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katsukistofu · 4 months ago

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it took me by soap-rise

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words — fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.

Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasn’t your type.

Which one, was something he’d never even bother to consider. He’s ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows he’s well-liked, and it’s not just his ego talking.

Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasn’t lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.

Not that he cared.

Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-n’-half bastard’s name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.

Again, he really couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Not like he’s been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.

Katsuki also hasn’t been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat.

Of course, that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.

“We should work on the script first!” You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.

It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but what’s really bothering him is that it’s not. He’s not sure when that started happening.

“It’s better to prepare the interview questions we’re going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.”

He snorts. “What are we, some ditzy news report crew? We’re not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.”

You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand.

Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what you’re about to ask.

“No.”

“But Mr. Aizawa!”

Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs.

No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him.

“What, you’re chickening out?”

You ignore him. “Can I please switch partners?”

“No,” Aizawa deadpans.

“But—“

“No. One more word from either of you and you’re getting zeroes.”

The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.

“When you’re a pro, you don’t always get to choose who you team up with.”

Aizawa rubs his temples.

“And you’re supposed to be my top ranking students. You’re not first years anymore, so act like it.”

You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes.

“Yes Mr. Aizawa.”

From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips can’t help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time?

Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.

‘Fucking teacher’s pet.’ He mouths with a smirk.

‘Asshole.’ You mouth back.

Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you.

This was going to be a long week.

It’s the day after the group project was assigned, and you’re still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush.

Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy that’s laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever?

Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?

Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.

His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now.

Well, towards everybody except you.

Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.

One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.

Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.

Pink house slippers slap against the floor’s carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.

You’re slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside.

With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.

Too familiar, for your liking.

But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.

Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.

Okay technically it wasn’t yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. You’d claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year.

So basically, it was yours.

And you definitely don’t remember that bastard ever using it until today.

A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all.

The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.

Hold on.

What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?

The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion.

And was that your fucking body wash he’s using?

You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you.

But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.

Because why the fuck was he using your L’Occitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?

Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway.

Oh my god, it is him.

Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.

The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you weren’t about to be a doormat.

You cross your fingers and pray that he’s wearing clothes.

“Bakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.”

He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. “Picking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than tha–”

Bakugo is then sharply cut off.

By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.

He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.

You accidentally make contact with his eyes.

The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.

Bakugo smirks. “Wasn’t nearly this focused when we were working on our project.”

An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound.

He’s never seen you this flustered before.

It’s kind of cute, he admits this time.

Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands.

“That’s um, that’s mine.” You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didn’t you put a shirt on before coming back?

His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. “This?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he says disbelievingly. “Don’t see your name on it.”

You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? “It’s mine, okay? Just give it back.”

Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s trying to make sense of.

And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive.

“That’s funny.”

You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and you’re about to yell back ‘what is?’ and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower.

“Because this is mine.”

You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what you’re hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.”

You can’t help but stare at him incredulously.

“I don’t think I did.” Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice.

“You—You use L’Occitane?”

He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.

“Dude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.”

He snorts. “Fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.”

“Five in one? Are you stupid?”

“Apparently! But—Oh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.” You groan. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why were you looking?”

“I can’t help it! They’re distracting me and—“ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.

“Distracting you?” His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops.

“Um.” Fuck. Where did that even come from? “I meant, uh.”

“Trying to take it back now?” He smirks. “Coward.”

“I am not a coward!” You glare at him. “And I’m not feeding into your ego.”

“You just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.”

Okay, so you’re just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you can’t even deny it.

“Creep.”

You huff. “Okay fine, I’m a creep. Just give me my body wash back.”

“Told you,” he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. “It’s mine, dipshit.”

“Wha–” You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier.

Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment.

There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy.

As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.

Was it too late to call in sick for today?

Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat.

“You’re so stupid.”

You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. “Shut up! I’m going to pretend like it never happened.”

Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. “Good luck with that. But hey,” He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. “Isn’t this the most progress you’ve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.

After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows.

“I mean, you’ve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.”

Warmth rushes up your neck as you’re reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.

“I can’t help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then we’re always arguing. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“I know.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Woop woop. 3A’s own live little romcom.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Okay, but after I finish this soup.” He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him.

”If he didn’t like it though, he would’ve told you by now.”

You can’t help but perk up at that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He spoons the soup into his mouth. “Oh. This is good, why didn’t you get any when we were in line?”

“...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.”

Hitoshi sighs.

“For your birthday, I’m going to admit you to a mental hospital.”

“It’s not that bad!” You insist and he snorts derisively.

The both of you know you’re lying.

The ride to Katsuki’s house after class is awkwardly silent.

Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives you’ve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.

The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.

“I’m standing.”

Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small ‘thanks.’ So skittish today.

He’s not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him.

You’ve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.

Almost.

He hides a sly grin. It’s all his fault you’re acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

You’re putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.

Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.

"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.

With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.

Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.

The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.

He loves this song.

"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"

You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."

He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.

"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."

The expression on your face is priceless.

Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.

Except of course, you do the unexpected.

You giggle at him.

He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.

"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."

"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"

"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"

He scoffs. "I do not."

"You totally do."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"

You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.

"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how I’m becoming a work of art.'"

The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.

"Huh. Guess you know your shit."

You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"

He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.

"I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."

Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."

He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.

Mitsuki’s face greets the two of you as she opens the door.

“Katsuki! You're here early—oh!"

She spots you.

“You’re one of those cute maid girls from last year’s cultural festival!"

Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denki’s suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugo’s role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. “Yes ma’am.”

“I didn’t know you were Katsuki’s girlfriend.”

“What?” Your mouth drops. “Oh, I’m not—“

“You brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.” Mitsuki scolds in her son’s direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes can’t resist trailing over to see his reaction.

"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."

Oh my god, was he blushing?

Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.

His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."

You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."

"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.

Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.

So this is where Bakugo grew up.

There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.

The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.

Okay, you’re the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.

Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his mother’s and occasionally his father’s responses on his laptop.

It’s funny, the way you think he doesn’t notice your shivers.

"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"

He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.

You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.

"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.

You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"

"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."

“No, I don’t need it—!” You're cut off with a sneeze.

He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.

“It’s sexy to see you prove me wrong.”

His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.

“You’re so fucking weird.” There’s an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason.

"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.

“Shut up.” Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. “Fucking baby.”

“You're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."

There's a groan from him. "No you didn’t.”

"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."

Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."

"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."

He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"

You were not expecting that.

The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."

"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.

Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.

"Yes."

Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.

"YesIwantyoutokissme!"

"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.

It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.

His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.

"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.

"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."

#it took me by surpriseee the hatred in his eyess #y’all fw l’occitane cherry blossom bath and shower gel #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo oneshot #bnha x reader #mha oneshot #not this being the first mouth to mouth kiss i’ve ever written here lmfaoooo #idk ig physical intimacy means sm more to me than just kissing #but it seems fitting here so #enjoy <3 #it might be bc i’m asian and pda seems weird to me LMFAO

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puckinghischier · 5 months ago

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Tentastrophe

Nico Hischier x Fem!reader

summary: reader and nico are in a secret relationship while on a camping trip together

notes: hi lovies! i got this request from my dear 🏔️ anon so i had to get right on it!! this was so fun to write and even more fun to play out in my head while i was writing it 🤭. also i had no clue what to name it so i quite literally just made up a word 🫣. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

request: We’re camping and my tent ripped, can I please share yours?

[5.1k]

You hated the outdoors. Truly, you despised being outside.

You hated bugs, you were scared of wild animals, you hated the heat, you hated dirt, grass made you itchy, and you really hate the lack of indoor plumbing.

Literally, how do people enjoy spending a week out in the middle of nowhere, no signal for miles, no air conditioning, and eating the same four types of canned food? Not to mention your dislike of sleeping bags.

Who wants to sleep on a flimsy piece of material on the hard ground for days at a time? It’s just simply not appealing.

You continue to list off the things in your head you hate about camping and the outdoors in general while watching yourself be driven farther and farther away from the city through the windshield of Jack’s SUV.

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, don’t look like someone just kicked a puppy in front of you,” you hear from the front seat, Jack looking at you through his rear-view mirror.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Jack, I’m being taken to a remote location against my will with no access to a bathroom or civilization for seven whole days. At least if someone kicked a puppy in front of me, it’d be over sooner.”

“Woah, so you’re advocating for puppy kickers now, are you?” A new voice rings out, this one belonging to Dawson, who occupies the seat against the window beside of you.

“She’s not advocating for it, Dawson, she’s just saying she’d prefer it to being stuck in the woods with you for a week straight,” Holtzy responds from your other side, having been sandwiched between the two in the backseat of Jack’s car for the hour and a half ride to your unfortunate destination.

Dawson reaches behind your head to smack Alex’s. Alex tries to retaliate, and suddenly you have two hockey players trying to fight each other on either side of your body.

“Hey! Cut it out before you hurt Y/N! Coach needs her to get good footage this weekend,” Luke yells at the two forwards.

“Wow, thanks for showing me where my worth lies, Luke,” you deadpan.

Luke flashes you a grin before turning back around in his seat. “You’re welcome.”

You stick your tongue out at him, knowing he’s just teasing you.

When you applied for a marketing internship at the Prudential Center a year ago, you had no idea that you would become so invested in this world. After the initial six month period of your internship was over, you were making plans to find work elsewhere when you were approached by the team’s GM and asked if you were interested in staying on full time as the new social media manager.

You immediately agreed, knowing you had found your passion with working in sports and wanted to stick with it for as long as you could. It didn’t hurt that you had become such good friends with a handful of the players close to your age, four of which were in the same car as you right now.

You and Jack were the closest, though. The two of you bonded over your shared love of country music, a rare find outside of your southern hometown. You had found other interests in common, too, but becoming each other’s country music concert buddy is to credit for much of your friendship.

You grew close to Luke simply because of your proximity to Jack, but found that he’s become a little brother to you. People always assumed there was more than friendship going on between you and Jack, but both of the Hughes boys had become the brothers you never had, no feelings beyond that ever surfacing.

As your job continued to cause you to spend time with the team, you found yourself growing closer to other players as well.

Nico was another player you found yourself talking to long after your work duties were done for the day. Whether it was chatting before practice, pulling him a little too frequently to do interviews or make videos, or grabbing a bite to eat after practice and games because neither one of you wanted to end your conversations, you found the Swiss captain occupying a large chunk of your time both at work and outside of work.

Which doesn’t make it all that surprising that he asked you to be his girlfriend three months ago.

After a huge win over the Islanders at home, the entire team had decided to go out to celebrate. You had caught a ride with Jack that morning, but when you were searching for him so you could leave, he was nowhere to be found, already gone to whatever bar everyone had agreed on.

Nico had stayed behind to do a few extra post-game interviews, so when you bumped into him outside of the locker rooms on your search for Jack, he offered you a ride. You had mentioned how hungry you were, telling him you should probably go home and grab something to eat and change before getting an uber to the bar, but Nico had pulled into the first late-night diner he saw after you mentioned your lack of eating dinner.

The two of you sat in the 50’s themed diner for hours, ignoring all the calls and texts asking where you were and why you didn’t come out to celebrate. You didn’t even realize how late it was until you received a text from Jack, asking that you call him when you got up so he knew you made it home safe, apologizing for forgetting you at the arena.

Nico walked you up to your apartment after driving you home that night, despite the fact it was after three in the morning and they had a mid-day practice the next day. You still don’t know if it was the high of winning or the late hour, but he decided to kiss you at your doorstep that night. Three days later, he asked you to be his girlfriend because he told you he couldn’t stand not being exclusive with you for a second longer.

No one knew, though. You kept on acting as if nothing had changed at work, and no one caught on otherwise. You decided it was fun to keep it to yourselves, enjoying being each other’s secret. You didn’t know the policy on dating your coworkers, either, so you didn’t want to risk anything by outing the relationship this early.

You felt bad lying and sneaking around Jack and Luke, especially, but you’ll tell them eventually. You enjoyed having no eyes on you, your relationship being simply between you and Nico right now. When you tell your friends and the rest of the team, it’ll be out there for good. Fans will find out, your boss will find out, and then your small bubble of Nico will burst.

That’s another reason you dread this weekend. Not only do you just hate camping and being outside for long periods of time, you’re going to be stuck being around Nico for a week straight with no chance to be his girlfriend instead of his coworker.

The trip is the team’s pre-season bonding activity, so you’re tagging along to capture material for future videos and pictures for the various social media pages and website. You had tried to send one of the other members of your media team, not thrilled at the idea of a camping retreat, but the head coach had requested you, specifically, because of your ability to convince the players to participate in various trends and videos.

You owe some of that to Nico, of course. After the two of you formed a friendship, he started telling his teammates they had to participate in whatever silly tasks you asked of them or he’d start reporting them to coach for making your job harder. Since his forceful request, you rarely had to fight to get any of the players to do the latest trending dance, or answer silly questions as they get on the ice before practice.

Unfortunately for you, this means the higher ups see your success and suddenly you’re volunteered to do things like this. And really, what kind of social media content can you create when you won’t even have cell service?

Tuning back into your surroundings, you notice you’re almost to the campground you’ll call home this week. You were so lost in your own head that you barely even noticed the four (grown) men in this car with you singing loudly to the F.U.N. song from none other than Spongebob Squarepants.

Jack and Luke were duetting the song, Jack taking the sponge’s part and Luke singing Plankton’s lines. Dawson and Alex were simply adding harmonies.

You were in for a long week.

———————————————————————————

“Who in their right mind would put a twenty-four year old teenage girl in charge of putting together her own tent?” you whine out as Curtis walks over to see you trying to read the directions for putting together the tent laid out in front of you.

“Honey, I think you’re a little too old to be calling yourself a teenage girl,” he chuckles as he kneels beside you, taking the instructions out of your hands.

“I’m just a girl, Lazar. I will always be a teenage girl at my core, no matter what age I am. Therefore, I’m a twenty-four year old teenage girl. And I’m extremely incapable of building a fucking tent,” you cry out, crossing your arms and huffing.

Curtis just shakes his head and laughs, grabbing the rods that go inside of the tent to give it structure, putting it together for you.

You sit back and watch, trying to help where you can, but ultimately being reverted back to the role of ‘holding the flashlight for dad’, but instead you’re ‘holding the mallet for Curtis’.

Halfway through putting your tent up, you see Nico start walking in your direction. You admire your boyfriend, his tan skin showing due to his green t-shirt being stuck in the pocket of his athletic shorts instead of on his torso. His black hat sits backwards on his head, hiding what you’re sure is sweaty hair. His favorite pair of sunglasses rest on his nose.

