#I swear I had a name for this particular thing but I don’t remember what

[quibbs126]

I was just randomly thinking about that “Descole in Stardew Valley” thing I did months ago, and I was thinking, if I had to pair him with any character, I feel like Elliott would be the best fit. I don’t know, I just feel like they’d gel well (then again, I’ve never really seen many of Elliott’s heart events, so maybe I don’t know him well enough to say)

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 3.2k words

fic masterlist previous part pt seven next part

angst but kinda fluffy? straight after; mention of past violence (minor) — you wanted to know what those spanish sentences miguel made you say meant, him having kept that to himself. and when you do, having scouted miles, you’re left…well…shocked. your friends are also left shocked wondering who asked you to say those things. when you go to question miguel about it you find him in a state you’ve never seen him in before.

You had desperately wanted to translate the Spanish Miguel had chosen not to tell you. So much so, that you had began to scout HQ for a Spanish native speaker. You were too prideful to use your phone for translation, plus Miguel said nothing on not asking someone.

You remember Miles saying his mum was Hispanic. Even if his Spanish wasn’t top notch you’re sure he’ll understand at least a few words. Understand the sentences Miguel made you say.

You spot Pav talking with some other spider variants, using large hand gestures. "Pav!" You call, walking up to him.

He shifts his gaze to you, a smile soon following. “Y/n. How are you?”

You smile. “Good…yeah, no I’m good. I was just wondering if you knew where Miles was?”

“Oh.” He spins. “I swear I saw him over there.” He points in a random direction. “…now he’s gone. Maybe with Gwen.” He nudges you, raising his brows. You chuckle, understanding the meaning of those raised brows.

“Well, this will only take a moment. I just need translation for something.”

“Translation? To what language?” Pav asks.

“From Spanish to English. And I heard Miles knows a bit.”

“Ah…wait, but doesn’t Miguel fully speak it?” Pav pauses. “Yeah, he’d know a lot more than Miles.”

You nod. “He just won’t tell me.” You mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” Pav asks, brows furrowed.

You look back up. “Miguel’s just kind of busy right now.” You had no idea if he was or not. “And so I thought Miles might be free.”

“I see.” Pav nods. “Come on, I’ll help you find him.” Pav begins to head down one of the paths in the communal area where bunches of spider variants sat and stood talking.

“Miles!” Pav called out to nowhere in particular. “Miles!?”

“Is yelling his name really gonna help?” Your brows furrow.

“I like to think yelling will conjure up the whole ‘spider-sense’ thing.” Pav says, still gazing around. “Wait, maybe I need to sound more in distress.”

You chuckle, looking around. And that’s when you spot Miles and Gwen. “Miles!” You walk over with a smile. Pav is hot on your heels.

Miles turns, and copies your smile. “Y/n, hey.”

“Okay look, I’m sorry to ask this but can you translate something for me?” You ask, hopeful.

Miles tilts his head slightly. “Yeah, sure. As long as it isn’t French, or Dutch, or Russian. Or practically any language I don’t know.”

Your smile widens. “No, no. None of those. It’s just Spanish.”

“Oh.” Miles stands straighter. “I’ll warn you I don’t know a heck of amount. But I can give it go.”

“Thank you.” You grow more excited in way. All of last night you had been thinking about what you had said, really trying not to just roll over and grab your phone.

“Okay, so it’s two sentences.” You begin. Miles nods. “The first one is…’Me encantaría usar…tu cama para otras…cosas’.” You say it somewhat slowly, making sure you got it right.

When you look back to Miles, he’s staring at you blinking. You stare back. “What?” You ask.

“Um.” He scratches the back of his head. “I’m probably hearing it wrong.” He mutters to himself before he’s looking back to an expectant you.

“What was the second one?” He asks, a little more curious this time.

“Uh…’¿No crees que…me vería bonita atrapada entre…tus sábanas?’”

Now miles is staring at you. You eye him, brows furrowed. “What does it mean?”

He coughs. “Who said that to you?”

“Oh, no I said it to someone.” You answer. “Well, they asked me to say it…”

“You said it someone…” he drifts off, slightly gulping.

“What? Is it…bad?” Your brows are further furrowed. “Come on, Miles, please. I’ve been dying to know what it means all of last night.”

“Well, the first one…it means ‘I’d love to use your bed for other things’.” He mutters it out extremely quickly. That you think you don’t catch it right.

“What?”

“And the second one means ‘don’t you think I’d look pretty trapped in your sheets?’.” Miles’ has looked away, scratching the back of his neck again, clearly a fraction flustered.

This time you’re staring at him, or more so through him. Then you blink. “What?” You repeat stupidly. That can’t be right. Why did miguel ask you to say something about his bed…

Now you weren’t dumb you were just…in shock. Because how does that make sense. And as the words settle in your mind a little more, you begin to feel the familiar burn in your stomach.

Recently your skin had begun to feel hot. In specific scenarios, around a specific someone. Every moment that he had touched you in some way you had either been injured, or fainting, so you hadn’t realised the reactions in the moment. But now, having your mind clear and your body healthy enough your skin grows prickly.

Then there was the touches on your chin…

At first you thought that they were a form of showing his superiority. It seemed like something he’d do. But when you really thought about it, you realised that he wasn’t grabbing Peter’s face like that, he wasn’t leaning over a chair that Gwen was sitting at.

Now you’ve grown hot. And your cheeks are probably bright red, considering how Pav is eyeing you. “Um.” You nod. You don’t know why you’re nodding. You just need to do something that isn’t stare off into space.

“Who, um, asked you to say that?” Gwen asks.

You shift your gaze to her, still slightly stuck in your own head. You felt the urge to fan yourself, but realised how implicating that would seem. Miguel got you to say that stuff? That seemed to be a repeating question in your head.

“Oh, uh, nobody.” You didn’t really want to tell them that it was Miguel. You felt it would put pressure on something that you were sure wasn’t even something. It wasn’t…right?

But now as you quickly thank miles and skim past them, your mind is whirring. Did Miguel…? You press your lips together at the thought, unbuttoning the first button of your dress shirt. You were sure you were reading into it. Though…part of you was actually hoping the underlying meaning you were thinking of was the truth.

You were even slightly shocked at yourself at this revelation. It’s as if it had always been on the tip of your tongue. Not falling off because Miguel is well…Miguel.

;;

“What was that about?” Pav asks, watching your leaving form. Gwen watches you go as well, eyes narrowing in her own inspection.

Miles was still going over the sentences in his head, really double checking he got them right. “Yeah…nah, that’s right.” He mutters. “My translations right.”

“Who asked her—“

“Asked who what?” Hobie appeared, clearly just back from a mission, as he leaned against Miles, resting his arm on his shoulder.

“Y/n.” Gwen says. “She asked Miles to translate something for her.”

“See, I knew this guy would be helpful.” Hobie slightly shakes Miles’ shoulders.

“I think someone has a crush on y/n.” Pav says, making Hobie shift his gaze to him.

“Who?” Miles asks, suddenly interested in the small ordeal.

Pav shrugs, but Hobie shakes his head, scoffing. Pav hadn’t seen you and Miguel interact a hell of a lot. Gwen didn’t pay that much attention to people’s gazes, and Miles was well…new. So, maybe Hobie could give them a break, but he still couldn’t believe how oblivious they were.

Hobie began to figure out Miguel’s little crush on you when Miguel had called him in for a last minute mission that Miguel could have easily done himself. He hadn’t needed Hobie.

And when Miguel’s jaw clenched at the mention of how he was supposed to be hanging out with you, Hobie began to clock on.

“Come on, you lot.” Hobie says staring at them. “Tell me, who speaks Spanish here? Fluently?”

Gwen looks down, thinking. “Miguel.”

Hobie nods. “Uh huh.” He presses, seeing their slightly furrowed brows. “Oh bloody hell, you lot are thick.”

“Oh…” Pav mutters. “Oh!” He realises, and Hobie gestures to him, sighing in relief.

“Thank anarchy.” He mutters, thankful one person caught on.

“Miguel likes y/n?!” Pav practically exclaims, earning a few side glances from other spider variants.

“It’d seem so.” Hobie smirks.

;;

Later that evening, you stood, not meaning to feel as flushed as you were. Standing in front of Miguel's bedroom door, you felt hot, your breathing quickening. After having found out what he got you to say—and having gone through the stages of confusion, denial and then shock—you've arrived back to sweaty palms.

You take a breath, knocking, but instead of the solid feel of the door, your hand falls through, the door having been cracked open a fraction—your nervous state must have forced you not to notice. It swings wider and your breath hitches.

Miguel's room is a mess, and not just his bed this time. Things are smashed, and his chair is thrown, lying lifeless on the floor. You then shift your gaze up to a heaving Miguel. He finally notices your presence, meeting your wide eyes.

Miguel had always been someone who was controlled. Sure, he got agitated easy, and clearly had some anger issues to deal with, but 'messy' was never a word you associated with him. And here he was hair ruffled, wet from the outside rain, and covering part of his eyes. His chest heaved to a mismatched beat, as his nose twitched in a snarl, his fangs very visible in the dim light. He looked like the definition of ‘a mess’.

"What are you doing here?" His low tone breaks you from your silent stance, your lips coming closed to rub against each other in...thought? You weren't entirely sure.

You gulp. "Did something...happen?" You scan his body for injuries, but find none. You glance at his open window. "Did you go on a mission?"

"Did you need something?" Miguel doesn't mean for his tone to come out so harshly. And watching your face twitch a fraction made him grind his teeth in annoyance at himself.

"I was going to ask you something, but..." Now you weren't so sure that this moment was the right one.

Miguel gulps, turning slightly away from you. "If you have nothing to say…go."

Yes, Miguel was acting clip and rude with you. And yes...maybe he did turn away so he wouldn't see your expressions. But then he hears your steps slowly draw closer. He shifts his gaze back to you.

Right now was the worst time to see you, he didn't want you to see him, he wanted you to go.

"I thought you had nothing to say?" Miguel briskly asks, but you caught the slight crack in his harsh tone. A crack that displayed a mix of emotions—stress, anxiety,...fear?

Before you know it you're moving closer, your feet, the rain and his breathing filling the other wise silent room. "Now's not a good time." His tone cracked even more. This time with anger.

You stop, a decent distance away. And maybe you should leave, leave him to this. But what is this? You voice that. "What is this?" 'This' as in the mess. 'This' as in Miguel's body language. He looked like he was not even a minute away from exploding.

"Are you...okay?"

Part of Miguel's facade broke at that. "I'm perfectly fine. Do I not look it?" He spits this, fully turning to you. Some droplets of water, that had drenched his hair slides down his cheek.

You know not to be taken aback by Miguel's words. But you'd never seen the word 'crazed' written in his eyes before...'frantic'. "No...you don't look it." You say, eyeing him. "You look...you don't look like yourself."

Miguel mockingly nods, his tongue dragging across one of his fangs, and actually drawing blood. "Right." He forcibly chuckles. "I forgot, I'm supposed to look...what? Composed? On task? In control?" He's stepped closer to you, each word coming out like a snarl.

"Not everything stays the same." Miguel is saying. "Not everything goes the way we plan." He grits out 'plan' like he despises the word altogether.

And as you glance from his hair to the window, to then his too clean of a suit, you realise something. It wasn't a mission, but he had gone somewhere.

"Miguel, where did you go?"

"I didn't go anywhere." He scoffs out.

"Yes you did." You say, narrowing your eyes in thought. And maybe now would be a good time to leave, leave him be. But of course you wouldn't, 'worry' now tieing you up tight. Then you pause. "Why are talking about things that don't go to plan? What hasn't gone to plan?"

"You know, you can be real nosy sometimes." Miguel wanted to punch himself. Why did he say that? You had never been nosy, only observant. Maybe too much for your own good, but it was surely a talent of yours. And here he was shaming you.

But in this moment you weren't fazed. Something was wrong. "Miguel, you've clearly just come in here angry. You're hair's wet from the rain, so obviously recently. Your room is a mess. It's never a mess. You're...never a mess."

"Oh, plenty of things can become a mess, y/n."

"Yeah, but never you. Sure, you've gotten angry before, but you've never trashed a room. There's glass on the floor...you broke that mirror." You gesture to the one hanging on the wall, a prominent fist imbedded in the middle.

"Don't tell me you're gonna deduce where I've fucking been by the glass?!" He was yelling. Not at you. Never at you. At himself. But he's always been very good at projecting. Especially when you're around.

"No." You breathe. "I'm asking you." You say, letting a hint of your concern shine through. You were concerned. Very concerned. Maybe Miguel would have noticed your concern, if he wasn't slowly loosing it. If the messed up room wasn't enough of a tell, he's hit his peak.

"What happened?" You ask again, and this time you finally get a response.

"I fucked up, okay?!" He exclaims, his heart pounding a mile a minute. "I can't take it back. And I've tried. I've really tried. But you know what? Maybe this is meant to happen. Maybe I'm meant to screw everything up."

You stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I..." Miguel drifts off, fisting his already disheveled hair. "I let them take it..." Hs voice has softened. But not to a nice kind of softened—a broken one.

You step a fraction closer. "Who? And take what?"

You can visibly see Miguel's strength ebbing away. He looks exhausted, and all in all done. Done with everything. You didn't like that look, you didn't like the inclination of it. "Miguel." You say slowly.

But he's going farther and farther back into his mind, getting tangled up in thoughts you could tell had begun to haunt him. Screwed up? What had he supposedly screwed up?

Then before your mind could work on overdrive, millions of questions wanting to surface, and before Miguel could step further back from reality, you stepped much, much closer, reaching up on your tip toes. And then you wrapped your arms around his neck...hugging him.

Miguel is frozen. Entirely frozen. His mind stops trying to murder him and the drowning sounds in his ears fade away. Now he can hear your breathing, a nervous beat clear. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he should do what he’s thinking.

