#he may have lost the game but he's about to win where it really counts

[capquinn]

hello my favorite writer on this app.. after your quinn thot today I was curious if you would write husband!quinn and reader doing the challenge where you go to dinner and first one to mention the kids loses.. maybe a little fun time ensues after 🫣

(quinn would definitely lose and talk about bug within 10 mins)

LOVE this idea. like, absolutely obsessed with it. quinn is struggling bc literally everything reminds him of bug and cub. the music playing in the restaurant? cub babbles along to it in the car. the couple at the next table? bug told him the other day she’s going to marry her best friend from daycare. he’s doomed from the start <3

“Let's play a game,” you announce, setting your menu down and leaning in conspiratorially. “First one to mention the kids loses.”

Across the table, Quinn smirks, tipping his beer to his lips.

“What do I win?”

You blink. “What?”

“If I win.” He raises an eyebrow, expression calm, but you know him too well — there’s mischief brewing under the surface. “What do I get?”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “What do you want?”

Quinn hums, pretending to mull it over, gaze flicking over you like he’s debating his options. He sets his beer down, lazily tracing the condensation on the glass with his fingers. Then, with a slow smirk, he shrugs.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll decide when I win.”

You scoff, nudging his shin with the toe of your shoe under the table. It’s not a hard kick — just enough to make him smirk, to let him know you’re onto him.

“Oh, you’re feeling confident.”

“I’m always confident.”

The game starts off easy. You talk about work, a movie you want to see, the couple at the table next to you who are clearly on a first date. Quinn teases you about how you always take forever to pick what to eat, while he’s already placed his order in record time.

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair.

“Sorry for wanting to make an informed decision.”

Quinn rests his chin in his palm, watching you with barely hidden amusement.

“You just read the whole menu, pick something, then change your mind three times before the server even gets here.”

“That is a gross exaggeration.”

He hums, a little too smug. “I just think it’s funny how you panic-order every time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Keep talking and I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Quinn grins, kicking back slightly in his chair. “Go for it, baby. I’m winning this bet either way.”

You scoff, shaking your head, but before you can fire back, the server appears to take your order. You do exactly what Quinn predicted — debate between two options, panic last second, and pick something you weren’t even originally considering.

Quinn just smirks as he hands the menus back. “So predictable.”

“I’ll remember this when your food looks boring and you're begging for a bite of mine.”

Quinn just chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches across the table, fingers lazily finding yours. He doesn’t say anything at first, just traces slow, absentminded patterns over your knuckles, his thumb brushing over your wedding ring, turning it slightly like he always does. It’s quiet, easy — one of those moments that doesn’t need filling, just the two of you sitting there, comfortable in the silence.

Then, after a beat, he smirks. “This game is so easy, huh?”

You huff out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you squeeze his fingers. “Yeah, piece of cake.”

But as the minutes tick by, you start running out of steam. Every topic feels like it inevitably leads back to the two tiny humans you’re both very obviously not allowed to mention. You talk about a book you’ve been reading, but Quinn doesn’t read fiction. Quinn brings up hockey, but you hear enough about it during the season. The conversation starts circling the drain, filled with long pauses and raised brows, both of you waiting for the other to slip up.

And then — like it’s a reflex — you both reach for your phones at the same time.

You freeze. Quinn freezes. Fingers hovering over the screen, neither of you daring to move.

Quinn tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, voice slow and suspicious. “What are you doing?”

You sit up straighter, phone still suspended midair, blinking at him like you’ve been caught red-handed. “What are you doing?”

His lips twitch. “Just checking something.”

"Me too," you reply, maybe a little too quickly. A beat of silence. The tension thickens, the air between you charged with the weight of realisation.

Quinn’s gaze flickers toward you, sharp and knowing. “Are you checking the baby monitor?”

Your jaw drops, betrayal and horror mixing into one. “Are you?”

Quinn exhales, dragging a hand down his face, already defeated. “Damn it.”

Your shock melts into pure glee. You throw your hands up, phone clattering against the table as you burst out laughing. “Oh my God! I won!”

Quinn groans, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

“Unbelievable.” But there’s a fondness in his voice, even as he shakes his head, even as he reaches for his water like he needs a moment to process his loss.

You grin, all smug and triumphant. “Feels good to be a winner.”

Quinn shoots you a look, all playful warning.

“Guess we should just finish up and head home to —” He catches himself, groaning. “I almost did it again.”

“Tough loss.” You grin, voice full of fake sympathy as you rest your chin on your palm. “So, what do I win?”

Quinn watches you for a long moment, his eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing, something just a little dangerous. He leans in, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against your wrist where his hand has found yours again.

“You won. You call it," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

You hum, tilting your head, dragging it out just to watch him squirm.

“Hmm… I could ask for something small,” you muse, tapping a finger against your chin. “Or… something big.”

Quinn exhales, amused. “You're ruthless.”

“You knew that when you married me,” you counter sweetly.

His thumb strokes idly against the inside of your wrist, his gaze flickering between yours, a tension so thick and warm settling between you in the low candlelight.

Then, smirking, you lean in, all smooth confidence as you murmur, “I think I’ll decide when we get home.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 3

In which you and Max spend the next six months just being obsessed with each other.

Warnings: A little angst, but not 'break up with you' angst, just 'i really fucking miss you' angst so it's okay. And fluff. Tooth achingly sweet fluff. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 4.4k plus a shit ton of social media posts. - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - Master List

(a/n before we begin: Probably one more part to this. Thinking of doing an 'after Max gets you back to the hotel post-race' part to wrap things up nicely if anyone wants to see that.)

Monaco May 2024

F1GossipOfficial posted

34,028 likes F1GossipOfficial Seems as if our favorite Red Bull driver and sunny little podcaster are getting closer! The pair was spotted around Monaco this week ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix. The pair have been seen publicly a handful of times since Max made an appearance on her podcast The Yapping Hour in late April, most notably at the Miami Grand Prix at the beginning of the month and then the week later in New York City where she is based. Everyone who sent in photos said the pair were super cozy and seemed lost in their own world. user0299 she's only with him for the clout and money. Her little podcast was dying out and she latched onto Max like a leech. >>>user5572 go touch some grass my man. Her podcast is consistently the number 1 listened to show on all platforms all the fucking time. user9938 they are so cute, i can't handle it user4530 I saw them at dinner the other night and oh my GOD. They sat on the same side of the table even though it was just the two of them. He held her hand underneath the table all through dinner and I don't think either of them stopped smiling or looked anywhere else but at each other the entire night. >>>user39948 they are so fucking perfect oml

Canada June 2024 yourpersonalinsta posted

493,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, totowolff, and others yourpersonalinsta Over the moon to have been able to be with you for this win in Canada, Maxie. user299 MAXIE?! I have no one to talk to about this redbullracing our good luck charm strikes again! >>>user456 Red Bull calling her theirs??? Love this for her. maxverstsppen1 thank you for always being in my corner liefje ❤️ >>>user394 how am i supposed to be normal after reading this??? user8827 Not Toto in the likes trying to get on her good side so Max signs with Merc in 2026 >>>user778 HAHA can you imagine??

