched the empty bottles and threw them in the bin. Wiped the counter with a cloth. Collect his wallet from the table. Unfasten his wrist watch. Fixed his dangling leg. Treat his smashed knuckles a little more. Took off his socks. Wiped his arms and legs with wet tissues. You spread a blanket over his body so he could sleep better. Sets his Rolex folded neatly, on top of his wallet and phone.

“I fell in love hard and fast,” you whispered, “Moved on as fast too. Maybe you were right about Namjoon. Maybe I am stopping myself from falling for you even more than I already have. But we’re not meant to be. The math doesn’t work that way,” You sat on the floor by his limp body, folding your leg, knees to chest— looking at his back.

“You’re telling me all these pretty things but it doesn’t erase what you told me before; every time I catch myself loving you, I remember how you told me that I wasn’t enough for you that night on the cruise. And Namjoon never told me that… How can you love me? You’re just afraid of losing things. You never lose things.”

Previously, at noon of the same day.

“You merely see her as a charity work. Some kind of fulfillment, I know who you truly are Kim Seokjin,” Ian scoffed as he cards through the audit works Seokjin had carefully arranged.

Upon hearing those words, a ball of fist formed on Seokjin’s side.

“Like I get you,” Ian said with a thick Australian accent, “You’ve always been rather strange, thinking that you’re a better person than all of us combined… but I see you and your pretense.” He went on to explain how the marriage seemed bogus since Day-1 because he too knew how you were. Marriage was far from your thoughts, you made it clear.

“What’s the word,” Ian strolled around the desk after setting those papers down like they were feathers, then he looked up, dead into Seokjin’s burning gaze, standing under his nose, and he said, “Ah, noblesse oblige*.”

*noblesse oblige: a French expression from the times when the English nobility spoke French and maintains in English the meaning that nobility extends beyond mere entitlement and requires people who hold such status to fulfill social responsibilities.

A punch flew across Ian’s jaw. Bloodied knuckles and busted lips. Bruised cheeks. Seokjin grabs Ian by the collar. He hisses. Breathing heavy. His limp body rose up. Seokjin delivers another tasteful punch. Ian’s back is on the floor as he brazes blow by blow by his former classmate. He shoves Seokjin away after his punches felt weak. Seokjin fell on his ass. Purple bruises form on the side of his lips. Ian’s eyes were psychotic, erratic. He wipes the dripping blood from his chin for a moment and charges back to confront Seokjin. Ringing in his ears. Mind numbing ring. Loud and stinging. His clouded eyes. He couldn’t feel his hands. They seem to have a mind of its own.

Shoving Seokjin to the ground, Ian grapples Seokjin’s collar. A cynical smile drew across his lips. Seokjin’s back slightly lifted as the man above him pulled his face closer.

“Just like high school huh,” Seokjin snickered, tasting the stale blood on his tongue truly bringing him back to the days. Those days were confusing, aimless at most. He lives with neither his father nor mother. He was in all-boys school and was an easy target. He had a collection of broken spectacles. Ian was there to watch, sometimes being the reason for his bruises.

“Noblesse oblige my ass,” Seokjin deeply chuckled, “For someone who claims to know her more than I do, you are really annoying.”

Ian’s smile melts away, turning into a frown.

“You saw her work everyday, you think that was for her? Her father’s a gambler, she is working to pay his debts…” Seokjin sniffles, “My father knew that too.”

So if Ian thought revealing the marriage contract would turn his father away, he was not entirely right. Rather, Seokjin’s father came to advise that the marriage should be dissolved so a genuine one could happen. But Seokjin was not sure if that was what you wanted.

“But divorce is not an option right now,” Seokjin braves, a few hours earlier when he arrives at his father’s office, “Not with the media putting us under the microscope. I have a family to protect now. Not your version of a family, but my version of a family.”

The senior one, with gray hair and receding hairlines replied with a weak gritty voice, looking out the window, “Do what you must. But she deserves a love that is real.” And it left a profound dent in Seokjin’s heart, his father’s words. The way it crumpled his hope, wringing him dry, slapping him into reality. Seokjin himself knew that he wasn’t lying throughout the time with you. And then it plummeted into him, do you think the same way too? That his love wasn’t real?

He was driven home in that state of brokenness, limping to the door at 2AM. His eyelashes bats towards the view of the door of the house he designed, and the view he chose. His heart felt hollow so he tried to fill them up with hard liquors. Not knowing how it will affect him.

When did the lie end and the truth begin?

⸻

Don’t you sometimes wish you could read someone’s mind? Just as they come awake, and just as they go asleep. When they stroll around in the garden with a cup of tea in their hands and when they sit in their chair, carding through intricate documents. The lines in his foreheads and what it all meant. His pursing lips and coiled fingers. His silence and sighs. It was only when Seokjin raised his head slightly did you realize that you were staring at him across the room through your desktops and your stationery. He didn’t comment on the rudeness and you were slightly thankful for it.

Curling the escaped locks of hair behind your ear, you switched your attention to the computer screen in front of you. Handwritten notes, sticky notes decorate your desk and computer. Piles and piles of scribbles, half-written equations scattered around. Calendars are riddled with circles and Xs to enunciate important dates and whatnot. Personal lab assistant numbers on the desk right next to the wireless mouse and some bottled snacks in case you got hungry. A cookie jar was brought in by Seokjin. There was a note from Yoongi on them when you received it. Yoongi wouldn’t have bought that the marriage was fake. He was the only one you let see the vulnerable side of you when Seokjin isn’t around. Maybe you did care. But it’s hard to tell. Since you would treat anyone with a story like Seokjin’s the same.

You pitied him. And the life he had.

Sunlight shone through the French windows, projecting it’s light on your turquoise ring and the diamond around it propagated a rainbow on the walls that hit Seokjin’s face. The intense light bothered Seokjin enough for him to squint at the source of it. When he saw that it was your moving wrist, typing on the keyboard of the computer with a face so earnestly burdened by the work plunged by the university, his thoughts quieted down to a halt. He straightens up in his seat and rests his elbows on the side of the table as he reads the document in his hand.

The house will be hers. The cars of her choice will be hers. Her existing medical bills are paid, and the future bills will be paid as well. She will be granted as many helpers as she needs. Her education will be paid by the research and development unit of the company. All her research will be protected under the company’s legislation. She will be employed after graduation and if she wishes to pursue PhD, she can do so.

Seokjin ensured that the settlement was generous enough. For Seokjin, writing and revising all of these divorce papers with the person he was in love with in the same room was difficult. But he could not be selfish, could he? She was right… She had sacrificed her life, to save him. And he could never put a price on that. He knew he could treat her right, but if she doesn’t want to be here, it is not his place to force her. After all, he had said way too many things to even ask forgiveness for. She truly believed that she wasn’t enough for him. Was he afraid of losing her?

He leaves the room for air since the space was too suffocating for him. Digging his hand into his pocket as he exhaled hot breath on the foggy window, he appeared to be entranced with his own deafening thoughts. His hand covered the knob and twisted it open. He steps outside to the garden behind the house. Once in a while, he slouches over the shrub of flowers, thumbing the colourful petals of peonies ever so gently. You looked at the view of his back from the kitchen window, wondering what it is he was doing while sipping down a small sip of warm water. With the divorce settlement on Seokjin’s table, you know that the divorce is coming soon. Anticipation wouldn’t be an appropriate word, but considering the cloudy grey area the relationship is in, you couldn’t help but slightly welcome it.

There was a side of you that wanted to watch him crumble, battered to pieces for the things he had said to you.

And the other, wanted to embrace him for the things he has helped you done, fix and provide solutions for. And a small, rebellious, intense fraction of you wanted to kiss his lips and leave him breathless— as if to say, “It is not I who was not enough, it was you.” And as the thought drilled through you, your phone vibrated an incoming call. Rachel.

Seokjin doesn’t know this, but while he was away for that long, you, on your own account, have met and spoken to Rachel.

She was elegant. Rachel. Very much like his mother were. She exudes an aura of authority and wherever she went, heads turned. Checkered blazers over a thin satin dress. Wide Ray Bans and stacked bracelets. She wore a tiny pendant and Cartier designer rings on her long manicured fingers. She pulled the chair back and sat with a sigh as the waiter approached her with a menu. She beams and asked with a chirpy voice, “I’ll have whatever the chef likes to cook… I asked for roasted quails the last time I went here, and remember how that went?” She gave a knowing smile to the waiter who was obviously uncomfortable with her straightforwardness. Wonder why she chose to meet here if she knew the quails were horrible?

She rests her elbow one after the other on the table, lacing her fingers slowly before putting her chin on top of one knuckle, still grinning, “So, what brings us here?”

“Are you going to warn me not to go near your husband or are you going to declare a setback knowing you cannot win a war you weren't equipped with?” she gave out a deep chuckle. She ensured that you couldn’t miss the judgmental tip of her eyes that went down your entire wardrobe and up again. A cunning smile etched on the corner of her lips. She thought you were going to frown defensively at her provoking nature but instead, you mirrored her moves. You smiled too.

“Such a small, minute world you live in,” you covered your lips with the cloth provided to you, “We are fighting two very different wars, I’m afraid…”

You dabbed the corner of your mouth, in a small attempt to make your voice clearer, “I have a liability that would overthrow you with a word. Senior Kim absolutely hates pushovers like you and if you think your blackmailing would make him force Seokjin to marry you, you’re wrong and terribly mistaken. And two, in the context of war where the prize is Seokjin isn’t a war I would like to fight. My war is against you who attempt to bring down a corporation that helped many with your filthy ways.” You carried on to tell her that being born in an influential family does not make her any less deplorable than the others. After all, influence cannot be passed down. Integrity does.

Upon hearing meticulous and eloquently put insult placed against her, she was served a cold turkey sandwich on her plate and raw quail as a warning by you. You cut through the pieces of steak as Rachel got up in anger, her blazer fell off the chair as she stormed.

“Seokjin had slept with me in the penthouse you both shared,” she spoke through clenched jaws, “We have had fuck on the same bed you lay asleep in,” she emphasized on the derogatory word. You continued chewing and letting out an unamused, “Hm.”

“Love, I think you don’t understand what meaningless rendezvous means, especially when he was blackmailed by you. You’re creating stories here and there, even you yourself couldn’t tell what’s the truth and what is not,” you waved your fork around with your eyes glued to your food, not paying the frantic any worthy attention.

Then she drew an auspicious smile, and she arched an eyebrow at your indifference.

The apples of her cheek rose, when she says, “There’s a necklace with an initial R in the old penthouse he lives in,” as if she holds a pride in it, “And he was married to you already.”

“Rachel,” you called her name like a teacher would to a student, “Stop embarrassing yourself. Why are you telling me this? To make me jealous?” And then it hit you that Rachel doesn’t know that the marriage was fake. If anything, in Rachel’s point of view, she still has a chance of ruining Seokjin’s life. Her goals were to destroy Seokjin solely. Which means you have to pretend to be territorial, but that’s too cliché. The only way to ruin a narcissist idealism, is to react the exact opposite. So you smiled, widely. It frowned her. You could see her chest heaving out of distaste and you could feel that she is physically hurt by the response.

“Darling, you wear your heart on your sleeves. That could be your downfall,” you joined your hand together, and tipped your head to one side grinning, winking, “This isn’t highschool. You make it so easy.”

You walked over to her side of the table and grabbed the raw quail and squeezed them all over her little Givenchy purse.

“You may find Seokjin a little gullible,” you calmly said, and moved to her ear, whispering, “But I’m not. You can try me. And I will gobble you entirely and chew you out, no one will recognize you.”

Then you wiped your oily hand on the side of her perfectly made-up face, and on her satin dress, “The thing about obsessively fixated on one object is that other people around you get disgusted by your obsession that they begin to have loose mouths. It’s safe to say that all the people who had their hands dirty working under you, are wanting to come clean to me. And as a result? I have more proof for your dirty laundry than your little love sick agenda on Seokjin.”

With that grizzly warning, Rachel now understood that she can’t afford to try anything if she wants to stay on the safe side. She may have underestimated you in the past. Now that you played the reverse card, she feels that her knees had given way as she sat on the edge of the chair while you left the restaurant, not quite the same person you came in as.

Rachel informs that she will return to the States. And that she will no longer bother you. How much that is true, has yet to be determined. Stepping out into the kitchen counter, there lies a bouquet of hand picked wild flowers from the garden in the backyard. Picking it up from where it was placed, you put the flower close to your nose and inhaled its scent. You caressed every stem, and imagined you had watched Seokjin arrange every one. Wondering what he was thinking about as he collected them in his hands in this cold, feverish weather. Realizing that no matter how much you were dying to,

You cannot read someone’s mind. Let alone their hearts.

⸻

The tip of the Parker pen dances over the paper’s surface forming an intricate line. Done with the signing, you recapped the pen. Your lips pursed in concentration as if you were mulling over the terms. But you felt Seokjin’s eyes on you. Six weeks— the words repeated in the back of your head. The divorce papers will be finalized in six weeks. Since there are no disputed properties, it will not take long. And since the marriage isn’t real, the divorce didn’t feel like one. You were still staying in the same house even after a day the divorce papers were signed. The remaining six weeks will be a rollercoaster.

.

.

.

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To be continued…

Copyright © August 28th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading :)

[Note] Sorry it took so long TT__TT

[mileapokp1677]

Three Steps to Win You (CH 2)

Title: Three Steps to Win You

Rating: M

Pairing: DaddyChan/Tankhun, Kinn/Porsche, Vegas/Pete

Category: M/M, AU Nerd-Jock

Summary: Accidentally, scientist Tankhun Theerapanyakul embarrassed footballer Captain Chan "Daddy" Knight in front of his coach, teammates and fans. He had to fulfill three tasks from the captain before his apology was accepted.

Chapter 2

(Chan POV)

Chan, who slightly out-of-breath sat on a bench which was located between two rows of lockers inside the dressing room. His hair, skin, jersey, shorts, down to his underpants were all wet with sweat. Coach really meant it when he said he was going to teach him a lesson.  