But then you’re slowly drawing back, arms leaving his body. And he can’t have that. He swiftly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back to him, as his hands clench around your shirt.

Your breathing hitches as Miguel’s breath hits your collarbone, his head choosing to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing part of your skin.

No. He had told himself he wouldn’t think like that anymore. It was exhausting, and he was tired enough as is. His grip tightened around you. To all the doubtful voices in his head, he was using you to say ‘shut the hell up’.

You could feel Miguel’s entire body practically slump against yours. And though your cheeks were red hot, and your heart was screaming you wrapped your arms back around his neck, your wrists meeting together by his hair.

For once Miguel heard silence. He had always had too many voices in his head telling him this and that. And that ‘this was what has to be done’ and that ‘no, you can’t get distracted’.

Now he felt a much relieving calmness engulfing him. You. His breathing slightly shuddered against your neck, the open of his mouth leading his fangs to lightly brush across your skin.

You shivered at this, earning Miguel to lean his head back. But he didn’t let your waist go. You stopped those voices and he’d be damned if he let you step away from his body now.

Your breathes met, as did your gaze. You were close, the seeming millimetre making you seem even more so. You could feel Miguel’s fingers fiddle slowly with the back of your shirt, your front still pressed against his.

“I’m…” You gulp, your voice coming out much shakier than you intended. “Sorry…I probably shouldn’t have hugged you.” You could practically taste his breath.

“Yeah…you probably shouldn’t have.” His tone is breathy, sounding out of body, as his gaze flickers to your lips.

They’re dry—of course. And now at the close proximity licking them made you feel ten times hotter. You prayed he couldn’t see your blushing cheeks.

“I’m sorry that I just…sorta came in.” You felt you had to fill in the silence. Miguel didn’t seem to mind it though, cause it meant that he could listen to your voice. And replacing your voice with the one’s in his head is probably the smartest choice he could ever make.

Well maybe the second smartest choice… He stared at your freshly wet lips, breathing harder. His thoughts had changed from ‘how much more could he take’ to ‘how much more…more…more’. He wanted more. More of your closeness, this seemed to not be enough.

In response to his thoughts his hands glided up your back, making your body lean more against him. Chest to chest.

“A-and I probably shouldn’t have assumed all that stuff…” you breathe out, as Miguel tilts his head, looking down at you. It’s safe to say your were flustered.

“I think you did alright.” He partially whispered.

“Well…you’re not throwing a chair..so..” Stupid, stupid, stupid—you think to yourself. “I mean…”

And to your shock you notice his lips begin to curve up. And not just to stop at a certain point. No. His lips continued to widen until he was smiling. An actual, genuine smile, that oozed amusement, and it made him look…happy?

“Careful.” You say. “You look like you’re expressing a ‘sparkly emotion’.”

“Oh no.” His grin doesn’t fall, and it only makes your heart beat faster. “We wouldn’t want that…would we?”

You quickly shake your head, and Miguel presses his lips together with further amusement, his eyes darting. “…cute.”

You freeze. And Miguel seems to realise his small slip up, as his eyes grow a fraction wider. He had slipped up in English. Goddamn English. You understood.

But what he didn’t know was that you understood a lot more than just that word. And as the reason for your arrival to his room came back to you, the simple word ‘cute’ seemed to mean a whole lot, lot more.

I’m sorry this one’s kinda short, and not too much is going on. but I wanted them to have a close moment like this before they…well…y’know.

at this point I’ve decided to do nine parts (it fits better) so next part…mhm…FINALLY we can get some closer HaPpIniNgS

plus next part im gonna go onto a deeper dive of where Miguel went and who the masked men are — i just needed a bit of tension filled fluff

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[art-outlaw]

Private Number # Chapter Twenty Two

Daniel Ricciardo x Aero Engineer!Reader

Summary: You didn’t like him. That much was clear to both of you. He was cocky and arrogant and totally oblivious to all of the work you and your team did for him. No one else saw him for the egomaniac he was - only you. You were forced to work for him but that didn’t mean you had to fall under the spell he had trapped everyone else under. And you made sure that he knew that.

Chapters: 22/?

Warnings/ Rating: Swearing. Degradation of main character.

Word Count: 3574

Posted: 25 Mar 2025

It wasn’t a chore to domestically exist with Daniel Ricciardo. 

He was housetrained: he cooked, he tidied up after himself, and made sure that you were never left wanting for anything. Anything. And you weren’t speaking of materialistic things. 

You were pretty sure that in the last twenty four hours alone, the two of you had practically christened every surface in the house so much that if a crime scene team ever came in here with a UV touch, they’d be skittering away from your place faster than they could ask ‘what the fuck?’.

And it was… blissful. 

God, how had you been so oblivious for this long to realise that he was so much more to you than the driver of your car and an incessant pain in your ass?

But your pain in the ass was now standing – shirtless, good lord that man had a body – in the kitchen, loudly humming away to the country song he had overrun your speaker system with as he cooked you dinner. And you were just fondly watching him, waxing teeth-achingly sweet poetry about him in your head. How had you never realised how empty your house felt until his presence filled it totally?

His car keys on the bench, his shoes by the door, and his jacket thrown so carelessly over a kitchen stool, breaking up the clean perfection that was your previously dull life. Those little things that you hadn’t experienced from anyone in such a long time. Had you ever actually experienced it? Your dating life had been extremely limited before him – dedication to your work had put a pin in that particular balloon of your life for the longest time. But now you had him, someone that would so openly understand the world you lived, because he lived it too.

“So,” You started, as one song faded out to the next. “Are you just planning on being here to cook for me every night? Because I’m already getting used to the idea of not living on cup noodles or eggs on toast anymore.”

Daniel chuckled, still facing the stove. “If this is your way of asking me to move in, its a piss-poor excuse for it.”

Warmth flushed your face. You hadn’t even considered how that would’ve sounded to him – you’d only been together officially for 24 hours, moving in was out of the question… right?. You stumbled and stuttered a response, watching with growing relief as his laughter shook his shoulders. “Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

Daniel only laughed harder. “As long as you want me here, cooking your dinner and serenading you, I’ll be here, honey.”

God, you just melted when he called you honey. 

“So,” he continued. “You didn’t get the chance to tell me how today with Christian and Bianca went today–”

“Bianca! Shit! That was her name!” You exclaim, smacking your forehead. Fuck, how could you not remember that? Daniel only quirked an eyebrow. “Um, yeah, the meeting went…well, I guess? Not for them, but definitely good for me. Pretty much told them to shove it, keep their nose out of my family business and focus on the work I do as lead aero-engineer. So a successful meeting in my books.” 

You finish with a shrug.

“Told ya,, the ‘fuck ‘em all’ approach: works like a charm every time.” He glanced over his shoulder to flick you a shit-eating grin. He flicked his head to the side, “Also, hope you don’t mind, I cracked a red for the recipe and figured you might want a glass or two depending on how your day went.”

Without saying anything beyond “A man after my own heart,” You strolled over to pour both of you a glass. Before you could chicken out, you continued, “You know, if you don’t have your own place near the factory you are more than welcome to stay here. With me, obviously. But if you do have your own place that’s obviously totally fine too, I’m not trying to pressure you to–”

He cut you off with a smacking kiss to your temple, and cooling the burning heat that had very quickly been flushing across your cheeks. “Saves me from booking an Airbnb every time I have to do sim work… Plus, you’re right, I’d be with you, obviously. ” 

He finished with a smirk, clearly drawing some level of amusement from your bumbling words. You almost flushed again from his quirked mouth, a flash of a memory coming to mind of exactly what he had done with that very same mouth the night before (and that morning, and again in the shower you had shared).

“Good.” You managed to choke out, taking a large swig from your wine to hopefully cover how you croaked out your response. Daniel only let out a chuckle, and turned back to the stove.

“You know,” He said casually, stirring the pot of the chicken cacciatore – oh lord, you needed to marry this man – bubbling away. “I had a very interesting run in with Penny from HR this afternoon.”

You felt your shoulders tense ever so slightly. You and Daniel hadn’t specifically said when you were going to announce your relationship to the people it needed to be, but you had a feeling you knew where this was going. 

“She said that she had a particularly stimulating conversation with Christian when he came to see her. He mentioned needing to pull out a policy that he’d need me to sign. Something about intra-working relationships, specifically for senior members of staff, that sort of thing. Do you know anything about that? He said that it was apparently already ‘pretty serious’ and would need to be done quickly.” Even with him turned away, you could feel the smug grin on his face.

Immediately, you groaned. Daniel’s barking laughter covered the sound of Zac Bryan’s crooning for a moment, and you felt like crawling under the dining table in embarrassment. “I might know something about that?”

Daniel hummed non committedly. “Apparently it was a real shit day for Christian. Lost his PR marketing strategy in you, and then the most marketable, ruggedly handsome, single driver on the grid. Bad morning to be Christian Horner, huh?”

Finally Daniel turned back to you, and confirmed the grin you had suspected was there. He kept talking, his smile widening with every word. “So I would say that your meeting was productive in more ways than one today, huh?”

You sucked in both your lips to hide the smile creeping over your own face. Making sure that the team principal’s day had been a shit show in more ways than one was most definitely a highlight of your career. Daniel’s eyes met yours, and you both cracked into rib-splitting laughter. “Oh, man, I would’ve given anything to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

You laughed again. “His face was the most remarkable shade of red. It was like a ripened tomato! I’ve got a feeling that Geri will make sure that man is on heart medication with how high I think his blood pressure hit.”

Both of you burst into cackles again, and the warmth of your homecoming hit you all over again. It had been so long since you had come to your place and felt at home. Whether it was the place itself, or the man standing before you giving you a plate of chicken cacciatore and a kiss, you weren’t sure.

But you had a feeling it wasn’t the house.

######################################

You should’ve known better than to expect the blissful reality you were living to last. It was always like this in your life; things were going well and then the universe decided to send you a ‘fuck you, sit down’ type event to make sure you never forgot where you stood in your own life.

The day had started perfectly: you had woken up to the sight of the man you adored with his head planted firmly between your thighs and your breaths coming out in a gasp, then he’d cooked you breakfast. Then you’d shared a shower, with you firmly pressed up against the glass door and Daniel behind you, taking you so hard  that you were sure your neighbours a block over could’ve heard the cacophony you were making.

And then you’d done something neither of you had done before: you drove to work together. He finally had the chance to drive your old school Aston Martin DB4 that he had no-so-secretly coveted all those months ago. You had laughed at him wildly as he sat in the driver’s seat and stroked the wheel with pure reverence in his eyes.

And when he had finally pulled out onto the road and turned to meet your eyes, you could see more than just adoration for the car in his eyes. Even more so when his hand slipped across the middle console to grip your thigh. You rolled your eyes at the cliche, but shimmied over closer to him anyways. You were such a sucker for the man.

When you had finally pulled into the Red Bull Milton Keynes headquarters parking lot, he’d gotten out of the car, shot you a glare as you made to open your own door, to come over and very gentlemanly help you out. Again, you had rolled your eyes at him with your lovestruck grin hidden between your teeth, and made some sarcastic commentary about women’s suffrage that had him laughing too.

Hand in hand, you entered the foyer of the main building, and ducked your head as people turned to stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you made your way to the elevators. And when you had successfully made it across the gauntlet of impolite stares, Daniel swept you into his arms and pressed a long, smacking kiss to your forehead before walking away, leaving you a blushing mess.

“I’ll see you for lunch!” He shouted over his shoulder. Mouths still agape, it was almost comical watching people’s heads turn between you still flushing by the elevators, and Daniel swaggering away. 

You spun back to the elevators, frantically punching the button repeatedly in the hopes the elevator would hear your mental pleading for it to get here faster. 

And that’s where the blissful bubble of fantasy you were living in ended.

A small, feminine throat clearing sounded behind you. You shut your eyes, and prayed for any deity to answer your prayers that it wasn’t who you thought it would be. With a politely bland smile on your face, you turned to face Bianca from marketing or PR or whatever soul sucking part of the business she worked in. 

“Good morning, Bianca.” 

All you received in response was a hum of acknowledgement. And then in the most simperingly annoying tone possible, Bianca asked, “Have you spoken with Christian this morning? I believe he has some things to discuss with you. There were a few things we didn’t get to touch on before your departure, but I figured I’d see if he had managed to catch you up on them since then.”

“No,” Your teeth were gritted behind the aching muscles of your forced smile. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, when I made my opinion of your next PR stunt pretty clear.”

Bianca let out a smug sounding hum, but there was nothing but cold malice flashing behind her eyes. “Yes, you made your position quite clear. Good thing that your contract had a few workarounds for us to… you know, work around. Anyways, enjoy your day!”

And before the sinking feeling in your stomach had fully landed, Bianca had already spun on her stupidly high heel and trotted away on the echoing linoleum foyer floor. Buzzing filled your ears, and you got onto the elevator on auto-pilot. 

They couldn’t have.

Surely they wouldn’t have.

They would have.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to your floor, where you watched like an outsider looking in, as your entire team turned to face you. Expressions ranging from awe to distrust shone out to you. But there was no mistaking the shock underlying each one of them. The entire floor of employees went silent.

Tentatively, you stepped out onto the aero-engineering floor and moved towards your office, hand scrabbling through your handbag for your phone as an excuse to keep from seeing all their staring eyes. Finally, as the glass door to your office swung shut behind you, you pulled out your phone. Hands shaking, you searched up the Red Bull social media pages, where you could see the same video had been posted across every platform.

Your face, the poster image of the bombshell news that had just rocked the motorsporting world. Every single aspect of your life that you had worked so hard to keep under wraps, now aired for anyone and everyone to see. 

The video was only just over a minute long, but watching felt like hours had passed by. They hadn’t gotten a direct interview with you, but the snippets of press work you had to do over the years were cropped in between shots of you working on the car or in the team. You working inside your office. You on the pit wall, pointing at data points and graphs with the team engineers looking over your shoulder. You laughing with drivers and pit crew.

