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── ୨୧ ! DRESS TO IMPRESS IN REAL LIFE
matt sturniolo x reader
SUMMARY: Where Y/N, Matt's secret girlfriend, participates in the 'Dress to Impress in real life' video.
WARNING: None.
REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
A/N²: I added and changed some dialogs that didn't happen on the video, so the fic ended being more complete.
༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
The triplets were buzzing with energy, their house a hive of activity as they set up for their newest video; Dress to Impress, real-life edition. Each round had its own theme, and the first one was Summer Vacation. Y/N had been roped into joining as a surprise guest, and secretly, Matt couldn't have been more thrilled.
The boys had already pulled out all the stops with their outfits. Chris sported a chaotic ensemble: a bucket hat with panels of clashing colors, lime green slides, and denim cargo shorts.
Matt was rocking a relaxed, dad-on-vacation vibe, complete with an oversized straw hat, patterned swim trunks, and a shirt that screamed, 'I don’t care, I’m on island time'.
Nick had gone full beach prep with a striped tank top, sunglasses that were almost too tiny for his face, and a retro cooler box tucked under his arm like an accessory.
As the camera rolled, Y/N was still getting ready in Matt’s bathroom, leaving the boy's to discuss who went better between the three of them.
"Alright." Chris said, pointing a finger at Nick’s cooler. "I’m just saying, if you don’t actually have anything in there, that’s a waste of a prop."
"It’s called committing to the bit, Chris." Nick shot back, adjusting the towel draped over his shoulder. "The cooler is the vibe."
Matt, who was adjusting his sunglasses, glanced toward the bathroom door, his face lighting up as if he could sense Y/N’s presence through the walls.
"Y/N better bring it. I know she’s got something amazing up her sleeve."
Nick rolled his eyes, looking at Matt with a boring expression.
"Why do I feel like you’re already planning to give her every win, no matter what she’s wearing?"
"Because I am." Matt replied bluntly, grinning like the lovesick puppy he was.
The door finally creaked open, and all three boys turned as Y/N emerged. She had nailed the summer vacation aesthetic, wearing a flowy, tropical-patterned sundress, bikini top below it, oversized black Prada sunglasses perched on her nose, and sandals that matched her outfit perfectly. She’d even added a straw beach bag for good measure.
"Okay, Y/N, I see you!" Chris exclaimed, clapping his hands together.
Y/N laughed, grinning widely before twirling to show off her look.
"Alright, that’s tough competition. You actually look like you're ready to spend the day at your beach house." Nick gave a low whistle, his blue eyes traveling from her face to her feet and back again. "But I'd say you're in fourth place. You're ready for the beach, not for any summer vacation."
"Fair." Y/N shrugged, take a quick peak at her outfit again before looking at Matt. "What do you think?"
Matt's eyes seemed to be shining like the whole cadence of stars, wandering through every detail of her choice of clothes.
"Are you kidding? That’s... that’s so good. You look like you stepped out of a summer vacation catalog or something." His voice sounded slightly high-pitched with excitement. "Nick's just jealous."
"What? No, I'm not!"
Chris rolled his eyes, already sensing where this was going.
"Oh, here we go."
"Like, if I saw you on the beach." Matt continued, ignoring his brothers entirely. "I’d probably just pass out. That’s how good you look."
"Okay, Matt." Nick said, holding up a hand. "We get it. Obsessive fucker."
The room filled with laughter, Y/N shaking her head but unable to hide the grin spreading across her face, her cheeks heating up.
"Right, first round? I'm second." Matt declared, gesturing toward himself. "Obviously, Y/N was first because, you know, she's Y/N." He gave her a little smile. "Then Nick was third, and Chris was fourth. That’s the average."
"Yeah, unfortunately." Nick muttered, throwing his hands up.
"Well." Chris turned dramatically to the camera and pointed. "They can vote."
Nick, not missing a beat, leaned closer to the camera, his voice dripping with mock confidence.
"Oh, I already know they’re gonna vote for me. Mine’s obviously the best. Unless..." He paused for dramatic effect, raising an eyebrow. "These girls wanna sleep with Matt and vote for him."
"What?!" Matt’s eyes widened in pure shock as he whipped his head toward the camera, looking utterly scandalized.
Y/N’s eyes flicked between Nick and Matt, her lips tightening slightly trying to suppress a laugh. It was impossible not to be amused by Nick’s antics.
She knew Nick wasn’t wrong, Matt’s popularity with their audience also had to do with his charm and, let’s face it, how good he looked on camera. There probably were plenty of girls who’d vote for Matt purely because of his looks, even if one of the other boys dressed better.
Nick continued without missing a beat.
"It’s the straight man advantage! You guys..." He gestured wildly at the camera. "Are gonna discriminate against me because I’m gay, and I don't like 'yall back."
At that, Y/N couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking her head.
Matt, still recovering from Nick’s bold accusation, raised a hand defensively.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second." He looked straight into the camera with that intense, sincere gaze that Y/N loved. "Just for the record, I’m completely off-limits. Completely."
The way he said it, firm and definitive, sent a wave of confidence through Y/N. Her lips twitched into a small smile as she crossed her arms, clearing her throat to contain her reactions, trying to play it cool.
Nick, however, wasn’t done.
"Oh, yeah? You really think they care about that?" He teased, smirking as Matt shook his head in disbelief.
Chris rolled his eyes, still laughing.
"Nick, stop trying to guilt-trip them into voting for you."
"I'm not doing anything." Nick replied with a wink, sending the group into another fit of laughter.
"Now, bring the runway on, boys!"
The camera cut to Chris, who had appointed himself the first to strut down their makeshift runway that started from the stairs.
He walked in quick steps before stopping in the center of their camera lens, dramatically fanning himself with an imaginary hand fan.
"Where did you even get the idea of the imaginary fan?" Y/N teased, laughing with the others.
"Shh, it’s part of the vibe." Chris replied, flipping his bucket hat backward with flair. He strolled toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, striking a series of ridiculous poses. "Yeah, you’re welcome." He said as he walked off-camera, leaving the other three in stitches.
Nick went next, cooler in hand.
"Get ready to witness greatness." He said, lifting the retro cooler above his head like it was the Holy Grail, showing it off.
"You go, queen!" Y/N cheered, nodding her head while watching him.
Nick smiled brightly, placing it down carefully and reached for the towel draped over his shoulder, unfolding it with slow, deliberate movements. Too slow.
"This is taking forever." Matt groaned, crossing his arms.
"Nick, it’s been 30 seconds. Just lay the towel down!" Chris yelled.
Nick ignored them, carefully smoothing out the towel on the floor, his face the picture of focus. Once he was satisfied, he walked down the "runway", throwing some expressions to the camera before almost gluing his face to the lens, taking his glasses off.
"Iconic." Y/N said between laughs.
"Thank you, thank you." Nick replied, bowing before dramatically kicking the towel aside as if to signal the end of his performance, his right hand fanning himself as the last act.
Matt was up next.
"Alright, let me show you how it’s done." He said confidently. Grabbing his sunscreen, he opened the cap and squeezed a dollop onto his fingers, dabbing it on his cheeks like football player stripes.
"Well, you gotta stay protected, I guess." Y/N muttered, smiling with how Chris was rooting like crazy.
Laughter escaped her lips as Matt sauntered toward the camera, showing off the sunscreen like it was a designer handbag. He struck a confident pose, holding the product up, before walking back off the camera with an over-the-top smile.
Finally, it was Y/N’s turn.
"Your move, Y/N." Nick said, gesturing grandly toward the imaginary runway.
"Alright, alright, give me a second." She said, thinking fast.
She reached into her straw bag, pulling out the pair of oversized sunglasses that she had thrown there at some point, dramatically placing it on her face. Then, grabbing a small beach towel she had tucked inside the bag, she draped it over one arm like a sash.
"What’s happening here?" Matt asked, intrigued.
Y/N strolled onto the "runway" with slow, exaggerated movements like a madame arriving at a five-star resort. Halfway down, she pretended to feel the heat, pulling an actual bottle of water from her bag and taking a sip before fanning herself with her hand.
"It has to have the fan move!" Nick applauded, grinning to the scene before being interrupted by Chris’s comment.
"Of course, I created it."
At the end of the runway, Y/N stopped, tossed her sunglasses off dramatically at the ground, and struck a ridiculous pose with one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes as if she was shielding her face from the sun.
"That was solid!" Chris exclaimed, clapping.
Matt, meanwhile, was in awe, hands on his head.
"Are you kidding? That was really good. A thousand points. Game over. Y/N wins. Everyone go home."
Nick scoffed.
"Matt, stop simping for two seconds so we can keep this contest going."
"I’m not simping." Matt argued, clearly lying. "I'm just stating facts."
"Shut up, Matt."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
For the Mix-Matched Madness theme, the camera panned to the boys standing in a line, proudly displaying their chaotic ensembles.
Chris was clad in a bright red varsity jacket over a striped shirt, camo pink shorts, and mismatched knee-high socks with chunky boots.
Matt decided for plaid shorts layered over one plaid pant leg, a pastel blue and yellow sweater vest, and a floppy dog-ear cap.
Nick went to a plaid jacket layered over a striped shirt with a perfectly coordinated tie, and matching sweatpants and sneakers.
"Guys, I’m clearly superior." Nick started, raising his eyebrows as he adjusted his glasses. "My outfit is actually intentional, look at this synergy! It screams fashion-forward."
Matt groaned, rolling his eyes and looking at Chris with a 'is he serious?' expression.
"Nick, you’re wearing matchy-matchy plaid in a mix-matched challenge. You’ve missed the assignment!"
"It’s ironic." Nick shot back, crossing his arms. "I’m doing intentional matching. If I were in a real runway right now, people would actually like my outfit."
Chris scratched his head, looking between them.
"Isn’t that kind of cheating, though?"
Before the debate could escalate further, Y/N stepped into the frame, causing all three boys to give her their attention.
Her outfit was next level: a bright purple sequined crop top paired with one lime green legging on her right leg and a fluffy, neon orange sock on the other. She wore a skirt made of layered, clashing floral patterns that didn’t quite match the fuzzy checkered cardigan she threw on top. To finish it off, her accessories included a leopard-print beanie - the one she stole from Matt's closet -, oversized sunglasses, and two entirely different shoes, a silver stiletto on one foot and a Croc on the other.
The boys gawked.
"Okay, now that’s mix-matched madness." Chris said, pointing at her.
"Girl, you look like you fell into a thrift store... and it worked." Nick added, looking both impressed and slightly annoyed.
"How can you still look so good while wearing... that?" Matt asked, pointing at her outfit with his hand while shaking his head in disbelief.
Y/N twirled dramatically, holding out her skirt as she grinned at the camera.
"Thank you, boys. I like to call this 'chaos with confidence'." She invented the random name, throwing a quick kiss to the lens.
Chris threw his hands up.
"Alright, I’m officially placing second now."
Nick groaned, shaking his head dramatically.
"No way. She’s great, but I’m still winning. Look at this tie!"
Matt laughed.
"Nick, your tie doesn’t save you from breaking the theme. You’re disqualified."
The scene cut to the "runway", where each of them showcased their chaotic outfits with an equally chaotic performance.
First up was Nick. He confidently strutted forward, reaching for the end of his tie. With exaggerated flair, he lifted it as if someone were pulling him forward, his face a picture of mock shock and drama, stumbling forward.
"Ey, keep going!" Chris hollered, nodding enthusiastically.
The moment he reached the end of the runway, he grinned mischievously, running his hand dramatically through his hair and tossing a sultry look at the camera before taking off his pink glasses.
"Work it, Nick!" Y/N chimed in, her laughter mixing with the chaos.
Nick turned on his heel with a laugh, sauntering back to the start and throwing a praying gesture, ignoring how Matt laughed, mockingly imitating his act.
Next, Matt stepped up, adjusting his floppy dog-ear cap before suddenly spinning it backward.
"Showtime." He muttered under his breath, earning immediate chuckles from the others. He walked to the camera with a cocky stride, crossing his arms and bending slightly to the side.
For the final move, he pivoted and moonwalked his way back to the start, nearly slipping on his mismatched shoes but recovering with a grin.
"Did you see that? Effortless." Matt declared, earning boos and laughs from the rest.
"You almost ate it, Matt." Y/N teased, shaking her head.
Chris stepped up next. And, of course, he brought drama.
"Hold my jacket." He said, then immediately shook his head. "Actually, no. The floor will."
With exaggerated aggression, he ripped off one of his red lobster gloves, throwing it to the ground with flair. The glove was followed by his belt, which he unbuckled and tossed with equal energy.
"Oh my God." Y/N looked at the camera with wide eyes.
"What is happening?" Nick cackled, practically doubling over, slapping Y/N's arm.
Chris wasn’t done. He walked up to the camera with an intense expression, holding his hands out and touching the screen, acting as if zooming in.
"Enhance." He said, squinting into the lens. Then, as if the camera wasn’t worthy, he spun dramatically on his heel, walked back, and threw off his varsity jacket mid-stride before striking one final pose.
"Now that’s how you do it." Y/N joked, looking at the camera. "Like and subscribe if you want Chris to make a strip tea-"
"Y/N!"
For Y/N's turn, she adjusted her oversized leopard beanie with a dramatic flair and tilted her sunglasses low on her nose, revealing a dead-serious expression underneath. She strutted forward slowly, dragging her stiletto along the ground for added effect. When she reached the camera, she whipped her head to the side, making her orange fluffy sock the star of the moment.
But it didn’t end there. Y/N suddenly crouched down into a deep squat, raising one hand in the air and striking a pose like she was ready to pounce. The boys immediately broke into cheers and laughter.
"Yes, queen!" Nick shouted, jumping in the place and clapping, laughing loudly.
