#every autograph and photo I have is from open training

[angry-pinscher]

I did it!!! I finally asked him! I got my autograph long ago but I was always too shy to ask for a photo. But I'm back with my smiley face!!

And... Got the new one too

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Millie Bright x Reader

Triggered (Rewrite)

AN: I’ve wanted to rewrite this for sometime since reading it back and it felt so cringey. As it’s about a neurodivergent reader I felt like it could and should be better. It’s mostly Part 1 that’s changed the most but I felt like it should have it’s own post rather than editing the old 3 parter, so I hope you enjoy. It’s been a nice way to ease myself back into writing too.

A ping rang from your pocket up to your ears letting you know you had a new message, hearing the sound your heart started beating faster. You had desperately been waiting for updates from your friend who had won the chance to be at Chelsea women’s open training session and was hoping he’d get something signed from Millie Bright for you. Millie is your favourite footballer but she has been out with a knee injury for months - hardly spotted at games or training as if she’s gone into hiding, but opening the photo from your friend filled your heart with joy seeing the blonde huddled with her friends. She wasn’t in her training kit but seeing her there kept your hopes alive that you’d have something signed in your hands by tomorrow. Your friend had asked you to come with him but you already had tickets for the England game tonight that was at the other side on London which made it impossible to be at both. You had hoped that if she wasn’t at Kingsmeadow she may had turned up to support her England teammates but the photo on the 6 inch screen proved she wasn’t coming. “She seems really rude (y/n/n), why do you like her? She’s not talking to anyone!” the next text came through, shattering your daydreams of finally having her autograph. “I don’t care, I love her! Pleeeease try!” you begged with lots of prayer emojis, keeping your fingers and toes crossed that he’d come up trumps.

“Here, it’s the last one” your best friend Mack broke your concentration from the text exchange as he sat down next to you, placing a hotdog on your plate. His mum was cooking a BBQ for your friend group before you left to go to the stadium which was conveniently around the corner from their house. Perching on the doorstep with him and watching the fans trickle towards the stadium you munched happily on the mounds of food piled up on your plate. Mack’s mum always goes above and beyond when it comes to gatherings, you had been eating BBQ food for hours yet your plate never seemed to be empty. She was the type of person who always left her front door open, her house was always filled to the brim with school friends, then uni friends and work friends. New Years Eve parties every year, Miss Gloria really knew how to throw a banging party! You and Mack threw some memories around while watching his mum pile more sausages onto your other friend’s plates, chuckling as you remembered her flinging you across the lounge to dance with her after she saw you sitting alone when you were younger.

The click of the front gate in the near distance drew your attention to the garden path where a very familiar blonde was approaching the house. Watching in awe as she approached Mack’s mum over the BBQ you rubbed your eyes to see if you were hallucinating. “Millie!” she loudly exclaimed, “I thought you weren’t coming anymore!”, looking to Mack beside you for reassurance that you weren’t going mad who had already upped and left, running over to see her. ‘What, the..?’ muttering to yourself in disbelief you heard them all chattering in the distance but didn’t notice her approaching you a little while later. You were spaced out staring into the distance trying to muster up the courage to talk to her when suddenly she was in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re (y/n)?” she snapped, breaking you out of your spiralled thinking. “Uhh.. yeah?” you replied, not knowing what to think of her standoffish behaviour, she always seemed so upbeat and happy that you just didn’t imagine her being as rude as your friend said earlier. Mack came running over saying his mum was out of food, glancing at the mound on your plate you offered it over. “I-I’m definitely not going t-to eat all of this” you stammered, still in awe that your idol was in front of you but confused with the interaction as you passed your plate over. She took it with not even a thanks and sat down beside you on the door step, beginning to eat like she hadn’t had food for months. “Ketchup?” offering the bottle that was next to you to try break the awkward silence that only amplified her chomping sounds. You felt the mood lift a little when she squeezed the bottle too hard it splashed over her plate in a massive gloop, waiting for her to chuckle at herself so you felt able to too. Squirming in her seat trying not to get it on her clothes, her knee grazed yours, “hey, hows the injury?” you asked trying your hardest to make small talk, “I’m not allowed to say” she responded bluntly, plunging the interaction into dead silence again. Rolling your eyes you let out a desperate sigh, disappointed with how the day went from hopefully getting her autograph to being totally disappointed with actually meeting her.

Glancing at your watch you called out to your friends that you should probably be leaving for the stadium soon, you were met with agreement from all of them as you gathered up the plates to wash up. When you collected Millie’s she asked why you had to leave so soon because kick off wasn’t for another hour. “I just like to know I’m on time” you replied, taking her plate to the kitchen as she followed asking more questions. “The stadium is only around the corner, you don’t need to leave that early” her statement sharp and slightly condescending. Your friends knew your autistic and adhd traits came out the most when you had a timed thing to do – like football. You liked to be there early so you could find your seats without the overwhelming amount of people staring at you arriving. You found comfort knowing you wouldn’t have to tell people they were in your seats and that you could relax knowing you were in the right place. You’d never been to this stadium before and new places trigger your anxiety. You couldn’t tell Millie that though, with the mood she’s in she probably wouldn’t listen anyway. “I just get anxious” you told her honestly, “well don’t worry about it, it’s just football” her tone now throughroughly irritating you. “Wow thanks, I’m cured” rolling your eyes at her ignorance you washed the last plate, expecting her to pick up a tea towel but she didn’t; truly cementing your feelings about the woman – rude and obnoxious! Maybe your friend was right!

45 minutes passed before you actually left leaving 15 minutes to get in and find your seats, you were now an anxious mess and on the brink of a meltdown. Millie lead your friends down an ally to a gate you hadn’t seen when you studied the stadium map online yesterday, falling behind as you rushed to find the tickets on your phone and missing the email containing them. “I can’t find the tickets” you said in quiet panic but realising no-one heard you made you become even more flustered, “guys, slow down! I can’t find the tickets!” you pleaded with everyone to help. Millie turned around and looked at you in a way that you could tell she was annoyed, “you’re with me you don’t need tickets, put your phone away!” she shouted but didn’t stop walking. Looking at Mack in desperation he shrugged but didn’t say anything. You’d never felt more like an outcast to your friends, they all knew your triggers and signs you were getting overwhelmed but it seems Millie’s presence made everyone forget them. You were so looking forward to this game but now you just wanted to leave and go home, everything was going wrong and it was nothing like you had planned for weeks. Millie handed over her pass to the steward as Mack watched you still frantically trying to find the tickets you bought a month earlier, clicking the lock button he gestured for you to put your phone away with no explanation. “5 yeah? All good” the steward said in a bored and tired tone. You didn’t have a clue what was happening but Mack linked his arm in yours and shuffled you inside to seats that weren’t the ones you had carefully chosen when booking them. To be fair, they were really good seats just above the dugouts but you couldn’t help feeling on edge knowing these weren’t your booked ones and panicked someone was going to tell you to move at any moment. Millie sat down next to you with her huge England puffer jacket encroaching on your personal space, hearing every squeak of the fabric against the chair and rustling against your body, you had never felt more uncomfortable.

Noticing you were stimming – tapping your foot making your leg shake and fiddling with your thumb ring, Millie placed a hand heavily onto your thigh making your leg stop shaking instantly. This meant that your anxious energy couldn’t be released and was getting blocked up inside you. “What’s wrong?” she asked sounding genuinely concerned, moving her hood so you could see her face. “Nothing” shaking your head violently trying to stop her from asking anymore questions. You were trying so hard not to have a meltdown and anymore questions might push the tears you were trying desperately to hide out of your eyes, you really didn’t want her to witness this. You’d looked up to the defender since you were younger and you thought meeting her would be a dream but today has been nothing short of a nightmare. She’d hit all your triggers without even realising you had any and you were really struggling to hide your contempt. “Just tell me” she said forcefully. Staring out at the pitch you thought deeply about what you wanted to say but it all came blurting out like a car crash of words leaving your mouth. “I’m autistic and have ADHD, I’ve never been to this stadium before so looked up all the maps of how to get here and where our seats were, I like to be early so I know I’m in the right place, you took us a different way and sat me in a different seat, I always sit on the aisle so I don’t feel trapped, the Lionesses are my special interest, I didn’t get to watch the warm ups or feel the atmosphere before the game, I hate being late and your jacket is so noisy it’s making me want to throw something at you!” Your words left your mouth in one extremely long sentence barely making time to breath, your monotone voice wasn’t raised just sad nothing had turned out like you’d planned. You took a breath and let out a long sigh, feeling a slight release of letting it all out and finally able to look at her. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for ages then you turned up and changed everything, it’s been a lot to deal with” you finished calmly and honestly. Millie stared at you blankly like everything you had just said flew straight over her head. You couldn’t help that you felt uncomfortable, your friends knew what triggers you and could have been more understanding to all the plans changing – one change you could have dealt with but this.. this was a lot.

“Do you drink tea?” Millie asked you after a long awkward silence, nodding gently she asked how you have it then rose from her seat, re-emerging moments later with a cup in her hand. “Sit in this one” she gestured to the seat she was in before which was on an aisle then passed the cup to you; instantly feeling a little relief as the warmth spread through your fingertips to your palms. Hearing the loud zipper of her coat she took it off without any hesitation and started to put it around your shoulders. “What are you doing?” trying to shrug it off, wondering about her intentions, “trust me, it’s a like a big safety bubble, put it on” she nodded smiling for the first time today as encouragement. Feeling the warmth around your body and the weight of the coat acting like your heavy blanket at home you sunk into your new seat, your heart rate slowly returned to normal and your eyes were no longer acting like dams for your tears. “I’m really sorry (y/n), I didn’t realise” her words sounded sincere. “Why would you? I have to work very hard to appear like everyone else, to seem normal. Nobody would know unless I told them or I suddenly snapped. They’d just see me flip out over one tiny thing without recognising all of the other things that had lead me to have a meltdown” you said looking down at your cup, embarrassed with how honest and open you were being. “I get it, I really do” she smiled, taking hold of one of your hands and holding it between hers on her lap as the teams walked out onto the pitch immediately making you happy again. It’s like she had heard you, listened and understood exactly what you needed - to feel safe.

Millie held your hand throughout the entire game, stroking her thumb along yours intimitently to keep you grounded and only stopping when England scored or to top up your tea. You’re unsure how she went from standoffish and rude to caring and kind so quickly but you wish more people you told about your neurodivergence acted this way when they find out instead of looking at you weird and ignoring everything you’ve just said - despite the beginning of the day, you had a good night.

Standing up and unzipping the coat to return it to her she abruptly stopped you, pulling it back onto your shoulders. “It’s okay wear it home, it’s gotten cold now” her voice a lot softer than a few hours ago and certainly more bubbly than earlier in the evening. “I can’t do that this is part of your kit” you giggled nervously, still trying to take it off. “Well I can’t let you walk home cold can I” she shrugged joking like her hands were tied. You argued back and forth at who would take the coat until you finally accepted the kind gesture, “I’m a hot bod anyway” was her winning statement which made you smirk, ‘in more ways than one’ you thought to yourself. Millie asked to walk you out but you didn’t need babysitting and suggested she go congratulate her teammates instead. “I wasn’t implying that you need babysitting, I just wanted to make sure you’d get home okay” trying to justify her intentions. “Well I won’t be home for at least two hours so you’d be waiting a long time” you laughed, shuffling past her to try and make your exit. Millie was shocked with how long a journey you had and had assumed you lived near the stadium as you were at Mack’s earlier in the evening. You chatted until your friends were ready to leave and finally asked how she knows your friends, questioning why he has never mentioned knowing the defender before now. Turns out her mum knows his mum from grassroots and she very rarely pops by, the game just happened to have been played near their house and Mack hadn’t seen her since he was a child. “I’m sorry I made tonight tough for you” she said, touching your back for reassurance which you barely felt through the puffiness of the coat. “It’s okay, nothing a tea can’t fix” you’d had a good night in the end, knew why you were triggered and was able to get over it quickly with her help. “No it’s not okay, I should be more aware of how my words and actions affect people” she looked down at the ground with embarrassment. “It’s not your job to accommodate me” you said bluntly still feeling like she was babying you. Before she could reply Mack called out that they were ready to leave and interrupted your conversation. You thanked Millie again for the coat but insisted you wouldn’t need it as you’ll be sat on a train, trying for the last time to return the offering but once again she stopped you. “Can I drive you home?” This girl just doesn’t give up! You had to put your foot down and raised your eyebrow in a ‘I’m so done with you’ way, “okay! You don’t need babysitting, I get it! Keep the coat though please” she smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes over exaggeratedly, your eyes rolled and reluctantly agreed to keep her from continuing to fuss. Holding her arms out to initiate a hug, you hesitated but hugged goodbye quickly when she called you out for leaving her hanging then made your way to the station.

On your second train of the night you were now half way home with an hour to go when your phone pinged.

“Did you get home safe?”

“It’s Millie by the way”

“I asked Mack’s mum to send me your number 🙊”

3 messages came through immediately one after the other.

“Good job you’re a footballer cause you can’t count!” you replied sarcastically “two hour journey I said, not one!” Sending a selfie of yourself, hood up earphones in and very obviously still on a train.

M - “Wish you had just let me take you home, you’d have been in bed by now”

Y - “Still babysitting are we?”

M - “No just checking this cute girl I met tonight is safe, that’s all 🙂”

Struggling not to spit out your drink as you read the last message you stumbled over how to reply. Was she seriously flirting with you right now? Settling for a funny but ugly faced selfie with “cute you say? 😂” to gauge if she really was flirting or just being kind.

M - “Don’t ruin your pretty lil face please”

M - “Although if any creep comes and sits near you that face will make them run a mile 🤣”

Y - “Didn’t work on you though did it 😉”

M - “Cheeky! 😳”

M - “Sorry again about tonight”

Y - “You’re gonna have something to actually be sorry about soon if you don’t stop!”

Y - “Honestly it’s okay, your actions after I told you speak louder than your ones before”

M - “That’s a nice thing to say”

Y - “Yeah you’re not used to saying nice things are you!”

M - “Shut ittt! What ya listening to?”

Y - “Nothing, I just put them in so no one talks to me, I need to hear the station announcements otherwise I get distracted and miss my stop 🙃”

With that she tried to FaceTime you but assuming it was a mistake, you didn’t answer.

M - “You ignoring me now?”

Y - “Assumed it was a butt dial 🤷🏻‍♀️”

M - “No I wanna see your face”

Y - “I’ve already sent you a photo!”

Your message had barely delivered when she tried to call you again, staring at your phone for a while before reluctantly answering; you wanted to be left alone to process the day and unwind from the overstimulation you had endured for hours but here you were FaceTiming with Millie Bright. What a mad day! “You don’t give up easily do you?“ was your opening line, “not when I want something, no” she smiled from the other side of the phone. Giving her a stern look with a raised brow you really didn’t know how to take her, what you did know is that her cheeky smile made you feel warm inside... It was either that or her massive coat still wrapped around you! She asked how long until your station and set a timer so you didn’t miss it which you secretly thought was adorable and incredible thoughtful. “For someone who didn’t want my coat, you’re still wearing it” she teased, rolling your eyes again as you leant your head on the window. She asked you where home was and said again that she would have driven you as she lives near by, you replied cheekily that your mum told you not to get into a car with a stranger. “Strangers are we?” her voice turned high pitch and excitable, “we’re hardly anything other!” you hit back. Millie wanted to change that and asked you to tell her about yourself, explaining that you’re exhausted you suggested she go first as your blinking slowed, you barely had the energy to stay awake let alone make small talk.