All so complimentary to the work you had done - the invaluable part you had played in their success in building the team up to the formidable and almost unbeatable monster they had become this season.

All of that would’ve been fine, right up until the video flicked over to none other than Mr Christian Fucking Horner himself. Where he, in the backdrop of his stupidly glossy office, announced what an honour it had been to be a part of the continuation of your father’s legacy through you. That whilst you had hidden away from the public eye, racing blood was in your veins. Buzzing nothingness filled your ears, and Horner’s voice faded out as the rush of blood through your body took over every other sense. 

Without another thought, you clicked on the comments and began wading through the sea of shit that was people’s commentary on your life and your lies.

“Wow talk about nepotism as a disease. Can’t find a job anywhere in F1 where its not about what you know but who you know”

“Fuuuuuck no way!! Always wondered about that. Thought she must’ve died with them and the press just didn’t report it.”

“Raw and not even for the money. Next Question”

“Damn if I were here I wouldn’t even bother working, she must be fucking loaded with Shelby’s money”

“Yea, I’d tap that”

On and on, people’s comments flooded your screen. Commentary about your work was minimal - it hadn’t mattered all that had been said about your work. You had been reduced, with one ninety second clip, to the daughter of an F1 legend and nothing more. No matter that you nearly single-handedly developed technology that pushed the car’s aero-specs into the next stratosphere of technological advancements. It was suddenly no matter that you had been working behind the scenes, without a single mention of your father’s last name or his money or world championships. 

You had been reduced to nothing more than the product of someone else’s efforts.

Your screen went blurry, the tears that had been steadily filling your eyes spilling over. You sat down on your chair with a heavy thud, spinning it till it faced away from the rest of your team on the other side of your glass door. You wouldn’t be able to handle the looks of absolute betrayal that was surely on all of their faces. 

Even with the heavy panelled glass separating you from them, murmurings made their way through to you, even if the words themselves couldn’t be made out. 

The video played through for the fourth time. It was like a trainwreck you couldn’t look away from. 

And then the phone started vibrating. The words flashed across the top of your screen- incoming call from: Daniel The One and Only Sex God

Even with everything going on, you barked out a wet laugh. Clearly Daniel, between last night and this morning had taken your phone and changed his contact name. You weren’t sure what you had him down as anymore; had you ever actually saved his number? Or was it still the private number that had put all of these last few months into motion?

Dragging your finger across the screen, you picked up the call. Daniel’s heavy panting immediately came down the phone line. “Did you change your name on my phone?”

You don’t know why it’s the first thing out of your mouth with everything going on, but it is. He pants out a laugh, clearly as taken aback by the left-field questions as you are. A vague part of your brain wonders why he’s so out of breath. “We can come back to that, baby, I’m a little more worried about some other things going on right now.”

A watery, sad laugh makes its way out of you. “Guessing someone filled you in on the videos that dropped this morning then?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Where are you? I’m on the exec level and I can’t see you.”

You chance a glance around your chair, back out towards your team. You only look long enough to see a few people still looking your way. They’d formed a group now, huddled together and presumably discussing the news.  Whirling back around you say, “Hiding in my office. Deciding how long I’m going to have to live in here before all of this dies down. That, or whether the angry hordes will come after me with pitchforks screaming ‘down with nepotism’.”

“What angry hordes are going to come after you?” You can hear the whirring buzz of an electric drill in the background of the call now - clearly Daniel had moved on to another part of the factory. Inevitably making his way to you. “Pretty sure security would stop them before they got past the parking lot, honey.”

“Doesn’t help if they're already in the building.” You whisper. 

Daniel huffs down the line, and then the call cuts out. Right at the same time as the soft ‘whoosh’ of your door opening. You don’t turn around. You already know who it is.

He comes around to kneel in front of you, placing his hands on your knees, gentle but grounding. Tears start to fall again, and rather than sobbing you try to focus on all the small knicks and flecks across his knuckles and hands - the ones that tell the story of him. He leans forward to press his lips to your forehead. “I think you need to talk to your team.”

“Daniel, they think I’m a liar - which I am!” 

He hushes you gently, moving his hands to wipe the tears that haven’t stopped falling.”Even still,” he says softly, “They’ll want to hear it from you, not from some stupid post on social media.”

You look up at him and sniffle. “They’re going to hate me.”

Daniel smiles, and drags his finger under your eyes again. Swiping across your cheeks and down across your lips. “I think you underestimate the kind of leader you are. And overestimate the number of people who you think hate you.”

You shake your head, but he keeps you from moving away. “And,” he continues. “I think you forget that even if you hadn’t moved heaven and earth to be where you are today without using your father’s name, his name and his legacy…it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off again. “And, if anyone gives you shit–” he breaks with a peck to your tear streaked cheeks. “-- I’ll break their face.”

You have to laugh at that. There wasn’t a universe where you could see Daniel beating anyone up, but the sentiment warmed you. You knew what he meant: he was in your corner. He would be there to back you up, no matter what people said or did.

A soft echoing knock broke the bubble Daniel and yourself had built in the two minutes he’d been in your office. A young engineer, a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed recent uni graduate you had taken a chance on hiring last season, poked her head through the door with an apology in her wide eyes. You liked Jessie, she had reminded you of yourself when you were younger. But she was so much smarter, fresh and forward thinking. You had never had a reason to doubt your decision in hiring her. But the look in her eyes now had your stomach sinking.

“Hey, I’m seriously so sorry to interrupt, but uh, the team wants to, you know, speak to you. Out here, if that’s okay.”

You look past Jessie out on the aero-floor. The team that had been huddled before was now spread out. Some seated, other’s perched on their desk or standing tall with arms crossed, all staring at you expectantly. 

Daniel reached forward and pried the phone from your hands, locking it and finally shutting off the grating sound of Christian’s voice filling your office. Leading you out of your chair, he smiled gently. “Time to face the music.”

######################################

Soooo, I guess, hi everyone? It's been a while, you look good.

Let me first say that whilst it has been a lovely long break from this platform, that I felt I needed, I will say sorry for those who have been ever so patiently waiting for updates that never came. I have set myself a small resolution this year of getting this story finished so I can remove it from the intrusive thoughts I have at night. I too, it seems, need to know how this story ends.

Welcome back, I hope you missed me like I all missed you. Cheers to more updates in future.

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[inkytoru]

gojo satoru stood in the middle of the arts and crafts aisle of the store, deep in thought, much like a child agonizing over what color to use in their masterpiece.

he held up two crayon boxes from different brands. but neither seemed to have the particular shade of blue he was seeking.

“may i help you, sir?” comes a polite and genial voice somewhere to his left. satoru looks down at the employee approaching him as he suppresses the tears that begin to sting at the back of his eyes.

the day gojo satoru met you was in kindergarten. you were quiet. shy. always trying to make yourself smaller.

and your big eyes would water with cries of “satoru stop!” every time he’d tug on one of your pigtails. all the other kids like him that came from higher-income families would laugh, poking fun at you for the hand-me-downs you’d wear, and for the way you were such a sensitive soul, crying over damn near every little thing.

“crybaby, crybaby, crybaby!” they would tease, satoru amongst them. but when another boy—who satoru can’t be assed to remember the name of anymore—tried to become your bully and take you away from him? he’d felt something he had never felt before: possession in its early, immature stages.

he didn’t like the way this snot-nosed kid would poke and prod at what was his; he’d clench his small fists and glare as hard as a kidnergartner could at who he was convinced was his first true enemy in life.

satoru learns how to vindictively use his jujutsu at the age of six. little would anyone know that the way the bully would have a basketball conveniently hurling at his head was not by chance, or the way his shoelaces would mysteriously be untied was of satoru’s doing. no one would believe this ghost of his that he swears followed him around and haunted him.

one day, at the end of recess while all the other children had filed inside, you were crossing the elementary school’s playground with your battered but beloved toy plush in hand. unbeknown to you, your bully lied in wait around the corner, only darting out to trip you before taking your most prized possession. from afar, satoru seethed to himself— the nerve this dummy had!

with his narrowed six eyes, he forced the kid to take a stumble to the asphalt himself, an even harder fall than the one he gave you. he’d burst into wails and fat tears that would attract the teacher, but while the fuss was on him, satoru discreetly flings your toy back to you with his technique. afterwards, he was going to head in himself until he freezes in place, feeling your curious eyes on him.

“you did that, didn’t you?” you half-whisper in awe.

satoru shrugs, feigning innocence.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

for the first time ever, you give him a toothy smile that he swears makes his heartbeat skip.

you give him a smile before running back inside. he stands there, staring after you.

the next day, you bashfully come up to him, and he could tell it was no easy feat. you averted his cerulean gaze as you handed him a crumpled piece of paper, mumbled something about the color of his eyes, and then scampered away. satoru looks down at it.

drawn on the paper were what looked like the both of you holding hands with wide drawn smiles on your faces. he took notice of how it was entirely and crudely drawn in striking blue crayon— a hue much similar to that of satoru’s eyes.

he could feel his heart swell at the crooked letters he could just about make out on the back that read:

“thank you toru!”

you’d warm up more and more, little by little to him in the coming days; but every time you brought up his good deed, he’d shake his head and continued denying any involvement. but you knew better.

by high school, you had both become the best of friends. satoru never really grew out of the crush had on you, and if you had any feelings for him back, you never showed it. but that was okay with satoru, because you two had come from different worlds— and he never wanted to drag you into his.

summer of your last year together in high school comes, and you finally reveal to him that you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

satoru could feel his heart shatter and his world begin to crumble when you tell him.

he could never forgive the way you had hid this secret from him for years, nor the way your hospital trips and doctor visits would become more frequent in the following year, the last year he’d spend with you.

“thank you ‘toru… for all these years,” were your last words to him.

humanity’s strongest trembles as he holds that same crinkled, now time-worn paper in his hands. he quickly wipes the tears that spring forth from his eyes before they could splatter onto the scribbled lines and memory you had left him with.

he wishes he could’ve treated you better. he wished he could’ve been strong enough to confess. he wishes that being the honored one meant he could’ve saved you from something even he couldn’t have prevented.

satoru picks out the closest blue shade he had found to the one you used to draw you both. with shaky hands, he draws a halo and a pair of angel wings around your figure. a sob lodges itself in the back of his throat, somewhere between the what-if’s and should’ve’s.

it was a little far in color, and that reminded him of how far you were now, in a distant world where curses didn’t exist.

where gojo satoru didn’t exist.

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[rootedinrevisions]

Up in the Air

SUMMARY: When WWE superstars find themselves with a rare day off, Rhea Ripley seizes the opportunity to play matchmaker at a local festival. As she drags her friends to food trucks, rides, and games, the sparks between you and Damian Priest begin to fly. With Rhea’s clever nudges and a series of comical misadventures, you and Damian are thrust into close quarters—sharing food, laughter, and unexpected moments of connection. But when a hot air balloon ride leaves you suspended high above the fairground, the thrill of the day turns into something deeper. THANK YOU TO MY BESTIE @caramara3 FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE!

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

TAG LIST: @caramara3 @miss-kuki-nz @terrortwinunicorn

If you would like to be added to my WWE Tag List (or be tagged for a particular wrestler) please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The morning air buzzed with excitement as you, Rhea, and a few others milled around the hotel lobby, waiting to head out to the fairgrounds. It was rare to have a day off with no press, no match prep, and nothing but time to unwind and let loose. Rhea, as usual, had taken the reins, organizing a day packed with all the festival essentials: food trucks, rides, and even a hot air balloon finale.

As everyone piled into Rhea’s rental, she threw you a sly look over her shoulder. "Looks like we’re full up here,” she said, barely suppressing a smirk. “But, no worries! Damian’s driving separately. You can just hop in with him.”

A flutter of nerves hit you at the mention of Damian’s name. Sure, you were best friends, but there was that one night months back when you’d told Rhea—after one too many drinks—that Damian was, in your exact words, hot as hell and that, if given the chance, you’d “climb him like a tree.” You’d woken up the next morning in horror, hoping she’d forget the confession altogether. But the glint in her eye now told you she remembered every word, and by the look of things, she had her own plans today.

You swallowed hard, doing your best to keep your face casual. Just a car ride with a friend, you told yourself, ignoring the way your heart picked up pace. You looked around for him, half-hoping you could buy yourself some time, but there he was, rounding the corner, car keys in hand and that easy smile on his face.

“Ready to go?” Damian asked, flashing you a grin. 

You tried to keep your cool, but when his gaze lingered a second too long, it was hard to tell if it was just the morning sun or if there was something warmer in his eyes.

“Yep! Let’s go,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. 

You tossed Rhea a glare over your shoulder, but she just winked, making it painfully clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

As you followed Damian to his car, you couldn’t shake the little knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. God, please don’t let her have said anything to him, you thought, taking a deep breath and reminding yourself that this was still Damian—your best friend. That was all… right?

The drive started off smooth, and with each mile that passed, your initial nerves began to melt away. Damian’s presence always had a calming effect on you, and today was no different.

“Can you believe Rhea?” Damian said, shooting you a grin as he turned onto the main road. “She gets one day off and somehow finds a way to make it as intense as a match night. Gotta respect her energy, though.”

You laughed, settling back in your seat. “She thrives on chaos, I swear. It’s impressive, honestly. I’m just hoping we get a chance to sit down and actually enjoy some food. I’m pretty sure she’s got us lined up to hit every ride in the place.”

Damian chuckled, his deep, warm laugh filling the car. “Oh, no doubt. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and cram us into one of those kiddie rides just to see us squirm.”

You snorted at the mental image of Damian—towering, muscular, and absolutely not designed to fit in a kiddie ride—squeezed next to Rhea, her devilish grin intact as she laughed at his discomfort.

"Honestly, though," Damian continued, glancing over at you with a small smirk, "I’m surprised you’re up for a fair day with all the people. I thought you’d want a chill day off.”