“Already making the guys do your dirty work, how dare you, Y/N,” Nico teases as he stops to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the ground.

“Listen, one perk of being a woman in sports is the fact that I’m always surrounded by men just waiting to save the damsel in distress,” you put your hand across your forehead to hide the sun from your eyes, squinting your eyes as you look up at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, flashing you a smile.

“Need any help, Curtis?” Nico calls out, but keeps his eyes on you.

“I think I’m nearly done, but if you want to start hammering the stakes in the ground that’d be great,” Curtis replies, not even looking up from the tent that had now taken shape.

“Sure thing. The mallet, please,” he reaches his hand out to you.

You hand Nico the mallet, looking up at him with an amused grin. “Get to it, time to do manly stuff and go pound on something .”

You start to stand and Nico shoots his other hand out for you to grab onto, helping you heave yourself off the ground.

Once you’re stood in front of Nico, he pulls your hand toward him so you’re standing dangerously close to him, your chests nearly touching. You look around, making sure no one sees the position the two of you are in right now.

Nico leans down, lips grazing your ear as he whispers “Unless you want me to drag you behind a tree and do extremely un-coworker type things to you with the entire team right here, I suggest you don’t talk about pounding anymore this weekend.”

A shiver makes it way down your spine as Nico steps back, walking over to where Curtis is now standing, turning to face the two of you.

You hope he assumes the redness on your face is because of the warm sun, and not because his captain just threatened to do R rated things to you behind a tree.

Ten minutes later, your tent is fully assembled and you’re blowing up your air mattress with a battery powered pump that’s seen better days.

Jack had laughed at your for bringing an air mattress, claiming it’s not really camping if you don’t sleep in a sleeping bag. You told him you refused to sleep on the ground with just a thin bag underneath you for the whole week. If you had to be here, you were going to make yourself as comfortable as you could.

You even brought a battery powered fan to sit in front of your bed incase you got hot at night, but you learned very quickly that even though it’s hot and humid during the day, the night is chilly and dark.

After everyone had settled in and the sun had set, Timo had managed to start a fire, placing hot dogs on a small grate he placed next to the fire while Jesper worked on opening cans of various types of vegetables to heat along side the sausages.

You laughed to yourself, knowing the team nutritionist would develop an eye twitch seeing what foods will be consumed by the players this week. The amount of sodium and carbs in the containers of food for the week were definitely not in line with the meal plan.

Finding a spot next to Jack, you go sit on one of the various logs around the fire, needing the heat to warm your chilled skin. Music played out of a speaker sitting on the picnic table behind the logs, one of your favorite country songs filling the space.

“Nice choice, it’s one of my favorites,” you nudge Jack’s shoulder as you sat down, assuming he had control of the music.

“Yeah it’s a good one, but don’t look at me. Cap’s the one with the aux right now,” he says, pointing to where Nico is standing by a tree, red solo cup in his hand.

You turn your head and make eye contact with him, his eyes having already found you. The raise of his cup and tilt of his head telling you he played this song specifically for you. Your face heats and you smile at the ground, trying to keep the grin from stretching too wide, not wanting to raise suspicion from the brunette to your right.

“Y’know, I wonder why Cap has any country music in his playlist at all, because last I checked, his phone was full of rap and Swiss music and he told me country was his least favorite genre,” Jack starts, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music and chatter. “But then I remembered, I see you and him talking an awful lot after practice, before practice, and everywhere in-between.” You feel like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on your head, worried Jack’s figured the two of you out. “You’re not cheating on your music buddy, are you?” he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

Relief washes over you. He just thinks you’re sharing music with Nico. Not that you’re seeing Nico behind everyone’s back.

“I might have mentioned a few good artists to him. But don’t worry, concerts are still reserved for you,” you bump his shoulder again.

“Mhmmm. Must have taken a lot of convincing to make a rap loving Swiss man convert to Zach Bryan,” Jack hums, still looking at you suspiciously.

“Just a few links sent is all,” you tell him, noticing he’s just staring at you. “What?” you ask, leaning back a bit.

“Nothing,” Jack shakes his head, his eyes gleaming with an idea. “Just thinking…have you ever thought about going out with Cap?”

You choke on air. You try to recover with a cough, claiming you swallowed the wrong way. “What, what do you mean?”

“You know, like you and Cap. Going on a date. Dating. I think you two would be good together. You guys already seem friendly enough, and he’s a great guy. Plus, I can see the way you look at him, Y/N. You definitely have a crush on the guy,” Jack teases.

You start laughing. Jack is confused by your reaction, not thinking his suggestion was funny at all, but you can’t stop the laughs from escaping.

“Oh, Jack. You’re funny,” you tell him once you calm yourself down. “That’s nice, but nah. I don’t think Nico and I should go there. Too many things could go wrong, y’know? Plus, who even knows if I’m allowed to date any of you guys. Workplace romances are frowned upon in most jobs, you know.”

“Okay, it wasn’t that comical of a suggestion. I was being serious, I think you guys would be great together. To hell with the rules. I can tell when two people are into each other,” Jack says with a hint of annoyance, not appreciating your little laughing outburst.

A look of surprise makes its way onto your face at his comment that he thinks Nico is into you, too. Maybe the two of you weren’t doing such a good job at acting normal around the team. You succeed at suppressing the laughter this time, figuring a second outburst would really make Jack upset. “Oh, you think he’s into me, do you?”

Jack looks at you like you just asked him if the sky was blue.

“Are you kidding me? Y/N, he literally jumps at the chance to be in any of your tik tok videos and he threatened the whole team so they would quit, and I quote, ‘making your job harder and just fucking do what you ask’ or he’d report us to coach.”

You can’t help but giggle this time, of course knowing all of this, Nico having told you himself after he did it, but you can’t let Jack know that.

“I don’t know, Jack, that doesn’t exactly sound like something he’d do. What does he get out of it? More interruptions during practice? More attention on social media? Doesn’t sound like Nico if you ask me,” you tell him, trying to play dumb.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe he gets to spend more time with you. He gets on your good side, helps make your job easier while making ours harder. Earns brownie points to butter you up so you say yes to a date one of these days,” Jack leans his head towards yours, looking up at you like he’s just proven his point.

You steal a glance over at Nico, his head cocked, silently asking what you and Jack are talking about. You shake your head with a smile, telling him its unimportant with the roll of your eyes.

“I don’t know, Jack. We’ll see, I guess,” you sing song, earning a sigh from the boy to your right.

“You’re hopeless, both of you. I need another beer,” he gets up, leaving you on the bench by yourself, chuckling at just how right your best friend is.

After all of the burnt hot dogs and lukewarm veggies were eaten, it was time to for everyone to retire to their tents.

All of the players had to double up on tents, you and the coach being the only two people with their own. The players that were sharing tents on this trip would be sharing hotel rooms all season, so the bonding began with them being able to exist in the same space for an extended period of time.

Your tent sat about 50 feet from Jack and Luke’s. Nico’s tent was in the row of tents in front of yours, three tents separating the two of you.

You quickly made your way to your own tent and started getting ready for bed. Not being able to wash your face or do you proper skincare routine, you settled for brushing your teeth with a warm bottle of water and applying lotion to your face before crawling into your make-shift bed for the week. You hadn’t packed nearly enough blankets, seeing as you assumed it would be warm inside your tent, but you were chilled to the bone. You kept your sweatshirt on, opting for a pair of sweatpants instead of the skimpy sleeping shorts you brought.

You settled into your bed, switching off the small lantern you had been provided.

You laid there for what felt like ages trying to fall asleep. Every little snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made you scared a bear was about to claw its way through your tent.

You thought you had imagined it at first, assuming the wind was blowing and causing your tent to slightly ruffle in the wind. But when it happened a second time, this time the sound of something fiddling with the zipper of your tent following the ruffling, you were starting to panic.

You sat up, pulling the blanket to your chin as you saw a hand push on the door of your tent, a quiet yelp making its way out of you.

“Shhh, it’s just me, let me in,” you hear the familiar, accented voice of your boyfriend ring out, huffing while walking over and unzipping your tent just enough for him to slip through.

You walk back over to your air mattress, turning on the small lantern, looking at Nico standing in the middle of your tent. He was wearing a tan sherpa fleece with plaid pajama bottoms. He had to hunch over slightly, his height being too tall for your small tent.

“What the hell are you doing in here? You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” you whisper yelled at him, careful to not raise your voice too high as to not wake any of his teammates.

“My tent ripped, can I please share yours?” Nico asks with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, yeah? If your tent ripped then where’s Jesper sleeping, huh?” you raise your eyebrow and cross your arms.

“I just left him to fend for himself. Didn’t exactly want to invite him to sleep in here with us. Never know what he might see,” he walks towards you, placing his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

He looks down at you, your position mirroring earlier when this exact tent was being assembled, but you had no fear of anyone seeing you now.

“Hi, Schatz.”

You giggle up at him, unraveling your arms and placing them on his shoulders. “Hi Neeks.”

“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he mumbles before bringing his face down to yours.

You lean up on your tip toes to meet his lips, sighing contently into the kiss.

Nico pulls you closer, no space left between your bodies as his sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing against him into the kiss.

His tongue swipes across your lips, asking for entrance, and who are you to deny his wish? His tongue slips into your mouth, effectively deepening the kiss.

Nico walks you backwards until you plop down onto your air mattress, bringing his knee to rest in-between your legs, his forearms on either side of your head to support his weight.

You tug on his hair slightly, earning a groan in response. He starts grinding his pelvis against your thigh, which was your sign to stop this before it got too out of hand.

You pull back, pushing him up off of you slightly. He looks down at you with blown pupils and swollen lips. “Alright, tiger, slow down. We’re not having sex with several tents full of your entire team a few feet away.”

Nico deflates and brings his forehead to rest against your shoulder. “You couldn’t have told me that before I got a stiffie?”

“Sorry, shouldn’t have let yourself get so worked up. Should’ve known I wasn’t going to go there with this many people around,” you laugh at his whiney tone.

He rolls off of you onto his back, slinging his arm over his eyes.

“What are you doing? Quit being so dramatic,” you roll your eyes, trying to grab his arm and remove it from his face.

“Stop, trying to think of sad puppies to make my boner go away,” he swats your hand off of his arm.

You bust out laughing for the second time tonight, but this time you throw a hand over your mouth to stop the noise. The conversation about puppies in the car on the way here earlier making its way to your mind, making you laugh even harder.

“Okay, I think I’m good now,” Nico finally says, sitting up.

“Good. Don’t even think about getting handsy, either. This,” you gesture between you and Nico, “is not happening tonight. Or any night this week, for that matter.”

“Got it. You don’t want any of my teammates to hear you scream my name while my tongue is ins-“ you slap a hand over Nico’s mouth, not letting him finish that sentence.

His eyes shine with amusement at you, seeing your own wide in surprise. “Can I trust you to take my hand off of your mouth?” you ask him.

Nico shakes his head, but not before he darts his tongue out and licks a stripe up the palm of your hand, causing it to fly off of his mouth.

“Okay, you’re disgusting,” you scold him, wiping you hand on the blanket you’re both sitting on top of.

Nico just laughs at you in response, finding your annoyed expression amusing.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. I’m already sick of you and the week hasn’t even started yet,” you tell him, pulling the blanket back so you can settle under it.

Nico follows your lead and places himself under the blanket at well, pulling your body close to his.

You lay your head on one end of your pillow while Nico places his on the other end, not having brought his own from his tent. The two of you just lay there facing each other for awhile before you remember to reach over and turn off the lantern once again.

You’re appreciative of the new warmth Nico brings to your bed, finally feeling yourself get sleepy.

“Wait, how are you going to know when to wake up before everyone else and go back to your tent?” you ask him, knowing his phone was in his vehicle, none of the players allowed their devices with them. You and coach were the only ones with phone privileges this week, even though they didn’t even work out here.

“Don’t worry, I will. First time I wake up I’ll sneak out, don’t worry,” he assures you, kissing you on the forehead before pulling your body flush to his, resting his chin on the top of your head.

Neither one of you must have woken up at all during the night, though, because when you wake up the next morning to the screams of “I knew it! I knew they were into each other! I told you so!” from your best friend as he stood inside your tent at the end of your bed with not only Luke, but with half of the team standing outside the wide open door of your tent, you were confused until you felt the weight of a body against yours. You open your eyes to see Nico’s scrunched face, the noise waking him up as well.

You both roll over and open your eyes, noticing your audience.

“I called it! I knew there was something going on here! How long have you two been together?” Jack bombards the two of you with questions despite you having literally just woke up.

“Get the hell out of this tent before I get coach to make everyone run three miles today,” Nico grumbles, his voice gravely from the early hour.

“No way, we need an explanation,” Dawson speaks this time, his expression matching Jack’s pleased one.

“You’ll get your explanation, but for right now, get out. Let us actually wake up without fifty people in our fucking tent. Now go, get out,” Nico pulls you closer to him, hiding your face in his chest and slinging a leg over your own.

“But-“ Jack starts again, but Nico removes an arm from around you and points at the door, “OUT!” he says sternly, his captain voice making an appearance.

The group of men start grumbling, but ultimately leaving your tent, zipping your door back up so you and Nico could have a bit of privacy again.

“Nico, you didn’t wake up,” you say, your voice muffled because of how close he’s holding you to his body.

“Sorry, Schatz. Was sleeping too good, I guess. Always happens when I’m sleeping with you. You’re like my own personal melatonin.”

You chuckle at him, not really mad that everyone found out, just wishing they hadn’t found you asleep together on a tiny air mattress.

“At least the boys know now. Now I don’t have to keep sneaking around at practice. I can stare at your ass loud and proud now,” Nico says, detaching himself from you and rolling over onto his back, rubbing his eyes.

You reach over and hit him in the chest. “This doesn’t give you permission to say innapropriate things to me while we’re at work.”

He rolls his head to look over at you, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles innocently, causing your to roll your own eyes and sigh at him.

“Hey! You guys better not be having sex in there! I’m implementing a no bone zone when I’m within a hundred feet of you two! Get your asses out here and get to explaining!” you heard Jack shout once again, beating his fist on the side of the tent.

You bring your hands up to cover your face, embarrassment flooding your veins.

“Jack! Suit up, you’re coming with me on a little run,” you hear coach shout, earning a “Shit, Nico this is your fault!” from Jack.

You burst into a fit of giggles.

You can’t help but feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest, not having to lie to some of your closest friends anymore. You also foresee your week of no time with Nico changing slightly, figuring Jesper will be down a roommate for the remainder of the week.