“Okayyy... I’m Millie, 29 years old” you were surprised at her age as she seemed older which she jokingly took offence to. You exchanged birthdays, star signs and talked about family - something that means a lot to the both of you. “I’m a footballer, as you know” pulling a 💁🏼‍♀️ face, “oh are you? I didn’t know that! I did wonder how you got this coat” you said popping the hood sarcastically. “Can certainly tell you live up to your star sign, your sarc is off the charts!” seemingly impressed that someone can keep up with her banter. “Your simp is off the charts!” you snapped back quickly. “Shit, is it that obvious?” her eyes widened in shock as you nodded in a ‘well duh’ sort of way. “So you’ve known I’ve had the hots for you all this time and you’ve just been knocking me back?” she asked as she laid down on her bed holding the phone above her head looking sleepy and adorable. Telling her you couldn’t let her have it easy, plus you didn’t know if she was flirting or just being friendly because she fucked up earlier, Millie assured you she wouldn’t do that but you reminded her that you didn’t actually know her and it pays to be cautious. “You were a right bellend and then went all soft” you said kicking your feet up on the chair in front of you, “I was just having a bad day” she muttered glancing away from the camera, “wanna talk about it?”. She spoke about her day at Chelsea, they sent her away as she’s still not fit to play, she can’t talk about her injury as it’s in her contract not to, she just wanted to be playing with the girls and is sad she’s missing out on the last England camp before the World Cup. Camp is her fave place to be and was extra sad because she’s missing out on seeing her best friend.

The alarm went off on Millie’s phone so you knew the next stop was yours, you thanked her for keeping you company but she wouldn’t let you say goodbye until you were safe in your car. Nobody had cared this much about your safety before accept your mum but you were still sceptical whether it was because she felt guilty for causing you to have a meltdown earlier.

“Are you home?” pinged up on your phone as you pulled up on your driveway. You couldn’t help the corners of your mouth turn up as you saw her name flash but decided to keep her waiting while you made your way inside your home, turning on the lights and pulling on your bed clothes before falling into bed. Sending her a photo of your bedroom TV showing Friends and telling her to let you know an address to send her coat back to.

M - “The coat was a reason to see you again”

Y - “Oh and there was me thinking you were doing it out of the kindness of your own heart”

Your phone vibrated next to you as she tried to FaceTime you again, this girl just does not quit! “Are you single?” she immediately opened with as soon as you answered phone and plotted to play with her a little. “Who’s asking?” you teased, “me, obviously!” she giggled, anxiously waiting for an answer. “Oh no sorry, I’m taken” you paused before laughing. “Yes I’m single, haven’t found someone who can handle all this yet. I’m not into girls though soz” struggling to keep a straight face with the lie you told. “I don’t believe that, I’m not the only one who’s been flirting all night!” her voice once again high pitched as she sat up in bed appearing more alert with the conversation. “How dare you insinuate such a thing!” your tone turning dramatic, playing with her. You chatted for a little while until your eyes couldn’t stay open much longer and started to drift off. Millie watched you drop to sleep before hanging up, for some reason she wanted you and she wasn’t gonna stop until she got you.

—————————

“Good morning beautiful 😘” was the first notification you saw when you picked your phone for the first time of the day to look at the time.

Y - “It’s been a long time since I woke up to one of those texts 🤭”

M - “I’m surprised about that”

Y - “get to know me better and maybe you won’t be lol”

M - “I’d like to, are you going to the game tonight?”

The text exchange had been non-stop since your train ride home a few days ago. You hadn’t gotten tickets for the England v Australia game tonight as the stadium looked tricky to get to and two unknown stadiums in one week was just a bit too much overstimulation for you. Millie wasn’t taking no for an answer though as she asked you to go with her and to meet at her house, she’ll drive so there’ll be no public transport involved. You said you’ll think about it but in typical Millie fashion she replied “it’s a date, be here at 7 😉” sending you a pin of her address. You didn’t reply after that, still trying to keep her guessing. Of course you’d go if it meant seeing Millie again, your head had been filled with thoughts of her since the day you met!

Pulling up on Millie’s drive and climbing out of your car, she must have been watching and patiently awaiting your arrival as her front door flew open the moment she heard the hum of an engine. “Nice coat!” she shouted from the doorway, “I’ve got my own in here” you called out to her when opening the boot of your car to look for it. “Keep it, it looks good on you” she winked, holding her arms out for a hug, kissing you on the forehead as she squeezed you tightly then held her passenger door open for you to slip in. “So..” she started after turning the radio down “I’m gonna park in the player’s car park and we’re gonna go in through the back door, they don’t show that on the map” - informing you of what’s going to happen tonight. It was admirable that she’d taken on board what you’d said last time and was trying to ensure that you would be comfortable. “I haven’t looked at the map for tonight, I trust you�� turning to smile at her after clicking your seatbelt in place. For the first time in ages you’d agreed to a spontaneous plan and hadn’t researched it to an inch of it’s life. The conversations you’d had with her for hours on end made you feel safe, like you could rely on her to make sure you have a stress-free evening. “That’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever had” turning to look at you and squeezing your thigh. “Okayyy, what I’m hearing is that not a lot of people trust you so I shouldn’t?” jokingly opening the maps app on your phone. “No, stop. Obviously normal compliments are fine but being trusted feels better than say.. being called pretty or something” she shrugged. “Well you’re that too, I’ll see if I still trust ya at the end of the night” chuckling softly at the playful interaction. Both of you knew that the feelings between you were mutual and the days of pretending you didn’t were long gone.

Pulling into a space close to the England bus, Millie guided you across the car park towards the stadium, away from the hustle and bustle of thousands of fans making their way inside. As you neared closer her hand grazed against yours before locking your fingers together making your tummy do cartwheels. She flashed her lanyard and got waved inside, she lead you up the stairs and into a box, grabbing you both a tea and settling into your seats where she made sure you were on the aisle again. Eyeing up the line up together her head was almost on your shoulder as she leant over to look at your phone. The game was bleak, Millie watched you stand up and sit down every two minutes shouting support at the team, at a moment where you were sitting her hand found its way onto your thigh again “I love how into this you’re getting” she chuckled as softly as her eyes looked into yours. “I’m comfortable, I’m not like this if I’m not” shrugging at her comment. “Like the first game?” she asked, you nodded and explained how being yourself is harder when you’re uncomfortable then asked if she’s frustrated watching her team losing. “No, you watch the game but I’m studying it. Where we’re going wrong, what could have been done differently. It’s all learning. Yeah, it’s gutting but it helps us prepare for the World Cup… you carry on though, it’s cute” nudging her shoulder into yours. “My friends think I’m embarrassing” standing up again to watch a corner be taken, “I’d prefer you to be yourself” the defender’s hand grazed your back as she stood up next to you.

The evening was filled with smiley flirty glances towards each other and at half time she made her move, lifting her arm up and around your shoulders allowing you to snuggle into her. You reminded your date that the cameras would probably show her at some point but she didn’t care. This made you blush a little as you sunk further into her; with your feet up on the seats in front of you, it felt super cosy. The Lionesses came away with a loss, the first L under Sarina’s management. It was a tough pill to swallow as fan and player but you couldn’t have been prouder of the team. Losing made you appreciate women’s football, the crowd just accepted it and moved on. No arguments or swearing or violence - proud of the players regardless. Allowing the fans to trickle out of the stadium before making your exit, Millie held your hand every step of the way and once in the car park wrapped her arm around your shoulders again until you got to the car.

Her hand never left your thigh during the entire drive home and pulling up outside the house you were quick to climb out the car and wave goodbye, you desperately wanted to stay but suddenly felt awkward, what if she didn’t want to kiss you? You could never live with yourself if you were rejected. Heading towards your own car a hand clasped around your wrist, Millie was pulling you back towards her. “Can’t wait to get away from me aih?” she asked with a smirk as her forefinger stroked the hair out of your face. “No.. it’s not that..” looking down at your feet as your reply was muttered, “what is it then?” using the same finger to lift your chin so you were looking up at her. Her bright blue eyes and floppy blonde bun made you subconsciously moisten your lips as your eyes flickered between her facial features. This told Millie everything she needed to know as she moved her hand to the side of your neck and leant down to place a kiss softly upon your lips. Tiptoeing to meet her half way, her other hand held the small of your back pulling you closer into her, yours balanced on her hips as your lips entwined further. “Stay with me” escaped her mouth between kisses, your lips smiling against hers as small nods moved your head in agreement, faces still joined together until she pulled away to guide you towards the house. You’d had such a good night that you didn’t want it to end! Watching her close the door behind her you were quickly pulled back into her arms “I’ll have my coat back now” she smirked, pushing it over your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Kicking your shoes off she wrapped her arms around your waist and you draped yours around her neck, tiptoeing to reach her as your lips found their way together again. As she started to lift you up off the floor you broke away, “you shouldn’t be doing that!” concerned about her knee, “don’t worry about it” her voice had turned husky between kisses as you connected your legs around waist. She walked you over to the sofa, sitting down with you on top of her, hands on each others face. Pulling her bunchie out to release her wavy blonde hair made you smile more as it dropped past her shoulders. “You have a beautiful smile” she said tucking your hair behind your ears before kissing you again “I’ve been dying to do this since I met you” she whispered. You questioned her statement as she seemed so grumpy, she insisted that she was smitten the moment you shared your food with her. “That’s why I sat down next to you, I couldn’t have gone inside” she reassured you that she didn’t realise how blunt she came across, especially if you don’t know her very well. All that was blown away now as you felt her hands pull your head towards hers again, you spent the night getting to know each other’s mouths until you fell asleep on her chest. As she stroked your hair your mind filled with happy little flutters, you felt like you’d finally found your person, someone that took the time to truly understand you.

[linkemon]

The good, the bad and the dirty (Aomine Daiki x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

"— ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ…— ᴅᴀɪᴋɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ, ᴀꜱ ɪꜰ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪꜰʏ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ. — …ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜ? — ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ." ᴀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴀᴏᴍɪɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪɢʜ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ. ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ…

Aomine stopped on the gravel path. He listened for a moment. There were strange noises coming from the gym. Momoi had once told him that it was haunted. For a moment, he had actually believed her but then he met Kuroko. The boy, with his enthusiasm for training and his ability to distract attention, had unconsciously acted like a real ghost. Daiki had laughed off the silly rumors the next day but now he wasn't so sure if there wasn't some truth to them. He checked his phone to make sure he hadn't mixed up anything:  

Tetsu

I got sick. I won't be at training today.  

So no. It should be just him here. He looked around nervously. The schoolyard was empty. There was no one who could accompany him. The whole team had already gone home. He licked his lips nervously. He could actually leave but he shouldn't chicken out...He won't. Probably...

— Shit! I'm coming! — He gripped his ball tightly.  

He wasn't a wimp, after all. People in middle school shouldn't be afraid of a made-up ghost. Surely someone was just making fun of him. He lifted his head proudly. He quickened his pace, afraid of changing his mind at the last moment.  

Aomine gently opened the door and looked around the room. The strong halogen lights illuminated the room. It gave him courage.  

A girl ran through the middle of the court. She dribbled skillfully towards the basket. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was certainly no ghost. You could even say she looked very pretty. Especially considering her curves. Aomine had long since stopped caring about how others viewed his perception of the opposite sex. If a woman had large breasts, he saw nothing wrong with admiring them. A compliment like any other.  

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her practice. She seemed to be honing her basic skills. Crossover. Right. Left. Throw. Then the reverse. And so on and so forth.  

At one point the ball bounced off the basket and rolled right at his feet. Daiki picked it up and twirled it on his finger. It spun for a moment. He sent it back towards the student. He had to admit she had quick reflexes because she caught it correctly.  

— Hi! — she called, dribbling. — Did you come to practice too, Aomine-san?

Shock must have shown on his face. After all, it wasn't every day that he met a stranger who knew who he was.  

— How do you know my name? — He stepped closer.

— It’s hard not to know a member of the Generation of Miracles just by going to Teikō — she said.  

He probably hadn't realized how recognizable he was until now. His career was just starting to take off. He had a feeling that one day he would go far but it seemed that everything happened faster than he thought. Kise was the one who could boast about his popularity. Female fans were running after him everywhere. They begged for his autograph, a photo together or left him gifts. He didn't envy him. They could be awfully annoying.  

— I'm in the basketball club, so I watched your games — she added.  

So he was wrong after all. It wasn't his five minutes of fame yet. Maybe that was for the best.  

— Hmmm…— A low growl escaped his throat. — How about one-on-one?

He was convinced that she would refuse. Most people were afraid to play with him. If they saw him, they should have sensed defeat. Years of street basketball had instilled in him wild instincts. He had developed reflexes to a superhuman level. He wasn't afraid to admit that he was good. He knew his abilities and constantly pushed the boundaries of what held him back. This discouraged many people who saw no point in competing with him.  

However, to his surprise, the girl put her ball aside and with a smile stood ready to fight.  

— I’m [Reader]. — She held out her hand.  

He shook his hand, feeling the firm grip. She certainly had no shortage of strength.

Daiki wasn't entirely sure how it worked. Could sports be some form of communication that only a select few could understand?  For some reason, that seemed true. This game seemed to say more about the person he had just met than words could.  

She had the drive. She put her heart into basketball. It was obvious to him. Especially since Tetsu was his friend. And he embodied that attitude. There was a stubbornness to the game. Not as fierce as his own but more thoughtful. The girl was weighing her options.  

After a few minutes, he understood what it was all about. He knew why she had been practicing the basics that evening. She had a real talent for throwing. Maybe not as big as Midorima's but still big. Everything went perfectly if he didn't have time to defend. No matter how weird the angle she took. She scored quite a few points. But she couldn't compete with him. Since they were competing seriously, he decided not to give her a head start. Her feints were poor. It was also hard for her to keep up with her murderous pace of running. He suspected that her passing was also mediocre. However, he didn't have a chance to see them because it was just the two of them. So he shamelessly exploited these weaknesses to finally gain a crushing advantage.

He waited for the moment when she would break down. For that familiar expression that he saw more and more often on the faces of his rivals. For a moment of revelation when she would understand her own shortcomings in the face of his skills. But she didn't stop. Even when she fell, exhausted, she got up and continued. Someone might say that he should stop then. But he saw the will to fight in her eyes. He recognized that hunger for a worthy opponent. The same one that consumed him so he couldn't stop himself.  

He felt warm but not because of the sweat glistening on his tanned skin. It was some kind of happy feeling, manifesting itself in the area of ​​his belly. When she smiled, something inside him fluttered, wanting to come to the surface. He wanted to continue, eternally untiring. The more he thought about it, the sillier it seemed. Could this be love at first sight?  

Damn it! — he thought. He really got distracted and she took the ball from him. She barely managed to score another point. He couldn't help but feel a smile creeping onto his lips. This was real basketball. The kind he liked. 

He wasn't an idiot. He liked her. Maybe love was too strong of a word but something about her drew him in. From her looks, to her mannerism and passion she exuded. He wanted to spend more time with her. To get to know her better.

— I’ll come over and watch your game sometime — he said casually.  

He said this while jumping to the basket. He preferred to have his back turned. He didn't consider failure. But just in case, it would be better not to see her face if she refused him.  

The girl stopped for a moment. They were just resuming play after a point but he could see that something had changed in her posture. She seemed to stiffen slightly.  

— I would love to invite you but I'm not in the starting lineup. — She hit a three-pointer.

That surprised him. Had the female Teikō gained strong players in such a short time? It seemed to him that they were still looking for them. The semester had only just started. She should definitely be there. True, she seemed average against him, but he was different. Besides, her mistakes were easy to correct quite quickly. And with such accuracy, the team would certainly go far.  

— Why? — The boy was really curious.

He expected her to shrug off the question. Satsuki usually did that when he asked her what was going on. She often said it was none of his business and that he shouldn't meddle in other people's business (unless it was Kuroko, which was a different matter entirely). But she wasn't Momoi.  

— The coach and captain don’t think someone my size can play — she said bluntly.  

This wasn't what he expected at all. What was he supposed to say now? That he was sorry? That it was idiotic? The girls he'd been hanging out with up until now probably wanted to hear that. They usually liked to tell each other that they weren't overweight. The last time he'd told a friend she'd gained weight, she hadn't spoken to him for a week.  