“True,” you admitted, meeting his eyes briefly before looking back out the window. “But the food trucks and rides kind of makeup for it. Plus, it’s… it’s good to spend time with everyone.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” he said quietly, his tone softer than before. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. “And I guess if Rhea’s got us all there, it means she can’t get on my case for skipping something. Plus, there’s good food—and we’ll get to see Rhea’s attempt at ‘relaxing,’” he added with a teasing grin.

The drive continued like that, a comfortable back-and-forth of friendly jabs and easy conversation. A thought drifted through your mind as you watched Damian laugh and loosen up, more animated than usual. For all Rhea’s scheming, you had to admit she’d managed to put you both in a rare moment of peace, just the two of you, sharing a small slice of normalcy.

“Maybe she’s onto something with this,” you mused aloud, almost to yourself.

“Hmm?” Damian glanced over.

“Oh, nothing,” you said quickly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Just—grateful for a chance to relax, I guess.”

He seemed to consider this, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes as he nodded. “Yeah. Same here.” And then, with a light laugh that softened the moment, he added, “Even if it means Rhea’s running the show.”

As the car rolled to a stop in the fairgrounds parking lot, you felt a flicker of excitement building. The buzz of the festival was already in the air—music drifting over the hum of people, bright colors, and the smell of fair food. Damian parked and flashed you a grin, opening his door as you gathered your bag and stepped out, feeling his presence close by as the two of you made your way toward the entrance.

The crowd thickened as you neared the gates, a mix of families, groups of friends, and couples swirling together. You were doing your best to dodge elbows and strollers, but one particularly enthusiastic kid darted right in front of you, nearly taking out your knees. Damian reacted instantly, his hand slipping around your waist to steady you.

“Whoa,” he murmured, steadying you with a warm, firm grip. “Didn’t think we’d need wrestling moves to get through the entrance.”

You looked up, finding him a little closer than you expected. The feel of his hand on your waist sent a flutter through your stomach, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence, caught off guard by the closeness. His hand lingered just a second longer before he cleared his throat, his gaze darting to the side as he let go and stepped back slightly.

“You good?” he asked, a slight flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah—I’m good,” you replied quickly, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt. “Just, uh… hazards of fairgrounds, I guess.”

As you shifted, you caught sight of Rhea just a few paces ahead. She stood there, arms crossed, watching the two of you with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a smirk that spoke volumes. 

When you and Damian locked eyes with her, she only shrugged, biting back a grin as she turned and continued walking, pretending she hadn’t seen a thing.

Damian’s gaze flicked back to you, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So… ready for this?”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

With that, the two of you fell into step, each hyper-aware of the other’s presence as you followed Rhea and the others into the heart of the fair. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and the look Damian had given you—just for a second—lingered in your mind longer than it should have.

As the group meandered through the fairgrounds, someone mentioned food, sparking an immediate chorus of agreement. Together, you all veered toward the food truck section, where delicious smells and sizzling sounds drifted through the air, setting your stomach rumbling.

“Alright,” Rhea declared with an almost mischievous grin, “time to do some serious food sampling. And I don’t want to hear anyone say they’re ‘not that hungry.’ This is a fair—appetites mandatory.”

The group dispersed, each person weaving between the trucks, picking up a mix of fried treats, skewers, tacos, and a few questionable “festival specials.”

After a few minutes, you and Damian met back up with Rhea, arms filled with an assortment of snacks. You eyed the collection with a laugh, impressed by the sheer variety.

“Think we got enough?” you asked, shooting a playful look at Damian.

“Maybe,” he replied, holding up a foot-long corn dog with a smirk. “But hey, Rhea said we’re sharing everything.”

As the group gathered around a picnic table, everyone started digging in, passing around baskets of food. It didn’t take long before Rhea nudged you and Damian with a sly grin. 

“Hey, you two—try this.” She handed you both a basket of churros dusted with cinnamon sugar. “Don’t be shy, share it.”

You exchanged a glance with Damian, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you broke off a piece and handed it to him. As he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a small, unexpected jolt up your arm.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer, eyes catching yours for a moment too long before he cleared his throat, focusing intently on the churro like it held the secrets of the universe.

You both went back to sampling, but Rhea wasn’t done. She grinned wickedly, holding up a cup of chili fries. “Alright, Damian, you gotta feed her one of these. Fair food tradition.”

“Oh, is it?” Damian asked, eyebrows raising, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Definitely,” Rhea replied, not backing down. “You gotta play along.”

Damian shook his head with a chuckle, lifting a fry and holding it up to you, his eyes daring you to play along too. With a laugh, you leaned in, letting him feed you the fry while the group laughed and cheered.

As you settled back into sampling the food with everyone else, you couldn’t help but notice how easily Damian’s laughter blended with yours, each unplanned touch and shared smile making you wonder if maybe, just maybe, Rhea’s matchmaking antics were onto something.

Later in the day, Rhea’s gaze zeroed in on an old-fashioned photo booth nestled between a cotton candy stand and a ring-toss game. Her eyes lit up mischievously, and she nudged you and Damian forward.

“Oh, you two have to do the photo booth,” she said, already steering you both toward it. “It’s basically a requirement at fairs.”

You laughed, glancing at Damian. “Do we have a choice?”

Damian grinned, shrugging. “Not really, apparently.”

The two of you squeezed into the booth, realizing just how cramped it actually was. The narrow bench barely had space for one person, let alone two. You tried hovering beside him, half-seated with one leg awkwardly propped against the side, but it was obvious you still weren’t fitting in the frame.

Damian glanced up at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “This isn’t going to work. Here, just—” He reached up and, with a gentle hand on your waist, guided you down until you were perched right on his thigh.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the unexpected closeness, his hands settling around your waist for balance. 

“There we go,” he said, giving a soft laugh as he adjusted to fit both of you in the frame. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the machine counted down to snap the first photo. The screen flashed, and you both instinctively leaned closer, your laughter filling the small space as the camera clicked.

By the time the last shot snapped, you’d both lost any semblance of forced posing, your heads pressed close together, and Damian’s arm wrapped loosely around your waist to keep you steady. When the flash went off for the final picture, he glanced at you with an amused, almost softer expression.

The booth spit out the photo strip, and you both leaned over to look. The first picture captured your awkward attempt to fit, both of you laughing as you tried to squeeze into the frame. But the last one…there was something different. You were both relaxed, his hand resting on your side, your shoulders leaning into him, and both of you grinning like idiots.

Rhea, waiting outside the booth, snatched the photo strip out of Damian’s hands as soon as you stepped out, her eyes dancing as she scanned the shots. 

“Well, well,” she teased, “I’d say you two look pretty comfortable in there.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile on your face as Damian gave Rhea a playful nudge.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, laughing. But he caught your gaze for a brief second, and you felt a shared, silent acknowledgment of the moment that had passed between you.

Next Rhea led the group to the Fun House, Rhea’s face lit up with a look that could only mean she had something up her sleeve.

“Alright, here’s the deal—this’ll be way more fun in pairs,” she announced, throwing a wink in your direction. Before you could even react, she nudged you closer to Damian. “Go on, you two. We’ll meet up on the other side!”

Before either of you could protest, the rest of the group had split off into pairs and slipped into the house, leaving you and Damian standing alone by the entrance.

“Guess it’s you and me,” Damian said with a shrug, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he held the door open for you.

Inside, the Fun House was filled with dizzying mirrors, neon lights, and winding hallways that made every step feel like you were walking through a maze. Almost immediately, you and Damian lost sight of the others, the confusing turns and flashing lights making it easy for the two of you to drift deeper into the attraction.

“This place is like a maze,” Damian said, his voice echoing as you both walked down a narrow hallway lined with funhouse mirrors. “Good luck if they’re expecting us out of here anytime soon.”

You laughed, but before you could respond, a loud bang sounded from the wall beside you, and a mechanical figure sprang out, making you yelp and instinctively reach for Damian’s arm.

Damian chuckled, steadying you as he threw an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry,” he teased. “I’ll protect you from all the creepy mannequins in here.”

“I appreciate it,” you said, trying to calm your racing heart but smiling despite yourself.

You continued through the winding halls, your laughter echoing off the walls as more jump scares and sudden noises popped up at every corner. The deeper you went, the darker and narrower the passageways became, and with each unexpected scare, you found yourself clinging to Damian’s arm a little longer, the mix of fear and excitement making it hard to let go.

Finally, as you turned another corner, a new scare jumped out—a skeleton puppet lunging from the side with a loud, exaggerated scream. You gasped, grabbing onto Damian and pulling yourself close to him, burying your face in his shoulder. His arm slipped around your waist instinctively, pulling you flush against him.

When you looked up, you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, the closeness and dim light blurring the rest of the world around you. Damian’s hand lingered on your waist, his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary. The energy between you felt electric, the laughter and adrenaline still fresh.

For a moment, you both seemed to realize at the same time how close you were, and you pulled back slightly, both of you chuckling as you tried to shake off the moment.

“This is the last time I let Rhea take us to a Fun House,” Damian joked, though his voice was softer, his gaze lingering just a moment more before he looked away.

But you couldn’t ignore the way his arm stayed wrapped around you as you both made your way out of the Fun House, the thrill of the jump scares leaving behind something deeper, a hint of a connection that you’d both felt—and maybe weren’t quite ready to let go of yet.

As soon as you stepped into the ride section of the fair, Rhea was already beaming with that mischievous look that had been her theme for the day. The bright, colorful rides spun and whirled around you, laughter and screams filling the air.

“Alright, who’s up for some classic carnival rides?” Rhea said, eyes twinkling as she glanced between you and Damian. Before you could even decide for yourself, she had her answer ready. “Oh, and you two, obviously, should ride together. You know, for moral support,” she added with a smirk.

Damian raised an eyebrow but shrugged good-naturedly. “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing to the first ride in line, which happened to be the Ferris wheel.

You both climbed into the cramped gondola, the small seat forcing you to squeeze close together. The wheel jolted to life, and as you were lifted into the air, the view over the fairgrounds spread out below. The sounds and colors felt a little more distant and surreal up there, the world condensed into a pocket of stillness where it was just you and Damian.

“Not exactly made for tall people, huh?” you teased, glancing at him as he shifted uncomfortably in the tight space, knees nearly pressed to his chest.

He laughed, glancing down at his long legs, awkwardly folded to fit. “Pretty sure this thing is meant for kids,” he replied, shaking his head. “I could practically lift it off the track if I needed to.”

As you both laughed, the wheel rotated again, giving you both a slight jolt that made you clutch his arm out of reflex. He turned to you, amused, but his hand found yours on his arm and squeezed it gently, giving you a reassuring smile.

When the Ferris wheel finally brought you back to the ground, you moved on to the teacups. As you got into the tiny seat across from Damian, his knees pressed against the side and his arms nearly hit the handles as he tried to situate himself. The sight of him, usually so composed and intimidating, squeezing himself into such a small space was comical, and you couldn’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter.

“Laugh it up,” he said, pretending to glare. “Just wait until I start spinning this thing.”

And he did. He twisted the wheel with surprising force, sending your teacup into a whirlwind of spins. You laughed as you held onto the edges, the two of you dizzy and laughing by the time it finally stopped. It wasn’t until you stepped out of the teacup that you realized you were still holding onto his hand, and he hadn’t let go either.

As you both stumbled out, laughing and catching your breath, Rhea waved at you from the next ride—a small roller coaster barely taller than you. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and you felt your cheeks flush, realizing she’d probably noticed every single moment of the chemistry she’d been sparking all day.

Damian cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he led you toward the next ride. “I think Rhea’s enjoying this way too much.”

You nodded, a smile creeping across your face. “But, you know… I’m not complaining.”

The group meandered back toward the midway, the sounds of carnival games buzzing around you. Plush toys hung from every booth, their bright colors beckoning players. Damian glanced around at the rows of games and muttered with a slight smirk, “You know, these things are just one big rip-off.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged with a grin. “But I’ve always thought it’d be cute if someone won one of those for me.” You nodded toward a particularly large, soft-looking bear dangling over the ring toss booth. “Unfortunately, none of my exes could ever beat the games,” you added with a playful sigh.

Damian’s smirk faded as he looked between you and the plush bear. “Well, maybe they just didn’t have the right skills,” he said casually, though you didn’t miss the competitive glint in his eyes. As if acting on impulse, he stepped up to the ring toss booth and slapped some money down. “Let’s give it a shot,” he said with a confident shrug.

His first attempt was… less than stellar. The ring flew far too wide and clattered pathetically off the side of the bottles. He rolled his eyes, huffing with a laugh. “All right, that was just a warm-up,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

As he tried again, his jaw set with a new focus, his competitive streak kicking in. He narrowed his gaze, lining up each ring with intense concentration, but each time, the ring either hit the bottleneck and bounced off or spun out of control entirely.

By now, a few onlookers had gathered, entertained by his serious attempts. You tried to stifle your laughter, but you couldn't help but crack a grin at the determined look on his face. Damian caught you watching and laughed, shaking his head. 

“This thing’s rigged,” he grumbled, picking up another ring. “But I’m not leaving without that bear.”

It took a few more tries, but finally, with one last, precise throw, the ring landed cleanly over the bottle neck. Damian’s mouth dropped open in momentary disbelief before his face broke into a proud grin. He raised his fist in victory, and the crowd of onlookers gave him a small cheer.

With a satisfied look, he turned to the attendant, who handed him the oversized bear. Damian held it up with a triumphant grin, and for a moment, you saw the thrill of his wrestling persona flash across his face. Then, he turned to you, holding the bear out with a proud smile.

“Here you go,” he said, his voice softer than before. “For you, from the master of ring toss himself.”

You took the bear from him, laughing as you hugged it to your chest. “Thank you, Damian.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anything to make a day at the fair memorable,” he said, his gaze lingering on you as you clutched the bear.