Nothing, though, not even sharing a tent with Nico, or sneaking off to find open areas to gaze at the stars at night, could make you like camping.

You almost change your mind the night Nico takes you to a clearing, laying a blanket on the soft grass to stare up at the sky before he gifts you a necklace with his initial on it, the engraving on the back echoing the small “I love you” he whispers in your ear as he clasps the jewelry onto your neck.

You almost thought you liked camping then, until you walked back to you tent to find Nico had left it unzipped and a possum had made a home in the corner, hissing at him as you screamed loud enough to wake the whole team.

Yeah, you hate camping.

836 notes · View notes

didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback · 22 days ago

Note

This was probably on your old blog (sorry RIP!) but do you know the deal is between Alexia and Sam Kerr? Is there real beef there?

ah, the infamous "and this is competitive" tweet 😅 (no there is no real problem or rivalry between them, but it is a funny story - that alexia recounts below!)

so back in may 2019 on a day that so happens to have coincided with the champions league final between lyon and barça, sam kerr tweeted the following:

it also just happened when lyon had run up the score 4-0 against barça, and was viewed as a 'dig' on the level of competition in europe. (we all know sam kerr is menace on social media, but whatever 😅)

anyway, of course culers made a big deal of this and it made its way to the players too. fast forward to 2021 and chelsea plays barça and loses 4-0 in the champions league final, and everyone starts bringing up this tweet as karma. and alexia even made a side comment about it during her ballon d'or victory in 2021.

anyway, during an interview with visa, a reporter asked alexia about the whole saga and here is what she had to say:

source: visa españa (2021)

translation below the cut:

let's see, the story is that she was playing in the united states, if i'm not mistaken, and it was like questioning the level in europe, because just at that moment they (lyon) had just scored the fourth goal in a european final against olympique lyon. and she put it out publicly with irony of "and this is competitive...," as if implying that it's not.

and to begin with, i would say that sam kerr is a, i would say top 5, top 3 strikers in the world. i have nothing against her. i don't know her or anything, but it is true that for my taste that was not appropriate, it was unnecessary. in the end we are all colleagues in the profession, and well, it was a bit, i think it bordered on disrespect towards our team.

we have not thought about this tweet every day, much less have we worked hard only because sam kerr tweeted this one day. so fate had wanted us to face chelsea in our second european final, where she was the striker, and fate had also wanted the result to end like the first final but in our favour.

in the end, i always say that in football one day you are up, one day you are down and you never know. for me, she shouldn't have made that tweet, but well, in the end i don't know if she feels it was a mistake or not, but everyone has the right to make mistakes.

#alexia putellas #sam kerr #football history #fcb femení #chelsea women #futfem #woso #uefa women's champions league

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bad268 · 3 months ago

Text

Burn

Aftermath Affair Pt. 4

(Oscar Pisatri X Reader + Ex! Lando Norris X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Nope, happy 5 years!

Warnings: Airing dirty laundry lol, that's about it. Based on the song from Hamilton (not Lewis)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1710

Chapter Summary: Y/n L/n posted a new video, and everyone's hearts stop.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

<-Part 3

~~(^Both from Pinterest)

You moved in with Oscar that night. All you took were your clothes. Everything that Lando bought you now burned you, and you couldn’t give a fuck less about what he bought you. You wanted nothing to do with anything related to Lando. He reached out once, asking where you were. All you said was, “Ask Ava.” He understood then. At least, you assumed he did because you blocked his number and every social media account he had before he could respond.

You heard from Oscar that Lando was a wreck. You laughed it off because he did this to himself.

Your subscribers noticed the change. Your personal channel content changed from video games to vlogs. You were going out and doing things, in London they learned, and they loved to see it. You still played games, but fewer racing games and more random games you always wanted to play. Your subscribers also noticed how happy you were. They were convinced you and Lando got engaged.

Little did they know, you were falling for a different man.

Your subscribers were thrown for a loop when your shared channel with Lando was deleted. You decided it was time to delete it. They bombarded your socials almost immediately, asking what’s going on. They tried to see if it was rebranded or saved anywhere, but it seemed like your entire relationship was ripped from the internet. Your Instagram was void of Lando, your channel no longer had videos with him, and you didn’t follow him anywhere anymore. They didn’t even notice until then.

Y/n L/n just posted!

“A Letter to Lando”

“By now, you will have all seen that the shared channel is gone,” You opened the video. You were sitting in your new recording room. It was more open than your last one, more bright. You had a large window that brought in a lot of natural light, and it was more your style. The last one was just Lando’s recording room that you borrowed, so you couldn’t change it. When you moved in, Oscar told you to make this space yours in any way you wanted. It took a while, but you felt at home for once. “I deleted our shared channel because I am erasing myself from this narrative.“

“I’ve filmed this video at least three times at this point,” You took a breath as you felt tears well up in your eyes again. It’s hard to talk about what happened. Not only the way in which you found out about the cheating but also how you reacted. It was one of the darkest times in your life, and it took a lot to come back from. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a struggle trying to find the words to share this. As many of you have seen on Lando’s Instagram, Lando and I are no longer together.”

Oscar still had to follow Lando on Instagram for team purposes, and that’s how you saw that he posted a hard launch with Ava.

You still did not know how you wanted to tell everyone what happened. You looked off at the wall. Your viewers couldn’t see it, but there was a picture of you and Oscar from a few months ago. You went out to celebrate 1.5 million subscribers. Oscar insisted, saying it was a huge milestone, and you didn’t want to make it a big deal. He insisted and dragged you out of the apartment. The picture was taken right after you accidentally knocked ice cream onto his nose. Lando wouldn’t even celebrate 1 million with you. Remembering the happiness with Oscar made you smile.

“Clearly, we’re not together anymore,” You sighed as your smile faded. “I’m not going into details, but I hope they’re happy. My friends always said he would do what it took to survive, and they were right. I was blinded by his words and his actions. That’s on me.”

“You talked about how long you have been in love with her, and how you didn’t believe in true love until you met each other,” You let out a breath as you thought of your next words carefully. “You told the world how you brought this girl into our bed, and in explaining your love story, you have ruined our lives. Do you know what my friends said? They called you an Icarus! That’s how my friends reacted, so I’ve decided that I’ll let you wonder how I reacted when you broke my heart, when you tore us apart.”

“I kept every letter you ever wrote to me,” You chuckled lightly as you pulled out a few pieces of paper. “The letter you first asked me out with because you were too scared to ask me face to face, the letter you wrote when we hit each milestone, random letters where you just professed your love, and letters that I would have cherished forever. I also kept the letter I wrote to you when I found out. I thought about reading a few lines out,” You insinuated by opening one of the letters before pulling out a lighter. You had already opened the window and had a bucket of water by your feet, and Oscar was standing outside with a fire extinguisher just in case. You chuckled lightly as you skimmed the loving words that had now turned sour in your eyes. At that moment, you decided you wanted to watch it burn. “I’ll let you all wonder how I reacted when he broke my heart.”

Your soft smile as you read slowly turned to a scowl before you lit the corner of the paper and looked directly into the camera. “Lando, you don’t deserve to see how I reacted. You don’t deserve anything from me. The world has no place in our bed, and they don’t get to know what I said. I am burning the memories, the letters that might have redeemed you. Lando, you can sleep in your office with only the memories of when you were mine.”

You lit all of Lando’s letters one by one before dropping them in the bucket once they were destroyed. Then you grabbed your letter to Lando. You skimmed through the multiple pages of it, remembering the feelings before lighting the corner. “You didn’t give me the decency to tell me yourself. I had to learn of your affair from your friend, so you forfeit the rights to my heart. You forfeit the place in our bed. I hope you’re happy with yourself, Lando.”

You threw the last letter into the bucket and gazed at the camera. Finally, you felt at peace.

“One last note to Lando Norris,” You paused, allowing a small smile to envelop your features, “I hope you burn.”

The reactions were almost instant. You sat on the couch curled up against Oscar’s body, rewatching Sex Education. It was one of your favorite shows, but Lando hated it, so you never got to watch it. Oscar binged it once, so he was always down to rewatch it with you. You heard your phone going off, so you pulled it out of your pocket to check it. However, Oscar immediately took it out of your hand and powered it off.

“Hey, what’s that for?” You chuckled as he moved your phone away from you. “I was gonna check that.”

“Shhh, the show is playing,” He whispered as he leaned toward your ear before turning his attention back to the show.

“You’re insufferable,” You laughed as you turned your attention back to the screen. It didn’t hold your attention long as you looked back over to Oscar. You were leaning against his chest with your arms wrapped around his waist, so you were looking up at him. He had an arm around your shoulder while the other rested against your thigh that was lying over his lap. You got lost in your thoughts.

Oscar was everything to you. You felt more free whenever you were with him. At first, he gave you the space to refind yourself. He even supported you throughout the journey. Any game you wanted, he bought. Any new hobby, he tried it with you, so you wouldn’t feel alone. He never pushed you to do anything, but he did support you in everything you wanted to try.

You never felt this supported with Lando. Looking back, he was toxic. He only wanted to play racing games or stupid games. You wanted to try other things, and he would be condescending. He always pushed you to fit the cookie cutter mold that other racing drivers’ girlfriends fit, but that was never going to be you. Oscar encouraged the change because staying in the same thing for too long can burn you out. It was true.

At some point of your staring, Oscar looked down at you with a smile. It wasn’t until he left a kiss on your forehead that you noticed.

When you first moved in, Oscar was very respectful in giving you your space to heal. He made sure to give you multiple spaces where you could retreat to including your own room and recording room. As the time moved on, you slowly migrated into his room for movie nights and late-night binges, and it eventually became you two staying in the same bed all night. Oscar never pushed you away. He wanted you to know that he was there for you whenever you were ready, and he was willing to wait as long as he needed for you.

“Penny for your thoughts,” He said with a quiet tone, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“I think I’m ready,” You replied in the same tone. You moved to sit up a little more before grabbing Oscar’s hand, “I’m ready to give us a chance.”

“Really?” Oscar asked as he started getting excited before calming back down, “Wait, I don’t want to rush you if you aren’t ready.”

“That’s exactly why I’m ready,” You laughed as you leaned back into him. “You gave me the space to become comfortable again. Oscar, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable and free with someone in my life! You have been everything but pushy, and I’m ready to try us.”

~~~ Part 5 ->

Tags- @barcelonaloverf1life

~~~~~

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pers1st · 6 months ago

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people help the people

pairing: lucy bronze (platonic) x reader

notes: mentions of suicide, not really ahappy ending, whole lotta angst, don't read if you're not in a good place.

i lost my best friend to suicide about a year ago and it's genuinely been the hardest thing of my life to go through, and even though i feel incredibly selfish for comparing my pain to hers, i just hope that everyone who's in a bad place will feel better soon. your death will hurt people, even if you don't believe it. my messages are always open !!

“Heartbreaking news have hit the football community earlier this morning as Arsenal have confirmed the death of young defender, Y/N Y/L/N. The club has stated that Y/L/N, who also played for the Lionesses, was found dead in her apartment late last night. Her death has been ruled as suicide. Other than that, both the club and the FA have asked for privacy as they deal with this tragic loss. The matches of this week will take place as usual, though the teams have agreed collectively to wear black armbands, along with having a minute of silence ahead of the match’s begin.”

The internet was a cruel place, Lucy realized a week after your death. There were countless articles, invasive messages, offensive comments about how and why your presence had been tragically ripped away from this world. She didn’t understand - how could she? Lucy liked to believe that the two of you had a real bond, with you only being nineteen years old and looking up to Lucy as if she was a Goddess, following her every step, studying her every move, clinging onto her every word as if she spoke a prayer. The admiration wasn’t one-sided, either. Lucy looked up to you. How could she not? You were so young, and faced with so much adversity - the fact that you were as professional as you were at such a young age, you impressed Lucy. You had. Until Keira had filled her in on the news ahead of a training session at Barcelona, shattering Lucy’s heart in the process. You had reached out to Lucy a lot, but never about anything this serious. You had told Lucy a lot of things, but nothing grave enough a reason to take your own life.

Admittedly, she knew the odd joke you had made - when you had slipped on the ball in front of the whole team, crashing down onto your stomach and banging your head enough to leave a glaringly obvious bump on your forehead, only to realize that the media staff had caught the moment and posted it to TikTok mere moments later. You had said, then, that you might as well have offed yourself. Lucy had laughed. Leah, who had been standing closeby, had laughed. You had laughed as you said it, but the words didn’t leave Lucy’s head anymore. You had said it. Right in front of her. How could she not have noticed?

It took minutes for Lucy’s face to be drenched in tears, hours until she would leave the medical room, which Keira had cleared and led her into, knowing very well that Lucy would not want anyone to see her raw emotions, days until Lucy returned to training, and months for anyone in the football community to address the situation. Mental health. Mental illness. Lights and shadows that came with being exposed to such brutal schedules, invasive comments, being shown off for everyone to see while no one ever required to know anything substantial. People wanted funny comments, smiles, laughter. No one ever cared about the weight dragging any players down, until it was too late - Lucy realized, as everyone and their mother seemed opposed to even speaking your name, only that energy into searching, very openly, both in comment sections or live on broadcasted TV, for the reason you had left life behind. Lucy searched for it too, though more secludedly.

She re-read your messages for hours, in the little light the moon provided as it fell through the cracks of her bedroom window, deciphering each and every letter, pronouncing the words out loud in different tones, scrolling through your social media to search for any clue. You had had your fair share of problems- you had told Lucy about them. You hadn’t been a big fan of the fans seemingly taking property of you. You hadn’t been ready for the pressure that you would be put under after another one of your defenders was injured and you were re-called from your loan to step into the position immediately. You hadn’t dealt well with the lack of your parents’ presence. Though you had still lived with them, they had rarely attended your matches, always able to come up with an excuse, one that you believed. You had defended them, shielding your family from Lucy's criticism when you had let her know, in another disappointed text message, that they hadn’t been able to make it. You hadn’t wanted to accept the fact that they simply weren’t interested in your career, and Lucy had accepted that.

Now, though, she wondered whether you had silently accepted it, and been too ashamed to admit it. Lucy knew that it wasn’t your fault - you had been the biggest ray of sunshine, even through your difficulties. You had managed to put a smile on everyone’s face, even though you had always been a little shy. You had been sweet, and kind, and gentle. Had Lucy been your parent- she would’ve let everyone know, would’ve shown you off to the world with pride, would’ve been there for everyone of your big moments. She had managed to fly out for the Conti Cup final, together with Keira, to watch you win the second domestic trophy in your senior career, only this time it was as a key-player rather than a super-sub.

