#chapter; olympic games | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunsburns · 5 months ago

Text

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him.

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis.

Which he didn't.

You let him win.

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together.

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise.

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one.

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right?

Right?

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief.

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker.

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you.

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette.

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips.

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you.

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art.

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back.

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you.

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin.

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past.

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread.

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room.

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too.

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair.

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see.

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you.

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath.

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back.

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head.

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face.

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly.

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you.

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips.

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below.

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes.

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own.

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache.

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction.

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake.

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you."

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips.

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer.

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop.

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger.

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch.

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard.

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man."

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm.

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

reblog to support your writers!

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smilingmarauder · 6 months ago

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My tribute to an incredible fan fiction that continues to make me feel so many emotions! On going, but worth every single moment of waiting!

Astarion is a former olympic figure ice skater. Gale a famous divorced musician. They are paired up as a same-sex couple in the new season of Dancing on Ice... Very intense feelings will follow! ⛸️

You should really read this masterpiece!

If you have already read it I hope you like this art.

If you are Linnetagain... I love you! And thank you for all!

#illustration #fan art #digital art #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate fanart #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale #gale dekarios #the season #fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #ice skating #bloodweave #the season fanfiction #gale x astarion #astarion x gale

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requiemforthepoets · 4 months ago

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underdogs dance in the middle of the night 𖦹 CL16

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x fencer!leclerc!reader , f1 grid x fencer!leclerc!reader

SUMMARY: always being considered as an underdog, but the youngest leclerc is here to prove them wrong.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: it’s my first time doing something like this, and i apologize on my dry humor…but i hope you still enjoy this though.

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: typos

FACE CLAIM: maxine esteban and others on pinterest, but mostly maxine esteban.

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl and 578,982 others

ynleclerc 2022-2023 was one hell of a ride.

This past year has been a never ending whirlwind of challenges and triumphs. From the devastating ACL tear and the subsequent surgery that threatened my fencing career to the grueling recovery process that tested my limits, it has been a journey of resilience, determination, and unwavering support. After six months of rehabilitation, I am beyond thrilled to share that I have received medical clearance to return to competitive sports.

However, that’s not all. I have been keeping this secret for a while now, one that I have cherished and guarded closely, even from my family. Today, I am proud to announce that I am switching my fencing nationality from Italy to Monaco. This decision has been a deeply personal and emotional one, driven by my love to Monaco, my home, and the desire to represent Monaco on the global stage.

I owe a debt of gratitude to my former team for shaping me into the athlete I am today. Now, as I embark on this new chapter representing Monaco, I carry with me the lessons and memories that have defined my journey so far.

Je suis heureux (se) de vous annoncer mon changement de nationalité sportive, passant de l'Italie à Monaco. C'est une décision qui me remplit de fierté et d'un profond sentiment d'appartenance. Merci à tous ceux qui ont rendu cela possible et qui continuent à me soutenir dans cette nouvelle aventure 🙌🏻

I am thrilled for what lies ahead and am setting my sights on qualifying for Paris 2024. Together, let's write the next chapter of this incredible journey. Merci infiniment. 🇲🇨🤺❤️

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pascale.leclerc.355 C'est une nouvelle très excitante, mon chéri ! Je suis impatiente de te voir aux Jeux Olympiques représentant Monaco! ❤️🇲🇨 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc Merci maman pour ton soutien sans fin!! Je t'aime tellement!! 😭❤️

username1 OUR FAVORITE LECLERC REPRESENTING MONACO!! 🙌🏻

username2 OMG imagine if y/n won a medal in the Paris 2024, she’ll be the first one to win a medal for Monaco in the olympics!! 😭❤️

username3 charles winning the monaco gp and y/n winning the olympics 2024, imagine the POWER. prince and princess of Monaco 👏🏻

username4 MANIFESTING PARIS 2024!! 🗣️

carlossainz55 Vamos, y/n!! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

scuderiaferrari Congratulations to our favorite Leclerc!! ❤️❤️❤️ ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

charles_leclerc I can’t believe that I’ll find out this amazing news online?! Félicitations à notre petite sœur! Je sais que tu vas faire des merveilles, tu es une formidable escrimeuse. Il n'y a aucun doute que tu te qualifieras pour Paris 2024! Nous t'aimons tellement ❤️ ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc tbf, i never told a single soul abt this, and it was really hard keeping it from you guys!!! But thank you so much, charlieee 🥺❤️ ♥︎ liked by charles_leclerc

pierregasly Secure that gold medal! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username5 i’m a new fan of f1 and i just found out that charles has a younger sister?!

username6 yes! she’s the youngest of the leclercs and she’s a fencer!! there’s a thread about her on the x app!!!

haterusername1 she’s gonna be losing left and right. italy is at the top of the game when it comes to fencing, this transfer is literally a bad move for her lmao can’t wait to see her lose lol

TWITTER POST

ynleclerc

liked by pascale.leclerc.355, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc and 465,323 others

ynleclerc new season, same dream. 🤺🇲🇨 let’s go! ❤️🔥

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pascale.leclerc.355 Je suis tellement excitée, mon cher! Faisons honneur à nous-mêmes et à Monaco! 🇲🇨💕 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc Merci maman, je t'aime!! ❤️

landonorris PARIS 2024 HERE WE COME!! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc hold your horses there, norris. i have yet to win the championships 😂

landonorris already claiming and manifesting it

username7 OLYMPIAN Y/N LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO

username8 MANIFESTING SO HARD FOR THE QUALIFYING

username9 if she qualifies for Paris 2024, i’m shaving my eyebrows ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username10 NOT Y/N LIKING THE COMMENT 😭😭😭

username9 QUEEN I- 😭😭😭

haterusername2 she’ll be demolished by the other fencing team, knowing that the monaco’s fencing team are weak. haven’t even won any medals in the olympics lol, as if she’ll be able to qualify in the Paris 2024 🤥🫠

haterusername3 totally agree! not all these people hyping her up just bc she is some famous person’s sister. tbh, her fencing is literally average.

username10 omfg shut up you boomers. bet a hundred bucks that you cant’t even do what she does LMFAO speaking as if you have fenced in your whole life.

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, landonorris and 687,943 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and scuderiaferrari

ynusername supporting my fav ferrari bros charles_leclerc & carlossainz55 before heading off to Cairo. Forza Ferrari! ❤️

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scuderiaferrari it was such an honor to be graced by your presence, our favorite ferrari girl! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc I had a very amazing time. thank you, ferrari! ❤️

landonorris WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME YOU’LL BE ATTENDING THE GP 😭 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc SORRY I FORGOT TO TELL YOU OMG 😭 I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU NEXT TIME!!

oscarpiastri I thought you’re team papaya 😔 heart been broke too many times 💔 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc i’m so sorry my nephew 😔💔

oscarpiastri we’re the same age 😐

ynleclerc but you’re my bro’s child 😔 btw, say hi to lily for me!! miss hanging out with her.

oscarpiastri will do 👍🏻 lilyzneimer y/n says hi and told me that she missed hanging out with you

username11 OSCAR WTF 😭😭😭

mclaren pls be in our garage next time 😔💔 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

scuderiaferrari back off sis, she’s ours ✋🏻😐

username12 not ferrari and mclaren fighting for her in the comsec 😭

fencing_fie

liked by ynleclerc, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, and 987,745 others

tagged: ynleclerc, paris2024, olympics

fencing_fie On her way to Paris 2024, ynleclerc is inspiring the next generation in 🇲🇨

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ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 1,673,992 others

ynusername I can’t stop crying. We did it kids.

OFFICIALLY QUALIFIED FOR THE PARIS OLYMPICS 🇲🇨🥹❤️

Qualifying for the Paris 2024 Olympics is another check in my list, and representing Monaco makes it even more special. This journey has been long. Series of heartbreaks and tears, some milestones…but whatever happens, I am happy and thankful to be where I am right now and meet such wonderful people around the world.

To my family. Maman, Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, thank you for never giving up on me and my dreams. For sticking with me through thick and thin, especially during the challenging times after my ACL tear and surgery, I know that I was unbearable that that time, crying 24/7 because I kept on thinking that it might be the end of my career, but your love and encouragement has been my strength. To my medical team, thank you for pushing me in getting back on my feet and giving me chance to chase my dreams once again.

Le plus beau des rêves se réalise aujourd��hui. Merci à tous pour votre soutien. Je suis prêt pour ce nouveau chapitre!

Love, y/n 🤍

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scuderiaferrari CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR FAV FERRARI GIRL!!! ❤️🔥

ynleclerc thank you, admin 🥺❤️

lilymhe i know that i might be beheaded by my own country, BUT FUCK IT LETS GO MONACO!!! ��️🗣️🗣️🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username13 OMF LILY 😭😭😭

mclaren WAY TO GO Y/N!! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username10 how are we feeling today? better prepare your eyebrow username9

username9 already prepared and accepted that i’ll be shaving my eyebrows ✊🏻

ynleclerc tag me when you do it…JK pls don’t!! i don’t want your mom to be angry at me 😭

username9 OMSJDJEJDJWKDK

landonorris SEATED. READY. FRONT ROW. ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username14 BOOKED MY FLIGHT TO PARIS FOR THE OLYMPICS, CANT WAIT

username15 MOTHER.

francisca.cgomes YESSSS GIRL YOU GOOOOOOOOOO 🙌🏻🔥💪🏻 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

alexandrasaintmleux congratulations!!! we are all behind you!! 🇲🇨 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

lilyzneimer oscar and i are ready, we will be there!!! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

arthur_leclerc YEEEEEEEES congratulations, petite soeur! celebration is in order 😁🥳🤩 ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and 2,473,973 others

tagged: ynleclerc

charles_leclerc I can’t believe it, our petite soeur just qualified at Paris 2024!

Remember when you first picked up a fencing foil, nearly took out the living room lamp and maman getting angry 😂 all of us knew that you are destined for greatness right then and there (or at least destined to break a lot of household items). Fast forward to today, screaming your heart out in victory, making us all incredibly proud!

I’m so excited to see you compete in Paris 2024. I know you’ll do great. Congratulations, superstar! You made us all proud. Let’s get ready for Paris!

OUR BABY SISTER MADE IT TO THE OLYMPICS!

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ynleclerc YOURE MAKING ME CRY AGAIN 😭 thank you, charlie. love you!!! 🥹🫶🏻 ♥︎ liked by charles_leclerc

lewishamilton Congratulations, ynleclerc! I know you’ll do everyone and Monaco proud! 💪🏻❤️ ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc thank you so much, sir lewis!

georgerussell63 Congratulations! Carmen and I will be there in support! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

pierregasly gold medal secured in the bag! ♥︎ liked by ynleclerc

username16 PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF MONACO! 🇲🇨

username17 charles and y/n making monaco proud!! 😭❤️

username18 the moment y/n wins the olympics, prepare to be sick of me. PREPARE TO BE SICK OF ME!!!!!

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mo0nfairy · 1 year ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART TWO !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.2k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, murder/death, gore/blood, stalking, age-gap, non-con touching, drugging, invasion of privacy, force-feeding, mentions of rape/assault, mentions of vomit, hanging, insinuations of suicide, physical restraint, child neglect/abuse, child abandonment, & a lot of gross shit.

miguel o'hara's yandere traits are . . .

smothering, territorial, & paranoid

──── Electricity. It is what Miguel O'Hara lost you to on October 17th, 2099. And it is what he felt on May 16th of the same year.

A soccer coach, that is all you were. Simply there to guide a gaggle of tiny rascals toward their dreams of becoming Olympic athletes. That is all you should have been. Spending your days beneath the sweltering sun, collecting quick money and soccer-ball-induced bruises, before leaving Nueva York to settle down elsewhere. That is what you could have been.

Gabriella O'Hara was one of your many students. However, her dad was rarely present during her games. The lack of fatherly presence struck a parental nerve in your body, hence your perceptible favoritism for her. The efforts you made did not go unnoticed by Gabriella, either.

The time she had preferred tying dandelion stems to one another instead of participating with other classmates, you joined the lonely girl and taught her how to craft flower crowns. Since then, she has always arrived to practice with light in her eyes as she gifts you another flower crown of millions. And of course, you thank her graciously for the present. Even after they wilt and wither, they will forever have a home in your residence.

Today was a particularly gloomy Saturday in late March. The carpool Miguel relied on had been cancelled last minute, much to his dismay. The parent he couldn't remember the name of informed him their child was stricken with a case of chickenpox. After reading their incessant apologies, he groans in a fit of annoyance upon realizing he would have to chauffeur his daughter for the day.

Soccer Ball and weed-ridden flower crown in her small hands, Gabriella clambers into the back of the car and fastens herself into the car seat. In the process, she finds yet another way to bring you into the conversation. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, everything Gabriella does revolves around you in some shape or form. If Miguel hears 'Y/N,' 'flower-crowns,' or 'soccer' once more, he is positive he will implode on the spot. Clenching his jaw, he mentally prepares himself for the most excruciating car ride he is sure he will ever endure.

When they arrive at the field, there is no hug, no kiss, not even a wave of goodbye. Miguel merely lets his daughter exit the vehicle herself, ignores her exclamation of "See you later!" and zooms off. Despite how harrowing her father's negligence is, Gabriella knows she will see you and that fact aids all. If she were honest, she would say she likes you far more than she does her own family. It is tacitly evident through the attention you give her. You lighten up like a Christmas tree when she runs and engulfs your legs in a tight hug. Gleefully, you accept her gift of yet another flower crown and praise her for the effort she put into crafting such. And after being so deprived of the necessity of love, Gabriella practically clings to your side like a parasite.

In the meantime, Miguel returns home and hastily sorts through reports sent in by Alchemax. From technological hiccups to your average-day Karen, being in this field never failed to make this man roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite the admiratio he holds for his career, he still grumbles when his responsibilities creep up on him. And much like everything else in his life, he despises it all.