"She nailed it." Matt said with a proud grin, nodding his head.
Y/N slowly stood, turning to the side as if the camera had disappeared, and walked off like nothing had happened.
"Thank you." She said nonchalantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as the others applauded.
"Alright, I officially retire." Nick said, throwing his arms to the air in a surrender gesture.
"Same." Chris picked up his lobster glove from the floor, grinning.
Matt sighed, smiling at Y/N's figure.
"She’s unbeatable. Let’s not do these challenges anymore if she’s in them."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The scene cut to the next category: Rock Concert. The boys had gathered in front of the camera, each flaunting their edgy outfits.
Chris leaned casually against the wall, dressed in all black with his bandana tied around his head. His sunglasses were perfectly placed, and a Bluetooth speaker hung over his shoulder like a statement piece.
"Clearly, I’m the embodiment of rock concert aesthetic." He said confidently, adjusting his speaker strap.
Nick crossed his arms, giving Chris a side-eye. He was sporting his long-sleeved shirt adorned with skulls and intricate spiderweb patterns paired with black cargo pants and chunky boots.
"Please." Nick retorted. "I’ve got literal death on my shirt. That’s as metal as it gets."
Matt, standing in the middle, smirked. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, complete with a silver skull belt buckle and leather pants that practically screamed rockstar.
"Yeah, but have you seen my belt?" He argued, lifting his white shirt slightly to show it off. "This is peak rock concert material. I even coordinated it with my jacket."
"Okay, but who do you think the crowd would look at first?" Chris challenged. "The guy with the bandana, all black, and sunglasses? Obviously me. The speaker only makes it better."
Nick rolled his eyes.
"You look like you’re trying to be a cool dad sneaking into a concert." He teased.
"Alright, alright." Y/N interrupted from off-screen, stepping into the camera frame and effectively stealing the show.
Y/N’s outfit was on another level. She wore a black 'Bon Jovi' cropped top with silver detailing that matched the chains on her leather mini skirt. Fishnet tights peeked out from under the skirt, leading down to a pair of knee-high combat boots that added an extra edge to the look. To top it off, she wore a cropped leather jacket with studs on the shoulders and accessorized with chunky silver jewelry and a black choker.
The boys fell silent for a second, staring.
Y/N smiled brightly at them before turning to the camera, raising her right arm and making the 'rock and roll' gesture by raising her pinky and index fingers and lowering the others.
"'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars and live in hilltop houses driving 15 cars..."
"Girl, what the fuck?" Nick widened his eyes, looking from Y/N to the camera with a look that screamed 'are you guys seeing this?'
Matt laughed loudly, recognizing the song from one of the TikTok trends that Y/N had been obsessing over the past few weeks, being quick in imitating her position, and starting singing with her.
"... the girls come easy and the drugs come cheap, we'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat-"
"Okay, that's enough of that." Chris interrupted the pair, gesturing to them while shaking his head in disbelief. "So, Y/N wins."
Nick groaned dramatically.
"Let's take her out right now. I don't wanna play with her anymore."
Matt couldn’t stop smiling.
"Can we just talk about how she’s nailing this? Like, can we get her to join the band we don’t have?"
Y/N laughed, giving a mock bow.
"Thank you, thank you. Now, let's just be clear, I already won." Y/N said with a sly grin, stepping forward. "You'll all lose time if you keep discussing who's the best between you three."
"How can you be so sure?" Chris crossed his arms, carrying a superior instance.
"Because I actually listen to rock." She said, shrugging like it was obvious. "AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Kansas, Asia... should I keep going?"
Nick groaned.
"Okay, that’s true, but it doesn’t count!"
"Doesn’t count?" Y/N repeated, feigning offense. "I think you’ll find that the fact I actually know rock makes me the winner by default." She turned to Chris. "Tell me. Have 'yall even listened to ‘Highway to Hell’ all the way through?"
Chris hesitated, playing with his earphones.
"Uh... I mean." He looked at Nick. "Probably?"
Y/N laughed, shaking her head.
"Thought so." She crossed her arms. "So, I don’t need a skull belt, all-black everything, or death on my chest. I’ve got the actual music taste. Rock is in my veins, boys."
Nick groaned dramatically, throwing his head back.
"She wins. I hate it, but she wins."
"Alright, fine." Chris muttered. "But we still look better."
"Not a chance." Y/N teased, spinning in place again and winking at the camera. "This outfit screams rock goddess."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The boys were now proudly sporting their "Zoom Meeting" outfits. Chris held up his MacBook, Matt adjusted his glasses with a goofy smile, and Nick tugged at his black tie, looking down at his bright heart-shaped boxer shorts with fake professionalism.
"Alright." Chris started, addressing the imaginary Zoom meeting in front of him. "Gentlemen, let’s get to business. As you can see, we’re all clearly dressed to impress."
"Except for Nick." Matt teased, nodding toward his brother's boxer shorts. "The hearts? A little too much, don’t you think?"
Nick scoffed, feigning offense.
"Excuse me, at least I have this tie that says I’m both professional and emotionally available. A winning combo."
Matt rolled his eyes and gestured to his own look.
"Meanwhile, I’ve got balance. Business on top, relaxation on the bottom."
"That’s literally the whole theme." Chris pointed out with a smirk. "You’re not special, Matt."
Y/N watched from her spot leaning against Matt's bathroom door, her legs crossed as she sipped from her mug of coffee that she made while waiting for them to get ready. She was dressed comfortably yet stylishly, rocking an oversized beige knit sweater that draped perfectly off one shoulder, paired with black leggings and fluffy white socks. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her face. Despite the boys' chaotic energy, she was nailing the whole "effortlessly cool" vibe.
"Y/N, you’re way too cozy for a Zoom meeting." Chris said, pointing at her as he adjusted his loose white shirt.
"Well." Y/N said with a playful grin. "Unlike you guys, I know how to mix comfy with class. You all just look ridiculous."
Nick gasped, dramatically clutching the box in his hands.
"Ridiculous? Ridiculous?! Look at this tie! I’m the epitome of professionalism!"
Chris leaned toward Y/N, pointing at Matt.
"What about him? He’s literally in boxer shorts."
Y/N rolled her eyes, sipping from her mug to hide her smile.
"You're all wearing it, dumbass." Her eyes lingered on Matt's red boxer shorts for a moment too long. "It’s really interesting that someone would think boxer shorts are appropriate for a Zoom meeting, actually."
Matt smirked, striking a random pose.
"Are you jealous?"
"No?" She said quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, it’s not like anyone else on the Zoom would see them, right?"
The other two brothers caught on instantly, grinning like Cheshire cats.
"Y/N." Nick teased. "Are you saying you wouldn’t let your Zoom co-workers see your boxers?"
"Nick!" She exclaimed, throwing an exasperated look at him. "That’s not the point!"
Chris chimed in, laughing.
"Yeah, Matt. She’s definitely jealous. She wishes she could wear boxers to a meeting."
"I do not!" Y/N huffed, crossing her arms, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I just... don’t understand why he’d even bother wearing the shirt if he’s just going to go full casual anyway."
"It’s called commitment to the aesthetic." Matt said, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, discretely squeezing the exposed skin. "Something you clearly wouldn’t understand."
"Oh, I understand commitment." Y/N shot back with a smirk, meeting his eyes momentarily. "But let’s be honest, none of you are winning any awards for those outfits."
"Excuse me?" Nick said, pretending to be outraged. "I’m clearly the winner here."
"Winner?" Chris scoffed. "You’re wearing socks pulled up to your knees, bro. That’s not even close to a win."
Y/N chuckled as she watched them descend into a full argument over who had the best Zoom look, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering back to Matt’s outfit. Something about the casual confidence he exuded - boxers and glasses - had her feeling just a little possessive and turned on.
"Alright." She announced, clapping her hands to get their attention. "If you’re all done arguing, let’s see who can really sell their look with a runway walk."
The boys' faces lit up, and they quickly got into character.
Nick was up first, confidently sliding across the wooden floor in his socks, arms spread wide like a figure skater. As he came to a stop, he reached for his boxer shorts and dramatically lowered them until they hit the ground, shouting a little "Oh!".
Matt immediately yelped.
"Nick!" He yelled before lunging forward to cover Y/N's eyes with both hands.
"Matt! What are you doing?!" Y/N laughed, trying to swat his hands away while Chris doubled over in hysterics.
"Protecting your innocence!" Matt declared, keeping his hands firmly over her face.
Nick, unfazed, quickly pulled his boxers back up and began walking toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, tugging at his tie and making ridiculous faces as though he were a real model.
"You’re unbelievable!" Chris murmured through his laughter, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Well, we've got 2 strippers now-"
"Y/N!"
Nick turned dramatically to face her and winked.
"You’re welcome for the show."
Next, it was Matt’s turn. He walked to the middle of the floor, cracking his knuckles with a sly grin before suddenly dropping to his hands and knees.
"Uh, Matt?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What...?" Nick added, genuinely confused.
Then, without warning, Matt lifted his left leg to the side like a dog at a fire hydrant.
The realization hit everyone at once, recognizing the movement from one of the rounds of DTI that Matt and Chris played, and the room erupted into cheers and laughter.
"That was perfect!" Chris shouted, clapping his hands.
Matt stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off his shirt with a smirk, and walked toward the camera with crossed arms, striking a serious pose like a model in a high-fashion commercial.
"Okay, that was actually cool." Y/N admitted, giggling as he walked back to join them.
When it was Chris’s turn, he shook his head with a grin.
"I’m sitting this one out." He said.
"What? Why?" Nick asked, incredulous.
Chris shrugged.
"I’m already the main event. I’ll let Y/N steal the spotlight this time."
Y/N’s eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, so now I have to go?"
"You got this!" Matt encouraged, nudging her toward the runway.
"Fine." She said, standing up and straightening her oversized sweater dramatically.
Y/N walked off the camera and took the book she'd been reading the past few days from the coffee table, walking back to the frame before delicately putting it on her head like a balancing act. She strutted confidently toward the camera, balancing it all the way, then stopped to pull out her mug, striking a victorious pose before taking a slow, exaggerated sip. The boys erupted in applause.
"You can call me Barbie now." She started, turning to the boys while opening a wide smile before pretending that her hand was a microphone. "On top of the world where I can see everything before me reaching up to touch the sky-"
"Okay, singer girl, pipe down a bit." Nick raised his right hand, exchanging perplexed looks with Chris, who was laughing.
"Okay, she wins." The youngest admitted, shrugging in defeat.
"Unreal." Matt said, looking at her with obvious pride. "You’re way too good at this, Y/N."
"Okay, okay, she wins. No one can top that." Nick nodded at Y/N. "But I think Chris gets second place in this one."
"No, I give you number one." Chris insisted, pointing to Nick while Matt just observed.
"I can't accept that. I'm just happy Matt's wearing his blue light glasses again." Nick's voice turned dramatically high-pitched, clearly imitating the fandom.
Before anyone could react to him, Matt ripped his glasses off of his face, bending it backward until it snapped, small pieces flying everywhere.
"Matt, why would you do that?" Y/N yelled, looking at him with wide eyes and open mouth - just like the other two - before pouting, looking miserably at the shattered pieces. "I liked that one."
"I don't like those stupid jokes." Matt simply replied, looking unfazed at his brothers and Y/N.
Nick and Chris kept looking from Matt to the camera and back, their expressions full of shock.
"You're going to buy another one just like that one, I don't even care." Y/N ordered, crossing her arms and looking directly at Matt, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'dare disobey me.
"Fine." He sighed. "Sorry."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Extra - comments:
"okay but can we talk about matt literally saying ‘I’m off limits’? someone tell me what’s going on here 🤡"
"nick casually calling out matt girls for voting on matt only bc they want to sleep with him had me SCREAMING 😭"
"why was Y/N blushing when matt said he was off limits? I SEE YOU, GIRL!!!!"
"the dynamic between Y/N and matt is giving major dating vibes"
"wait, why does matt always seem to hype Y/N up just a little more than chris and nick? like, we get it, dude. she’s awesome. but tone it down, or we’ll all start connecting dots 🤨"
"as a fellow rock fan, I have to say Y/N listening to AC/DC and bon jovi automatically makes her my fave"
"not Y/N convincing matt with zero effort to do the rockstar trend with her 🤧"
"I’m not saying I ship Y/N and matt... but I also kind of ship Y/N and matt. the way he looked at her with that dress??? man, I know that look"
"matt breaking his glasses and then Y/N ordering him to buy another one and him ACCEPTING IT???? and saying sorry???? omg that's just girl boss right there 🙏🏻"
#chris sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt stuniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x yn#matt sturniolo x y/n#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader fanfic#matt sturniolo x reader fluff#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt fanfic#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo#chris sturniolo x bff reader#nick sturniolo x bff reader#secret girlfriend#dress to impress
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content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader
It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.
“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”
“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.
It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.
“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”
Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”
You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”
“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”
A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.
So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.
Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).
Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.
Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.
He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”
“No.”
“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”
“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”
“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”
“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.
Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).
“I’ll even pay,” you offer.
“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.
You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”
“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.
You grin, nodding enthusiastically.
Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.
It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.
“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.
“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.
“No—”
“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”
“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”
“No—”
“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”
“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.
It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.
“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.
“Yay!” You squeal.
It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.
He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.
He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.
“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”
Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”
“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”
“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.
Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”
“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.
“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”
“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”
With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”
“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”
He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”
#writing tag#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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Hi!! For the kiss prompts, I’d love to read something Reader x Viktor with the scenario ‘kisses meant to distract’ + the dialogue “i think i deserve a kiss” 🥹 thank you!!
tysm for sending this ask!!!! this was so cute to write and it healed me ahaha
➸ pairing: viktor x gender neutral!reader ➸ word count: 680 ➸ tags: mdni! fluffy, hurt/comfort, soft kissing, guilt, sweet ending, reader is in a long-term relationship w/ viktor, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: asked from this prompt list!!