Lucy was never really able to figure out your exact reasoning - perhaps that was the deal with mental illness. It was an illness. Perhaps there was no reasoning, perhaps the whole point of being ill was the fact that a healthy person would never be able to grasp the darkness that clenched your soul and inevitably drove you to death. If Lucy had learned one thing, though, it was the fact that she was never going to let anyone feel like you must’ve, ever again.

She had seen your parents during the funeral, had witnessed what your death had done to the people, who, though she never really liked them, had raised an absolutely incredible girl. She had seen your room, per her parents request, had seen the blood stained tiles on your bathroom floor, had heard your mother’s mumbled apology for not being able to clean it all. She had seen where you had spent your very last minutes, and she had thought about what must’ve been going on through your head, and it had almost suffocated her. And that was how she found herself here - in a studio in London on her rare off day, with Sky Sports, in an interview room that felt uncomfortable, a seat that pressed into her back, and a microphone in her sweaty hands.

“I just think that mental health is so, so important. I don’t know what it’s like to feel like… to feel like there’s no way out anymore, but I do know what it feels like to lose a person to their illness. It’s brutal. It makes you think you’ve failed them, and it makes you want to wish you had done more. I don’t want anyone to experience that.”

Lucy swallowed thickly, glancing at the reporter next to her. The man was kind, he handled the interview with delicacy. Your death had shocked the world, and by now, people knew to be respectful. Enough time had passed. Everyone had gotten over the initial shock. Everyone was left behind with that same distaste in their mouth and a hole in their stomach. People were delicate, when they mentioned you. They were still wearing black armbands in the WSL, and Lucy still wore the bracelet she had been given by your parents, taping it up for every match, letting any of her lioness teammates kiss her wrist whenever they scored.

“Is that why it’s so important to talk about this, to you?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely part of it. But I think most of all, I think we need to speak about it for Y/N. I think if we’d had this kind of open conversation a few months ago, she would’ve maybe reached out, you know. If I had educated myself on the topic better, maybe I could’ve seen the signs. I think it’s more for the people who feel the way she felt. If we can make even a single person reach out for help when they initially wouldn’t, I think it’s paid off.”

The man nodded.

“It’s just… you know. There’s always another way. Even when you don’t feel like it. I don’t know what it’s like to go through suicidal tendencies, but I do know what it’s like to feel sort of, hopeless. And I know that whatever happens, the world is a better place with you in it. Suicide is such a cruel way to go. I’ve wondered a lot, you know, whether she’s happier now, but I don’t think she is. Y/N had so many ambitions, so many dreams. She had such a bright future and yeah, for a mental illness to rip that away from her, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with that.”

Lucy sniffed, the tears dwelling in her eyes by now. She had never spoken about your death publically. No one had, not exactly. Sure, there had been underlying comments, minutes of silence and the odd mention of your name, but people had been cautious to actually speak about the situation. She couldn’t blame them, because fuck- this hurt. She saw your face whenever she closed her eyes. She heard your voice whenever she couldn’t sleep, your laughter was engraved into her brain. There would not be a day in her life that she didn’t miss you. It hurt. A lot. The realization that you weren’t just a few countries away, that you wouldn’t call her back later, that you wouldn’t call her after an important match or visit her in Barcelona like you had said you would.

“You’ve been kind of hesitant to agree to this interview. Why do you think that is? I mean, no one has really spoken about Y/N’s death as openly as you have.”

“Yeah, I think it’s difficult. To admit this kind of pain. I mean- it shouldn’t be, you know? I think it’s important to speak about this kind of loss and all the hurt that comes with it. Not out of a place to put blame, I’d never blame her. But just to, yeah, make people realize how bad this kind of loss hurts. How much people miss her, because we all miss her, even though some people are hesitant to say it out loud.”

“How do you feel about people being so hesitant?”

“I don’t think you can blame them, you know. Grief looks different for anyone. And I guess I’m a fixer kind of person. I want to fix things, and even though I’ll never be able to, you know, fix this, I do hope that by speaking up about this, I can potentially save someone from doing the same thing. Let people know that mental health should never be a taboo, encourage people to speak up before it’s too late. Because the world will miss you, even if you don’t think it will. The world is a different place without you in it”, she concluded, though she was mostly speaking to you.

It was true. The world was different, now that you were gone. Your friends- mostly the younger girls in the Arsenal squad, seemed to be less talkative. Arsenal was a different place- Leah had told Lucy during your funeral. Everyone was a little less talkative, the loss hanging heavy over the team. Kim worried a lot, about the younger ones, whereas the older, more experienced players, dealt with the same kind of guilt Lucy felt.

Barcelona was different too, though you had never played there. Alexia and Patri seemed to be checking on everyone a little more frequently, holding the team together, making sure everyone was okay. Lucy wasn’t, of course, though her team tried their best to help her move forward.

She did, eventually. England camps became less heavy, and when England won the Euros in 2025 again, during Lucy’s last match, she held up your shirt proudly, keeping the medal that had your name engraved in it, without shedding a single tear. When Arsenal won the Super League that year, they did the same thing. Lucy still felt a pinch in her chest everytime one of your teams reached another milestone, because she had wanted you to experience those kind of things. You deserved to experience your first league title, your second Euros, but more than anything-

She envisioned the life you could’ve lived, away from football. You deserved to fall in love, to visit Barcelona and every other place in the world you would’ve wanted to. You deserved to move out of your parents home into your first ever flat, you deserved to get a kitten and name it something ridiculous, the way you had always planned. You deserved to feel the rays of sun on your skin on the odd day it didn’t rain in London, you deserved to go on another trip to Ibiza and terrorize the rest of the girls in the club for another night. You deserved to be a bridesmaid at a wedding, the way you had always wanted to. You deserved a lot more than dying at nineteen. Everyone did. And Lucy would spend the rest of her career, potentially the rest of her life, making sure that people who felt the same way you had would feel a little less alone, a little more hopeful, would live a little longer. Anything in her power. She would do it all.

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc

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12woso12 · 5 months ago

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Dorothy lands in North London - Part 6

Part 5

I know it's been quite the build up to meet all the players but trust me it's coming :) A short chapter ahead, sorry!

Once you had bid goodbye to Jonas, Jennifer wasted no time in dragging you pitch side. It was there that you experienced just how much went into announcing new signings as you met the rest of Jennifer and David's team and crew members. They took long videos of you walking pitch side and sitting among the thousands of seats in the stadium, you couldn't wait to hear them roar to life on match days.

'Here' Jennifer approach where you were seated with a box in hand. 'New pair of boots for the day, wanna give them a try?'

'Hell yes' you said excitedly ripping open the box to find a pair of pink Nike phantoms laying in wait. You grinned and held them up to the camera examining with glee the way your initials and number were engraved into the side. 'Fucking fantastic aren't they?'

'Language!' Jennifer exclaimed 'We'll have to mute that Y/n'

You glanced at her sheepishly before pulling the boots snuggly over your feet.

'Perfect fit.' You weren't ashamed to admit that you went through football boots like a Foxes through chicken. They never usually lasted longer than a few months before they were falling apart of the seams, maybe it was the rough tackles or the way you liked to knee slide but you weren't all that sure. It was a shame considering how much you loved your new pair.

As you got up from your seat and made your way back down to the grass an Irish voice abruptly stopped you in your tracks.

'There's me new protege'

You turn to see Katie McCabe sauntering out the tunnel. The Irish Captain was also decked out in an Arsenal kit and she dragged a ball bag behind her.

'Katie' She introduced herself, dumping the balls at your feet.

You decided instantly that you liked the girl. You'd be lying if you said you didn't admire her style of play, it was incredibly similar to your own right down to the risky tackles and red cards. From what you'd seen in videos online, you were also pretty sure she'd appreciate your humour.

'I know who you are' You began ' Katie Robinson, right?'

A look of shock crossed Katie's features for a moment before she cackled loudly. 'Got a mouth on ya, don't ya?'

You shrugged. 'That's what they all say'

Jennifer inserted herself into the conversation. 'Okay, now we can get started'

'Started?' You frowned

'On the video."

You shook your head. 'Then what've we been filming for the last half hour?'

Jennifer shared an amused glance with Katie. 'Just some little snippets and shorts for social media, some of it might make the cut for our main video but it's going to be something a little different and i think the fans will really love it' She beckoned you and Katie to follow her over to the nearest goal where the crew had began to set up large cameras.

'That's why i'm here kid, the fans love me' Katie joked to which you sniggered.

Ignoring the Irish defender, Jennifer continued. 'The whole concept is based around reputations, people hear Katie's name and they think passionate, fearsome, daring, dangerous and your name carries that weight too. So we're gonna play onto that, teams aren't just going to have to deal with one McCabe now, but two.'

You liked that idea. You thought it made you sound tough, like you were built to handle anything.

'We're gonna be bringing the danger kid, me and you'

You smirked 'I think your face alone is scary enough'

Katie shook her head. 'I'm going to have to keep an eye on you aren't I?'

'As long as it's not when i'm in the shower' You countered

Jennifer narrowed her eyes at you as Katie just laughed. 'Stop saying things like that Y/n'

You held your hands up in surrender, you were surprised at how easily you'd managed to fit in already. It was a calming feeling, it made you more at peace with your new life in England despite only arriving a day earlier.

'Kyra's taken a liking to ya' Katie said suddenly as Jennifer wondered away with David to deal with a lighting issue. 'Came through the door at 7 this morning covered in mud but grinning like a mad man'

'Yeah, Emily wasn't too pleased with me about that'

Katie shrugged. 'That's valid, at least Kyra left me a note...even if i couldn't exactly decipher her hand writing.'

'Well I'll know for next time.'

'Next time?' Katie rolled her eyes 'Fantastic'

You honestly couldn't wait to see Kyra again. 'It's good to know someone my own age over here, most of my friends are back in the States'

'Any boyfriend...or girlfriend?' Katie teased

'Not anymore' You answer cryptically but before Katie can respond Jennifer is rushing the two of you into position in front of the camera.

'ACTION'

#football #leah williamson #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #kyra cooney cross #arsenal #alessia russo #emily fox #katie mccabe

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buckychristwrites · 1 year ago

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Could This Be | Chap. 3 | j.t.

Summary: One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about..

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Discussions of Previous Emotional & Physical Domestic Violence. Cussing. Fake Dating

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy :)

Masterlist | Could This Be Masterlist | Main Blog

Sanctuary.

That’s how you viewed the medical room at the Nelson Road Stadium.

It was supply order day, which meant it was a day with your headphones in, going through inventory for yourself and for the physical therapists before placing the order, and resorting the stock if need be. It normally took all day, and you were only interrupted if someone got hurt or sick on the pitch, which wasn’t often on non-match days. So you could expect to spend the entire day by yourself.

You were sitting on the floor of the supply room, tapping your feet against the grey tile as you wrote down how many leg splints were on the shelf. Quietly, you were singing along to the song playing. At least, you thought it was quietly, but it was hard to tell over the music. It wasn’t something you bothered about though. No one would hear it even if you sang at the top of your lungs. Resting on the floor next to you was the two way radio, turned up loud so you’d be able to hear it, in case of emergency.

Over the two days that had passed since Keeley’s party, you had tried very hard not to think about Jamie or the conundrum he had put you in. It proved to be especially helpful to your mental health if you didn’t. The solution was a simple one. Everyone would just be informed of the breakup, stating that you weren’t ready for a relationship or things just didn’t work out or whatever, and then everything would go back to normal. And normal was something you yearned incredibly hard for.

Movement out of the corner of your eye alerted you that you were not alone. Slowly, you turned, finding Jamie Tartt leaning against the door of the supply closet.

A loud shriek left your mouth while you scrambled to your feet. As you ripped your headphones from your ears, he raised his hands apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry,” He said in a quiet tone. The expression on his face read a mix of guilt and amusement. “I didn’t want to interrupt ya, but I need to talk to ya.”

You didn’t say anything, instead stuffing your headphones in your pocket and waiting. He also had his hands in his pockets, looking almost as uncomfortable as you did. After a moment, he sighed as he pulled his phone out.

“Do you have Twitter?”

Your eyes narrowed. That was the last thing you expected him to say.

“I- uhm… I got rid of my social media,” You admitted, pulling your hand from your pocket to run it up and down your opposite forearm. “Last year.” He nodded without looking up, and you were surprised when he didn’t push the issue. Most people would question you to no end about how you could live without social media. It was refreshing, to say the least.

Jamie intently searched his phone before, hesitantly, handing it over to you. For a moment, you just stared at it. Whatever it was that he was trying to share, you knew you just by the look on his face that you weren’t going to like it. Maybe it would be best if you just didn’t know. He urged you to take it, as if he read your mind.

“You need to know, too.”

At that, your eyes met his. They were sad. Almost regretful. Without breaking eye contact, you slowly took the phone before looking down at it.

What you found were pages and pages of tweets about you and Jamie, pictures of you and him laying together and also some with his arm around you from the party, attached to almost each one. You were named directly in all of them. It was so tempting to read each one, especially the ones where they picked you apart by your appearance and called you names. They still caught your eye, as hard as you tried, and each one felt like a bullet in the chest.

“Who leaked these?” You asked him as you finally forced yourself to look away. All he could do was shrug.

“Keeley said she would try to find out, but the source was anonymous,” He said. “It could’ve been anyone at that party.” Your phone suddenly felt very heavy in your pocket.

He’s going to see it.

You wanted to scream as you handed Jamie back his phone.

“I’m sorry,” He said, sincerely. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You were so upset that night, I felt ‘orrible.” You shook your head.

“It’s fine, Jamie,” You said. “I’m not mad at you. I mean…” You smiled slightly. “I definitely was mad at you. The whole thing just had me more… overwhelmed than anything else.” You scratched your head. “Even more so now.”

He nodded, rocking back and forth from the tips of his toes to the heels of his feet. It was clear that the conversation wasn’t ending here. You watched him carefully.

“What is it?” You finally asked. He ran a hand down his face.

“I think…” He said, tilting his head. “I think we should keep this goin’, just for a little bit.” You stared at him in confusion.

“And why would we do that?” You asked in an unusually high voice, walking passed him out of the supply closet and back into the medical room. He turned to follow. The shaking in your hands started again as you sat down at your desk. If Jamie noticed your brand new demeanour, he didn’t comment on it

“‘Cos how stupid would it be if we told everyone we broke up right after we told them we’re together?” He asked. “Also, it still saves us from the blind date business we talked about. Can’t question ya if they know who you’re datin’, can they?”