As soon as their first pre-season practice ended, his young teammates went straight to the shower stalls but Chan truly had no strength to get up. He wasn’t even sure if he had the will, not after he found out that someone had recorded the incident at the café this morning, in HD no less, then uploaded and spread the video on all social media.  

Chan had watched the 48-seconds video that has gone viral five times, over and over again. The more times he watched, the worse he felt. Right until this very second, he still couldn't believe something like this could happen to him.

Don’t get him wrong, Chan never considered himself perfect. Like any normal human being on Earth, he had many flaws, but Chan always tried to do his best, and the rigorous training he received throughout his 20 plus years career as a professional footballer, had shaped him into a very disciplined individual. While other football players were caught in various scandals, be it prostitution, drugs, alcohol, DUI, infidelity, or nasty divorce, etc, Chan has never involved in any of those things.

Usually, when his name entered the hot search, mostly they are related to his actions on the pitch or in the world of football. Like when he debuted for the BSFC senior team when he was only a 16 years old boy. The young center back who graduated from BSFC Football Academy, managed to create one goal and help to keep a clean sheet for his team in that match. The senior goalkeeper who witnessed his debut praised him: ‘He made my job 50% easier, he just won’t let the enemy pass him.’ Or when he was named one of the youngest captains in BSFC history, at the age of 23, and shortly thereafter received a call-up to be part of the national team for the first time. 

Career-wise, Chan has never encountered any significant obstacles. The worst injury he had ever experienced was when he and the forward from the opposing team collided in midair. Their heads banging violently against each other, both of them had to be carried off the field on stretchers and could not continue playing. Chan received 5 stitches on the left side of his head and got a two weeks break to prevent concussion. Other than that, there has never been another severe injury that made him unable to play.

When he was 27 years old, Chan was trusted to be the captain of the National Team, it was the proudest and happiest moment of his life for he felt like the whole country cheered for him. It was also this very moment which cemented his nickname that has stuck with him until now. The events that related to it were arguably a bit bizarre and unbelievable. A female idol who’s known to be a football maniac and one of Chan's biggest fans, was interviewed the day after Chan's appointment as National Team Captain. When the host asked her opinion on the matter, the idol candidly said on National Television, "What do you want me to say? He got the skills, he got the looks, he 100% deserves this position. Now everybody answers me~ Who's your Daddy, huh? Damn right, it's Daddy Chan!" Ever since that day, whether you football fanatics or not, everybody who recognized him will call him Daddy Chan or simply Daddy. The only exception would be his teammates who called him Cap and of course his Coach.

As far as Chan can remember, it was the only hot search about him that isn't 100% related to football, but still, things that surrounded the moment were quite funny. Whereas today...

Chan frowned for a moment before once again unlocking his cellphone and searching for the video. For the sake of getting clicks, people gave it bombastic titles, such as:  'Naughty Daddy caught red-handed by Coach’; 'Daddy’s Sweet Tooth Brings Havoc’; 'Don the Man Rescue Super Captain from Fans’ Attack’; 'Give me 20, Daddy!' and many many more. Chan clicked one of the links to open the video and started to watch again.

Chan truly didn’t know what motivation had made him watch the cursed clip for the 6th time, the content of the video not going to change from the first time he saw it.

The video still starts with Coach shouting, 'Dio Mio! Chan!' to which he responded with a request for help. He’s 185 cm tall and weighs 95 kg of pure muscle, but still, he needed the help of his Coach to get him out of the crowd. With his loud, booming voice, the Italian coach ordered the fans to get out of his way so he could get to where Chan was standing, and like magic, the chaos stopped. The captain didn't know exactly what Coach was shouting at that time, but he was pretty sure they were not exactly nice, because as usual, when Coach emotions were running high, he would mix up English and swear words in Italian. From the speaker of his cellphone, the word ‘Cazzo’ could be heard clearly several times. Chan and his teammates don't speak Italian, but for that one particular word, all the players who have ever been coached by Don understand its meaning. 

‘I can understand if young players are doing ridiculous things like this, but you? YOU!? Maccheccazzo!  You are my pride and glory, Chan, and you know it! Are you trying to break this old heart of mine? Well, it’s already broken! Porca puttana!!’

‘Yes, Coach.’

'I can't let this go unpunished, you are the captain of this team and you have to set a good example. As soon as we get to the pitch, You. Will. Give. Me. 20!!!'

‘Yes, Coach!’

‘Now, move!’

‘Yes, Coach!’  

Chan pressed pause to take a deep breath for a moment, the humiliation he suffered from being yelled at by his coach in front of fans and cafe regulars like a child – when he was already 36 years old, certainly a hard pill to swallow. As if he didn’t suffer enough, Chan pressed play to continue watching.

Before Coach followed him and walked towards the exit of the cafe, he took the time to grab Chan's coffee from the bar. This time, a string of Italian words flew out of his mouth at high speed, and Chan didn't understand them one bit. But if he had to make a guess, then it must have something to do with coffee.

‘Che roba è? Che cazzo di robaccia è questa? Solo un coglione rovinerebbe un buon caffè con caramello e panna! I miei nonni si rivolterebbero nella tomba e si strapperebbero i capelli se vedessero questo cazzo di scempio!’

That was the end of the clip, and exactly like the last time Chan finished watching the doomed video, he felt even worse.  

“Cap, are you okay?”  

Chan heard Pete's soft voice first before he felt the touch of his hand gently squeezing his right shoulder. His co-captain was such a good boy, but Chan needed to confirm something with him.

"Pete, you're the only person I talked to about my plans today, how did Coach find out about this?"

“It’s Vegas,” said Pete in a venomous tone. Lips that usually put on a smile 24/7, now disappeared without a trace as soon as that particular name left his mouth.

Ah, shit~  

Because of the incident this morning, this crucial matter involving these two young footballers didn’t even cross his mind, and as the team captain, Chan felt so embarrassed. Since it concerned their team’s unity and teamwork, this matter is way more important than his injured pride. Moreover, this season would be his last season, and he wanted to leave a solid and good team for the boys who he already considered as his brothers, every single one of them. As an only child and an orphan – both of his parents already passed away, Chan is a lone-wolf in this world. His teammates are his family. Chan must be able to find the right solution so that this new boy – Vegas, can become part of the family as soon as possible.  

Vegas Kornwit, the newest addition to the BSFC team this season, is a talented young footballer with huge potential. Nobody ever thought that the owners of BSFC would bring him here on the last day of the transfer window, for two big reasons: One, Vegas’s old team, Bangkok United, was BSFC's arch-enemy. We were talking about a rivalry that had been ingrained for decades here. Two, Vegas and Pete happened to play in the same position, the attacking midfielder.

Chan had already discussed this issue, the overlapping positions of these two young footballers, with Don, but Coach assured him that he already had a brilliant idea for this matter. All Chan needed to do as the team captain was to get these two people willing to work together. However, hearing Pete's completely unfriendly tone just now, Chan couldn't help but think, whether this problem can be solved easily or not.  

“What about him?“ Chan questioned his co-captain.  

“Vegas younger brother works as a barista at the Hattrick Coffee Shop. He updated his IG about making coffee for his favorite captain this morning,” explained Pete.  

Chan covered his face with his hands and asked, “And why do you think this matter has anything to do with Coach finding out I was at the cafe?” 

Before Pete got a chance to answer this question, Chan already shot him with the following question, “Did he tell on me?”

Pete was about to open his mouth to answer, but once again he didn't get a chance, because Vegas, who had already finished his shower, suddenly appeared in the dressing room.  

“No, Cap, I didn’t,” answered Vegas. “I was checking on my IG this morning and saw Macau’s post about you. I didn’t realize that Coach Vadim was standing behind me.” 

“But he won’t know about that IG post if you don’t shout Cap’s name in that way, am I right?” argued Pete.  

Chan took a deep breath to calm himself before he asked for further explanation from Vegas, “What exactly did you say that caught Coach Vadim interest?”  

“Uhm… ” 

“Yes?” 

“Oh, Daddy Chan, uhm…” 

“You tell him right now or I’m the one who is going to tell him!” shouted Pete, getting super emotional.  

“Pete, let him speak,” warned Chan to Pete.

 “Sorry, Cap!” 

“Vegas, tell me.” 

“Oh, Daddy Chan, naughty naughty,” answered Vegas with a small voice, his cheeks flushed red.   

“He was saying it with such an annoying tone, Cap!” Pete shouted again.  

“Cap, I’m sorry. Truly. I have no intention whatsoever to get you into trouble.”

Pete snorted, clearly very much in doubt about Vegas' intention.  

Ooh, boy~ I need to find a way to make these two get along.  

Chan got up from his seat slowly, not gonna lie, the extra 20 laps that he got as punishment made him feel extra tired. After all, he’s not in his 20s anymore.

"Alright enough, this conversation ends here. There’s nothing else that we can do anyway, it’s already happened and done with."

“Vegas, let’s just forget it, okay? I know you didn't mean to.”

"Thank you, Cap.”

“And since this is your first day of training with us, welcome to BSFC,” said Chan as he walked carefully to the shower stall.

Fuck, this back-pain is killing me!

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

(Tankhun POV) 

“Doctor T, your brother is here to see you,” informed the Research Center receptionist. 

“Just tell him to come in, Sunny. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Doctor T.” 

Before Tankhun could even put the phone in the correct position, there was already a knock on his door. If Kim was in such a hurry, it seemed like whatever it is that made him come here, must be urgent, and Tankhun couldn't help but feel a bit worried. Because, even though Kim studied at the same University where Tankhun worked, during the 3 years he was a student here, he had only visited Tankhun in his office twice. The last time he did was because Kim needed his help to find him a tutor for Chemistry Class. If he didn't get at least B- in that class, he would be suspended from the University Football Team, something that he cannot afford at that time, for he was running to become the team captain. He wondered what kind of trouble his youngest brother had this time.

"Come in.”

“P’, what really happened?” asked Kim breathlessly, sweat rolling down from his forehead to his red-pink cheeks.

“Oh my God! Kim, did you just run here?” Tankhun asked his brother back as he stood from his chair, starting to feel worry for real. No greeting, no cue, Kim just immediately questioned him as soon as he walked into Tankhun's office, which, like any other offices in the facility, was painted white with black furniture. But of course, the stationery and file folders that piled on his desk, full of colors. Please... no boring black stationary for Tankhun Theerapanyakul.  

“Not important,” answered his brother curtly as he took out his cell phone from his backpack, and handed it over to Tankhun. "Here, see for yourself." 

Tankhun hit play and watched the video that shows exactly what happened to the great Bangkok Super FC’s Captain after Tankhun left the Hattrick. The longer he watched the video, the more guilt that he had felt this morning returned. Although, when he got to the part where the Coach cursed Chan's behavior of destroying good coffee with caramel, Tankhun wanted to cheer for the coach so badly.  

As soon as the 48 seconds clip was finished playing, Tankhun slowly sat back down and returned the cellphone that he held to its owner. Afterward, he braced himself for the storm that was about to come. He was 80% sure about that, because you see, Chan is very precious to his brother. 

“Now, could you please tell me what exactly happened this morning at the café?” Kim asked again, with way more urgency from earlier.   

"What makes you so sure that I have something to do with this?" Tankhun couldn't help but get defensive. Surely, he has the right to defend himself, right?

“I never said you have anything to-” Kim stopped talking abruptly and then looked at him suspiciously.  

OH, FUCK!    

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, P’!!! Why did you say that!?” Kim's voice got sharper now, he looks like a bloodhound on a mission.  

“Say what?” asked Tankhun, trying his hardest to look innocent.  

Oh, he knew that he had been caught red-handed, but Tankhun was still so stubborn to give up. Yet, he couldn’t even look at his brother's eyes anymore.   

“OMG, P’!” screamed Kim.  

“Kim, lower your voice down! We’re not at home.”  

“P’, what have you done?”  Kim sounded so down now and once again, Tankhun’s guilt surged to the surface. But there was one thing that piqued his curiosity, and Tankhun needed to ask about it first before he came clean to his brother.  

“Why are you asking me about this in the first place? You know I never have any interest in football.”  

“I also know about your habit, P’ and every morning at 7.30 sharp you always go to that café to get your coffee. So, it’s impossible if you didn’t know what happened this morning,” explained Kim.

“Oh.”  

“Yes, OH,” mocked Kim. “P', what exactly did you do? He was so humiliated. And just so you know, he never gets into a hot search for things like this.”  

“I ask him to sign my notebook. For YOU.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, OH,” said Tankhun in an identical tone like Kim. “But it turns out that my voice is not as low as I thought, because the barista at the café, who is also Chan's big fan, heard me. And then, he proudly announced, in a super loud voice, how he has made a Caramel Frappuccino with Double Whipped Cream and Chocolate Chips on top for his favorite Captain.” 

Kim's shocked face when he heard about his fav footballer's coffee order matched with Tankhun's imagination and prediction, and he's not gonna lie, it felt So.Damn.Good. Tankhun Theerapanyakul always settles the score.

“P’?” 

“Yes?” 

“H-he… really drink his coffee like… that?”

“I know, right?” confirmed Tankhun. “It’s shocking… and borderline scandalous, if you ask me.”  

Kim winced and silenced for a while. He must be still digesting the information he just received.

“Not intentionally trying to cut short our conversation here, brother. But my schedule is crazy tight today, so if you don't have anything else to ask me…”  

“I do!” said Kim right away.  

Tankhun raised his eyebrows as a response.

“You need to apologize to him, P’.”

“What? NO!” Tankhun quickly rejected Kim’s request.

“You have ruined his reputation!” Kim insisted.

“I did not, it’s the barista's fault!” yelled Tankhun, refusing to stand down. He was being stubborn and he’s very much aware.

“P’, if you didn’t expose him by asking him to sign your notebook, the barista wouldn’t know.”

“…”

“Don't you feel guilty? At least a bit?” pleaded his youngest brother who has always been his favorite sibling – sorry Kinn, but you already have a super-hot husband.  

“Of course, I am!”  

“P’, this is his last year before retirement. Once this season is over, I will no longer be able to see him playing football. I just want his last year to be a good year, he deserves all the best. You know how important he is to me!”