A monitor then pops up beside him, the translucent screen displaying a reminder he had set hours ago. "May 16th, 2099. Saturday. 3:45 PM. Pick Up Child." His head is thrown back in a fit of irritation when he is reminded of her presence. Miguel closes the tab and leaves the expanse of his office, counting down the days until his daughter blows out her 18 candles and he can finally be at peace.

After the car ride spent pondering over why he had chosen this life, he soon arrives at the soccer field. Scrutinizing through the cluster of children playing in the field, he cannot find Gabriella through the chaos. Miguel does not worry about her well-being, as opposed to how other parents would react to their child being missing. He merely huffs before departing from the vehicle. His large hand tracks through his hair as he searches for where the brat had wandered off to, ignoring the lustful gazes from mothers who were explicitly unhappy in their marriages.

Tucked away in the corner is the first-aid center. Within the bell tent, he spots his daughter. She is blissfully happy as she laughs hysterically, which makes her father red with rage. His talons dig into the meat of his palms; his fangs protrude into his lips. He had already driven all this way for her, how dare she force him to travel even further!? Stomping across the field and through the threshold, his towering frame suddenly halts when he takes notice of the additional presence inside the tent.

And just like that, for the first time in his entire life, the anger simply... vanishes. It is almost like magic. Through tireless efforts, Miguel has done everything in his power to deplete this suffocating rage. All efforts made by him were brought to no fruition. In this moment, however, the mere presence of this stranger brings such a candy-sweet shock to all his senses, that he forgets where his anger was in the first place.

They cast a look over their shoulder to acknowledge his sudden entrance. And their features sit like stars on the expanse of their face, their eyes like the sun and moon basking him in its holy light. A kind smile that could rival the luminescence of heaven grows on their face. Miguel is shocked the sight hadn't caused his knees to lock beneath him. They introduce themselves and if he could write their name on his tongue and only ever speak of them, he wouldn't waste another heartbeat.

Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The word sounds like flowers in the wind; like an answered prayer for brighter days. Extending their arm out to shake his hand, Miguel fervently takes their hand into his and shivers from the close, yet minimal, contact.

"So, this is the notorious Y/N I've heard so much about." His voice drops to a low husk, attempting to woo you.

Miguel presses your knuckles to his lips and kisses them with fervid haste. The skin, flesh, and warmth pervading the expanse of his lips make him feel weightless. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, but with you now in his life, he'd tear every raw bone from his body and place them at your feet if you so much as asked. Just keep making him feel the way you do.

He then introduces himself and punctuates the syllables with the inflection of his accent, knowing of how it drove others wild. In this case, he was not given the heart-lurching sight of you averting your gaze or listening to your flustered giggles. Instead, you yank your hand away from his affections and revert your attention to Gabriella. Miguel had forgotten she was there altogether, and once again, the permeating rage returned once more.

Without your blessed attention, his lost soul returns to the home it built out of anger and misery. He had so greedily absorbed every sliver of good you possessed, he never fathomed how he would feel when it would be inevitably revoked.

Upon closer inspection, Miguel notices how his daughter's cheeks are puffy with stained tears. On her knees are a clutter of superhero-themed band-aids, a few displaying her father in his work attire. You inform him of the tumble she had taken earlier that day and of how there was nothing to concern himself with, gesturing to the bandages adorning her frail legs. He was never worried in the first place, only captivated by your sheer existence.

You then bend down to where Gabriella is seated on an ottoman and take her tiny hands into yours.

"I was going to wait until later on, but I got a gift that I just have to give you!" Gabriella lightens up as if you had told her you were taking her to Disneyland, anxiously anticipating her present.

Quirking your head, you turn to her father. "If that is alright with you, of course." Yes, anything you want. I will give you everything you could ever want.

A nod of his head and you stand to your feet. That mellifluous voice of yours that Miguel could listen to forever apprises Gabriella to close her eyes, which she obliges to and brings her palms to her face. Grasping hold of the gift hidden in the corner of the tent, you begin to tread toward the young girl. Before you had granted her to, she not-so-sneakily peeks through the expanse of her fingers. She can't abstain from squealing in excitement when she catches sight of what is in your palms. She closes the distance between you both and rushes to you, before practically yanking the gift out of your grasp. A harsh scolding bridges upon Miguel's lips for the action. However, when he takes notice of the admiration in your expression, he is rendered speechless with sudden envy.

A flower crown is what you had given her. The detail is exquisite, evident in the sheer awe plastered upon Gabriella's face as she studies it. Strawflower, lavender, eucalyptus, and daisies adorn the garment, as well as strands of amaranth that would cascade down her back. In addition to this, a myriad of other ornamentations clung to the crown. Vibrant gemstones, pastel buttons, and a pink, silken ribbon that ties the crown together in a flawless bow — it is a tiara befitting the most beautiful of princesses. And you told Gabriella she fit that standard effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Miguel stands in the background and seethes. How despairingly he wishes the gift were for him instead. In any other light, he'd say the garment was tacky. Ugly, even. He would have no resourceful use for it, either, and it would inevitably be chucked into the garbage. When it is you who put all care and detail into the gift, however, the story changes. Mere seconds have gone by since he has learned your name and still, he'd flaunt that crown for the rest of his life if you had gifted it to him. No matter the judging heaps of laughter he'd receive from others.

Gabriella thanks you profusely and engulfs your legs in another hug. Her gratitude is met with a reciprocated squeeze, as well. The act of affection is given to one another entirely oblivious to the third party overwhelmed with jealousy. His thick brows are plastered in a permanent furrow and his lips have morphed into an envious sneer. You are so effortlessly good with children and Miguel can't refrain his brain from catapulting to conclusions.

What does your life look like outside of being his daughter's favorite person? Do you have children of your own?

Is there someone else?

You and Gabriella then perform your secret handshake. It had been choreographed during one of the numerous soccer meets after her father neglected to collect his daughter on time. Soon, the two are leaving the tent. And every step away from you feels like walking on hot stones. The further Miguel treads, the scorching temperatures increase. He cannot look back. One glance and he'd be barreling for the poor tent like some rabid animal, desperate for another taste of your bottled happiness.

May 16th had only been the beginning of the Miguel-ridden chaos that would soon embark into your life.

Considering his negligence, you were stunned to see how he had signed his daughter up for several classes a week. But, you become entirely aghast with shock when you find him attending every meeting and game, remaining in the same spot for the entire course. Most parents twiddle on their phones while others mingle with the other adults. Miguel O'Hara was different. His sole, undivided attention was reserved for the actions taken on the field. And his sweet child could not have been more elated.

You presumed this alter in behavior to be a spark of realization that manifested into becoming a better parent. However, as the weeks go by and he continues to attend, you are quick to realize how his attention isn't appointed to his daughter, but it is set on you instead.

It is impossible for you to disinter what about yourself he finds so entertaining. With his eyes glued to you, it fills you with a sense of insecurity when you assume he may be mocking or judging you. The seemingly permanent dead emotion cast on his face makes you squirm with discomfort.

Upon closer inspection, or during the constant chatter he provokes when you're not occupied with the children, you swear the pupils of his eye almost appear... heart-shaped? You also cannot remember a time when he looked you directly in the eye, either. You're sure if you asked him what your eye color is, he'd be dumbfounded (he knows the exact shade by HTML color code, but that fact remains unknown to you). They are locked onto your lips, instead. Do you have something on your face? Maybe something in your teeth? The lack of emotion he communicates through facial expressions has you ridden with worry.

The most evident response you've been able to perceive in his expression was on a random day after practice. In the midst of a conversation with Miguel, another father interrupts him. His face morphs into something murderous when the unwelcome guest has the audacity to ask for your number. He claims it is to inquire you about his son's performance while he is not physically present in the game. With the way his eyes leer to your body, Miguel knows exactly what kind of revolting, perverted visions are plaguing his mind.

Clenched jaw, tense frown, eyes blown wide — Miguel’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths while he glares bullets into the man. It takes everything within him to not release his talons, flash his fangs, and rip this pervert into nothing but a bloodied mess of gore on this very soccer field.

He is dead by dawn.

Exposed to several counts of rape and assault, Spider-Man hanged that man with his red web-matter beneath a bridge. His written confession was pinned to his chest with a hunting knife.

The disturbing events led his wife to officially resign her son from your practice. On live television, the widow swears on her life that her husband would not do such a thing. The sudden exposure of random crimes without any victims or proof does seem a tad suspicious, you think to yourself. Due to the circumstances, however, you cancel soccer meetups for the following several weeks so parents and children can process these disturbing events.

While you are typing another empathetic message to the apparent-criminal’s wife, another message pings on your device.

The culprit is no other than Miguel O'Hara. As if the news that had spread amongst the city like wildfire had chosen to leave him intact.

As if nothing happened.

Miguel invites you to an ice cream parlor with him and Gabriella, a weird undertone that implies it's a date while his daughter is the annoying third wheel. To get your mind off the poor boy whose father was brutally murdered, you agree to the rendezvous. His response is far too ecstatic to be deemed platonic, but much like all of his other flirtatious insinuations, you ignore it. You are juggling much more important, colossal matters in your life, after all.

Early afternoon rolls around and you arrive a mere five minutes early to the parlor, only to find the two were already seated beneath a pastel-striped umbrella. Gabriella is adorned in the flower crown you gifted her weeks ago, babbling about frivolous matters while her father sits beside her. Chin rested against his palm, you have never seen a more bored expression on a human's face.

Double-checking the clock to ensure Miguel's apathy wasn't a result of your poor planning, you're relieved to see your suspicions were false. You briefly scroll through the new messages on your phone from parents and neighbors regarding their children. As much as you adore your job, juggling the well-being of so many lives can be exhausting.

The click of your car door opening cuts your actions short. Looking at the sudden intrusion, you find Miguel O'Hara towering over you with Gabriella at his side. Her eyes beam beneath the flower crown you crafted, while her father perceptibly softens at the sight of you. Almost as if a tidal wave of relief washed over him after years spent breathing in trepidation. Not wasting another second, Gabriella crawls into the car and engulfs you in a hug. You are able to reciprocate the affection before her father pulls her away from what's his you. He is rather rough with her, but the smile that paints her face aids the dread inside of you.

Miguel lends a hand, which you take with reluctance. He guides you from your beat-up, engine-sputtering vehicle as if you were royalty. Your other hand was now held hostage by Gabriella, who attempts to conquer her father's strength and guide you to where they were once seated. Her efforts are futile when you are yanked into Miguel's sudden embrace. He was never shy with his affections, but this is the first time he was so close to you. And God, is it overwhelming. His imposing frame envelops every inch of you, to where all your senses are deluged in all of him. His cologne, his muscles, his warmth — he is everywhere and it is wholly suffocating.

"I missed you so much..." A beat passes before you realize he is referring to the mere week you have spent without seeing the O'Hara family.

Slowly and painstakingly, he releases you from his tenacious hold. Gabriella is then swift to fill the silence. She grasps your attention easily, something her father has struggled immensely with.

She pantomimes about the fashion show she hosted for her dolls back home and the success she earned during her P.E. class a few days prior. So indulged in the stories of this poor, attention-deprived child, you failed to notice how your hand was still held in Miguel's grasp. His lips find your knuckles, as they always do. The sensation of his kiss against you was nothing out of the blue. The act of affection had become a strange routine for every encounter you both shared. Without your resistance, Miguel fully indulges himself in how much he has missed you and plants more long, abiding kisses to your hand.

When you finally perceive his actions, you swiftly yank your hand away from his relentless affections. An awkward, forced smile sits on your face as you look at him with furrowed brows, seemingly scrutinizing him for some sort of explanation of his actions. Gabriella then pulls you away and drags you like a dog to their reserved table. Not without a sharp demand from her father to be careful with you.

On the surface, you find a colossal bowl of your favorite ice cream. The question lurks of how they had known this fact, but you merely brush it off as dropping the information to Gabriella a while ago. Besides the treat, a bouquet of paper flowers scribbled with bright-hued markers sits. She expresses how she crafted it for you during her time in school. Students were given art equipment and assigned to create a heartfelt gift for their parents. In the brain of Gabriella, she neglected her actual parent and put all her love into creating something perfect for you. And to you, it was all of that and more.

The three of you sit. You thank the young girl for the beautiful gift. Then, you pretend to inhale the scent of fresh flowers and jokingly compliment her on how she picked the finest posy from her garden. Before you can continue to pantomime about the process she went through to craft the bouquet, her father interrupts her. He proposes a gift he has gotten for you, as well.

A box is then placed before you. It is enveloped in vermillion velvet and silver tracings of 'Cartier' are threaded among the sides. You restrain from expressing your shock at the expensive appearance. Flicking the small latch that probably costs more than your bedroom alone, you gently clutch the two adjacent covers and open the box.

Sat inside is a diamond ring. The way the July sun reflects against the gift and into your eyes is harsh. You're shocked you hadn't gone blind from the unwelcome pervasion. The intricacies of the garment are delicate and precious, to where you are afraid of even putting your hands on such finery. You become entirely ridden with shock and terror when you grasp the thin thread attached to the box and read the price tag.

$2,000,000 is written in bold letters, almost as if the striking font was ridiculing you.

As heard through the fits of gossip from bored parents during practice, you were aware Miguel was a billionaire working at Alchemax. In these past few weeks spent handling nagging parents worried for their children's safety, the fact seems to have escaped your brain. And even with receipts that look like phone numbers, you still cannot fathom how pure diamonds are mere pocket change to him.

Jaw on the ground, you don't realize just how much time you spent gawking at the ring. A hum of amused, affectionate laughter clutches you away from your state of captivation. You shift your gaze away to see Miguel and those all-too-familiar heart-shaped pupils. Staring into your soul. It is the most emotion you have seen on his face since you met him. You wonder how many times he has looked at you like that when you were occupied with other matters.