Hextech was a blessing and a curse. It’s components to better society had been coming to fruition, but at the expense of Viktor’s sanity. Hexgates weren’t enough, all they had done was progress the city of Piltover. Nothing had been done to help anyone else. The people in Zaun—himself.
The pain in his body had become unbearable most days, his body frail and weakening with every passing moment.
He wondered why you stuck around all these years, staying at his side as his health deteriorated. You weren’t married, children weren’t on the agenda, and all he did was spend countless hours in his lab with Jayce and Sky.
It wasn’t fair to you.
Yet, you stayed.
Stopping by with a home cooked meal that he picked at, or offering your presence for a few hours while you silently read at the table in his lab while he studied the glowing hexcore.
There was a particular week when Viktor lost all hope. Jayce, now head of the council, had spent less time with the research–in favour of protecting Piltover. A drastic turn of events from their previous shared hopes and aspirations, a way to help rather than hurt.
He sat at one of the aqueducts that sent water from Piltover into the fissures, looking out at the skyline and holding his weight onto his cane. His eyes were tired and cold, souless.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said calmly, causing Viktor to jolt and glance in your direction from the sudden intrusion, “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” he cleared his throat, attempting to sit up straighter with his hands still holding tightly to the handle of his cane, “needed some time to, eh… think.”
Sitting next to him on the ledge, you rested your cheek against his shoulder and a hand curved over his slender thigh.
“...about us?” Your voice was hushed, eyes watching the water stream below you.
Viktor’s eyes widened, shaky as he stared at you. You were nuzzled against him, the look of a sad pout covering your face. He could sense the insecurity radiating from you.
“About the hexcore,” he answered honestly, sighing as he pressed his lips against the top of your head, resting there as a fragile hand held the small of your back, “about hextech… I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s been weeks of nothing. It’s… it’s…”
You lifted your head up, lips twitching as you pressed a finger to Viktor’s lips, shushing him. Your eyes flickered between his.
“It’s eating you alive,” you finished his sentence, but not in the way he had intended.
Your heart was heavy for him. Any insecurities of yourself were long gone, and you understood the pain that Viktor was experiencing. It was defeat, feeling unworthy—terrified of death.
You felt terrible for even thinking it had anything to do with you.
“Kiss me,” you mumbled, the finger placed against his lips replaced by your thumb as you grazed it along his bottom lip. Your intent to distract him from the thoughts that weighed him down.
Viktor bore a quizzical look, brows knotting together as he blinked at you.
“Come on,” you murmured, “I think I deserve one. I haven’t seen you in days.”
The corners of his lips twitched, for once, his mind not clouded by thoughts of the hexcore. Instead, fixated on you and the way you looked at him so lovingly with your big doe eyes. How was he so lucky to have someone like you?
He dipped forward, your thumb dropping as his lips pressed to yours. A soft kiss, one that bridged the gap that had begun to split you apart. They moved together fluidly, one of his hands cupping your jaw, as yours pressed against the front of his shoulders.
“I love you,” Viktor murmured, breaking the kiss as your lips brushed together, “thank you… for staying.” His thanks were genuine, you could see the way the guilt flickered in his golden eyes.
“Kiss me again, and I’ll forgive you,” you smiled, closing your eyes as Viktor obliged, smiling against your lips.
#viktor#viktor arcane#viktor x reader#viktor x you#viktor league of legends#viktor fanfic#arcane#arcane fanfic#arcane fic#arcane x you#arcane x reader#wordsbyspatial#spatialanswers
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protective | rafe cameron
pairing - rafe cameron x gf!reader
warnings - none (maybe topper and kelce in general...)
summary - you hurt yourself. topper and kelce think it's funny until rafe immediately goes to check on you and snaps at them, shutting them up.
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laughter cuts through the room as you stumble over a pair of shoes topper had left in the doorway, immediately falling forward and colliding with the ground.
“shit, you good y/n?” topper teases, nudging kelce between chuckles.
kelce smirks, trying badly to conceal his amusement, “that looked like it hurt.”
a blush rises to your cheeks as rafe rushes over to you, helping you up and noticing the way you won’t put any weight on one foot.
“shut up. she’s hurt herself you assholes.” rafe snaps, keeping his hands on your hips to keep you steady.
topper and kelce’s laughter comes to a halt as they watch how soft and caring he turns within seconds. his expression shifts from annoyance to worry when his eyes meet yours again.
“rafe, baby, no i’m fine. just let me get a drink and i’ll be back upstairs, promise.” you insist, wincing slightly when you stand up properly.
he shakes his head, not convinced, “don’t act like you’re not in pain sweetheart, just wanna check you’re okay.”
“but it’s just my ankle-”
“i don’t care,” rafe interrupts, “topper get some ice or peas or something. then get your shit and leave. you too kelce.”
topper’s jaw drops slightly, really not thinking it was such a big deal. but, when it came to you, anyone who upset you or disrespected you soon became rafe’s enemies, so topper knew better than to anger his friend anymore.
a few minutes later, you’re sat on the couch while rafe kneels in front of you holding a bag of frozen peas to your ankle, soothing the pain.
“leave.” rafe reminds them, nodding his head towards the door.
“we’re going.” kelce says, holding his hands up in surrender.
you give them a smile, a way of saying ‘no hard feelings’. rafe, however, doesn’t even acknowledge them until the front door closes.
“fucking assholes.” he mumbles to himself.
“hey, i’m fine. stop being so hostile.” you sass, before you lean forward to cup his cheek, “thank you for looking after me.”
his shoulders drop and his head gently nuzzles into your hand, a kiss being placed to your thumb as it runs over his lips.
“sorry,” he whispers, “just love you too much. can’t deal with you being hurt.”
“i love you, but really, i’m okay. it's just an ankle."
after confirming you ‘really are okay’, at least another ten times, rafe finally settles into the couch cushions next to you, letting you pick something to watch together.
the sun highlights the blue of his eyes when he stares down at you, loving smile adorning his face. you’re oblivious to his staring until his lips brush your hairline.
“what?” you ask, looking up to meet his gaze through your lashes.
“you’re so beautiful.”
a giggle escapes you and somehow, his smile gets even bigger.
“you’re not so bad yourself cameron.”
#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey imagines#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#outer banks imagine#outer banks imagines#obx#obx season 4#rafe obx#trevor hellraiser#queer#queer drew starkey#poguelandiarafe#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x female reader#drew starkey x you#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x female reader
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I’m 34 and I volunteer with high schoolers and they are always so astonished by my age because I manage to keep up with their lingo reasonably well. Their favorite thing is to figure out other things the same age as me to try and make me “feel old”.
Turns out I’m basically the same age as: Taylor swift, the Hubble telescope, WorldWideWeb (the first browser), Adobe Photoshop, and the Super Nintendo. I used to roll my eyes and say, “and what have I done with my life?” As if Taylor Swift’s life is inherently more meaningful than mine. That Since i haven’t directly contributed to some vastly popular or obviously meaningful piece of human culture my 34 years don’t matter as much.
Recently I stopped doing that and started saying things like, “wow, a lot can change in 34 years. Wonder what it’ll be like when me and the Hubble are 50?” Or, “I’ve certainly aged better the WorldWideWeb haven’t I?”
And you know what? I like it so much better. I feel better about my age and my place in the world, I am genuinely excited to get older for the first time in my life. And the kids have shifted their tone too. They aren’t trying to embarrass me anymore, we’re all celebrating interesting bits of the world we share and I’m enjoying the fact that I’ve been here this long and I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.
I too remember not thinking I’d make it past 20. I know at least one of the teens in this group feels that way now. And I hope I’m showing him that those feelings don’t have to be proven true, and 34 is nothing to be ashamed of.
the older i get and the closer i am to reaching 30, the more the people around me try to deny me my age. it’s a constant ‘oh you’re just turning 29 again teehee 🤭’ or ‘dont tell your SO that, he’ll leave you for a younger model 😉’ and i just???? hate it?????????
i spent my entire teenaged years fighting for my life. i crawled through the deepest pits of my depression to cling to the promise of a life beyond that pain. i was so convinced that i was going to die young, that i would never see the grace of my age starting with a 2, let alone 3.
so im going to turn 30, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me from loving it.
#and if I want to embarrass them we’re in a golden couple years where I can tell them they’re the same age as my tumblr account#they don’t know my username bc I’m not that kind of crazy#but they know I lurk here bc they’ve seen the app on my Home Screen
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fireball || alexia putellas x reader ||
Alexia learns firsthand why you don't drink often.
The shots that many bars in vacation areas gave were much bigger than the shots that you wereused to. Alexia had warned you of this several times, and yet, you still hadn't slowed down one bit. The two of you were still in Barcelona for the night, but she had indulged you in letting the two of you go to one of the places only tourists sought out. It was a bit gimmicky and most of the staff spoke primarily English. Alexia hated it, but you absolutely loved it.
"Ale, come dance with me!" Alexia stared at you skeptically. You could barely stand up straight, having nearly fallen twice as you tried to get another drink at the bar.
"One dance, and then we have to go amor," Alexia told you. You nodded, more than happy to leave with Alexia. However, you didn't realize that Alexia wasn't taking you home for the reasons that you wanted her to. She needed to get you in a bed for some sleep, but you could feel a subtle hum in between your legs as Alexia held you for the dance.
You tried and failed to dance on Alexia to seduce her, instead managing to nearly fall onto the ground. Alexia caught you and simply carried you out of the club. You would have normally protested, but you were more than enjoying the view of Alexia's ass as she carried you over her shoulder.
"You're so strong. Will you hold me up against the wall and fuck me?" you asked her. Alexia's jaw dropped at how nonchalantly you asked her that. You were definitely the bashful one in your relationship, often trying to bat Alexia away when she started kissing you in public. For you to just say that on a busy night street where anybody could hear was a sign that Alexia should have made you stop drinking an hour ago.
"Amor, you are very drunk. I would not feel right taking advantage of you in this state," Alexia told you as she helped you into the car. You whined and pouted, nearly on the verge of tears as you mumbled incoherently. Alexia sighed as she realized just how long of a night she was in with you. It wasn't often that you even drank a glass of wine with dinner, much less got drunk. She had learned on a trip with your national team that you were a legendary drunk, hundreds of stories coming from just a couple handfuls of nights.
Alexia thanks whatever powers in the universe she needed to that you willingly let her carry you inside. You seemed eager to get out of the car, and you managed to make the ride without getting sick. Alexia knew that it was only a matter of time, most of the alcohol you had been drinking was cheap and full of sugar. Still, you had enjoyed yourself, and that was the whole point of tonight. Alexia had given you the green light to do whatever you wanted, promising that she'd stay sober to take care of you.
"Ale, now that we're home, we can do shots!" you cheered. You made a beeline for the kitchen, but Alexia stopped you. She held onto your waist as she guided you to the couch to sit down.
"Wait here, I'll be right back," Alexia told you. You pouted, but sat there anyway. She grabbed a couple of snacks that she knew you liked whenever you'd been drinking and a bottle of water. It was a struggle to get you to drink the water, claiming that it would completely ruin your buzz.
"I can't believe that Alexia Putellas has regular chips. You always get on me for snacks," you pouted. Alexia sighed, not having the heart to tell you that she kept those around for you. You stayed on top of your fitness better than anybody Alexia had ever met, so she didn't see the harm in keeping a couple of little snacks for you around at her place. It had been early in your relationship when she asked if your snacks were approved by the nutritionist, long before she knew how hard you really worked.
"Maybe you're a bad influence," Alexia teased. That seemed to be the wrong move as your eyes began to well up with tears. Alexia quickly backtracked, but as she continued to talk, Alexia noticed that your attention was elsewhere. "Amor, you aren't getting sick are you?"
"I don't like this," you said as you pulled your top off. Alexia quickly covered her eyes, despite having openly stared as you got dressed earlier that day.
"Why are you undressing?" Alexia asked, slightly panicked.
"Because it's hot. And I'm hot. God, it's almost the winter, and I am baking Ale!" you exclaimed. Alexia rolled her eyes as she dropped her hand, unsurprised to see every bit of your clothing on the ground. "Let's go to bed."
"Are you just going to sleep naked?" You nodded as you stumbled your way towards Alexia's bedroom. Alexia followed you in and watched as you fumbled your way through your nighttime routine. Alexia tried to help where she could, but you were stubborn about doing it yourself. Alexia went through her own routine and found you asleep in bed by the time that she was halfway through the second step.
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Hey! Bamboo toilet paper person here. Your response was very thoughtful-- I want to apologize for placing the onus of climate issues on individual action, haha. I work at a zoo that bills itself as being very heavy on conservation messaging, but as a non-partisan organization we're obviously not allowed to talk about the evils of capitalism. This means that in our programming, we MUST place the responsibility of stopping climate change on individual guests, encouraging them to make more environmentally conscientious decisions like buying reef safe sunscreen or reducing carbon emissions by driving less. The most "political" we're allowed to get is telling people to stay educated and vote in favor of laws that will have a positive impact on the environment. I think I've been drinking the Zoolaid a little TOO much recently, because you're totally right-- the vast, VAST majority of damage to the environment is caused by major corporations, not random people working around their own unique needs. It was also low key a little ableist of me to take issue with that ngl.
Obviously no obligation to respond to this publicly (though it's fine if you choose to do so), but I did want to thank you for your response and mention that it did get through the nonprofit mission-based-organization propaganda living rent free in my head haha. Cheers!
Hey, you work at a zoo? That is SO cool, aadsdggjjg@!!!