Kim's teary eyes will always be his weakness, Tankhun folded.  

“I will apologize to him. I promise.”

“Thank you, P’,” said Kim as he gave him a little smile before leaving the Research Center.  

TBC

Notes:

Thank you, CC, for helping me with the Italian translation. Luv u, bb <3

The Translation:

‘Che roba è? Che cazzo di robaccia è questa? Solo un coglione rovinerebbe un buon caffè con caramello e panna! I miei nonni si rivolterebbero nella tomba e si strapperebbero i capelli se vedessero questo cazzo di scempio!’

(What is this? What the fuck is this? Only a lunatic capable of destroying good coffee with caramel! My poor ancestors will weep and roll in their grave if they see this abomination!)

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 2 | Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

Sava woke up on Friday with no intention of getting out of bed before noon. And then realised that she wasn’t in her bed, it was a hotel room. The memories and realities of her current situation made her head spin, and with a shit eating grin on her face, she jumped out of bed and into the shower. Feeling as though she should stay on brand, Sava pulled on a white pleated skirt and tucked the oversized Carlin shirt into the waistband. She braided her hair while it was still a little wet, knowing it would be easier than the kerfuffle she had yesterday trying to walk, carry a helmet, and braid at the same time. Combat boots, a phone, and paddock pass later and Sava was leaving the hotel room to meet Amelia in the cafeteria-like space on the ground floor to have breakfast and chat about the agenda for the day before they headed to the track.

Unbeknownst to Sava, a number of the F1 drivers were staying at the same hotel, and when she stepped into the room, eyes focused on finding other Carlin shirts, many heads turned her way. Obviously, news about a girl in a Carlin race suit with pink hair had spread into the formula one paddock quite quickly. Sava gave up on trying to find her assistant when she had no luck, preferring to make her way to the coffee bench to make herself a very sweet black coffee over ice. While the coffee began brewing, she turned her back to the bench, taking another look out over the crowds of people at tables to try and find her friends again, only to see that 75% of the room was already looking at her, and those that weren’t were whispering to the people that were. The poor girl looked like a deer in the headlights, and apparently one man couldn’t see her like that, as he stood from his table and walked toward her. He was still metres away and Sava was already having to strain her neck to look up at him.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bombard you like this while you’re already quite overwhelmed. But I can tell you’re a bit lost. Would you like to come and sit with me until you find your team?” The man asked, his accent was distinctly French, and Sava kicked herself for not instantly recognising the man as Esteban Ocon.

“Oh my, yes please! This is my first time outside of karting, let alone in the actual F2 paddock, so I’m so lost and don’t know anyone.” Sava giggled, finishing up making her super sweet coffee and following Esteban’s stride toward a table of black and yellow clad people, along with the unmistakable grin of Daniel Ricciardo.

“I’m Esteban, by the way. I think I heard your name was Dvarokova?” The Frenchman questioned after a few beats of silence, realising that the 5’1 woman couldn’t walk as quickly as he.

“Ah, Dvorakova. Don’t worry about messing up the pronunciation, I misspell it sometimes. My name is Sava, but pretty much everyone calls me Bunny.” Sava replied with a giggle at the butchering of her surname. She couldn’t blame anyone, it was a hard enough name to most Eastern Europeans, she couldn’t even imagine how some of the nationalities in the paddock would pronounce it.

“Bunny. That’s quite cute.” Esteban mused, and they finally reached the rowdy table of Renault employees.

“Guys, this is Bunny. She’s going to sit with us cause she’s new and can’t find anyone from Carlin.” Esteban introduced, and a round of wolf whistles sounded as she threw up a peace sign, then took the seat next to Esteban, across from Daniel.

“Hi, I’m Danny. You’re such a little cutie.” Daniel introduced, leaning his arm over to poke at Sava’s cheeks that immediately heated up in a flaming blush. Another round of oohs and ahs went through the table and Sava giggled again.

“Pipe down, I’m only 17.” In immediate reaction to her statement, Daniel threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes connecting with a few guys nearby who all laughed at his expression.

“Way to make a man feel like a pedo.” Daniel mumbled, and more chuckles reverberated around the group who heard. The team all spoke to Sava with interest and respect, something she didn’t expect she would be getting before she had even gotten into a car. After about fifteen minutes, she spotted Yuki walking through the door with Amelia, and excused herself quickly, exchanging fist bumps with everyone she passed along the Renault table. When she got to the end, she met Yuki and Amelia with surprised looks on their faces before the three found a small table by the window to finally sit down and eat.

“How ready are you Bunny?” Yuki asked later on that morning while the two pulled their race suits up and made final preparations. Sava looked over at him nervously as she tucked her pink braids into the suit.

“Considering I’ve only ever driven a go-kart or a Hyundai I-20, I’m shitting myself. But I’m confident enough in my karting ability to do well-enough here. How about you? Amelia told me you have a seat at Alpha Tauri next season, are you still nervous about these races or are you a cool guy about it?” Sava hit back, smiling at her first friend in serious motorsport, who she could tell she would miss if she made it into F2 next year like Dr Marko had suggested.

“I still want to do well so that they don’t think they’ve made a mistake. But I’m not as nervous as I was when I didn’t know if I’d have a seat.” The Japanese man replied, and pulled on his balaclava, Sava following shortly after. They made eye contact, their mouths obscured by the fabric, and burst out laughing. Amelia guided Sava away so that she could get her helmet on and have one final chat with the engineer she would be hearing in her ears for the weekend. Yuki ran over just before Sava jumped in the car and slapped the top of her helmet, just like her uncle Sebastian had done before every race and she smiled the biggest she probably ever has. With a quick hug to Yuki and another scolding glance from Amelia, Sava climbed into her car for her first ever free practice in a single seater.

“Radio check.” Sava spoke, her voice wobbling slightly as she felt the rumble of the car beneath her.

“Confirm, Bunny. Hop to it.” Her engineer, Marcus, stated with amusement in his voice. Sava audibly laughed as she stepped on the accelerator, rolling out of the garage when she got the signal. Driving through the pitlane was surreal, and Sava knew she’d be feeling that a lot throughout the weekend. She ran two warm-up laps, getting acquainted with the car and testing the responsiveness of the brakes and the throttle. Once her tyres were at the right temperature, she got a radio message to give it hell, and so she did.

It was complete radio silence in the Carlin garage as everyone, including Yuki, sat and watched the rookie on her first hot-lap. She got a purple first sector, green second sector, and purple third sector, putting herself at the very top of the timing tower. While the practice session had only been active for around eight minutes, she had already beat two other drivers who had put in preliminary hot laps. Marcus relayed the time to Sava, and when she asked for the fastest time out of a qualifying session from the year prior, she groaned in frustration.

“Can I run a few more out laps and get comfortable with the responsiveness? I know I can do better.” Sava pleaded, and Marcus quickly agreed. If she thought she could get a better time than the one she had already given them, then hell they’d let her run all day. After four out-laps, she was brought in for a quick refuel and to look over the data of her hot-lap in comparison to Yuki’s. He was braking later, but Sava was getting better acceleration out of the corners. She knew now just how good the brakes were and considering she was known throughout the European karting scene for braking extremely late, she knew she could get better times, and maybe knock a few tenths off her entire lap. By the time she was finished looking at the data, everyone on the grid had put in multiple flying laps, and she was confident that whatever she pulled out now would be a decent comparison of her speed to the rest of the grid. With two more out-laps to get her tyres and brakes at the perfect temperature, she was off again.

Purple first sector, purple second sector, purple third sector.

As her name flew up the timing table, the Carlin garage waited with baited breath, to finally see Sava Dvorakova land at P1, four tenths quicker than the next fastest, Juri Vips.

“No fucking way.” Amelia mumbled, her eyes trained on the initials of the girl she had been following around for the past two days. Similar reactions were happening over in the Renault garage, many of the team who spoke with the girl earlier that morning tuned in to catch the first performance.

Qualifying later that day followed a very similar pattern. Finishing P2 behind Juri Vips, their times separated by one one-thousandth of a second. The real test was to see if the Czech could keep up the pace in their sprint and feature races over the next two days.

Those boys had hell to pay, and sure as shit, Sava was gonna come collect.

[twh-news]

Interview: Makeup Artist Douglas Noe on Loki’s Looks Through the Years & Creating Anew for ‘Loki’ [EXCLUSIVE]

Douglas Noe has been in Hollywood for three decades. An award-winning makeup artist, he’s worked on projects such as World War Z, Planet of the Apes, Spider-Man 3, I Saw the Light, and Birth of a Nation. On top of these impressive credits, he’s also been Tom Hiddleston’s personal makeup artist since joining the MCU in The Avengers, designing all of the looks for Loki’s subsequent appearances.

Noe has been nominated for three Emmys with one win, and five Makeup Artist and Hairstylist (MUAHS) Awards resulting in two MUAHS awards. His skills include creating making natural and period looks, prosthetics, hair, and tattoos.

Along with being the head of the makeup department for the most recent Disney+ series Loki, Noe is also creating looks for the new Netflix comedy series True Story starring Kevin Hart and Wesley Snipes.

We had a chance to chat with Douglas Noe about his work on Loki, The Avengers, the incomparable value of teamwork on set, and most importantly, Richard E. Grant.

Nerds and Beyond: So you started your Marvel journey with The Avengers, but what drew you to your field in the first place? And how did you get your start?

Douglas Noe: Star Wars was a huge influence to me as a young boy, both sketching and drawing, and a little bit of sculpting but not much. Cut to 1983, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” comes out and I find a magazine called Fangoria on the newsstands where I can order blood and wax and pencils and fake hair. So, I started playing with these things. I was also taken with the horror movie craze that was happening in the early 80s — Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th, and others, obviously.

In High School, in 1984, I joined choir thinking I would get an easy credit, but my voice had not changed. So the choral instructor had been waiting for a boy soprano to do a theatrical opera presentation. So with that I sang the lead, I quit choir after that, because my peers were merciless, but, I learned the world of theatrical makeup which I hadn’t been introduced to.

I did years of theater. I went to a performing arts high school — it’s called Fort Hayes School for the Performing Arts in Columbus, Ohio — graduated, went to beauty school, and continued working in Ohio doing industrial, commercial, theater, and opera [makeup]. Worked for Maybelline and Revlon, got restless, worked in Cincinnati on my first film in the summer of 1990, it was July so 31 years ago, A Rage in Harlem. And my boss said you come to Los Angeles, I’ll make sure you get on your feet.

Nerds and Beyond: So you mentioned that it’s been about 31 years since your career started, what’s changed over the course of those 30 years in your field?

Douglas: How much time do we have? I’d say the biggest, biggest change would probably be the way we make these things now. Although another large change, more specific, would be the materials that we use. There’s a constant evolution and reinvention of almost all aspects of the materials that a makeup artist uses. That said, I have to shine a light on the way we do things now with the onset of digital and digital cameras. Shooting on film now has almost completely fallen by the wayside. Film was very forgiving, quite frankly, and now it’s not so forgiving. And because of that, the bar has been raised. The wonderful thing about this journey is watching my peers just get better and better and better, my colleagues rising to meet the challenge of not having anything to hide from with this new way we make films.

Nerds and Beyond: So, sometimes you kind of throw prosthetics to the wayside in favor of a more traditional makeup. How do you make that decision on which one to go with?

Douglas: That’s an excellent question. The decision is based purely on what are we going to see. That’s where I start, what is the lighting? I have a conversation with the director of photography and I find out what is the dynamic. Obviously, I know from the script whether it’s an interior or exterior, or if we’re exterior but we’re going to be on a stage, if it’s day or night. These variables all play into my decision as to whether or not I should rely on my theatrical experience and ability to paint 2D to appear 3D, or go ahead and make small prosthetics and put them where I need to put them and use actual prosthetics in lieu of paint.

That has everything to do with lighting, locations, logistics, and because most of his [Loki’s] wounds appear on his arm and some on his face in the Void, it’s all very moody and very dark. And again, the theatrical quality of the paint is not going to be altered by the changing light, it’s just going to react the same way the rest of the face is going to react. It’s purple light, it’s going to make everything have a purple hue. There was no accounting for any correction that didn’t need to be done. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. It’s real.

Nerds and Beyond: So, you did make up for not only Tom on Loki, but you helped plan out the looks for everybody?

Douglas: Yes, what I do is I surround myself with strong talent. It’s all about team. I designed Wunmi Mosaku, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Sophia DiMartino, and Tom [Hiddleston]. Regarding the rest of it, Neil Ellis, both Dennis Liddiard and I, added to the elements of his scars and wounds, which you would only see in close-ups.

The rest of it, the parameters are set — Blade Runner to Mad Men — and stay in those confines. And obviously, I choose color palettes for the women and there are parameters set for the men, but then it’s about team. I’m a big one on a team and not putting my thumbprints on other people’s work, but rather build other people up so they feel like they own what they’re doing.

My team consists of artists that also have stronger resumes and quite frankly, skills that exceed mine. It’s the mutual trust that allows us to keep a high level of artistic integrity in every aspect of the job. It also means I get the very best from my team, and it shows on the screen.

So, I didn’t have every look in my hand. Dennis Liddiard designed the Mobius character and I had Ned Neidhardt run with Gugu and turn up the volume on some of the elements that she already possesses that we can play with. Her eyes and lips, I think Ned turned the volume on both. And because we’re shooting in order, it’s a progression in the makeup you did.

Nerds and Beyond: When it came to Sylvie and Loki, when you when you’re doing those, did you try to kind of plan them both to have any similar things to give them a Loki look?

Douglas: It’s a fair question, but the answer is no. So again, I think the characteristics and traits that were going to be similar among them, aside from wardrobe and costume hints, were all character driven. And I did nothing with the makeup and hair to try to make them look or even closely resemble each other.

Nerds and Beyond: I want to kind of back up a little bit to Tom in the first Avengers film. That was by far one of his most standout looks. Can you tell me anything about what went into the creation of that absolutely tormented, haunted look that he had throughout that entire movie?

Douglas: Yeah, and that’s probably one of the elements that, because the character has evolved, we kind of left with Avengers because by the end of Avengers, and we carried it into Endgame, he does have a bit of an edgier look in Avengers, and not many people pick up on it. But the reality is he’s a little sculpted in Avengers.