Somehow, in that little exchange, the day felt different—more charged, more real. You could both sense it, though neither of you dared to name it just yet.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the fairgrounds, Rhea gathered the group near the edge of the festival grounds with a mischievous grin. “Surprise! I booked us hot air balloon rides to finish off the day.” She beamed, holding up a handful of tickets. “Only four per balloon, so… here we go.”

In a practiced and subtle shuffle, Rhea partnered up with the others, quickly taking the balloon nearest her and flashing a wink your way as she climbed in. Within moments, the other three wrestlers joined her, laughing and getting settled, leaving you and Damian standing by the last balloon, alone.

Damian raised an eyebrow, half-smiling as he looked at you. “Guess it’s just us then?”

You felt your stomach twist as you took in the sight of the balloon’s basket waiting just for the two of you. Heights had never been your thing, and you could already feel a wave of nervousness inching its way in. 

“Yeah… just us,” you said with a weak smile, hoping he didn’t notice your hesitation.

As you climbed into the basket, Damian leaned over, catching the flicker of worry in your expression. “You good?” he asked, eyes softening as he stepped inside.

You nodded, though your voice betrayed you. “Fine, just… never been the biggest fan of heights.”

He chuckled softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you grounded… well, as grounded as we can be in this thing.” 

As the balloon began to rise, you felt his arm slide around your shoulders, guiding you to lean into his chest, keeping you steady as the ground below slowly faded from view.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, the faint scent of his cologne settling your nerves. “Thanks. This definitely helps,” you murmured.

He chuckled, his voice a low rumble as he tried to distract you. “Want to know something? When I first got into WWE, I was all nerves. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to wrestle in front of thousands of people, live on TV, with my face everywhere.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Seriously? You always seem so… sure of yourself.”

“Fake it ’til you make it,” he said with a grin, tapping his chest. “It’s easier when you have good people around you.” He glanced down, and there was a look in his eyes that made your breath hitch. “People like you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, and as you lifted your head slightly, you could see a whole new world stretched out below, lit by the fading golden light of sunset. It felt surreal, hanging in this quiet pocket of the sky with him, where time seemed to stand still.

“You know,” Damian began, his voice gentle as he traced a thumb over your shoulder, “I, uh… I’ve liked you for a while. More than I probably should.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you looked up at him, heart pounding. “Yeah? I had no idea. But… maybe I’ve felt the same.”

His gaze flickered over your face, studying you as if trying to memorize every feature. “Then maybe I’m not crazy to think this is worth a shot?”

Before you could answer, he leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a soft, tentative kiss, his hand cradling your face. You melted into him, any lingering nerves forgotten as you lost yourself in the moment. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter than ever.

“So,” you whispered, still inches away, “guess Rhea’s little matchmaking scheme worked, huh?”

Damian chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll have to thank her later… but right now, I’m more than happy just to be here with you.”

[zoloft3]

the man i assume to be god

☆彡hitoshi shinso x gn! reader

tags—> weed use, nickname use (sweetheart), no use of y/n, first person pov (i'm sorry this is unlike me), childhood friends to weird ass situationship to lovers, it's sappy :| don't be mad,

a/n : this is technically a cross post, since i originally posted this on ao3 years ago, but i wanted to rewrite it for a character i like better and relate to more now. i also changed a bunch of the writing to what's more my style nowadays. so if you've seen this before... no you haven't. This is also the start of me officially beginning my tumblr writing career :] so if you like this lmk and i might do more

-------༚☆༚-------

We made a bad habit of falling asleep in the car.

Hitoshi was always calling me late at night to go for a drive. He'd pick me up in the car he spent too much money on and make some mean comment about my sweatpants and 1 AM eye bags, all before smiling like it hadn't been weeks since he texted. I would get in the car, let the scent of him envelope me, and immediately forgive him. He’d been dealing with the weight of a quarter life crisis, and apparently needed me and some weed to take a load off. Being best friends and head over heels in love since high school made it difficult to say no to him.

We’d fallen into a bit of a routine, unfortunately. Driving out till we found a good place to stop, and then rolling down the windows to watch the few stars that were out. By the time I had shot-gunned him a few times, per his request, my eyelids would droop and there'd be that stomach settling feeling. The kind that makes it so easy to sit perfectly still and never move a muscle. Being so close to him was dreamy, and the buzzing smoke inhalation never failed to take it out of me.

The weed didn't do much to curb my mind though. Whatever we were, whatever racing thoughts I would think all day about him, didn't stop at the car door. The whole thing was messy and so fucking complicated. I tried not to think too hard about it. Most of the time I’d just focus on how pretty he was and how lucky I am to be able to love him.

When he says my name, I swear-

I don’t even know what it does, it kills me so badly.

This one saturday night in particular, Hitoshi didn’t seem as interested in lazy, open mouthed kisses. He seemed fixated on looking at me.

“Hey, you okay?” I nudged his shoulder, attempting to stir awake the Hitoshi I knew. The man only I got to see.

He was a famous work of art, but only I got to hang the framed canvas on my wall. Only I could stand close enough to see each and every brush stroke. No post card or photo could ever compare to the real thing. He was mine, even if he wasn't my boyfriend, he was mine.

“Sorry,” He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was under, “Just doing too much thinking lately.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” I smirked, tilting my head to get a better angle of his moonlit face.

“You think we could, just, I dunno,” He looked out the open window, lost in the open air and pine trees, “Maybe talk? About this? Us?”

My heart did a 180 in my chest, so, as per usual, I relied on attempted comedy and a smile to take the anxiety away, “Talk about us? I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”

“I’m serious, you know." The look on he gave me dropped the smile off my face. He was serious. This was officially bad. My brain wracked itself for every possible negative outcome.

Until he spoke again.

"I’ve been thinking we should try something.” He shifted his hands off the steering wheel to take another hit, then tap the ash out the window. The whole scene was far more attractive than I’d ever admit. The way he put his lips together as he exhaled the smoke in my direction. It was fantastical. Sweet, sappy memories I’d lick off the floor of this car to remember.

I’d do anything to keep him on my mind.

“Try… what?” I asked, genuinely curious and anxious for his answer.

This seemed to bring him all the way back to himself, there was a sly smirk on his lips, “I dunno, sweetheart, what do you think?”

There was that sinking feeling again and my back was glued to the seat, eyes stuck on his face. My mind knew what was coming, but my heart couldn't accept that the thing I'd been dreaming about since I was fourteen, was really coming true. In this very moment. Oh, lord.

He turned to face me fully, and the spell broke. This definitely wasn't a dream. Both our arms resting on the center console brought our faces incredibly close.

We’ve always been this way, together and apart, near, yet so far.

Noses almost grazing each other, I pushed myself to speak in the presence of the man I assume to be god.

“You want me to guess?” I raised an eyebrow despite my aching, heavy heart, “Or will you just kiss me already.”

One thing I loved about Hitoshi, is one way or another, he always did what I told him to do.

He kissed differently than I expected, not so commanding or competitive but slow and compassionate. I knew only then, that everything would be fine. We were together, finally, as one.

We didn’t fall asleep in the car that night.

-------☆-------

a/n : if it was terrible, don't tell me.

i will walk into the ocean and never come back.

thanks to @saemeret for being such a good little beta (annoying baby talk voice) smooch <3

[devilfic]

Just an idea, but this is something I often do with my own grannies. So sometimes when I come visit, we'll chat and gossip about random things like what parties happened the night b4 in the community and how I got called into work b'cuzz I'm a matron at the station (I never give names I only call em by their prisoner #'s) and I just give em a general synopsis of what I had to deal with b'cuzz they were screaming, or banging on the door or flipping oit etc, or I show them some true crime podcasts or some interesting documentary about how barbies were made or something other. And then there's visits where we don't even talk, we just sit down in silence while the tv's on or the radio, while having some tea and snacks or supper if I come by at dinner time, and we just enjoy each other's company, it's honestly the best visits when we do that. So just imagine doing that with Battinson Bruce, no talking, just peaceful silence while he works and enjoying each other's presence while also enjoying Alfred's tea and snacks. That'd be so wholesome, and then he walks you home, or you just crash on his couch. That'd be so nice, just something platonic and sweet.

❝I want us both to eat well❞

plot: "It’s so complicated staying alive sometimes." — your friendship with the elusive vigilante is a special one in many ways. pairing: platonic!battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: partially inspired by the poem "our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks" by christopher citro, fluff, reader used to live on the street, reader knows batman's identity, bruce being bad at managing his meal times bc justice never sleeps, platonic but you can read it any way you want to. words: 1.5k. a/n: this is such a sweet anecdote, and I have had some not so great writer's block, so I really appreciated having a simple idea to work with! there is quite a bit of talking but it's not an devilfic fic if they don't yap a bit

It is a verifiable fact that Bruce will not eat at a reasonable time unless you make him.

I mean, he does eat. There are meal preps in the fridge that he unfreezes at sunrise, and there are pre-workout protein shakes and bowls of fruit Alfred leaves for him to graze on, and every once in a while he’ll come upstairs to the dinner table—Bruce and Alfred both know these particular dinners are as much case debriefs as they are eating together, but they’re together and there’s food on the table, and that’s something. Isn’t it?

But for all his effort, Alfred has never been as efficient as you.

You bump Bruce’s shoulder with dinner, a greasy paper bag full of what you promised would make up for the calories, and he inches his book away before you can get anything on it. He feels the residue on his skin, though. “Alright, up and at ‘em. Eat this before it gets any colder than it already is.”

“What is it? Exactly?”

You set the bag on his desk and hand him one paper-wrapped burger and a set of (admittedly) delicious looking fries. “That, my good man, is a delicacy on my side of town. Bizzby’s Burgers. I even splurged and got you a large ‘cause I know you’ll like it.”

Bruce can’t remember the last time he had either of these. As he plucks a fry out of its container, he wonders if it’ll taste good enough to jog his memory. You swear by it, and it feels like he’s more willing to just take your word for it these days. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s alright. It’s your money anyway.”

“That’s not how a job works.” Bruce watches you drag a stool over to his side and take a seat, catching only a whiff of the rain clinging to the very ends of your sleeves. It was good to know the money he spent on your new jacket was worth it. “You earned it, it’s yours.”

“You gonna finger that fry all night or you gonna tell me I’m amazing?” Bruce grimaces at your choice of words. He takes a bite and, yeah, he sees where all the grease came from, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t taste good. “Well?”

“It’s good.”

“I’m amazing, right?”

“This is a delicacy?”

“Don’t be a smartass, rich boy.”

“I’m just asking a question.”

You take out your own food and he realizes you’ve got onion rings instead of fries. You stuff one into your mouth, savoring the taste for a little longer than necessary, and really—they can’t be that good. “When gramps ran the place, he’d usually sneak me something at the end of the night. Whatever the others didn’t take home. But it’s been ten years since his son took over and he’s a real hardass about that stuff. I would’ve sworn off the place for good if it wasn’t for the fact that he cooks just like his fucking dad.”

Bruce used to follow you when this all started—a precaution he took to ensure there was no conflict of interest on your part—and this Bizzby’s Burgers sat smack dab between your favorite alley and the shelter. He used to wonder why you never really went in, always lingering outside like it used to be your home, once. Now he knows.

You bring out the sodas next, except he didn’t want a soda, and the next best thing to a fountain drink at Bizzby’s is a milkshake. It’s strawberry and more milk than ice cream at this point, but Bruce dutifully reviews it for you all the same. His desk is slowly becoming a mess from dinner, but it’s been a slow road getting you to take up space like this again. He can be bothered not to be bothered.

“I thought you were just shy, or maybe didn’t trust me, but you really don’t talk much. Do you?” Your question sounds like it’s already been answered in the tone you use.

“I talk when I have something to say.”

“Yeah. You don’t just fill in the silences like some people.” Bruce thinks that’s all you have to say on the matter, but he should know better. You like talking to him. “People pretend you don’t exist when you live on the street. I think they feel guilty, but you sort of get it into your head that maybe you really don’t exist after all. That you stop existing the second you end up here- or… there. I guess. I’m not there anymore.” You look far away in that moment. Bruce watches your eyes flicker, stuck on some unknown memory of a life much harder lived, but then you come back to yourself eventually, “You scared the shit out of me back when we first met.”

Most people remembered him for the fear. You had shrunk in on yourself when he appeared, shivering from the shock or the wind chill or the lack of sleep that clung to your drooping eyes.

Bruce keeps eye contact with you, biting into his burger so slowly that the paper doesn’t even crinkle.

“Like that,” you grumble. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Help what?”

“Look, that’s not the point. My point was that, like, you were so scary when you first found me in that alley. I thought… I thought you were going to beat me to a pulp over something I didn’t do… or worse, something I did do. You started talking and it felt like all the sound dropped out around me. Like tunnel vision. Like I was the only thing in front of you, and it scared me. Even when you were silent, it felt like… I existed too much. I was too seen. It was overwhelming. But now that I know you…” Bruce’s eyebrow rises. He spares no energy for any other reaction. “It’s kind of nice.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know how to take it; he knows it’s a good thing but in the way a compliment sandwich is mostly a good thing. “Kind of nice” was mostly a good thing.

You must see the uncertainty in his face—a rare occasion he doesn’t hide it—because you rectify your wording, “It is nice. You see me and I exist and I know I exist because you treat me like a person. It was jarring back then but now it feels pretty good. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

You squirm in your seat, taking a long drag from your straw as you wait for him to say something. Bruce leans further back into his chair, gazing sidelong at you.

In reality, he didn’t quite understand how anyone could miss you.

He’d seen plenty of people just like you on Gotham’s streets, turned away from shelters and scared out of gang territory, and yet you had stuck out to him. When he’d found you curled up in the dark, rain drenching through your clothes, it had been just his luck that you had been witness to exactly what he needed to know, and it was even more his luck that—after the catatonia wore off—you told him everything.