Amalfi Coast August 2024

maxverstappen1 posted

987,409 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1 summer break with this gorgeous girl user458 they are my royal couple yourpersonalinsta wishing we were back on that boat rn instead of on different continents :( >>>maxverstappen1 just a few more weeks until Singapore, schatje. >>>user4938 this is my roman empire >>>user024 mom and dad are sad so i am sad too

October 2024 Austin, Texas

You hadn't seen Max in over three weeks. Three very, very, very long weeks. And not to be dramatic or anything but you felt like you might actually pass away if the Uber that was currently picking it's way through very heavy Austin traffic drove any slower.

While the sleek Mercedes SUV waited at a red light, your gaze drifted away from the navigation system showing the the heavy traffic all around you towards the busy city streets around you. Whoever had decided to schedule an Eminem concert, a huge college rivalry football game, and a Formula 1 race all in the same city on the same weekend should have their head examined.

Fixated on the crowd on the sidewalk outside, you mull over the last six months of your life. It has certainly been a whirlwind, that was for sure. If someone had told you back in the beginning of May that you'd be on your way to your sixth Grand Prix of the year to watch your boyfriend race in Formula 1, you would have laughed in their faces. Because really, when you sat back and considered it, the fact that you had gone from being a fan of the sport and interviewing Max on a professional level to dating him in under six months was absolutely wild.

While you attended races whenever you could, you found yourself more often than not called to the other side of the world to attend to your flourishing career. In the last six months you had ping ponged around the globe, bouncing between weekends with Max and over scheduled weeks filled with work, interviews, and meetings. Some days you just wished that things were simpler and you could just dedicate yourself to following Max around from city to city but you knew that Susan B Anthony would roll over in her grave if you gave up everything for a man so quickly, even a man as amazing as Max Verstappen.

You brush aside the thought of leaving your work because in the end, all that is is a simple fantasy brought on by you missing the man that has become the center of your universe lately.

After attending the Singapore GP with Max, you had spent a few extra days with him in Asia before needing to fly home. While Max did have nearly an entire month break from racing, he couldn't follow you to New York like he had intended. After coming back from the summer break, Max's luck had started to slip and the car had deteriorated. He hadn't won a race in months, the car was an absolute tractor, and Lando was gaining on him in the Championship. He had needed to spend every extra moment he had in the sims and with the engineering team trying to salvage the season.

While Max had been in Europe, you had been in the US recording episodes with Heidi Klum, Wayne Gretzky, and finally Kylie Kelce. Heidi had been in LA, Wayne in Florida, and Kylie in Philly so you had spent most of the last three weeks on the road. As the SUV inched closer to the COTA track, you realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd set foot in your apartment.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the realization washes over you. You loved the life you lived, wouldn't trade it for the world but sometimes, in these quiet moments you wished for a break, a chance to go home, wherever that even was now, and just rest.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulls you back to the present. Ysou struggle to shake off the mind numbing melancholy that's settled over you like a thick woolen blanket before answering the call. "Hi baby." You sigh, knowing who it is without even looking at the caller ID.

"What's wrong?" Max's voice is sharp on the other end, effortlessly reading your tone.

You shake your head, chest tightening with anxiety. "Just..." You search for the right words. "tired is all. I just realized I can't even remember the last time I spent a night in my own bed."

"Oh, schatje." Max sighs, knowing how grueling this schedule is as he lives it as well. "Do you want me to have the jet take you home? It's at the airfield still."

Tears collect in your eyes as your chest squeezes painfully. "No, I just want to see you." You whisper, afraid if you raise your voice you'll start to cry.

"How far are you from the track?"

You pop your head around the SUV's headrest to check the nav system. "Not long. Five minutes. I can see the giant observation tower from here."

"Have the Uber bring you right to the paddock gates. I have a car here and a few hours before any media duties. I'll take you back to the hotel myself and we can take a nap together, okay?"

Your entire body sags with relief at his words. If there was one thing that Max was good at, it was taking care of you. He didn't hem and haw or waver on a plan of action. He saw what you needed and made sure that you were taken care of. The way the burden of everything that you had silently carried for years shifted towards Max the moment you landed in Miami all those months ago was something that would shock you for years to come.

"Okay." You whisper, swiping at a single tear that managed to escape.

You have a few moments to collect yourself before the Uber stops at the entrance to the paddock. From your seat in the back, you spot a familiar blonde head that belonged to your Dutch boyfriend waiting for you. You're suddenly simultaneously bursting with excitement and beside yourself with grief as the anxiety that has gnawed at you over the last 24 hours fully consumes you at the mere sight of Max.

Max has you out of the car and into his arms before you can barely catch your breath. The moment you inhale that uniquely Max scent something inside you shifts and becomes crystal clear. You didn't need Max to have his jet take you home because you already were home. It sounded cliche in your head and it probably was, but you knew there was some truth to it: somewhere over the last six months your home had shifted away from your apartment in New York to wherever Max was.

Max tightens his grip around your waist, settling his chin on your head while you stay buried deep in his neck, you realize that home isn't a place any longer. Home is a person now and Max is that person. You don't have to go home to New York to rest, you just have to be in Max's presence. With him, you are utterly and completely safe and secure. For someone who spends 99% of her time 'on' and performing, being able to come home to Max and just switch it all off, allowing him to lead and take over, is the most powerful form of rest you could have ever dreamt of.

Max nods at the driver as he unloads your luggage, arms still locked tight around you. He can feel you melt into him, like you've been waiting for this moment since the last time you saw him. He knows that for him at least, this is true. Everything else in his life is completley falling apart. The car sucks, they had to ditch the special livery for this weekend becuase the fucking paint had the potential to make the car too heavy and slow. Lando has been on a tear lately, that McLaren a complete rocket ship and the only reason Lando hasn't overtaken him in the championship is thanks to some spectacularly shitty calls from the McLaren pit wall.