I remember sculpting his cheekbones and temples, and doing a little play on his forehead for when he’s in the cell on the Helicarrier carrier with all that overhead lighting. I did like a little devil horn shadow, which is so subtle. The only person who’s going to notice is anybody who looks back at it and having read this and knows what to look for, but it is so nuanced and so subtle. And that’s the only place I think we did that. But the rest of him is very much chiseled and sculpted, but it’s a light touch.

And I think, again, as he evolved through the Marvel Universe and into the other movies that was something that was easy to leave behind, because I think that look played directly into his evil desire to rule over Earth. We rested that design element with that storyline.

Nerds and Beyond: It’s very clear too and I’ve always loved looking at that, because I’m a huge fan of the character. I’ve always loved kind of comparing how he looked in that movie to the rest of them.

Douglas: You’re on to me!

Nerds and Beyond: I’m not! I swear [laughs] So, what’s your best method for making the actors comfortable in the makeup chair? And with the final outcome?

Douglas: It’s dialogue; listening, talking to them, talking to their representation, whether it be an agent or a manager, and doing my homework and doing my due diligence to find out what’s going to make them comfortable the moment they walk through the door. I do my homework on them. It’s not just IMDb, it’s an internet search. So, I spend some time on the web and find out who these folks are, and if I find out, for example, they’re not one that likes to talk a lot, well, the writing’s on the wall, we’re not going to talk a lot, we’ll cut to the chase and get to the point. But also, it’s about building a rapport and building a relationship. Also, knowing that, I’ve said this in previous discussions, knowing it’s necessary to get out of the way.

Like if, for example, I’m not a proper fit for somebody, I have to be plugged in, I have to be aware enough to understand that it may not be working before somebody says to me, “Hey, this isn’t gonna work.” So it’s just about being open, especially as Tom’s personal on these projects and running the department, knowing that I don’t get to do everybody. I don’t get to put my thumbprint on other people’s work. Because not only is that disrespectful, it’s very often unnecessary, because I hire good people. I hire contemporaries and peers. Truly, you’re only as good as your weakest crew member. I surround myself with good people.

So, take Owen Wilson, for example, it would have been wonderful to do Owen’s makeup, but there were times when he was not going to be shooting with Tom and I was going to need to be ready for Tom or available to Tom, so it didn’t make sense. So I never touched Owen, I had Dennis Liddiard design that look and run with it. And then Ned Neidhardt took over that look when Dennis had to depart. That’s just one example of not trying to do everything.

Another one was the Classic Loki. I wanted to do Richard E. Grant’s [makeup] so bad, I can’t even tell you. I’ve been a huge fan since 1987. I wanted so badly to bring that full circle, didn’t make sense. It just didn’t make sense. So again, I never touched him. It wasn’t necessary. Ned was always there. And I think the same thing happened to me on Ragnarok reshoots, which I ran in Atlanta again with Dennis Liddiard. I wanted so badly to do Sir Anthony Hopkins makeup, but it didn’t make sense. So I was happy to hand it off to Bill Myer.

Nerds and Beyond: Oh man, I loved Richard E. Grant in this show so much.

Douglas: He’s amazing.

Nerds and Beyond: He’s so good!

Douglas: He really is. And he’s that good in person. He’s just so fun and interesting and alluring and attractive. He’s such a wonderful, wonderful person and, of course, a phenomenal actor.

Nerds and Beyond: I was watching little videos that he posted and he just seems like the warmest person.

Douglas: You know, just one last tidbit about Richard Grant is he’s got wonderful stories and as he’s telling them he’ll often stop and pause and just laugh. Just laugh, not for the sake of the stories or for anybody that he’s telling the story to, but because recounting the story brings him true joy. So he’ll stop and embrace that joy. Oh, it’s so wonderful.

Nerds and Beyond: That’s so amazing to hear. What is the most memorable job that you’ve done?

Douglas: The most memorable … That’s a tough one because I have so many fond memories of so many projects. The first Avengers film was memorable because there was a buzz, there was a vibration, a frequency, that was in the air when we were shooting that. We kind of knew we were making something big and something special. I don’t think any of us knew how big or how special it would be, but that certainly is one of the most memorable and most special projects.

I’m pretty good about focusing on the positive aspects of all these things, regardless of how difficult the project may be for whatever reason. The pros always, always heavily outweigh the cons, but I have a lot of wonderful, memorable experiences. Another one, it’s the polar opposite only because of the conditions in which we shot, but Birth of the Nation was one of the most memorable and exceptional experiences of my career. I was on the wrong side of 40, had 25 years of experience, and had still never worked so hard in my entire life. We did a 50-day shoot in 27 days. So proud of the work we did.

It was 100 degrees with 99 percent humidity, we shot it in the summer in Georgia, in Savannah, so it was hot, humid, and just getting the makeup necessary to be on individuals to stay put was its own challenge. And then the other challenges only added to that. But Nate Parker, the director, writer, producer, and lead actor, he is a special human being. And he was inspiring from start to finish. Usually, the first people in are the teamsters, transport department, and usually I’m second. He beat me in almost every single day. He’s in three hours before he needs to be. That was a very special experience.

Nerds and Beyond: Finally, are you excited about the news of Loki Season 2?

Douglas: I’m beyond thrilled! I invite being in the dark a little bit, I kind of like surprises and I like not knowing, so I suspected, but hearing the news confirmed, I was thrilled, naturally. What are they going to dream up? This is amazing. How do you top season 1 of Loki? That’s the burning question.

[quirklessidiot]

Title: coward :: brat Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu  Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: you finally see Miya Atsumu after six years, meanwhile, he feels pain when he realizes that you settled down with someone else that wasn’t him. notes: i um want to thank yall for supporting this story im- crying T-T I’m happy to inform everyone that i’ll be updating this twice a week every monday and saturday! yay!!! i was able to finish editing and im writing the last two chapters now. stay safe and big love to each and everyone of you <3

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“...Uh, Youta-Kun, Yuuto-kun, I thought you guys weren’t allowed to go.” Sugawara laughed nervously, knowing all too well where this would lead. He’s familiar with over-enthusiastic boys, in fact, one of those over-enthusiastic balls of sunshine was here right now entertaining them.

“K-Kaasan says it’s alright.” Yuuto lies but Sugawara quirked his brow, it was so obvious that he was lying.

“Yep, she did!” Youta grins, trying to help his twin but like him, he’s failing drastically.

“Then you won’t mind if I call your okaasa-”

“No!” Youta and Yuuto yell in unison. This made other people turn their way, Miya Atsumu watched the pair in amusement from afar. He noticed that they were late and that Sugawara had caught on to their scheme of joining in even without the parental consent, “We won’t join!” Youta proclaims, “Right, yu? W-We’ll pick up balls!”

Hinata feels his eyes glimmer at those words and decides to help them convince Sugawara but in the end, the twins were forced to be benched while the grey-haired teacher had to go back to the faculty to call you.

“It’s alright,” Hinata ruffles both their hairs, “We’ll try to come back next time and I’ll be sure to help convince your ‘kaasan.”

“Hey don’t plant false ideas in their head, Shoyou.” Atsumu grins, lazily jogging to their side. He directs his gaze to the twins that seem to oddly remind him of him and ‘samu when they were younger. The boy's gaze lingered a bit too long on him,unlike other kids who stared at him in awe, these ones were seething, “What are ya lookin’ at, kid?”

“Wow,you’re as mean as your brother.” Yuuto notes, eyeing him up and down. 

“Yeah.” Youta echoes.

Atsumu quirks a brow, this was quite the new reaction. Never in his life had a kid told him that he was mean as ‘Samu also how did they even know his twin brother?

“Now, now, don’t you think you should cut me some slack?” Atsumu tried to jokebut the twins remained unamused by the blonde’s antics, somehow Atsumu felt a sense of familiarity from their monotonous reactions.

“No thanks.” Yuuto crossed his arms, “The fake Atsumu made ‘kaasan cry and since you look like him, you might make ‘kaasan cry too.”

“What he said!” Youta agreed loudly, copying his older brother’s action.

Atsumu was just plain confused now, he admitted that Osamu had an attitude sometimes when he was annoyed but letting a mom cry in front of her kids? That’s definitely new and not-so ‘samu like (after all, he was apparently the nicer one between them)

“What’s the name of your okaasan-”

“Youta-Kun, Yuuto-kun, Your mom will be picking you up at the gate! Please go there now.” Sugawara cuts him off, Youta and Yuuto stand up and eye him for a bit.

“We’ll defeat you and your brother! Just wait and see, we’ll be as big as you and that other jiji!” Yuuto exclaims and before Atsumu could retaliate, they’re running off to the opposite direction. Hinata was laughing beside him, clutching his sides because apparently he was too petty while Sugawara looked at him with an apologetic expression.

“I wonder why L/N-san didn’t allow them to go, she’s usually very supportive of their hobbies, especially volleyball.” Sugawara frowns, suddenly voicing out his thoughts. Atsumu felt his shoulders stiffen at the sound of that familiar name. 

Osamu revealed he saw you last week then these kids suddenly confessed that his twin made their okaasan cry, he’s never seen you cry throughout your relationship (save for that night when you first me but you guys weren't together yet so that didn’t count). Maybe he was mistaken? it might be your relative or a common name.

After all, you were clear about not wanting a family.

“You know their mom well?” Hinata inquired,  Atsumu seems to be listening closely now, wanting to confirm if the person that Sugawara was talking about is you.

“Oh yeah, we're around the same age so I’m much closer to her than the other moms.” Sugawara blinks, “Those boys have to listen to their okaasan more. She’s raising them on her own since their dad died before he even got to know that L/N-san was pregnant. She seemed to be longing for him whenever he’s mentioned.”

A crease appeared on the blonde's forehead as he was suddenly in deep thought. It couldn’t be, right?

“Uh, Sugawara-san, may I know the name of the mom? Her last name sounds kind of familiar.” he questions, pretending to be nonchalant but inside, he feels like he had his heart on his throat.

If it was you, he’d feel those things that he desperately tried to hide behind his confident jokes and laughs. 

The pain.

The pain that you chose someone else and was open enough to the idea of starting a family. If that guy probably hadn’t died, you’d be together, happily raising those boys he had just met a while ago. Happily married, something that Atsumu tried to mention one fleeting moment while you were together back in college but you immediately shut the idea down and left him a month later.

The pain that you fell in love in a span of moments unlike Atsumu who relentlessly tried to gain your favour and follow you around like a lost puppy.

“Oh, her name’s Y/N L/N.”

Thankfully nothing unexpected happened after what the twins did, they ended up having to pick if they wanted their video game rights removed for a week or cancel their plans with their favorite ojisan who was coming by a few weeks from now, they chose the first one on that.

They had even mentioned that they met the real Miya Atsumu and although you felt like your heart lurched out of your chest and your shoulders stiffen at the mention of that man --- their father---  they simply had called him a rude jiji like his brother much to your relief.

“L/N-san, we seem to have a problem.” Aiko frowned, handing the papers to you, “The director of the advertisement department wants a bigger budget, do you mind running it through him again? You have to go to the studio though, I heard they’re doing some photo shoot now.”

You nodded in reply, taking the papers from your co-worker. The studio was a bit far so you ended up having to commute to get there, “What a nuisance.” You muttered, you needed to buy a second-hand car soon when you had enough money. It would definitely be easier for both you and the boys, “Uh excuse me? Is Nakamura-san here?” you asked the secretary on the front desk.

“And who are you?” the secretary snapped back, still typing away on her computer.

“Y/N L/N from the finance department, I have to run through the new budget liquidation with him.”

The secretary one-eyes you and the ID on your neck for a split second, “You better be quick, the boss wants only five minutes per guest since he’s personally handling the shoot today.” was all she replied, handing you the pass. You muttered a quick thank you and made your way up to the studio, whoever the model was today, they must’ve been big for Nakamura to handle them personally.

“Oh-ho, is that who I think it is?” a very, very familiar voice calls out.

“Inunaki-san.” You greeted, trying to maintain yourself, were these the big clients that Nakamura was handling? The black jackals? good fucking gracious, god must hate you.

“Wow,” he shakes his head, feigning amusement, “You’re still so calm and cool.”

You narrowed your eyes at the insult but you waved it off, “And you’re playing for a national team, congratulations.” you replied in a blank tone, your senior probably knew what happened between you and his fellow member. You wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he reacted the same way as Osamu did.

“We’re actually doing a shoot now, would you like me to call Atsu-”

“No.” your usual calm tone switched to a colder one, “I’m working now and so is Miya-san, please don’t bother yourself.”

“Gee,” he raised his hands, signalling defeat, “Just say you don’t want to see him. You don’t need to be so cold to me, my dear little kohai.”

“I have to go back to my job, I’m on the clock here.” You ignored his previous statement, “It was nice seeing you again Inunaki-san.”

Before you could give him a chance to reply, you headed towards the studio. You took a deep breath and mentally calculated to three.

one. 

It’s been six years, Miya Atsumu would ignore you. He wouldn’t care about the girl who left him out to dry in college. He’s got a girlfriend now, a model who has legs for days and looks ten times better than you and acts more like a girlfriend than you ever did.

two.

Yes, that’s right, he wouldn’t care.

three.

You entered the studio, you could feel the air tighten around you as soon as you heard that laughter. The one you used to hear everyday and never get tired of. For all the laughs you couldn’t do, he’d do it for you and boy, was he patient around you since you didn’t smile a lot back then (who were you kidding? until now you still had the same problem except when the kids were around)

You want to stop and stare, you want to admire him and his glory that you were very much proud of.

Yet your legs continue to carry you to your boss, the laughter seems to have ceased and you could hear someone asking him what was wrong.

“Oh, L/N-san?” Nakamura greeted you, “You’re here for the renewal of the budget?”

You nodded feverishly, your legs seem to be turning into jelly because you want to collapse from the nervousness and thank god that you wore some make-up before arriving here, otherwise, they would’ve noticed how pale you looked, “Everything seems to be in order,” He nods, scanning the sheets and handing them back to you, “Are you busy right now?”