— I know that look. — [Reader] rolled her eyes in a showy manner. — Don't say you're sorry. I don't need comforting. I know I'm fatter than most of the girls on the team and I know my limits. But that doesn't give those two bitches the right to look down on me. I'll make it to the starting lineup and show them they were wrong. — With that, she returned to the game.  

He didn't know what shocked him more. The fact that she had just called the teacher a bitch (from what he had heard about her, she deserved it) or the fact that she was accepting a fact that most people would have a hard time accepting. She was indeed wider in some places but he didn't see that as a problem. Especially with her playing. If she pulled herself together enough, she would get a promotion sooner or later.  

— Women with curves are attractive!  

She gave him the middle finger and he smiled. She was definitely refreshing compared to his previous friends.  

— What? I'm telling the truth!  

She shook her head and dribbled toward the basket.  

He knocked the ball out of her hands, then outpaced it by a step. He jumped into the air. It might not have been a perfect dunk. He still lacked the height and strength to do it right. Still, he hung in the air for a moment. He watched with glee as the orange streaked through the rim. He knew he was showing off like a brat but he didn't even try to fight it.  

— I'm sure you'll get in. — He looked into her eyes for a moment. He wanted her to know he wasn't teasing. He really meant it.  

[Reader] pushed back her sporty ponytail. She didn't say anything. She just started playing again. They spent the entire evening like that.  

Suddenly, the ringing of his phone pierced through the squeak of his sneakers. He was about to close the flap when he saw the screen: Mother. That meant trouble. She had shouted at him as soon as he answered. So much so that he had held the device away from his ear. He was supposed to come back earlier today to help her carry the heavy bags. He tried to defend himself but the clock in the ward clearly showed that it was way past time. He hung up in the middle of a tirade. She wouldn't tell him anything new anyway. All he could do was run home as fast as he could.  

[Reader] was laughing on the side the entire time. She was clearly having a wild time watching him get lectured.  

— Thanks for the match! — She grabbed her backpack from the floor.  

— Thanking me for stomping you into the ground? — Aomine grinned.  

She hit him in the arm. It didn't hurt, although she had a lot of strength. It was just that his muscles were so developed that he didn't feel much.  

— I'll get even next time. — The girl uttered a curse in her mouth.  

— Who said there would be a next time? — The boy raised an eyebrow.  

It seemed as if they were good friends, even though they had only met that day. It felt strange. Especially since all the girls he had been interested in so far had only been distinguished by their looks. He had never managed to connect with any of them. They accepted that he was interested in sports but none of them saw in it what he saw. It was as if they understood the general idea but did not know the essence of his passion.  

True, he had Satsuki with him. But he couldn't look at her as anything other than his younger sister. They lived close by and had known each other since childhood. Besides, she made gooey eyes at his best friend. She understood, to some extent, what was going on in Daiki's head but he hadn't met anyone outside his usual circle of friends who understood him in ages.  

They headed for the door. [Reader] didn't say anything since he'd dismissed the idea of ​​repeating the meeting. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

— If you ever want to train together, I'm already helping my teammate. We hang out here almost every day at this time. You're welcome to join. — Aomine scratched the back of his neck.  

Kuroko probably shouldn't mind. If he knew him, he'd probably be happy about it. Especially since they were very similar in some ways.  

— Really? — He felt as if her whole face had lit up. But it was possible that it was just the moonlight coming out from behind the clouds.  

— Yeah — he murmured in confirmation.  

— Well, see you then! — She ran away happily. 

Aomine was eating the burger and stuffing himself with fries. Crispy bun, juicy meat and some unnecessary vegetable additions. That familiar taste brought back memories. And a big cola. He took a sip through a big straw. The dark, cold and sweet liquid was bubbling with bubbles. He felt just like he did at the beginning of middle school. Only better. That's what he kept telling himself.  

Because now it was late at night. Dark and quiet. No one bothered him. There was only one employee on shift at Maji Burger, minding his own business. He didn't even look in his direction.  

When he used to come here, he was surrounded by noise. Colleagues fighting over who would order first or who owed whom money. It seemed as if the warm afternoons had disappeared somewhere far away. As if they had happened years ago, even though they hadn't. He didn't miss it. He couldn't because he had chosen it himself. That loneliness that, as if to spite him, made itself known at moments like this.

Daiki leaned his head against the window. Neon lights illuminated the uninteresting views. He glanced at the table. He had ordered way too much food. He wouldn't be able to finish all of this and the money would be wasted. Why had he done that in the first place? He hadn't come here with the boys in a long time. They'd seen each other at games but only official ones. He didn't want to meet up with them, so he avoided them like the plague. Besides, from what he knew, they'd stopped spending time together. They weren't a team, just a collection of individuals. And now each of them had graduated from Teikō.  

The soft bell above the door chimed. He didn't care until he heard a familiar voice. He froze with the burger halfway to his mouth.

[Reader]. She was the one who was getting her shake from the lighted counter. He didn't believe in gods but at that moment he was praying that she wouldn't notice him. Which was awfully stupid, when you think about it. Why should he be afraid of her? It didn't work out. That was all. They didn't really have a way to break up. They never officially announced that they were a couple. They didn't care about things like that. When they got to the dating stage, everything in his life started to fall apart. He told her that it wasn't going to work out. She accepted that and they were really good friends. Until he pushed his friends away too and their contact became much less.  

— Can I sit here? — She unceremoniously slid into the seat across from him.  

— If you want — he grunted quietly.  

— Middle school’s over. Time flew by, huh? — [Reader] played with her straw. Like she wasn’t entirely sure what to say.  

He didn't blame her. It was awkward sitting like this. Like old times. They barely saw each other. He didn't even know what exactly she was going to do now. She was going to Shūtoku but that was all he knew. After she made it to the first team, she started playing in official matches. They would surely welcome her with open arms. He told himself that he wasn't interested. And yet, he caught news about her from the ever-chattering Satsuki. And, as he looked through his phone, he followed her social media. Deep down, he knew that if he really didn't give a damn about her, he would have stopped absorbing this knowledge at every opportunity a long time ago.  

— Yes, very quickly — Aomine agreed.  

There was an awkward silence. It rang in his ears, a merciless reminder that things are different than they used to be. She used to sit right next to him. He put his arm around her, which she playfully shook off. Then he would tell some unfunny jokes, arguing about what strategy to adopt for the next match.  

She still looked as beautiful as the first day he had met her. There was still that fire burning within her that he so desperately lacked.  

He looked at the table.  

— Do you want a burger? — he asked, holding the bun out to her.  

— Wow, my favourite! Thanks!  

He cursed himself mentally. He had unknowingly bought the one she loved the most. In fact, all of the items on his plate were Generation of Miracles' preferences.  

It was probably the first time in a long time that she was happy about something he did. Because she certainly wasn't happy with what he had become. He regretted some of it but never completely.  

They ate in silence for a while. He chewed slowly. It seemed to him that he had lost his appetite. The morsels got stuck somewhere in his throat.  

— [Reader]...are you mad at me for...? — he cut off unsure. — You know... — he finished lamely.  

How many different things were hidden behind that statement. He stopped training. He left her and Kuroko to themselves. It didn't matter that they were already doing great by then. He stopped spending time with them. He missed matches. Both his and hers. And then also regular meetings and conversations. He neglected everything they had built together.  

It scared him how sentimental he sounded. And yet he wanted so badly to know what she thought about it.

— I'm not, Aomine-kun. I'm sad but I'm not mad. I understand you.

He was overwhelmed by how much basketball ruled his life. He loved it. Most of all, the feeling of competition that he no longer experienced. The better he got, the less there was left for him to discover. Practicing made his opponents seem even weaker. Daiki stood on the court and yawned. Every flip, double-tackle, feint and dunk stopped making sense. It was a vicious cycle. And the only way he dealt with it was not playing. So he pushed away everyone who had anything to do with the damned sport. He started with the team. Then his managers and friends — Satsuki. Ending with Kuroko and [Reader].

With horror, he realized that he was accusing them of something else. He was jealous. They enjoyed this discipline. It was something he had wanted but had not been able to achieve for a long time. They still had a long way to go. They enjoyed the game. While he had burned out. Of that once brightly burning passion, there was only a smoldering fire. That made it all the harder for him to see them. Even though he had been closest to them throughout his time in junior high school.  

— The only one who can beat me…— Daiki began, as if trying to justify himself.  

— ...is you? — the girl finished for him.

So she really understood him. She was probably one of the few people in his circle who did.  

— I'm sure one day you'll meet someone who'll be your perfect rival. — [Reader] looked deep into his eyes. For perhaps the first time in a long time.  

She was so similar to Kuroko but also different at the same time. That's exactly what his friend had once told him. For a while, he had truly believed him. He had played, trying to see when things would get better. Only, they never did. And then the coach had made him an offer. He didn't have to train anymore. As long as he showed up for official matches, everything was fine. That was when he finally gave up hope for change. He was tired of waiting forever. The promise he had made to the boys in the gym seemed like a last resort. Now that they had gone to different schools, they were his only chance to feel at least a part of what he used to feel. But he was certain that their skills wouldn't be enough to pose a threat, let alone defeat him. That thought had been weighing on his mind for a long time.  

— I’m going to make it to Nationals — [Reader] said. — Maybe then you’ll consider me a worthy opponent. — A slight smile played on her face. She seemed absently present as she sipped her shake. — Then let’s play one-on-one like the good old days.

He didn't know what to say. He wanted her to become strong enough. On the other hand, he probably couldn't believe she was capable of doing that. Because in his opinion, no one was. Young Aomine would have believed in her abilities without limits. The older one had a problem with that because he didn't trust anyone or anything anymore. So he looked down, going back to eating.  

— Thanks for the burger. I think it's time for me to go. — The girl stood up from her seat.  

She took a few steps away, then, as if on an impulse, turned around.  

— You can always call me — she added and with those words she left.  

— One more time, Tetsu!

The boy had misplaced his hands again. Aomine had to go over and fix them. He had to push the ball out in front of his chest if this was going to work. He shook his head.  

Daiki couldn't believe he was teaching his friend the game the day before the match. But he owed him something. To him and to Kagami. After all, they had made him look at basketball with excitement for the first time in a long time. With a passion he hadn't felt since before he went to Teikō. It was amazing that losing tha match could fill him with such hope. Finally, someone who was a real opponent had appeared. What's more, Seirin wanted to repeat the match someday.  

He finally allowed himself to smile while playing. This was the sport he was born to play. He was bursting with happiness. No more lying on the roof. Now he would get back to training. And the next time he met someone better, he would crush them into the ground. He had a purpose in life again and it was wonderful.

— I have one more favor to ask of you — Kuroko announced, trying to hit the basket again.  

— Oi, don't you think that's an awful lot of favors? — Aomine replied, amused.  

The blue-haired player tilted his head. He already knew that he wouldn't let him go. There was that annoying determination in his gaze. It lit up the darkness of the night around them.  

— [Reader] won Nationals. — He aimed and threw again.  

— I know — Daiki yawned, watching the same move over and over again. They had been practicing all evening.  

— I thought you said you weren't very interested in her life. — That was his friend. He always made it to the point, paying attention to people. And now he'd caught him at his word, too.  

— I somehow know — he muttered, turning his back.  

The bare branches of the trees behind the pitch weren't all that interesting but he pretended they were. Just for the sake of it.

— I think you should call her. — Tetsuya's voice was quiet but it reached his ears.  

He didn't answer. He felt like he was listening to his conscience. The truth was that he had watched the entire match. Aomine had also sent her a congratulatory text message but that was almost nothing. Especially since they had only seen each other a few times since they entered high school and usually by accident. Apart from that, they had exchanged holiday greetings. That was what their relationship was based on now. It was his fault. The girl had tried to renew their friendship a few times but basketball had still been an invisible wall between them. Even though they didn't talk about it, it had taken up such a large part of their lives that it had become a burden. It was hard to avoid it. Plus, they couldn't spend practice together like they used to.  

— She won’t answer — Aomine said.  

After all, she was probably celebrating with the rest of the team right now. They deserved it. But would she really reject him? He wasn't all that sure about his words.  

— I think you're wrong. — Kuroko wasn't called the Phantom Player for nothing. He had appeared right next to him when he wasn't expecting him. He couldn't help but flinch.  Maybe he was partially a ghost after all?  

— What are you doing? — Daiki asked, seeing him rapidly clicking away on his phone.  

His friend shoved the screen under his nose. He dialed her number. The contact icon blinked quickly and brightly.  

— Hang up! — Aomine panicked.  

All he got was a shake of the head. A moment later, the phone was shoved into his hand. He was about to press the red receiver when his hand froze a few centimeters from the target. He couldn't do it. Especially not after the loudspeaker boomed out:  

— Hello? Kuroko-kun?

He missed her voice so much. It didn't bother him that some noises, crackles and toasts could be heard in the background. Probably the female part of Shūtoku was happy about their victory. What mattered was that she was there.  

It took him a moment to recover.  

— This is Aomine.  

— Hey, why are you calling from Tetsu's phone? Is something wrong? Shut up, girls. I can't hear anything. — She tried unsuccessfully to reduce the amount of noise that interrupted the conversation.  

— No, Tetsu's fine...— the boy reassured her. — I'm calling because... I'm calling to congratulate you.

He took a deep breath. Since when had he been afraid? Especially of her. He should just say what he had wanted to say for a long time but had lacked the courage to say.  

He mentally cursed his friend. It always turned out that he was right in the end.  

— I know, I saw your message. I even replied to you. — The girl laughed quietly.  

— I'm not done.. I'm calling to apologize. For everything... I'll do it better when we meet again... And I want to say that if you still want to play with me someday, I'm ready.  

For a moment, the only sound on the other end was background noise. He wasn't sure if he had done the right thing. Maybe he should have used different words? Or done it at a better time? His heart was pounding. He was so nervous that he held his breath.  

— Are you on the field now? — The question caught him completely off guard.  

— Yes, in front of the stadium — Daiki confirmed, not understanding what she was getting at.  

— You better be in shape. I'm going to win! See you in twenty minutes. — With that, she hung up.  

Aomine looked at his phone, feeling a smile spread across his face for the umpteenth time that day. He already knew this was going to be a good match...

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork and Stephen Stills in Hayward, Wisconsin, summer of 1967. Photos 1 & 2 from Monkee Spectacular; photo 4 is a screenshot from Micky Dolenz Celebrates The Monkees; all photos copyright their respective owners.

Photo 1: “Peter wore beads and was quite impressed by the beauty of the Wisconsin countryside. He spent a lot of time talking to fans who recognized him on this side tour.” - Monkee Spectacular No. 8

Photo 2: “Flowers for Peter from a fan. Peter loves to get flowers as a gift and he carried these with him as he toured the village. Peter is very thoughtful and treasures the things given to him.”  - Monkee Spectacular No. 8

“The Jacobs spent Sunday morning talking with and showing the boys around Hayward. Mrs. Jacobs was particularly impressed with the Monkees who seemed to appreciate the North Country very much. The boys took pictures of native flowers, and trees and also visited an Indian village with the Jacobs, which they all enjoyed very much.” - Escabana Daily Press, August 23, 1967

“Reflecting back on the tour again for a moment, I wanted to tell you about the trip we took up to [Hayward], in Wisconsin. Micky, Davy and I hired a plane and flew up there. We spent some time on an Indian reservation, where The Buffalo Springfield were appearing in their concert. It was a gas up there, and I bought so many ‘peace’ beads, head-bands, blankets, jackets etc. Now that I am back in Los Angeles with all the gear, I am thinking of opening an ‘Indian Shop’ where the kids can come to pick up the things. Really outta sight collection. We stayed up there over night, and slept in the carriage of an ‘out-of-use’ train, which had been ‘anchored’ close-by to the reservation.” - Peter Tork, Fabulous 208, 1967

And, on a related note...