The only bright spot in Max's day is you. Your voice, your touch, your face. Any bit of you he gets on a daily basis is what keeps him going right now. As he had stood on the curb just moments before, desperately and not so patiently waiting while watching the black Mercedes SUV creep down the street towards him, it had felt like cruel and unusual punishment after being apart from you for so long.

And now? Now you were back in his arms and he drew in the longest breath he could, taking in the scent of your perfume and laundry soap that he had missed so keenly while he'd been working, and he simply couldn't get enough.

Max pulls away slightly, so he can see your pretty face but what he sees in your eyes nearly breaks him. Pain and longing hang heavy in your eyes and there is nothing Max wouldn't do to make all of that go away for you. Fingers tip your chin up towards him so he can finally get his lips on yours, a soft sigh escaping your mouth when he makes that first contact.

You swear it's like a cool drink of water in the middle of a humid heatwave in July, the way Max kisses you with such relief and passion and affection. Like he's trying to tell you through his kiss how much he adores you, how much he's missed you, how much he craves you.

"I love you." Are the first words he says to you and your breath catches in your throat. It isn't the first time he's said those words, Max had said them first all those months back when he brought you home to Monaco. It had been quick, probably too quick by the world's standards, but it just clicked between the two of you and the words had tumbled out of Max like it was the most natural thing in the world. The reason the words had your breath catching in your chest was because of the ferocity behind them, like he could tell how bone tired you were from all the travel over the last few months and he was desperate to remind you why you were doing all of this. Why the two of you were doing all of this together and apart. It was for moments like this, moments where you were attached to each other in the middle of the busy paddock parking lot like no one else existed.

"I love you too, Max." You whisper, dusting your lips over the stubble that was scattered over his jaw. "Can we go take a nap now? I'm so tired."

yourpersonalinsta posted

348,209 likes liked by kyliekelce, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta home is wherever you are (tagged: maxverstappen1) user098 mad max is no more, there is only soft cuddly boyfie max user0399 this is the cutest thing i've ever seen user000 god i am so single maxverstappen1 love you baby >>>danielricciardo SIMP >>>maxverstappen1 absolutely >>>user9938 it kills me that he is loves her so boldly and loudly. girl hit the mfing jackpot. (liked by author)

It's not your alarm that fully wakes you up on Friday morning. It isn't Max's either. But as you try to untangle your limbs from Max's and search for the source of the ringing, you can't help but curse whoever is interrupting the slow sleepy cuddles that had been progressing into something more heated for the past 20 minutes.

You nearly spit you're so mad when you see the caller ID.

"John." You growl, sitting up in bed as Max settles himself back against the mountain of pillows beside you. "It is 8 in the morning on a Friday the day after I saw my boyfriend for the first time in over three weeks. I swear on all things good and holy, this had better be good."

John, to his credit, didn't even scoff at the threat. He'd been your business manager for going on four years now and was used to your early morning attitudes.

"She said yes."

You sit up, back going ramrod straight as the three words clang through you. "What?" You hiss.

Beside you, Max struggles to sit up too, alarm coursing through him at the panic in your voice.

"Tree just called me five minutes ago. Said that Kylie had sent her the episode and wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing you were and how you were the perfect person to do this interview on the end of the tour and everything. Tree said Taylor watched your episode with Michelle and Queen Maxima too, said they were the best interviews she's ever seen. Everything is a go."

Your entire world tilts as what John is telling you fully sinks in. "Taylor Swift's agreed to come on the show?" You voice is weak, heavy under the weight of the news John is telling you. Your hands tremble at the thought of what this means for you. For your career.

Beside you, Max sucks in a breath at your sentence, fully aware of how big of a moment this is for you. Pride soars through him as he watches literal sunshine dance across your face, your smile as bright as the Texas morning light. "Schatje." He whispers, pulling your free hand towards his lips. Your eyes dart over to him and you grin at him, kicking your feet a little, completely unable to hide your excitement.

"She also said yes to your suggestion of a behind the scenes vlog on your channel ahead of the release of the episode. Thought the idea was marketing gold. You've got full access to everything for the entire week."

Before you had landed Kylie Kelce on the show, you and John had made a silly, pie in the sky request to Tree Paine not even thinking that it would go anywhere. When Kylie had agreed to do an episode, a request that had actually been made to her people months before John had contacted Tree, the idea of maybe, just maybe you might be able to land Taylor after had grown a bit. You hadn't told anyone of the request, not even Max, because you didn't want to be embarrassed if it didn't work out.

"There's only one problem." Your heart stops and you grip at Max's hand for support. You knew there had to be a catch. "They want you in Toronto by Sunday."

"Wh-what?" Your stomach plummets through the floor. You had just gotten to Austin last night and now you were going to have to leave again? You were supposed to spend the entire triple header with Max. Three weeks of solid time with him had been the only thing getting you through the previous three week separation. You two had even planned to go visit your parents in Michigan between Austin and Mexico later next week.

"The first concert is Monday and Tree wants you to get as much content as you can and has asked you be there at 9am Monday morning."

You head spins. "Oh-okay." There's a giant Max shaped hole in your heart at what you have to agree to, simply exhausted by the fact that you're going to have to pick up and leave again so soon. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Do you want me to have Shannon make flight arrangements?"

You glance over at Max, who senses your apprehension. "Let me talk through it with Max and see what we can figure out. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Sounds good. Congratulations, kiddo. This is huge."

You smile despite yourself, excitement and anxiety winding their way through your chest making it a little hard to breathe. "Bye John."

You gently place your phone back on the bedside table before turning to Max, bracing yourself for the good and bad news you have to deliver.

"The beginning of that call looked phenomenal but now you look like you're going to be sick." Max observes, pulling you into his lap.

You shudder against when his lips graze your neck, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Taylor Swift agreed to come on the show and to let me do a weeks worth of behind the scenes of her Toronto shows."

"Baby, that is amazing. This is going to be huge for you and the show!"

You nod, a bit dazed by all of this information you have to process. "But they want me there by Sunday night so I can start first thing Monday." Sadness edges into your voice, the dread of having to leave Max again begins to sink in fully.

"When should Greg have the jet ready to take off then? You'll probably want to leave before the end of the race to beat traffic, yeah? Although I suppose we could find you a helicopter to take you from the track to the airport."

You stare at Max like he's grown three heads. His voice is so nonchalant despite him suggesting he rent you a helicopter that all you can do is blink at him for a few moments. "Just...just like that? You're on board with it? You're not upset?"

Max scoffs, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. His arms go tighter around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Why would I be upset? I'll do anything I can to help you live out this dream, schatje. You know that. This is the biggest thing to happen to your career since you had F1 racing legend Max Verstappen as a guest."