It infuriated you that he was making sense.

You turned in your chair as you contemplated all of this. There were so many factors to consider. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, necessarily. It certainly would get everyone off your back about dating someone new. But then there was the fear. It would be one thing if Jamie were a regular guy, but he was a public figure. Meaning, your picture would get put out there more than it already had. You wouldn’t be under the radar like you had been, which is something you felt you needed for safety and sanity reasons. But maybe that could be a positive in itself. Jamie could offer a sort of security at the matches that you didn’t have before. Maybe being on his radar was exactly what you needed.

“How long would it go on?” You asked him. Running his fingers through his long hair, he shrugged.

“At least a month,” He replied. “Give things time to smooth over.” You nodded as you continued to think.

“We’d probably need some rules then.”

He perked up at this, as if he hadn’t considered it.

“Alright,” He said, sitting down on the edge of your desk. Which you hated. “Rule number one, you have to go to all of the matches.”

You stared at him with a blank expression for a long time, wondering if he was joking. When he didn’t respond, you knew he wasn’t.

“Jamie,” You said slowly. “I already go to every single match. I have to because of my job.” He looked absolutely embarrassed, and you felt it too. Had he really noticed you so little that he couldn’t even remember you being at the matches? Who was the person who had helped him every time he got hurt at a match? Maybe it would be easier if you didn’t think about it too much.

“Fine, sorry,” He mumbled. “Real first rule then. You have to go to public events with me.” Nodding, he looked pleased with this one. “Movie premieres. Charity parties. Weddin’s. All that shit. You’re going too.” You scrunched up your face.

“Does that include Coach Beard’s wedding in a few weeks?” You asked him. He slammed his hands down on the desk, clearly grateful that you reminded him. It made you regret bringing it up entirely.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely it does!” He sounded so pleased about it, as if he was happy to know that he wouldn’t have to find a date for anything for the foreseeable future. As much as you wanted to be upset by this, your original plan for Beard’s wedding was to third wheel with Keeley and Roy, and while that would’ve been the safe route to go, now you’d have an actual date, and wouldn’t have to worry about Keeley, after a few drinks entered her system, asking every man who was alone to ask you to dance. Like she had at the last wedding the two of you attended.

“Rule number two I think is an obvious one,” He continued. “Just be honest with each other.” You nodded, liking this one a lot.

“I think that for this to work, we have to become friends on some sort of level,” You said, adding onto what he said. “I feel like I know nothing about you.” This seemed to surprise me.

“Do ya know what, I think you’re the first person to say that to me in a long time.”

“So, we have to be honest with each other,” You repeated back to him. “That’s rule number two, but rule number three is that we’re going to leave this as amicable friends.” Your head tilted towards your shoulder. You wanted to add a comment about no longer being invisible to him, but decided not to.

“Then, of course,” He said, a cheeky tone filling his voice. “There’s rule number four; Don’t fall in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard that you could feel them strain. Immediately, you changed your expression, giving him the best heart eyed look you could muster.

“Can you believe it, I already have!” You exclaimed, throwing a dramatic hand to your forehead. “Whatever shall we do?” He was fighting a smile as he watched you.

“I know, I’m just too irresistible,” He said, playing as if he knew this would happen.

“Oh Jamie Tartt, the most real while also the most fake love of my life, how will I ever find anyone else?”

“Alright, fuck off,” He said through a laugh. Dropping your hand to your lap, you found that you were laughing as well. He was looking at you, as if for the first time. “I always forget how funny ya are. Ya always seem to keep to yourself.”

Yeah, you thought to yourself. There’s a reason for that.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. There was no good way to respond.

“Last rule,” You said, more reservation in your voice this time. “I…erm.” Your eyes dropped to the table, but you could still feel him staring. “I need…” You inhaled sharply. “I need you to… to ask before you touch me.” The words hung in the air for a moment, and you wished so desperately to suddenly gain the ability to turn invisible so you could escape his gaze. “Or, at the very least, let me know before you touch me. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, waiting for what you could only assume was an explanation. But you didn’t intend to give one, instead just continuing to stare at the table awkwardly while trying to remain cool and not panicked.

“Alright,” He said slowly. Another beat passed before he continued, “Can I ask-”

“No,” You interrupted him quickly, feeling stupid by how desperate you sounded. “No, you can not.” His face softened, head tilting to the side slightly.

“What I was going to ask… if it upset you when I touched ya the other day.”

The heat rose in your cheeks.

“Oh, erm… It did,” You admitted, trying not to replay the absolute panic attack, along with washing your skin raw and sitting in the burning water for an hour, in your head. When the guilt filled his face, you shook your head. “Please don’t feel bad. There’s no way you could’ve known.” He shook his own head, waving you off.

“I should’ve asked. I’m sorry.”

You were dumbfounded by this response. This conversation usually went very, very differently. Never had it been this easy to set a boundary and not only not have them question you on the why, but also have them apologise for unknowingly breaking them in the past. The anxiety that had initially filled your chest completely evaporated, and you found it replaced with ease.

You opened your mouth to speak when you were interrupted by the door flying open. The both of you jumped up, turning to see Roy Kent at the door with Will the kit man next to him. Will’s nose was gushing with blood. Alarm bells began to ring in your head at the sight of him.

“Did you throw your radio into the fuckin’ ocean or somethin’?” Roy shouted as he grabbed Will by the sleeve and dragged him over to the bed. “Or are you too busy making puppy eyes at your new fuckin’ boyfriend?” Ignoring Roy, you ran to the supply closet and grabbed your radio, feeling nauseous over missing the call. You set it down on your desk when you reentered the room before turning your attention to Will.

“What happened?” You asked as you put some gloves on.

“The boys said I couldn’t juggle shoes,” Will explained. With his eyes on the ceiling, he couldn’t tell that you were giving him a look. “I had to prove I can.”

“It’s not broken, just busted up,” You said, your eyes scanning the area. “Did you prove it? That you can juggle shoes?”

“Yes!” Will exclaimed at the same time that Roy said, while shaking his head, “No.”

“I would’ve been fine had Isaac not thrown a 5th one into the mix.”

“I think you would’ve gotten clobbered with one of them either way, if I’m honest,” Roy remarked, taking a seat in the chair that you had previously been sitting in. He looked over at Jamie, who hadn’t said a word since they had arrived. “Don’t you have practice? Fuck off, Tartt.” Completely unfazed by Roy’s aggression, Jamie nodded while taking a step towards you.

“See you later, yeah?” He said gently. You looked at him as you packed Will’s nose with gauze, giving him a smile and a nod. He leaned in, before tapping his finger against his cheek. You stared at him, the corners of your lips flicking upwards into a small smile. It was clear by his eyes that this was a question, not a demand. He was giving you the power. You planted a kiss onto the side of his face, and he gave you a wide smile before sauntering out the door.

“I fuckin’ hate this,” Roy grumbled as the door clicked closed.

“I heard about you and Jamie,” Will said quickly, his voice all mucked up from the tissues in his nose. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Will,” You said as you grabbed a wipe to clean the dried blood from his cheeks, now that the bleeding had stopped. “If only everyone were as nice and supportive as you.” You made sure to say that last part a little louder, so that Roy was sure to hear it.

“Fuck you.”

“If you’re just here to pout and be an arse, you can fucking leave,” You told him with a friendly tone. Giving Will one last look, you ripped off your gloves. “Alright, Will. You’re clear to return to work.” Tossing the bundle into the rubbish bin, it dropped in easily. You gave Will a look of warning. “Maybe hold off on the shoe juggling for now, yeah?” He nodded understandingly before hopping off the bed and making his way out the door.

Roy, however, stuck around.

“Who said I don’t support you?” He demanded. Sitting down on the bed, you stared at him.

“Your entire behaviour has said it.” You cocked your head to the side. “You literally just said, and I quote.” You did your best Roy Kent impression, having perfected it over the years, “‘I fuckin’ hate this.’” If he was impressed by your Roy Kent voice, he did not voice it, to your complete dismay.

“I do,” He admitted, casually. “That don’t mean I don’t support you.” You crossed your arms over your chest, saying nothing. Roy leaned forward in the chair, pressing his hands together as he looked at you.

“Do you remember my last match as captain of Richmond?” He asked. “When I fucked up my knee-”

“-Sliding into Jamie,” You finished. Because of course you remembered. He got up and took himself out of the game, and you found him with Keeley in the locker room. Staying out in the hall where they couldn’t see you, you waited until she left, and then you gave him care. “I remember.”

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?”

You nodded. “‘Should’ve kicked him harder, you would’ve broken his ankle.’”

Roy smiled fondly as if he was replaying it in his head. “Yeah.” Another moment passed before he spoke again. “And then do you remember the second thing you said to me?” You nodded, this one being much clearer.

“‘You’re more than this, you know. You’re so much bigger than this game. When you’re old and can’t remember how to wipe your own arse, they’ll still remember you as one of the greats, even if you don’t feel that great at this moment. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done it.’”

He had been so hurt, so devastated, when it became clear he couldn’t keep playing. His knee just wasn’t doing the job anymore. You had known him for a few years at this point, as you wrapped and iced his knee. A few years of watching him dominate matches. All you had done in that moment was be honest with him.

“You’ve done it, now,” He said tenderly. “You’ve always been more than that arsehole who you won’t let me kill. And you let it hold you back for longer than you should’ve. You deserve someone kind. Now you’ve got that. Of course I support you.” He sat up straight, face hardening once more. “I’m still going to complain about it, though.” You rolled your eyes, as the softness of the moment had reached its end.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

TAGS

@daffieapple, @my-left-sock, @buckybarnex, @jelleeyfish, @ricciardhoe3, @picked-off-by-barzal, @lilweirdgal, @hotdoglamp, @loveslide, @rosea-h, @13-7-19-67-71. @wickedheartz, @xxenia14, @zazima, @alainabooks143, @geek-and-proud, @imagines-reblogged, @fuckifuckedup, @booklovingduck, @loveforaugust, @f1maverick

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #tedlassosource #ted lasso fanfiction

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ssadumba55 · 2 years ago

Text

The Guys Overhear You Defending Them on the Phone

Request: Hello my darling friend! Can I please request headcanons for Hotch, Derek, and Reid overhearing their black female S/O arguing with her mom over the phone because she disapproves of their relationship?

A/N: Hopefully this is okay! I tried my best!

Hotch

Aaron is used to this by now, he's met your mother several times before and even though on the outside she always pretends to be inviting, it doesn't take a profiler to figure out her disdain for him

He never says anything to her, mostly because it's none of his business and also because he doesn't want to ruin the relationship you have with her

Still, he can tell it's draining for you and it hurts to watch you suffer, especially when the cause of that suffering is in a way him

The two of you had gotten engaged the weekend before and you'd posted pictures of the engagement party the team had thrown for you on social media, where your mom had seen them

That's why she was on the phone with you currently, and even though Aaron was on the other side of the room he could still hear her voice through the phone, saying all these rude things

Your eyes meet across the way, and he mouths that he's sorry

You roll your eyes good naturedly and hang up the phone

"Why don't we go for a drive before Jack gets home."

"She's not going to like that you hung up on her."

"Do I look like I care?"

Spencer

Unlike Hotch, not having your mother's approval will bother Spencer a lot. He will devote time to trying to please her, to making her happy, but all of his efforts will be for naught

It's not that she doesn't trust your choice in men, she just isn't keen on him, ironic considering any other mother would be head over heels grateful their child chose a man as clean and educated as Spencer Reid

You try to minimize the amount of time they spend together. It's not like you really care what she thinks anyway. You love Spencer and that's all that matters

Still, you can't help it when he overhears her on the phone. He's clingy and almost always close to you and you answer before you realize that maybe it isn't a very good idea

He is definitely not going to say or do anything while you're on the phone, but the situation will upset him. Even if he doesn't directly say so, you will be able to tell.

Instead of apologizing for your mother or making up some lame excuse, you decide that the best way to handle this is Doctor Who and take out.

He won't forget those harsh words, his memory will make sure of it, but at least you can let him know that you don't agree, that you'll always be in his corner

Derek Morgan

Unlike the other two, Derek isn't quiet by nature. When he sees/feels injustice, he has to say something

So he will definitely just rip the phone out of your hands and end up in a lowkey screaming match with your mother. You can't even say you blame him because the things she was saying were downright rude and callous

The phone call will end up with Derek hanging up on her

He decides somewhere in his anger that he doesn't want to deal with this and instead just wants to spend time with the person he loves

He jokes you should just cut off your mom and let his own mom adopt you and you consider it, her food is amazing and his mother and sisters adore you

The two of you won't even talk about it or think about it after that, you stop taking calls from her and eventually she just stops calling altogether

Oh well, it's not really a loss in either of your opinions

#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds headcanons #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader #derek morgan x reader #female imagine #female reader #female pronouns #african american reader #african american imagine

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fleurywiththesave · 4 months ago

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Hello! Mattdrai or Matthew/Sasha and sleep deprived please 💙

Ohhhh I love this one! You know I had to make it Mattdrai.

9. Sleep deprivation

Leon promised himself that he wasn't going to allow himself to look at any evidence of Cup celebrations. Nada, zip, zilch. No on-ice interviews, no celebratory photos, no coverage of the eventual parade. He swore, up and down, that he would have enough common sense not to torture himself.

But the thing is, as shitty as Leon feels right now...and make no mistake, he feels shitty. He and Connor cried on each other for what felt like hours, he still has no appetite, he's afraid to touch social media for fear that hearing everyone's disappointment and judgment will rip him apart all over. He is not having a good time and he would very much like never to be in this position again.

But he's still so. goddamn. proud. of Matthew. Of how hard he worked all season, of everything he does to bring his team together, of how incredibly happy he's made his family. And there's even a part of him, that he would never ever ever tell Connor about, that's even happier for Matthew than he would've been for himself. Seeing him get so close to the end last season, seeing him literally break his body doing everything he could to win and it still not being enough, hurt Leon almost as much as it hurt Matthew, and he's not sure that Matthew ever would have really recovered from suffering the same fate twice in a row.

So he lied. Sue him. He gets onto his stealth Instagram account, where he won't see any mention of his own failures, and watches from afar while Matthew and his teammates live it up at Eleven. That stupid WWE belt is going to be so gross by the end of all of this that Leon might have to burn it. Though Matthew's definitely going to want to frame it.

He's running through around the tenth cycle of wanting to smile and also kind of wanting to cry when his phone starts to vibrate and Matthew's name pops up. He accepts the call before he's had a chance to consider whether or not it's a good idea.

"Leo!" Matthew yells, as chipper as a children's TV host. Leon's amused in spite of himself.