“While I was sitting in the stands [at Forest Hills Stadium in 1967], I looked to the right and I saw this beautiful fringed jacket and it was Stephen Stills of the Buffalo Springfield. I asked him for an autograph. And I asked him what he was doing at a Monkees concert, and he said his best friend was Peter Tork.” - Cindy Marino, Ossining; The Herald Statesman, May 12, 1998

“I actually have Wisconsin roots. My grandfather taught at UW-Madison and my father, mother and brother all went to school there. My mother and father got married in Racine in 1940 and my two favorite aunts lived in Wisconsin until they died. I lived in Wisconsin from the time I was 6 or 7 until I was 9, in a little town that is no longer there called Badger (near Madison). Today, as I'm driving through Ripon, I'm seeing and experiencing all kinds of things that remind me of those days. I'm a sucker for a Wisconsin accent. Every time I hear one of those Wisconsin ‘Nooooo's,’ it melts my heart.” - Peter Tork, The Journal Times, August 12, 2005

[acefms]

MEET KYRO !

if you’re hearing KINGS NEVER DIE by EMINEM playing, you have to know KYRO LEE (HE/HIM; CIS MALE) is near by! the THIRTY-ONE year old PROFESSIONAL BOXER has been in denver for, like, 31 years (part-time). they’re known to be quite SELF-CRITICAL, but being KINDHEARTED seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble CHARLES MELTON. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those BLOODY KNUCKLES, A FALLING CROWN, BAND-AID OVER EVERY CRACK, FLOWERS GROWING IN LUNGS vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the CHERRY CREEK long enough!

basic info.

NAME: kyro lee

AGE: thirty-one

BIRTHPLACE: denver, colorado

CURRENTLY RESIDES: splits his time between denver & new york

BIRTHDAY: july 29th

ZODIAC: leo

GENDER: cis male

PRONOUNS: he/him

SEXUALITY: bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

OCCUPATION: professional boxer

CURRENT TITLES: wba cruiserweight champion

[ tw: heart attack/death ]

• Kyro was born and raised in denver. While his mother and father had split by the time he was three, the two remained good friends and had a great co-parenting relationship. Though most of his time was spent with his mother as his father was often away training.

• Kyro’s father was a world famous boxer who held a number of titles, including heavyweight champion a number of times. From a very young age it was made clear that he hoped Kyro would follow in his footsteps, and for as long as Kyro can remember, this has always been his own goal too. While the two had a great relationship, Kyro often felt suffocated by the elders expectations. Expectations that he now destroys himself with.

• Sadly his father suffered a fatal heart attack three years ago and passed away as a result. Ever since then Kyro has been pushing himself towards the goals he and his father set out for him. While already a household name in boxing, he wants to become the best of the best, and dominate the industry.

• He splits his time currently between denver where his mother resides, and new york where he prefers to be when he’s getting prepared for a fight. His family is the most important thing in his life aside from his career, and everything that he does is for them. Being able to buy his mother a house is by far the greatest accomplishment of his life. He has a few half siblings, but his youngest sister Leona who is six, is the apple of his eye.

HEADCANNONS

• he is honestly such a sweetheart. while at times he can appear intimidating, he would honestly take the shoes off his own feet to give them to someone who needed them. his mother raised him to alway be humble and grateful for what he has.

• cat lover. but he currently doesn’t have one because he doesn’t have the time to dedicate to a pet.

• genuinely loves being in love but doesn’t ever seem to be able to keep a relationship because he can’t help but to prioritize his career and not many are able to handle that.

• is always the shoulder to cry on but wouldn’t dare cry on anyone else’s about his own problems because he prefers to let them fester until he reaches breaking point.

• boxing has opened up a lot of doors for him and in some ways he has a mild celebrity status, doing interviews/appearances and modelling too. though he still gets confused if anyone asks for a photo or an autograph.

POSSIBLE / WANTED CONNECTIONS

high school sweetheart — someone from denver, probably a very cute and innocent past relationship that just fizzled out after high school as they both took different paths. must be from denver!! most definitely his first love and the one that set the standard for how he treats the people he’s with. very fond memories and always a potential to rekindle something !

ex boyfriend — the person he was most serious with but once his career took off he struggled to find the balance and they split because of it. potentially still lingering feelings there or perhaps a little resentment. or maybe both.

best friend — another person that keeps his feet on the ground and reminds him to breathe. this would be the person he confides in most (though still not that much lmao) though he doesn’t need to because they know him inside out.

half-siblings — i imagine his mother and father both went on to have other children and would love some sibling vibes. his mother is white and his father korean, so please keep this in mind!

casual hook-ups / gym-buds / friends !!

please feel free to message me if you’d wanna explore any of these or have anything else in mind I’d love some connections!

[naomikozura]

Might As Well Be Looking At Us

Actor!Satoru Gojo x Model!Reader (reader is afab)

Warnings: some cursing, tabloids making some crazy headlines, nothing major (let me know if I missed anything!)

A/N: I was listening to Slut! by Taylor Swift and idk a actor x model story just popped into my head, plus the song is really good so it’s just a nice vibe.

W/C: 3.7k

Super Model Y/n L/n Spotted With New Flame?

Has Actor Satoru Gojo Found Another Name To Add To His List Of Love Interests?

Actor Satoru Gojo Seen Spotted with Jewelry Hieress

World Famous Model Y/n L/n Seen With Japanese Billionaire At A Charity Dinner

Satoru Gojo spotted with Co-Star Mei Mei, New Flame or Publicity Stunt For New Movie?

Super Model Y/n L/n Sparking New Romance With Toji Fushiguro, Japan's Most Notable Business Man

Satoru Gojo: Japan's Playboy Bachelor

Y/n L/n: Japan's Most Beloved Model and Most Eligible Bachelorette

• • •

Tonight was the night of the benefit dinner held by the Zen’in Foundation. They were raising money to help fund a new school system within Tokyo, especially to help kids who’s parents couldn’t afford the tuition at many prestigious schools for their children. The head of board, Maki Zen’in, was passionate about helping these families. She too had once been apart of a family that accepted a grant to go and study for her future. It’s what led to the rise of the Zen’in Foundation. It was inspiring how someone so young could rise to the occasion so quickly.

The night was filled with lively music, photographers, endless trays of champagne and hors d’oevre for the attending guests. Servers in fancy tuxedos walked around while serving drinks, the giant ballroom full of all types of Japan’s elite. Actors, models, businessmen and women, philanthropists, fashion designers, magazine editors, heiresses, photographers, musicians. This night had the greatest turn out in the history of the Foundation.

Outside the Gala, was an onslaught of paparazzi, magazine interviewers, and fans of the most renowned people attending the event. The flashes of lights blinded nearly every person who stopped to pose for the photographers, letting them capture their outfit for the night with their plus one in attendance.

The loud chatter seemed to die when a familiar black van with tinted windows pulled to the curb, security ensuring the attendee inside made it out safely. The flashes stopped for a split second as the door opened and a head of white hair appeared.

Dressed in custom tailored Ralph Lauren suit, and a white shirt nicely layered underneath his suit jacket, wearing black dress shoes and his hair done in a messy yet proper style, Satoru Gojo stepped out into the flood of screams as chaos erupted. Fans waving posters for autographs and photographers calling his name for a photo.

His charming smile spread across his face as he grabbed a few pens, signing posters, taking photos with fans, and saying hello to others. Satoru enjoyed meeting fans regardless of what his PR manager said. He was a famous Actor who needed to be more careful. He didn’t care, he enjoyed meeting the people who loved him.

“Satoru! What new project are you working on?”

“Satoru Gojo, is it true that you have a new lover you’re keeping secret?”

“Gojo! What size shoe are you!”

“Satoru over here!"

“I have a question for you Mr. Gojo!”

He smiled as he looked up, the screaming of photographers seeming to die down as another van pulled up to the event. Satoru looked at the car from the poster he was signing, walking towards the entrance of the catwalk as he waited patiently for the door to open.

As the security opened the door, a beautiful woman dressed in a stunning golden dress. A sweetheart neckline with a one shoulder style, the dress tightly around her waist as the train followed behind her delicately. She wore golden heels to match her attire, her h/c hair down with the front slicked back and pushed behind her ears. The moment she stepped out of the vehicle and looked up, the crowd exploded into screams and flashes of lights.

Satoru felt his breath get stolen right from his lungs and his words trapped in his throat. He’d never seen anyone look so regal, classy, so… perfect.

“Miss L/n, Who are you here with?”

“Y/n, Y/n over here!”

“Y/n L/n, is it true you and Mr. Toji Fushiguro are secretly in a relationship or is it a different billionaire?”

"Y/n, Is Mr Fushiguro secretly funding your lifestyle?"

“Y/n!”

Y/n L/n.

A well known super model throughout the country of Japan and even every country on this side of the world. You had grown into your fame, always holding yourself to a high standard and never letting the tabloids know too much about your life.

Of course Satoru had heard about you, seen you in magazines and on the tv but he never seen you in person.

You were more perfect in person than he’d ever imagined. It was the first time someone had taken his breath away in god knows how long. In ever actually.

You posed beautifully for photos, your smile fitting your face perfectly as you made sure to show off the details of your gorgeous gown.

You kept walking until one of the security grabbed your hand, helping you up the stairs. Satoru snapped out of his dazed look, making his way through the photography tent and walking inside after posing for a quick moment.

He tried to find you but you had already slipped into the crowd. A server walked by with a tray of champagne and he requested a whiskey neat instead, the server nodding before heading to the bar.

“Satoru!”

“Suguru! Hey, long time no see!”, Satoru greeted his old friend from his high school days. Suguru Geto had become a famous stunt actor, fighting and doing crazy stunts in all his films that he was up for a lot of awards for his work.

“How is everything? How’s that new movie working out for you?”

“Man, you have no idea. I have to do a million things for one scene and it’s exhausting but hey, it’s what pays the bills right?”

The two of them laughed, catching up on their busy lives before Satoru noticed Suguru look behind him, his eyes flickering with a desired look. Satoru turned, seeing the very person holding his friend’s gaze.

You.

You were talking to Utahime Iori, a famous fashion designer and Shoko Ieiri, a well known surgeon and doctor in Tokyo. From the looks of it, it would seem the three of you had known each other for years. You smiled at them as the three of you laughed over something that Satoru couldn’t quite make out.

“She’s better looking in person, don’t you think?”, Suguru asked as Satoru looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I didn’t think someone could look so good honestly.”, he admitted, his blue eyes caught in a daze.

“You think she’ll take my number if I give it to her?”

“Doesn’t she turn down guys all the time?”, Satoru mentioned, remembering watching an interview of yours online about your love life being strictly yours and you often turned down random men who asked for your time.

“Yeah but I mean, I’m sure they’re bums or something. I’m sure for us it’ll be easier, right?”, Suguru smirked before placing his empty whiskey glass on a server tray, straightening his suit and walking towards you.

Satoru leaned on the standing table, watching to see how the scene would play out in front of him. Suguru reached you as you excused yourself from Shoko and Utahime.

“I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you in person Suguru. I’ve heard a lot about your movies and all those stunts you do. I’m surprised you don’t have more scars than you show”

“I mean, it’s hard work but all worth it in the end if it means doing something I love”, he smiled flirtatiously, cool and suave, as he listened to you talk about your favorite movie of his. It made Suguru feel prideful knowing he had even an inkling of your attention.

“Well, how about you? Model of the Year?”, he said as you took a sip of your champagne.

“Oh, I mean.”, you smiled, looking at your glass before looking up at him. “There are.. a lot of amazing women up for the award this year. I think it’s good to empower women to keep working for that goal, you know? Even if I don’t win, atleast another woman who worked just as hard will and I think that’s what matters the most”

Satoru couldn’t help but feel antsy, he wanted to know what the two of you were talking about. Was he being obvious in hitting on you? You were smiling a lot, your body language seemed open and relaxed. Suguru was a lot more smooth and popular with women than he let on. The tabloids always made him out to be a gentleman because of his respectful persona whereas they made Satoru look like a player because of his friendliness.

“Well, I don’t want to take up your time from your friends, Y/n. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in dinner sometime, just the two of us.”, Suguru said it almost as a statement, not questioning himself because he knew most women liked when men took the initiative to ask them on dates.

You smiled at him, before you placed your empty drink on a server tray and turned to him again.

“I’d love to, Suguru.” you started, his inner thoughts celebrating. “But, I don’t think it would be a good time right now. I have a lot to focus on at the moment, but if you want to grab a coffee as friends we can definitely do that”

There’s no way, right?

You just friendzoned Suguru.

He smiled at you, handing you a small card with his number on it.

“I’d love to grab coffee as friends sometime”, he smiled as you grabbed the card, giving him a gentle hug as he walked back towards where Satoru sat.

“Dude… No way she just hugged you”

“Well she did”, Suguru said as he grabbed the second round of whiskey from the tray. “She also friendzoned the shit out of me”

Satoru tried to control his expression. Did you really turn down the heartthrob Suguru Geto? The one every woman considered a catch? Gentleman, charming, smart, talented, funny, rich? He wondered why.

The night continued with small talk, a few speeches, and a dance floor before opening into the donation event. The auction would happen right after dinner was served, leaving room for more socializing and networking.

You had walked over to the balcony, excusing yourself from your friends and letting yourself get a breather after a long day of work followed by this event. You were tired to say the least, but you liked attending these events, especially for the cause Maki Zen’in had organized it for. You were once in a position like hers, not having enough money to attend school so your parents went into debt because of it. Once you became a successful model, you were able to pay off all your family’s debt and move them to a nicer home.

You let your thoughts wander as you made your way out of the big ballroom. You found a small staircase that led to the floor below the mansion, following it into the garden that had a pool in the middle filled with water lilies and a few koi fish. You smiled at how beautiful the moonlight reflected off the water, taking in the cool breeze of the night.

“Needed to get away for a bit, huh?”, you turned to look at the voice behind you, your eyes widening at seeing the infamous white haired actor. He looked absolutely devastating, like he was groomed into this life.

“Yeah, too many people. It’s starting to get overwhelming”, you admitted. You didn’t have a care in the world admitting even you got tired of attending social events.

“I get the feeling. It’s like, once you become famous enough you suddenly have to be okay with attending more events than you can keep track of.”, he laughed, his humor reaching your ears as you smiled.

“Exactly. Why do we have to come to these things? The only reason I’m here is for the Zen’in Foundation.”

“You know the Zen’ins?”, Satoru asked softly. There was no need to talk too loud if it was just the two of you. The music from above creating good background noise.

“Only Maki, she was a child when I met her but her mother knew mine. They were good friends but even though we have quite an age difference, we still support each other regardless”, you smile at the memory of your friendship with Maki. She was almost like a little sister to you.

“It’s good to keep family ties. Not many people can say they still have them”, he breathed as he looked at you with calm eyes. Your eyes met his in a calm way, the blue reflecting in the moonlight.

“So, what is the infamous Satoru Gojo doing out here with little me?”, you asked playfully, watching as he straightened and removed his suit jacket, throwing it on a nearby chair.

“Wondering what I can do to get the gorgeous Y/n L/n to dance with me?”, he said as he stretched a hand out to you, a slow song playing softly from above. A dance waltz. You smiled at him, grabbing his hand, before you pulled away.

“If we’re not being formal,”, you said as you took off your painful heels, tossing them to the side as you grabbed his hand again. “They were killing my feet”

“No complaints here”, he smirked as your placed a hand on your waist and you placed your hand on his shoulder and the other clasped in his.

The both of you moved in sync with the music, you missing a few steps as you tripped but laughed it off as he chuckled. His humor filling the air as the two of you talked softly about your lives, not saying too much but enough to keep the conversation going. He twirled you in a final move before bowing you, his eyes meeting yours before pulling you back upright as the song ended.

“Satoru Gojo. Who would’ve guessed you were such a skilled dancer?” you smirked.

“And who would’ve guessed you had two left feet?”, he whispered back as he smiled. You laughed at him before sitting down in the chair, putting your heels back on and looking out at the small pool.

“For being a model, it’s hard to dance. I’m coordinated in walking the runway not stealing the dance floor”

“You’re an interesting person, Y/n”, you raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re amazing. Beyond amazing honestly, but you’re interesting.”