And hey, no worries, you totally had a good point about endless waste and trying to counter it where possible- Just from personal experience involved in the barest edge of the fashion industry, I really, really, REALLY hate the idea that, like... people can't access simple shit like plastic straws, even if they're the best, most practical, least-harmful option for them.... because a 12 year old made up some random number for a school project about plastic waste
Where, as a zoo person, I imagine you're already aware that the average sea turtle is WILDLY more likely to die from abandoned plastic fishing nets or ocean-dump grocery bags than accidentally get a straw inside it
So here we are, using paper straws!- which may be an improvement, or may not, I don't have that data, and construction emissions are their own thing- BUT WE STILL HAVE OCEANS FULL OF ABANDONED NETS
WHICH ARE OBJECTIVELY WORSE, but MUCH harder to get rid of, and as the average person doesn't USE fishing nets, it'd much harder to market as a "You, not me" sort of issue.
Cleaning up fishing nets isn't trendy. It isn't sexy. You can't troubleshoot a cute little trendy solution for it that you can market to upwardly-mobile tweens.
But a reusable water bottle? A cute canvas tote? A metal straw? That's a solution you can buy and feel good about.
Never mind that you need to use a single cotton reusable bag somewhere like a million times before the cost of its construction counterbalances the cost of a single grocery bag every time you shop- which, hey, some of us were reusing as trash liners for their wastebaskets, or bundle bags for donating clothes, or lining for our leaky winter boots!
If a better option is available, I'll take it. But as ZERO HARM is next to impossible at this time, I personally am gonna aim for MINIMAL HARM as long as I can.
...sorry, I didn't mean to ramble off again.
But hey, if your nonprofit is doing good things, feel free to shoot me a link! I can post it on my blog :D
(Link to original post for context lol)
#If a company can't sell you a solution then they won't touch the problem#Find a cute and affordable object you can sell to virtue-signalling consumers and MAYBE they'll talk#But just DOING something? The marketing optics better sell enough to justify the expense of THAT
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↳ DO YOU FEEL... BONITA? ⭑
𝓼ynopsis. in which you replace their chap-stick for a red lipstick. the question is: do they feel bonita? 𝓹airing. enha!member x female!reader. 𝓰enre. fluff, crack, kind of suggestive at jay's part, trendy. 𝔀arnings. curse words, mention of having a period, mentions of food, riki's kind of mean? , not proofread, english is not my 1st language. 𝔀𝓬. 2k+ 𝓶asterlist.
♡ 𝓪melie's 𝓷ote: this scenario ended up being super basic, i feel bad for you guys (๑-﹏-๑) i haven't been really active, so i wanted to post something decent, but... i don't know, you guys tell me if this one wasn't the greatest lol also, i wanted to share a new word i learned a few days ago: therefore! now you might even see this word being casually used on my writings ><
― 𝓱eeseung: suspects... a lot.
"babe, are you leaving already?" you pouted, watching him picking up his wallet and checking his phone; expecting a text from enha's group-chat. "yeah, i'm actually running late," he chuckled. "they arrived?! 'kay, a kiss for you miss, before i'm gone." he kisses your lips and heeseung notices your nose scrunched. "what?" seeing him frown, you decide it was the perfect chance for you to hand him your special chap-stick. "your lips are kind of crusty, here," you notice an even more confused face expression coming from him. "what do you mean... crusty?" "just apply it! it'll surely make it better!" you explain, making him sigh and finally apply the red lipstick all over his lips - making him look like a clown. "okay, can i go now, princess?" you nod and he smiles, giving you a small peck before finally leaving.
an hour later you heard the door being snapped open, and that's when you knew: heeseung learned about the lipstick. "y/n! why would you do this?!" a sudden shout echoed through the walls of your shared home. "heeseung? baby?" you appeared, coming out of the kitchen with a mischievous grin. "what happened?" you asked, holding a innocent voice. "what have you done to my lips, y/n?!" his face expression was a mix of embarrassment and worry. "what do you mean? you look-" you let out a stifled laugh. "fine! you look fine!" "baby, no way this" he points to his red stained lips. "looks fine! the boys started to laugh at me and i didn't know why! even riki made fun of me!" your boyfriend whined with embarrassment. "now i know why the waiter started to look at me with a funny face..." "i still think you look handsome with your red lips." "IT'S RED LIPSTICK?!"
long story short: heeseung couldn't trust when you gave him a chap-stick EVER. he always makes sure to check the colour of it and even learned a trick to double check it: by pulling you for a kiss. and what can i say... you may have been caught a few many times.
― 𝓳ongseong: couldn't care less.
you were brave enough to make your boyfriend apply chap-stick while going out on a date night with him. in the car you told him his lips were looking kind of dry, and knowing where and how this night could turn out, he immediately took the chap-stick you handed him, applying all over his lips ― with abundance, highlighting even more the red lipstick you purposely replaced. arriving at the front, jongseong handed the valet parking his car keys, entering the restaurant with you. when both of you walked into the place, the waitress who works at the front door couldn't stop staring at your boyfriend; and you swear that if he wasn't wearing such an scandalous colour of lipstick you would assume she was flirting with jongseong.
anyway, after some good wine and a delicious meal course, you were sat beside jongseong, half of your back was falling to his side ― close to his chest. meanwhile, his arm was hugging your shoulder while holding your right hand, a romantic and intimate position to stay. your boyfriend would place kisses onto your forehead. during this whole intimate moment, you decided to make him apply more lipstick since it was fading. however, after a few minutes, you realised he won't notice it, so you took matters to your own hands, pulling your phone from your purse and asking for a picture. agreeing, you opened the camera app, revealing his subtle red lips.
"what is this on my lips?" he gently touched his lips. "what do you mean?" you turned your head to look at him, pretending to be curious. "sweetheart, what have you done?" jongseong asks you with a small grin, dropping his head to the side, shooting you heart eyes. you chuckle, amused. "i didn't do anything," you shrug. "you may have kissed the waitress, she is wearing red lipstick." he laughs out loud, leading to a few confused sights laying on both of you. "this red lipstick might stain your lips soon..." he whispers against your lips. "i can't take you seriously right now!" you giggle and he smirks, amused.
― 𝓳aeyun: "your daddy feels bonita, layla"
jaeyun enjoys going out for a walk with his daughter: layla. and usually, both of you go out together, and this time couldn't be different. however, the only difference this time was your boyfriend's red stained lips. you told him, while walking, that you've been using this new chap-stick and commenting on how much your lips have looked and felt more hydrated ― even jaeyun agreed. therefore, you pulled the famous chap-stick out of your jean's pocket and handed him, making him a bit startle from the way you casually pulled it out of your pocket right after finishing talking about it. you noticed he pondered a bit before applying it all over his lips. you smiled while he was doing so, finding this situation amusingly cute. he smacked his lips together, commenting after a surprised hum: "it's actually good, i can already feel my lips hydrated!"
layla began to feel tired, so did you and jaeyun, so, spotting a bench nearby, you sat beside your boyfriend while layla sat on the floor. and if this couldn't get better, your little family stopped at a crowded park, so as people passed by, jaeyun couldn't be ignored. "babe, why's there so many people staring at me? even girls! don't they see i am taken?!" he complained while pouting, hugging your arm. "right baby?- why are you laughing?" he frowned, even more confused when he saw you taking a sneaky picture of him. suddenly, a kid shouts: "look, mum! a clown!" the mum stares at you, at your daughter and then at your boyfriend, and she were clearly holding herself and not burst out of laughter. layla begins to woof at the kid, and you say: "calm down, baby, your daddy feels bonita, layla." "what does this even means-"
minutes later he discovered what that meant. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )
― 𝓼unghoon: he has a convenience store phobia now.
you were craving something sweet in the middle of the night since your period has started, so you asked you gently asked your boyfriend to go to the convenience store for you and buy you a sweet treat. sunghoon, feeling a bit upset, agreed, since he felt afraid you wouldn't be able to feel better soon. with that, he covered himself with warm coats as you told him so. however, before he left you told your boyfriend to apply some chap-stick ― telling him the cold weather could break his lips. he simply nodded, asking you to apply it for him and you did it perfectly ― since he were sweet for going to the convenience store for you under the cold weather and at night. you stole a kiss from him before he was gone, trying your best to quickly turn your face away from him because your lips might have been stained by the colour of his.
"i am never coming back to that convenience store ever again." "oh, hey, baby," "y/n, why does my lips look red?!" sunghoon questioned with terror. "what do you mean?" you dropped your head to the side, faking a confused feeling. "y/n, the cashier was looking at me funny and even an old lady was staring at me like i was crazy!" your boyfriend explained, holding two plastic bags full of your sweet treats. "and then, i could not notice them staring at me, so the moment i stepped out of that place i pulled my phone and checked myself and i saw this... i mean, there were many reasons why they could be staring at me, and usually is because i am handsome, not this!" he points to his face entirely. you giggled as you felt his desperation. "you are so cute, i love you, even with your red lipstick." you kiss him on the cheek. "i am killing myself." he says with the most serious face ever, plopping on the sofa. "well... more chocolates for me." you shrug.
― 𝓼unoo: silly lovers hehe.
you watched this trend of replacing chap-stick for lipstick go viral everywhere, so you decided to try it out with your boyfriend. so, when both of you were sat on the sofa, you asked him for a kiss, and when he gave you one, you scrunched your nose and commented: "your lips are dry, let me get you a chap-stick!" he frowned, knowing that his lip care routine is amazing. but anyway, he couldn't reply it to you since you were already gone picking up that chap-stick. you came back holding it in your hand and sitting back on the sofa. "okay, mind if i apply it?" you asked him that because the lipstick's stick is bright red and it was way too obvious. also! you knew about sunoo's lip care routine and knew he was already suspecting something. "okay, go ahead..."
after you applied it, you quickly closed the chap-stick's cap, however, sunoo saw the bright red colour peaking out for a few seconds, frowning before bursting out of laughter. "what was that?!" he asked between cute giggles and a big cheeky grin. "what?" you tried to hold a smile from spreading across your face, but a small giggle came out of you. "why was the chap-stick red?" "i-it's because it is cherry flavoured, dummy!" you explained, but sunoo side eyed you, not believing in it. therefore, he rubs his index finger over his bottom lip and confirms: it was indeed red lipstick. "y/n!" he amusingly screams your name, making you run across the whole living room, before he caught you and forces you to apply it too. sunoo might even take a picture of both of you just sharing his funny moment >_<.
― 𝓳ungwon: finds out alone because his qi is 200+
it was saturday and usually, when jungwon has some free time, he enjoys going out with you and spoil you ― since he could spend time with you, gifting you things and making you happy. however, you wanted to play with your boyfriend before leaving, so, you handed him your special chap-stick and told him that it was a brand you really liked ― and he made sure to note that. jungwon applied it innocently, not waiting for anything special. smacking his lips together, he held your hand and took his car keys, driving you to the mall. entering the air-conditioned surroundings, you told your boyfriend you wanted to go get some ice cream before visiting the stores ― just to see how the cashier would react; and their reaction couldn't be more accurate: discreet giggles and a smirk were noticeable.
"babe, why was that guy laughing at us? do i have something on my face?" poor baby, you wanted to tell him YES! straight ahead, but you knew this was way too good to give up. so you just shook your head, leaving the kitten with a question mark sat on his head. while walking past the mall stores, you remembered you were running out of skin care products. therefore, you went to sephora to buy them. but, during your search, jungwon was looking around the store when he came across an isle with lipsticks displayed. he frowned when the same chap-stick packaging he saw earlier was saying it was a red lipstick. suddenly, he felt someone nudging him, so he turned to see he was it. "looking at our red lipstick collections?" a lady who looked like she worked there asked, and jungwon's frown just deepened. "um... red?" "yes! looks like you are wearing it on your lips at the moment, isn't it great?"
"babe, do you think i should get this vanilla one or this- ... oh, you found out... heh..." "y/n!"
― 𝓻iki: when they go low, i go lower.
since riki was messing up with you regularly, you decided to have your sweet revenge by making him wear a beautiful red lipstick! so you replaced the chap-stick for a lipstick and before he went to practice, you told him it was cold outside and his lips might dry a little bit faster. even though you were the one applying it, riki was insisting it was fine before giving in and letting you do whatever. you made sure to make it pretty much uneven and smudged to mess up with him even more. you gave his cheek a little kiss before waving him goodbye. the last thing you know was that your boyfriend arrived home pissed off, saying that the boys were making fun of him during practice. and you might wonder: how he didn't notice since a practice room has a literal mirror wall?! because, you know how much riki likes his hoodies? so, his hoodie's hood was covering his face almost completely! however, he noticed a few minutes into practice after one of the members point out and he finally realises.
after that day, riki's mind have been trying to come out with a worse prank for weeks. he knew that you were going to hang out with your friends the next day, so he decided to, after you were fast asleep, he would sneakily draw and write ridiculous things on your face and somehow try to convince you that he could do your make-up. surprisingly, you woke up the next day in a good mood and already forgetting about that prank you did with your boyfriend, you accepted it ― and of course he pretended to do it. when you left to hang out with your friends, not even five minutes passed by and you were already texting riki, saying that you were going to kill him ― and even sending a picture of your face, texting a hundred question marks.
riki were only forgiven because he got your favourite food that day, otherwise... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
© 𝓪𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝓮, 𝗺𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗮 𝗌𝓽𝓾𝖽𝗂𝗈𝓼. ⋆
#𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ― ot7#enhypen x reader#enhypen writers#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enhypen headcanons#enhypen scenarios#enhypen reactions#sunghoon headcanons#heeseung x reader#jongseong x reader#jay x reader#jaeyun x reader#jake x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunoo x reader#jungwon x reader#niki x reader#riki x reader#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon fanfiction#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon reactions#enhypen x female reader#heeseung scenarios#heeseung headcanons#jaeyun scenarios#jake scenarios#jake headcanons#jaeyun headcanons
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BEG FOR IT 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
pairing; ceo!rafe x pa!reader
summary; getting in trouble with your boss is never good in any sense, but with the particular personality that rafe cameron has, you know you're in deep shit, no matter how completely accidental or unintentional your mistake was
content; abuse of power, boot humping, dacryphilia, humiliation
authors note; none
there are better situations to be in than yours, that’s for sure. walking towards the office of your boss, you wonder why you ever even decided that the business world would be a good place for you to step foot anywhere near, no matter how small or insignificant your role in it really is.
making a decision that could put this whole corporation at risk without even running it by anyone was never your intention, never your intention at all. it was a mere accident, you thought it was something random and unimportant you were doing, until mr cameron called you.
on the phone his voice had reeked of suppressed rage, even though he was quiet and calm, and he didn't use too many aggressive words, you could tell, you could tell because his voice had inadvertently struck the fear of god in you.
his office is on the very top floor, which allows for plenty of thinking time on the elevator ride up, forty five seconds to be exact. in that forty five seconds you decide that you are willing to do absolutely anything to keep your job. the elevator stops and you step out, making your way to his office.