The giggle that tumbles out of you has the tension in the room popping like a soap bubble. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still here." Max finds your lips then, the kiss full of reassurance and confidence. Of course he was disappointed you were going to be leaving in 2 days and he wasn't sure when you'd be back with him but this opportunity was too good to miss. "I'd never forgive myself if you missed spending a week doing what you love with one of your favorite artists because of me. Of course I'll miss you but you need to do this. So tell me, when should I have the jet ready to get you to Toronto?"

yourpersonalinsta story post

story replies: user8882 ARE YOU THERE FOR ERAS TOUR??? user029 what are you up to ma'am??? user837 wait. first kylie's on the show and now you're in Toronto the same week as Taylor. ARE WE GETTING A TAYLOR EPISODE OH MY GOD.

TheYappingHour posted

876,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, alexandrasaintmleux, and others theyappinghour Toronto, you were stunning! Can anyone guess who our next guest on the show is going to be??? Behind the scenes vlog dropping next week ahead of a very very special two part episode set to drop later this month. user928 oh my god, everyone stay calm, it's happening. user020 IS THIS FOR REAL??? I will never recover maxverstappen1 so proud of you my love >>>yourpersonalinsta couldn't do it without you, maxie >>>user928 if there's one thing Max is going to be, it's the first one in the likes and comments on anything his girl does. (liked by yourpersonalinsta) >>>user0298 may this kind of love find me one day

Excerpt from Episode 59 of The Yapping Hour featuring Taylor Swift:

You: Speaking of what you do in your down time, can we talk about how supportive you are of your boyfriend and show up for him despite the Brad's and Chad's hating every second of it?

Taylor: It's so silly to me, how much everyone hates it. When I show up at the game, I'm just like every other significant other. I'm not there to take the spotlight away from anyone, I just want to watch my man play!

You: Oh my God, I totally get it. It's so strange to me the way some fans can't handle someone like you who has a whole other identity outside of who you're dating, showing up to support the person you love.

Taylor: It's like, relax! I'm just here to watch my boyfriend catch a ball!

You: Right? Just let me enjoy watching 20 cars drive around in circles in peace please!

Taylor: You two are so cute though. Trav was watching the race in Monaco a few months back, right after he invested in Alpine, and there was that one shot of you and Max after the end of the race in his garage and you were giving him a hug. I love how loudly you love him and how public he is about you. It's refreshing.

You: Oh gosh, thank you. Yes, he is so supportive of everything I do, just like Travis is. It's such a comfort, isn't it? *Taylor nods* He actually stayed in Austin an extra day so I could use his jet to come up here.

Taylor: Trav was supposed to go to that race but got caught up in training stuff. It looked like so much fun.

You: Have you ever been to a race? Either of you?

Taylor: I haven't but Travis went to the Las Vegas race last year. Said it was the one of the biggest parties he'd ever been to.

You: You'll have to come this year then! It's in a few weeks!

Taylor: I'll talk to Trav and see if we can make it happen.

TheYappingHour posted

1,039,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, kikagomes, and others theyappinghour What an absolute whirlwind of a week and a half. Spending time with your favorite artist, seeing her in her element, and then spending a few hours talking about everything from what it's like to live such a public life to how important it is to have a supportive significant other. I simply can't wait to share the behind the scenes vlog dropping at the end of this week and then the episode later this month. Taylor, you are a dream of a human being and we are so happy to have had this opportunity. Can't wait to see you and Travis at a race! taylorswift You are such a sweetheart! So glad we got to spend time together this past week! Can't wait to hear the episode my love! kikagomes how does it feel to live my dreammmm bestie??? >>>yourpersonalinsta kiks omg i will never recover from this!! maxverstappen1 Proud of you, as always lifeje. >>>yourpersonalinsta can't wait to see you so so so soon baby

"And he doesn't expect a thing?" You glance up at the ticket counter where the airline employee has begun to call first class. You stand, phone still pressed to your ear, pulling your carry on behind you.

"Nope!" On the other end, Max's PR manager Sophie giggles conspiratorially. "He was just complaining to GP ten minutes ago how he couldn't believe they didn't have more flights from Sao Paulo to Paris. He said he was considering upgrading his jet to one with longer range so he could fly private next time."

You roll your eyes but chuckle. If you were a drama queen, your boyfriend could be the drama king to match sometimes. Although you didn't blame him to be quite honest. After leaving Austin mid way through the race, you had missed the Mexico race entirely. The plan had been for you to fly down to Brazil for the Sao Paulo race but editing and press had taken much longer than you had anticipated so now it was Saturday night and you were boarding a 9 hour flight from New York to the South American country.

Only, Max didn't know that. Max thought you were getting on a flight to Nice via Paris before driving to Monaco where he'd meet you sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Joke was on him though, you had finished everything up and had called Sophie for help to get you down to Brazil just in time for Sunday's race.

"He's such a baby." You murmur as the flight attendant leads you to your seat.

"He is beside himself missing you." Sophie says and you can hear the smile in her voice. "Just make sure I'm around when he sees you for the firs time, okay? He's going to lose it."

Laughing, you hoist your suitcase into the overhead bin before settling down in the luxurious lie flat seat that will be your bed for the next nine hours. If everything goes right, you'll land in Brazil just as the postponed qualifying is finishing up and will be able to watch the entire race in person.

"Thank you for helping coordinate this, Soph. I really appreciate it."

"Anything to get Max out of this slump he's in!" She replies brightly.

A few minutes later, you hang up the phone and type out a quick text letting Max know you're boarding the flight. Luckily, the flight from New York to Paris is roughly the same time as the flight to Sao Paulo so he doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you'll be unreachable, only telling you that the doorman to his building is expecting you and to make yourself at home in his apartment in Monaco when you get there before he does.

************************************************************************

It is absolutely raining cats and dogs when the car Sophie hired pulls into the track after what feels like a lifetime of travel. Right after they served dinner on your flight, you took a sleeping pill and passed out for the duration of the flight, only waking up once the pilot turned on the overhead lights, signaling your arrival.

A quick text to Sophie alerts her to your arrival and she says she'll come and meet you outside the paddock with an extra umbrella. The driver that picked you up from the airport will take your luggage to the hotel where Max and the team are staying. When the car stops in front of the paddock gates, you spot Sophie immediately.

"Soph!!" You shout the moment you stumble out of the car, limbs a little stiff from the long car ride. Sao Paulo traffic is a beast in the best of weather but in a downpour like this? Nightmarish.

Sophie opens her arms to embrace you, "Oh I am so glad you're here. He is an absolute nightmare right now."