He moves closer to you. You stalk his movements with curiosity, watching as he grasps your hand for the zillionth time since you met him. Uncomfortably pressing himself against you, Miguel reaches over your shoulder and grasps the ring. He evidently indulges in every second spent in close proximity with you. The hot, heavy breath fanning against your ear informs you of what captivated chaos is taking place inside his brain. Goosebumps bloom on your skin when the frigid diamonds meet the flesh of your ring finger. He assumes the sudden shiver engrossing your body is due to his closeness and he does little to hide his perceptible excitement.

You loving him nearly as much as he loves you — that is all he could ever want.

You lightly tread your digits among the ring, almost afraid to dirty the expensive jewelry with your mere touch. You stutter through an attempt at thanking Miguel for the gift. And your awe mending with your gratitude has his heart lurching in his chest. God, you are just so sweet. He is surprised his teeth haven't all rotted just from standing here in your presence.

Gabriella is in a similar state to you, as well. Any child in the presence of jewelry meant to be worn by a deity would react in a similar manner. Though, her childlike wonder fogs all the polite manners she prided herself in having. Her small fingers reach to touch the diamonds, but her efforts are halted a mere picosecond after they had begun.

Miguel snaps his fingers. That is all he does. Gabriella freezes at the sound, turning her attention to her father, and then cowering like a scolded puppy. She scoots away from you, abandoning her endeavors the second his fingers meet his palm. You fear what occurs beneath the roof of their home when there are no prying eyes there to witness anything.

A sultry whisper of "you look perfect" in your ear and the state of discomfort you were in only intensifies. Miguel's finger drags from your left shoulder blade to the other as he begrudgingly moves away from you, returning to his original seat.

Nearly incoherent blabbers of the ring being too much money tumble from your lips as you try and rid yourself of the diamonds. However, no matter how tireless your efforts are, the ring almost seems locked around your finger. A gentle tap to your elbow from Miguel beside you and you halt your efforts. You've heard he is quite scary when angry, after all.

With melted ice cream left on the table and diamonds superglued to your finger, you come to the conclusion that leaving your house today was probably a mistake.

When you do return home, however, you now realize you should have seen the blatant red flags long ago and left Miguel in your shadow. Your incessant assurances of how he just has an odd way of expressing kindness halted you from accepting the truth.

Standing before your bathroom mirror, a myriad of cleaning products from beneath the sink sit before you. Your laptop sits there, too, and displays countless YouTube videos adhering to removing a tight ring. Attempting to unravel the glimmering, red knot tying the ring to your hand, the revelation of Miguel's intentions finally begins to settle. These matters are so important, that you don't even acknowledge how the vermillion string looks oddly familiar to what you see the city's superhero using to travel.

Deep within your thoughts, the sharp vibration of a text message startles you out of your inner turmoil. A hologram expands from your phone left against the bathroom countertop. Lo and behold, no other than Miguel O'Hara has messaged you. He thanks you for joining him earlier (avoiding mentioning how his daughter was there, too). He slides an additional compliment of how diamonds look stunning on you. You're glad the toilet is so close to you, as you may need to vomit from the rotten sweetness of his words.

Instead of replying, as you would normally thank him for his kindness, you ignore his message. You are far more interested in trying to rid your hand of this ring without harming the accessory and washing his $2,000,000 down the drain.

With fruitless efforts and exhausted arms, you slouch against the bathroom wall and wave a white flag. You decide to succumb to the stubborn ring's desires and move on with your nightly routine. Instead of having your usual shower, however, you run a bath instead to avoid harming these damned diamonds. It is almost comical to lay in these bubbles completely nude while still wearing this single piece of jewelry. You wonder how Miguel would react to seeing you like this, physically scowling at the lust-ridden response you know he would have.

Speak of the devil, another message from him chimes on your phone. The hologram expands from its spot on the counter, once more. He inquires why you haven't responded to him, as if you would drop everything just to converse with him. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat, but that fact remains unknown to you.

A mere minute passes before an onslaught of messages begins to pour into the room. The rapid ding! of your phone causes you to clench your teeth with fervent irritation. You groan before abruptly escaping the warm embrace of bathwater to grasp your phone. Ignoring all incessant begs for your attention, you put your phone on mute and savor the tranquility that follows. You also overlook the mentions of "not being able to see you" and "his cameras disconnecting" in favor of returning to your peaceful bath.

Your state of relaxation is short-lived, much to your dismay. Not even several minutes later the tumultuous sound of fists banging on your front door permeates. The sudden intrusion of noise sends a shock of terror into your heart. Due to recent events, you fear the crime that has spread throughout Nueva York is now standing outside your home. Could it be someone begging for help? Or could it be someone eager to take your life? Swiftly ensnaring a robe around your body, you hastily tie the knot as you rush to identify the one responsible for the clamor.

Another groan of vexation escapes your throat when you see Miguel at your doorstep through the peephole. The fear simmers but returns when you can't piece together how on Earth he knew where you lived. You hesitate to open the door, but it isn't like you have much of a choice in that matter.

The door creaks open. And the reaction Miguel has seeing you in a robe and his diamonds is more than perceptible. Almost as if whatever excuse he conjured up for being at your home at this hour had been snagged from his brain. His eyes travel from your head to your toes, then back upwards, before reality slaps him across the face and forces him out of wonderland. The fear pumping through his body depleted the second Miguel saw you, to where nothing but a hot canopy of tranquility embraced him. The confused, puppy-like expression on your face, the thin robe protecting you from exposure, and his precious diamonds on your hand — nothing about this sight could save him from the tsunami of devotion that has swallowed him whole.

His arms are around you faster than you could think. And he just melts.

You meekly attempt to escape his tenacious hold, but your efforts are never brought to fruition. With his large hands clasped onto your body and his face nuzzled into your neck, escaping this man and his smothering love was a mere pipe dream.

If the emotions coursing through Miguel in this moment had somehow become a physical matter, he would care for it like he would a newborn baby. Tend to its every need, soothe it when it fusses, give away every ounce of love his heart can possibly accommodate. It contradicts his current performance as an actual parent, but all of his soul was reserved for you, after all.

"I can't live without you." It has only been several hours since you last saw him. Why is he acting like this?

Your efforts to escape accelerate when the razor-like point of his teeth poke against your neck. A harsh shriek then emerges from you when fangs protrude into your flesh. Something unfamiliar pumps through your system with rapid speed. It courses through your body and envelops every inch with profuse lethargy. The exhaustion satiates everything. It is all you can perceive. You slump against Miguel's toned physique like a wet noodle, to where he fully supports your weight with adoring fervor. Whispers of praise and gentle proclamations of love are the last thing you perceive before you drift off.

The dizzy sight of blurred city lights and bedsheets is what you see next. No Miguel, no bathrobes, no ensnaring embraces. Just you and your warped, distorted vision. You attempt to pull your head forward, only for gravity to fail you when you loll back onto the puffy pillows. When your hazy vision fades into something more distinct, you are finally able to discern some of your physical surroundings.

A bedroom that certainly does not belong to you is what you are met with. It is luxurious. Expensive. Lush. An incredible contrast to the small, decrepit bungalow you called home. The tall windows display the remarkable city from its highest point. The gentle, red-hued lamplight frames the late-night clouds drifting about and the planes soaring through the sky. You are laid against a circle-framed bed where several exorbitant comforters are draped around you. The robe you were adorned in hours ago was gone, too. Now, you are dressed in a high-quality, silken pajama set you do not recognize.

Your head relentlessly aches as you attempt to study the entire scene before you. The sensation is alike someone slamming a hammer into your brain. You bring your hand to your temple in a feeble attempt at easing the ache, but the freezing touch of the diamonds on your finger make you hiss from the stimulation. It channels a groan from your throat. The sound you make is simultaneously met with the distorted echo of a stranger's cooing. They purr out whispers of comfort and love, failing miserably in mending the fear stirring within you.

"Oh, button… You have no idea how long I have wanted this." Miguel fucking O'Hara. That revolting, candy-sweet voice belongs to no other than Miguel O'Hara.

He towers over you, as he always does. Dread tickles your bones and dances among the goosebumps trailing your flesh. Questions swarm within your brain as you attempt to scrutinize what you could have done to anger this man. You've heard through the grapevine how catastrophic his fury is, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, however, Miguel is not the flaming ball of rage he appears to be. Well, he at least isn't like that with you. Everyone else has clear evidence of the absolute rabid dog this man can be. It is evident in his greedy, adoring hands that have been stained red more times than he can count. It is evident in the warm pool of his brown irises that only appear blood-hued when you are not around. It is evident in absolutely everything he does.

This fact doesn't change at this moment, either. With the speed of a predator stalking prey, Miguel steadily climbs onto the bed and straddles you. You can only lay paralyzed and stare at the man above you in trepidation. With frail efforts, you are able to garner a sliver of mobility when you attempt to push him off. He resorts to grasping hold of your wrists and pinning them beside your head. So much for that plan. His abnormally sharp nails dig into your flesh; his nose pokes the bridge of yours when he bends down. His breath fans against your face and the familiar sight of his heart-shaped pupils is now overwhelming. Once again, his eyes are glued onto the one place they always seem to be: your lips. You can practically taste the need exuding from him.

A hologram then appears in front of his face. A monotone, robotic voice emanates into the silent room. "Your heart rate is 110 BPM. This has alarmingly exceeded your average BPM. If you are in danger, please press-"

The anger you heard rumors of fills him to the brim. Something daring to refrain him from drowning you in his love is equivalent to ordering a one-way ticket into the depths of Hell. A grunt and curse emerge from him. With a rushed flick of his finger, the hologram disappears as quickly as it came.

And without another second to perceive his actions, his lips are on yours. It is an almost god-like fervor he possesses. Your relentless struggling flies over the head of the absolute beast on top of you. It is instead met with the sharp prick you felt the night before on your lips. The same sensations flood through your veins, once again. This time, however, you are still able to regain consciousness and the small dosage succeeds in immobilizing your body. Now, you are entirely susceptible to whatever your kidnapper intends to have you endure.

Meanwhile, Miguel is utterly convinced he has left Earth and is now resting on Cloud-Nine. The unadulterated affection and sheer giddiness derived from your kiss bubble in his chest like a fizzy, sugar-ridden soda. He even considers he had somehow gotten drunk on the beverage, even though there is no physical indication of the beverage even existing. The way his heart batters like a savage animal locked in a cage is enough evidence to convince him otherwise, though. This kiss was only done to debilitate you, yes, but he would be a fool if he believed he could hold himself back from indulging in this moment.

Forehead pressed against yours, he speaks with breathless tremor. "I..." He gulps, "I got you another gift, button."

Once Miguel deems himself satisfied, he laps up the drops of blood that cascade from your lips with bone-chilling glee. Reluctantly, he withdraws from the close contact. His attention then begrudgingly drifts from you and to something on the bedside table. You are unable to turn your head and identify his actions, you can only lay on this bed in complete, paralyzed submission.

In his hands is a bowl of your favorite ice cream. "You never finished your bowl at the parlor. Remember?" You are still unsure of where he learned this was your preferred flavor.

When you expect him to bring the plastic, pastel-pink spoon to your lips, he does the opposite. Instead, he feeds himself a spoonful of the ice cream. Then, much to your horror, he presses his thumb to your chin and indulges in another kiss. His tongue slithers into your mouth, to where he coerces you to consume the sugary substance directly from him. Like a fucking mother bird. Your moans of discomfort are mistaken for sounds of pleasure. The noise elicits a muffled grunt from Miguel that vibrates against your lips. After all, the guttural groans protruding from him are enough to inform you he is enjoying this far more than you are.

"You can't just walk into my life, take my heart, then try and leave." Another quick, yet deep, kiss is forced upon you before he continues. "I won't let you. I can’t let you…”

A mess of ice cream, saliva, and stained blood paint your abused lips. Miguel backs away from your mouth and the separation provides you ephemeral comfort. For the umpteenth time, he hastily scoops another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and fervently forces it into yours. It is absolute torture.

Any attempt at pushing this monster away from you and puking out any trace of him left in you was entirely fruitless. The spongy muscle of his tongue continues to explore your mouth with more heaps of ice cream. Miguel kisses, slurps, and guzzles all remnants of you he can garner. You wonder if he had bought the entire parlor with how much ice cream he appeared to have.

"I love you too fucking much..." All you can do is let him relish in the euphoria he feels upon his actions and pray to God that it will end soon.

This is what life looked like for the following months. Miguel forcing his love onto you the way he forced ice cream down your throat.

And it is what life looked like when he lost you. Miguel forcing the universe to adhere to his needs the way he forced you into being his lover.

October 17th. It was all his fault.

He remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. It was a frigid Saturday morning. Miguel dropped Gabriella off at school for soccer practice, not bothering to wave or kiss his daughter goodbye, once again. Instead, he leaves quickly to purchase an expensive necklace and another order of your favorite ice cream to surprise you. Diamonds and sugar are the best way to someone's heart, right?

The ice cream falls from his hands and splats against the ground when he finds you. The diamonds are now chipped and dented from falling onto the hardwood floors. His breath is lodged in his chest as if his lungs had been crushed beneath the weight of the sight that stood before him. His eyes are blown wide in confused horror as if the mere action of blinking would kill him in his stance.

You lay on the floor of his office.

Lifeless. Cold. Dead.

The vibrant spider webs he used to tie the ring to your hand had conducted an electric flow from the watch he had been working on and into your body.

The electricity you made him feel was now the reason you were dead.

However, Miguel refuses to see this. He brings your body into his embrace, choosing to ignore the lack of reciprocation and silent pulse. You are just asleep, you are just asleep, you are just asleep. Tears overwhelm his vision, hiccups penetrate his chest, and unruly sobs fill the air. Still, he clings to you and persists in what he is desperate to believe as the truth. You are just asleep. You're always so sleepy, it is just too adorable! Maybe some ice cream will wake you up. Right? Right...?