“Care to explain, Satoru?” why did you saying his name give him chills. He felt warm inside.

“It’s just, it feels like everyone is so… superficial.” He shrugs. “It’s nice to see someone care about their family, you know? Most people just care about rising to the top, being the best of the best for money or fame but you seem to only have your family in mind through it all.”

You didn’t say anything as you soaked in his words, watching as he pulled his lips into a charming smile.

“Suguru told me about your thoughts on being nominated for Model of the Year. I think there needs to be more women like you. Happy for whoever wins because they worked just as hard, even if you don’t physically see their work. It’s admirable”

“You flatter me.”, you smile. “I think it’s true though. Sometimes I wish people saw me for me instead of this super model. Why can’t we be nominated for awards for who we are instead of what we are? I know some girls in the industry who feel the same too.” you smiled sadly, catching yourself before you ruined the mood. You weren’t about to dump your heart and soul to someone who was trying to keep the mood happy. “What about you? What makes you different than all the superficial people in that room?”, you asked, turning the attention to Satoru.

“I started acting to get away from my family. I just wanted to prove that you can do whatever you want despite of the plan your family has for you. In my case, they wanted me to do business like the rest of them but I decided to stray. They disowned me but I didn’t really care, I just wanted to break away from that cycle of ‘Your life will go the way we planned it! There is no room for anything else!’. It’s lame but you know”

“I think it’s admirable”

“Oh now you’re flattering me”, he looked at you while laughing.

“Honest”, you raised your hands then leaned on your palm. “I think there needs to be people who break generational issues, especially if they aren’t what you really want to pursue in life”

“Yeah, I suppose so”, Satoru smiled at you as you tucked your hair back. He stood from his chair, stretching his arms as he grabbed his jacket and stretched a hand out to you.

“Shall we go back?”, you took his hand, his gentle touch bringing you warmth.

“You don’t think the photographers will think you have another name to add to your list?”, you joked.

“I think we both know what bullshit those tabloids are. Besides, they saw you going out with Toji Fushiguro to a restaurant to surprise his wife for her birthday and they assumed you two were dating”, he rolled his eyes, annoyed at the ridiculousness of the media.

You laughed as you shrugged. “Look, to be fair, they don’t know he’s married, so I get how it looks like that. But yeah, it’s pretty stupid”

Satoru liked that you joked about the stories the magazines and media published, especially with 99% of the time, none of it was true.

The two of you walked up and back into the ballroom, waving him goodbye as you went back to Utahime and Ieiri and he went back to Suguru Geto and a new face, a young up and coming horse racer, Yu Haibara.

“Where were you?!”, Utahime said brightly, Ieiri eyeing you as if you were up to something suspicious.

“Nothing, I just went outside for some fresh air”

“And you come back with the Satoru Gojo?”, Ieiri poked.

Across the room, Suguru and Haibara eyes Satoru as he smiled while taking a sip of his drink and seemed in a better mood all together.

“What has you all giddy?”, Suguru asked.

“I know what it is”, Haibara smirked, wrapping an arm around Gojo. “He walked back in with Miss Y/n L/n”

“What? No way,” Suguru looked over at you as you raised her hands in defense as Utahime pondered you with questions. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Went out for some fresh air, she was there, we talked, and then we came inside. That’s all.”

“That smile doesn’t say ‘That’s All’. More happened you dog.”, Satoru just shrugged, wanting your short lived moment to be just between the two of you.

The night went on and ended around midnight. Satoru was tired, his body sore from months worth of improper sleep and his lack of a good work life balance. Everyone said their goodbyes, waving to the cameras on the outside of the building.

Satoru paused when he saw you, contemplating in his head if it was worth shooting his shot and asking you on a date. He watched as you smiled at the security guard before he opened the door to your vehicle.

Satoru ran over to you, the paparazzi stunned at the infamous Satoru Gojo running after the attention of the stunning Y/n L/n.

“Y/n!”, he called after you, causing you to stop you from getting into your car. “Hey, how about we get together sometime. Maybe I can show you how to steal the dance floor if you’re interested in lessons” he smirked as he saw the humorous smile spread on your face. You looked up at him with glistening eyes full of curiosity and interest.

“Yeah, I would like that Satoru”, you smiled as he pulled out a card from his jacket and handing it to you, your hand softly grabbing the card. He didn’t let it go, instead leaned in and whispered in your ear.

“For the record, I thought you looked stunning tonight, I’d like to see what you look like as just Y/n.”, he gave you a small kiss on your hand before pulling away, leaving the card in your fingers as he smirked and walked away.

You watched him go, not even noticing the chaotic outbursts that just happened. You didn’t even realize how that scene just looked to the paparazzi and the attending guests. Your heart thumping in your chest as you finally got into your car and started to head home.

You looked down at the clean, well made business card of Satoru’s. It had his name and number on it.

You turned it over, recognizing some scrippled blank pen writing.

I’ d give you an award for having the best heart, we need more people like you, just Y/n.

You smiled stupidly before tucking the card in your clutch, staring out the window at the passing city lights as you thought of the charming white haired bachelor from tonight.

• • •

Breaking! Satoru Gojo and Y/n L/n In A New Romance?

Model Y/n L/n Seen Being Wooed By Tokyo’s Playboy Satoru Gojo

Have Two World Famous Names Become A One True Pairing?

The Pairing You Never Thought Of But Can’t Stop Thinking About: A Look Into The Night With Satoru Gojo and Y/n L/n

Stunning Y/n L/n Caught In The Garden With The Handsome Satoru Gojo

Y/n L/n Leaving Award Ceremony as Newly Awarded Model Of The Year With Infamous Actor Satoru Gojo On Her Arm

Has Japan's Sweetheart Been Swept Off Her Feet?

Is Japan's Playboy Finally Settling Down With Japan's Sweetheart?

• • •

~Extended Ending~

“How does she even give a guy like you a chance?”, Suguru asked while out with Satoru.

Satoru shrugged as he brought his whiskey to his lips, “It’s the Gojo Charm”

A small buzz from his pocket made him dig his phone out and flip it open. It was you.

Satoru smiled as he downed the rest of his drink and leaving cash on the bar for the Bartender.

“Gotta go, my stunning date is waiting for me”, he smirked as he waved his phone and said goodbye to Suguru.

“That bastard.”

[thedisneychef]

Tusker House Character Breakfast Review: Donald Dining Safari

Nestled in the very back corner of Animal Kingdom with a small, completely missable sign and no fancy building to speak of, it was really easy to pass right by it. In fact, I remember the first time I went there in September of 2011, it was the only character dining experience I could find on short notice (except for something with Agent Oso at Hollywood Studios…  nd that wasn’t happening). I booked my reservation begrudgingly, expecting nothing, and not really looking forward to eating there. The African themed breakfast was a turn off, Animal Kingdom isn’t my favorite park, and if it wasn’t for my compulsive need for character dining during a Disney trip, I’d have skipped it all together. I kept telling myself “at least it has Mickey Waffles.” More Delicious Recipes You Will Love: - Dole Whip Float – Aloha Isle - Fettuccine Alfredo – Italy Pavilion - French Onion Soup Recipes – Be Our Guest I expected nothing but utter disappointment in this little restaurant I’d never heard of, that nobody wanted to eat at (why else would I be able to get a reservation two weeks before my trip?), in a park I didn’t typically spend a whole day in… Then I ate there…  And Tusker House instantly went from place I was going to eat at because it had food and characters to a favorite dining experience that was not to be missed. The weird location in the tucked-away corner of what is arguably Disney’s least-favored park and poor signage made this an often overlooked hidden gem, not just at Animal Kingdom, but among all of the character dining experiences. Featuring Donald, Daisy, Mickey, and Pluto in their safari-finest, this is a very fun, family-focused character meal that I’ve been to time and time again, both on adults-only trips and family trips with small children. The check-in process for Tusker can be very lengthy and somewhat confusing, so be sure to arrive there at least 15 minutes before your reservation opens. Remember, it is in the back of the park and it does take quite the walk to get there from the front gate of Animal Kingdom… Once you’ve arrived, check in with the hostess outside and you will (eventually) be escorted behind the building to take your souvenir picture (remember, PhotoPass Photographers sometimes use your camera too! If you don’t have PhotoPass+ which entitles you to this picture at no charge, hand the photographer your camera too… They may decline, but they may not!) and then into the buffet hall off of which are two dining rooms. The dining rooms are fairly large, have lots of tables in them (almost bordering on overcrowded), and can be very loud especially as it starts to fill up or during the occasional character/kid parade (the characters lead kids with loud musical instruments in a parade through the dining room… Cute, but again quite loud and obtrusive… Who’s bright idea was it for the kids to use maracas and tambourines anyway?). The decor is fantastic… It reminds me of a train station, only instead of waiting for the train, you’re waiting for the safari. Lots of African-styled props, pictures, and other decor adorn almost every flat surface and wall. My favorite feature has to be the carpet-draped ceiling which both reminds me of Africa and the beginning to “Aladdin.” As Donald is the host of the breakfast, it goes without saying that he is there to meet and interact with. He used to be located outside-only as the character you take your souvenir photo with, however the last two times I ate there he had been “promoted” to the dining room and now comes to your table like the rest of the characters. Along with him is Mickey, Daisy, and Goofy, though occasionally Goofy rotates out in favor of Pluto while Daisy is very rarely replaced with Minnie. The characters rotate around the separate dining rooms and visit each table for what are actually pretty lengthy interactions. They will pose for pictures, sign autographs, and engage in that fun horseplay that you’d expect from Donald and the gang. In fact, one year Goofy walked off with my plate and Mickey pushed my husband out of his chair and sat with me for breakfast. Things can get pretty wild! Because they cycle through two dining rooms and have a Cast Member escort who’ll give you a heads up when a character is approaching your table, there is still plenty of time to visit the buffet and grab copious amounts of food. Want a family picture with your favorite character? See if the Cast Member escort will take a picture for you… They are usually very happy to do so! Aside from the coffee, tea, soda, water offerings one would expect, Tusker House serves a specialty juice called “Jungle Juice.”  A combination of orange, guava, and passion fruit juice, this stuff is almost worth the price of dinner by itself.  I love, love, love, love this juice and it’s my favorite non-alcoholic drink on property. My brother, who’s been to exotic locations like Fiji and Dominica says it reminds him of the drinks they had there with meals. Your experience at Tusker House isn’t complete unless you at least try it. But really, let’s get to the nitty gritty… The food. The food selection and quality here is, I think, one of the best of its kind in the parks. Despite the African theme, everything you could ever imagine is available and even the pickiest eater is sure to find something there. Safer options include the basics: bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, quite a bakery spread which include donuts, danishes, banana bread, muffins, as well as a wide assortment of whole and cut fruit, and of course, Mickey waffles. Warm offerings include sausage gravy and biscuits, oven roasted gold potatoes (both my favorites), various frittatas, and carved rotisserie ham. Among all of those safe, dare I say universally liked options, there are some signature dishes that are nothing short of delicious on their own. Mealie pap is one of the most talked-about and certainly one of the most popular. A mix between porridge and corn casserole, sweet but still salty, and judging by the fact almost everybody had at least a spoonful on their plate, a safe option for picky eaters who want to safely wander out of their comfort zone. Admittedly it’s not my favorite, but considering it’s one of my most requested and viewed recipes, I’m clearly in the minority.  I personally fell in love with the banana bread bread pudding with vanilla sauce. I’m almost embarrassed to say how much of it I have to have eaten in my life. Decadently sweet, moist, with bits of toasty crunch… Its pretty much the perfect breakfast food and something I still dream about. The beef bobotie quiche is another very popular signature dish… But I’ve yet to try it. Every time I’ve gone up, they’ve been between batches. I guess that speaks to both how popular, and how good, it really is. Really, I can’t talk about the food at Tusker without having my tummy do a happy-dance. It’s just so ridiculously good. Having eaten there in September 2011, January 2012, October 2012, January 2013, and February 2014, I can safely say it’s my favorite breakfast and they have maintained the fantastic experience I’ve come to expect over the years. The only change I’ve noticed is that while it once was a hidden gem that was very easy to walk into a reservation for, it has now become increasingly difficult to get reservations and it often fills up during peak season at the 180 day reservation mark. My last trip, it was the first non-princess character experience to be completely booked months beforehand. For people who like advantageous dining reservations which help maximize park time and minimize waits, Tusker House is one of the best choices out there for getting a jump on the day. Located a stone’s throw from Kilimanjaro Safaris, one could eat there at 8 and still be out in time to catch one of the first safari jeeps for the day when the park officially opens, saving a time and a Fastpass+ reservation. We regularly took the first reservation of the day at Tusker, popped out shortly after the park opened to do the safari, then walked onto Everest and Kali River Rapids multiple times… Though I suggest that for people who have only the strongest of stomachs (yes, a lesson I learned the hard way). I love Tusker House… It is the highlight of the character dining experiences at Walt Disney World and a fantastic way to immerse yourself in the richness that is Animal Kingdom. No, that richness doesn’t include my son’s Ninja underwear peaking out while riding my husband’s shoulders. Lucky for everybody, I think. In addition to the delicious food and recipes, Disney World is also known for its unique dining experiences, such as character dining and themed restaurants. Whether you want to have breakfast with Mickey Mouse, dine in a replica of a sci-fi drive-in theater at Hollywood Studios, or enjoy a meal with an ocean view at the Coral Reef Restaurant in Epcot, there's something for everyone. And with the help of Recipes Today and the How to Make category, you can even recreate some of these magical dining experiences in your own home. So why not start planning your next Disney-inspired meal or dining experience today? Read the full article

[violet0203]

insecurities and the haikyuu characters

Miya Atsumu

Atsumu always have had a lot of fans. Since his very early days as a volleyball player and that hasn’t change now that he plays pro, otherwise probably now has increased.

You are pretty used to them every time you go out or during the games. No big trouble.

But there are some days when you feel a little off and you are not that comfortable and some ideas just get in your head.

Today was one of those days.

Miya Atsumu had invited to you to a gala that the MSBY were doing to celebrate their anniversary. All the players were going to be, plus some media and some fans.

You were trying to get ready but not one even one of your dresses seem appropriate. Too long, too short, doesn’t fit you well, etc. The frustration was starting to go up as well as the anxiety because there were only 30 minutes left and you haven’t even donde your makeup.

Would it be too late to ask Atsumu to invite Osamu instead of you?

You gave one more look to your closet trying to find something. You sighed. The red dress would have to do.

Now your makeup. Simple stuff. Gold shades are always reliable with some gloss. You tried to do your eyeliner and for god sake this time was even in both eyes. Luckily because you would have probably gave up if you had to do all over again.

As you didn’t have enough energy to do your hair, you just put some curl cream and tried to make it look more defined.

When you finished you looked yourself in the mirror. You didn’t fell your best, but there wasn’t time. Anyways everyone will be looking at Atsumu and not you.

“Hey, babe you’re ready?” the boy asked knocking softly two times at your door.

You went to open the door and you were definitely right, everyone was going to be looking at him. Should be a require to Atsumu to wear a tux everyday, because he was astonishing.

“Wow”

“Yeah, wow” he agreed, taking your hand and making you twirl “Perfect”.

“Haven’t you look yourself? Miya Atsumu I swear that every day you are more handsome” he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you closer to kiss you. Repeatedly. Until you made him stop “We will be late”.

The setter groaned, but waited for you to grab your purse before both going downstairs and getting in his car.

The place was a few 20 minutes away from your house. You were nervous, despite Atsumu’s reaction your insecurities were still troubling your head.

He parked the car and helped you getting out of the car. Soon, someone of the production guided you to a red carpet where you had to pose for some pictures for the press.

When it was your turn, both walked together holding hands and smiled to the cameras. Then you left him to pose alone for some pictures, he was the pro volleyball player. You always have love how incredibly comfortable he was with the attention.