You glanced at the wall clock, checking the time to see if you could extend your stay and Nakamura is quick to pick up on it, “Ah right, you’ve got kids to pick up. It’ll be quick, just help set up the blocks there and you’re free to leave.” he orders.

You nodded obediently and slowly turned to the side only to catch the very familiar chocolate brown eyes of the blonde. You feel your heart hammering in your chest and your feet turn cold, it had been six years since you last saw Miya Atsumu and he was still as winsome and exhilarating as he was back then.

You may have seen him a lot on television but seeing him, right here, a few feet away from you was different. Taking in a big gulp of air, you started working on the set-up as quickly as you could yet you could still feel his burning gaze remaining on you, “Tsum-tsum, lay off her will you.” came Inunaki Shion’s loud voice snaps him out of his daze.

Great, that little twat had to make an appearance.

“Y/N-san you should really say hi,” Inunaki teased as soon as you finish your set-up.

“Oh? You’re Y/N L/N?” the orange one gushed, quickly up on his feet, you recall him as Hinata Shoyou, Youta’s favorite orange-haired ninja, “Sugawara-san’s friend?” 

You hesitantly nodded, “Oh, you know her Sho-kun?” Shion asked, seemingly amused by it all.

“What are you all crowding here for, Hinata?” Another asked, peering in them closely. This one must’ve been Bokuto, another favorite of Yuuto.

“Sugawara-san’s friend! she’s the mother of those two boys in the training camp who had to go home early!” he suddenly turns to you and then grins, “Ne, ne, the boys really seem to want to attend one of those. Why don’t you allow them to join us-”

“Forget it, Hinata.” Atsumu suddenly speaks out, that warm voice that you were accustomed to seemed cold and menacing now, “She won’t allow it.”

Shion notices the tension between you two and when he’s about to usher the energetic duo away back to the dressing room along with the other members, you let out a quiet sigh and spoke out, “I was on my way to leave, please don’t bother yourselves.” You simply replied, you didn’t waver and stared at him dead in the eye, this could be the moment to end it all and cut ties with him officially, “I apologize for what I did back then, Miya-san. I should’ve told it to you in person. I offer my sincere congratulations to you for making it this far.”

The blonde clenched his jaw, it seemed like he wanted to say something to you yet when he realizes the usual calm and collected demeanor you're putting up, he decides against it and leaves you alone by storming away first.

Hinata and the guy named Bokuto looked at you --- completely puzzled and lost like a deer in the headlights --- before following the blonde, “You truly are in a whole ‘nuther level, Y/N.” Shion whistles, “Heard you’ve got two boys now though. Congrats, where's the poor bastard?”

You continue to watch the back of Atsumu Miya. Finally, it seemed like he’d left you alone and probably for good this time, “Gone, off to a better place.” was all you replied.

Inunaki notices the longing in your voice, a completely unfamiliar emotion he had never seen back then even when you and Atsumu were together. It seemed like you and Atsumu were both the poor bastards in the end.

Miya Atsumu sleeps alone that night.

He doesn’t call his girlfriend back despite the several missed calls, he doesn’t reply to the unanswered text of his brother and his teammates. All he feels is pain tonight, pain because of your very dry apology, pain because of your bland expression. Pain because you didn’t seem to care like that time six years ago.

He shuts his eyes tight and he feels as if he’s back in college, back to that winter night where he received that dreaded phone call from you after you disappeared from him. He remembered those days clearly, your apartment had been cleaned out and paid for, you weren’t answering him on social media, your phone line was also unresponsive and he couldn’t even call your family since you never mentioned anything about them at all.

You both may have been intimate for the past two years but when you disappeared, he had the frightening realization that he didn’t know you at all.

He didn’t want to push you out of your comfort zone, he wanted you to lead the relationship but right at that moment, he wished he pried just a bit since he was worried about you.

Then in the midst of his anxiety, it came, that phone call.

“Atsumu.” your usual calm voice filled his ears and he suddenly feels the weight of the world is removed from his shoulders, thank god you were okay.

“Y/N? Baby? Where are you?”

“Out.”

“Where outside exactly?” Miya Atsumu dryly asks, “It’s cold, you shouldn’t be out now and wandering about. Would you like me to pick you up-”

“I can’t do this anymore.” you suddenly cut him off and the line goes quiet. The blonde feels the world around him quiet down too when he hears those words that he wished he heard wrong.

“What’s, what’s wrong? Y/N, are you alright?” 

“I don’t know,” You mutter, “I’m just tired.”

“Tired of what exactly?”

“Of you, of us…”

“Y/N, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“Yes.” Your voice remained dead calm as if you just hadn’t broken his heart in a million pieces that moment, “Let’s stop this here now, Atsumu. Let’s break-up.”

“That’s…” He tries to keep the mood light, praying that this is one of your dark jokes, “That’s not funny, Y/N.”

“It’s not supposed to be since it’s not a joke.”

Your response was curt as usual and he doesn’t know whats worse, the fact that you’re breaking up over the phone or the fact that your tone remains stable and the same.

“Y/N, don’t do this...Baby don’t do this over the phone.” His tone seemed desperate at this point, “I’m not stopping this until you tell me what's wrong between us, you have to give me something to work with Y/N. Is it something I did?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ya don’t know?” Atsumu started to raise his tone when he notices how unaffected you seem at the other line.Frustration slowly started to bubble in him, the accent turning thicker as he got angrier, “Y/N ya can’t just disappear out of the blue and call me one day and tell me you want to break up! Do you think I’m some sort of fling? Some one-night stand or fuck buddies? We’ve been together for two years, Y/N. Two whole fucking years, What’s wrong? Do you not love me anymore?”

“Yes.”

The line went dead silent again and he hates it, he doesn’t know what to say as his face contorts in sadness and confusion. 

“I don’t…” He starts to feel a lump grow on his throat when he hears how easy it was for you to say, he knew he was in love with you more than you were with him. Many had pointed out how dangerous and how painful it would be on his side in the end, he couldn’t believe it would hurt him this much, “ I don’t fucking believe you, say it right at my face. Where the hell are ya? Let’s talk this one out in person.”

“Don’t bother, I just don’t want to see you again.”

“Y/N you can’t just-”

“I can and I will.” You cut him off, your voice was growing more and more detached and he feels like he’s back to that moment two years ago where you didn’t spare him a glance and treated him like a scrub, he hears a hefty sigh on your side and the next few words is another bullet to his heart, “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Atsumu.”

“You…” he shakily replied, trying to mask his grief with a painful chuckle. He wants to be mad at you, he wants to yell at you but for some odd reason, he couldn’t bring himself to,  “Jesus christ, you really are something, Y/N. You just broke my heart over the the fucking phone and all you could do is say sorry?”

“Sorry.” you say, like a broken-record on repeat and he hates it. He hates how he feels like this was nothing for you.

“Don’t you dare say that again when you don’t mean it-” He spat and before he could finish what he had to say, the phone line went dead. He tried to call again but it seemed like you had used a payphone. Out of complete vexation, he hurls his phone right across the room towards the blue photo frame with the both of you in it.

The sound of broken glass shards and ragged breathing is the only thing heard in the quiet apartment.

It’s not even the peak of winter that night yet he feels so numb and cold.

taglist [closed]

@fortheloveofiwaizumi​ ;  @svtbitch ; @ryaaaax ; @kiyoomile ; @lovedanii @juno-multifandom ; @gyubit17 ; @saeranoppa ; @nixxona ; @kyomihann @shorttstackk ; @itsmattsunshinehere ; @missingmystogan​ ; @Etherynaw ; @volleybloop​ ; @imcravingyou​ ;

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: eight

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 1.6k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: profanity, mentions of sex

author’s note: this is it, the final chapter. i have bonus scenes that i’m planning to write in the future, but this is it for the main story! thank you so much to everyone who has read this and supported it, i appreciate you all so much <3

Team Japan was performing the best they ever had. With Hinata and Kageyama’s freak quick attack, Sakusa’s angled spikes, MSBY’s teamwork, Aran’s powerful serves, and Suna’s intimidating blocks, Japan easily made it past the first few rounds and into the gold match game. 

You and the team were lucky; there were no substantial injuries, and even after countless games against some of the best in the world, everyone was still upbeat and energetic. Morale was high, and everyone was excited for the next game: the final gold medal match against Argentina. 

You had met Iwaizumi’s fiance, Oikawa Tooru, and immediately understood what Iwaizumi meant. There was, in fact, an “Iwa-chan, I can’t believe you! Rival against your own fiance!” All in all, you thought Oikawa was a good match for Iwaizumi’s impassive nature, and you were happy for both of them. You just hoped Iwaizumi would survive the final game.

Jerseys were put on, water bottles were filled, medical bags were prepared, and soon enough, you were standing next to the bench and watching the National Team practice for their most important match. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Suna, who was donning the jersey you had stolen months ago. You had already expressed your love for Suna in a National Team uniform, jumping him almost immediately after they won their first game. 

Practice finished, and both teams were given a short break before the match would start. The arena had a few family members; you could see Osamu and Kita, along with Bokuto’s husband and Hinata’s sister and mom. Once again, you were thrilled that you were able to stand next to the court during the game and not in the bleachers. 

Suna approached you where you were next to the bench, and you stood up to give him a good luck kiss.

“I know you’ll do great, Rintarou. I’m so proud of you. Good luck, and make sure to beat Argentina and give Oikawa hell!”

Iwaizumi laughed next to you, earning a glare from Oikawa who was talking to him. You gave Suna a final hug and kiss, then turned away to redo a wrap on Aran’s knee. 

You missed Suna handing a tiny black box to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi subsequently hiding the box in one of his bags. 

---

Japan took the first set, a service ace from Kageyama ending it. Argentina took the next, thanks to a surprising setter dump from Oikawa. Sakusa’s final spike gave the third set to Japan, and Oikawa’s service ace gave the fourth to Argentina. With the tie, everyone was nervous approaching the final set. You redid a few wraps, gave encouraging words, and wordlessly threw an ice pack at Hinata, who was acting like he didn’t receive a ball with his face in the fourth set. Oikawa was happily taunting Iwaizumi, who was threatening Oikawa with a pair of tape scissors in hand. 

The whistle blew, and the players made their way back onto the court. You watched with bated breath as the set flew by, long rallies and quick movements making your head spin. You were exhausted just watching; the game had been long and hard, but this set was full of back and forth points with neither team getting a clear lead. 

Finally, Japan had a break and was in the lead at match point. You could barely breathe, and everything felt like it was in slow motion. You watched as Oikawa served, Komori received, Sakusa spiked, and Argentina’s libero sent the ball towards Oikawa, who set it towards a spiker. The spiker jumped, Suna jumping right in front of him. The ball was hit, and it felt like an eternity as you watched Suna send it back down to the other side, guaranteeing Japan’s victory as the ball hit the floor. A whistle blew, signaling the end of the match and solidifying the final score. 

You were shouting, Iwaizumi was shouting, the coach was shouting, everyone was rushing towards the court and Suna. You ran as fast as you could into his arms, laughing as you took his face between your hands and showered him with kisses as he spun you around. Both of you were crying, his teammates circling around you, hugging him (and by proxy, you) and patting him on the back. He finally set you down, grabbing something from Iwaizumi before he was pulled away by a jealous Oikawa. 

You watched in awe as Suna Rintarou got down on one knee right after scoring the winning point for Japan’s Olympic gold medal. 

“Y/n, I know we’ve been back together for only a few weeks, but in my heart, it’s been over eight years. I’ve loved you since then, and I’ll love you until the day I die. You’re the only one I can picture beside me in the future, and you’re the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I could go on and on for hours, but I also have a medal to get for you. Will you marry me?”

The tears streaming down your face prevented you from properly speaking, but your enthusiastic nod said it all. You threw your arms around Suna, letting him pick you up and spin you around again as everyone in the arena cheered and the cameras picked up the proposal on live television. 

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Rintarou.” Your voice was breaking, and you could see tears on Suna’s face as well. “I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

---

When Suna crept into your room that night, you welcomed him with open arms, grinning as he placed the gold medal over your naked chest, the cold of the metal seeping into your skin as the bed broke beneath you, again.

---

Los Angeles, August 2028

“We’re gonna be fucking late, Rintarou.”

“No we won’t, calm down.” He tossed you your team jacket, watching as you zipped it fully to cover the bruises blooming on your neck. 

You glanced down at your phone. “Fuck, Rin, it’s almost time. Get out.” You pushed him out of the empty training room, grimacing at the clock on the wall. “I’ll see you out there.”

You snatched your bag off of the floor just as your phone began to ring.

“Hey, Osamu, I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Busy banging Sunarin?”

“Shut the fuck up. Are you guys here?”

“Yeah, right behind the bench. She’s asking for you.”

“Be there in a sec.”

You hung up with a click, pushing open the door and walking down the hall to the court. The rest of the team was already there, and you glared at Atsumu as he shot you a smirk. Just like Osamu said, he was seated in the bleachers behind the bench. You dropped your bag down, walking over to him and Suna.

“Hi, baby. Are you being good for uncle ‘Samu?” You cooed at your daughter, who was currently latched onto Suna’s neck.

“Yes, momma.”

“Good girl.” You grabbed her from Suna, bouncing her on your hip as the whistle blew for practice to begin. “Tell your daddy good luck.”

“Good luck!” she giggled, hands reaching out for Suna as he leaned down to hug and kiss you both. 

“Make sure you watch me close, baby girl. Not uncle ‘Tsumu.”

Your daughter grinned at her dad, nodding her head and promising him all her attention (which was pretty minimal, for a three year old).

You handed her back up to Osamu, who bounced her on his knee as she waved at you and Suna. 

Practice came and went, and another gold medal match for Japan started. Japan had won again at Paris in 2024, and everyone was hoping for another one. You waved to Iwaizumi, who was arguing with Oikawa on the Argentinian side. The two of you stayed in contact after he moved, with him frequently telling you about the most recent stupid things Oikawa had done and you keeping him updated on your life with Suna and EJP. 