"Are you drunk?"

"You'd think so," Matthew says agreeably, "but I mostly just haven't slept in two days."

"Yeah, I noticed," Leon answers.

"You've been watching?" Matthew's voice has gone considerably softer and he sounds genuinely surprised.

"I have," Leon tells him. Matthew sighs.

"Fuck, I miss you, baby."

"Matty—"

"I know, I know. But I already told you I'm kind of delirious and it's true, I fucking miss you, and I hate that me being so happy means that you have to be so miserable, and I just wish you were here with me, you know? And I know that's not fair, I know you should have your space and you needed to go back to Edmonton—"

"I didn't," Leon cuts in.

"You didn't what?"

"I didn't go back to Edmonton," he admits. "I'm still at the hotel in Florida."

There's a long pause.

"I can be home in half an hour," Matthew says, words tripping over each other. Leon's heart swells.

"I'll be there."

#mattdrai #leon draisaitl/matthew tkachuk #hockey rpf #my writing #tumblr fic #asks #kairos44

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sourholland · 2 years ago

Text

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → part two!! how this played out was debated for awhile honestly. i hope you guys enjoy and start to understand a little more of the dynamic we’re looking at here. as always, feedback is heavily heavily appreciated and let’s me know you want more. let me know to be added to the taglist! ALSO - a lot of people who commented on part 1 to be added to the taglist don’t have it turned on in settings where i’m able to tag them, so i couldn’t. i won’t be going back through several parts to find your @ so you’ll need to fix it and comment again if you want to be on the taglist in the future.

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → alcohol use, strong language, nsfw content

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 2

Ever since the spontaneous car hookup earlier in the week, things had been a sort of comfortably complicated. Joe had driven you to pick up your car, half hard watching your legs cross so delicately as if he hadn’t just ripped your panties off in the backseat. It was more than a turn on for him.

It was a still silence all the way back to the practice facility. He kissed your cheek and told you to have a goodnight, then you grabbed your cheer bag and had gone home. Joe waited to see if he’d hear from you, wanting to see where you stood on the matter before he pushed his way into your space. He was giving you an out if you wanted it.

You wanted to want it.

It was so wrong. You were breaking the biggest rule imposed on you. Yet, you couldn’t. So you didn’t. It took until mid-afternoon the next day when you texted him to get his actual phone number, the texting exclusively through instagram private message felt a little middle school. He happily obliged, not wanting to pressure you into anything.

The conversation was casual, nothing pertaining to the subject of you fucking in the backseat of his Porsche. The only discussion of that was via Venmo, when he sent you money for a Plan B without question. You hadn’t even requested the money, he just let you know through the transaction that he didn’t want to act entitled to knowing if you were on contraception.

He didn’t know why he was so enamored by you. Joe had a very fuck boy-ish college career, he’d done his fair share of sleeping around and having women throw themselves at him. Some would say this has given him a big ego, he partially agreed. It was never about the hookup culture, though. It was more so just what he thought was right for a college athlete, it was what all his friends had done. He’d broken some hearts, for that he wasn’t proud. It was a time in his life that he was focused on two things: football and partying.

It was pretty obvious that you were the opposite to him. He had done a little social media stalking to find out a little more about the so-called rookie Ben-Gal. Just through instagram he saw that you were a very spirited girl during high school, it seemed like you had a serious boyfriend through most of those four years. He sort of disappeared when you came to the University of Cincinnati.

He wondered if he was your first love. Joe hadn’t ever been able to recall a first love for himself. There had been plenty of girls, he just didn’t ever feel like it was love.

He saw that you had maintained the good girl persona through college too. He was shocked that you’d never joined a sorority. Joe came to realize that you really were just a dedicated student athlete through and through. How you ended up as a Bengals cheerleader? He wasn’t sure.

Joe: What’re you up to tonight?

He typed the message out without thinking much of it, it’d been days since you’d last been together. He hadn’t pushed anything since the car incident. He hung back after practice and watched you rehearse the dance choreography for the preseason that would begin in a few days.

Y/N: Not sure yet

Y/N: Why?

He didn’t really know why. Joe wasn’t so selfish that he wanted to get you in trouble for hanging around him. He just wanted to see you.

Joe: I want to see you.

This was a surprise to you. Not that Joe seemed like the type to sleep with a girl and ghost, but he did kind of seem like the type of guy to do that. He was so charming, though. Everything he said to you sent your stomach into somersaults.

Y/N: Do you?

Joe: I really do

Joe: How do you feel about dive bars?

Y/N: LMAOO

When he didn’t respond to that, you realized he wasn’t kidding when he asked you that. Without thinking much, you laughed and began to type again.

Y/N: Oh shit, you’re serious

Y/N: Can’t say I’m very familiar with the scene lol

Joe: Really?

Y/N: I mean, I just turned 21, I don’t really go to frat parties at school. I really only drink with friends. Haven’t been to many bars.

Joe: Fair enough. I know a spot outside of Cincinnati. It’s pretty small, usually pretty deserted. The crowd is older.

This made you nervous, being in public and easily spotted with Joe made you nervous. It wasn’t the fact that anyone would know who you were, being an NFL cheerleader didn’t make you a celebrity. It was more so the possibility of someone snapping a picture of Joe with you in it, Joe is a celebrity and he’s extremely recognizable.

Y/N: Joe, I really don’t want all this to get back to my coaches. It only takes one person to fuck this all up for me before the season even starts..

Joe: I get that. I’m telling you, nobody here is going to be a problem.

In between finishing up your hair and adding a red lip tint, you heard a knock on your apartment door. That would definitely be Joe. He’d insisted on coming up to grab you when picking you up, something about being raised decent.

You’d slipped into a navy blue miniskirt and white ribbed tank top. It seemed like the simplest thing for going out to a hole-in-the-wall bar.

“You’re punctual,” you laughed as you opened the door to reveal Joe in a pair of khakis and t-shirt.

“You look,” Joe began, scanning your figure. “I mean you look really great, Y/N.”

He couldn’t help but think about your reddened lips. He didn’t know where the both of you stood on a lot of things, this made him hold back some of what he wished to say.

“Thank you,” your face flushed at his comments.

Both of you just kinda stood there in the doorway for a moment, grinning like high schoolers after their first kiss. Joe’s cheeks were pink, his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched you retrieve your clutch. His eyes fell to the way your ass looked in that skirt on more than one occasion, or more specifically what it would look like out of that skirt.

“Ready?” You asked.

Joe nodded and you headed down to the complex’s garage. It was a comfortable walk, filled with you having the inability to tear your gaze from his toned arms and back. He definitely noticed you staring, grinning each time he caught you from the corner of his eye.

He opened the passenger side door for you, walking around and getting in himself. He looked so fucking good. There was just something about an attractive guy driving, but Joe took it to a whole different level. He pushed his hand through his hair and backed out seamlessly.

Some A$AP Rocky song was playing in the background as you looked out the window at the lit up city. Joe drummed along the steering wheel. It was obvious every time he attempted to slyly glance at the skirt riding up your thighs.

“How do you think this game in a few days will go?” You said softly.

“Hard to say,” Joe replied. “It’s preseason, so technically it doesn’t matter. To the team it matters, though. Losing these early games give guys like Skip Bayless a reason to rip us apart before the season even starts.”

“You listen to stuff like that?”

“It’s hard not to, they practically shove it down our throats the entire season. Last season was tough, not winning the Super Bowl.”

“You made it, though,” you said. “Counts for something.”

He looked at you, smiling softly and glancing at your lips briefly. Once his eyes were back on the road, you took the opportunity to brush a hand over his arm. He let a deep breath out, chuckling a little. The tension was thick, both of you tiptoeing around the fact that you wanted so desperately to rip the other’s clothes off.

He let you touch him, obviously enjoying it. Maybe he wanted to see how far you’d take it, maybe you wanted to see how far you’d take it. Letting your hand fall to his thigh, you used your thumb to brush over the fabric softly. His breathing became a bit unsteady, eyes flickering to you every few seconds.

When you inched closer to his erection, you gave him a look as if to ask for permission. He nodded, groaning soon after you began to palm him through his pants. He was hard, aching for anything you would give him. You felt yourself heating up, surprised by your own actions when you began to undo the button on his pants, unzipping them and assisting in pulling them down ever so slightly.

He was still driving, eyes very focused on the road now. You let yourself begin to palm him through his briefs now, watching him yearn for your touch more and more.

Joe was driving down a long stretch, the road was deserted and only occupied by him as far as he could see. High beams on, he wondered if he should pull over and fuck you then and there. Or maybe he should see where you were going with this.

“Is this okay?” You asked him, looking up.

“Yeah, more than okay,” he breathed out.

Pulling down his briefs, you tried to maneuver your body into a comfortable position. He was hard in your hand, precum gleaming at the tip. As you let yourself take him in your mouth, he let out a guttural moan. With one hand on the wheel, another found the back of your head and weaved its way into your hair.

This was definitely unsafe.

With your knees bent towards him, your ass was in the air as he started to steadily pace you. He thrusted into your mouth, telling you not to stop. Using your tongue to your advantage, you used your hand to pump where you couldn’t reach.

“Good girl, fuck,” he praised you. “Just like that, I really don’t want to crash this car.”

Trying to push him to the back of your throat, you made sure to take it slow. While this was incredibly hot and sexy, Joe was right. One wrong move, he’s crashing you both into a tree.

Letting yourself release him from your mouth, you used your saliva as a lubricant and pumped your hand over top of his shaft. He was breathing hard, letting you gain composure before your mouth was on him again. He couldn’t take it, the way you swirled your tongue to hit every single nerve. It was only when he began to enter the small downtown area that he realized he’d have to forfeit this without finishing.

Pulling up, you wiped your chin and helped him to get his pants done up. This was a space with a decent number of other cars and stoplights. Last thing either of you needed was someone snapping a picture of Joe receiving a blowjob at a red light or something.

You both laughed a little, Joe still very worked up and giving you the side eye. Pulling down the sun visor, you looking into the tiny mirror and realized your red lip had become all smudged. You went into your clutch and grabbed the tint stick out, applying it evenly.

This only turned Joe on more, watching you as he drove down the tiny street. There seemed to be a lot of brick buildings, some people out and about. It was late, though. He pulled into a small side lot, saying this was it.

Stepping out of the car was a breath of fresh air, it had been very hot and sticky after you decided to blow him. Joe adjusted himself, rolling his eyes when you smirked at him. He held a hand out to you, making your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Then he pulled you down some cellar like set of steps, pushing a heavy green door open to reveal a dimly lit bar. It was a room of purple hues, lights strung up with music playing. There were a few older people, like three or four. All of the bar seats were empty.

“Come sit,” Joe brought you over.

The bartender was easily seventy, she had red hair that was pulled back tightly and an apron tied to her waist. She smiled at you, the tag on her shirt read ‘Jenny’.

“What can I get you tonight?” She asked, looking at the two of you.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” he told her.

“I’ll just have a vodka tonic.”

The woman didn’t ask for any ID, she just nodded and smiled. Joe glanced at you, looking around the space and chuckling. You leaned against the bar, taking a sip of your drink as she placed it down. Joe followed suit, talking to you mindlessly about practice.

“Oh my god, it’s Maggie May!” You said over the music, eyes wide when you grabbed Joe and pulled him to the empty space at the middle of the bar.

“What’re you doing?” He laughed.

“We’re dancing!” You smiled, letting him take you by the waist.

He was laughing as you swayed around, spinning in his arms and singing the lyrics as if you were performing them for him. He eventually gained the courage to take your hands and go back and forth a little. The few people occupying the bar watched and whistled, clearly not used to the display.

Taking you in his arms, Joe kissed you sweetly. Watching as you gallivanted him around a little, trying very hard to spin him yourself. Didn’t work very easily when your dance partner was 6’4.

“Oh Maggie I couldn’t have tried anymore! You led me away from home, ‘cause you didn’t want to be alone! You stole my heart, I couldn’t leave you if I tried,” you sang the 70s ballad at him with a large smile.

“You’re beautiful!” He told you over the music.

You both swayed for a moment or so, flustered and laughing at yourselves. Once the song ended, the three or four people watching chuckled with you. Talking about how they remembered when that song had come out.

When you returned to you seats at the bar, you both drank for awhile and made small talk about life. Joe brushed a piece of hair that had fallen in your face back, making you smile and lean in to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I like hanging out with you,” you confessed.

It felt like such a small statement, something a sixteen year old would utter to her crush. It was how you felt, though. Joe lit up some suppressed youth within you, he made you feel like a young girl just coming into herself. He was older than you, more mature, well established. It made you question what he saw in you in the first place.

“I like hanging out with you too,” he said in almost a whisper. “I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta use the bathroom.”

Nodding, he walked to the back of the bar. He left his phone face up. His wallpaper was a photo of him and Ja’Marr Chase at the Super Bowl last season. It was sweet, they seemed very close.

A minute or so passed and his phone went off with two texts, one after the other. It felt disrespectful to glance and read them, but anyone would’ve. He left his phone when he could’ve easily grabbed it.

Ava: Missing you.

Ava: Come over?

There was a sudden lurching in your stomach, like you were going to be sick or something. The feeling lasted for a few seconds, leaving you to pull out your own phone and open the Uber app.

“How much was the tab?” You asked the woman, handing her your card and signing all within the span of about a minute.

“You alright, honey?” She asked, watching you grab your clutch to leave.

No.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

Walking out the same way you came in was easy enough, the Uber would be a few minutes so you’d have to wait outside. You were angry, of course, but more so just hurt and upset over the fact that you thought he was actually interested in you.

This was your fault. Your own naive stupidity. This was a twenty five year old NFL quarterback, what the fuck would he want with you? Sex, clearly. That much was obvious. In the end, Joe wasn’t your boyfriend. Not at all, not even a little bit. He was some guy who you barely knew, some guy you’d maybe even misjudged a little bit.

Leaning against the brick of the building, you felt the tears begin to well up. How could you be so fucking stupid?

“Y/N?” Joe came up the steps. “What’s wrong? What’re you doing?”

“Fuck you, Joe,” you sighed into your hands. “I mean seriously, what the fuck do you get out of stringing me along while you’ve already clearly got a girlfriend or a fuck buddy at least!”

He looked confused, a line forming between his eyebrows when suddenly realization washed over him. He got sort of pale all of sudden, embarrassment flushing his face.

“Y/N, it’s not like that. I promise you, it’s not like that with her. There’s more to the situation—”

“Go to hell, Joe,” you sniffled. “Or better, go see Ava. She misses you.”