“come in,” he says in a composed sentence, but the fear is still there when you hear it. you push the heavy door and step inside. his desk is alone in the middle of the room, a large cushioned chair seats him behind it. there are large windows that span from floor to ceiling across the whole back of the room. there are a couple of hallways at the sides that lead to other meeting rooms, and youre also aware of a small private living quarter, though, even as a personal assistant, youve never had the liberty of entering them.
mr cameron is sitting in his chair, supposedly signing paperwork. he doesn’t look up when you come in, “you know what you did,” he murmurs lowly, face not faltering from that hard icy expression youre so intimidated by.
you immediately resort to being pathetic. “I'm so sorry sir! i didn't know i swear, i didn't know what i was doing.” you step forward, speaking quickly and panicking obviously. “I will never do it again! from now on i will double check everything, i promise.” his eyes finally flick up to you and he raises an eyebrow before leaning back in his chair.
“you have put this company at risk,” he begins calmly, “if I wasn't as high in my field as I am, this would be an unsolvable issue, we would be done.” he informs you. you feel like your heart might drop out of your ass.
“well it is solvable right, so it's okay?” you say tentatively. you need this job, he knows you need this job, there's absolutely no disguising it to him that you’re desperate. “please dont fire me, I'll do anything.”
he watches you, like he's studying your facial expression and trying to read your thoughts. “you'll do anything?” he raises an eyebrow in a questioning look. that one sentence you uttered has now opened a whole new world of possibilities to him.
you nod quickly, “yeah! I'll take overtime or– or I could run more of your errands… uhm.. i could start bringing you lunch every day, i can–” he cuts you off by silently raising a hand and shaking his head.
“those are all things that you are already expected to do.” he says, “to keep your job you would have to do something… outside of your contract.” his tone changes, and you suddenly realise that he wants you to do something twisted.
you can think of the type of thing. and god, it would be a terrible thing for you to do. it goes completely against any moral you’ve ever had, to do a sexual favour in order to keep your job. it's twisted, if it ever got out your career would be ruined everywhere. but your career is already ruined if you don't do it. you can't afford to lose your job.
“what… what do you need me to do?” you swallow thickly, the shame already swallowing you whole at the implication of the actions you may be about to perform. you become aware of the unlocked door, what if somebody walked in right now, you would be fucked.
“come here and kneel.” he speaks curtly, pushing his chair back so there's space in front of him. you’re practically shaking with trepidation as you ever so slowly kneel down in front of him. your skirt rides up as you do, leaving you almost uncovered, completely visible if he was just a little bit lower down.
you expect him to say something, give you a command, but he doesn't. what he does is unexpected. he puts his foot forward. that's it. he extends his leg and places his foot right in front of you. shiny black dress shoes that look practically new, not a single scuff on them.
you frown in pure confusion. you are completely taken aback. what is he even expecting you to do? he knows that you don't understand and so he leans forward to clarify, “sit on it, grind on it.” your face twists in unexplainable emotion. “and then beg me for your job.”
you feel every moment of pride youve ever had slip away as you rise up and shuffle forward so that one leg is on either side of his foot. then a tear slips down your cheek as you slowly lower down to place your panty covered pussy onto his shoe.
it's a sudden sensation, the laces are rough against your sensitive area. you don't like it, but oh, the pressure does incite an involuntary sensation of pleasure there. you can't help it, it's only natural. mr cameron knows it too.
your movements are shaky as you start to push your hips up and down, subsequently grinding down on his shoe. you wobble a little, not knowing if you should grab his leg for support and so you play it safe and don't.
“you’re not begging.” he tells you, his tone so unbothered that it makes you wonder how many times he may have had someone do this for him. you take a moment to bring yourself to look at him, but the moment you do the pathetic words begin to roll off your tongue like they're the only ones you know.
“p-please. let me keep my job.” you cry, “I have debts, I'll never- uh- I'll never be able to live without this pay.” your voice is all broken apart, every time there is a twinge of pleasure down there you have to let out an uncontrollable sound. “I'll never make this mistake again mr cameron.”
oh it goes on for minutes. long, shameful, disgusting minutes. you don't stop talking, begging, grovelling. your words only become more incoherent though, as the pleasure grows, you have no choice but to hold him for support.
your movements become erratic and he watches you. a sick smirk is planted on his face as he watches. It brings him a sick sort of pleasure to see you so desperate. he takes pride in the way he's taken advantage of you, he doesn't care how horrid or immoral it is.
it escalates more when that knot forms in your stomach. you can't keep begging, you are overtaken by pleasure. for a few seconds you nearly forget about the situation you’re in and then the pleasure comes to an end.
your head snaps up to him immediately. you decide it's safe to stand back up again and so you do. “sir..” you say tentatively, hoping, praying even that he will now at least consider letting you keep the job.
he is silent for a moment before he looks up, “i have an errand for you to run.”
you nod immediately, happy at the insinuation that you still have some sort of duty, despite what you have just been made to do for it, “of course sir, what do you need.”
“take my shoes to be polished.”
#rafe cameron prompt#ceo!rafe#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron outer banks
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sure thing – part two.
pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon
part two word count: 10.8k
warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five
note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.
But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
PART TWO
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox.
Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times.
This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Printer Issue
Good morning, ___.
I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience.
Thank you in advance,
Jungwon
Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection.
But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom.
As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order.
There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room.
They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose.
As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came.
Where he softens, however, you cage up.
“You have one minute,” you tell him.
“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion.
“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”
Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation.
With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”
He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”
Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”
Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”
“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”
But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know.
After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”
“Could have fooled me.”
“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”
“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”
“You don’t get it–”
“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”
“____…”
Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well.
As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message.
Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead.
You were right about the apologies, though.
Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?
Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think.
It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding.
You: I’ll plan on Friday.
…..
Friday morning comes with a vengeance.
Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work.
Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office.
But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit.
Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it.
“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”
And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too.
Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon.
Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers.
___, it reads.
I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you.
– J
Frowning, you read it once. Twice.
Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight.
You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket.
Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense.
Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available
Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry
Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you.
Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”
You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”
“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”
“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”
“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”
Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”
“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.”
“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”
You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.
It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting.
But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two.
And your message is still completely unanswered.
The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time.
And Jay still hasn’t texted you back.
That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up.
You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text.
Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up.
Sister’s baby shower.
That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you.
You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home.
At his older sister’s baby shower.
Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie?
Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be.
Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight.
Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint.
In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines.
You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week.
It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment.
Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out.
2013.11.13 King Pen
You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is.
It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search.
The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city.
That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007.
Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant.
Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area.
You skip down a few more lines.
When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”
You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead.
This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion.
Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym.
Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym.
There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you.
Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name.
Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy.
Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot.
It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition.
Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied.
Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all.
But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car.
“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere.
And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him.
For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards.
But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one.
Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight.
You want answers.
So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym.
Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty.
Eerily so.
All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence.
Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense.
But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago.
It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch.
The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym.
You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door.
It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–
Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound.
Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again.
Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp.
Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.
This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound.
Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down.
Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.
Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin.
Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge.
No. No.
You’re trapped. Effectively locked in.
As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop.
Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you.
What if this is the only entrance?
You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot.
You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…
Both of their warnings start to come back to you.
“He’s not who you think he is…”
“I just want you to be careful…”
“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”
Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?
The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense.
Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting.
Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase.
After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder.
On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway.
You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn.
Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side.
Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side.
Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door.
The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open.
You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty.
But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below.
There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor.
And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:
King Pen.
It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen.
Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”
He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room.
“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”
But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan.
No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work.
The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight.
The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!”
The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly.
Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being.
But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him.
It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring.
“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins.
“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison.
Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon.
Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it.
Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains.
It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away.
This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel.
One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes.
As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation.
Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight.
“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring.
“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.
“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.
“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs.
“Fight.”
It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to.
Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening.
Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer.
He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next.
But even dancers stumble sometimes.
You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring.
Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red.
Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place.
Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter.
The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.
Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus.
His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern.
There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct.
It’s messy, sloppy, angry.
They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely.
And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done.
It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him.
Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring.
Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight.
Anything goes.
Your stomach twists with nausea.
Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders.
For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands.
You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body.
Jungwon’s mouth moves again.
This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough.
With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again.
Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair.
He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction.
ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give.
Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring.
Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn.
If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence.
The door opens before you do any of it.
“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”
…..
Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.”
“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”
“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”
“What?”
Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”
And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief.
He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay.
He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay.
“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”
“Go away.”
“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”
“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you.
Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you.
You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Why are you here?”
A beat of silence passes. Another.
As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter.
You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either.
And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it.
So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really.
But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him.
Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you.
Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room.
A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it.
And, of course, there’s the two of you.
Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look.
He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath.
He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin.
Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”
“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement.
“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”
“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”
“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”
This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down.
Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room.
Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop.
Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you.
Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago.
This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch.
“What are you doing?” He whispers.
Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him.
Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream.
“This might sting,” you whisper.
“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.
If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you.
Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first.
As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips.
“It stings?” You ask him.
“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips.
You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes.
It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity.
Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit.
With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him.
Jungwon swallows audibly.
Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.
After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.
For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you.
And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face.
Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.
He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up.
“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”
“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe.
“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across.
“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”
His thumb stills against your skin.
“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”
You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”
“But,” Jungwon whispers.
“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”
Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”
He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.
You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”
You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”
You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.
Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him.
His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from.
Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”
“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette.
Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts.
“You like him, don’t you?”
The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.
“Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”
Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”
Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”
“What?”
“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.”
With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”
It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding.
It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but–
“You don’t have to say sorry–”
Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”
“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy.
Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still.
It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now.
Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true.
Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it.
But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin.
Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”
“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”
He is.
“I mean it.”
You do.
“Thank you, ___.”
He means it too.
When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high.
You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure.
But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them.
…..
Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread.
Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him.
If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them.
So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding.
Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person.
Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten.
“___,” he breathes.
The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off.
In the end, you just look at him blankly.
“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”
The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago.
But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding.
It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication.
But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes.
So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”
The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look.
Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”
“What are you–”
“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”
You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue.
“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”
Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”
He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”
Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”
Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”
The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring.
Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”
No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager.
“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”
Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”
You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears.
“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”
It makes sense. It does.
“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”
Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again.
You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.
“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”
Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale.
“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”
Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.”
His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow.
“What are you saying?” you ask him.
“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.”
He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom.
“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”
“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by.
“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”
He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head.
“No,” you shake your head.
“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”
Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching.
“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.”
There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth.
It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours.
A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue.
Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin.
You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest.
You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile.
But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him.
So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape.
You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless.
And for once, it feels like a sure thing.
…..
epilogue
Jungwon: SOS
Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy
Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages
Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help
You: I’m BUSY what do you need
Jungwon: The printer is jammed again
You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance
Jungwon: Oh please
Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them
Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you
You: Literally what are you talking about
You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks
You: The entire floor was mad at me
You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS
Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE
Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance
Jungwon: I promise
You: …
You: FINE
You: On my way
Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown.
Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen.
And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.
You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you.
Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer.
Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”
He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray.
“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss.
“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”
Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”
“I’m not ly–”
“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.
And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there.
“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”
“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”
…..
outtake — seven months ago.
The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work.
Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper.
Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees.
Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind.
What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?
He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook.
Twice.
With annotations.
Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw.
It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day.
Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly.
He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now.
And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will.
To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him.
He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down.
But part of him is excited too.
He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once.
He actually fucking did it.
All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity.
They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world.
He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his.
So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door.
And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch.
“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before.
And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh.
Oh.
Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking.
“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly.
Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal.
Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –
“Hi, Jungwon.”
Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land.
“Hi,” he manages.
Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”
Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”
___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.
“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent.
“You know the printer in the workroom?”
Terry nods.
“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”
Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.”
And then it’s just the two of you.
“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about.
Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain.
“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”
“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words.
You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”
His brow furrows. “It’s not?”
You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels.
“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”
“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”
A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it.
“Thank you.”
Your brow furrows. “For what.”
“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”
“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”
He hopes you mean it.
And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath.
“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position.
“Yeah?”
“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡
#jungwon fanfiction#jungwon fanfic#jungwon x you#jungwon x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fanfic#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#jungwon scenarios#jungwon imagines
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So I just want to notice a few things about this article and suggest we all take a moment to do a fact check.
First, it’s weird that only the advocate leading a rally on Jess and Dahlia’s behalf is quoted.
Second, there does not in fact seem to be a light rail stop at Hennepin and 5th street. (a bus stop, yes).