The game began, and it was close, just as the last two between Japan and Argentina had been. Before the fifth and final set, they were yet again tied, with the previous sets being close as well. The whistle blew, and the final set began. 

It was back and forth, as was usual for Japan and Argentina, but a break at the end put Japan at match point, just like the game in Tokyo. With bated breath, you watched Atsumu serve, Argentina receive and spike, and Komori receive. Atsumu set, and time slowed down as the ball flew in an arc, right into Suna’s waiting palm. The ball was slammed down, the echo carrying throughout the silent arena. The final whistle blew, and the gym went up in cheers. 

You ran towards Suna, just as you had done at the Tokyo Games, leaping into his arms and showering him with kisses. Osamu approached, handing your daughter off to Suna, as the three of you celebrated in your own little world. A third Olympic gold, an amazing daughter, an incredible husband; everything was perfect. 

The next day, you received what was quite possibly the best picture you had ever seen. You, Suna, and your daughter, tears on all of your faces, huddled close together in a tight hug, smiles bright and wide, taken by Osamu. 

You had everything you could ever ask for in your family, your friends, and even your job. Still, Suna Rintarou was always on your mind. 

taglist: @sunasexual @call-me-lulu @ntimacy @circleglasses @porcolie @keikotaro @rintarovibes @kenmaslov3r​ 

[theorangelifeofriley]

Honolulu: Pearl Harbor, Punchbowl

July 24, 2021

We were to meet our driver at 8am this morning for our day at Pearl Harbor and the Punchbowl. There was much confusion about what to pack, since Pearl Harbor doesn’t allow bags at all – except maybe a small clear sandwich bag. I brought my home made wristlet – made out of a clear sandwich bag and some duck tape. We all packed things in my little wristlet for the day.

We got down to the little sitting area next to the pull-through driveway and our group was congregated with our guide for the day, Olav. Olav told us that we didn’t actually have anywhere to be until 1:30pm, so we had some time to make sure that we all had what we needed. And also that he would be with us all day and we’d be in the same car all day. He also strongly recommended hats and water bottles. We made several trips back up to the room to grab things. We also learned that Olav is unvaccinated, doesn’t believe in COVID-19, and is a staunch Republican who believes in his “Constitutional rights.” He is also an incredible font of knowledge about Pearl Harbor, and only occasionally threw in some of his slanted views. There is no way I’m going to be able to capture, or remember, all the information he told us – it was a continuous stream of knowledge for about 8 hours.

Eventually, we had all of our stuff, and we walked to the 15-passenger van, parked on the street behind the hotel. After we got settled, Olav took off through the city to the Punchbowl. The Punchbowl is a volcanic crater in the hills surrounding Honolulu. The center is a bowl – the crater – and they punched a hole through one of the crater’s rims to allow entry into the bowl. Hence the name – Punchbowl. Inside the Punchbowl is a national cemetery. There’s a monument at the end of it, and on the steps up to the monument is where Hawai’i holds memorial services for Veteran’s Day and Dec. 7. We’re not allowed to get out inside the Punchbowl, but we can drive through. Lining the driveway in the Punchbowl are Banyan trees donated to the US from China. China was our ally during World War II, and we helped to defeat the Japanese who had invaded and were conquering China. There are 48 trees, which represent the 48 states at the time of World War II. They’re beautiful trees that have been groomed to prevent additional roots from taking root.

The area is quiet and calm, and beautiful. There are no traditional white headstones like in Arlington. Instead, the headstones are flat. They used to be white wooden crosses but were changed to flat stone headstones to respect other religions – and allow for easier maintenance.

From the Punchbowl, we drove to Pearl Harbor, and to the USS Missouri BB 63, which is now a museum. As we drove through the city, Olav pointed out a neighborhood that burned when a bomb went astray on Dec. 7, 1941. He also described in detail what happened on Dec. 7, 1941 – the day Pearl Harbor was attacked. We learned about the SS Cynthia Olson which was sank en route from the mainland and Honolulu by a Japanese submarine on the morning of Dec. 7, 1941. The passenger ship was carrying two soldiers to Honolulu but was a passenger ship. There’s a photo of the Cynthia Olson as it was sinking taken by a Japanese soldier on the submarine. The Cynthia Olson got a may day call out, and another passenger ship heard the call. That second passenger ship confiscated all the passenger’s binoculars and assigned watch duty to the passengers. When that ship landed, the USA government confiscated all of their radio records and logs. Olav believes the records were confiscated because they show the time of the Cynthia Olson’s may day call. If that call happened before the bombing at Pearl Harbor, but was ignored, it would look very bad for the US military command.

As we entered the Pearl Harbor base, we drove to a parking lot and Olav left us to get an officer who cam back and searched our van for bags. Once that was done, we drove over the bridge to Ford Island and the USS Missouri BB-63. BB-63 stands for Battle Boat 63 – the 63rd battleship the US built. This is necessary because there have been four USS Missouri’s. The current USS Missouri is a submarine that was also docked at Pearl Harbor today. Of course you can’t call it BS-63 (battleship 63) – so battle boat 63 it is. The BB-63 was the last battleship built in the world, the most powerful, and the last one to retire. It was launched during World War II, saw battle in the Battle of Okinawa, was where the Instrument of Surrender was signed by the Japanese to officially end World War II, served in the Korean War, was decommissioned in the 60s, then refitted in the 80s, saw duty in Desert Storm, before finally being retired in the early 90s, then being made into a museum. Its parked in Battleship Row – where all the Battleships were anchored on Dec. 7.

Olav told us a lot about how the Pacific Fleet came to be in Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7 – but then he seemed to contradict himself. The first story was that FDR ordered the Pacific Fleet to all be at Pearl Harbor as a “show of strength” to deter the Japanese. The Admiral of the Pacific Fleet thought this was stupid, because normally the Pacific Fleet rotated between several locations, and there was not enough of a supply chain, let alone docking berths, to allow the entire fleet to be in Pearl Harbor. He resisted, basically told FDR he was dumb, and lost his job. He had worked on the supply line, though, and worked on the docking situation too – which is how Battleship Row came to be.

As he told this story, I gathered that the next Admiral did as FDR wished and assembled the entire Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor. Olav made a point to say that FDR ignored the military advisors, and his Admiral, and all their knowledge to demand the fleet be in Pearl Harbor. Later, he told us that every year, the Admiral of the Pacific Fleet was required to inspect the fleet in Pearl Harbor. This always occurred on the Monday after the first Sunday in December. In 1941, that was Dec. 8. The Fleet was required to report to Pearl Harbor 24 -48 hours in advance of the inspection. Which then means that the fleet was assembled in Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7 in preparation for the inspection on Dec. 8 – which doesn’t seem to have a lot to do with FDR.

The deck of the Mighty Mo is covered in teak, which they did to preserve the steel deck, to lower the temperature inside the boat, and to provide a natural nonslip surface. The teak on the deck has been replaced three times, all using different processes. One time they messed up trying to save money by putting 1 inch of Douglas Fir below 1 inch of team (instead of 2 inches of teak) – not realizing that Douglas Fir rots faster than teak.

During WWII, the Missouri was attacked by a Kamikaze, which was captured perfectly on camera. We saw the place where the Kamikaze’s wing impacted with the Missouri. We also saw footprints on the deck where our personnel stood as they buried the Kamikaze pilot at sea as directed by the Missouri’s captain.

We toured the inside of the ship, which was interesting. They had several displays with stuff from the Missouri, the history of the Missouri, remnants from the Kamikaze attack, etc. We walked through the galley, the kitchens, the offices – including the dental office – the food lines, including the donut shop, the fast food line, and the Truman line, so called because the Truman family visited and used that food line. There were crew quarters everywhere – berths stacked 3 high, and each sailor’s locker. The kitchens were crazy – the appliances were huge, and they had everything you could want! Well, all the kitchen toys you could want. The Missouri was the first ship to have a network of interconnected computers which they called MO-Net. This was all before the internet was created. The inside of the Missouri was extensive – it seemed to go on and on. We saw throughout the ship ammunition chutes. And a couple of places that would be vulnerable to armor piercing rounds which can pierce through 16” of steel – so these areas were outfitted with 17” think steel. The guns on the ship were huge and could take out a target 25 miles away. The guns had to be fired over the water, because the rounds were fired at twice the speed of sound, and the concussion would tear the ship apart if the guns were fired over the ship. Missouri, the state, was responsible for providing the fancy silverware and place settings – which is interesting. There was a great map that showed where all of the different USS Missouris served. We saw the Chief’s lounge, and the Captain’s lounge, which was also used as a war room, and the tables can be used as operating tables in a pinch. It was a great insight into what the ship would have looked like while it was in service.

When we were finished touring the inside of the boat, we went to the deck, and then to the Quarter Deck. On the Mighty Mo, the Quarter Deck has been renamed the Surrender Deck, because it was where the Japanese surrendered to the Allied Forces to end World War II. Olav told a story about how MacArthur stepped out of the navigation bridge to walk down to the Quarter Deck but noticed that the Japanese contingent hadn’t arrived yet. So he went back inside, saying, “I’m not going to wait for them. They will wait for me.” He also told us that the British brought a fancy table they wanted to use for the signing, but the papers they were signing were too large to fit on the table. The Missouri’s Captain ordered a seaman to grab a folding table from the ship, and they used that. One of the Japanese had a false leg, and as he was coming up to sign the papers, he stumbled and hit one of the legs of the folding table. The crew, who knew it was a folding table, held their breath for the rest of the ceremony – hoping that the table didn’t collapse. (It didn’t.)

On the Surrender Deck, there is a plaque where the table was and the documents were signed. There’s also a display with replicas of the documents. On the replicas, you can see that the Canadian representative signed on the wrong line on the first document. There’s a picture of someone making sure that he signed on the correct line on the second copy!

They’ve positioned the Missouri so that the bow of the battleship points to the bow of the USS Arizona. The ship that started the US involvement in WWII and the ship where WWII ended pointing to each other.

We finished on the Missouri, went to the gift shop, got some Dole Whip, and then drove to the Pearl Harbor Memorial area for lunch. Lunch was at a permanent food truck outside, and was decent, although Meg and Marie didn’t like their nachos or hot dog. After lunch, we went to watch a 20-minute movie about the attack on Pearl Harbor, before making our way to the ferry to the USS Arizona Memorial.

Olav detailed how the attack happened but of course I’m not going to remember everything. There were three waves of attacks – the dive bombers, the torpedoes, and the other type of bombers. Eek. They came from different directions, and in two separate waves. There were about… or over?... 300 planes in total. The battle lasted for 2 hours. Most all of the ships that were sunk were eventually retrieved and put back into service, except for the Arizona, the Oklahoma, and the Utah. The Japanese adjusted bombs? Or torpedoes? With an additional fin that allowed them to fun in the shallow waters of Pearl Harbor and hit Battleship row. I think Olav also indicated that the aerial bombers were not the ones that caused the most damage, generally – it was the torpedoes.

The ride out to the memorial was quick – the warnings about not misbehaving on an active Navy boat were almost as long as the ride itself. Once the ferry docks, we disembarked, and headed back to the back room. The memorial itself is a white concrete building. The architect was a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps and wanted to build the memorial to remember the lives that were spent to save and free so many across the world, including in the concentration camps. The structure is a loose U-shape. The low point in the middle represents initial defeat at Pearl Harbor. The inclines on either side represent the slow climb to victory in Europe and the slow climb to victory in the Pacific. There are seven cut outs along either side and the top, which were for structural integrity, but have later been said to represent a 21-gun salute. The structure is situated across the middle of the sunken USS Arizona – the ship heaviest hit by the attack on Dec. 7. 1,177 seamen were lost with the Arizona and never recovered. Another 41 of the survivors, or relatives of those lost, have chosen to be interred in the Arizona.

As soon as I set foot on the dock, I smelled the oil or gasoline from the wreck. You could see it on the water, too. There is oil still leaking from the ship and will continue to leak for decades more. There were a lot of people at the memorial, but it was mostly quiet, as is fitting. We walked right back to the room where the names of those buried here are displayed. It’s made of the same marble as the headstones in Arlington. The room is beautiful but somber.

Just outside of that room is a hole in the floor of the structure that is situated over a part of the ship. I didn’t see much there. Outside, on either end of the structure, there are two white buoys that represent where the bow and the stern of the ship are. There are also pieces of the ship, like the gun turrets, and the flag staff, that are still sticking out above the water. It was a moving experience.

After the ferry back to the main site, we went and toured the USS Bowfin – a retired submarine that is only 27’ in circumference. It was tiny, and holy cow does it seem miserable to have served on it. They call it the Silent Service – the work of the submarines. The Bowfin was launched on Dec. 7, 1942, and was therefore nicknamed The Pearl Harbor Avenger. The kitchen was tiny, and only had minimal toys. Olav tells us that the food was cooked on the mainland, frozen, and placed in the submarine’s freezers.

The worst thing was hot bunking. There were only 36 bunks on board the submarine, but about 86 sailors on board. So they rotated beds – multiple people shared a bed. With the temperatures on the submarine running in the 90s or 100s, the beds were wet with the other guy’s sweat. Yuck.

The doorways between the areas of the ship were so small and short too! It was a workout to squat and contort myself through the doorways.

After the Bowfin, we drove back to the city Olav was kind enough to drive us to Costco. This Costco is the busiest on in America. I didn’t go in, but the parking lot was crazy! Anne, Aimee, and Marie went in to get food for the next few days, and they did a great job! Then, it was back to the hotel, and our time with Olav was over. He is a knowledgeable, talkative tour guide to be sure!

Back in the room, some of us split up for naps and downtime until dinner at 6:30. Rileys, Drew, and Todd stayed at our place to watch the Olympics and drink the 5th of rum we bought the night before. Todd made us a whole series of frozen drinks that were great, and did the job! We had a raucous good time watching Men’s Street Skateboarding, where the athletes wiped out more than they landed tricks. It was brutal!

We had tacos for dinner, and continued watching the Olympics, and the activity on the ocean. From our view from the living room and our balcony, we can see all the hundreds of surfers always hanging out on the water, and the couple that actually make surfing runs. There’s a lot of boat traffic, including a lot of boats that go out to watch the sunset. There’s also a surprising number of large cargo ships that travel pretty close to this beach. It was a great time tonight!