There were also a lot of screaming since it was an outside space so many fans have arrived to get a chance to see them. As usual a lot of them where screaming for Atsumu and he took some time to go and autograph some stuff.

“Sorry for taking so long” he said once he approached to you to go together into the salon where the party was going.

“No need to apologize for being an amazing person”

“Tsum-Tsum! y/n!” screamed Bokuto once he saw you. He was with some of the other players so you took the chance to say hi to everyone.

You chatted with them, but as this was also an event for the fans soon were interrupted by some of them trying to take photos or just have a conversation with the players. As this was happened you decided to take a step back and watch from a distance.

All of the fans looked gorgeous in beautiful dresses, makeups and hairstyles. More perfect than you. Some of them being a little handsy. And they were making Atsumu laugh a lot, probably having a better time with them than with you.

No.

You needed to stop that train of thoughts. He had never done more than praise you whenever he had a chance. You were just having a bad self-esteem day.

With everything you were feeling a little out of breath, therefore you walked away and tried to find the restroom. You got into a corridor and started to open the doors, but most of them were empty rooms, until you got to one stretch room ocuppied by an outside hitter.

“Omi? What are you doing here?” he was almost seated in the floor using his phone.

“A lot of people out there, not really comfortable with all the possible germs. And you?”

“Looking for the restroom” you said but he inferred that something was wrong when you seated in front of them.

“Something troubling you? Wanna talk?”

“… some insecurities… today i wasn’t feeling pretty… and there are a lot of fans around Tsumu, so everything just… i don’t know… I trust him, but its me who is not feeling well”

“For what it’s worth i think you look amazing tonight”

“Thank you Omi”

Not even five seconds later the door opened and entered Atsumu. He say hi to Kiyoomi as this got up and wave off you, he would try to share a little with some fans and give you a moment.

The blonde guy sat right beside you and put one of his arms over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. Then he laid a kiss in your hair while doing circles in your hair.

“What are you doing here Tsumu?”

“I saw you leave, but it took me sometime to finish a conversation with a fan”

“Babe, you should get back to them”

“Mm… i don’t know, i don’t feel so well”

You knew that it wasn’t true and that he was just saying it because you weren’t feeling good.

“But his is your team event, you can’t leave”

“I already did presence, the press has enough photos and the fans will keep being entertained by Hinata and Bokkun”

“You don’t have to do this for me. It’s just insecurities that will pass tomorrow, don’t wanna ruin your day”

“You don’t, being with you at our home, wearing something comfortable and just cuddle all night it’s way better that this, so c’mon let’s go” he said getting up and offering his hand to help you.

When you were standing he wrapped his arms around you and you laid your head in his chest “You know i love you, right?”

“Yeah, i know, and i love you more”

[final-script]

A Spanish Girl | Kepa Arrizabalaga

Pairing: Kepa Arrizabalaga x Reader

Sumary: Where Kepa meets a Spanish girl on her first day in London

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!.There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later).

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

We met the same day he arrived at the country to sign up with his new team.

I was walking around a square near the court where I would play most of your games.

From the first moment we collide and made contact, I knew immediately who it was.

As a Spaniard living in London and a sports lover (even more of the Blue Lions), he was aware that he would come to the city soon.

He was surprised to see that he treated him as a normal person and did not ask for a photo.

Let's say...I thought you'd like to be treated as such, not every day you can walk around quietly without a monthoner of people asking for a picture or an autographer.

We both fell so well that we exchanged numbers, to find us again. 

We had several departures, from joining us for lunch before your workout, to going out to the cinema and sharing a dinner.

After a few months he was encouraged to go more beech, invited me to one of his training open doors and then to a game.

That day I remember you kept looking at me, which caused you to be a few bares from your co-workers and coach.

Despite his distractions he managed to keep his goal to zero, which he celebrated by coming to me and being his girlfriend.

With a few words at that time I managed to say yes, kissed me in front of everyone and left to change and then take me to dinner.

This is how I am today grateful to have come out of my usual routine and come out to clear my mind, while taking some photos.

Thanks to that I met a wonderful person.

(...) 

Y/N- I like to remember every time I see these pictures the beautiful words you told me the day we met.

They were pictures of the city that I had taken before we colliated.

K- I could barely utter words because of the beauty in front of me"

That's something I hadn't mentioned, but that's his part of the story, which he should tell not me. 

Y/N-What things you say". Red like a tomato and not because of the cold. 

Our story was perhaps a cliché but I do not regret anything.

(...)

Sofia-"What a beautiful story, like the story, I want one day to have a boy like daddy."

Y/N-"And you'll have my love, but that's still a lot missing.

K-" And much, at least until 30, plus now you have to help me and help mami care for your little brother. 

Several years had passed, we had formed a small family

And as you will see the time kept us together and blessed us with 2 small little criaturites . 

Sophia and Mateo, the sun of our family.

Before Sofia was born, we got married and let me know it was an unforgettable night.

K-" What do you think of my love" by getting me out of my thoughts.

Y/N-"I just think about everything we spent together and how we got to have these two hermages. (Looking at our little girl play and our little baby sleeping in my arms)

K- "many wanted to intervene in our walk but have not been able, we must be proud of what we have formed together. 

Cliché but beautiful story.

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

ANOTHERS

Historic Day - Kai Havertz x Reader

Friendship and More - Ben Chilwell x Reader

[spiltmusings]

Day 4 - Secret Santa ft. Terushima, Atsumu, and Daichi

A/N: Warning - Spoilers for post time-skip!

Terushima:

He is a barber whose shop is next to the salon you work at. Needless to say, being in the same field and working next door to each other, both groups were very close.

Since business was doing well and everyone was cool with each other, the owners decided to host a holiday party from the group and include a Secret Santa draw.

You drew your co-worker's name and sighed in relief knowing exactly what to get them, but you did wonder who had you.

Little did you know, Terushima draws your name and immediately has the perfect gift idea.

Saturday night was the party, filled with music and food but everyone could feel the anticipation in the air. All the gifts were labeled with names and put in another room.

Soon it was your turn and you had a nicely wrapped box. Inside you had a nice hat and scarf and a little notecard that said +2.

At the end, you all shared who was responsible for getting each gift. You were surprised to see Terushima got your gift but curious about this +2 card.

"So you're probably wondering about the +2 card. Here are two coupons: 1 for me being able to perfectly restyling your hair when you take your hat off and 2 for using these gifts and coupons on our first date. I do want to note if you accept this is non-refundable. So, what did you say?"

Atsumu:

The MSBY Black Jackals have a team holiday party every year, including the coaching and training staff. As one of their beloved physical therapists, you are excited to come.

A week before, names are drawn and Atsumu is excited to draw your name. You were always so organized, to the point that each player had their own designated color when you take notes.

Originally, he thought about giving you an autographed photo of him which luckily Sakusa talks him out of.

At the moment of truth, he gives you your gift which consists of a nice notebook and special gel pens. You weren't sure why he looks uncharacteristically shy until he tells you later to flip to the last page in the notebook with a secret note: Thank you for taking care of the team and me. You're so sweet and kind and smart. I hope you stay with the team for many years to come. From, Your Favorite Athlete, Atsumu Miya.

Sure, he looks shy now but that's nothing compared to how red his face when you give him a hug. It doesn't last long though.

"That's right! Only the best hugs from your favorite athlete."

Daichi:

The local community center hosts a nice holiday fair with the police fair. Daichi decides to join in hopes of seeing you, the local bakery owner who sells his favorite pastries.

You were excited to unveil some of your newest holiday treats at the fair. It was a good opportunity to gain business and try something new. Not to mention you may have had your eye on one of your favorite customers who might happen to show up.

In addition to the toy and clothes drive, a few community leaders organized a small Secret Santa for those who wanted to participate. It was organized where you could fill out a card with more information on yourself: likes, dislikes, and friend references to run gift ideas by.

It was fun to figure what to get your person and you hoped whoever drew your name was having fun too. You kept your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, but everything was pretty normal.

Taking a break from your stall, you share your gift with your person and make some small talk before heading back to your stall to see your gift on the table.

Opening the box, you find two pairs of bracelets: one gold and one silver. You smile, wondering who's gift it was until you see a familiar police officer in front of you with a soft smile.

"I think these would look nice on the talented hands that make the best pastries in town." They fit perfectly.

Check out the other 12 days of Haikyuu Christmas here!

[fanmoose12]

Hello would you mind writing vets as a music band? And that fans suspect the “normal” relationship of head vocal Levi and bassist Hange? Sorry if my english isn’t writing properly at all.

Mikasa invites him to a No Name concert.

And it's like- whatever, right? Who cares? Jean certainly doesn't.

So what if the girl of his dreams asks him out on a date? It's not like he has been daydreaming about it for the past two years. So what if she offers to see his favorite band in the whole world? He doesn't even like them much. Sure, he knows all their songs by heart but- he doesn't listen to them that often. Only twice or thrice each day. And it's not like his closet hides an insane amount of their merchandise. That is between Jean, his closet and his mother.

He isn't nervous, he doesn't care about the upcoming date. At all. Most certainly, he doesn't spend literal days, obsessing over his outfit. And he obviously doesn't pester Sasha and Connie with questions on how to style his hair.

Most importantly, he doesn't imagine how it would feel to hold Mikasa's hand or maybe even go for a hug or a kiss-

Jean tries not to think about it, his heart starts to beat to fast, when he does, but when he doesn't think about Mikasa, he starts thinking about No Name and the little, tinie tiny fact that he's going to see them in person. That he's going to meet them and maybe even shake their hand, because Mikasa being the gorgeous goddess she is, got them tickets with access to a backstage. It didn't require any kind of effort from her side, since the famed, spectacularly, dreamy Levi Ackerman is Mikasa's cousin, but- Jean doesn't remember sharing his No Name obsession with Mikasa, for obvious reasons - he doesn't want to think that he likes her just because she's Levi Ackerman's cousin, Mikasa is great not because she's an Ackerman, but because she's Mikasa, but- but Jean is so, so grateful that he'll have the chance to see No Name in all their glory.

Of course, he is not at all nervous about meeting his favorite band in person. No, no, he doesn't lose sleep over it, his palms don't turn clammy. Sometimes he feels like he'll combust from anticipation, but he's fine, completely fine.

He just can't wait until that fated day will come.

---

When that day rolls around at last, Jean is cool. He's cool, calm, serene.

His hand is greasy from all the times he touched his slicked back hair, and he can't stop tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket, but- but he's cool.

The band that is currently playing isn't that bad - not nearly as talented and awesome, and hot as No Name, but still good. The crowd is bigger than Jean is comfortable with, but today it works in his favor because it prompts Mikasa to hold his hand. Maybe, he'll get that kiss after all. If he continues keeping his cool.

That proves to be just a little harder task when Mikasa announces that they reached the backstage.

Jean can't help it - he gawks around helplessly.

This is it, this is a place where miracles happen, where stars lounge and rest.

This is the place where he'll meet No Name.

Jean can't imagine how this meeting will transpire. Will they like him? Will they agree to make a photo? Will they give him an autograph? Will they think that he's a weirdo who is too obsessed with their music?

All of the above? None of the above?

Jean doesn't know.

There are so many things he wants to say. There are so many things he wants to ask - how can they play with those bandages on? How do they never trip during performances? What is their favorite song to play? What do they do in their free time? What is their favorite food? Are the rumors about Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe-

Okay, no, he probably shouldn't ask that last question, no matter how much he wants to know the answer. And he wants to, so, so much.

The thing is- there are many rumors about No Name. It's not surprising, they are young, famous and extremely hot. These rumors usually exclude the drummer, Mike Zacharias, who is already engaged with a very pretty blonde lady, their stylist. Although, there are some fans who speculate that the engagement is not true, and Mike actually dates their producer, one Erwin Smith, but- Jean usually ignores that type of fans, branding them as freaks.

Now, as far as everyone is aware, nor Levi Ackerman, neither Hange Zoe are involved in any kind of romantic relationships, and that's- that's where the juicy stuff begins.

There aren't many rumors about Hange - some say she's involved with Pieck, the band's make-up artist. Or their manager, Moblit Berner. Or an indie artist, Onyakopon. But that's where the list ends.

Levi Ackerman, however, oh he has a far longer list of lovers. Petra Ral, for example, a rising pop-star - young, talented and so pretty that it hurts. Or Erwin, although on that subject rumors wary - some say that Erwin is the one who got Levi in showbiz, some say that Erwin is his sugar daddy, some say that they're already engaged and even married. The rumors are as varied as they're wrong, in Jean's opinion. Most rumors about Levi are like that. There are even talks about his involvement with Yeager brothers - with the front man of the rival band, Zeke, and Jean's and Mikasa's classmate, Eren. Jean doesn't understand where these rumors even come from, as far as he's aware, Levi hates them both. But- but rumors still exist.

As stupid as they are.

Now, Jean has a different opinion, one that he spends nights defending in chats and forums. Yes, Levi Ackerman has a lover. And no, it's not Petra Ral, Erwin Smith or any of the Yeager brothers. It's Hange Zoe, No Name's bassist.

There are many reasons why he thinks so. Firstly, they are always together. And by always, Jean means always. In photoshoots they stand side by side, during performances they lean against each other, on all kinds of photos - from after-parties to official events, they always touch each other in some way. And that's not all. They spend their vacations together, they hang out at movies, restaurants, museums, their respective instagrams are full of the other's candid photos. And it's a known fact that they share an apartment. Honestly, how much more obvious it can get? Also Jean is pretty sure that one of the songs written by Levi is about Hange, and he has an entire essay, explaining why he's right. He prays to every saint known that Mikasa will never find it. He doesn't want his almost girlfriend to find out just how invested he is in the romantic life of her famous cousin.

As they walk further and further into the magical territory of the backstage, Jean tries to think of something cool to say, something laid-back and easy like 'hey, what's up, guys? I've listened to the couple of your songs, you're not that bad...'

Yes, he decides. That's a good way to start. A cool way to start.

And Jean is cool. And calm.

And- oh my god, there they are, the three of them, already in their costumes, just without the signature bandages. They look even cooler in person. They look even hotter and-

Mikasa squeezes his hand.

"If my asshole cousin says something awful, I'll punch him in the face for you."

God, that is so sweet. So Mikasa. He wouldn't be opposed to anyone getting a punch from her except- her gorgeous cousin. His pretty face should be protected at all costs.

However, as they approach, the face that charmed millions transforms, turning into a quite nasty scowl.

"So that's him?" Levi Ackerman asks (Jean's sick brain, even in that moment, can't help but note that Hange Zoe is standing right behind her band member, a hand laying on his shoulder). "That's the guy you're going crazy about?"

"Yes," Mikasa answers, and suddenly the air grows stiff. "Do you have a problem with that?"

The lines around Levi's mouth harden, and Jean tries to focus on Hange Zoe, while his mind prepares for something not at all pretty, but- Hange is smiling - not smirking, smiling. That is a good sign, right?

"Don't mind the Ackermans," she stage whispers to Jean. "Levi was actually very excited about meeting you."

Right now it's hard to imagine that dark (and still so handsome) face in the expression of excitement, but. Hange knows him a lot more, right?

"Oh and by the way," she giggles, and at the back of his mind Jean wonders if that's how angels sound like. "I'm Hange."

He almost blurts out 'I know' but- that'd be creepy? Or not? He can't decide so settles on a simple nod.

"Jean," he says, taking the offered hand in his. With his hand that isn't holding Mikasa's (they're holding hands, wow!), he shakes Hange's. It's unexpectedly calloused. But still warm and gentle. Not as nice as Mikasa's but... somewhere very close.

"And that is the one and only Levi Ackerman," Hange continues, gesturing to the man in question. "He only looks so scary. But actually," she winks and lowers her voice. "He's the biggest softie you'll ever meet."

The biggest softie Jean has ever met, practically snarls, baring his teeth. But the hand on his shoulder tightens and he instantly relaxes, scoffing in annoyance. Oh, so that's who Hange Zoe is? The one who tames the beast?