Third, the details are odd—Jess and Dahlia were beaten to unconsciousness on the street and yet the only news is this story in the Independent, and then a few stories using that article to regurgitate that information.
Fourth, while there is a quote from a legitimate group in Minneapolis (Sequeerity) it’s not actually about the attacks, but about whether their services and classes have been in demand. Which I am sure is true, but it’s a red flag there is no link to the actual event that supposedly kicked off the interview.
When I search “trans women attacked minneapolis” it pulls these up along with a story from the Star Tribune (Minneapolis’s award winning local paper) about a trans woman attacked by two men in a light rail station—in March of 2023
Now, this story treats the violence with the level of care I would expect for something this vicious, you can see the multiple sources, how the details are laid out etc. (Also in this incident, and the police are called and her attackers were charged.)
Now what I kind of suspected here in the case of the 2024 story that uses some of those details but none of the context that makes sense, was that this story is either AI written or in the worst case, written to stoke fear in trans folks hoping to find safety. Things feel very dangerous in the US right now and a story like this can make even places of refuge seem unsafe. The reality of course is that no place is perfect, but Minneapolis is still a much better option for safety for trans folks than many others.
Now, things that would make me trust this story is if we could find journalism where anyone has covered either:
a) the actual attack occurring Nov 2024, citing a full police report, speaking to either Jess or Dahlia, or a bystander who saw the incident. Or even you know, the time of day exactly, and gets the actual physical location correct.
EDIT! There is coverage here that does that and clarifies the location of the light rail station and resolves the factual issues that raised my questions in the first article: https://bringmethenews.com/minnesota-news/rally-held-after-transgender-women-attacked-near-minneapolis-light-rail-station
https://bringmethenews.com/minnesota-news/rally-held-after-transgender-women-attacked-near-minneapolis-light-rail-station
b) a story covering the rally that happened in support of Jess and Dahlia. Where was it? How many people were there? Are they asking for anything?
EDIT: the above linked story does that!
At this point I can find neither and so I urge everyone to be careful and critical when encountering news that is hitting all of your emotional buttons. No one’s fears are unfounded here (this did happen in 2023!) but we owe it to each other to only spread stories like this that are based on solid evidence ♥️
EDIT: Thanks to some other folks doing searching as well, the step of fact checking which is find other coverage has succeeded. I was wrong! I do want to emphasis that it is still important to go through the process of noticing these things and making sure what you’re looking at is real, because there were enough errors in the Independent story that made the reporting not feel right. The “bring me the news” piece, as well as the instagram posts it’s linked to clarify the rally, the large public support including government officials, and reports the correct details of location and when the cops showed up (late, at the hospital. nice look there guys).
I’ve gotten a lot of hate for wondering if this was correctly reported and being wrong on the internet, and I do want to say that I looked into this because it made me upset, and then concerned, that the violence against transwomen was being used to stoke our fear (which is what I felt about the Independent article). I included the sections about what would indicate this was real because I knew there was a real possibility I had missed something, and wanted to highlight how you know when to change your mind.
so the tldr: The first shared article has a lot of factorial errors that means you should look more. Even if you don’t see evidence at first doesn’t mean you won’t get it later! The truth is that this violence did happen, but also that there was a huge outpouring of local support. Please take care of each other, and be kind!
This is where we are. Anti-trans pogroms have begun and the community is living in fear. Things are so bad that some of us are unable to live anymore.
Where is the left? Where are our allies?
#TDoR2024
#fact checking#trans news story#minneapolis#if anyone can find other sources#please share#but as of now I don’t think this is real#transphobia
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Aegon Targaryen - A King, Kneeling
Summary - Atop the Iron Throne, the King and Queen surrender to their desires, intertwining passion with the weight of power. As their reckless love ignites in public, the boundaries of duty and devotion blur, revealing the tantalizing thrill of both conquest and intimacy.
Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader
Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), strong language
Word count - 2731
Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
The king adored his queen.
It wasn't just whispered gossip or idle courtly chatter—it was a truth so palpable that even those who lived on intrigue couldn't ignore it. But they did try.
They preferred to pretend, to look away from the rare sight that defied their expectations. After all, kings weren't supposed to love their queens with the kind of devotion Aegon had for me.
But he did. Oh, how he did. Fiercely. Brazenly.
"Aegon," I warned, trying to sound firm, but my voice quivered under the weight of his attention. His arm stretched out, beckoning me closer with an unspoken command, the kind only a king could give.
I hesitated, my eyes narrowing in suspicion, but the slow curl of a smirk tugging at his lips was enough to break my resistance.
"What are you up to?" I asked, a mix of curiosity and caution in my voice, as I took a step toward him.
"Come here," he murmured again, his tone low and dripping with mischief.
I barely had time to blink before he seized me, pulling me onto his lap with an effortless motion.
His hands were on me instantly, seeking the familiar warmth of my skin as if they had every right to it—because in his mind, they did.
"Aegon!" I scolded, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed the effect his touch had on me. I glanced around the grand hall, the Iron Throne looming under us.
The Kingsguard were at their posts, their eyes dutifully trained on the stone walls, but I knew better. They weren't blind, though they pretended to be.
How could they not see their king lavishing such affection on his queen in the open like this?
His fingers trailed down my spine, his grin growing as he felt me shiver under his touch.
"What?" he asked, voice dripping with false innocence as though he had no idea what he was doing.
I turned to face him fully, a sharp retort on my lips, but his gaze—smouldering and full of playful hunger—caught me off, guard.
"Don't play coy with me, Aegon," I muttered, though the breathless hitch in my voice betrayed my intent.
"I missed my wife," he said, so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as though his absence was unbearable even when we were in the same room.
I rolled my eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "You can miss her in our chambers, Aegon. Privately. You're sitting on the Iron Throne, for the gods' sake."
He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, before leaning closer to whisper in my ear, "I want to miss her right here."
His breath sent a ripple of heat through me, and before I could protest, he shifted, positioning me so that I was now sitting atop the throne, while he knelt before me—a king, kneeling.
My heart pounded in my chest. "Aegon, stop!" I hissed, but my words fell soft as his hands crept higher, tangling in the folds of my skirts.
The sensation of the metal throne behind me, cold and rigid, contrasted with the warmth of his touch, driving me mad.
"Why would I stop?" he teased, his voice full of wicked amusement, eyes dark with intent.
He tugged my skirts higher, his fingers inching dangerously close to places they shouldn't be, not here. Not now.
I shot a panicked glance toward the room, my heart racing. The guards stood within view, pretending to be statues, but I could feel their presence like a heavy weight.
"Aegon, not in front of them," I whispered, my voice trembling, urgent.
He paused, his fingers stilling just enough for his eyes to meet mine, mock surprise written across his face as though he'd just now remembered they existed.
Then, with a sudden change, he stood, his voice rising, all command, all king. "Everyone. Out."
The guards exchanged nervous glances, armour clinking as they hesitated, unsure if they had heard him correctly.
Aegon's gaze sharpened, his voice carrying the authority of a ruler unchallenged. "Now!"
They moved quickly, their footsteps echoing in the vast hall as they shuffled out, casting anxious looks over their shoulders.
The room was empty now—silent, save for the distant echo of armour clanking as the last of the Kingsguard left.
My heart hammered in my chest, every beat echoing in the sudden stillness. The heavy door closed with a resounding thud, sealing us in the throne room.
Just Aegon, me, and the Iron Throne.
Aegon turned back to me, his devilish grin wider than before, his eyes full of sinful promise.
"Now," Aegon breathed, his voice dipping into a dark, husky tone that sent shivers down my spine. His eyes gleamed with that wickedness I knew all too well, and yet, each time, it caught me off guard.
"It's just you, me, and the throne," he whispered, his hands roaming, fingers trailing slowly, deliberately, up my thighs beneath the fabric of my skirts.
"Aegon," I whispered, my voice wavering between warning and longing.
My back pressed harder into the cold, jagged metal of the throne, a sharp reminder of where we were—what this symbolized. I tried to stay grounded, to keep my senses, but his hands... gods, his hands had a way of making me forget.
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, just a ghost of a touch, but enough to make my breath catch.
He looked up at me from beneath those dark lashes, a devilish glint in his eyes, as he slowly knelt before me once more.
A king, kneeling.
I tried to push him back, hands on his shoulders, but the moment I made contact with his skin, the heat between us flared. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me forward with a gentle insistence, and I melted into the sensation, the fight leaving me in a sigh.
"Stop it," I whispered, though it came out more like a plea than a command. "Not here, Aegon, we can't—"
But before I could finish, his lips were against me, his mouth tracing a line of fire over my skin.
My protests died on my tongue, replaced by a sharp gasp. His hands were firm but tender, spreading my legs as he settled between them, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of my thighs, holding me open for him as though the throne itself were a bed built for this very moment.
"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, his voice sending vibrations through me. "And I intend to do just that."
The cool bite of the Iron Throne's metal was a contrast to the heat building inside me, the jagged edges digging into my back, but I barely noticed.
All I could feel was him—his mouth, his tongue, the deliberate, tantalizing way he took his time as if savouring every taste, every sound he drew from me.
"Aegon..." I moaned, his name slipping past my lips, a breathless prayer.
My hands gripped the throne, knuckles white as I tried to anchor myself to something, anything, but he was relentless.
His tongue swirled, teasing, flicking against me in just the right way, and my body responded helplessly to his touch, every nerve alight with pleasure.
The throne room, the court, the world—all of it faded away. There was only Aegon, his mouth working its magic, his hands guiding me toward the edge.
His every move was deliberate, calculated—he knew me too well, knew exactly how to drive me to madness.
"Do you know how beautiful you look?" he whispered against me, his breath hot, making my skin tingle. "Up here, on the Iron Throne, all mine."
His words sent a jolt of electricity through me, the weight of them mingling with the sensation of his tongue.
I squirmed, trying to muffle the sounds escaping me, but he growled in response, the vibration reverberating through my body.
"Don't hide from me," he commanded, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with me, his lips glistening with the evidence of my desire. "I want to hear you."
I swallowed hard, trembling under the intensity of his gaze.
My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back to me, needing him to continue, to finish what he started. He obliged, his tongue diving deeper, stroking me with a renewed fervour that sent waves of heat crashing through me.
The room spun, and I bit my lip hard, trying to keep control, but he wasn't having it.
Aegon's hands gripped me tighter, pulling me closer to his mouth as he pushed me closer to the brink, his tongue working me with an almost agonizing skill.
And then, just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he pressed his lips to the most sensitive part of me and sucked.
The world shattered. Pleasure tore through me, violent and uncontrollable, and I cried out, my hands clutching at him, nails digging into his shoulders as I tumbled over the edge.
Aegon didn't let up, drawing out every last tremor until I was left breathless, limp, slumped against the throne, the cold metal biting into my skin in sharp contrast to the molten heat still pulsing through my body.
He rose slowly, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk as he loomed over me, his eyes dark with triumph. "Still want to send me to our chambers?" he teased, voice thick with amusement.
I could barely find my voice, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of his attention. "You're impossible," I whispered, my heart racing, my body both sated and longing for more.
His grin widened, predatory. "Only for you, my queen."
My breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, but Aegon—he was far from finished.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark with hunger, satisfaction gleaming in them like firelight. His mouth, still glistening from the sinful worship he'd lavished on me, curved into a wicked grin.
The power in that gaze sent another jolt of heat coursing through me, even as my body ached from the intensity of what he'd already done.
"Impossible," I muttered again, my voice weak but defiant. A flicker of a smile tugged at my lips, even though my body was still recovering from the waves of pleasure he'd brought me.
Aegon leaned in close, one hand gripping the arm of the throne beside my head, the other trailing down my body, claiming me like I was his throne—his alone to possess.
"I haven't even begun, my queen," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.
Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, and this kiss—gods, this kiss—wasn't sweet or soft. It was urgent, devouring.
He kissed me like a man starved like he was tasting his favorite sin and couldn't get enough.
I could taste myself on him, and it only fueled the fire burning between us.
I groaned against his mouth, my hands instinctively gripping the folds of his tunic, pulling him closer. His body pressed into mine, his hard length straining against the fabric of his breeches, leaving no doubt about what he wanted next.
"Aegon," I gasped as he broke the kiss, his lips moving to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
My hands roamed his back, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him—all of him.
His mouth worked lower, biting, sucking at the sensitive skin just beneath my ear, making me shiver.
"You're my queen," he murmured, the words a low growl against my neck, "and I intend to make sure you feel it."
Without warning, he pulled me up with him, his hands tugging at my skirts, yanking them up over my hips, exposing me fully.
The cold air of the throne room hit my bare skin, making me gasp, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.
He pulled me to him, and I could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against me through his clothes, a tantalizing promise of what was to come.
I barely had time to react before his hands were at his waist, unfastening his belt, his movements swift and practised.
In one smooth motion, he freed himself, and my breath hitched at the sight of him—ready, eager, and gloriously bare in the soft light of the throne room.
"Aegon," I whispered, my voice trembling with anticipation, my body already aching for him.
He met my gaze, his eyes smouldering with a mixture of love and raw lust.
"I want to take you right here," he said, his voice low, a dangerous promise laced within it. "I want to fuck you on the Iron Throne, where you belong."
My breath caught in my throat, the thrill of his words sending a rush of heat through me.
The audacity of it—the sheer madness of what we were about to do—made my pulse race, and yet, I couldn't stop the surge of desire that overtook me.
I glanced at the throne beneath me, the cold metal, the jagged edges.
It was a symbol of power, a symbol of rule, but tonight... tonight, it was going to be the stage for something far more primal.
Without waiting for my answer, Aegon lifted me effortlessly, his hands gripping my thighs as he positioned me over him.
My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance, teasing, taunting.