Incessant demands to open your eyes fill the air, which soon turns into a series of relentless, incoherent pleads. Miguel webs the battered necklace and spilled ice cream into his hands. He ensnares the jewelry around your neck, a choked compliment of how beautiful you look barely able to escape through unruly sobs. His trembling hands then bring a spoonful of your favorite ice cream to your lips, ushering you to open your mouth and let him feed you. The tears staining his vision make it hard to see what he is doing. He loses the mobility of the spoon, to where it then clatters against the ground.

Large hands then cling to your face as he forcefully shakes you and calls out your name.

"WAKE UP! Y/N, WAKE UP!" The desperate, thunderous roar could have torn the world asunder with its violent force. It surely would have woken you up, had you been alive. Miguel knows this and it destroys him.

Miguel grasps the watch on top of the desk, you still in his arms. The desire to absolutely destroy the very thing that took you from him was almost feral. When he thought of the intentions he originally had upon creating the machine, however, he sought against it. Clicking the metal walls back into place, he taps a few buttons in the correct order. The room is then adorned in neon colors that frame a pitch-black portal. From here, Miguel stands to his feet with you in his arms and ventures through.

He abandons his daughter, abandons his life, abandons everything.

When he first learned of the existence of the Multiverse through his job at Alchemax, he fantasized about creating the perfect world where you and him can be together. He crafted it from scratch, but it still needed a few more knots tightened and screws fastened before he could have given it to you. Blinding sunshine and vibrant blue skies; healthy green grass and a single house on a hill. The clouds drifting in the sky resemble a myriad of different shapes, where Miguel had hoped you and him could do cloud-gazing with one another. The flowers planted in the soil all contrast in variety and color, where Miguel had hoped you could make him a personal flower crown like you did for his daughter. And of course, an invisible force surrounds the small plot of land to ensure you won't go wandering.

Where it can be just you and him. Where you can never escape his love. Where you can be happy together.

Things are much different now. He was too late. Miguel can only stand here with your lifeless body in his arms, surrounded by the clean home he intended on spending forever in. The satiating grief had turned into desolate numbness. He doesn’t waste another second before taking action. Laying your body into the bed you two were intended to share, he assures himself you are just taking an afternoon nap. Then, he begins to forage the home for something, anything, that will wake you from your slumber. Like sleeping beauty, he desperately muses to himself.

Within several weeks, your poor body had been strapped to the bed with numerous tubes and IVs protruding into your body. Miguel stands by a desk, a myriad of holograms displaying information that would be incomprehensible to even the smartest of people. Eye bags sit heavy on his face from restless nights; his eyes are swollen and red from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't care if he has to kill every person in the Multiverse, endure the most gut-wrenching pain known to man, or even sell his soul to the devil himself. He will do anything to see you open your eyes again. Even if it is just to slap him across the face or to scream at him for taking you from your old life, he still needs it. You'd be home. And that is all Miguel could ever want.

However, he was so occupied in doing everything within his power to bring you back to him, that he hadn't realized just how uneducated he was about the Multiverse. When he wakes up after falling asleep at his desk to the strange sound of something sizzling, he looks and finds the furniture around the room begin to glitch. Almost as if he was living in a simulation. The closer the malfunctions accelerate to you, the quicker he is to take every device plunged into your body and bring you into his arms.

The foundations of the home vibrate beneath his feet, and he then sprints from the bedroom and down the stairs. A violent crash echoes from behind him when he finally escapes through the front door. He doesn't dare to look behind him, he only holds your body closer to him and sprints forward.

A few taps to his watch and a portal unfolds just several yards from him. When he was a mere footstep from escaping with you, the force of the destruction snatched you from his embrace. He tries to fight against the energy pulling him into the gateway he summoned and practically flails his body around like a dying insect. His desperate efforts to retrieve you are of no use when his strength is overpowered by his own machine. Inevitably, he falls into the portal.

A harsh cry of "NO!" flees from his mouth before he finds himself back in Nueva York. Alone.

The world Miguel had put his blood, sweat, and tears into creating had crumbled right before his eyes. And right in the middle of the mess is where the only thing he has ever loved is.

As the story of all Spider-People goes, Miguel uses every bit of energy derived from his grief. He, however, does not use it for the sake of others or to ensure no one ever feels the pain of losing a loved one. Instead, he vows to study more of the Multiverse and create technology that can bring your body back to him. He was so close to waking you up! He just needed a little more time!

During his endeavors, he soon meets Jessica Drew, and all delusions he claimed to be the truth shattered like glass onto concrete. Here, Miguel learns of the "Y/N-Curse," as she so called it. How every Spider-Person is destined to fall hopelessly in love with a version of Y/N, only to lose them in the end. She tells him of how she was in love with her own version of them, too, during her teenage years, which made Miguel spark with territorial rage. After beating around the push for too long, what she tells him causes his entire body to go rigid with shock.

Everyone was so used to the stoic, cold, terrifying Miguel O'Hara. Only Jessica Drew had seen that exterior disintegrate when he learned your body had been destroyed and it was impossible to retrieve you. His absolute worst nightmare had manifested into reality and nothing could ever conquer the amount of pain he feels now.

You are gone.

Forever.

If it wasn't for Jessica's high-speed, spider-induced senses, Miguel would have succeeded in killing her and then himself right in that moment.

From here, he agreed to Jessica's inquiries about starting a society of Spider-People all across the Multiverse. If not for others, then for you. Even if it is not the same Y/N from his reality, any version of you does not deserve to suffer. Still, to live every day watching millions of versions of you die through the numerous holograms sat on his desk tortures him in ways he cannot fathom. It is killing him, but when it is for you, he will do absolutely anything.

He will find a way to stop this curse. Even if it is the last thing he ever does.

With that, your life was over. May 16th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara met the only thing that ever mattered to him. And October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost them.

A year has now passed since Miguel lost you and your story on Earth-1610 has kicked into full gear.

March 30th, 2023. Roughly a month has passed since you began these tutoring sessions. One hour every Tuesday and Thursday. That is all it was; that was all it was supposed to be.

Within the short expanse of 18 years, Miles Morales has never felt such exhilaration then when he is with you. Life has exploded in various hues of rapture, enchantment, and those all-too-familiar sensations of goosebumps blooming across his skin. When he miscalculates an equation on purpose to hear your euphonious voice correct him; when he feigns frustration to feel the warmth of your comfort and reassurance — oh, there is nothing that could ever equate to these newfound emotions. These two hours a week have become the highlight of his life and will forever remain so, he is sure of it.

3:27 PM flickers in neon green on Miles' wristwatch. 33 minutes until he gets to reunite with you. The love of his life, his soon-to-be spouse, the future parent of his beautiful children. It is impossible to contain the effervescent excitement as he sits here atop the numerous pillars adorning the Brooklyn Bridge.

A sketchbook sits in his hand, a technical pen in the other. Only several more empty pages are available, as the other ones have all been painted with your face. More sketchbooks contained with similar drawings are hidden in his bedroom back home. The amount of money his mother has spent on sketchbooks this month has become alarming. Rio is starting to edge over suspicion when his excuses of "I lost it" and "I spilled water on it" have been wrung dry.

And the drawings on these pages are a picture-perfect definition of lovesick. Sketches of what you would wear on your wedding day, illustrations of you and him on adorable dates, and of course, the alarmingly accurate depictions of you. Every detail of your form has become muscle memory now; every feature and "blemish" of yours is imprinted in Miles' brain. His foot taps with anticipation against the stone surface. Oh, he cannot wait to see you again.

Hastily, he shoves the art equipment into his cluttered backpack. A silver web sprouts from his wrist when he jumps from the skyscraper-high pillar. He soars through the city and hums to one of the numerous love songs on his playlist dedicated to you. Swinging past several graffiti pieces he's made of your face and ignoring a poor woman whose purse was being stolen, Miles soon makes it through his bedroom window.

At record speed, he rids himself of his sweaty suit and dresses himself in the best articles of clothing from his closet. A pair of jeans he hadn't doodled on, a Brooklyn Nets jersey over a white tee, and a pair of freshly-bought Air Jordans. For a final touch, a spritz of cologne he stole borrowed from a Tom Ford store. He would wear a tailored suit, but his request to have such was rejected by his parents. You needed to see how serious he was about you. After all, who knows how many others are in line to snag your heart? Miles' body erupts with chills at the mere thought.

Patching up the final efforts of his outfit in the mirror, he hears the front door creak open and the elated tone of his mother escapes through the thin walls. Then, there is your voice. And in our entire universe, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to the sheer music of your voice. He takes a deep breath to eradicate the black dots dancing in his vision, before finally leaving his bedroom. When he turns the corner and makes eye contact with you, the sweet shock it brings to his senses is almost enough to make him collapse onto the kitchen tile.

"Hey, Miles." He certainly would not mind waking up to that every day.

"Y-Y/N! It's good to see you! No, great, actually. It-It's great to see you! I'm happy you're here... Very happy, heh..." The fact he is able to muster a single syllable in your presence is nothing short of a miracle.

A mere 20 minutes has now passed since you have entered the Morales residence. You and Miles are sat at the dining room table, surrounded by a mess of highlighters, study guides, and practice quizzes. And this boy could win an Oscar with how well he plays dumb. Miscalculating equations, picking wrong answers, and misspelling simple words. With the few questions he purposely answers correctly, every "Nice job!" and "You got it!" has him staring at you as if he had looked into the night sky for the very first time. Oh, the sight of your sunlit smile and the sound of your mellifluous voice are seconds away from making him melt into a puddle.

Rio then enters the room with her phone in hand, much to Miles' dismay. As he is about to groan at her presence and demand through clenched teeth for her to leave, she then speaks.

"Y/N/N! Your boyfriend's on the phone! He said he had some trouble getting a hold of you." A knowing smirk is sat on her lips. However, there is also a gleam of disappointment over the fact she couldn't have someone as amazing as you join the Morales family.

With zero romance in your work-induced life, you are puzzled upon receiving this information. However, you then playfully roll your eyes, assuming it was a friend of yours playing a stupid prank. This action, however, told Miles all that he needed to know. The person on the other line has been granted the absolute privilege of calling you theirs.

And his world shatters.

With a "Thank you, Mrs. Morales," you take the phone and leave to the other room. Unbeknownst to you, you leave behind a downhearted mother and a devastated boy trying desperately to gather the pieces of his broken heart. His agony is almost palpable, which Eio takes notice of immediately. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. She then informs him that there will be so many other fish in the sea the young boy will meet in his life, but she is oblivious to the weight of her son's devotion.

There is no one after you; there is nothing if it can't be you.

Meanwhile, you sing out an amused "hellooooo?" into the phone's speaker. You say your friend's name, exclaiming of how you know this is them and that this stunt they pulled against the infatuated student you tutor was cruel.

You wait for their witty response, to where there is none. All you can hear is the sound of someone's trembling breaths. You say their name in question a few more times, inquiring if the creepy mood was just another silly joke. When all you are met with is sheer silence accompanied by heavy breathing, you bid your friend an annoyed goodbye and end the call.

When you return to the dining room, you are muddled to find there is no one there. Before you are able to call out anyone's name in question, a loud and sharp bang! shakes the entire house. You can hear Rio's muffled voice through the walls. Although you are unable to discern her speech, the perceptible worry in her tone shakes you to your core. What has happened while you were gone? You follow the sounds, only to find her at Miles' bedroom, begging him to unlock the door and let her in. Within said bedroom, it sounds as though a tornado had formed within the small expanse and was destroying anything within its path.

Rio sees you in her peripheral and is swift with taking her phone back, ignoring your worried inquiries, and guiding you back to the dining room. A forced smile is planted on her face as she advises you to pack your things since Miles has suddenly "fallen sick." She begins to pack your things for you and of course, you aid her in these efforts, but she is far more frantic than you are. She slaps several dollar bills in your hand and when you try to inform her this was triple the pay she is meant to give you, your efforts fall on deaf ears. Rio then puts your backpack on you as if you were her child on your first day of Kindergarten.

With a gentle hand on your back, she leads you out the door. On the way, she gives you thanks and apologizes profusely for the unexpected trouble. Before you can reply, the door is slammed in your face. You are left in the dark expanse of the hallway, wondering what on Earth had just occurred. As much as you wish to help, you know there is nothing you can do at this current moment. You consider sending them a gift basket later on to aid Miles through his unexpected "sickness," before returning home as Rio advised you to.

You leave, blissfully unaware of what events are taking place within the Morales household.

When you had left to take the phone call, that is when disaster struck. With tears seeping down his cheeks, Miles abruptly stood from the dining room and stormed off to his room, his mother close behind. He slammed the door shut, locking it before proceeding to take out every sliver of emotion within his body on whatever helpless matter sat closest to him.

Miles' room became a complete disaster within the matter of seconds.

Action figures have been dismembered, posters are torn down, and art equipment has been destroyed. The dents in the wall from what he has thrown about are accompanied by the fist-shaped hole he left in the wall. A window has been shattered, his bed has been upturned, and his desk has been split in half. All emotions barreling through his body wreaked havoc on anything within his path.

His clenched fists form moon-crescent shapes into his palm; his chest rises and falls rapidly with infuriated breaths. His entire body is shaking with misery, rage, and horror. He feels everything at once and it is destroying him. The sobs being pulled from his chest feel like knife wounds through his heart. The tears falling from his cheeks paint his shirt wet and stain his hands from consistently attempting to wipe them away.

How could he not have known?

Through bleary vision, he glances at the door of his closet which has suffered immensely from his havoc, with violent indents and chunks of wood protruding out. Miles then drags his exhausted body across the room.

He enters the closet and locks the door behind him.

How could he not have known?