[writerofthecourt]

memories of what could have been

pairing: miya atsumu x reader

summary: seeing you in the stands, atsumu couldn’t help but think back on how your relationship got to this point

warning: inarizaki vs. karasuno spoilers, time skip spoilers

a/n: this was supposed to be short and sweet…what happened?? i’m sorry for any missed editing mistakes. inspired by this song by ito kashitaro. please give it a listen to after you’re done reading, it is such a good song!

The audience watched in nervous silence, waiting with bated breath as Atsumu stepped up to the line and prepared for his serve. The game had dwindled down to its final set, leaving both teams exhausted and sore from the constant rallies and unforgiving plays. If Atsumu could land a service ace now, it would mean the end of the game and victory for his team.

Looking at his teammates, Hinata and Bokuto both smiled at him encouragingly, while Sakusa’s glare told him not to mess up. Looking up to the stands, Atsumu found you in the sea of people, your lips curved into a radiant smile as you shot him a reassuring thumbs up.

Finding strength in the people around him, Atsumu released a shaky breath before tossing the ball up into the air, jumping after it to launch it into the opponent’s side of the court.

“Can I play?” a tiny voice asked from behind him.

Catching the ball that Osamu had just received, Atsumu turned around and raised a condescending eyebrow at you, his eyes scanning you with disdain and disinterest as you stared back at him with anticipation.

“No way,” he scoffed. “This isn’t a game for scrubs like ya.”

“That’s not very nice,” you replied, a frown now present on your face. “My ma told me that ya should be kind and share with everyone.”

“Yeah? And my ma told me not to talk with strangers,” Atsumu made a shoo-ing motion with his hands, “now go and play in the sandbox with the rest of the scrubs.”

Scrunching your nose in frustration, you stomped off towards the swing set where you had been previously occupying your time. “Jerk…”

Smirking in victory, Atsumu returned to receiving the ball back and forth with Osamu, letting out a gasp of surprise when the ball bounced off of his arm and went flying towards your direction.

“Oi, watch out!” Atsumu shouted to warn you.

Turning around, you quickly surveyed the ball before taking off into a running start. Jumping up into the air, you perfectly spiked the ball back to Atsumu, hitting him in the face as you gracefully landed on your feet.

“Wow,” you drawled out sarcastically with a smirk. “Sorry, my hand slipped.”

Osamu, who had been quiet up until this point, let out an uncontrollable laugh as Atsumu continued to groan on the ground, his face now red from where the volleyball had smacked him.

That was how you met Miya Atsumu.

The classroom was filled with hushed excitement as everyone anxiously waited in their seats for the lunch bell to ring. Today was Valentine’s Day, and all the students were once again ready to celebrate and revel in the traditions of the romantic holiday.

As soon as the bell rang, various female students ran up to Atsumu’s desk, showering him in a variety of wrapped and decorated chocolate confections. Despite only being second years, the Miya twins were the talk of their junior high, as their superior looks and athleticism made them the envy and desire of the student population, whether they wanted to be or not.

Looking over his large pile of gifts, Atsumu glanced at his brother from across the classroom, finding some sort of comfort in how Osamu also seemed to be struggling with his own horde of adoring fans.

“Atsumu-kun, please accept my chocolates.”

“I worked really hard on these, so please accept my feelings, Atsumu-san!”

“Atsumu-kun, are ya going out with anybody right now?”

“Oh, shuddup!” Atsumu snapped as he stood up from his desk, causing everyone to stare at him with surprise and fear. “I just wanna go out and play volleyball, but none of ya will let me leave!”

The girls around Atsumu’s desk quickly shrank back, some shuffling their feet in awkwardness, while others hid behind their friends.

“Yer a real jerk, y’know that?” Osamu sighed, shaking his head at his brother’s lack of tact.

“What did’ja say, ‘Samu? Say it to my face!”

Noticing movement from the door, Atsumu saw the top of your head peeking out from behind the door frame, your body obstructed from view due to the large number of female students standing outside of the classroom.

“Oi, [Y/N],” Atsumu called out, causing you to jump in surprise. “Come play volleyball with me and ‘Samu.”

“Uhh, sure,” you agreed nervously as some of the other girls began to glare at you. “I have something I gotta do first. I’ll see ya out on the field.”

“Sounds good!”

Turning around, you scurried down the hallway and rushed back into your classroom, hiding your box of chocolates away in the depths of your school bag.

Your friend, who sat in the desk behind you, raised an eyebrow at your suspicious behaviour. “I thought ya were gonna go confess to Atsumu-san? Ya said that’cha worked all night on those chocolates.”

“Haha, yeah. I’m chickening out,” you shamefully admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “He was a little busy…”

“Figures,” your friend scoffed, rolling her eyes at your cowardice.

“Yeah. Good thing I bought those extra store bought chocolates, right?” you chuckled, trying to ease the pain. “Now it won’t be awkward if I only give ‘Samu his chocolates.”

Your friend sighed before shaking her head in pity. “I don’t know why ya fell for that idiot in the first place.”

“Yeah, me too,” you whispered, remembering all of the effort you had put into your chocolates the night before.

At the simple age of fourteen, you experienced your first heartbreak.

It was a tough pill to swallow, but it was the truth. Nobody expected a powerhouse team like Inarizaki to lose in their first match of the Spring High National Tournament, but Karasuno was an incredible team, managing to secure the victory after a tremendous three set game.

Days following the tournament, a sombre atmosphere could still be felt lingering in the halls of Inarizaki High. The third year volleyball club members were now retired, turning to focus their attention on studying and entrance exams instead. They would still occasionally show up to practice and mentor their first and second years, but it was clear that their time in their beloved club was over. Everyone was heartbroken, but no one was more upset about the team’s loss than one blond setter.

“Hey,” you greeted Osamu as he opened the front door. “How are ya holdin’ up?”

“Fine,” Osamu replied with a shrug. “Definitely a lot better than ‘Tsumu.”

You nodded solemnly, entering the quiet house and exchanging your outdoor shoes for a pair of house slippers. “Are yer parents not home?”

“Visiting family,” Osamu answered plainly, tearing open a bag of chips to snack on them. “Want some?”

Shaking your head, you politely declined his offer. After a moment of silence, you shuffled your feet and glanced up the staircase. “I’m gonna go check up on him.”

As you began to climb the stairs, Osamu called out your name, making you turn back to look at him. “Thanks. For being there when I can’t.”

You smiled, nodding to Osamu before letting your feet carry you through the familiar hallways of the Miya household. Soon, you reached your destination, stopping right in front of the twins’ bedroom door.

Gently knocking on the door, you alerted Atsumu of your presence. “‘Tsumu? It’s me. I’m coming in, okay?”

Hearing a grunt of acknowledgement, you entered the room before softly closing the door behind you. Shaking your head, you sighed at all of the clothes and manga books messily strewn about the room. Typical teenage boys.

There, securely wrapped in his blanket from head to toe, Atsumu lay on his bed, his back facing towards you as he stared off at the wall in complete silence.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, taking a seat next to him on the bed. “‘Samu says that yer not holdin’ up too well. Are ya okay?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Atsumu mumbled, his nose stuffy and voice grating as if he had been previously crying.

“It’s okay if ya don’t want to talk about it,” you conceded, bringing a hand up to brush through Atsumu’s messy blond locks.

After a few minutes of silence, sniffles could be heard echoing throughout the room as Atsumu tried his best to muffle his cries into his pillow. With a melancholic smile, you continued to rake your fingers through Atsumu’s hair, staring out at the window to bask in the glow of the setting sun.

“Everything will be okay, ‘Tsumu,” you gently whispered. “You’ll be okay…”

Outside of the room, Osamu smiled as he heard your comforting words to Atsumu. He felt content knowing that the blond would be just fine now that you were here.

“Ahhh, I can’t believe we’re done!” you shouted in excitement, your eyes gleaming as you admired the piece of paper you had sacrificed three years of your life to obtain.

“Yer so loud,” Osamu grimaced as he stood to your left. Though, he also broke out into a smile once he saw how the happy expression on your face never wavered.

Graduation was both a joyous and scary occasion, as students now set off on their own paths towards an undecided future. Although nothing was certain, you weren’t scared. You were ready to take on whatever life threw at you.

“Hey, Osamu, come take a picture with us!” a couple of guys from the baseball club requested, shaking their phones for emphasis.

Shrugging his shoulders, Osamu left your side as you waited for Atsumu to finish his conversation with a couple of his female fans.

After snapping a quick photo with them, Atsumu waved his fans goodbye and walked over to stand next to you underneath one of the school’s cherry blossom trees.

“God, they’re so annoying. ‘Miya-san, yer so cool. We’re gonna miss ya so much!’” Atsumu poorly imitated, his voice rising to an absurdly high pitch in an effort to mimic their voices.

“Yer awful!” you laughed, shoving his shoulder once he was within arm’s reach.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know,” he smirked before glancing around. “Where’s ‘Samu?”

“Pictures,” you said, pointing to Osamu and a group of boys off in the distance.

“Ughhhh,” Astumu groaned, glaring at his brother with impatience.

As the two of you waited for Osamu to be done, a comfortable silence enveloped you and Atsumu. The hushed chatter of other students could be still heard as they all ran around, saying goodbye to one another and wishing each other good luck for the future. You looked up to the sky and smiled, admiring how the cherry blossoms danced with the gentle breeze of spring.

“I’ve been in love with ya since junior high, did’ja y’know that?” you asked, grinning once you saw the look of absolute shock painted on Atsumu’s handsome face.

“W-what-” Atsumu sputtered, not knowing what to say in response to your confession.

“Calm down, ya look like yer gonna choke or something,” you chuckled.

“Why are ya telling me this now?” Atsumu asked seriously, staring at you with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Shrugging your shoulders, you answered Atsumu’s question. “Why not? It doesn’t change anything. Yer still gonna be moving to Osaka to try out for the MSBY Black Jackals, ‘Samu’s gonna be studying here, and I’m heading off to Tokyo. I just wanted to get this off my chest after all these years.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Atsumu reluctantly looked away, “I don’t feel the same way about you.”

“I know,” you said as you took a hold of his hand, ignoring how he seemed to flinch at your touch. “A part of me kinda hoped that you’d return my feelings and move with me to Tokyo, but that’s just a far-fetched dream. Besides, I’d never want to make you choose between me and volleyball.”

“[Y/N], I’m sorry-”

“Will you stop it!” you playfully snapped, rolling your eyes at the Miya Atsumu’s sudden shyness. “It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with my feelings a long time ago. No matter what, at the end of the day, I’ll still love both you and ‘Samu all the same.”

Hearing your parents call out your name, you turned to where they stood as they signalled for you to meet them at the car parked a couple of blocks down the street.

“Okay!” you confirmed as you waved to them. Turning back to Atsumu, you planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, surprising him as you shot him one last smile. “Goodbye for now, ‘Tsumu. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

Atsumu could do nothing but stare as you ran off towards Osamu, interrupting the photo-taking as you hugged the ex-wing spiker before kissing him on the cheek and bidding him your farewells. The other guys around Osamu all whistled and hollered, but he just rolled his eyes at their lighthearted teasing.

Returning your hug, Osamu kissed the top of your head, saying his goodbyes to you as well before whispering something only you could hear. Both of your eyes drifted to Atsumu before you nodded your head and separated from the grey haired Miya. Waving to Osamu and Atsumu one last time, you ran off to catch up with your parents.

As Atsumu watched you leave, the blond clenched his fist tightly around his shirt, right where his heart would be. An indescribable feeling began to settle in his chest, and he couldn’t help but feel as if he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t chase after you.

Nevertheless, Atsumu’s feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

“Miya-san, you are one of the rising stars in the world of volleyball right now. Looking at your career up until this point, I can easily understand why so many new players see you as a figure of inspiration,” the interviewer complimented, a professional and polite smile on her face as she held up her microphone. “Tell me, is there anyone that inspires you to work hard and continue to do your best?”

“That’s a tough question,” Atsumu replied, sending the interviewer and camera a charismatic smile. “Well, if I had to choose…”

Looking back on his life, the first person that came to Atsumu’s mind was you. Like a lantern shining in the darkest of nights, your smiling face was the first one to appear in the setter’s head.

Suddenly, memories of you all came flooding back to him, especially that one fateful day underneath the cherry blossom tree where you had confessed your feelings to him.

“Uh, Miya-san?” the interviewer asked, snapping him out of his daze. “Are you all right?”

“Um, yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day,” he chuckled, earning a laugh from the interviewer as well. “Sorry, what was the question again?”

The interviewer only smiled as she repeated her question.

“Yer going on a date?!” Atsumu screeched, pulling at his hair as if he had just heard the worst news ever. He was currently on a Facetime call with you and Osamu, with your phone aimed towards your closet as you shifted through and appraised different outfits with the twins.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said,” you confirmed, rolling your eyes at blond’s overreaction. “Now, which shirt looks better, the yellow one or the white one.”

“I personally like the white one,” Osamu replied, quickly glancing up from his laptop before resuming his essay.

“Since when? With who?” Atsumu interrogated, glaring suspiciously at you through the phone screen.

“A guy from my Intro to Biology class. He seems really nice, so I accepted his offer,” you explained with exasperation. “It’s just coffee, ‘Tsumu.”

“Just coffee?!” the blond asked hysterically. “This is Tokyo we’re talking about! We all know how sketchy those city boys are!”

“‘Tsumu, it’s just one date,” you sighed, no longer having the energy to deal with him. “Listen, if it goes poorly, I’ll block his number and never interact with him ever again. Deal?”

“Fine,” Atsumu relented, grumbling something under his breath that you couldn’t quite pick up. “But call me or ‘Samu as soon as you get home! If I don’t hear from ya by the end of the night, I’m going to Tokyo myself!”

“I’ll be fine, ‘Tsumu,” you chuckled before glancing at the time. “Okay, I gotta go. We’re meeting up soon. See ya, guys!”

“Bye.” “Be safe!”