"Look at me," he ordered, his voice husky, commanding, and when my eyes met his, the raw desire in them nearly undid me.
"I want to watch you fall apart on my cock, right here, on my throne."
Before I could respond, he thrust into me, filling me in one deep, powerful stroke. I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders as my back arched, pressing me harder into the cold spikes of the Iron Throne behind me.
The contrast of the cold metal against my heated skin only intensified the sensation, and I let out a low moan as he began to move.
Aegon's hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he set a relentless pace, each thrust driving me harder against the throne.
The room spun around me, the world narrowing to just the two of us—his cock buried deep inside me, his breath hot against my neck, his grunts of pleasure mixing with my own ragged moans.
I tried to find my voice, to say something—anything—but all I could do was cling to him, my nails digging into his back as he drove me closer to the edge.
"Aegon... gods..." I whimpered, my head falling back as he angled his hips just right, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes.
"That's it," he growled, his grip on me tightening as he pounded into me harder, faster. "Take it. Take all of me."
The throne pressed into my back, the jagged edges digging into my skin, but I barely noticed the pain—it only heightened the intensity of what was happening, grounding me in the reality of it all.
We were fucking on the Iron Throne, claiming each other in the most reckless, forbidden way imaginable, and gods, it felt incredible.
I could feel myself unravelling, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. My body tightened around him, and he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he felt it too.
"Cum for me," he demanded, his voice raw, desperate. "Cum for your king."
His words sent me spiralling over the edge. I cried out, my body shuddering around him as I came, the pleasure crashing through me in violent waves.
Aegon followed me into oblivion, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilt into me with a low, guttural moan, his forehead resting against mine as we rode out the aftershocks together.
For a moment, we stayed like that, our bodies intertwined, breath mingling in the heavy air of the throne room. The world was silent around us, save for the sound of our laboured breathing.
Finally, Aegon pulled back, his eyes still dark with satisfaction as he gazed down at me. His lips curved into a lazy, contented grin, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.
"You're mine," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with certainty. "Here, on the throne, in our chambers—everywhere. You're mine."
I smiled, my body still trembling, my heart full of both love and lust. "And you," I murmured, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, "are mine."
He chuckled, the sound low and rich, before kissing me again—this time slow, sweet, a promise of everything yet to come. "Always."
A/n - 'I want to watch you fall apart on my cock, right here, on my throne'... anyways one wrong move and you're speared xx
#house of the dragon#house targaryen#hotd#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#hotd one shot#hotd season 2#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aegon ii targaryen#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#team green#aegon the second#aegon targaryen#king aegon#hotd aegon
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no grave can hold my body down
pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader
warnings: fluff, angst, a lil bit of suicidal thoughts but nothing too major
word count: 1.8k
an: this is a more detailed version of this post! please request jason todd fic ideas pls pls pls. sorry if theres any mistakes it’s almost midnight lol
Almost two years had passed since Bruce Wayne came to your door and revealed who he was. Nearly 730 days since your boyfriend "died". Gotham was a city full of awful crimes and even worse people but you've never hated anyone like you hated Batman.
You can understand that he tried, the guilt he must feel probably consumes him and a sick part of you is glad. Not only was your boyfriend killed, with video evidence might you add, but his body was never recovered.
Jason would hate it if you saw the video of the Joker killing him but you needed to know. It was all for naught though, you never buried a body so your brain fully believes he isn't dead.
Whether or not it was the grief of having the love of your life ripped away from you or the feeling in your gut, you know Jason isn't dead. Until there is a body in front of you, you will do anything that you can to find him.
-
It started with swallowing your pride and asking the person you loathed for help.
Bruce obviously refused, he wanted to avoid another young person's death. You caught him by surprise with how you begged for his help, he fully expected you to be mad at him, to threaten him for answers. But no, instead you got on your hands and knees and begged him for help, which somehow made it worse.
For weeks you kept reaching out to him, asking him for any clues or hints, anything at all! He has all the resources a person could ever need, he's known as the greatest detective in the world but he can't find his son?
"I've told you, Jason is... Jason is dead. You saw the video. Get out of Gotham and move on, there is nothing more I can do for you." You didn’t stop there though.
You knew of Nightwing, that he was the robin before Jason. So you reached out to him when he was on patrol. Unlike Bruce, you actually felt bad for asking for help, especially since he was working and was grieving himself.
Even through the domino mask, his face scrunched in sympathy, and as gently as he could he told you he couldn't consciously help you. He couldn't let a civilian rope themself into business they wouldn't be able to walk out of.
Understanding of his reasoning, you started going against the law. You started to sneak into offices at different police stations in Gotham (they were sloppier than you could've ever thought, no wonder people love Batman).
Given Jason's at the time profession, he taught you how to defend yourself. There was never a time you didn't carry a knife on you, but you always left your gun at home. Living in Gotham, it was best to take all and every necessary safety precautions.
Using the very low-level skills you had, you searched places that were abandoned and discarded, anywhere that Joker was ever near in the past few years. A part of you knew that what you were doing was dangerous, that if Batman had found anything he would've done so already.
But you couldn't just go to work and pretend your boyfriend wasn't out there somewhere, alive or not you had to be absolutely sure. If you died trying then so be it, it's better than living in the reality of Jason not coming home.
-
A year went by, 365 days of feeling your sanity drain out of your body. You've been caught a few times by the police for trespassing and once by Batman himself who scolded and lectured you about your activities. He was livid, upset at you willingly putting yourself in danger. You were at a higher risk of dying than he was and yet you go out in nothing but black clothes and a few weapons. He's genuinely shocked you're still alive.
After Bruce catches you, he makes sure to keep tabs on you which prevents you from going out. Even if he's busy, if he sees your tag too far out he will drag you back to your place.
There's a part of you that wants to give up, to actually take his advice and move away. But you know deep down inside nothing will put out the fire of finding Jason. Even if you moved to a different country, you know you would still look for his hair, to listen for his voice in the crowd.
Months of gaslighting yourself that he'll knock on your door and say it's just one big prank, that he was on a big mission far away and couldn't tell you to keep you safe.
Millions of excuses rolled around in your head day and night, work was a blur. Bruce even tried to compensate by offering to pay for your rent, to help you seek medical help like a therapist. You know it would do you good to rest but the guilt of leaving Jason behind was too strong. He's been through so much in his life, you wouldn't dare abandon him.
You still stayed in the apartment you were looking at with Jason, "a safehouse" he called it, you weren't even 18 at the time but you both allowed yourselves to think ahead.
Every piece of furniture you bought it with him in mind, "This would be convenient for him to hide his gear," "He likes this color, plus the blanket is soft so it'll help him sleep." Jason consumed you, call it unhealthy but he was your night in this dark city.
There was a spare bedroom, you were going to originally use it as an office/workspace but instead, it's covered in all the papers you've stolen to find him. The floor, walls and even the door were covered, overlapped, and written on with any possible clue you could've stumbled upon. It's been months since you've been able to add something that wasn't already on there. So instead, you sat in the room and just stared at it, cried, ripped things down, and put them back up with tears streaming down your face. It didn’t help that you would hear Jason’s voice soothing you whenever you cried, reassuring you whenever you were down. You knew it was your subconscious trying to console you but you liked to believe he was really there.
Then there were the hallucinations, they started back when you stumbled upon a hostage situation in an old arcade at the end of Gotham, you swear it was Jason but when the guy looked up at you all you saw was a stranger. You were stuck in the police station for hours, yelled at for stupidly interfering in a dangerous situation. The cops looked at you with annoyance now, you were nothing more than a crazy love-sick girl.
-
Lately, work has been exhausting, learning there was a new robin made your stomach swirl. It was like Batman just moved on, how is that fair? How could he move on while you were stuck chasing dead ends? Why couldn't you just accept his death?
Instead of eating dinner, you let yourself boil in whatever hot water Gotham could provide and scrubbed layers of guilt off of your skin. You put on an old shirt of his, which was horribly faded by how much you wore and washed it then curled up in bed; The bed was too big but you didn't want a smaller one in case he came back.
Usually, you triple check that your windows and doors are bolted shut but for tonight you just trusted your brain. Sometimes, it felt like it would be easier if you didn't wake up anymore, at least when you closed your eyes you could see the Jason you knew and loved.
Tonight was one of those nights where sleep was in and out, so when you felt a hand push back some hair behind your ear, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and lunged forward though there were no sounds of anyone in pain, in fact you heard the knife hit the floor.
"You have to be faster than that, sweetheart."
That voice. You would know that voice anywhere.
You blink your eyes open, slowly revealing the man you love in front of you. Except, he wasn't in front of you. This wasn't the first time he's appeared in front of you, it broke your heart all the same.
The exhaustion creeped up your throat and tears started to slip down your face, "No don't cry baby, it's okay." 'Jason' attempted to reach his hand toward you but you shook your head, backing into the corner of the bed,
"This isn't real. Go away, please. Not tonight."
The ache Jason felt in his chest at the sound of your distress hurt him in a way he's never yet experienced. His poor girl crying, thinking he wasn't real.
"I'm real baby, I promise." He calmly approaches you, kneeling on the bed, a hand reaches out towards you again,
Your head was buried on your knees as you hugged yourself into a ball, "You're not! I haven't found you! This can't be real!"
"Please look at me sweetheart."
You noticed his voice sounded different, deeper, more matured. It caused you to slowly look up, "There you are."
That's when you see him. The scars, the tired look in his eyes, the rage he's hiding behind it; There’s a difference in color in his eyes but they're beautiful all the same. They still look at you with love.
None of your hallucinations were this detailed, to be honest you couldn't imagine what he would look like after the years have passed. So to see this, you knew it was real. (Or some villain was damn good at illusions.)
He was caught off guard as you hugged him tight, he had to swallow down the feeling to pull you off. You were the exception to everything, so for now he could stomach the feeling of being held in place because he (is trying to convince himself) knows it's out of love.
You sobbed in his chest, apologizing over and over and over again, "It's okay baby, take deep breaths please."
Again, you started to shake your head, "It's not okay, I should have found you. I tried to find you, I'm so sorry!"
"I saw the room baby, I know you tried but that wasn't your responsibility." He tried to reason with you, doing what he could to calm you down. It's been years since he's seen you, years since he's dealt with anything normal, his mind is all over the place.
"Don't say that, I love you Jace. I would rather die than stop looking."
Jason tensed at the phrase, after everything it's hard to believe you, to believe any of this but he wanted to see you. He had to.
A hand found its way in your hair, holding you close to his chest, "You did good honey, thank you for trying."
Lifting your head from his chest, you looked into his eyes, "I would do anything for you, I need you to know that."
He can only offer a small smile, he knows you did and there's a small piece of his heart that can rest knowing you didn't forget him, that you still loved him.
He hopes he can learn to love you again, too.
part 2? lmk down below :)
© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤
#ᝰ honeywrites#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#jason peter todd#jason todd#arkham knight x reader#arkham knight x you#arkham knight#arkhamverse#jason todd fluff#jason todd angst
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kerosene // ellie williams
*・゜゚・* summary: the setup of a slow burn between you and ellie.
*・゜゚・* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader
*・゜゚・* content: sfw
*・゜゚・* length: 1.7k
so... this actually started out as NOTHING. i planned for it to be nothing. just me, my pages app and my love for jackson!ellie & that fuck ass hoodie against the world. howeverrrr i may or may not have written almost 10k so far that i'm planning to split up (and continue) into an ongoing series just focusing on you and ellie living in jackson, spending time with your friends, slowly falling in love. real piners rise
god i just love jackson ellie so much. her little nerdy cocky self
the idea of being friends and pining over each other for literal years because you’re both too scared to say anything… catching the other staring, having a few little moments here and there but chalking it up to nothing because you both don’t believe the other would see you like that.
and then she starts dating cat and you’re just like welp. guess this is really never ever gonna happen after all. you let yourself mope for a while, not wanting to go out as much for fear of seeing them together and feeling that strange pang in your chest — just overall being weird and avoiding ellie. you feel silly, really, locking yourself away and listening to sad music over someone you were never even with.
you selfishly hope it doesn’t last long, that it’s just a fling, but when months go by and they’re still together, you come to some sort of acceptance. you even date someone else for a short while to try and take your mind off of her, but quickly realize you’re just searching for scattered parts of her in someone else. and something in your gut tells you that while nothing’s wrong within the relationship, it just doesn’t feel right. doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to.
meanwhile, ellie’s mindset was that she never really saw you as attainable in the first place. and she did genuinely really like cat, so when she initiated the relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see where it went. you were always at the back of her mind, though. she didn’t like the way you’d distanced yourself. you were never best friends, but definitely fairly close. she felt the switch almost overnight, the way you stopped going out of your way to talk to her, stopped asking her to tag along when you'd hang out with jesse and dina. she didn’t know what your deal was. the thought that you might be jealous did cross her mind, but she quickly swatted it away. why would you be jealous? it’s only her.
when you started seeing someone yourself, it was like confirmation. nothing was ever gonna happen, you weren’t jealous; how could any of that be the case when you were right there, with someone else? she cursed herself for even thinking about any of it, guilty conscience thick when her mind would then turn to cat. she knew she shouldn’t be deliberating whether you were jealous, whether you liked her, whether anything could ever happen between you, when she had a girlfriend.
she tried her hardest to push you out of her mind whenever you’d arise. she still saw you around, sometimes alone, sometimes with your girlfriend. you’d talk pleasantly, share a few laughs, but it wasn’t like it used to be.
and then one day, when she’s on her way home, she sees you by yourself. you’re sitting under a tree reading, headphones in. she can’t help but notice you look a little melancholy, like you don’t want to be bothered. she deliberates on whether to disturb you or not, stopping, then going to walk away, then stopping again. against her better judgement, she wanders over to you and nudges you gently with the side of her foot.
you look up, offering a small smile and tugging your headphones out. “hey.”