You grimace, knowing exactly why. He'd be starting P17 in a few hours. Between the team having got caught behind a red flag during Q2 and his 5 place grid penalty, it was a nightmare scenario for Max. All of this was compounded by Lando's win in the sprint yesterday and the fact that he was starting on pole today.

"Alright then, lets go. Maybe I can talk him down off a ledge before the race starts."

Sophie grins because she knows you'll be able to do just that. If there was anyone who could calm Mad Max down and bring him back to earth after the kind of morning the team had had today, it was you.

As you weave your way through the crowded paddock, the heavy rain simply not a deterrent to anyone at the track today, Max is in the garage considering the merits of scratching his eyeballs out so that he doesn't have to run this fucking race today. Everything is wrong. The car is terrible. Still. The FIA seemed to have a hard on for fucking up his weekend. Lando was on poll. And worst of all, he really fucking missed you. There was still several days between him and being reunited with you but if he could have just walked right out of the paddock and onto a plane to get to wherever you were in that moment, he would have. The only thing that seemed to settle him during these times lately was your steady presence in the garage. He didn't even need you to say anything, just knowing that you were around, within arms length if he needed you, did something to calm him like nothing else could.

He's talking to GP, actually, he's grumbling at GP when a familiar flash of hair and bright smile catches his eyes. Perfect, he thinks miserably, now I'm imagining her in the garage. I've gone full unhinged obsessed boyfriend, haven't I?

Imagine his shock when he actually hears your voice. "Max." You call out softly, hands clasped in front of you as you wait at the edge of the garage beside Sophie.

Max simply blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out if he's hallucinating or if you're really standing in front of him. His heart hammers in his chest when everything finally clicks into place. GP doesn't even bat an eye when Max walks away from him, mid sentence, before crossing the garage in a few short strides.

Max isn't usually one for intense public displays of affection, especailly in the garage and neither are you. There's a level of professionalism he likes to maintain while racing and you have always respected that but when Max sees you standing in front of him, practically drowning in one of his sweatshirts, hair wet and messy from walking through the paddock in the rain, he can't stop himself from scooping you up in his arms. Burying his head in your neck, he inhales deeply. So deeply that his lungs pinch with pain from the way he's trying to commit the way you smell to memory.

"You're here." He murmurs, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me in Monaco?"

Max sets you down, not really wanting you out of his arms but wanting to move you to a quieter part of the garage. Behind you, Sophie, GP and the rest of the team discreetly shuffle away to give you two a bit of privacy.

"I knew how hard the last two races were for you and I just..." Pausing, you have to wait for a moment for your hands to stop shaking. You've been running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine for what feels like the last three weeks now and the emotion of the moment catches up to you. "I just wanted to be here for you."

Max lowers his lips to yours, covering them in a kiss that is all longing and white hot heat. He keeps the kiss just this side of tame enough for the garage, not wanting to draw the ire of Christian but he had needed to taste you then. His hand comes up to cup your face while the other slips around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body. He's slightly damp from how wet it's been this morning but none of that matters now that you're back in his arms.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs, blue eyes practially sparkling down at you, he's so happy. It's been weeks since he's felt like this. Settled. Like he can take on the world. For the first time in what feels like forever, Max has a sense of determination that wraps itself around him. Like the championship isn't all but lost to Lando. Like the car isn't going to be terrible today, even though he might not even finish in the points. Like everything he's gone through the past few months on the track is all about to end because you're finally here and if anyone can bring the team luck, it's you.

"I love you." You whisper into his chest. "Now, let's go show the world why you're about to become a 4 time world champion, yeah?"

And that's exactly what he does.

yourpersonalinsta posted

938,398 likes liked by redbullracing, taylorswift, yourdad and others yourpersonalinsta we are SO back, baby!!! What started out as a nightmare of a day turned into a generational drive for the history books. P17 to P1 and I cannot believe I was there to witness it. Max, I am proud of you beyond words. You and the entire team deserve this win today. I love you to the moon and back, Maxie. (tagged: maxverstappen1) taylorswift what a race! Trav and I caught most of it before the game today. Congratulations!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta hope to see you in Vegas in a couple of weeks! >>>user928 oh my god, new bestie duo unlocked!? maxverstappen1 words fail to describe how much I love you baby. Thank you for always being in my corner and never giving up on me, even when I want to give up on myself. Love you to the ends of time, schatje >>>user928 i am SOBBING. Boyfriend Max is my favorite Max.

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[mallowsweetmiri]

Black Bikini • FW x Reader

Part 2 • Strawberry Pie

Summary: You arrive at the burrow for summer break. Fred really likes your new bikini.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: swearing and smut

18+

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You sat out on the front porch basking in the early morning sun before the afternoon swelter settled in. It was yet another summer at the burrow, and you couldn’t wait to get into all sorts of trouble with your favorite Weasleys. You had known them since you were young, as your dad worked closely with Arthur at the ministry. Once you started at Hogwarts, you quickly became friends with the Weasley twins who were in your year. Ever since then, you often spent a good chunk of your summer at the burrow, playing quidditch or swimming in the lake during the day and staying up late playing chess at night. Just a few weeks ago, you had helped Gryffindor win the quidditch cup, so you knew the quidditch matches would be superb this summer.

“Morning, sunshine!” Fred cheered as he pushed through the front door, running past you and into the yard, George following quick on his heels.

“What are you two up to?” You yelled after them, squinting your eyes as they ran further away and towards the pond.

“YOU BLOODY WANKERS GET BACK HERE AND FIX THIS!”

You whipped your head around to see a very angry Ron standing on the front porch with a fist in the air like an angry old man. His pajamas were a violent shade of pink. You almost spit out your coffee.

“New look?” You choked out, making Ron frown and shake is head.

“You’re just as bad as them,” he grumbled before walking back inside.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw the twins walking back to the house with mud all over their hands.

“Its not even noon and you two have already started wreaking havoc, what have you gotten yourselves into now?” You raised a brow at them. As they approached closer, their bodies absolutely loomed over you on the steps. Two identical grins blocked the bright sun from your eyes.

“Just catching some bullfrogs while we waited for Ronnykins to leave the premises,” George grinned.

“That bloke is always angry, what could he possibly be mad about on such a fine day?” Fred inhaled sharply and let out a sigh of contentment as he threw his head back into the sun. A blush rose to your cheeks. You may or may not have begun developing the slightest crush on the older twin.

“Hmm, I wonder. Well, what are we going to do today? I bet Gin would be up for a game, I don’t know if Ron will want to play with you two though,” you chuckled, standing up and brushing the dirt off the back of your shorts. The twins grinned at you.