He stood there silent for a moment, unable to find the words to express how sorry he was for how he made you feel. He could see through the yellow hue of the streetlight that you were crying. His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, cursing himself for not bringing his phone into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, you’re sorry I saw,” you spit back. “Get the fuck away from me, Joe. I’m taking an Uber home.”

“Let me drive you home, at least. If you never want to speak to me again after that, okay. Just let me take you home.”

When you said nothing, he knew that was it. He’d have to accept defeat there. Anything he said would make it worse, seeing as there really wasn’t a way to make the situation better. There was no excuse, no way to make you see his point of view.

The silence between you was hard and rigid, the only sound being the ambiance of the outside and your occasional sniffling. The worst part was that he’d led you to believe he liked you. That was why it hurt so badly.

The sleek black SUV pulled up and you pushed off the wall you’d been leaning against. Not being able to bear giving Joe a second glance, you went straight to opening the door and hopping inside.

Joe didn’t try and stop you. It wasn’t his place. He only stood there under the streetlight, watching the car drive off and eventually disappear. He felt horrible, running a hand through his hair and walking towards the brick you’d just leaned against. Pressing his forehead to the cold structure, he tried to bring himself to some conclusion.

“Fuck,” was all he muttered.

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#joe burrow x yn #joe #burrow #joe burrow #joe shiesty #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow smut #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow series #joe burrow angst #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow fan fic #joey burrow #joe burrow x oc #elle’s fics

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maybe-boys-do-love · 4 months ago

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Someone probs wrote about this before, but it’s absolutely bonkers how Aof’s Bad Buddies and Our Skyy crossover with ATOTS put men’s bisexual/pansexual experiences in conversation with gay experiences.

You get Pran and Phupha and even Tian all existing to some extent as gay characters—and I don’t say that because anyone specifically uses that label (only Tian really goes near there). In fact, I don’t even say that because of the gender they’re attracted to! There’s more to their gayness than that. They’re gay characters because all three of those characters exhibit major signs we associate with effeminacy and, more importantly, its early suppression by others, which leads to the shameful self-repression we see in their present day incarnations. They all have softer sides—music, art, gentleness—that they tuck away privately, and they each have clear examples throughout their stories of people telling them that they need to eliminate or at least hide that part of themselves. And these interests and expressions are not just subtext about sexuality here, they are specific markers we culturally expect to see alongside gayness. And the suppression, or lack there of, of those effeminate qualities is a significant gay milestone.

Pat doesn’t have that experience, though, which I think is genius from a writing and queer theory perspective. The thing about the LGBTQIA+ grouping is that it’s a very potent political grouping, but the experiences of each letter within that acronym are distinct, and often it’s precarious to bring up the differences. However, with Pat’s bisexual characterization, we see how it can be productive. Because Pat’s embodiment, interests, and sexuality contained more aspects that were socially acceptable, he did not experience the same type of suppression as Pran, Tian, and Phupha did early on. He never needed to develop coping mechanisms that involved self-denial. Therefore, he’s comfortable being expressive with his more feminine side and his affections. He doesn’t have the same sense that his sweetness puts him at risk of anything. This openness provides a model for Pran in Bad Buddies and Phupha in ATOTS to explore releasing some of their self-control, anxiety, and shame to share the sentimental parts of themselves (Tian’s whole arc in ATOTS is about coming to terms with this more feminine heart inside of him—RIP Torfun 😢).

I think one of the lessons we’re supposed to glean from Pat is that any person, queer or not, could be that open and comfortable with the full spectrum of gender expression, from fist-fighting to hugging your nong nao doll over a crush, if they were given full support by their fams. Since that perfect world doesn’t quite exist, this is a really unique secondary message we get about the potential of reaching across the divides and growing from other groups within the LGBT acronym. Of course, no character is a stand-in for an entire group. Not all bisexual and pansexual folks escape childhood without suppression of their gendered ways of expressing themselves, and they have unique societal and internal challenges that come with their sexuality. But it’s okay to acknowledge, as Bad Buddy and ATOTS do, that many (but not all of course) exclusively gay men have interests and gendered styles of expressing themselves evident earlier in their lives that make them a target for shit, which leads to a specific loneliness-inducing style of relating to themselves and others. P’Aof and his team, instead of comparing those experiences with bitterness (which is what I’ve often felt inclined to do in the past tbh) asks what possibilities exist when these people can understand one another. It’s also somewhat symbolic of the possibilities that occur when the BL trope of ‘gay only for you’ is, not put in contest with lgbtq media, but instead synthesized—which is what P’ Aof has explicitly aimed to do for his whole career.

#bad buddy #atots #aof noppharnach #1000 stars #patpran #phuphatian #earthmix #ohmnanon #our skyy 2 #I am specifically talking about cis men here #because I think that queer women have unique types of experiences too #alongside other folks in the rainbow #but I don’t think bad buddy or atots is really putting those in conversation #but they def can be and could be really productive #just not in this mini essay thing lol #Thai bl #bl drama #thai ql #ql drama

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swissboyhisch · 2 years ago

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Hughes Siblings Acquired

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Hughes!Reader

Summary: Somehow, the New Jersey Devils acquire a player who will fit in well on the team.

Word Count: 875

Warnings: trades.

A/N: It is more a Hughes Silbing fic with hints of Nico x Reader. Also an AU that takes place in the future sometime.

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

It was a normal day, you were wandering the stadium taking pictures and working on stuff for the Devils’ social media sites. The boys were practicing on the ice. You could see your younger brothers, Jack and Luke, messing around with your partner. Not listening to the coach.

“Hey, can you come down to the ice? There is an announcement about to be made for the team,” Your boss asks as he finds you in your office.

“Sure…”

You follow behind him, down to ice level where you join your brothers on the ice amongst the team. Nico had wrapped his arms around you to keep you steady on the ice. Though he was sweaty. Majority of the coaching staff were there as well. Even the GM, Fitzy. To you, it seemed like no-one apart from Fitzy and Ruff knew what this whole thing was about.

“As you know, it’s trade season–”

Most of the boys take a big breath. Hoping that they wouldn’t be receiving the news that someone they were close to would be traded. Nico’s grip had tightened. And from the corner of your eye, you could see your brothers gravitate closer to you two. Your little core group. Even Dawson who was on the other side of you shuffled his weight foot to foot. Nervous. Everyone was nervous.

“As the deadline neared, we knew there was one person we had our eye on.” That usually meant one of your boys would be the exchange. A big player for a big player. “We have just confirmed a trade but we have someone who wants to announce it first.”

Fitzy pulled out his phone from behind his back. It seemed to already be on a call. “Do you wanna announce it?” He spoke to no-one in particular.

“Four out of four Hughes siblings have been collected,” You could hear your twin’s voice speak from the other side of the line.

Jack was the first to react. So similar to when he found out Luke would be joining him on his team. Even on skates, he was able to jump up and down. Celebrating. Luke was next to clue on. Immediately pulling you from Nico’s arms and wrapping his arms around you instead. The three younger Hughes siblings now have their protector coming home. To them.

“Huggy!” You grin, “You’re actually coming to Jersey?!”

“Yeah I am, Squirt.”

Silence from all the other players on the ice.

“Who’s leaving?” Dawson spoke up. He was only voicing everyone else’s thoughts.

Fitzy shook his head, “One of the AHL boys and a couple of high draft picks.”

With the confirmation none of the others would be leaving the team you called family, everyone started celebrating. Nico, who was secretly worried he would be the one who would be traded, joined you and your brothers celebrating. Over the years of your relationship, he had become family. Quinn was one of his closest friends. Probably because of how similar you two could be at times.

“Who’s going to be the one to tell Mum and Dad?” Luke asks suddenly.

“We can leave that to Quinn,” You reply.

After the brief call and announcement, the boys went back to playing. You retreated to your office and pulled up Quinn’s phone contact. Despite being ecstatic your twin would be living in the same city as you and the others, he loved Vancouver and his team. Elias, Brock, Tito. They were some of his closest friends and he was being ripped away.

“Hey,” You greet when he answers.

Quinn sighs, he knew why you were calling. But he was glad it was you. “I’m doing okay.”

“Huggy, you’re being forced to leave your friends and the city you’ve called home since you were drafted.”

“I know.” He was silent on the other end of the call. “We’ve already told the boys and I’ve said goodbye to Elias and Brock.”

“Tito too?” You ask, knowing they had become close since the forward was traded.

“Tito too.”

You smile softly to yourself, “If it’s any constellation, the boys are excited to have you here.”

“I’m excited to see you guys. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” You reply. A knock on the door made you look up from your desk. There stood a freshly showered Jack, Luke and Nico. “The boys are here.”

The three made their way to your side of the desk. Situating themselves on any surface they can while you put the call on speaker. Nico lifted you up from the chair, settling into it first then letting you sit on his lap.

Luke leant forward, making sure he could be heard. “Can’t wait to see you Quinny.”

“You too Lukey,” He chuckles.

“What about me?” Jack gasps. Overdramitcally like normal.

“Yes, you too Jackie-boy.”

Nico didn’t want to intrude on the sibling time but he enjoyed listening to their jesting. With you in his lap, he was happy. Your family made him feel at home while being in the US. and Now the family was complete in New Jersey.

“We’ll see you tonight then Huggy,” You grin.

“Will you pick me up?” Quinn asks you.

“Always. Love you Quinn.”

“Love you too. Can’t wait to see you Squirt.”

TAG LIST:

@penny4yourthoughts @mp0625 @hischierhaze @jayrami3 @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings

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abhainnwhump · 4 months ago

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Hello! I know you have your own life, but I want to make sure you are ok!

Hi. Thank you for asking. Unfortunately, I'm not.

I'm sorry I haven't updated in a month, I've had no motivation to. I'm not sure if I even will because of how toxic the internet and fandom has become. I've thought about it all month and Jakei's departure was the final nail in the coffin. For my general whump fans who don't know, Jakei is the creator of Underverse, my biggest inspiration, discontinued the project due to harassment for frankly petty drama. She didn't deserve it and screw everyone who harassed her.

The last two chapters would've been an epilogue and a bonus chapter. The epilogue is about Nightmare and Ribbon's life 4 years in the future. They have a daughter, Aurora, and Nightmare has almost full control of the multiverse. Nightmare has a meeting with Dream regarding the rescue group Core Frisk started. Dream attempts to snap out of mind control and tries to attack Ribbon and Aurora, but Nightmare stops him. He sends Ribbon and Aurora to the dollhouse Ribbon made out of the Star Sanses' base. Blue is there with a prisoner that annoyed him, bringing him to Ribbon to take care of. Ribbon gets excited and has a tea party with the prisoner. The catch is the tea is poisoned and Ribbon brutally transforms him into a fluffy plush owl. He adds it to his collection and spends the rest of the time hanging out with Blue.

The bonus chapter is about two stories. One is the creation of Aurora and the other is about Core Frisk and how they're handling the apocalypse. Nightmare still wants an heir even if Ribbon is unsure and nervous about the process. He pressures him into it and Ribbon agrees. It's Horror's birthday and after the celebrations, Nightmsre takes Ribbon away to perform the spell. Later, the little soul (literally) is raised on a pillow. Ribbon spends all his time taking care of it like a good totally not brainwashed housewife would do.

Meanwhile, Core Frisk sent a team out for a rescue mission and had to step in and help after being overwhelmed by infected monsters. They manage to get away but Core notices Underfell Sans trying to hide something. They force Fell to hand over their arm to reveal it's scratched and infected. Core quickly amputates it so he's safe. Then they have an encounter with Epic, who sent the monsters in their direction in the first place for a "fun little trap".

The toxicity is not an Undertale/ UTMV fandom only issue, rather I see it in nearly every fandom now. A bunch of entitled purity "activists" with nothing better to do them stir up drama and add politics into everything. Even the non-fandom art community feels like one big game of king of the hill. It feels like most of them are only artists for attention and mainly focus on ripping down as many artists as possible.

It's gotten to the point where I don't feel safe putting my name on anything in fear of being a target. I don't want to make a mistake and then get threatened to be killed with broken glass 5 years later. Especially when I write dark subject matter.

I'm probably going to delete all my social media accounts and only post AO3 fanfics anonymously. Will they still be UTMV? Maybe. I still want to write that Kid Icarus: Uprising sequel. The bonus part about that fandom is that there's like 12 people that still know that game exists. I also want to write my original novels, but again, I fear putting my name out there in the world.

Thank you so much for everything who read IMYM and my general whump stories and prompts. Again, I'm sorry.

#IMYM #not whump #undertale au fandom #fandom culture #underverse #whump community #asks

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stereax · 7 months ago

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hello!! for the drafts thing: “bless your waters, bless your doubts” what did you set out to do with this? what changed that caused you to put it on hold? what are the themes that jump out at you, what story were you trying to tell? also, is the title a reference to something? i love to hear about the creative process!! :3

- puckpocketed on main

Yes!!! Oh my god, this was such a fun project that I began undertaking. Just couldn't keep going on it. More under the cut.

So yes! The title is a reference to the Devils' goal song. Here it is, if you haven't heard it (or if you haven't heard it in its entirety) before.

youtube

Okay third time's the charm my posts are being chewed upon by tumblr please dear lord let me post this this time please please PLEASE

[inhales] Okay! So the initial premise of this fic is incredibly simple. Dougie Hamilton, one of the Devils' better defensemen, has a running joke going where the Devils claim he's the admin of our social media. Hamilton slapshot goals are posted with a caption of "I scored!", Dougie's been roped into the act a few times, the like. So obviously this means someone's gotta write a Dougie Hamilton social media admin AU. I'm surprised nobody has yet. Devilsblr, get on it.

Anyway. I think the indents are messing up my post so let's try to post step by step. Instead of indenting snippets, I'll italicize them.

"What?"

Of all the things Dougie Hamilton had expected to hear when being pulled aside by the media team before the first game of the season, this was not it. The hockey player reclines in his seat, rubbing at one of his eyes. "You want me to do what?" he repeats.

Across from him sits Christopher Wescott, leader of the social media team if memory serves Dougie right. A quick glance down at Wescott's placard on his desk, prominently placed, confirms it. Director, Content Strategy & Social Media. Then again, Wescott usually wasn't seen filming anything, or talking to the players even, unless it was roping a certain Jack Hughes in front of a camera to try to get him to sell the youth foundation. That took all hands on deck. They even got the players involved in that one.

Gravy celebrated that hundred-dollar bonus for capturing Jack harder than any goal he's scored with the man. Colorado sleeper agent, Severson complained the next day. I would've doubled it if he let me go, Hughes complained in concurrence.