Hanging up the call, Atsumu let his head fall back onto the couch, his fists shaking with frustration. He didn’t like you, at least not in that way. So why did he feel jealousy and disappointment burning away at his chest when you had announced to him and Osamu that you were going on a date?

Thinking back to graduation day, Atsumu couldn’t help but wonder if he truly did feel nothing for you back then. In any case, he couldn’t deny that the thought of you now stirred up something within his heart.

He hated himself for it, but he hoped that your date was a total disaster. That he’d be there to comfort you and rekindle whatever feelings you had for him back in high school.

Unfortunately, Atsumu never got his chance.

As the ball flew through the air, the opponent’s libero made a desperate dive to reach it. Unfortunately, his efforts were not enough, as the ball landed just out of his arm’s reach, so close, yet so far away from being stopped.

The whistle sounded, declaring the end of the game as the crowd erupted into both cheers of happiness and groans of disappointment. Atsumu’s teammates all ran up to quickly hug him, with Hinata and Bokuto being the first ones to reach the tired setter. Sakusa looked at the three of them with disgust, but he still sent Atsumu a small smile, telling him that he did good.

Atsumu laughed as Bokuto kept slapping him on the back, while Hinata congratulated him for his amazing serve. Looking up to the stands one more time, Atsumu chuckled as you sent him a beautiful smile and an enthusiastic wave of both hands, the shine of your wedding band reflecting off of the stadium lights.

“Y-yer gettin’ married?”

“Yeah! Isn’t this great, ‘Tsumu?”

“Y-yeah! This is wonderful, [Y/N]. I wish ya nothing but all the happiness in the world…”

Turning to your husband beside you, you began to excitedly talk about all the amazing players and the various highlights of the game. Your husband must have said something funny because you started to laugh, kissing him on his cheek before leaning into his chest with a hug.

Atsumu turned away from the happy couple, half-listening to the praises of his teammates. He had never once regretted his decision in pursuing volleyball, but he couldn’t help but think back to that fateful spring day.

If he had accepted your feelings back then, would he be the one that you were hugging right now? The one that got to see your dazzling smile and hear the twinkle of your laughter every morning?

Atsumu loved volleyball, but he also loved you.

He was just too late in realizing this fact.

fun fact: osamu was originally going to end up with [y/n], but i liked the idea of them remaining as friends a lot better. [y/n]’s husband is a canon haikyuu character, so if anyone can guess who he is, i’ll write you a request

EDIT: an anon has correctly guessed that it was konoha

[reinerispretty]

beneath the moon. (sokka x f!reader) pt13

hi hi :) i hope you guys are doing well!! thank u for your patience ily all!!

pt1

pt12

“Wow, Azula, you were right!” Exclaimed Ty Lee. “It is the Avatar!” She looked down at Sokka, a flirtatious smirk appearing on her lips. “And friends.”

Sokka waved back up at her and said hello, which only frustrated (Y/N) more. She took the water that she, Aang, and Katara had been bending with and sent ice daggers flying toward the three girls.

(Y/N) had always thought that the Northern Water Tribe was an impressive architectural feat. The intricate designs and layout of the city had always impressed her when she had the time to admire them. And as Princess of the North, she had had a lot of time. As much as she hated being trapped within its walls, she learned to appreciate it. But as she stood at the top of the Outer Wall of Ba Sing Se, she realized just how tiny her tribe was in comparison to the largest city in the Earth Kingdom. 

She leaned just over the edge, watching as the Fire Nation drill pounded into the stone wall. Toph groaned, slumping herself against (Y/N). “It’s kind of hard to see with all this drilling. I can feel every little thing they do!” 

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) muttered, but her mind was elsewhere. Just a few steps away from her, Sokka, Katara, and Aang were trying to formulate a plan on how to take down the drill. (Y/N) had stepped away from the conversation. Ever since the night on the Serpent’s Pass, she had become hyperaware of Sokka’s presence near her. Every step closer, every friendly smile, had her heart practically beating out of her chest. 

She had realized it the next morning, after she had dreamt of Sokka. The sadness she had felt when she had walked out of her tent and saw Sokka smiling at Suki the way he had smiled at (Y/N) in her dream was a confirmation. (Y/N) liked Sokka, in a more than friends way, and she was jealous of Suki. Both feelings made her feel sick to her stomach, so she had resolved to shove them down as far into herself as possible and try her best never to acknowledge them again. If she thought too much about it, she’d realize how horrible she was for liking the same boy her very own sister was in love with. 

(Y/N) clenched her hands so tightly against the wall that the stone dug rivets into her skin. Had been in love with. Sokka had been Yue’s. Now he was Suki’s. And (Y/N) would respect that and keep herself as far away from him as possible. 

Members of the Terra Team that had attempted to attack the drill were being brought back up the Outer Wall by the dozens, each one moaning and groaning on stretchers and as their comrades carried them. (Y/N) cast a glance at Katara, who gave her a nod, and the both of them went to work to heal the men. (Y/N) liked the relationship that she and Katara had developed over the last few months. Very few words needed to be exchanged between them in order to understand how the other was feeling. It was similar to the relationship she had had with Yue, and it made her heart swell and ache at the same time.

Where Katara was gentle and kind as she healed, (Y/N) preferred to remain silent. It allowed her to focus all of her energy on healing their bodies. She left each man that she healed with a tight-lipped smile before moving onto the next. 

“You’re really a Master Healer, huh?” Sokka asked, kneeling down beside her. Despite herself, (Y/N) jumped, becoming increasingly aware of just how close the two of them were. She felt like she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. 

“I’ve done it all my life.” She tried to inflect her tone in a way that signaled that she didn’t want to talk, but Sokka was not very good at taking hints. 

“I remember Katara mentioning that, when we were back at your tribe. She said you taught her some of what she knows.” (Y/N) ignored him and stood, moving on to the next man. He groaned in protest as she began healing, but eventually relaxed into slumber. “Yue used to say that you were the most talented healer in your tribe.” 

At the mention of her sister’s name, she flinched. Yue was someone she rarely talked about anymore. She resided in (Y/N’s) mind constantly, sitting beside her thoughts of Sokka. “Yue wasn’t a bender, she didn’t know what she was talking about.” (Y/N) moved again and was grateful to find that Sokka didn’t follow her. 

Their team reconvened when Katara called them over to a soldier. “His chi was blocked,” She said, her eyebrow raised. She turned back to the soldier. “The girl who did this to you, her name is Ty Lee. She doesn’t look very dangerous, but she knows the human body and its weak points. It’s like she takes you down from the inside.” 

“That’s it!” Sokka exclaimed. “That’s how we’re going to take down the drill.” 

“By hitting its pressure points!” The excited smile on Toph’s face spread to (Y/N). Finally, they had a means of attack. They traveled down to the base of the wall, where Toph earthbended a hole. One by one, they dropped down, until they were completely encased in darkness. (Y/N) felt her heartbeat race, both from the adrenaline coursing through her body and the nervousness of being trapped in such a confined space. She felt Katara’s hand reach back and give hers a tight squeeze, and for a moment, (Y/N) felt calm. 

Light opened up around them and Sokka noticed an opening in the underbelly of the drill. “There!” He shouted, and Aang airbended his way into the hole before grabbing Katara, (Y/N), and Sokka. “Toph, come on!”

“No way, I can’t see in that thing!” Toph shouted back. “I’ll try to stop it from out here.” Satisfied with her answer, the group of four stood to formulate their plan. 

“I need to see the schematics of this machine,” Sokka said. “That way we’ll know what areas we need to target first.” 

“Where will we get those? I doubt they just have a huge map lying around with circles drawn around the pressure points,” (Y/N) said. Sokka shook his head. 

“You’re right, but...” He moved to the wall and knocked one of the pipes loose with his boomerang. The other three stared at him in shock as mist started to fill the room. 

“What are you doing! You’re gonna get us caught!” 

“Exactly! When something breaks on the machine--” Sokka started. 

“Then someone who knows what to do will come to fix it!” His sister finished. 

Taking down the mechanic was easy work. Katara froze him, while Sokka stole his plans and then they all ran. They reached the part of the drill where the inner and outer shell met. It was held together by thick, metal beams. “I really wish metal could be bent,” (Y/N) said sadly as they stared up at the towering braces. 

“It’s going to take us a while to cut through these.” Sokka stared at the plans once more. 

“Who’s ‘us’?” Katara asked. “We’re going to have to do all the work.” She gestured to herself, Aang, and (Y/N). 

“You three are the waterbending guys, I’m the making plans guy,” Sokka said, turning his nose up into the air. 

Despite having three waterbenders, cutting through the metal was proving to be more difficult than they expected. Eventually, they decided to only weaken the beams and Aang would go outside to deliver the final blow. Everything was going to plan until Katara was narrowly stabbed by a small dagger. 

Exasperated, (Y/N) looked above to find the culprits. The team of three girls that had chased them through the night and had driven them all nearly insane balanced on the supports above them. Fire Nation Princess Azula looked menacing as she stared down at their group, but her partner Mai looked apathetic and Ty Lee looked genuinely excited to see them. 

“Wow, Azula, you were right!” Exclaimed Ty Lee. “It is the Avatar!” She looked down at Sokka, a flirtatious smirk appearing on her lips. “And friends.” 

Sokka waved back up at her and said hello, which only frustrated (Y/N) more. She took the water that she, Aang, and Katara had been bending with and sent ice daggers flying toward the three girls. Ty Lee jumped to the side just in time, and used her acrobatic skills to launch herself at Aang. He blew her away with a gust of air, giving him and his friends enough time to escape. 

They ran down the halls, not entirely sure which way they were going but knowing they needed to put as much distance between them and their enemies  as quickly as possible. They stopped at an intersection. “You guys get out of here,” Aang instructed. “I know what I need to do!” 

“Wait, you’ll need this more than I do!” Katara tossed Aang her satchel of water. (Y/N) thought for a split second of giving her own water supply to Aang, but decided against it. Their group parted ways, and the three Water Tribe children searched for an exit. 

As (Y/N) rounded the corner, the sleeve of her dress caught on the wall. Confused, she turned around and found that one of Mai’s daggers had planted her sleeve deep into the wall. Prying it out would take too much time and the fabric was far too thick for it to tear away easily, but she could hear the increasing footsteps of the two Fire Nation girls and the decreasing footsteps of her friends.  

She gripped the dagger and yanked hard on it. Since her dominant hand was caught, she struggled immensely to loosen it. She could see Mai and Ty Lee at the end of the hallway now, running toward her. (Y/N) had to think and she had to think quickly. 

Looking up, she saw the exposed pipes that ran throughout the ship. She wasn’t sure if she could do it, but for only a moment, she closed her eyes and focused. With one hand, she opened her palm up to the ceiling, then curled her fingers into a fist. 

The pipes exploded with a sharp hiss! and filled the hall with hot steam. (Y/N) felt the water droplets burn her skin, but she bit her lip to keep herself quiet. Mai and Ty Lee were Fire Nation, they should be able to handle the heat, but there was no way they would be able to see until the steam dissipated. (Y/N) finally freed herself from Mai’s dagger and threw it back at the two girls before shielding her face with her arms and running headfirst into the dark steam. 

Sokka and Katara had completely disappeared, most likely not noticing she wasn’t at their side. (Y/N) stopped for a moment and looked down at the vast halls of the drill to see if she found any familiarity at all. She couldn’t recognize anything, but she did see a ladder leading up to a hatch. With no other options other than getting caught, she climbed up and found herself standing on top of the drill. 

Dust kicked up around the drill, interrupting her sight once again. She wasn’t quite sure which end was the right one, but she took a chance and ran ahead of herself. When she reached the end of the drill farthest from the Outer Wall and saw the mixture of water and earth pouring out onto the ground underneath them. For her own sake, she hoped it was something she could bend. 

She ran off the edge and plummeted down into the sludge. She was able to waterbend it just enough to slide down it and jump safely to the ground. Her landing was less than satisfactory, as she skidded directly into a giant puddle of sludge. 

“(Y/N)!” Katara exclaimed, wiping her own sludge off of her body. “Thank goodness you’re okay! We didn’t know where you went!” 

“One of Mai’s daggers caught my clothes,” She explained, rising to her feet. Sokka stared at her, concern apparent on his tanned face. (Y/N) felt her face flush and she turned away. 

“I need your help waterbending this slime back into the drill. If we build up enough pressure, it’ll blow.” (Y/N) nodded. She and Katara took the exact same stance, and their bodies moved as one as they waterbended. Toph joined them later to aid on the earth front, and eventually the team successfully disabled the drill. 

After the retreat of the Fire Nation, (Y/N) and her friends returned to the wall, all in desperate need of a long bath. “The Earth King is making arrangements for your stay,” one of the soldiers informed them. “It should be ready before nightfall.” 

“Thank goodness,” (Y/N) breathed. “I feel like a walking pile of dirt.” 

“That’s how I feel all the time!” Toph said, nudging her with her elbow. “Doesn’t it feel nice?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and took a seat on the cool stone as they waited for their amenities to be taken care of. 

Sokka sat beside her, his own body caked with a layer of mud. It stuck to his clothes and arms, traveling up his neck and onto his face. (Y/N) resisted the urge to wipe the mud from his cheek. “I’m sorry we left you,” Sokka said. “We didn’t notice until Mai and Ty Lee were gaining on us.” 

“It’s alright,” (Y/N) said. What she wanted to say was that it wasn’t alright. She hated being forgotten about, even during life-threatening circumstances. She felt like she had back in the Northern Water Tribe. Like no one cared about her as much as she did about them. 

Sokka grabbed her hand in hers, causing (Y/N’s) eyes to flutter to his accusingly. “I really am sorry,” He said with such gentleness that she worried that she had said everything she was thinking out loud. “You’re a member of this team and our friend. It’s not like us to leave friends behind. I’m sorry we got separated.” 

(Y/N) stared at him for a moment, at the blue eyes that were burned into the backs of her eyelids every time she tried to sleep. She snatched her hand away from his, the skin he touched buzzing intensely. “It’s fine,” She insisted, before walking away to join Katara and Aang in their conversation. She knew she wasn’t being fair to Sokka, but life had never been fair.

---

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