“How about we go swimming at the lake? We could make a day out of it,” Fred suggested, leaning against the post of the railing.

“Hmm, yeah. We could pack some lunches and games, spend all day in the sun,” George said thoughtfully, pursing his lips to one side.

“Sounds like a plan, let’s go get Ginny up, and maybe you should fix Ronald’s clothes so he’s not in a foul mood all day,” you said, patting George on the shoulder before turning to head inside.

It was around noon by the time everybody got out of the house and started down the path to the lake. The walk wasn’t too long, but it was far enough where Ron could complain and Ginny could convince George to let her ride on his back. The sun beamed down on your backs, beads of sweat forming on your skin, sticky and hot. You guys were practically racing to the shore once you gained view of the water.

“The walk will be worth it!” Fred cheered as he raced ahead to the sand. He recklessly threw his bag onto the ground before pulling off his shirt, saving no time before diving straight into the water. It seemed you’d completely lost interest in walking as the rest of the Weasley children had already reached the shore ahead of you. You didn’t allow your mind to wander any further as you too started running down the hill of sand.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” George shouted, already running into the water. You tore off your t-shirt and shorts, refusing to be the last one into the lake. Ginny had already dove under so it was just you and Ron left. You both began sprinting towards the water, but you laughed as you dove straight in, leaving Ron to be last. The twins left him no time to pout however, as they started to splash and fight with their brother. You and Ginny swam away from the chaos and floated on your backs, enjoying the contrast between the warm sun and the cool lake.

“I’m so glad you’re here again, Y/N,” Ginny said, shifting her position to talk to you better, “I love my brothers but it’s nice to have another girl around. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much like them. I don’t want to be a tomboy, I want to be pretty so boys like me.” She dunked her head back to wet her hair again. A soft smile rose to your face as you listened to her banter.

“Gin, don’t you think you’re a little young to be thinking about boys like that?” You couldn’t help but to laugh a little at her naivety.

“You sound like my brothers,” Ginny scrunched her nose at you.

“All I’m saying is you’re perfect just how you are. You’re smart and funny and anybody would be lucky to know you. Besides, you are nothing like your brothers, you know that,” you reassured her, pointing over her shoulder at her brothers who were currently trying to stick slimy plants onto each others foreheads. Ginny snorted.

“Okay, you have a point, but I just want to be pretty like you, Y/N. Will you teach me how to do my hair and makeup? Please?” Ginny pleaded, putting on her best puppy eyes. You rolled your eyes at her before returning to your smile.

“Gin, I don’t even know how to do all of that. I guess I can show you some stuff, but your too young. I didn’t even start doing any of that stuff until this year,” you huffed. You wished she would appreciate her developing years without worrying about such superficial things. Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as Ginny began to beam and splash around.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And you’re definitely good at that kind of stuff, Y/N. I mean ever since you started looking all pretty, Fred won’t shut up about you! I’m going to be so popular this year,” Ginny continued on babbling about her upcoming year but you couldn’t seem to focus. Had she just said something about Fred?

“We’re going in to eat! Best to come unless you want us to eat your share,” Ron called as he trudged out of the water. You broke out of your thoughts and hoisted Ginny on your back to head towards the boys. By the time you set Ginny down, the picnic basket had been opened. You sat down on your towel and grabbed a sandwich.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fred’s POV

I guess I hadn’t had time to look at her properly when we got down to the lake, because I hadn’t notice her wearing that tiny black bikini. Merlin, she looked so good this summer. I mean, she’d always been pretty but this was on a whole other level. Her normally cute face had turned into something of a more mature beauty. My eyes left her lips and scanned down a bit further. Her body, Merlin…

“Oi,” George laughed and nudged me. I whipped my head away to face him, being met with raised brows and a downturned smile.

“Mmm,” I grumbled, taking a huge bite of my sandwich. I was not just checking Y/N out. I’m just eating my sandwich. We ate in silence for a little while, hungry and tired from the sun.

“Welp, time for a little afternoon nap,” Y/N sighed, placing a hand on her full belly and lying down on her towel. As her back hit the sand, her chest bounced lightly, her skimpy top moving along with it. Okay, I was totally checking her out.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I’m getting back in the water, it’s far too hot out here,” I declared, standing up with a grunt and heading back into the water. If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that I may be slightly obsessed with my dear friend Y/N.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your POV

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting from the glare of the sun.

“Finally you’re up! I was about to roll you over so you didn’t burn,” Ginny laughed, moving from her seat to look down on you.

“Mm, I’m up now,” you mumbled sleepily, “Shall we go in the water? I’m absolutely frying.” You slowly sat up. Your skin felt slightly tight from baking in the sun.

“I’ll race you!” Ginny chirped, standing up and running to the water. Merlin, that girl had energy. You jogged down to the water and dove under, your skin soothed by the fresh water. As you came back up, you felt something slimy slap against your face.

“Ho! He gotchu good!” George yowled, falling back into the water with a splash. You reached up to grab the slime off of your cheek with your mouth agape, frozen in a wry smile.

“Who did that,” you scoffed, look up at the boys to find your culprit. Fred stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk plastered onto his face.

“You.”

You flung the lake slime at him before charging towards him at an impressive speed through the water. As you approached him, you reached down into the water with a devious expression.

“Catch,” you said, lifting up a ginormous ball of slime that had been placed in front of you by what you could only imagine was the hand of god. You flung the mass towards him before he could dodge out of the way. He tried to put his hands up to catch it, but it was no match. The sludge had flown onto his scrunched up face and dripped down his flared out hands. You put your hand on your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Bloody hell!” Ron hollered, laughing his ass off with George. Fred dunked under the water to get off the slime. When he emerged from the water, he ran his hands through his hair, throwing his head back. You watched as if he was moving in slow motion, the sun glistening on his wet skin as his muscles flexed with the movement of his arms.

“You are so dead.”

And with that he picked you up with ease over his head.

“No! Fred please!” You said between chokes of laughter, but it was no use. He threw you down into the water and splashed you when you came back up to the surface. When he finally stopped you could see his goofy smile form around his sun kissed freckles.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he said, relaxing back into the water. You couldn’t stop giggling as you swam towards him.

“Sorry Freddie, I had to get you back,” you teased, laying back into the water. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I was away from you for a few weeks and forgot how ruthless you are,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was in high spirits.

“Oh please, how could you forget? Im just happy to be back for the summer, we’re going to get into much more trouble than this,” you giggled. He chuckled at that.