Dougie didn't remember when the media crew ever needed the hockey equivalent of a SWAT team, not in Boston or Calgary or Raleigh. Then again, maybe he's just not used to Jersey yet. (It's not New Jersey, Nico clued him in before one of his first post-game interviews. Just Jersey. Say New Jersey and they know you're not from here. Just Jersey and you're one of the locals.)

And here, in Just Jersey, Christopher Wescott wants Dougie Hamilton to take a second job.

"The younger generation of fans like memes," Wescott explains. The word memes rolls off his tongue like Dougie rolls out of bed after a physical game; that is to say, falls like a paperweight and ends up on the floor sprawled awkwardly, wondering why he hasn't retired and become a lawyer like his father yet. Wescott is what, five years older than Dougie, maybe? From the way he speaks, it sounds like he's an old man trying to commit the name of his smart speaker to memory. Erica, remind me to buy rice.

"And the team said you're supposedly the best at making them," Wescott continues, snapping Dougie out of this train of thought.

"Rice?" Dougie echoes, confused. "Anyone can make rice. It's just an orange packet you put in the microwave, you rip the top off a bit..."

Wescott sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's definitely thinking some dumb hockey player stereotype right now; Dougie can tell by the way his brow furrows in annoyance. "Look," and here he drops his volume two steps, scooting forward to lean across his desk, and oh this is serious? Dougie better pay at least enough attention to remember this discussion. No more rice. "I thought social media posting was just going to be putting up reverse retro pictures and celebrating stars of the week if we get any. You know, standard fare. But Andrew floated the idea with us a few weeks back and we really think we can get ahead of the league in capturing younger fans with a more dynamic social media presence." Of course it was Maclean, or, as the team called him, Picture Day. One guess as to why.

"And where do I get involved in this?" Dougie asks, but he realizes even as he asks that it's not going to change his final answer.

"We were thinking to make a meme after every win." Wescott pauses. "Oh, and some other reels and things for when it's needed. Of course Catherine's also going to be making content for us, too." Catherine Bogart, Queen of the Tiny Mic. Oh boy.

"Do I get tiny mic privileges?" Dougie flashes one of his patented Hamilton Smiles, hoping to catch Wescott off guard.

"We'll think about it." No then. Aw. Would've been fun though.

"Do I get paid?"

The director shrugs. "Aren't you on a multi-million dollar contract?"

"To play hockey," Dougie specifies. "Not to deep-fry Bratt pics." From the look of confusion on Wescott's face, Dougie reminds himself once again that he's dealing with a senior citizen in the body of a mid-30s advertising executive. The guy probably needed an assistant to turn on his computer. For him, deep-frying is exclusively for overpriced tempura. "Meme things," he explains without explaining. "But - "

"Museum pass, any place in the state, any exhibit, we can figure it out for you."

That rumor even made it here? Well. Hey. It's something to do on the weekends, he figures. And he's pretty sure Wescott, fancy director placard and all, can't actually give him a salary for this. "Fine," Dougie agrees. He's used to being underpaid, after all. Might as well have fun with it. Besides, it's a good excuse to get out of any social events he doesn't particularly want to go to. (Is he justifying this to himself? Oh, definitely. But he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to do this.)

So yeah! The basic premise of the fic is Dougie's (mis)adventures running the social media for the Devils, his work with the social media people, his reactions to the Devils' season, and the like. I tried to keep it quite light (funny, even, perhaps? but I'm not really funny). Dougie, is, at his heart, a fun character, and I'd like to think it shows a little. It's not that realistic (he definitely doesn't text from the bench!) but it's fun.

In typical Devils fashion, they lose the first game.

In typical Devils fashion, they also lose the second game.

Dougie already has the next three games lined up. He doesn't expect to need more than one of them, if he's being honest with himself, but he's personalizing for each team, so there's that. Might come in handy later in the season, too.

By the end of the second period against Anaheim, they're 2-2. This is also the approximate time Dougie realizes he doesn't have access to the Devils' social media accounts.

Fuck.

And to make matters worse, Dougie starts the third period on the ice.

Shit.

And, if that weren't bad enough, he scores a goal 33 seconds into the period.

Damn it.

All this to mean that, in the next thirty or so minutes, Dougie Hamilton needs to hack into Instagram and TikTok and get ready to post this meme.

The second he's on the bench, he paws off his gloves, reaching for his phone under the front wall. Shaking it on, Dougie quickly navigates to Instagram and logs -

"Dougie, you're on," Lindy calls. The defenseman slides his phone back and jumps over the wall.

When he gets back to the bench a minute or so later, Dougie completes the process of logging off his Instagram account, then quickly punches in the Devils' media email address for the login. It shows him the right account, which is good -

"Dougie, you're on." Lindy again.

As he skates, Dougie contemplates the password. He can't disappear from the bench mid-period to go and find whoever was still working now and ask, so he's got to figure this out on his own.

The first password Dougie tries is njdevils. No dice. He goes on for another shift, then comes back and tries raisehell. Also nothing. If he keeps this up, he's going to freeze the account. Two shifts later, Mercer scores, and now the situation is dire, just when Dougie's brain is deep-fried worse than the Bratt pictures he sent the groupchat last week.

"Hey, Haula," he whispers as the center clambers over the wall to take his position on the faceoff. "If you were gonna make a password, what would it be?" In retrospect, Haula is not the person to ask about this, but Dougie will take what he can get, thank you very much.

"I dunno, man," Haula shrugs. "Password or something?" He raises an eyebrow at the weird question, skating off. Dougie nearly facepalms at the response, but fuck it, he might as well try. password.

Holy fucking shit.

Dougie slides his phone back onto the shelf to take another shift, biting his tongue to keep from cackling so loudly that even his own teammates would stay away from him. Holy fucking shit. Wescott and company clearly have never had a single lesson about cybersecurity.

Well, he's in now, and that's the most important.

However, as I continued writing, another story "thread" popped up, this one a lot more personal to me - the story of the Polish diaspora in New Jersey. A lot of my own personal stories are reflected in this part of the fic. It makes sense in the story (Dougie rents a townhouse in Garfield to avoid being recognized in Newport, Hoboken, and that area), but it's definitely a sharp left from the fic's initial focus. The two plot lines do intersect later on, but I never got to really writing that part of the story, sadly.

A few moments later, Ms. K turns off the stove and carries the soup pot into the dining room with two oven-mitted hands. Dougie pulls himself up to steady the situation however he can, helping direct the pot into its position. Ms. K takes the ladle she had hooked onto her arm, snatching Dougie's bowl before he can react and filling it with several ladlefuls of żurek. At the hockey player's mortified expression of a silent way too much, Ms. K shakes her head emphatically. "Big man, strong, big meal."

"Okay," Dougie agrees, cautious, as he settles back down in his chair and takes his spoon, stirring the soup. Chunks of sausage - kiełbasa - float up to the top before dipping back in. "Thank you," he mumbles, a little too quiet for even his own liking. He's just tired after the game. Yeah. Tired and a little humbled by the kind gesture.

"No worries," Ms. K replies, and from the way she rubs her hands together as she sits, Dougie knows she's one step away from launching into a story over dinner. "You know Martyna from the deli?"

"Yeah," Dougie nods. One of Ms. K's co-workers at Bratek, the business on the other side of town where she cooks for a living. Dougie's been there a few times, just to bask in the atmosphere and maybe score a few free candies. Martyna's the young one, couldn't be more than 24. Her husband Konrad is, from what Dougie has heard of him, a massive piece of shit. He suspects he's going to hear more of him in a moment.

"She came in yesterday all crying," Ms. K sighs, blowing on a spoonful of soup. It reminds Dougie to try his own - it's distinctively sour, but in a good way, enticing yet filling. (He suspects Ms. K makes him a lighter batch than she normally cooks, given the difference in color between this one and the one at the deli. No matter.) "Says that barely enough money for rent. Konrad drinks it all away. Co za kurwa debil."

Dougie doesn't need to speak a word of Polish to understand the meaning behind that acidic sentence, that Ms. K clearly isn't happy with her coworker's husband. "That bad?" he queries, making sure to leave it open for interpretation.

"He even doesn't have job," Ms. K rolls her eyes. "I told her, this man no good, he not love you. No. She loves him. Enough for her that she loves him." The older lady sighs. "Love doesn't pay rent. Or food. Or gas. He needs job." Dougie nods again in agreement, letting her continue; after a moment, she does. "Nobody want to hire him. Not construction, not restaurant, nobody. All what he does is drink and complain."

"Maybe he's got some sort of mental disorder?" The defenseman offers the idea. "Sits at home all day, does nothing, drinks - "

Ms. K barks out a laugh, cutting Dougie off. "His mental disorder" (here she butchers the pronunciation of the words) "is lazy. He doesn't go to school, doesn't work. Only watch game and drink. Lazy. Mother not raise him right." She shakes her head. "You give child everything, they get lazy. You make child work, they not get lazy."

"Aha," Dougie grants the point, deciding that a debate on the existence of depression against his matronly elderly neighbor who was currently feeding him wasn't exactly his plan for the rest of the day.

"No discipline in that house," Ms. K sighs. "All three Kubiaks lazy. One I understand, three is parents' fault." A pause as Ms. K lifts her spoon. "Martyna stupid, Konrad lazy. Perfect together."

They eat for a few minutes in silence, Dougie digesting both the soup and the gossip. "She's at least a good worker though." It's a calculated statement, because Ms. K very obviously wants to keep talking, but Dougie doesn't want to hear about Polish child-rearing strategies (which, from his very limited experience, began and ended at corporal punishment). So hopefully she bites on the redirect.

"Did I tell you about Barbara?" Hook, line, sinker.

"No," Dougie hums.

"She knows nothing!" Ms. K flushes red with annoyance. "She goes all day and looks how I cook. She can't even make salad. All you do is..." Her steam runs out as she searches for the word she needs. "Zetrzeć carrot, doesn't know how."

"Cut?"

"No, not cut." Ms. K mimes running a carrot over a grater. "So you get thin."

"Grate," Dougie supplies.

She nods quickly. "Yes, grate. Cannot grate carrot. Cuts herself. Cannot stir soup - not even make soup, just stir it. Burns herself. Or gets soup dirty."

He chuckles at that. "So she's not a good chef."

"No, but she is owner's son's wife," Ms. K sighs. "Cannot be at cash register, scans things twice. Cannot stack food, food falls and breaks. Cannot cook, chicken is raw and burnt. Both on same piece. Useless."

Dougie tilts his soup bowl to fill his spoon, unable to stop his eyes from looking at the cakes on display. The nutritionists don't need to know. "Can she bake?"

"She make pączki and pączki go boom." She says it so matter-of-factly that it's hysterical. "If she know how bake, she work at Piast."

Piast, the Polish store/restaurant hybrid that looks like a literal castle on the side of the road. Dougie hasn't ever been inside, Ms. K forbidding it (and once again, he's not going to argue with the woman who clearly knows her stuff). "If you ever need Polish food, come to me. Not Piast. Owner died, place is bad now. Too expensive."

That's another thing about Polish people - they measure everything in who died. Usually with when and how thrown into the mix. Honestly, it's fascinating. Ms. K puts on her Polish television shows and points out to Dougie who had a heart attack and who got into a car accident, recounting the details as if she were the coroner. She turns on the radio and everyone got cancer or was murdered by a French guy, five songs in a row, and then an Italian song comes on. Ms. K purses her lips for a minute, then says, "Did you know their daughter disappeared? Took too many drugs, jumped off a bridge. So young, too."

It's kind of morbid, Dougie figures.

Every Sunday, Ms. K goes to church and then to the cemetery, weather permitting. She takes candles with her in fancy glass containers, lights them and leaves them on her husband's grave. Dougie's seen the containers and heard the stories, how she counts the days until she sees him again. Dougie asks her, once, whether she wants to find another husband; she laughs sadly, "When Wojciech died, I saw it was either son or new man. I said better to work for son than for stranger. Son no longer here, but am old now. No point in looking for husband. I have husband already. Just not here anymore."

I think the main "issue" with this fic is that it's Super Fucking Long. There are so many plot lines in it and so much going on that it quickly became an overwhelming sort of project and I sputtered out on energy.

If I went back to rework it, I'd have to definitely consider whether all the parts are truly necessary or whether I just want to focus on Dougie as the social media admin and go from there. Additionally, I didn't know much about some characters before beginning to write, so they come across as fairly OOC, so I need to rework that.

Fun fact, though - I originally intended bless your waters, bless your doubts to be a capstone of a series. Each fic would represent one line of "Howl" and would be a short oneshot dealing with a specific Devil and some specific situation they were in. For example:

and all grown up and traveled so well - Mercer about heritage

do you still hear the sound of the thunder while you lie up by yourself? - Palat injury

And each one would offer a new perspective, roughly in chronological order, on the Devils and their own narratives. I still feel that the "braided" fics, as I call them, would be vitally important in presenting a complete picture, and I'd want to preserve them if I do retry this one.

However, it's a bit of a "dated" fic (22-23 is so long ago now), plus it'd end up being so incredibly long... I don't think I have it in me. Maybe someday.

Have one last snippet, here, and Experience Devils Hockey with me! [profuse sobbing]

It's seven-fifteen by the time Dawson shows up, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Classic. Dougie can't help but chuckle as he opens the door for the young center. "Nice to see you," he smiles, a little fondly. Dawson reminds him a little too much of himself. He supposes it's only kind to pay it forward and take him under his wing.

"Yeah," Dawson grins back. "What's cooking?"

"Figure it out," Dougie challenges. The kid sniffs the air, contemplating his next words, and Dougie takes the opportunity to take the finished chicken out of the oven. "Before if gets cold," he calls across the room, balancing the dish in both gloved hands. Dawson scurries over to get a better look.

"I knew it had to be garlic," the Newfoundlander comments. He pulls out his chair and plops down unceremoniously. "Got anything to drink?"

Dougie bites his tongue to stop from rolling his eyes. "Because you want to be hungover the morning before the Caps."

"It'll help the L go down," Mercer offers. Damn, they really thought they had no chance, huh?

Right. This team never did have a chance. He's been here a year already but enough of that time was on injured reserve (and the rest trying to avoid anyone on his former teams) that it's still new to him, this - this culture of expecting loss. He sees it in the eyes of the old guard, how Sevo and Wood sigh when a goal is given up like it's the last breath they know how to take. Even the newer players feel it, see it, know it.

This was once a dynasty, Dougie understands, and now the castle is in ruins.

#stereanswers #sterechats :)

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