"You're not as revolting as her other dates," Levi says. Jean is pretty sure that it was meant as a compliment. "But if you dare to-"

"Oi," Mikasa's face becomes as stormy as her cousin's. "He won't."

"And even if he does," Hange smiles, so handsome and a little scary. "Mikasa knows what to do."

Jean gulps. He has seen Mikasa train that one time. He was very impressed, and a little bit scared. Also a lot aroused.

He knows with ironclad certainty that should Mikasa kick him... his face may not survive it.

"Hange, Levi," a gruff voice behind them calls. Jean lifts his eyes, mouth opening in shock as he sees him in the flash - the third member of Non Name, Mike Zacharius himself. In person... he is even more enormous than on photos. His shoulders are twice as wide as Jean's, and next to Hange and Levi, he looks almost like a giant. "We're starting in five."

"Oh!" Hange covers her mouth with a palm. "I haven't checked my guitar yet. Let's hurry, shorty!"

Hange dashes away instantly, Levi sighs and trudges after her. Mikasa tugs at Jean's hand as well, whispering that they need to go to their places.

Jean nods, absentmindedly, because right in that moment, at the other side of the room he sees Hange and Levi exchange a playful, quick but undeniably a kiss.

Triumph courses through him, firing him up. He knew that he was right, those fuckers from twitter can eat his shit.

Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman are truly dating.

He wants to know more, wants to ask Mikasa to spare the juicy details, but for now-

For now, Jean has to take care of his date as well.

He interlaces their fingers, and, keeping Hange's words in mind - Ackermans are not as scary as they look - he leans in to press a kiss to Mikasa's cheek and whispers,

"You look fantastic."

Ever so slightly, but Mikasa blushes. It's the best moment of the evening so far.

And, hopefully, there will be more of that.

[bloomyagi]

bewitched (m)

summary: bakugou has always loved you.

pairings: bakugou katsuki x f!reader, hawks x f!reader (nsfw)

genre: characters are aged up, 20+, pro heroes au

warnings: allusions to cheating, angst, porn w/ lots of feelings, shower sex, kinda subby bakugou, he’s basically lovesick n soft for u, keigo is a good birdie, he would never do this irl

length: 3,518

notes: hello! my first bnha fic, please be kind <3 please let me know what you think! i’ve been so obsessed w/ jjk & bnha recently skdjkjf. send help 

.

.

.

It comes down softly at first. The droplets whispering against windshields, ghosting across bare arms, a trick of the light. Then a pause, like the darkening clouds are reconsidering their decisions. There is no wind, no anger in the way it pelts down, darkens the concrete. Like resignation, like relief. It soaks bone, sends most civilians packing as they duck under awnings and flee into shops in anticipation of a short-lived flare.

But it is summer, and the rain is welcome as a remedy against the oppressive heat. Many onlookers merely move their belongings closer to avoid the stream, gaze out glass windows longingly. Some find inspiration, others find peace.

You stand in the middle of it all, drenched and unmoving as you watch your lover wrap his arms around his secretary, and you wonder whose mood this pathetic fallacy is expected to reflect as you look across to meet familiar eyes.

He, too, mirrors your stance. Clothes sodden, yet the nature of its designs only lends to plaster themselves closer to his skin. His irises are that bright, burning red. He is not fizzling, heated against the affair before him. Instead, his gaze is trained on you.

There is no fury, no sadness, no emptiness. His gaze is not hollow, it is instead strangely warm. Your chest squeezes, tightening in the way you experience when you read a novel laced in tragedy, that welling feeling of anguish and sorrow.

His hands are shoved in his pockets, and though his eyes remain fastened to you, he makes no step to move closer.

The sky lightens, a thin streak of sun peering through in a solitary beam. The sounds seem to press close again, like a bubble popping in your ear.

The summer storm is tempered as quickly as it appeared, the sound of life—laughter, the splashing of sneakers drowning in newly formed puddles—and the lingering smell of renewed earth and the chirping of birds as they shake off their wings to take flight.

Water drips silently down the pair of gorgeous wings before you. They flutter briefly, flicking off the thin layer that pooled on its surface, before unfurling to fold over her. He pulls her closer, separating only every so often to breathe.

Shameless, is all you think plainly. And you are—ashamed. That feeling catches you by surprise, breath caught in your throat as the feeling expands, takes root in your lungs. It is that hindsight, that disappointment—at yourself—that has you lowering your eyes.

He is still looking at you, even as someone squeals and a crowd gathers, pushing and shoving to press close, stays rooted to his spot, watching you, even as the couple finally break apart, dishevelled—she adjusts her pencil skirt, re-buttons her blouse; he runs a hand through his golden locks, fixes his half-open shirt—and Hawks’ chuckle rings across the street, one arm braced around her waist as he signs autographs and takes photos. She is glowing beside him, all smiles and shrill laughter. Her nails, perfectly manicured and sharp, digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. He likes it.

You stifle a dry laugh. Turning on your heel, you disappear into the thickening crowd.

He himself is being pawed at, hands fawning at his exposed arms, clutching at him like he is fresh off the conveyer belt.

He waits until he can no longer discern your retreating figure before bearing a half-smile at the crowd. He takes the pen that is shoved into his face, and he begins signing autographs.

.

.

.

Time and experience have tempered his constitution. He has accepted his flaws, worked on them until he could proudly stand on the same stage as his—friends. Because that is what they are—these people that have helped him grow, comforted his trauma, stayed with him despite it all. What else could he call them but the very things they are—they are the pillar of his strength. Because of you, I learned I could be strong for the things I care about.

He is not number one. He has no need for such a title, no need for such a goal anymore. He is no longer the brash, easily angered teenager that charged for the strongest.

“I don’t care what they call me, what rank I am, or what they think of me. I only want the power to protect these people. That’s it.” He thinks back to your words.

You are not often solemn. You laughed a lot, the slow-appearing crinkles to the corner of your eyes a physical testament to your innate joy. You liked to take delight in the ordinary things. Perhaps that is what drew him to you—that strength. To shoulder the burden of your chosen role in this society, to have the bravery to smile amongst the suffering.

There was always an unbidden heat that surged in his chest when he thought of you. That odd feeling of a knot tying itself in his stomach when his skin brushed yours. When you fell from the height of a skyscraper, half-conscious from defeating a new breed of nomu, his heart stuttered and leapt in halting beats to throat as he split from his team, their screams for you ringing in his ears, the rush of badump-badump closing in rapidly, pushing his beaten body to its limits, faster, faster, faster—please! Who was he praying to at the time? He was begging anyone who was listening to give him that push—the gap was too big, you were too far, he was too tired, too useless, too broken—he slammed into you with enough force to compel blood up his throat.

He spat it to the side quickly, not bothering to wipe himself clean before he turned to you. The first thing he registered was warmth. You were limp in his hold, on the edge of passing out, exhaustion lining every curve of your face. Your lips quirked, eyes closed.

“Hurts like hell,” you slurred. “Falling from heaven.”

He stared at you, blinking the blood from his lashes.

And then he threw his back and laughed. It was a full-bodied, uproarish laughter. The type that rumbled from his chest. He shook, though he was careful not to jostle you, and you managed a quiet chuckle.

The adrenaline faded from his body, and he hiccupped as he slumped onto the concrete beam behind him. The ice receded from his veins.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured. It was a quiet plea. Don’t do that ever again, is what he really wanted to say, but how could he? This was the occupational hazard of your shared line of work. This was the risk. His eyes burned, half-lidded as he held you closer.

You couldn’t lift a single limb on your body, so you lean into him.

“No promises.”

It was enough. Your voice was raspy, drained, but there was a sincere lilt to it.

He wanted to say something more, then, but first responders arrived and whisked you separate ways before he could gather his thoughts.

He regrets it, to this day. Perhaps if he had said something then, said something sooner, the scene would have played out differently.

He does not have many regrets, have long resolved to move on from his past and mistakes. “What a useless emotion,” you once told him. “Don’t wallow. Mourn and move on. Do better. That’s what you owe. That is what you are owed.”

But this—this he will always regret.

.

.

.

He finds you on the roof of your penthouse.

“I like it. Being able to see everything from up here.” The first time he’d peered over the edge, he’d been enlisted for furniture rearranging. You handed him a beer, beckoning him over, jerking your head to the scenery below. And it was—breathtaking. You were breathtaking. He hadn’t even bothered to entertain a cursory glance. It was summer then, too, and the evening breeze was light as it brushed your locks back. Lights began to flicker as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. He briefly considered making a similar move.

But moving was a hassle, only further proven by the efforts of today, so he dismissed the thought quickly, taking another swig. He was sweaty, a layer of grime a film over his skin from the manual labour he’d been voluntold for most of the afternoon. It was petty work compared to his—their—day job, but it was still a strangely refreshing workout.

“What are you feeling?” His steps are muted, voice faint. It carries on the back of a shallow gust.

You don’t spare him a look, staring into the distance. You’re sitting, one leg thrown casually over the ledge, the other pulled to your stomach. He’d made an off-hand comment once about adding some railings, but you’d rolled your eyes and pushed him playfully.

Pussy, you called. He chuckled. Like we don’t experience enough life-threatening dangers on a regular basis, he snarked.

All the more reason, then, you shot back. He fell silent then, the pulsing in his throat returning.

He could never really read you. Eyes are the window to the soul. He scoffs internally. Whoever said that must’ve known it was a load of bullshit. Your eyes never said anything. But his—his said everything he couldn’t, and more.

You hum. “Would it be cliché if I said I wasn’t surprised, only disappointed?”

“No.”

“Then I’m disappointed. I had hoped, I suppose, that he would choose differently.”

He tastes the words that I would be enough between, and the sigh of to change him that escapes your lips.

“You knew who he was when you went into this,” he says quietly. No judgement—he is not reminding you of your poor decisions, rather striking a conversation in the same manner one would inquire about the weather.

Quant, you think. And a few years ago, you would have added out of character. But now it is not so—he has grown into himself well.

You tilt your head back. He leans against the wall, arms crossed across that well-built chest of his, shirt straining against the muscle. He’s so tall now—so much taller than anyone had expected him to be. That wild, unruly blond hair of his has remained the same, appearing spiky but soft to the touch. And his eyes—they are gentle but retain the ferocity he is well-known for.

“Yes,” you say after a while. “That is why I am not surprised. But these feelings won’t just disappear overnight because of this.”

He’s quiet for a while, those crimson orbs of his trailing over your expression. You don’t know what he finds, but he must understand your position because he nods.

“I’ll wait for you.”

This—this is a surprise. Somehow, he always manages to surprise you.

“After all this time?” You ask softly.

“Always,” he says quietly.

He leaves, and when you return to the house, you pick up the keys he left on your counter. Twirling them on one finger, you smile to yourself.

Thank you. You know he knows.

.

.

.

“I tried to be the person you wanted me to be,” he says.

“I tried, I really did. But this is who I am, who they made me. I can’t change. I’m sorry,” he says.

He says a lot more, you think, but you’ve long since stopped listening. He knows these are only flimsy barriers that excuse his behaviour. He knows he is not this person. He is not broken, he is worthy of much, much more. He just needs to believe it. They took everything from him. That is what he thinks, how he lives. Like he has no real purpose.

Instead, he is stopped, wings flaring as you reach for him. You smell familiar, and that ache in his heart deepens. He will forever regret losing you, but you deserve more. He is not good for you, and he is not your responsibility. His growth is his obligation. Perhaps, when he is ready, he will find you again.

But by then, he thinks, burying his face into your shoulder, you will have already chosen differently.

“I love you, baby bird. I will always love you,” he presses these words against your neck in a soft whisper, voice cracking, like a prayer, he tries to sear his truth into your skin. He tastes salt on his tongue.

And, between it all, he traces I’m sorry.

You squeeze him once.

You know.

.

.

.

“Hey.”

You’re uncharacteristically shy, cheeks puffing in that sweet smile of yours.

That sharp, familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of you perched on the arm of his leather couch. You look comfortable, relaxed, like you—belonged here, his mind supplies helpfully.

He steps out of his boots, unbuckling his support items and setting them on the counter to clean later. He’s a little worse for wear tonight, shoulders tight from chasing rogue villains the past few hours. The tension seeps away steadily, though, the longer he drinks you in.

You look good. You always look good. Gorgeous, even more so when you’re tired and dirty, covered in blood and dust and debris. It’s been so long since you patrolled together, pulled to opposite ends of the city the past few months.

“Hey,” he says back.

“Shower?” You take his hand.

He trails behind you, nearly tripping over in his haste to follow, failing to register your words in time. This must be a dream, he decides. And he will play along, as he always does in these fits of delirium. He will hold you and have you and love you in ways he cannot begin to describe, and then he will lose you as dawn breaks and he wakes to an empty bed. But he falls anyway, does it over and over until he feels like he will go insane from the sheer longing. He is addicted to you.

You haven’t spoken, not really, since that night on the rooftop. So you, being here, without any prior warning, touching him, smiling at him, leading him to his fucking shower—this must be a dream, right?

You push open the door to his bathroom. It’s big, he’s always been meticulous about his health, and enjoys his fair share of long soaks and hot showers.

He realizes a beat too late that you’re undressing him. He exhales sharply when you tug his shirt off, but before he could say anything, you murmur, “You smell like caramel. You always do. It’s just a little stronger than usual.”

“Oh.” He sounds a little breathless, a little strangled. Unlike him, but he has never really been anything but himself with you. He’s still discovering new sides to himself, it seems.

Oddly enough, he’s the farthest thing from embarrassed as he steps out of his pants and boxers. He’s flushed, but the heat that floods his veins is nothing short of delicious. It makes his head spin, makes him lean into your touch.

You strip quickly, tossing your costume fabric aside his for laundry. He sucks in an audible breath at the sight of your nude body. Beautiful, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, and he reaches out with a shaky hand to thumb the smear of grease on your cheek.

You smile, pushing open the frosted glass doors and pull him inside.

The temperature is perfect. He likes it hot on days like today, muscles relaxing as the water washes away his fatigue.

“You know me so well,” he says.

You push him under the stream, water cascading between the two of you. His locks flatten under the pressure, falling over his eyes. You run a hand through his hair, pushing it back as you press yourself flush against him.

“Yes,” you answer. “I do.”

And then you kiss him. A low purring echoes through the space. Ah, it’s me, some part of him thinks absently. He opens his mouth instantly, tongue lapping at yours, arms coming around to hold you close. He can distinctly feel the way your perked nipples rub against his pectorals. He can taste you. And you are sweet, so sweet and the lewd sounds of your make out reverberating in the room so vividly he knows this is not, in fact, a mere conjuration of imagination after all.

He loathes to part from you, but he does. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring him to reality. He looks at you searchingly, beseechingly. If you are here, you can only be here for one reason.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry, I know it must’ve been painful. I’m here now, I promise I’ll never leave again,” you say, cupping his cheek.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter shut.

“You promise?” He sounds so small, so weak. Vulnerable. He would’ve hated that, once, but he is no longer that person. Today, he can accept he is weak for you. Always has been. And that’s okay, he thinks. He doesn’t have to be strong all the time.

“Yes. I promise, Katsuki.” You press your forehead against him, standing on your tippy toes.

He kisses you again, swallows your dreamy sigh, one hand on the back of your head, the other crushing your body against his. He wants you close, needs you close. Needs to feel you, this is real, right?

“Yes,” you whisper, and he realizes belatedly that he spoke aloud. “This is real. I’m here. I’m right in front of you.” You take his hand and press it against your upper rib cage, where your heart beats. Fast, like the wings of a hummingbird.

He can’t help it. He takes you against the wall, so pent up from years of pining he can hardly think, rutting into you like a teenager in heat, feeling like he’s a virgin again, every trace of your skin so new, he maps them out first with his eyes, then his hands and mouth. He slows down when you call his name in a haze of pleasure, takes the time to worship you, find what makes you tick, watches your expression raptly as he rolls his hips, as he tweaks your nipples, palms your ass, litters a necklace of freshly bloomed violets on your collarbone.