“Oh, I hope so Y/N,” he charmed, standing back up from the water. You looked up at him staring down at you, water dripping down his abs. You found your eyes wondering and forced yourself to look back up to his face. He was smirking down at you. “What are you looking at Y/N?” You practically choked on lake water as you stood up next to him.

“You still have slime on you git,” you brushed him off and went back up to the sand. You heard him laugh behind you as your cheeks flushed a deep red. You really hoped he hadn’t just caught you staring…

The rest of the day was spent roasting in the sun, passing around a quaffle in the water, and eating what was left of the picnic basket. By the time the sun began to set, the five of you set back on the trail to the burrow. You stayed up front with Ginny and Ron as they quarreled about quidditch, Fred and George behind you. The walk back felt long and tiring, and by the time you had reached the burrow, the sun had almost fully set.

“Dinner is ready!” You heard Molly call from the porch. At that, the five of you filed into the house to change for dinner. In the kitchen, the windows were all open to allow the cool night air into the room. On the table sat an amazing dinner spread, the mark of a fantastic summer with the Weasleys. You sat down next to Ginny, and began to pile your plate with all of Mollys fixings.

“So Y/N, how was your school year dear? I barely had time to chat with you on the platform,” Molly smiled at you, helping herself to some green beans.

“Well, I did well on all of my owls, but the end of the year was mostly spent studying for those,” you frowned, not happy to recall the stress from your end of year exams.

“And you were absolutely wicked in the final quidditch match! Mum, you should’ve seen her. Truly, I think she scored at least 50 points,” Ron excitedly recounted the match, where Gryffindor beat Slytherin and won the quidditch cup.

“Yes, well, Woods was certainly happy with me after that game,” you laughed, earning an immature laugh from George a scowl from Fred. You rolled your eyes at the two.

“Well that’s just fantastic Y/N. Say, how’s your mother been?” Arthur asked. And so the dinner went on, a lively and wholesome evening ending in a warm cherry pie for dessert. As everybody stood to mark the end of dinner, you began to collect plates.

“Nonsense, Y/N, go on! Run along!” Molly took the plates from you and shooed you off.

“You heard the woman,” Fred said, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the front door. The sun had completely set, the sounds of summer surrounded you as you ran down the steps of the house.

“Where are we going,” you laughed, still following Fred as you held hands, George running alongside you.

“On a quick pit stop,” George grinned, running up towards the shed. Fred let go of your hand as he opened the door. You heard a few bottles clanking together and before you know it, Fred’s standing in front of you holding up two bottles of fire whisky next to his grinning face. George follows suit but is instead holding a crate of fireworks.

“Did you guys bring this back from Hogsmeade?” You questioned in a hushed voice, astonished that they had managed to sneak this much past their mother.

“Yep,” George grinned, nodded his head fervently. Fred grasped the necks of both bottles into one head and nonchalantly closed the shed door. His hands were so big and definitely strong from playing quidditch all these years… You shook your head. Merlin, couldn’t stop thinking of him like that for two minutes?

“Follow this way,” Fred nodded over to a hill a bit down the path to the lake. You began to follow the twins, having to walk two steps at a time to keep up with their lanky legs. The deep blue of the night sky basked over the hill as the three of you trudged over the peak and over to the other side. The twins plopped down onto the grass and opened the bottles of fire whisky.

“To summer,” George cheered with Fred, their bottles clanking against each other. They both took a swig before sticking the bottles out to you. You giggled, grabbing the bottle from Fred and raising it up.

“To summer,” you cheered, taking a hefty swig of the fire whisky. Fred laughed and shook his head at you.

“So, shall we light these puppies up?” George grinned, gesturing to the box of fireworks. You grinned back at him.

“We should wait a bit Georgie. Hopefully the hill will help block most of the light and sound, but it wouldn’t hurt to wait until they’re in bed,” Fred pointed out, George nodding his head. He turned to face you.

“Mums been on our case about all the pranking and stuff. She took away a bunch of our creations already, so it be better if she just… doesn’t know too much,” George whispered. You nodded, laying back onto your elbow. With your free arm, you took another swig of whisky.

“Understood.” You replied, passing the bottle back to Fred.

“How about a game of exploding snaps and shots?” Fred asked with a lazy grin, pulling a deck of cards out from his pant pockets. You grinned back at him.

“Wait,” George snapped up, “did you hear something?”

You and a Fred sat up and looked up at to top of the hill. Two little heads of ginger hair peaked over the side. They tried to duck down, but George had already reached them, pulling them up by the arms.

“Please George, can we stay?” You heard Ron plead as he was guided down the hill.

“Not tonight, Ron. And we gotta get Ginny up to bed,” George’s voice rang over the slope. You turned to face Fred with pursed lips.

“Well, wanna play?” You laughed, relaxing back on your elbow. He mirrored your movements.

“Yes darling,” Fred smiled at you, shuffling the cards in his hands. A light blush managed to creep into your face. He kept eye contact with you as he dealt the cards.

“You start,” you said. He laughed and tidied up his hand.

“So, what kind of trouble have you been up to the past few weeks?” He asked, placing a card down.

“Oh you know, a few muggle clubs with my cousin, but nothing else really,” you shrugged, taking your turn. He smirked at you.

“Oh, yeah? Y/N’s a party girl now? I guess I do remember you having quite a good time at the quidditch house cup afterparty,” He winked. You rolled your eyes but one of your cards snapped, causing you to jump. “Drink.”

You brought the bottle to you lips and took a swig. A drop of whisky hung off your bottom lip, and Fred’s eyes were quick to notice. You licked the bottom of your lip and smiled at him. His head fell to his shoulder as he returned a lopsided smile. Your blush crept deeper on your face as you tried to focus back to the game. You’d hung out with Fred plenty of times, granted George was usually there too, but something felt different. You couldn’t help but feel like he was watching you the same way you were watching him…

“Well, speaking of party girls, you certainly seemed to like Angelina at that party, hmm?” You raised a brow at him while picking up a card. He put a card down and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Angelina sure is something, but we’re just good friends. Besides, George already has a thing for her, and I have to admit, I have eyes for someone else,” He raised his brow and picked up another card. Was Fred seeing someone else? Surely you’d have heard about it, he is pretty popular after all.

“Oh?” You questioned, putting down a card and picking up another. Fred opened his mouth to speak but another card exploded in your palm, startling the both of you. You gasped and Fred chuckled while he passed you the bottle.

“Mm, I think she might like me too…” Fred trailed off, watching you as you put your lips to the bottle and swallowed yet another shot. Your face cringed a bit this time, liquor dripping onto your lips. Fred put down his cards and moved closer to you. Your breathing quickened as you look at his face. He was staring at your lips. Was he about to kiss you?