Just outside all of this destruction, you walk through the bristling streets of Brooklyn. A sharp chill sits on the back of your neck, almost as if someone was hot on your tail. It has you whipping around to verify no sudden danger was there to welcome you to your demise. Usually, walks through the city are calming to you. Tonight, for whatever reason, was different. You excuse it as still feeling perturbed from what had happened moments before with Miles, but the sensation still lingers.

Swinging from building to building behind you is Miguel O'Hara.

He had sat on the top of a neighboring building with a 2023-modeled phone in his hand. Hearing your voice, after a full year of being without the euphonious melody, had his heart halting in his chest. Even after you ended the call, he still sat there. Flabbergasted. Stunned. Euphoric.

The plan he conjured up was swift and flawed. Anyone in their right mind would be devastated to hear your heart belonged to another. Especially Miles Morales. Acknowledging this, he ushered the boy into a full mental breakdown right before you. The sight would surely terrify you, leading you to run away and leave him in the dust of your past. However, this was not the case. Instead, you were concerned about his well-being and wished to stay. The sharp envy coursing through Miguel led him to chuck the phone against the concrete surface of the roof, a few of the shattered remains piercing his skin.

What prevents him from tearing out Miles' throat, scooping you into his arms, and taking you far away is the state of the Multiverse. He refuses to make the same mistake he made a year ago; he refuses to put you in any sort of danger ever again.

For now, he'll create a ridge between you and the boy you're destined to fall in love with. Forging messages, fabricating lies, causing another childlike meltdown of millions. Miguel will do everything in his power to ensure you feel nothing but contempt for this boy while protecting you from your impending death in the process.

He just hopes nobody else in the Spider Society finds out you are alive, as well.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ YOU SAID I WAS THE MOST EXOTIC FLOWER,

HOLDING ME TIGHT IN OUR FINAL HOUR . . . ❞

pinterest owns my heart so i couldn't stop myself. here, here, here, here, and here are some examples/inspiration i used for miguel's penthouse.

gif creds :: miguel.

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1K notes · View notes

meazalykov · 4 months ago

Note

Could I make a request for Obi please?

They already have a established relationship.

With her recently getting injured, could it be something along the lines of Reader got injured a few months before the World Cup and had to miss it, but Obi mostly was there for Reader. Now with it being the other way around this time, Reader feels conflicted about going to the Olympics as see knows those first few weeks are the hard but she won’t be there to support Obi.

my home is with you

lena oberdorf x uswnt!reader (requested)

authors note: i'm sad about her injury :( I wanted to see her at the olympics and start with bayern soon.. I know she will come back stronger ❤️ here's your request! normally i wouldn’t decide to write about this because it’s so soon, but i do requests (unless it’s too dark & much) so i hope you like :)

warnings: many injury mentions, very long chapter.

being back in your hometown gave you a sense of peace and warmth.

you haven't stepped foot in washington dc since 2018. you left your childhood club to go play at gotham for a year-- before moving to lyon (2020-2022) and then bayern afterwards.

waking up in the morning, you wished obi the best of luck against her game against austria. yes, she will be your competitor in the group stages against germany, but she is still your girlfriend of 2 years.

afterwards, you put your phone on dnd and put it in your adidas bag that you will take to the audi stadium. on game days, the captain (lindsey) highly discourages the players being on social media before games.

as the second captain after her, you agreed to follow that rule. social media can be toxic.

if someone really wanted to reach out to you for an emergency, they can do it through lindsey, emma, or your sisters who came to the game to support your send off to paris.

that's exactly what happened. while you were getting ready in your hotel room-- lindsey got an emergency call from sara dabritz, her lyon teammate who played for the german national team.

sara isn't on the german roster for the olympics, but alex popp asked her to call lindsey-- since she needed you to know of the news as soon as possible.

"sara?" lindsey's eyebrows knitted together. sara calling her during international break and the off-season has never happened before.

"where's y/n?" sara asked, ignoring lindsey's confused tone.

"I haven't seen her since this morning, she might be getting ready now. what's going on?"

"the entire german team is trying to get ahold of y/n. lena went down pretty badly during todays game-- it was her knee." sara swallowed.

lindsey was sad to her about the news. nobody likes when another player goes down with a *possible* acl injury.

however, she was scared on how she was going to tell you the news.

hours later at audi stadium, you walked into the stadium alongside trinity and hal. both of them play on this field for washington spirit, and the three of you bonded over the last few days-- knowing washington dc so well.

trinity and hal stopped at a water fountain to fill up their empty stanley bottles with water. your owala bottle was filled with cold ice water already, so you continued on with walking into the dressing room.

as you turned the corner into the room, you hear your coach Emma, say something along the lines of "well we can't tell her until-" before lindsey stopped her with her finger pointing at your entrance.

you were the first to arrive before the rest of the team, surprising to the captain and coach talking in the room.

"hey!" you smiled, unaware of what they know.

"hey y/n, ready for the game!?" lindsey casually says with a smirk on her face.

the poker face of the lyon player is perfection. something could be wrong but as the main captain, she can't let her emotions take over her logic.

as the second captain of the team, you had every right to question what emma and lindsey were just talking about.

however, you didn't. you were too excited to play in your hometown again. many uswnt fans came just to see you play on your turf again.

"I'm so pumped! my family came just for the send off to paris. some of them talk about "oh we can't never see you play since you're in germany." but now they're here so-" you rambled as you giggled.

for a moment, emma frowned at your happy sight. lindsey turned around to look at the coach with a guilty look, hating that they both agreed to not tell you *that news* until the end of the send-off.

"that's exciting. I'm positive we have a great game ahead." emma says.

your happy mood became a miserable one at halftime. being nil-nil against costa rica was not motivating since you wanted to impress your hometown community.

in the 70th minute, you scored off of a set piece shot by mallory swanson. the crowd screamed as they've realized that it was you, their fellow dc native, that scored the goal.

the game ended with a 1-0. you knew that the team needed tons of things to work on if you wanted a chance at winning gold in the olympics, but that will come with time.

after the send off ceremony, lindsey asked if she could personally talk to you in one of the empty conference rooms.

you agreed. at first, you thought that she was going to discuss olympic matters and what will drive the team to win gold once you reach france. since she is the first captain and you're captain whenever she isn't-- along with alyssa naeher.

however, lindsey was very tense as you sat down beside her in one of the wheel chairs. she made sure to close and lock the door as well-- this is when your heart started racing.

she is your friend and hates to give you the bad news.

"I need to tell you this before you go on your phone and see it in the locker room in front of the other girls." lindsey speaks.

your eyes widened, confused.

"what's wrong?" you start to panic.

"alex-- alex popp-- said that lena went down during the game against austria. it's her knee, y/n."

your heart shattered into a million pieces. you looked away from lindsey as you took a few deep breaths.

the blonde understood why you couldn't say anything after that moment. you thought about lena having a possible acl injury.

you panicked knowing that you weren't there to help her.

"I need my phone!'" you jump up from the wheel chair.

"here." lindsey said, pulling your phone out of her jacket pocket. she made sure that she had your phone on hand-- in private-- so none of the other girls were alarmed about seeing you so upset.

after you switched your iphone off from dnd, you had nearly 200 notifications.

the first is lena's parents-- asking you to call them whenever you had time before or after your game.

others came from lea-- updating you on what's going on with obi. she understands you were playing a game and couldn't answer right away.

some messages were from other footballers in the community that you're friends with, asking you to send well wishes to lena on their behalf.

is this how lena felt back in 2023?

back in april 2023, you were a starter in the second game against Ireland.

you weren't feeling the greatest, your friend mallory suffered a bad injury in the first game and you knew she wouldn't see the pitch for a very long time.

in the second half as the ball was coming from the air, you jumped up to head the ball. at the same time, an Irish player's foot went up in the air to get the ball.

the sharp part of the boots kicked at your ribs extremely hard. your breath was caught in your throat and you landed on the ground-- injuring your ankle by landing awkwardly.

the irish player received a red card, but you were struggling to breath as you needed medic immediately. alex and kelley stayed with you as you couldn't even sit up without squealing in pain.

your ankle was on fire and your lung felt like it was beaten in. torture would've been an understatement.

lena finished playing the game against brazil when jule pulled her-- harshly-- to look at the tv in the dressing room.

the german girl watched in horror as she seen her lover on the grass, you were crying your eyes out as you balled yourself together.

she noticed your hands going back and forth between your torso by your right lung, and your left ankle, as the medics tried their best to figure out what's wrong.

"what the fuck happened?" lena said angrily, in english-- confused as she rushed to grab the remote and turn the tv up.

"this isn't good for the united states before the world cup-- mallory went down on the first game against ireland and now *reader's last name* can barely move without a reaction." a german commentator speaks.

the entire german dressing room looks in horror.

your bayern teammates looked horrified as jule tried her best to comfort a stressed lena.

a replay of the injury happened on the tv a second later. everyone could see quinn's cleat harshly kick your ribs-- the landing on your ankle afterwards made some of the dressing room cringe as if they could've felt it themselves.

"yeah, I don't think we will see her in the world cup after this one." the woman commentator on the tv speaks when a stretcher takes you off the pitch moments later.

lena was quick to immediately call your mom and sisters, since they were there and she wasn't.

she knew how excited you were to play in your second world cup after winning the first one at age 17.

when you got back home to germany, lena was there for you. you suffered with a broken rib and grade 2 ankle sprain.

obi helped you stand up most days and picked up heavy things, since you couldn't even breathe without feeling pain for the first three weeks. lena did your chores at home, helped you with showering (your ankle made that hard to do), she did your hair. she did everything to make sure that you were okay.

you couldn't go to the world cup and watch her play, but you were still so proud of her-- even if she got eliminated in the group stage.

the injury that happened to you made lena fully committed to wanting to marry you. even through your bad injury-- you were there to comfort her once she was back from australia after a failed world cup campaign.

back in the conference room in dc, you rushed to call lea.

she answered in a heartbeat, you were surprised since it had to have been 5:30am in germany while 11:30pm back in washington dc for you.

"lea?" your voice cracked. you hated this for lena, more than your own injury from a year prior.

"how was your game?" lea tried to calm you down.

"it was fine, now what happened?" you ask.

lea didn't take offense to you wanting to know what happened. this reminded her on how lena was with you.

being her closest friend at bayern, and the one that put lena onto you, she understands the bond you have with your girlfriend better than anyone else.

"lena tried to tackle and get the ball away from a player but her knee popped. I think you need to watch this for a better understanding." lea speaks.

on the FaceTime you can see lea typing on a few things on the phone.

you looked up at a confused, yet guilty lindsey. she felt bad for you since you were far from your home in germany.

the notification on your phone showed that lea sent a link to a twitter video. you clicked on it and watch the whole thing play out.

its hard to tell at first, but slowly you could see obi's knee pop out.

this made you sick to your stomach.

after talking to lea for a few more minutes, then waking up lena's parents to talk to them (they didn't mind, they really wanted to hear from you), then laura, then klara-- you were exhausted.

you were allowed to go on the bus early and choose if you wanted to sit alone on the way back to the hotel.

lindsey told all of the girls that something happened- she explained the situation which caused the girls to feel bad for lena and your situation.

you called lena, in private, once you were back in your hotel. she sounded so hurt which caused your eyes to let out tears (quietly) as she talked about her medical scanning tommorow.

many people would do anything to participate in the olympics. you were grateful to be a bronze-medal olympian already heading to seek gold-- but you wanted to go home to lena in munich.

the best player on the uswnt was you, no debate. after scoring in the 2019 world cup final at 17, winning two champions leagues with lyon, being the second best-player now in the bundesliga with bayern, and carrying the national team to bronze in the last olympics-- the team looked up to you.

the girls let you have your space for a while. even on the plane on the way to france.

tierna, your closest friend on the national team, sat beside you. she was quiet as she watched movies while you anxiously looked at your phone to receive some kind of news.

after the plane landed, the girls were quiet as they headed out. you realized that you couldn't sit in pain waiting for the day that you will get home to munich-- that will affect the team chemistry.

as you were in your hotel room, lena called you.

"hallo liebe." you spoke softly.

you heard lena cough before a few seconds of silence started.

the fact that lena called you instead of facetiming you, you knew it was bad. the three letter injury is something u feared for lena as your eyes widened.

"its both." lena mumbles.

"its both?" you question softly as you request to switch the call to FaceTime.

lena accepts and you see her in the hospital room, tears dried down her cheeks as her red face is covered by her hands.

"acl and mcl." she breathed out as she looked at you through the camera.

you frowned as reality hit.

lena couldn't start a bayern next month.

lena won't go to the olympics.

she will have to sit out for at least eight months.

you know she will be okay, since she has the team and medical doctors to help her heal.

however, you were sad that you couldn't drop everything to go back to munich.

"obi." is all you could say.

"I already know what you're thinking-- and don't." lena randomly says.

your eyebrows knit together in confusion as she looks at you with a unreadable look.

"don't leave your team just to come here. they need you-"

"but you need me a lot more." you cut lena off.

she knows you're right, but she can't be selfish-- even with her injury.

"you will be home soon liebe, I know you love me and will care for me as soon as you can." lena says.

"once I'm back in munich, I will be there for you. you aren't going through this alone-- we will fight through this together and you will be stronger." you gave a sad smile as lena smiles for the first time since she went down on that grass.

"Ich liebe dich" she whispers.

"Ich liebe dich auch" you say back.

"when is your surgery scheduled?" you ask.

"we don't have an exact date yet, but they said it might be the week of the 29th." lena says as she lays back in the hospital bed in her black shirt and black shorts.

you didn't respond as lena flipped the camera, showing you a closer look at her knee.

"I am so sorry." you say.

"its not your fault." lena says.

"I know- but again-- I just want to be there for you."

"and you will soon, don't abandon your team." lena made it clear.