And you caught his eye again, and again, and again. Always on some street corner, shrinking away from the crowds but always on the outskirts, hanging onto the coattails of the bigger bads he stalked after. He supposed you just had something about you. It was hard to trust gut feelings about people in this city (sweetness turned rotten all too suddenly), but so far, he’d been right about you. “You’re welcome.”

You still at his voice. You catch his eyes and something softens in you. Then you sniffle, and Bruce kicks on the heater beneath his desk.

The two of you continue to eat and Bruce waits for you to share something else, but nothing comes up. When dinner’s trashed, you watch from the couch as he works away on a case you have nothing to do with, Bruce waiting for questions that never come.

It’s two in the morning when he hears your first snore. Then six when you come down from the bathroom with a tray of coffee. He thinks it’s Alfred’s, but one sip and he knows it has to be yours; it’s different, not as clear as he's used to, but not unpleasant. Did you ask Alfred to show you how to make it? Or did you just know, and this was how you liked it? You don’t say anything as you sit with him again, eyes crusted over with sleep as you huddle closer for warmth.

It’s Bruce who speaks first, eventually, “I'll call you a cab.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It's a subway kind of morning.” You hoist your bag onto your shoulders, a pound heavier with all the snacks Alfred slipped you in the kitchen. “I can meet you in Chinatown tomorrow night. I know a place with spring rolls to die for.”

Bruce hums, holding the front door open for you, “If you’re willing to wait for me.”

You punch his arm and it catches up to him that he hadn't expected it, that you could've done something much worse and he'd have missed it because... well, because he knew you wouldn't. He feels safe with you.

You’re all smiles, none the wiser. "Who else am I gonna gossip with?"

[loversofthegrave]

What are some of your fave wincest fics?

Oh I'm so glad you asked anon! I am always looking for fic recs so I'm sure some followers will appreciate this little one here;

(in no particular order)

try asking by applecrumbledore

“Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.”

“Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”

outside POV ftw

other brothers by homo_pink

A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Another outside POV but this writer I kneel at the altar for, absolute perfection. Read all their work, you're in for a treat

Howls in my bones by weefaol

When John gets a call to investigate a series of grisly animal killings, he drops Sam and Dean at an abandoned cabin two towns over. The boys find ways to keep busy — playing cards, watching movies, chopping wood — but with a howling winter storm on the way, there’s nowhere for Sam to hide his illicit feelings for his older brother.

As the lure of desire threatens to devour him, Sam must learn to face the wolves that lurk outside and the monsters within.

weecest

In the garden where sin began by nyoka

Some places, they grow for you.

weecest, beautifully written, so tender

one on, two out by deadlybride

In the fall of 2001, Deacon gets a letter from his old friend John Winchester, asking if John's son can stay at his house for a while.

not exactly wincest but I want to recommend this because it's just a great insight into a young dean and his vulnerability and there's a sequel involving wincest elements. Really really loved this

it started out with a kiss by intrepidheart

Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.

rightly obsessed with jealous dean

the repeated image of the lover destroyed by hathfrozen

"Do you really love me that much?" Sam asks.

Dean laughs, a harsh sound, his body shaking underneath Sam.

"Look at me," Dean hisses, eyes still shut. "What the fuck do you think?"

see things so much clearer by deadlybride

Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.

somewhere there's blue by linden

Dean was just gonna go ahead and call this one: evenings which ended with Sam in a river were not evenings which had gone too well.

nickle and dime by linden

It was unlikely, Dean felt, that they'd be coming back to Montana: Child Protection Services had a real nasty habit of not forgetting people's names.

here's a few for now, I have more but I need to remember the names! I will probably reblog this with them but I hope you enjoy! Also if anyone has any recs please point me in that direction

much love

[irregularcollapse]

Something about your ‘limerance’ au has really stuck with me - all the little snippets you posted have me incredibly intrigued!

I think it’s the outsider POV to the Clegan relationship and how easily their dynamic can be misunderstood, because it’s truly only Gale and John who see each other clearly.

Would love another snippet if you’re still working on it, but otherwise just wanted to let you know that it is living in my head rent free (like all of your fics)!

I actually tried to work on this one the other day!! I got a bit self-conscious about it, but I still like the premise and every time I rewatch parts of MOTA with Curt in them, I’m reminded of how malleable an interpretation of his behaviour around the Buckies can be. I have particular thoughts about the bar scene (and it’s actually this scene that’s the basis for my ideas about past CurtBucky in ITIL).

But okay the limerance fic!! These are the first 500 words (under a cut), because I don’t actually know when I’m going to be finishing it:

The curveball is that this one is fucking blond.

Every other fuck-of-the-month that Bucky has brought round for as long as Curt’s known him—which is a long-ass time—has been a dark-haired slip of a thing. They’ve all without exception been brunette, sometimes curly, sometimes also with blue eyes, and it made good material for ribbing Bucky about his untold levels of narcissism. Curt would tease him, call his hookups The Other Bucky or Clone Kink instead of learning their actual name, and within a month they’d be gone anyway so it didn’t matter.

Then, a week or two later, there’d be another.

This one, though. This one is fucking blond, and though still not quite as tall as Bucky is definitely taller than Curt, and when he speaks he sounds like a cowboy and he moves with the ease of a dancer. They’re always pretty, of course they are, because Bucky has that face and that size and that powerful pull—pheromones, or something—but this one, well. It’s obscene, is what it is. People who go to book launch events aren’t supposed to look like that.

Bucky had asked if Curt wanted to go with him, that night. Curt remembers it, because it was a party at a bookstore for Bucky’s friend Alex and his first graphic novel, but Curt doesn’t know Alex and it honestly sounded like a bit of a drag, so he’d stayed in and played poker with his roommate’s buddies instead. It was only a couple days later, when Curt had asked Bucky if he wanted to grab a beer and see a movie, that Bucky had said, “Can’t. Got a date with a guy from the book party.”

And now, here he is: blond, and pouty-lipped, and golden-lashed, and angle-jawed; husky drawl and easy sprawl and legs long in his jeans. He had his arm spread over the back of a chair while Bucky got him a drink, and he leaves it there after Bucky sits down. The group has been talking around him, the way they’re used to talking around Bucky’s hookups (Curt had caught a raised eyebrow from Benny after they’d walked in together; he’s not the only one who thinks these things), and he hasn’t been making any effort to involve himself anyway. When Bucky sets the drink in front of him, his broad hand then drops to the guy’s thigh, spreading and squeezing. The smile he gives Bucky is a flicker. As Curt watches, Bucky leans in, and he can’t hear it over the noise of the bar from all the way across the table, but he swears that Bucky asks, “You okay?”

The guy smiles a bit wider then, nodding, and Curt’s tongue feels two sizes too big when Bucky smiles back and reaches up with his other hand to cup the guy’s chin. Maybe Curt only notices it because he’s looking, but it sends his ears buzzing when Bucky’s thumb rubs at that pink bottom lip, tracing the curve of it. Curt has never seen him do that before.

[imaginesbymonika]

From the dining table | Part 2

Pairing: Damon Albarn × Gallagher! Reader

Plot: Everyone's favorite topic during the '90s and 'OOs; Y/N Gallagher. The mysterious and beautiful younger sister of the two loud brothers rarely spoke during interviews but played the guitar like no one else. And even though she never said a word about her dating-life, the list of her rumored boyfriends kept growing longer with each passing year. Yet, there was one name in particular that just kept on popping up...

Part 1

(2024)

It took a lot to convince Noel to give out Y/N’s number. There was a lot of swearing, ranting, and tons of “fucking knew it” involved before he sent it to Damon over Whatsapp. He is staring at the numbers as if they’re going to disappear the second he blinks.

“I haven’t heard it yet.”, Noel says after a moment, his voice much calmer now:” The song, ya know. You’re sure it’s about you?” The blonde sighs and tilts his head back. His bare neck made contact with the cold leather couch:” I’ve got this feeling in my stomach.”

There’s a long pause before he hears the older musician chuckle into the phone:” I always had my suspicions that it was you my sister was seeing. Couldn’t prove it. But it made sense in a way.”

“We both knew that if one of you would’ve found out you’d have me killed.”

“Oh yeah.”, Noel answers without hesitating and scoffs loudly:” That’s our baby sister, we’re talking about. Right now, I still want to kill you.” Damon softly giggles:” Can’t blame ya.”

“So…”, Noel pauses and Damon hears how he lights up a cigarette on the other side. The crackling sound of the lighter fills the peace. “What are you going to say to her?”

Damon bites his lip and shakes his head:” I don’t know. There’s so much I want to say to her, but I just- it’s suffocating yet. The truth of it all, I mean. I was stupid back then, immature and naive…and well, primarily doing coke.” “We all did that, I suppose.”, Noel reassures him and takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, obviously.”, He glances down at his bitten nails:” But well, you know… your sister, she’s the love of my life. I should’ve done something about that sooner.”

“Oh, wow.”, Noel mutters softly, there’s a new layer to his voice Damon cannot place:” Love of your life, huh? You mean that? Y/N never spoke to us about her love life. I get that. But I’ve been to her parties and I heard all those rumors… She said it herself “I am no man's peace”. Remember when Daily Mail plastered that quote everywhere?” He laughs quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. The first thing she ever said in an interview. How could I forget that? Well, Noel, for what it’s worth she used to be my peace.”, the singer replies and licks his lips:” And I haven’t stopped missing it since I lost her.”

“You know…”, Noel begins:” I shouldn’t be doing this, I really shouldn’t. But a few months ago Y/N moved to the coast. A sweet little house in Hampshire, I’ve seen it- gorgeous. Anyway, if you truly care that much about her…I’ll give you the address.”

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about Jesper Fahey and religion.

Whilst we know that Matthias follows Djel, Inej follows the Saints, Nina was raised with the Saints but is atheist because of her understanding about Grisha, and that Kaz and Wylan adopted atheism based on their childhood experiences, we don’t get a lot of information about how Jesper feels about religion. We know he was raised with the Saints and that when he swears he says “Saints”, as does Nina, where Wylan says “Ghezen”. It’s notable to me that Matthias and Inej either rarely or never invoke a name in vain; I think Inej may say “Saints” in that context the odd time I can’t remember, but I’d argue in that case it’s probably because she isn’t specifically naming them to do so whereas Matthias would have to but I’m working off memory there so please feel free to correct me. But Jesper’s actual relationship with the Saints is arguably quite ambiguous, with no particular passages that point us in either direction. (Show!Jesper is highly implied to be atheistic in season 1 when Inej asks him what he thinks about Alina and he says he doesn’t care whether she’s real or not so long as they get paid, but there isn’t really anything like this in the books to my recollection) I think that might be because he has a far more complex and painful relationship with religion than we see on the surface level, and this has particular links to Nina’s belief that the Saints were possibly real people but were simply powerful Grisha not religious saviours/martyrs.

When Jesper was a child, his father would read him bedtime stories “from his Kaelish book of Saints”. At the same time, Colm was unintentionally damaging Jesper’s view of Grisha power and of himself by forcing him to hide it and telling him “that’s what killed your mother. That’s what took her away from us”. Alongside the self-hatred this cultivates in Jesper, seen mostly in Crooked Kingdom since he’s most open about it in the beautiful, heartbreaking chapter 24, I think it may have also impacted his relationship with religion. To be told as a child that these people are worshipped and valued for the things they could do, the same kind of things he saw his mother do and that he could be capable of, but that his power is a curse and a shameful secret that has to be hidden from the world is so damaging. It effectively raises the question: If it’s different for me than it is for them, what’s wrong with me? Why am I less worthy of love?

When Jesper already had these feelings growing inside him, feelings that went on to massively impact all the relationships in his life (most notably his relationships with Kaz and Wylan but I would also argue his relationship with Inej is affected by this as well) and actively endanger him when he began to try and fill the void he felt with gambling, to emphasise these emotions with something that could have been so beautiful and given him so much comfort by turning it into something that can be used against him by labelling him as less than others is so heartbreaking and honestly painful.

Obviously this is just an interpretation or a theory but this is how I feel about it when I reread, if anyone else has thought about this please feel free to add anything or contradict it with your own interpretation I’d love to read it.

[collapsedglasshouses]

TANGLED THREADS [Noah Sebastian x fem!reader, Nick Ruffilo x fem!reader]

COLLEGE!AU

CHAPTER TWO: TAKING THE LEAD SUMMARY: Nick knows. And he won’t let it slide. PAIRING: Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader; mentions of Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ [unprotected p in v, degradation, rough sex, …], no mentions of reader’s name, angst, reader is toxic, toxic dynamics, nick is a meanie but he kinda is right, mentions of nick and reader thinking about noah during intercourse, swearing, its not entirely proofread (ill do it eventually, pinky promise …) WORD COUNT: 2.2K A/N:Holy hell. My brain hurts after writing this. Nick finally made a proper appearance!!! I don’t even know what to say. There is one part left, but don’t ask me when it will come out. Hope you enjoy! Bye bye. READ PART ONE HERE.

You knew it was stupid. You knew you were incredibly stupid for doing what you were doing these past few weeks. You were so deep in this tragedy that the thought of calling your mom had slipped your mind for a reasonable amount of time, but you quickly realized that you were not quite ready to tell your mom that you had slept with two guys in the span of four weeks who, to make matters worse, were also best friends.

You wanted nothing more than to leave what had happened behind you, but for some reason you kept coming back to that one particular moment. Your thoughts revolved around that one night that changed everything. Nick had called you that night to catch up on your day, and you had asked him outright if he was in love with you. You wanted to be the bigger person, wanted to show Noah that you were really just casual with Nick, but when he did not answer right away, you felt something crack inside of you. You liked Nick. Maybe a little too much for your own good.

On the other hand, you really didn't know where to put Noah. You had noticed the way he looked at you before something had even happened between you. You saw how he always seemed a little too close to be just friendly with you. You had noticed the way he looked at you when you were with Nick, and somehow you understood how he felt.