“hey.” ellie mirrors you, shooting back a soft smile of her own. a beat of slightly awkward silence passes as she tries to think of the reason she actually came over. she doesn’t even have one.
“what’s up?” you ask after a few seconds.
“uh… not much. just… uh… wanted to say hi.”
the corner of your mouth quirks into a slight smirk. “well… you just did.”
ellie breathes out a quiet chuckle, bringing her hands together to mess with her fingers. “very funny.” she pauses, then hesitantly crouches and sits beside you. “whatcha reading?”
you turn the cover so that she can see it. “mystery book,” you say, eyes flitting between ellie and the novel, before you rest it back in your lap, starting to lightly read again.
“you want me to tell you who the killer is?”
you chuckle, looking back up at ellie. “sure, take a stab at it.”
ellie’s eyebrows raise slightly. “pun intended?”
you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as you realize what you just said. “nope. guess i’m just too witty.”
she looks down and smiles lightly, before looking up at the sky in feigned thought. she clicks her fingers. “it’s the priest.”
you let out a laugh. “there isn’t even a priest in it.”
“that’s what you think,” she quips back, feigning seriousness. “he will be introduced in… 43 pages.”
you roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “shut up.”
“nope. wanna hear some more of my predictions? 100% accuracy guaranteed.”
“sure.”
“… you’re in a shitty mood,” ellie says matter-of-factly, before her voice softens. “seriously, you good? you look all…”
she trails off, gesturing at you slightly.
you chew at the inside of your cheek. truth be told, you are in a shitty mood, but you didn’t realize it was visible. plus, you don’t really want to talk about it. especially not to ellie, of all people. “yeah, nah, i’m fine.”
she just gives you a look in reply — one to say, ‘i’m not stupid’. to which, you let out a small sigh and shake your head. you’re not good at lying to ellie. “okay, i guess i may be in a… tiny bit of a slump.”
she shuffles a bit, leaning back on her hands. “why? what’s wrong?”
you pick at your nail, pausing. “i don’t know, man. just… yeah. stuff.”
“what kinda stuff?”
you curse her in your head for pushing, but simultaneously feel a pulse in your chest that she cares. you don’t particularly want to talk to ellie about your relationship. or lack thereof. it feels embarrassing, for some reason. in the end, you let out a small, defeated sigh. “ugh. just… so… i’m not with you-know-who anymore.”
ellie raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the way she feels selfish relief. “damn. that sucks.”
you shrug. “i suppose so.”
another awkward pause occurs as ellie tries to think of what to say. comforting people has never really been her forte, but she wants to try for you. plus, she’s curious. “…wh-what happened?”
you look up, eyes flitting around the scenery, pulling a small face as you think. “nothing, really. just… wasn’t working. like… didn’t really feel right, y’know?”
she quirks an eyebrow, looking sideways at you. “so it was you, huh?”
you let out something between a breathed out chuckle and a groan. “…yeah. i felt really mean.”
“damn. you’re ruthless. heartbreaker,” she teases deadpan in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
to which, you roll your eyes and snicker, the smile lingering on your face. even in the worst mood, you’d noticed, ellie could always make you laugh somehow. “shut up. it wasn’t like that.”
“then what was it like?”
you shrug lightly, toying with the cover of your book. “i don’t know. went as best as it could, i suppose. i have nothing against her, nothing happened, it just… yeah. like i said. wasn’t right.”
ellie hums in acknowledgment, looking away in thought. her silence feels a little uncomfortable, driving you to babble on. “i don’t know, she’s nice and everything, but it just felt like we were kind of… wasting each other’s time. i didn’t see it actually going anywhere. i know we’re still young, and… y’know, it’s hardly like we have to marry each other or whatever. but something just felt missing. i don’t know.”
you glance at ellie briefly, then back down at your book, tracing the cover art with your fingertip. “like… you and cat. you guys seem happy. what does that feel like?”
she feels a little taken off guard. she’s not used to talking about this with anyone; anyway, nobody’s ever really asked. she shifts, sitting cross legged and leaning her forearms on her thighs, messing with her hands. “uh… i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”
you furrow your eyebrows slightly. not really the reaction you were expecting. “oof. what does that mean?”
ellie lets out a drawn out hum, wrinkling her chin. “… i don’t know. i suppose it just feels… hm. it’s just… what it is. i guess.”
you pull a face, blowing air through your nose. “wow. don’t get too sappy on me, now. you’re gushing.”
her eyes roll in response to your sarcasm, a lopsided smirk on her face. “shut up.”
you mirror her smile, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove down the way it burns a hole through you, makes your chest feel like it’s constricting.
the moment is broken by a call of ellie’s name. you both automatically look up, spotting cat strolling over with a bright smile on her face.
“speak of the devil,” you murmur jokingly, turning to look back at ellie briefly.
she scoffs in response, moving to stand up. when cat presses a small kiss to her lips in greeting, resting a hand on her arm, you avert your eyes.
cat looks down at you, offering a soft smile and a wave. “hey.”
“hey,” you reply, looking back up. you did really like cat. you weren’t necessarily friends, but she was cool, and funny, and always nice to you. you flit your eyes between her and ellie as she turns back, addressing her girlfriend.
“i was on my way to yours. we still watching a movie tonight?”
ellie looks down at you, then back at cat, an unreadable expression on her face. “uh… yeah, yeah. for sure.”
cat smiles at ellie, taking her hand and lightly swinging it between them. “… well, we’ll leave you to it,” she says to you.
you nod slowly. “yup. catch you two later.”
you wave half-heartedly at them both as they walk away hand-in-hand, free hands returning the gesture. you busy yourself with putting your headphones back in and choosing a new song, but if you were looking up, you’d have seen ellie look back at you. twice.
#tlou#tlou2#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie williams fluff#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams tlou2#wlw fic#lesbian fic#my writing
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All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)
Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation
A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.
It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.
You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.
“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house.
Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.
“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”
Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.
Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?
It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.
“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room.
Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.
That can’t be good.
“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”
“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.
“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.
You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.
“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.”
Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”
“Shit—”
“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell.
In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.
Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier.
You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same.
Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.
Wanda made this all conceivable for you.
“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”
Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.
“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.
Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.
“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.
Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”
“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”
She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”
Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”
Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”
“Okay, mama.”
Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.
“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.
You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”
Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”
You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.
Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today.
“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.
You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.
“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”
“Do you love me?”
You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”
“Only me?”
You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.
“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.
Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out.
“Wanda, I—”
“Do you like living here?”
“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”
Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else.
“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"
You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”
You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.
“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”
The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.
–
“Jimmy?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I found her.”
Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.
“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial.
Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.
The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.
“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.
A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.
“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.
It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.
“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.
“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.
“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly, like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.
“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.
“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.
Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.
“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”
“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.
“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.
“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”
“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.
“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.
“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.
“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.
Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.
“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”
Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.
“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.
You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”
Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.
“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.
You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.
“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.
Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”
“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”
Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”
Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.
“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”
Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”
“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.
The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”
“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.
“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”
“You think?”
Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”
“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”
“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”
“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. ��We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”
Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”
“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.
But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.
–
After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on.
She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.
When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.
She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.
Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x you#wanda x you#wanda maximoff#unbetad#my writing#my fic#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen#wanda maximoff fanfiction#oneshots#fic request#wandavision#monica rambeau#darcy lewis#jimmy woo#All Of Your Pieces#AOYP
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mascot || leah williamson x reader ||
you and leah have a talk about expanding your family after your nephew is leah's mascot.
"There's a canon on my shirt," Max, your nephew, proudly announced to the car. You felt bad about leaving Leah on her own for the morning before a game, but Max was supposed to be her mascot for the game today, and you wanted to personally deliver the boy. Your family would be down later, but you got to keep him to yourself for the morning and afternoon leading up to the game.
"It's the Arsenal canon. Pretty cool, right?" you asked him. Max nodded enthusiastically. You smiled as you turned your attention back towards traffic. It was a dreadfully long drive from your brother's place to London, but this was worth it. Besides, after the game, Max would get to spend some quality time at your parents' place for a bit.
You generally had busy days for most of Max's visits, compliments of your girlfriend. Leah loved having the boy over, and usually had a bunch of little things planned for the three of you to do together. Today, it'd be a chill day of brunch before you went to the game. Max was careful in keeping his Williamson jersey clean, which you thought was quite the feat for the boy.
"Is that my favorite bench buddy?" Alessia asked as she saw you in the parking lot. Max's face lit up as he saw the blonde. He was fond of all of the Lioness players. Since he had lived in England his entire life, he thought of himself as a proper little Englishman. You and your brother were absolutely besides yourselves trying to correct that, but it was a losing battle.
"Where's Leah at?" Max was hugging Alessia, but his focus was on your girlfriend. Alessia laughed, promising to bring Max to Leah once they were inside. You left took Max back so that Alessia could get dressed, unsurprised when Leah and Kim came out to see Max.
Leah went straight to you, giving you a big kiss while Kim had Max distracted. She handed him a little Scottish flag, something you knew that would end up as a decoration on your brother's desk. Max didn't care for Scottish stuff, but that wouldn't stop any of you from trying with him.
"Do you like my canon Leah?" Max asked. Leah nodded as she picked him up. You stepped back to let her have a moment with Max.
"Williamson, huh. I'm surprised that you didn't put your last name on there," Kim said. You shrugged at the comment, currently out from Arsenal for a bad injury. You knew that your whole career was at stake, but you had been trying not to think about it too much. You didn't want to freak yourself out too badly about things.
"Don't tell her, I want her to notice on her own. Also, Max insisted, claimed that he had enough of my stuff. I swear he loves Leah more than me," you huffed. It wasn't true annoyance, in fact, you were glad that Max loved Leah so much.
You wanted a family with her, but you didn't know if she wanted that too. Leah had been nervous at first around Max, claiming that she wasn't great with kids. You knew that was far from the truth now. She had a better maternal instinct than you did, and you had dreamed of being a mother since you were a baby yourself. A large part of your family had always been very traditional, so for a long time, you thought it was your only option. You were older and knew better now, and it was seeing how the world changed made you feel good about bringing a new life into it.
"Alright little man, we've got places to be," you told Max. He gave Kim and Leah big kisses goodbye, and made them promise to give Alessia and Beth some too. Max happily followed you over to where the other kids and their parents were waiting. He was a social butterfly, so he managed to make friends with several of the children around him.
He was lost in his own little world until Leah and the other players came. Immediately, he flocked to your girlfriend. Leah held his hand in hers, and you knew she wouldn't let go for anything. You stood back a bit, and snapped a picture of them talking to each other as both teams began to line up. You wouldn't post it, but you'd keep it for yourself and Leah to look back on later.
"Oi, Max is gonna stay on the bench, okay?" Leah shouted. You gave her a thumbs up. You found your spot in the friends and family section right by the bench just in case Max needed something. You filmed Leah walking Max out, and just how obvious it was that she cared for him. Those videos did go to your story, but it didn't seem odd for you to post Leah in the lineup. Everybody knew about your relationship, and a few dedicated fans even knew about her little adventures with Max whenever you managed to get him for an off weekend.
…
"We probably could have taken him for tonight," Leah said as she watched your parents drive off with Max. She had held onto him all throughout the post-game celebrations. Leah even managed to talk your parents into going out for dinner just so that she could stay close to your nephew.
"Leah, I'd hate to burst your bubble, but we're second to my parents. That boy loves his Nanny and Papa," you told her. Leah knew that it was true. He may have asked to sit with Leah, but he had been talking your parents' ears off all night. Still, you hadn't missed the way that both Max and Leah seemed to lean into each other for comfort.
"Do you ever think that we'd make good parents?" Leah asked you. She leaned her head against your shoulder, eyes fixed on the night sky ahead of you. You could hear the apprehension in her voice, like she was afraid that you'd reject the ide of becoming a mother with Leah. Since the two of you had gotten serious about each other and your relationship, there wasn't a single person in the world that you could think to have a child with other than her.
"I don't know about myself, but you'll be a great mother. Nobody will do everything right, but I think that you'd probably come the closest," you told her. Leah lifted her head up and turned you around to face her. "I think that you could do good enough for the both of us."
"You sound fucking mental to me right now. Seriously, you're the most loving and caring woman that I know. If it's about Max, he just thinks that I'm cool. I can't even take care of myself without you, but you'd be fine without me," Leah said. She sounded so sure that you had to believe her, even if it was just a little bit. "I'd have a baby with you right now if I could."
"Well, I will be out for quite a while. There's still another whole surgery that I need and the physical therapy for it. What if we waited until the last surgery and then started trying?" you asked. Leah seemed a bit surprised, but you could tell that it wasn't a bad thing. "There's no rush to even think about it. I just thought that maybe it was something to throw out there."
"Yes," Leah answered quickly. Now, it was your turn for the shock to settle in. "I want to have a child with you, and this seems like the way to go. We don't have to tell anybody until it takes, and I mean, it's kind of perfect anyway. And if you decide that you don't want to go back at the end of your injury, you won't have to scramble around trying to find your place. I'll even step back from some things to really help out because I don't want you to feel alone for a second."
"Leah, this is a big step. Promise me that you won't get cold feet." You didn't mean to sound to scared, but Leah comforted you anyway.
"Never, I'd be an idiot to even consider it. You don't even know how lucky I feel to wake up next to you everyday. And the idea of having you and a baby? Babe, I'm over the moon already. Now, let's get home so that we can start on the process," Leah said as she grabbed your hand.
"I'm not sure that's gonna work," you laughed as Leah pulled you along.
"Simulation, it's very important!" Leah exclaimed. You continued laughing as she just scooped you into her arms and sprinted to get you into the car.
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