"okay, I won't" you sigh.

of course you felt bad that you didn't want to be in france, but in germany instead helping lena. however, you were sad about the group stage match against germany.

lena and you talked about that match as being one of the last moments where you will be "rivals" before she joins you in the season for bayern. now, neither will happen.

days later, the united states plays germany in the group stage after beating zambia 3-2.

you were in the starting lineup. emma needed you for this match, making sure that you talked to a sports psychologist before this match-- just so you were mentally prepared.

you knew how the germans played, so you would be a key to winning the group stage match.

as the teams were going to take their starting eleven picture, you see the germans hold up a shirt in honor of sydney and lena-- who were injured and couldn't be in the olympics.

you sadly smiled at this, happy that they're remembering them.

however, you got your act together fast. lindsey wasn't in the lineup so you were the captain of the match.

at halftime, it was 1-1. trinity rodman scored a goal in the 10th minute but klara equalized in the 34th after an error from #3 on the USWNT.

in the second half, you scored a golazo in the 55th minute after dribbling around sara doorsoun and alex popp.

unfortunately, lea equalized in the 88th minute.

the game ended 2-2 and you weren't happy or sad about it.

all of the german girls greeted you immediately with hugs and kisses on the head. you accepted them. you missed them dearly and they were the closest thing you had to lena right now.

"lea love!" you sigh in relief when you hug her tightly for thirty seconds. the cameras capture the beautiful sight as most know the significance.

"I wish obi was here right now." you lean your head on lea's shoulder as she kissed the side of your head, above your left ear.

"I do too. I hate how fate works." lea speaks through her german accent.

"same." you roll your eyes. not in anger, but in disappointment for the situation and how things can play out for the worst.

"how are you?" lea asks.

"can I be honest?" you ask. lea nods her head.

"I want to be with her. I am so grateful to be here for a second time but I can't imagine her being alone without us." you whisper into her ear.

you didn't want any of your teammates to hear you. lea is your closest friend so you know she won't tell on you.

"she's not alone, she has her parents-- but I totally understand. she will be okay." lea smiles lightly as she pulls a piece of hair of yours behind your ear, a piece of hair that fell out of your ponytail during the match.

lea is right, lena's parents are staying with her at the new house you both own until you can go back to munich-- which could happen in a few days or weeks depending on the outcome of the olympics.

"I know. she's a fighter.' you smirk.

"and a lover." lea winked at you.

lea loves the way that you and lena respect and are in-love with each other. being the third wheel is annoying sometimes (when she has to hang out with y'all instead of her own girlfriend) but she is happy for the both of you.

after multiple matches of the olympics, the united states is awarded silver after losing against france 2-1 in the final.

you were the one that scored against france.

if you said that you weren't in a rush to get home to munich, you'd be lying.

lena's surgery was pushed back to this morning. so you took the uber straight to the hospital from the airport.

the taller german was asleep as you quietly walked into the hospital room. obi's parents hugged you and congratulated you on silver.

knowing that they've been with their daughter for many days, you offer them a break.

"you guys should go down to the cafe and grab lunch for yourselves, please don't take offense to this but ihr seht beide sehr müde aus." (you both look very tired) you whisper since you didn't want to wake lena.

they loved you like their own daughter, so it didn't take them much convincing for them to get a break-- knowing their daughter was in safe hands with you.

when they shut the hospital doors behind them, lena woke up from the noise.

you took out a blanket from your carry on luggage, your back faced towards lena so you didn't see or hear her wake up.

"liebe?" you turned around quickly when you saw lena awake.

she had the same tired look that you're used to seeing when you wake up beside her, but she was smiling at your sight.

you pout in happiness as you walked up to hug her upper body.

"my sunshine, I'm so happy to see you awake." you kissed the top of her forehead as her head pressed against your chest.

lena closed her eyes in comfort, she missed you the most.

"to see me awake? omg I didn't die." lena laughed.

"oh lena shut it, you know what I meant." you giggled back, happy to see lena cracking a joke through her pain.

you look down her body to see the scar on her knee peak out from her hospital gown.

on the inside, you felt terrible. you hated seeing lena in pain. you'd rather it be yourself than her.

on the outside, you looked at lena as she gave you a peak on the lips.

after that, you saw the ponytail of her hair tangled.

"hold on lena." you pull yourself away from her arms and reach into your tote bag.

"no don't leaveeee!" lena says

"I'm not I'm just going to help you with your hair-- it will help you relax."

you pulled out a soft brush from your bag, refusing to use a comb and risk pulling on her hair after she had surgery.

"you're so sweet" lena looks at the brush in your hand and turns her head to the side, so you have better access.

"anything for my baby." you tell her as you kiss the right side of her temple.

"i'm just glad to be back home." you mumble as you start brushing through obi's hair, getting the tangles out slowly and softly.

"isn't washington dc your home?" lena giggled, joking and teasing about the game you played in dc almost a month ago.

"nope, my home is with you."

I hope you're happy with what I wrote from this request! #comebackstrongerlenaoberdorf ❤️🙌

#lena oberdorf #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #Lena Oberdorf x reader #woso imagine #uswnt #paris olympics #olympique lyonnais #bayern frauen #vfl wolfsburg women #come back stronger lena oberdorf

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iobartach · 5 months ago

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Time to organise his OWN Olympic games. The Spider Olympics, as it were.

Where NO legendary saiyans are allowed to attend.

#dash commentary #gazelessmenagerie #crack #totally not a knee jerk reaction by him hvgcftg #i'm cackling about this so much #it currently hurts to laugh but i love it 😂#his pride's on the line #chapter; olympic games

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jaegeraether · 16 days ago

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 95)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (72) / Alexia Putellas x Character (47) & Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson (27)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((4.6k))

Due to popular demand, I'm going to post a chapter every Sunday night until we hit Part 100!

LUCY POV

“Okay Luce, a kiss is fine, but the tongue is a little too much…” YFN said, pulling away and murmuring against her cheek. It was hard to miss the flashing of cameras around them and Lucy could tell she was feeling a little uncomfortable, most likely with her sling and knee brace. As her little Australian pressed her body into Lucy’s as if to hide herself from the cameras, she tightened her arms around her. She’d never be uncomfortable with Lucy, and that made her heart swell at the thought.

Lucy allowed herself a small chuckle. The sinking feeling of the Olympics had disappeared for the moment. She’d finally kissed her girl at a game. In front of friends and family. In front of the world.

She groaned into her.

“We have some special people to go see, Luce.”

Lucy blanked. “The… team? I wasn’t too mean to them…”

YFN squeezed tight before she pulled back and pet her forehead. “Lose a few brain cells with that header, did we?”

Lucy couldn’t help but grin at that cheeky expression of hers. She loved her cheeky. “Yes, you’re going to have to help me shower and feed me from now on.”

“LUCY!” Several small voices sounded. YFN turned in Lucy’s arms as they both watched Freddie and Alzira running towards them in front of the Bronze family. Jorge looked like he was chasing to catch them and give the couple their space, but he was failing in that task.

“Your special people…” YFN murmured, capturing Lucy’s cheeks between one hand and pecking her on the lips.

She stepped back out of her embrace just in time for the lunging children. Lucy fell dramatically to the ground and that excited them further as they leapt on her. It was exactly what she needed. Her special people.

“You did a goal!” Alzira cheeped as Lucy sat up to tickle her.

“I did! Did you see?”

“Yeah!”

“Rightttt here!” Freddie said, smacking her in the forehead. Lucy fell backwards like a starfish with her arms out and was rewarded with their little bodies falling onto her ribs.

“You’re not dead!”

“Wake up!”

She chuckled and sat up on her elbows, rubbing her forehead. “Is it red?”

“Yeah!”

“And so are your cheeks.” Freddie said, looking over at YFN. Although he didn’t really understand, he made a kissing sound.

Lucy rolled her eyes and looked over at her girl. Her parents were now standing by her and watching on, chatting away. Her mum said something and then shared a laugh with YFN as she gestured to Lucy. Her girl blushed slightly and pressed her lips together to cover it. She caught Lucy’s eye and the footballer gave her a look that said she knew what she was thinking.

Jorge and Charis came over to try and calm the excited kids while Sophie and her girlfriend came over to console her.

“Great game, sis,” Sophie said, offering her a hand up. Lucy was a mess of sweat and fatigue, but managed to get back to her feet with the help.

“Nice header!” Jorge grinned, slapping her on the back.

“Just needed one more,” she said a little more understanding than dejected this time.

“Football is ruthless, sis. You know that better than anyone.”

She hummed a response, her eyes on YFN as they approached. Her arm went out towards YFN when Lucy’s mum grabbed her around the neck and pulled her down into a hug. “Oh honey, you did so well!”

Lucy knew how well she played and struggled against herself to not roll her eyes. “Thanks mum.”

Her hand still out searching, found YFN’s and held onto it. It was like a calming agent to her.

When her mother was done fussing over her, she greeted her dad also.

Lucy stepped back and into YFN’s space as soon as she could, her arm around her own, their fingers tangled. It didn’t feel close enough.

Sophie pointed to their tangled hands, waggling her finger between them. “What’s this, then? Fully public now?”

“Get out of it, Soph.” Lucy responded, rolling her eyes.

“Lucy!”

Lucy looked over to where the team were standing about to huddle. The voice had come from Sarina, gesturing her over.

The group huddle felt like the negativity of their failure. She sighed. YFN let go of her hand and rubbed her back, encouraging her forward. “Off you go, Luce. We’ll be right here.”

Lucy bent down in front of her and YFN got the hint, giving her a peck on the cheek.

God, her lips.

She wandered over to the group as they did their huddle. Sarina gave a speech, and they all accepted that maybe time off during the Olympics would be just what they needed.

“Now onto some positivity for the group, ja?” Sarina encouraged. She gestured to Leah and Jordan, and the family and friends who were around. “Our girls fought hard today and did us all proud. We’ll come back even better. But for now, let’s celebrate the victory with our Player of the Match… Lucy!”

Lucy knew she played well, but still, she was surprised. LJ had scored a brace. She dragged her feet over to where Sarina was holding the trophy and took it with the best smile she could muster for the photo.

Usually she would give a speech, but not tonight. The girls could all see that. Lucy said her thanks and looked around the crowd to spot her girl who was now holding Lucy’s jacket. Thank god – she was getting freezing with her sweat covered body in the cool night air. She went straight over to her and handed the award to Freddie who had his hands out.

“Thanks, little one.” She said as she took the jacket and zipped it up. She came around behind her and wrapped her arms around the warmth of her as Sarina continued to speak of how proud she was of the girls.

“And now, we have dinner and celebrate together. Before we go - would anyone else like to say anything?”

She looked around at the girls who looked defeated, though encouraged by the speeches. They all shook their heads. Sarina’s eyes landed on Leah. “Leah?”

Leah stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Yes, actually.”

Lucy felt YFN get excited in her arms. Leah turned to look at Jordan and held her hand out. The shy Jordan took it and stepped up next to her.

“Last night I asked Jordan to marry me… and she said yes.”

JORDAN POV

“Are you sure you should be drinking that…?” Jordan started.

YFN looked up from her laptop and Lucy grunted into her wine. “I need to pregame this Lioness lunch with Alessia today, plus, I deserve it.”

YFN leant over and kissed her shoulder. “You certainly do.”

“Have you ever seen Lucy drunk?” Jordan quizzed, teasingly.

YFN thought for a second. “Actually… I don’t think so. I’ve seen her tipsy, but not drunk. Always impossible during season, and she doesn’t like alcohol anyways.” She paused and tilted her head at Jordan and Leah’s expressions. “Why? Is she a menace?”

“You could say that again.”

YFN turned to Lucy who gave an innocent look followed quickly by a cheeky grin and shrug.

The Australian rolled her eyes, but it was clear that she was curious.

Jordan gave a yawn and a stretch as she sat with her back against the plane, her legs dangled over Leah’s lap. Leah had been giving her looks since they’d outed their engagement to the team, and she was now absentmindedly stroking her legs which made Jordan feel giddy. She parted them slightly, and Leah noticed, her fingers sliding further up the inside of her leg under the table.

Jordan felt a little guilty. She wanted Leah, obviously, but it was a bit difficult in the private aircraft.

“What are you doing?” Jordan asked YFN.

“Organising this event for Saturday…” she murmured, her eyebrows furrowed as she focused on what she was typing. “Expanding roles of the team and organising the rostering so we’re covering as many matches as possible.” She stopped typing to look over the top of her laptop and smile. “What’s on your mind, Dory?”

Jordan scoffed. “You know me too well.”

“Mmnhmn.” She replied, waiting patiently.

“Well… Lucy will be going back to Spain soon and Leah is headed back to London.. so I was just wondering if you’re coming home?”

YFN gave a cute smile. The one that made Jordan feel seen and heard. “I’ve thought about this.. and I think the best bet will be London in the office from Monday to Wednesday, with every other day at home in Birmingham as it’s so central to be able to travel between the games.”

“Can you limit the travel at all?” Lucy asked, looking worried given her condition.

“Actually, I was thinking of getting a driver to take that pressure off. That way I can continue to work during the drives…”

Lucy gave an impressed look. “It’s perfect. I can pay-”

“-no, love.” She chuckled with a reassuring look. “Thank you, Luce.. but this will be on the company. I spoke to Cath-” she corrected herself, shaking her head. “-Joe about it already.”

Lucy nodded leaning in and kissing her temple.

“What’s happening with you two?” YFN asked, looking between the pair.

“We’ve spoken about moving clubs.. but it’s best to stay where we are.” YFN nodded at that, looking like she’d expected it. “I’m going to give football two more years and see if I can make the Euros team.” Leah gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you sure, Jords?” Lucy asked.

“I’m sure.” She said, confidently. Lucy gave her a sympathetic look, and Jordan struggled to contain her emotions at the thought of retiring. “It’s time. I’ll stay with Villa for play time and then.. I’m not sure what I’ll do for a job.”