He’s panting your name, you’re murmuring praises in his ear, tugging at his locks and biting down on his shoulder and he cums so hard his vision whitens.

The two of you slide down, his legs giving out in the aftershocks, until he’s sitting on the floor of his shower and you’re curled up on his lap.

The water is—miraculously—still hot.

You lay there for a while, and he catches his breath between lazy kisses, enjoying the way your hands roam his chest languidly.

Finally, he stands, letting you down reluctantly to actually clean yourselves. You giggle at the pout that forms when your feet touch the ground once more.

You wash his hair, massaging methodically as he dips his head back to let the foam drain. He takes great pleasure in this, at the way you spread a generous amount of body wash on your palms and begin scrubbing the grime from his skin.

He jolts forward, letting out a low groan as you squeeze his flaccid cock teasingly. He glances away, eyes half-lidded, at the heated look you give him when his cock hardens immediately.

“You underestimate how easily you turn me on,” he says plainly. Not a hint of embarrassment. And why should he be? You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love it,” you murmur.

You rinse him off before turning. His length presses against your ass, but he makes no move to seek anything further, focused on washing you.

Satisfied, he turns off the water.

You step out, toweling each other off. He pulls you to him, inhaling deeply. He likes that you smell like him now.

.

.

.

Afterwards, you are tucked in close, covers pulled up and he’s buried his face in your chest, bare legs tangled.

Perhaps it’s the novelty, the feeling of finally, but you can’t get enough of one another. You wake each other multiple times throughout the night, clawing at each other, ripping his boxers and your—his—shirt from each other until you were pressed tightly together, bare, a thin sheen of sweet already coating your bodies.

A thin strip of moonlight peeks through the cream curtains. He gazes up at you, thinks everything in his life has been leading up to this moment. That warmth swelling again, as it always does, so intense it has him arching his back. You touch his cheek, smiling. Something lands on the side of his pillow. Ah. You lean down, lips warm as they kiss away his tears.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He closes his eyes.

Thank you.

[dex-xe]

Ghosts S03E01 - The Bone Plot

(I watched the entire series 3 in one night so here’s a running commentary of my thoughts. Likes/dislikes, bits I screamed/laughed/cried, details I noticed. Basically just a thought train from yours truly :P not that anyone’s interested - mostly just for my own analysis this

BUT Please come hit up my inbox with responses to episodes etc, I’ve had a few already that I’m in the process of answering so yeah lets chat :D)

Opening with Humphrey backstory is a bold move especially if people are just catching it and haven’t seen the show before

Oooohhhhhh documentary!!

Ahhhhhh, soooooo Humphrey wasn’t assassinated, he planned an assassination fascinating

Why does Robin not remember?? Just cause it was a long time ago??

The Captain has laughed before, right?? I’m sure I’ve seen him laugh before??

Thomas it’s not you XD

BOOOOONNNNNEEEEEE

How did they not know it was Humphrey?? She’s dressed like a fucking Tudor - absolutely no critical thinking skills at Button House. They share one braincell and the ghost pigeon has flown away with it again…

All this before the opening titles, this is gonna be a long post!!

I like that Alison starts stuttering simply at the thought of being on camera, nice set up for her anxiety about it

Robin senses the moon?? Oooohhhhh - and a Macbeth reference!!

Of course he senses Barclay arriving!!

The others calling Humphrey like a dog is so funny

Omg are we gonna get Cap/Fanny solidarity this season??? I just want them to be like a sibling relationship!!

(Pronoun correction - well done Kitty)

Did Humphrey used to paint?? Cause why else would he assume he was famous for being a painter if he wasn’t an artist in life????

Mary is a death gatekeeper, I adore that!!

Can we talk about how similar this scene is to one I wrote literally ages ago in the Ghosts Christmas story on AO3???? Like Humphrey trying to speak broken French like just how I wrote it and his wife hating English, it’s literally over dinner (well breakfast) as well?? I have the foresight of a medium apparently but only in very specific fan fiction scenarios!!

Omg live Humphrey is so cute wtf?? Why do I have a crush on him, or is it gender envy?????? Gender envy from a headless Tudor????

Poor Humphrey, all he wants is a nice wife!!

Pat stop ruining the moment!!

Oh God no?? If Barclay dies at Button House will he be stuck there???? Ah thanks for confirming that for me, Julian. Get that bitch off the property!!

Obi content, Obi content, Obi content!! My guy.

Okay but why does Fanny calling Pat out on his racist joke feel so rewarding to me??

A nun, a gorilla, and a WHAT, Patrick???? Pat making a pedo joke, did not have that on my season 3 bingo card????

Humphrey is so good to his wife, he’s making such an effort even though she’s really not making much effort back. It must have been so difficult for them both though seriously

She speaks English???

What’s happening?? OOOOhhhh they’re gonna kill Queen Elizabeth and put I’m assuming Mary Queen of Scots on the throne?? Cause they’re Catholics right so Mary QoS would make sense like the Babington Plot right??

Sophie defending her husband you love to see it.

Did Julian have a heart attack?? He says he knows the sign and that squash will do it.

It must be so weird for Charlotte and obviously especially Kiell as well to just talk to the air??

"LIKE POSH BATMAN" XD XD

"Bonne see you all!!" Humphrey I adore you so much!!

No don’t discover the plot?? Is he killed cause he found out about it??

“Arms at our sides, we’re not a seagull.”

Did Kitty die of a disease of some kind?? She really didn’t like the idea of laughter being contagious??

Ah so that’s why they were all laughing apart from Cap and Fanny.

Oh God Humphrey no??

“This isn’t the life you signed up for - go have another one” Catch me CRYING??? Humphrey you are so sweet wtf??? Don’t sacrifice yourself though, it ain’t worth it??

THE SALUTE

Humphrey and Robin solidarity

Wait?? He wasn’t executed right there?? So the documentary is wrong?? Does he die in a sword fight?? Nope he can’t get the swords down. What’s happening??

(I love the arguing between the guards thats so good XD)

The chimney - genius move!! (his legs O.O nice legs)

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH BITCH I SCREAMED, THE FUCKING SWORDS THATS SO FUNNY HOLY SHIT???? I LOVE THAT SO MUCH OMG, THATS SUCH A GOOD TWIST!! OMG

The body?? Holy shit thats so good omg

ROBIN TUDOR ERA ROBIN finding Humphrey awwwwwww

“Ummmm - they’re all at it” the sass Thomas I love it!!

Ngl I kinda want the Button House jumper?? It looks so comfy!!

Ooooooohhhh Julian thinks Barclay’s dead that’s so clever - bitch is on the verge of death though

Ahhhhh its the shirt, so bitch isn’t gonna die what a prick.

Alison don’t kiss the tag it’s been on the sweaty chest of a land owning Tory all day - you’ll catch every disease under the sun from that.

Thomas leave her alone

Yesssss Alison standing up to him finally!!

*whispers* “Damn your eyes” that is literally the sweetest thing O.o

I want this scene tattooed on me forever, Thomas’ little smile when she stands up to him!!

ALISON PARENTAL BACKSTORY THIS IS ALL IVE WANTED!! We got it right though, lost both parents.

“Like having family all around me” <3 <3 <3 Oh fuck leave her alone

FAMILY PHOTO O.O O.O That’s so sweet

BUTT HO BUTT HO BUTT HO BUTT HO (Cap… calm yourself)

Julian’s cameo XD XD XD That’s brilliant!!! And Pat asking for an autograph

THAT WAS SO GOOOODDDDDDD

AS YOU CAN SEE MY USE OF CAPS HAS INCREASED THOUGH THE EPISODE CAUSE HOLY SHIT AMAZING

BRO I LOVED THAT SO MUCH???? THIS SEASON IS GONNA BE INCREDIBLE OMG

100/10 PRIMARILY FOR HUMPHREY CONTENT AND ALSO ALISON BACKSTORY

[naiatabris]

ZevWarden Week Day 2's theme is "Gifts." We all know the Warden is an expert gift-giver (an idea I'm playing with here)--so what happens when it's Zev's turn? This is set in the modern AU of my "Charity Case" fic, shortly after the events of the story.

______________

“Hey, are you doing anything Friday after work?”

Zevran glanced over from the pan of eggs he was frying. Naia was making coffee at his side, carefully pushing the top of the press into the vessel to sweep the grounds to the bottom. Naia herself was not picky about her coffee, since she took it with a great deal of sugar and milk; she’d learned this more elaborate method for him, a fact he still did not quite know how to process.

“No firm plans, no. Do you have suggestions?” He winked at her. “Are they naughty ones?”

She laughed as she began to pour the coffee into mugs. “Not exactly. It’s my birthday. I always invite some people for dinner at that diner near the DFRC to celebrate. It’s very casual, but I’d love for you to come.”

“Then I will be there.” He slid the eggs from the pan with practiced ease before pulling out his phone to mark the appointment in his calendar.

*********

Later that day, as Zevran was headed out of Cousland Enterprises to find lunch, a familiar voice interrupted his train of thought. “Hi, Zev!”

Zevran turned to see Beth Cousland walking through the CE door, a bright smile on her face. “Beth! A pleasant surprise. Lunch with a family member?”

She nodded. “I haven’t seen Fergus in ages, and I need ideas for Oren’s birthday. Hey, speaking of birthdays, what are you getting Naia for Friday?”

The question caught Zevran utterly off-guard. He immediately felt foolish. Presents. Of course. As customary in Ferelden as they are in Antiva.

“I … am still struggling with an idea,” he said, not quite lying. “And you?”

“Same here.” Beth’s face lit up. “Here, I’ve got a few minutes before Fergus and I are supposed to leave. Let’s call the expert.”

Barely a minute later, Beth had Alistair Griffin on speakerphone.

“Oooooh. I should have warned you.” Zevran heard Alistair take a deep breath. “Here’s the thing about Naia. She is absurdly, impossibly good at gift-giving. Those action figures on my bookshelf? They were my favorites when I was a kid. I lost them in a move after college but Naia somehow found me new ones. Another year, she sewed me my own Denerim Crashers jersey--that’s the old minor league baseball team that I used to follow before they moved to Highever. She put my name on it and everything.”

Zevran felt a nervous sensation beginning to spread through his stomach.

“So what are you getting her?” Beth asked, a little worried wrinkle between her brows.

“Soccer ball autographed by her favorite Denerim Lightning players,” Alistair said promptly. “Took me a while to find one with the goalie’s signature on it, but I finally had a good idea and I wasn’t going to screw it up.” He cleared his throat. “It was also more than I probably should have spent. Want to split the cost and put your name on the card?”

“Deal,” Beth said immediately. “Any other ideas Zev could use?”

“Unfortunately I spent months coming up with just that one idea,” Alistair said dryly. “Sorry, Zevran. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Gifts are her thing, I think she kind of likes that she’s so much better at it than we are. And most people at the party don’t bring a present. You’ve only been dating a month. She probably doesn’t expect you to get her anything.”

Zevran frowned. “I appreciate the insight,” he told Alistair sincerely. “But I would not wish to arrive empty-handed. I will think of something.”

After exchanging goodbyes with her boyfriend, Beth hung up the phone and gave Zevran a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’s right, you know. Whatever you get her, she’ll appreciate the thought.”

Zevran was sure Beth had the right of it. But the knowledge that Naia valued gifts, that she spent so much time and effort on presents for those she cared about, felt like a challenge he wanted to meet. ‘Appreciate the thought’ would not do.

He wanted to find something she would love.

*********

Over the next few days, Zevran began jotting down a list of things he knew Naia liked, trying to come up with a potential gift. He listened to her remarks, paid attention to what she watched on TV, looked at her wall of family photos depicting graduations and cookouts and summer days swimming at a beach on the Amaranthine Ocean.

Coming up with a present was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Since Alistair had already secured the soccer ball, anything related to Naia’s favorite sport or team was out. She’d just bought new running shoes a few weeks ago. He considered something more intimate, but between them they had an impressive collection of toys, and lingerie felt like a gift for him as much as for her.

Perhaps a physical present was the wrong direction. He thought back to the birthdays he’d planned for Taliesin and Rinna. During their first year as Crows he’d taken Taliesin club-hopping, laying out his credit card for some absurdly expensive table service before the two of them headed back to Taliesin’s apartment with an enthusiastic third party. For the last birthday he’d celebrated with Rinna, he’d booked a table at the city’s most exclusive restaurant, followed by a night in a penthouse hotel suite with a spectacular view.

Neither of those ideas were right for Naia, though. He’d learned that she was instinctively frugal, that the prospect of a twenty-dollar cocktail made her wrinkle her forehead and order soda instead. A high-end Denerim restaurant or hotel with mostly shemlen patrons would feel like an ordeal rather than a celebration.

He wanted something special yet comfortable, nice enough to be a treat and yet not so expensive it made her uneasy. A difficult balance to strike, especially since he was still getting to know his new city.

But finally, on Thursday morning, it came to him.

*********

Naia had somewhat undersold her birthday celebration. When Zevran arrived at the diner, it was filled with balloons and packed with her friends--old high school and college classmates, teachers from Vanedrin High, and other rec center employees. He was trying to figure out how to insert himself into this clearly tight-knit and friendly group--but before he could puzzle over it too much, Naia seized him by the sleeve and began to introduce him around.

More than once, Zevran touched the pocket of his jacket to make sure the envelope he’d brought was tucked safely inside.

Alistair began handing her presents as the diner’s wait staff brought out buckets of fries and pitchers of beer. She squealed in glee over the soccer ball, turning it around and around until she’d examined every signature; a new backpack, a gift card to a movie theater, and a Denerim Lightning ball cap were all greeted with hugs and enthusiastic thanks.

And finally, as the wrapping paper was cleared away and the guests resumed their party, Zevran slid an envelope in front of Naia. “Happy birthday.”

“Zev! I should have told you, presents are always optional. But thank you.” She grinned at him and opened it.

Her eyebrows rose as she pulled out the photograph inside. “It’s--a little house? Next to the ocean.” Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Zev. This isn’t …?”

He nodded. “The beach where your family used to go in the summer. Places near the water do book up early, but I was fortunate--there was a cancellation next month. It is just a weekend, but …”

Naia leaned over and kissed him, cutting off his almost-apology. When she pulled back, her eyes were sparkling. “I can’t believe this! It’s amazing! My parents had to cut back on the trips when we started saving for college …” she trailed off wistfully, then looked down at the picture and beamed. “I don’t think I’ve been to the beach in years. I can’t wait.”

“I fear there is a small addendum,” he admitted. “I had to call your parents to learn more about your favorite spots. We will be attending the Tabris family cookout next weekend. Adaia and Cyrion were quite clear that ‘no’ is not an option.”

Naia leaned her head back and groaned. “Oh, Maker. I’m sorry in advance, Zev.”

Oddly enough, Zevran was not. He had never met the parents of anyone he slept with, and he could not deny that the idea was strange. But there had been something very pleasant about hearing the elder Tabrises insist on meeting Naia’s boyfriend.

He raised his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “A cookout is an acceptable price for the chance to see you in a bikini,” he murmured, too low for the rest of the party to hear.

“This place looks pretty private, Zev,” Naia murmured back. “If we’re lucky, we can skip the bathing suits.”

[shotgun--rider]

Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

---------* ---------

You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents’ car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that  would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic. 

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves. 

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.  

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend. 

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on. 

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card. 

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this. 

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…” 

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point. 

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--” 

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you. 

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A. 

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,” 

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you. 

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,” 

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know. 

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place. 

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot. 

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”. 

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea! 

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily. 

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious. 

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you. 

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine. 

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time. 

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions. 

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried. 

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone. 

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her. 

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn. 

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off. 

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.” 

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?” 

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan. 

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy. 

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room. 

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows. 

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking. 

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something. 

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back. 

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot. 

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great. 

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs. 

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing. 

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs. 

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction. 

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real. 

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression. 

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,” 

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. 

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this. 

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on. 

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

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