It must have felt similar to the first time you saw him and Nick in that bar. They felt like this unbreakable team. Like a duo that really cared and loved each other no matter what. You had sworn to yourself that you would not try to challenge their bond, but when Nick kissed you just a few days later, you knew it was too late. You were already far more invested than you should have been.

You liked to think of yourself as rational and collected, but you really couldn’t understand the actions you had participated in, these past few weeks. You had sworn to keep your distance, even skipping classes to avoid Noah, but somehow he kept slipping right back into your life. Or literally… into you.

Not once had the two of you talked about Nick as if his name was a curse. But you soon realized that you were stupid to think that Nick would just let it go.

The air in your room was tense as Nick stormed in angrily. There had been weeks of silence and tension since your breakup, but this night would be different.

You sat on the bed, your legs crossed and your eyes fixed on the papers you had to finish soon. You knew exactly why he was here, but you weren't quite ready to face it.

"Please tell me you're joking." Nick hissed, his eyes glittering with anger.

"What?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the screen. Then he threw something at you. You jumped at the impact before examining the piece of cloth. A small piece of black lace with a little heart on the waistband. It was your panties. You vividly remembered the last time you had worn them. You had stood outside Noah's room that night like a desperate little shit.

Your eyes darted to Nick's angry face and back to the garment. Inside you were screaming, but there was also this intense anger bubbling up inside you.

"Could you explain to me why you think it is necessary to snoop through people's things and then barge into my room like that? I have things to do." You exclaimed as calmly as possible while throwing your panties to the floor.

"You know exactly why I'm here. You slept with him, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question, but an accusation that dripped from his lips like poison.

"So, what? The last time I checked, we weren't serious or exclusive." You answered him, the annoyance you felt lacing your words. It still stung. Thinking about how he had gotten to you and how pathetic you were to think he really wanted a real relationship with you. With Noah, things seemed easier. You knew something was there, but neither of you felt the need to talk about it, and you liked it that way.

"He's my best friend, for fuck sake." He said, his eyes cold and distant. If you weren't so sure that this had to do with his ego being bruised, you might have misinterpreted it as some kind of vulnerability.

He took two big steps to stand in front of your bed and leaned down slightly, causing you to close your laptop. "You knew it was wrong. You knew how he felt about you."

You quickly got up from your bed and looked him in the eyes with a fake smile. "And now? It's not like it stopped you from fucking me anyway, knowing damn well how he felt."

Nick clenched his jaw as he studied your face. Neither of you dared look away.

"To be honest, it sounds to me like you are jealous that he actually had the courage to show me how he felt." You almost spat the words in his face.

His gaze darkened, but that only made you ramble on. "Or maybe you're angry that he can get me off a lot faster than you can."

"You're a fucking whore, you know that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't flinch at his words, but leaned forward, his warmth radiating off your body. "And you're a fucking hypocrite, Ruffilo."

His eyes traveled to your lips for such a brief moment that you almost missed it. Anger was written all over his face, but there was something else you noticed that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Wait." You murmured, a small and mocking grin finding its place on your features. "This shit turns you on, doesn't it?"

Nick didn't say anything, but didn't dare to move away from you either, while you started to snicker bitterly. "You're seriously calling me a whore when you get all aroused at the thought of Noah and me together? "You're pathetic."

Nick was silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stared down at you with such intensity that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes as they bore into you. His hands were clenched into fists and before you knew it, he had grabbed your wrist and was pushing you against the wall next to your bed.

“Noah just doesn’t know how to deal with your fucking attitude.” Nick hissed, bringing you so close that your lips almost touched. You met his eyes, the warmth spreading through your body, while your heart still leaped with pride.

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

With a quick move, he had turned you around. You leaned your hands against the wall for support as you felt Nick's breath against your neck. You tried to stifle a moan as his hand traveled over the curve of your body, but failed miserably. You cursed yourself internally for wearing only your thinnest shorts, making it harder and harder to ignore his touch against your lower abdomen.

“You still wanna tell me about Noah?” He asked as his hand slipped through the waistband of your shorts, teasing you.

“As if you wouldn’t like it.” You tried to say as confident as possible, while his hand slipped into your panties. 

“Aw, look at you. You’re so invested in Noah that you’re already soaking wet for me and I didn’t do shit.” He mocked you as his finger teasingly flicked over your clit. A stuttering breath escaped your mouth.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, but you also weren’t thinking about stopping him in the slightest. 

“Don’t be like that, princess. We both know you love this.” He snarled in your ear before retrieving his hand, causing you to shiver. You were about to push away from the wall, when you heard him hiss: “Don’t you dare.”

It merely took seconds for him to get you out of your shorts and also get rid of his pants. He kicked your feet further apart, one hand placed on your waist, the other lining up his hard dick at your entrance. You felt precum leak onto your leg, causing you to suppress another moan and you felt how you arch your back in his direction, without even realizing it.

“Look at you. All of the sudden, all desperate for my cock.” He said, as he slowly pushed inside of you. “You can brag about Noah all you want, he still can’t fuck you like I can.�� With that he bottomed out, groaning quietly.

You clenched around him. Of course, he was right. But you would rather run into an open fire than admit that to him. You bit down on your lip when he started to move, his pace immediately as brutal as his emotions.

You wanted to say something. You desperately wanted to put him into his place, but you were too busy trying to lower the pleas that left your mouth, while your pussy throbbed with the burning need to come.

You gasped for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his cock, but nothing besides whimpers came out.

“I see why Noah couldn’t resist you. I think we both like it a little too much to see you fall apart like this.” Nick tried to hiss, but his words came out as a moan. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to moan out his name, as his right hand dropped from your waist onto your swollen clit.

“You sound like the desperate little slut you are.” Nick mocked you as heavy breaths left your mouth. You sputtered, one of your hands leaving the wall to grasp onto his wrist as if it would save you from falling apart.

“Tell me… Who do you think makes you come harder?” Nick whispered in your ear and your mind betrayed you. For a split second you thought about the two of them together. You wondered if they would try to compete against each other. You remembered how Noah’s tongue felt against your clit and with what precision he carried out his acts in comparison to Nick.  

The image alone of Nick and Noah sent you flying over the edge. “Nick - I…” you stuttered, your voice strained. “I’m gonna…” 

“Come on.” He almost ordered, his finger flicking over your clit in fast motions while he hammered into you. “Come on my dick just like you did on his.”

You let out a sharp cry as your head hit the wall, thighs shaking violently as Nick’s hips went on in his brutal pace. You tensed up, your vision becoming blurry as you moaned out his name in a repeating and pleading manner. Nick, in the meantime, didn’t stop, fucking into you in overstimulating manner. 

You felt how his nails dug into your hips, causing you to gasp for air immediately. It felt like something was missing to tip him over, when an idea shot in your head.

“The night…” You breathed out. “when he first fucked me, I was wearing your Limp Bizkit hoodie.” Your voice was so hoarse and quiet, you first weren’t sure if he heard you, but all of the sudden, he let out a groan.

“F-... Fuck you.” He cried out, his hips stuttering ever so slightly, while his grip on your hips became bruising. Without another warning he spilled into you so violently, you could feel each hot splash painting the walls of your pussy.

With a deep breath, he leaned against your back, his head resting on your shoulder. 

It took the two of you a few long minutes, before anyone dared to move or talk. You were sure if he suddenly decided to move, you would simply collapse to the ground. 

“You know, Noah would-...” You wanted to annoy him even more, but he quickly cut you off. “I swear to god, if you say his name one more time.”

Something in his tone had changed though. He wasn’t as angry anymore as he used to be. If you had heard right, he even let out a small snicker.

It took another minute, before Nick slowly pulled out of you, causing you to take a deep breath. You felt how his cum slowly started dripping down your thighs, but you couldn’t care less.

You silently cleaned up and got dressed again, before facing each other. 

“Noah told me, by the way.” Nick confessed, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah, and we both think the three of us have something to talk through.” Nick then exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. You started to pick the skin on your index finger, not knowing what was about to come, but you slowly began to nod.

“Text us when you’re ready.”

That was the last thing Nick said, before stepping out of your dorm without looking back. 

There was no way you could ignore that now.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[wondrluv]

♬ the star ; ice bound

➪ summary: trevor goes over to his girlfriend's house and is met with a very festive and orderly chloe and a lot of christmas music

➪ warnings: chloe is very particular with christmas decorating

➪ word count: 0.5k

➪ cupid's notes: the fic that is supposed to be out today will def not be out bc as i am writing this it is almost nine and i still technically have to finish this one rn. so tomorrow there will be two blurbs (hopefully, i do have to wrap all of the presents tomorrow and make three different kinds of cookes tmrw) and then christmas eve and christmas there will be one each! anyway sorry for the rambling... enjoy the blurb!

© wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

It was no surprise that Chloe Hughes’ favorite thing about Christmas was Christmas music. Which is why, when Trevor walked through the door of her apartment, just at the beginning of December, he really should’ve expected All I Want for Christmas Is You to be blasting through whatever speaker his girlfriend had found. 

But sadly, he was so zoned out on the way up there that he didn’t even hear the music coming through the door as he stuck his key into the lock. Walking through the door, he jumped immediately, the music rushing to his ears as he quickly shut the door behind him. 

His eyes looked around frantically, trying to find Chloe, which in all, didn’t take very long because there she was, dressed in a matching white fuzzy pajama set, a Santa hat adorning her head, and singing her heart out. 

She didn’t hear the door close, simply going about placing the lights on the tree as she danced. It wasn’t until he was standing right next to her, reaching to place an ornament on a branch that she noticed him, panic crossing her eyes, “No!”

Trevor jumped again, this time startled by the sound of her voice, looking over at her, eyes wide, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Do not place that ornament on the tree Trevor Zegras. Put it back where you found it.”

He pouted at the use of his full name, “Don’t call me that.” But he did as he was told, placing the red-colored ornament back in the box where the other ones were, “Forgot how mean you get when you’re decorating.”

Her eyes narrowed, “I do not get mean! I just like doing things in an order. Lights, ornaments, tinsel, star. L.O.T.S, Trevor, lots.”

Truthfully, she didn’t know when she came up with that. Whether it was something her mom always did that she followed after, or it was something she started when she was in college and decorated her small Christmas Tree in her dorm room, she would never know, but it’s been with her since she can remember, so it didn’t matter all in all.

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it your way.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

When it came time, Chloe slowly got onto Trevor’s shoulders, warning him slightly, “Trevor I swear to god if you drop me- you’re going to have a lot of fans mad at you for why I can’t be on tour.”

“I’m not going to drop you! Why would I drop you?”

“Because you’re Trevor fucking Zegras.”

He pinched her thigh, grinning at the yelp she let out, and the smack to his head that came afterwards. He walked closer to the tree, following her instructions on where to move, waiting until she placed the star on top of the tree. Once it was placed perfectly, she patted his head, “Okay, put me down now.”

She slid off his shoulders, landing on the carpet with a soft thud before looking up at him, “Thank you.”

His features softened, leaning down to kiss her, murmuring against her lips, “‘Course baby.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down for another kiss before they inevitably ended up cuddling on the couch to whatever Christmas movie they found first.

꒰ ICE BOUND TAGLIST ꒱

@winterbarnesblog @bunbunbl0gs @fantillisgirl

ICE BOUND MASTERLIST ; AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

[storm-angel989]

Outside the office Part Three

Hi all! I'm so glad folks are enjoying this series! Let me know in the comments if there is a particular scene you would like expanded on- I am happy to obilige!

That following Sunday morning breakfast also proved mandatory. Snuggled tight in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows, I was sound asleep when a loud knocking rudely startled me awake. A brief moment of panic settled over me and it took a heartbeat for me to remember where I was. Unfortunately, I once again couldn’t remember exactly how I had gotten here, or how I had come to be dressed in fuzzy pajamas. 

“Reader! Wake up! Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold!” Velvette’s screech broke through the silence of the morning. 

I groaned but sat up, pulling a robe over my body as I made my way to the door. “What is going on?”

Velvette was dressed in a deep black robe covered with red fuzzy hearts- her typical morning attire. “I said, Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold. Com’on sleepy head. Val’s pancakes are the best cure for a hangover.” She turned and practically skipped down the hallway. 

I followed her, my head still fuzzy from the night before. We had spent Saturday night out at another one of Valentino’s clubs, dancing and drinking- and I guess once again I sipped too much too fast. 

“And pancakes for you.” Vox handed me a plate as soon as I entered the kitchen. “How’s that head feel, hm? Grab a bottle of Sweet Sixteen from the fridge and drink it down.”

I grabbed a bottle of the orange drink from the fridge. Why Velvette and Valentino had named it Sweet Sixteen was beyond me, but whatever was in it helped tremendously.

“I don’t understand why I get knocked on my ass each time I go out.” I complained, sitting down on one of the chairs at the table, my back to the window. “I swear, angels drink. Some of them pretty heavily, might I add.”

“Did you dance at the club while drinking?” Velvette asked, taking a bit of her breakfast. “In heaven, I mean?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Angels do not partake in such behavior.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, good thing you’re only half Angel, because last night showed you certainly do. Anyway, there's your answer- you dance, you drink. It’s simple math.”

“And that simple math is why my clubs are so successful.” Valentino slid into the seat next to me. He reached across and opened the bottle of Sweet Sixteen for me. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” 

“What’s in it anyway?” I asked, taking a sip before taking a bite of my pancakes. “Oh, these are yummy.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Vox bowed before taking his own seat. “I am, after all, the best chef in this household.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll get you back next Sunday.” Valentino said lightly. “And to answer your question Princessa- salt, water, sugar, electrolytes. Everything your body lacks after a night out.”

“Speaking of, can I tell you about fucking Hugo last night? That absolute dumb fuck….” Vox interrupted as he launched into a tirade about his current assistant. I listened patiently. Velvette seemed to tune him out and Valentino rolled his eyes. 