YFN tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “It’s a shame that footballers give everything to the game and have a career-span that only lasts until your 30s. It’s unfair. But if you want, I’ll have plenty of opportunities for you if you wanted to join the media industry with me?”

Jordan’s heart swelled and she cleared her throat, nodding while she tried to find the words. “I think I’d like that.”

YFN gave her a wink. “I’ll look after you, Dory. Don’t worry about any of that, okay? You’ll have a job after football. And if you want to do something else instead, that’s fine too. We’re in this together. Okay?”

Jordan wiped the tears forming in her eyes. “Okay. Th…thank you.”

She turned to look at Leah who was still stroking her legs, though now with her head against the chair, smiling at her. “See? Everything will work out.”

Jordan nodded, collecting herself.

“Did we have any other plans we want to share with our friends?”

Jordan chuckled, turning back to the pair. “Well after I retire, I’ll be 33 and Leah will be 28. We’re hoping she’ll play into her mid-thirties-”

“-I may need some pointers,” Leah interjected, directed at Lucy.

Lucy chuckled. “I can definitely help you with that.”

“-we won’t be getting any younger.” Jordan continued. “So… we were going to have kids when I retire.”

YFN closed her laptop without looking at it. “Babies?! Little Leah’s and Jordan’s running around?”

Leah shifted Jordan’s legs off of her and moved closer, taking her head and kissing her lovingly on the cheek in support. “Yeah,” she said. “It feels right. And with my endo…”

“I’ll carry,” Jordan finished when Leah didn’t. “And if it doesn’t work out like that, then we’ll adopt.”

“They may be able to see Leah playing…” YFN said dreamingly.

“I’m hoping so! I want to bring them to the games to see their mum play.”

Leah’s hand found her thigh again under the table and slipped in between her legs. She almost jumped. Clearly talk of their future was exciting her.

“That’s the dream, isn’t it?” YFN murmured, looking at Lucy.

“Have you two spoken about kids?”

YFN blushed, and they shared a look about something that clearly was just between them.

“Uh, yeah. Yep. We want kids.”

“A tribe.” Lucy said, confidently knowing what she wanted.

Jordan found it amusing.

“But we haven’t been together long…” YFN said. Lucy frowned.

“As if that matters,” Leah opinionated, rolling her eyes. “You two were made for each other.”

“Trust me, we feel it too. But right now, I’m injured. I’m building this company and my career. I’d want to be married first. And we aren’t even living together. Lucy’s in Spain…” She sighed, exasperated. “But we have Christmas to look forward to. My Nan and brother are coming over, and will meet Lucy and her family for the first time… and then Ridley was supposed to be coming, so I’m not sure what’s happening there. I imagine she’ll want to spend it with Alexia.”

“It’s going to be an amazing Christmas.” Lucy said. “I have a charity I support which has me at a few children’s hospitals on Christmas Eve, and then we’ll all have Christmas together for a good few weeks. Your first white Christmas.. so it’s a lot to look forward to.”

YFN smiled at that and looked back at the pair. “Trust me, there’s nothing I want more than to have little Bronze menaces running around, but I want to get this company to a more autonomous, self-sustaining level first. Plus, I wouldn’t want to raise children in instability. I’d want us to have a plan and be living together in a house that will be their childhood home, you know?”

“In Spain?” Leah asked.

“That is the plan…”

“It was the plan,” Lucy corrected. “But as of late I’ve been thinking that if I’m to continue playing for as long as possible, then I need a less packed schedule, less travelling, and better medical care. So I think at the end of this contract, I’ll come back to the UK.”

YFN was surprised. “Really?”

“Back to the WSL?!” Jordan asked, excited at the idea.

Lucy smiled at YFN, and then at the pair opposite. “I think it’s for the best. I’ll be close to family. The kids can be born in the UK. And Spain can come later, or become a vacation spot. I’m not sure, there’s a lot to talk about. But it’s what I’m thinking is best for everyone.” YFN squeezed Lucy’s arm, looking a whole spectrum of emotions about the idea, but primarily happy, it seemed. “And YFN will be stuck in the UK for a period while they build Lumos. And I don’t want to be apart from her longer than I have to. So… yes. That’s my thought.”

“Work will take up a lot of my time for the next few years…” she admitted.

“By ‘a few years’, do you mean two?” Leah asked.

She smiled softly, picking up the meaning. “I hope you two can deal with us being pregnant at the same time.”

Leah’s hand slid further up, her fingertips pressing on Jordan’s clit through her shorts and rubbing just enough to be frustrating.

“Pray for us.” Lucy muttered, sharing a look with Leah. They chuckled.

“Aaaanyways. I need to duck off.” Leah removed her hand and stood, waiting. “Jord?”

YFN raised her eyebrow, giving them a knowing look. Lucy was too busy looking at the snack items to notice as Jordan stood and took Leah’s hand, letting her drag her to the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Leah was close to her. Really close.

“L…Lea?”

“You can’t just talk about our future together and not expect me to get excited, Jord.” Leah said before kissing her.

It was hot. Needy. A kiss most definitely only shared in private. Jordan gasped into her mouth as Leah bit her lip and backed her against the sink. There wasn’t much room to play with, but she knew that wouldn’t stop Leah. Her hands found the back of Jordan’s thighs and picked her up, sitting her on the sink.

“Leah, your knee,” she protested on deaf ears.

“I need you.” She responded greedily. Captain Leah. In command Leah. Jordan felt herself almost dripped at that.

Hands were roaming, Jordan’s clothes disappearing with her barely noticing. Her tits were suddenly out to the cool air of the plane and Leah was quick to take one in her mouth. She sucked for a while, her hands still roaming, and then moved onto the second. While that was happening, her shorts and underwear were being removed in one swift movement. She could barely keep up.

Before Jordan had a chance to even find words, Leah was on her knees, her hands gripping the back of Jordan’s legs and her mouth hungrily attaching itself to her clit.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck! Lea…” She moaned at the suddenness of it all.

Jordan spread her legs so Leah had better access and didn’t fight when one of her thighs was taken up over her girl’s shoulder. She did worry about Leah’s knee but one look down at her and she wasn’t concerned. Leah was so focussed on Jordan. On tasting her. On fucking her. So focussed that she probably didn’t notice Jordan sweeping the blonde hair back out of her face so she could see her better.

Leah was always good with her mouth. Incredibly so. And it made it better, the fact that she was so in tune with Jordan’s body. She knew what she needed and exactly what she liked. She teased every single outer area of her clit, enough to have Jordan’s entire body tingling, before she gave attention to the most sensitive, needy part of it. She was soft, so as to not get it too sensitive, but she was still hungry and knew what she wanted from her.

As her tongue swiped over her little bundle of nerves with the perfect amount of pressure and pace, Jordan felt herself building towards her inevitable orgasm. Leah knew this, because she knew her. Her fingertips gently caressed up the sensitive sides of her body to her tits where one hand grabbed and kneaded, her thumb stroking over the nipple as her other hand came back down again just as slow and tantalisingly.

“F…f…fuck. Lea, I’m going to come.”

Leah didn’t say anything, but her flat tongue changed to just the tip, and exactly where Jordan needed it.

“Don’t stop,” she managed to get out hurriedly as she felt herself just about to- “AHHH fuck, Leah.”

Jordan gripped onto her hair with one hand and the sink behind her with the other as she came, shuddering into Leah’s mouth. Her tongue went flat again and rocked back and forth ever so slightly with a harder pressure against her clit to steady her sensitive nerves while she came. When Jordan’s hand relaxed in her hair, she kissed her clit and pulled back, looking up at the now-flushed and dazed Jordan.

She groaned and leant back as Leah got to her feet. There was still this hunger in her eyes that she hadn’t seen for a while.

Jordan slipped off the sink and grabbed her, their mouths coming together again hot and heavy, the taste of Jordan on Leah's tongue was beyond sexy. Her hands now roamed Leah’s body, her face, neck, tits, waist. Her shirt came off and she allowed it, and shortly after, Jordan pushed her pants and underwear down low enough to feel her. God, she was wet. Hot. Excited. Jordan’s fingers slipped past her folds to feel her, two fingers circling the outside of her entrance and then dragging up, either side of her clit.

Leah grumbled, frustrated and removed her hand, turning Jordan around to face the sink. She gripped the sink as Leah’s hand on her back pressed her down. She pulled her ass back and spread her legs apart with her own. Jordan watched in the mirror as Leah sucked two of her fingers, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other tracing down her back and over her ass. Jordan’s body moved forward against the sink as Leah’s wet fingers slid inside her, stretching her out just slightly. Just enough to have her eyes rolling back and her head dropping to take it.

The outrageously wet slapping sounds of Leah’s fingers in and out of Jordan’s smaller body gave away just how horny she was for the footballer. She whimpered and moaned, her back arching and her body pushing back against her hand as she fucked her.

Since getting back together, they hadn’t had sex like this, and until that moment, Jordan didn’t realise how much she’d missed it.

She reached back and touched Leah, the younger woman allowing her to now, and even rocking into her hand. She teased around her clit, Leah practically dripping onto her fingers. Leah’s hand released her neck and instead wound Jordan’s hair around her hand, using her forearm against her back to keep her body down while she pulled her head back to look into the mirror.

As her head was pulled back, Jordan realised by just how little Leah was actually hanging on. She breathing was erratic, her face flushed and lips trembling. Her expression was less hungry and more desperate. Teetering on the edge.

Jordan applied just slightly more pressure to her clit as she stroked it steadily, knowing that she didn’t like it too fast.

“I… can’t. I can’t.” Leah fought with herself, so close to coming, and yet wanting Jordan to get off too.

Jordan felt her body clenching. She was right there at the edge.

One more look at Leah in the mirror and realising that she was going to spend the rest of her life with her, Jordan came around her fingers, somehow managing to draw Leah’s from her as she did so.

They both gasped their moans and orgasms as they regained their breath. Leah’s arms wrapped around Jordan from behind and she cuddled into the back of her, grunting her relief.

They stayed like that for a while. Eventually, Jordan turned in her arms and held her back.

“Where on earth did that come from?”

Leah chuckled against her collarbone. “I just love you.”

Jordan nodded against her in understanding, knowing she didn’t expect to hear it back. She already knew how Jordan felt. Not long later, she felt her naked body begin to get too cold, and Leah felt her shiver.

“We need to get you dressed.”

Jordan dressed as Leah washed her hands and fixed herself up. She stood by the door waiting patiently, and Jordan gestured to it. “It’s okay, I need to pee. Can you get us a cuppa?”

Leah smiled and stepped forward for a kiss before leaving.

As the door opened, and she stepped outside, all Jordan could hear was Lucy shouting from the table. “Welcome to the mile high club, kids!”

ALEXIA POV

The sun was just rising over the cliffs of the island as Ridley landed. Alexia and Chiquito watched, still playing around with her football on the sand as she taxied in and hooked up to the buoy. Just as she touched land and dragged the dinghy up, she was almost caught off guard at the football flying her way. She managed to keep it up with her feet and kick it straight back over to the pair effortlessly. Alexia liked to think that Ridley had gotten even better with it as they’d been playing so much. It was keeping her fresh and quick with her reactions and made her even more eager to get back on the field.

Though one look at Ridley walking over to her in shorts, a bikini top with an open shirt, and sunglasses keeping her hair back, and Alexia realised she could live like this the rest of her life.

Ridley caught her around the waist, pulling her close and kissing her. Her lips were soft with just a little sweetness to them, like she’d eaten some fruit, which she guaranteed she had.

“Mmn. Hi.”

“Where have you been?” Alexia asked. She’d woken up to an empty bed, with Chiquito looking equally as confused.

“I went to get you some breakfast. I know it’s been a while since you’d had something other than fruit and eggs,” she murmured against her lips. Ridley kissed her again. “And I managed to get myself an encrypted tablet which can’t be tracked… it won’t have internet but I did download both the Spanish and English games..”

Alexia stared at her. Ridley could think she was non-romantic all that she wanted, but she definitely was. Her heart swelled. “You’re the best.”

“Would you like to know the scores or just watch?”

“Don’t tell me the score.. just who won?”

“Both your Spanish girls, and the Lionesses won.” She murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Alexia felt herself leaning into her hand. “They made the Olympics?”

Ridley gave a soft smile and shook her head. Alexia’s heart sunk for them. Lucy would be devastated.

“But Lucy seems in good spirits,” she said, as if reading her mind. “She had a luncheon event with Alessia Russo yesterday and she seemed happy. She was asked a lot of on the spot questions about Blue and you couldn’t wipe the smile off her face if you tried.”

“Why so many questions?”

“Ah… they kissed on the field.”

Alexia was impressed. It was a big move for her teammate. She wondered if Ridley would ever want that. She knew she wouldn’t care about the public part, though someone in her field of work usually kept a low profile. Ridley was a little different, managing to hide in plain sight with her company, though it was a topic that she’d been meaning to broach.

Ridley looked at her as if knowing the question in her head. She gave her that cocky look and reached back, taking an iced coffee from her side of her backpack and giving it to Alexia.

“Any other news?” She asked as she took a sip.

Ridley stepped back looking her up and down with dark eyes unashamedly. She bent down to greet an eager Chiquito rubbing himself on her legs. “Leah and Jordan are engaged.”

The coffee sprayed from her mouth and the grey cat managed to dodge it.

“We haven’t been in reception for 2 days and this all happens?!”

“Mmnhmn.”

“We need to get back..” she found herself murmuring.

“Tomorrow, Lex.” Ridley reassured. “Let’s just enjoy our last day here..”

She took her hand and kissed it, leading her to the hammock outside the front of their hut. The guitar Ridley had been messing around with the night before was leaning up against the tree near it.

The Australian set her bag down as Alexia climbed onto the hammock with her coffee. Ridley settled between her legs, Alexia’s arm draped over her, and Chiquito jumped up to curl himself onto Ridley’s lap. Without speaking they moved. Already understanding what was happening. It was something she’d never had in her life. She’d never known such peace.

Ridley put the little packages of breakfast next to them and propped the tablet up against Alexia’s knee, pressing play on the Spanish game.

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traincoded · 1 year ago

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Sports and Politics reading list

(all can be found for free/libgen links)

The ‘Ungrateful Athlete’: Anti-Black, Anti-Labor Currents in Sports Media: Podcast episode from Citations Needed about the coverage of sportspersons in the United States. Interviews professor Amira Rose Davis.

Revolt of the Black Athlete, by Harry Edwards. Remember that fist raised in protest by Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics? Sociologist and activist Harry Edwards was the architect of the Olympic Project for Human Rights, which led to the Black Power Salute and called for an Olympics boycott.

Loving Sports When They Don't Love You Back: Dilemmas of the Modern Fan by Jessica Luther and Kavitha Davidson is a set of essays about what complicates sports fandom in modern sports by two journalists.

Beyond a Boundary by CLR James is a history and memoir of cricket in the West Indies and colonial legacies. James is a Trinidadian Marxist best known for writing The Black Jacobins.

Soccer in the Sun and Shadow by Eduardo Galeanos is a rebellious history of football through an anti imperialist lens. Galeanos is better known for his book Open Veins of Latin American.

Anyone but England: Cricket, Race and Class by Mike Marquesse: A Jewish American takes a look at cricket’s storied history when it comes to race and class, with particular focus on apartheid South Africa.

Marxism, Cultural Studies and Sports is a collection of essays in the Routledge Critical Studies in Sports series. Of interest is Chapter 7 on black Marxism and the politics of sport. Chapter 8 overviews theories of sporting celebrity, class and black feminism in context of the Williams sisters.

A Woman's Game: The Rise, Fall, and Rise Again of Women's Football by Suzy Wrack is a history of english women's football. If you've heard that women's football was banned by the FA in reaction to its encroaching on the popularity of the men's game, this is a good place to start abt that history to the present day.

#recs #reading lists #sports

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ladykailitha · 2 months ago

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Icarus Part 18

Hey, guys! I'm back!!! I had a great and very productive hiatus, the results of which can be found here.

But tl;dr is that this story is complete, so it will be regularly updated on Sunday until it's done. Then I will release the story that started this all "The Rise of The Fallen" in two parts, also on Sundays. Which will take us all the to December, if you can believe it.

I'm still working on the other stories and at least The Hellfire Exotic Club (stripper), The Caged Bird Still Sings (sugar!baby), and Of Butterflies and Backstrokes (Olympic swimmer) are all going to be fairly long so that should be exciting. Then I'll be working on the fun little game show story now called "A Love Connection". Which won't come out until one of the others ends. Sorry. But WIP Wednesday will show you teases of it until then.

I recommend rereading the previous chapter to refresh your memory and away we go!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Steve was riding on the best high. Their next song was “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls”. The song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary folks, despite the title. There was nothing in the world that could compare to crowds screaming your name. It didn’t even matter that the name they were screaming wasn’t Steve, it was Abbadon.

He stumbled into the green room that had all their stuff in it. Corroded Coffin had taken the stage and him and his boys were relaxing with their masks off, Hopper at the door.

“I’ve never been so nervous in my life!” Shane said after downing an entire water bottle. “That crowd was massive! And diverse! Usually we just get college aged kids but there were literal kids out there and old time rockers too.”

“Shit, yeah,” Spence said, pushing his hood off his head to splash a little water on his head. He didn’t have a spotlight on him but wearing all black still made for a hot set.

Shane laid down on the floor, sprawled out spread eagle. “Is this is what real fame is like?”

Steve slid off the chair he was sitting in, to sit next to him. “God, I have such mixed feelings about that if it is. Because the energy was off the charts and I’m pretty sure I sung my heart out...”

“But you aren’t sure you keep up with it for the whole tour?” Simon asked quietly.

Steve threw his head back to rest on the seat of the chair. “Yeah. I don’t want to burn out before I turn thirty, you know?”

“You should talk to Eddie about what they do not to burn out,” Spence suggested. “Because they’ve been doing this for ten years and longer tours than this.”

Steve hummed his agreement.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Celeste, incoming,” Hopper muttered, before opening the door.

Anyone in view of the door, put their mask over their face and then off again when the door closed behind their manager.

“Good job, guys,” Robin said cheerily and sat down on the floor between Shane and Steve. “I just got off the phone with Vickie and she says social media is going batshit insane about the song and Steve’s intro. And it’s good. Like really good. There are some assholes, but it seems that even the media and music critics are calling it the next gay anthem.”

“What are they saying?” Simon asked, sitting up on the sofa and scooting to the edge.

Robin grinned. “This is my favorite one: Heaven is where the assholes are, we always knew all the good people were in hell. Keep up the good work, Abbadon and all of the rest of The Fallen. From Metallica’s official Twitter.”

The room was deathly silent for all of two seconds before they all erupted into gleeful screams. They all jumped on her and started hugging her tightly.

“Get off me! Get off me!” she shrieked. “You’re all sweaty and gross!”

They deliberately smeared themselves all over her before they got off, giggling like children.

“Boys!” she huffed dramatically. “So gross. I swear you lot don’t grow up you just get older.”

Steve leaned over and gave a huge kiss on the cheek. “Probably, but you wouldn’t love us if we were any different.”

Robin swiped her cheek in an exaggerated fashion. “Maybe, but boys are still gross.” She went on to tell them all things that Vickie was sending her about the world’s reaction to the song.

Then after a while she bumped into Steve’s shoulder. “Go on. I know you want go watch some of the show, I’ll hold down the fort here.”

Steve smiled at her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. He got to his feet and put his mask back on. After checking to make sure no one was in view, he knocked on the door for Hopper to let him out.

Once the door closed, Robin let out a long sigh. “I worry about those two.”

“Who?” Shane said, sitting up for the first time. “Steve and Eddie? Why?”

She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking her chin between her knees. “Being in the closet is hard. And I know Abbadon has come out, but he’s still in the ‘closet’ as it were about his identity and Eddie and Steve having to hide their relationship on top of Steve hiding who is... let’s just say that great relationships then theirs have crumbled under the pressure.”

The room was silent as they all took that in.

“Are we just doomed from having relationships?” Spence asked. “Are we all destined to be lonely?”

Simon’s lips quivered. “I hate that I have all these women throwing themselves at me but they really don’t care who’s under the mask.”

“I hit up every gay bar in every city we tour in as me,” Shane muttered picking at the skin around his nails, “and I don’t know if it’s worse they don’t know who I am than if I had gone as Astraeus.”

“I’m trying to have a girlfriend,” Spence said bitterly, “but all I can tell her is that I travel for work. And yeah it’s new enough she isn’t asking as what, but how much longer can I dodge that question?”

Robin let out another sigh. “I know, and it’s not as though I can really date either. Are they dating the goofy lesbian Robin, or the sophisticated fashion plate, Celeste? But with Eddie I think Steve has it harder.”

“It’s because Eddie is famous, huh?” Simon asked, sliding off the sofa to sit next to Shane on the floor.

Spence got up and curled up around Shane. Robin inserted herself into the pile and they just cuddled until the show was over.

Steve wanted to be on that stage more than anything, just singing with Eddie, happy and free. But he was Abbadon right now and while he might get away with it, Steve didn’t feel comfortable with the not being able to kiss his boyfriend senseless.

He waited until the it’s almost time for the encore before he slipped back into the green room. Everyone else is already changed and gone. It’s just Robin as Celeste waiting for him.

“How did he not have a boyfriend before now?” Steve muttered as he pulled on the khakis and blue polo shirt of his ‘uniform.’

Robin snorted. “For the same reason you went pretty thin on the dating field. He was hung up on a special someone.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head. “I’m assume you think it’s me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it lay straight after being hidden under the hood for so long.

Robin got to her feet and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

Steve looked away. Robin gently lifted his chin and then held his face her hands. “Steven Kincade Harrington, you listen to me close. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of care. You are worthy of attention. And Eddie Munson is one hundred percent onboard to give all three. Of course he was waiting for you. Any person with eyes can see how much he loves you. Fuck, Simon bristles every time he’s brought up now because instead him being your protector like it used to be, it’s Eddie.”

Steve stared at her with his mouth wide open. “Simon’s jealous of Eddie?”

Robin laughed and kissed his stupid head.

“Babe,” she said fondly. “Spence and Shane have been beating him off with a stick every time Eddie comes around.”

“But Simon doesn’t protect me,” Steve said tilting his head to the side. “I protect him. He’s so painfully shy outside of the band and he’s always curled up on my lap.”

“Please tell me you aren’t that naive,” she said. “He is always sticking up for you about your writing, about your singing. When it comes to band stuff Simon is the biggest mama bear of them all.”

Steve blinked at her for a moment and then mouthed the word “Oh.”

“You are such a dingus,” she said shaking her head. “But you’re my dingus so that evens it out a bit.”

He pushed her playfully. “I’m going to get out there before people wonder where the missing EMT is.”

He slipped out a different way from when he came in and she watched him go. Steve was brilliant at a lot of things, people included. But he always had a blindspot when it came to when other people caring for him.

She sighed and then made her way out of the green room so that Corroded Coffin could unwind now.

Robin passed Chrissy on the way out.

“Hey,” Chrissy said with a huge smile. “My boys want to go afterwards with your boys, you think they’d be down?”

“Of course they would!” she replied. “As The Fallen or no?”

Chrissy slapped her palm to her forehead. “Shit I forgot. As The Fallen. But they have casual masks to go in right?”

Robin smiled back at her. “It’s fine, of course they have casual masks. I’ll let them know. It’ll have to be much later because they have to be see as normies for a bit before they slip back into The Fallen.”

Chrissy winked and tapped the side of her nose. “I got you.”

Just then all the Corroded Coffin boys came bursting from the stage into the wings, whooping and screaming. They huddled together, arms around each other and counted to twenty.

Once they got to one, Eddie screamed whooped again and all four of them ran back on stage.

Robin blinked at them for a moment. “Didn’t they just have an encore?”

Chrissy threw back her head and laughed. “Depending on the city they can do anywhere from two to five encores.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said in genuine awe. “That’s insane.”

“It’s not even their record,” she said.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s no way.”

“Six in Salt Lake City,” she explained. “Just coming off their third album, the one with eight singles. Which was too many in my opinion but apparently a couple radio stations thought there were a really good deep tracks and played. Then it got around, yaddy yadda. You get the drift.”

“But six?” Robin asked a little unsure.

Chrissy nodded. “Salt Lake is crazy for that shit though. I’ve heard bands go there if they want their ego stoked.”

“Any bands avoid it for that reason?” Robin giggled.

“I have no doubt there are,” she said with a hum. “Most of the time bands whine about the lack of boobs and booze when they refuse to go back.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Men are so gross.”

“Agreed,” she replied with a wink. “Go lesbian power.”

Robin fist bumped her. “I’ve got to go look like a PA schlep for awhile. I’ll text you when they’re free.”

“You’ve got it girlie!” Chrissy said.

Eddie was not pleased that they were at a bar. A bar was the last place he wanted Gareth to be right now.

But he insisted he would be fine and seemed for the most part to be sticking to a cherry coke, but Eddie was keeping an eye on him.

Things were actually going well until...

Astraeus let out a yelp of pain.

Abbadon and Azrael were on their feet in an instant, Asmodeus close behind. There was a little action going on so Eddie couldn’t see what happened, but oh boy did he see the aftermath.

Standing behind The Fallen’s bassist was an asshole with his phone up, filming and another guy yanking on Astraeus’ hood.

“Get off of him,” Abbadon hissed. “Or else.”

Abbadon was the shortest of his band, but fuck in that moment, he looked the most intimidating.

The dude with phone scoffed. “Or what? I’m filming you, you can’t do shit.”

Steve let out a huge ear-piercing whistle and yelled, “Security!”

The two dudes’ eyes went wide as they turned to scramble away from their table, but ran into two very meaty looking guys flanking Hopper.

“You two boys going somewhere?” the head of security asked, low and dangerously.

“We weren’t doing anything!” the one dude said. Not the one with the phone, but the one who had pulled on Astraeus’ hood.

“Yeah?” he asked. “And would these boys say the same?”

The asshole with the phone scoffed. “They’re just a bunch of weird, rich assholes, they’d say whatever.”

“And the security cameras won’t show you filming your friend here, yanking on this man’s hoodie?”

The two dudes looked at each in actual fear for the first time.

“And by the way, that’s assault,” Hopper continued to press. “So unless you want to be arrested, you’ll delete that little videos of yours unless you really, really want to broadcast your crime to the internet.”

The guy with the phone had Hopper watch him delete it off his phone.

“Good,” he said, “now these two gentlemen are going to escort out of the building, a building you’ll never be allowed to come back to ever again.”

After Hopper left with the bouncers and the two idiots, Gareth turned to them.

“Shit,” he said, “that was fucking terrifying. Does that happen a lot?”

Abbadon and Azrael exchanged a glance.

“More than it really should,” Azrael said. “It’s why Ellie designed a hoodie that would be harder to yank off. The trade off unfortunately is that hurts like a bitch when it’s pulled.”

“That fucking sucks, man,” Jeff said. “The next round of drinks is on me.”

Eddie nodded, but inside he was screaming. He didn’t know that this was something the band experienced at all. And even if he didn’t know who they were, that would still freak him out. But it was worse knowing it was Steve that they were doing this to.

Abbadon squeezed his hand under the table. It didn’t reassure him, not really, but it was still nice that Steve recognized his turmoil.

The night was a little more subdued after that as the Corroded Coffin boys thought about the implications of what just happened and The Fallen boys because all they wanted was a fun night out and it was ruined.

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar au

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