After breakfast it was back to work for the three of them and I found my place wherever I could make myself useful. Being in such close proximity to them made it almost easy to forget they were demons- especially with Velvette and Vox. 

“Are you joining me in the studio today, Princess?” Vox asked when I stood up. “Or will Velvette be hogging you once again?”

I looked at Velvette and she shrugged. “Your choice, but I absolutely need you back tomorrow. I have a new line of workwear that absolutely require your features.” 

“Alright, I guess I’m yours then, Vox.” I replied, then quickly corrected. “Not yours I mean, I can go with you to the studio.”

“Relax, babe. We all know what you meant.” Valentino said gently. 

I flushed. “Just making sure. I better go get ready.”

“My studio after your shower! I have a killer outfit for you.” Velvette hollered as I skittered down the hall. 

An hour and a half later I stepped out of the elevator and into Vox’s studio. True to her word, Velvette had me dressed in the height of what hell considered fashion, heavy on the blacks and the reds. I made my way to Vox’s office, stepping down the long hallway that led to his chair, surrounded by monitors. 

To my surprise, he wasn’t in his usual spot. I pulled out my phone and sent him a message. He replied back instantly. 

I see you. Look to the left. Black door. Just come in. 

I followed his directions and pushed open the door. He stood up when I walked in and handed me a laptop. 

“Go find a quiet place to work. I don’t particularly care where, but if you could read through and edit the documents on your email that would be great. Text me when you’re done- I’ll come to you.” 

I accepted the laptop and went to find an empty cubicle. When Vox initially asked where my skill sets lie, and the topic of editing came up, I didn't expect him to take me up on it. Or to value my input as much as he appeared to. But truth be told, it was something I enjoyed and, well, it was something to keep me busy. 

Several hours later I emailed him the edits, closed my laptop, and sent him a text message that I was finished. I heard the zap of electricity behind me and he appeared. 

“Ah. Good timing, I’m almost done for the day as well. Why don’t you head down to see Velvette? Have lunch down there and get ready for dinner tonight?” He picked up my laptop. “Come, I’ll walk you to the elevator.” 

“Okay, Vox.” 

I followed him and waited quietly next to him when he pushed the button. A few seconds later, I stepped in. 

He gave me a grin as the door closed. “See you tonight Princess.” 

I stepped into Velvette’s studio and one of her employees greeted me, whisking me to the back. She chattered at me about outfit changes, nail color changes, what was trending at the moment, and what wasn’t. 

“Wait,” I interrupted. “What is a sinstergram?”

Her eyes widened. “Omgomgomg.” she pulled her phone out and showed me an icon. She clicked on it and a website full of pictures appeared. “You don’t have one?” 

I hadn’t actually explored my phone that much- beyond texting. Typing on a laptop was easy- other than its more ergonomic design, it was basically the same as the one I was used to. But my phone was a big mystery I just hadn’t solved yet.  I unlocked my phone and saw the icon she was talking about. I clicked it.

Pictures flooded my screen- a photo of Lucifer and I when we first arrived in the lobby of the V tower. Pictures of the four of us on our night out. Captions I didn’t remember writing. 

“See your handle? It’s Princess.Reader. Morningstar . Not the most original, but I’m sure you wanted to keep it simple and straight to the point.” 

“Keep what simple?” Velvette’s voice came from behind me. 

“Sinstergram?” I showed Velvette my phone. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. You don’t need to worry about that darling, I control the social media for the four of us. You couldn’t post if you tried- Vox has it blocked. You can scroll through, however. See yourself how the world sees you.”

I scrolled down through the pictures. I almost didn’t recognize myself. In every photo I looked perfect, stunning. Almost too perfect. I expressed my concern to Velvette and she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s the image you show the world, not the truth behind it. But like I said, don’t worry your pretty blonde head about it.” She reached over and clicked off the app. “I got it covered. You just focus on being pretty.” She looked at her employee. “Veronica, take Chelsea’s place. I need you in my office.”

Wordlessly, they switched places and I watched as Chelsea followed Velvette. 

“Velvette wanted bubblegum pink nails?” Veronica asked, reaching across the table. “Let me see those hands. We’ll make them perfect.” 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. And then again. The more time passed, the more my comfort level with the three of them grew. I wouldn’t say I forgot about where I came from, or who I left behind. But the more hours spent together, the more normal our weekly routine became. Occasionally, Velvette or Vox would excuse themselves for the night for a work event, or a fashion show- and just the three left went out. It wasn’t very often, but the disruption didn’t break the rest of the routine. They would simply rejoin the next night, or sometimes find us later on that same night. 

Spending the time alone with Vox and Velvette in particular made them seem- well, safe. More like friends than demons. And although I didn’t spend any time alone with him, the more Wednesdays that passed, I found myself settling into Valentino’s arms as the movies played, craving the comfort and safety he freely offered. Even as I started to figure out my limits and  I didn’t always drink too much at the club, at the end of the night, my head fell into his lap, his hand stroking my hair. Something about the way he held me relieved the worry that even the time we spent together couldn’t fully shake.

It wasn’t until Vox and Velvette both bowed out of dinner one night that I first got to spend alone time with Valentino.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

can we have a sneak peek at the alphas!minayeon fic you were writing 🫣

I'll do you one better-- here's the full prologue <3

OUT OF OFFICE: PROLOGUE

1.8K words

CW: A/B/O Dynamics

A/N: my first comeback with TWICE was Eyes Wide Open, so WEV’s name is homage to that album 🥺 

also CARATS forgive me for making wonwoo the p2 ceo, im one of u!!

[A!Mina x A!Nayeon]

Nayeon squinted at her computer screen, reading the words in front of her again carefully to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. 

“The AI allegations? Why the fuck is she talking about that?” Nayeon leaned back in her office chair for a moment in disbelief, the online article she’d been reading still displayed on her desktop monitor. “That fucking journalist, doing exactly as I asked her not to…” The Alpha let out a frustrated huff, resting her chin in her hand for a moment while she thought. “And only someone with exceptionally shitty media training would even think of saying– ” she sat up straight suddenly, cutting off her own thoughts. “Oh…” She reached for the corded phone on her desk and quickly punched a few numbers in. She hit the speaker button, then sat back and waited. 

The phone rang. And rang. Nayeon sighed, fidgeting with the hair tie pulling back her long, light brown hair. “I know you’re in the office, Myoui,” she said under her breath. Finally, the other end picked up. 

“Ah, Nayeon…”

“Mina! I thought you might be in today,” Nayeon said, mustering up a fake, cheerful tone. “The article is out,” she said pointedly, drumming her fingers on her desk slowly. “Have you seen it?”

The woman on the other end cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes,” she said, her voice dropping in volume. 

“You know, I liked it,” Nayeon said, nodding her head as if Mina could see her on the other end of the line. “Until I saw the headline. And the first paragraph. And the way the entire article got derailed by the one thing I made that reporter swear up and down they wouldn’t bring up. Tell me there’s no way you’d comment on our competitor’s deep legal shit when your gaming company is doing bigger, better things, right? You wouldn’t comment, not when you’ve been working for the past four years to get this game– this particular game that you first started dreaming of creating in high school– out the door, right?” Nayeon paused for just a moment in case Mina wanted to get a word in, but the other end of her line was dead silent. 

Nayeone exhaled  sharply. “Instead of building hype for the game, now all anyone’s going to notice is the fact that you’re quoted in here saying…” The Alpha swiveled back over to her computer screen. “And this is your direct quote, Myoui: ‘Only someone as naive as PixelPulse’s CEO [Jeon Wonwoo] would have been stupid enough to believe he’d never get caught cutting corners by only using AI instead of real humans to test gameplay analytics and user interface’,” Nayeon read. “‘AI doesn’t test play with epileptic people in mind and now they’re the ones paying the price. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, the fact that it happened in the first place, or that he hasn’t resigned yet,’” she let out a quick sigh after she finished the last line of the quote. “Mina,” Nayeon said exasperatedly, “You wouldn’t believe the numbers those quotes of yours are doing online right now. Can you please tell me what happened when you spoke with the reporter?”

Nayeon could hear Mina’s rapidly growing panic on the other line, as if she was just hearing for the first time what had been printed. “I- we were just chatting casually at the start of the interview... I didn’t think she would remember–” 

A beeping sound cut off the end of Mina’s sentence. 

“Shit,” Nayeon said, holding her head in her hand and rubbing her forehead. “I have the SVP of Strategic Comms on the other line. Don’t leave for the day until we connect again,” Nayeon said, then hung up her call with Mina. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for a moment, then hit accept on the call waiting. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 An hour later, one of the worst press team calls of Nayeon’s career was over. She had survived, but barely. When it ended, she kept her office door shut and closed her window blinds slowly. She slowly paced around the rectangular room and stress-cried for a few minutes, allowing herself to sit in her overwhelm and frustration. When she’d had enough, she sat down in her office chair and pulled out her phone, swiping through her apps for a moment. She tapped on one of her favorites: an app connected to the doggy cam she had set up so she could check in on her beloved furry source of joy, Kookeu.

She smiled as the tiny pomeranian’s image came up on her phone screen. The dogwalker always left him with a food puzzle after his afternoon walk, and as expected, Kookeu was up and walking around in the kitchen, using his nose and paws to roll a round, purple food toy that dispensed individual bits of kibble when they fell through the holes at just the right angle. He got one out, and Nayeon turned up the volume to hear the tiny crunching noises Kookeu made as he ate it. 

She sighed softly, satisfied that at least someone’s day was going well, and closed the app. Then Nayeon got up. It was time to speak with her new full-time press project: Wide-Eyed Variant Gaming Founder and Director of Engineering, Myoui Mina. 

The farther Nayeon got away from the “hands-off” side of the company’s building and closer to the side Mina frequented, she noticed a severe spike in the number of monitors people had on their desks. It was well after 5:00 now, but she was relieved to see the lights still on in Mina’s large corner office. Relieved– but weirdly nervous. She didn’t like needing to track people down or give feedback people didn’t want to hear. And Mina’s elusive, quiet temperament made it somehow harder. 

She knocked lightly on the open office door. “Mina,” she said, letting herself in. “Thank you for sticking around. I’m sorry for being so…high strung earlier.”

Mina looked up from her four screen display nervously despite also brimming with annoyance. She couldn’t believe this day: to be the founder of her own company and yet now, in this moment, she felt more like a student that had been asked to stay after class. 

To her credit, the Japanese woman was brilliant, and she and Nayeon both knew it. Mina had received her bachelor’s degree in computer science and a master’s in software engineering from some of the best programs internationally; she was a gamer from the moment she developed consciousness, really. She made the papers when she launched her company, Wide-Eyed Variants, fresh out of undergrad from her childhood home, and made headlines again when she was still able to be the director of its engineering department while going back to school full-time for her master’s. 

She’d been profiled a few times by both gaming and arts and culture outlets, had hit a number of 30 under 30 lists, and even had a few op-eds ghostwritten for her in household name outlets like Forbes and The New York Times. The games Wide-Eyed Variant produced were so popular today that they hardly needed any advertising. Even other game series with heavy cult followings like The Legend of Zelda and Animal Crossing always fell short of the consumer-related numbers Wide-Eyed Variant could pull. And from the outside, she made her journey and career look totally effortless. It was no wonder she was considered a person of interest and expert in the gaming field, and that journalists constantly wanted to talk to her. But that’s why Nayeon was here. Mina’s only downfall was the media and being in the spotlight. The Japanese Alpha often got nervous while being interviewed. There was something so scary about consenting to being “on the record” to her, and even though she wasn’t a huge talker, any sign of the little red recording button tended to make her a little too chatty. 

Mina did her best to push her anxious thoughts away and braced herself for what Nayeon would have to say about it all.

“Relax, we’re fixing this,” Nayeon said, as if reading Mina’s mind. She closed Mina’s office door behind her and took a seat in one of the tan leather chairs reserved for guests across from Mina’s desk. “Crisis comms is doing damage control online and legal is working overtime in case PixelPulse comes for us with a defamation or libel case. But you should know…” Nayeon leaned in a little, her face becoming serious. “General Counsel Park Jihyo told me to tell you she’s actually going to need to speak with you like, immediately. She’s on her way down right now, she said this just couldn’t be done over the phone.”

Mina nearly jumped out of her chair. “WHAT??” 

Nayeon’s face broke into a grin and she crossed her arms. “So worth it,” she said to herself. Then, looking up at Mina, she said, “Ah, I’m sorry, that was a bad joke. I promise Counsel Park isn’t storming down here right now.” 

Mina let out a shaky breath, crumpling a bit in her seat. “What the hell, Nayeon! Don’t do that.”

Nayeon chuckled. “I won’t do it again,” she said, her smile slowly fading. “You’re safe from her wrath of legalese, but you’re not safe from me. Strategic Comms wants you to go through media training.” 

Mina couldn’t help but make a face. Hadn’t she done enough of that? “But… I already did…” 

Nayeon nodded. “Yes, you did. But that was before I joined this company. And I’m sure the training you had with whoever back then was fine. They just want you to…” Nayeon uncrossed her arms and waved her hand. “You know, refresh a few skills, maybe learn a new one or two. Plus, this will give me a chance to make sure the rest of my comms and digital teams have the most accurate sense of your voice going forward.” 

“Oh please,” Mina said, unable to hide her annoyance anymore. “Everyone is overreacting, I’m not that bad, really! This instance was– this—” 

Nayeon let out a laugh. “You’ve lost your privileges to say you’re ‘not that bad.’ At least not until we get you a better quote in another outlet,” she said. “Look, just a few media training sessions with me, and then Strategic Comms will get off my back, and I’ll get off yours. Okay?” 

Mina fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why does it feel like I don’t actually have a choice in this?” 

Nayeon offered a weak smile. “Because you don’t. But thank you for being so willing.” Nayeon stood up, pushing in her chair as she turned to leave. “I spoke to your scheduler, by the way,” she said, opening the office door. “Plan on getting a few calendar invites from me soon.”