“Y/N… ” his eyes panned up to yours, the moonlight illuminating his freckled nose and softened expression. You breathed in quick, unsure of your voice.

“Are you about to kiss me?” You breathed out quietly, Fred nodded softly before drawing closer. You closed your eyes as his lips pressed carefully against yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh, it felt like you were dreaming. He brought his palm up to your face and caressed you gently while deepening the kiss. He was a good kisser. He pulled away gently, now almost on top of you. You watched his chest rising and the flush on his cheeks. You could tell by his demeanor that he wanted more. And so did you. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him more harshly this time, your hunger for Fred growing stronger. It felt like all day you were just itching to have him close to you, and now that you had the chance, you weren’t going to mess it up.

“Y/N, let me take you somewhere,” Fred breathed out in between a kiss. You hummed into his mouth. This caused him to start kissing down your neck.

“Do you think this is a good idea, you know, you and me?” You sighed, your back arching slightly off the ground as his hands explored down your body. He stopped and looked up at you, his lips parted and hair disheveled.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” he smiled charmingly, standing up and holding out his hand. You smiled and took it, he was so strong he practically lifted you off the ground. You stepped close to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Okay, then take me wherever you want to go, Fred,” you said in a low voice, leaning up to kiss him again. He moaned into your lips.

“Follow me,” Fred wasted no time and began to lead you down to the bottom of the hill. You guys walked for a few minutes, up into the surrounding woods. Soon you reached a small platform in the trees. It resembled a treehouse but it was made of fabric.

“Here?” You raised a brow, turning around to Fred. He flashed his signature smile and put his hands on your waist.

“Just trust me, love,” he walked you backwards while giving you sweet and sensual kisses. Soon he turned you around and lifted you so you could climb up to the platform. He followed suit.

“Wow,” you gasped. The platform had clearly been enchanted, the inside of the tent being filled with comfortable sack chairs and carpets. Fred kissed your neck as he guided you to a seat.

“Bill helped us out when he was home for a bit, me and George were going to show it to you tomorrow,” he sat down next to you as you admired the club house. This summer was going to be so much fun.

“I’ll have to thank Bill when I see him,” you chuckled, grabbing the back of Fred’s neck and pulling him back into a kiss.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fred’s POV

This day truly couldn’t have gotten better. Somehow, I was on top of Y/N, kissing her and feeling her little moans against my lips. It felt so good to have her under me, moaning because of me. I don’t know how long I’d been wanting this, but it sure as hell felt right. I slid my hand under her shirt and up her side, her back lifted up off the chair. Merlin, she wasn’t even wearing a bra under her sweatshirt. I felt my pants tighten, I’d never wanted anybody so bad.

“Fred,” she moaned, pulling at the hem of my shirt. I breathed out a laugh as I sat back to pull off my shirt. Her eyes were blown out as she watched me, she looked so sexy. I came back over her and set my forearm next to her head as I hovered over her body. My hand went down to the bottom of her sweatshirt and looked up to ask for permission. She nodded and I quickly removed the piece of clothing from her body. I sat back to take in the image of Y/N laying on her back in front of me. Her body was perfect, and her tits were tanned in the shape of that tiny fucking bikini top. I groaned hungrily as I bent down to take her nipple into my mouth. She gasped with pleasure as my hands explored her body, my lips attached to her sensitive skin. I just wanted to taste her, I wanted to kiss every inch of her body and show her how badly I’ve been wanting her.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” I whispered, kissing her neck softly, “so perfect. Do you know how fucking perfect you look right now?” She groaned as I sucked on her neck. We both knew it was a risk to leave mark on her, but neither of us cared. I began to leave a trail of gentle kisses down her body as my hands pulled down her cotton shorts.

“Fred,” she blushed, trying to close her thighs around my shoulder. I chuckled and kissed the inner part of her leg.

“Don’t be shy, Y/N. I want to taste you. Can I please? I promise it will be worth it,” I pleaded, linking my arms under her hips. She moaned at the action and quickly nodded her head, relaxing back into the chair. I slid off her shorts and panties, and linked my arms back under her hips. I’d never wanted to eat pussy so bad in my life. My mouth was salivating as I ran my tongue up her clit in one slick motion. She shuddered and locked her thighs around my head again. I used this time to bury my face in her, licking in soft circles around her bud. She began to grab my hair and gently fuck herself on my tongue. I felt like I was about to cum. Her face twisted up in pleasure which only made my pants tighter. She tasted so fucking good and all I wanted was to make her cum all over my mouth. I sped up my motions and she arched off the chair. Her full breasts bounced as she felt back down. I plunged my tongue into her hole and used my fingers to swipe circles around her clit.

“Merlin, Freddie,” she grunted, making a sound different from anything I’d heard out come out of her mouth before, “I’m- I’m going to-“ I locked my tongue on her clit as her thighs trembled around my head. She shuddered and moaned and released warm, sweet juices onto my tongue. I happily licked up every last drop.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your POV

You gasped for air as Fred came back up to you, kissing up your stomach with shiny lips. He kissed you on the mouth before grinding down onto your leg. You could feel how hard he was. You moaned into the kiss and pushed your hips up against him. You knew what you wanted, and besides, your friendship was already far gone. You knew you wouldn’t be able to give up that mouth after you knew what it was capable.

“Freddie,” you purred, looking up at him with starry eyes, “do you want to know what I feel like?” He groaned and pushed down harder into your leg.

“Godric, yes, Y/N. But are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, kissing your cheek and pushing your hair behind your ear. You chuckled and smiled at him. Here the two of you were, doing something completely out of the ordinary, and yet Fred was still just Fred. Charming and caring and reckless.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He flushed and gave you his crooked smile before sitting up to take off his pants. You sat up to watch as his cock slapped up against his abdomen, the sight causing you to groan. He was big, and while you weren’t scared, he was definitely the biggest you’d ever taken. You sat onto your knees and looked up and him for permission, not that you needed any at this point. You looked down at you with a strained expression and place his hand on the back of your head. You leaned forward and took the tip into your mouth, looking up at him again before taking his full length down your throat. This earned you deep growl as he thrusted into your mouth even deeper. Once you had properly wet his dick, you laid back down onto the chair, spreading your legs and grabbing your tits, mostly so you had something to hold onto. He hovered over you and placed a kiss on your lips.

“Just tell me if you need to stop,” he tried to whisper, but it came out as more of a throaty groan. You nodded and placed your hands around his neck. He positioned himself in front of you before testing the tip of his hard cock in your pussy. With each inch getting added into you, you scraped your nails into his neck. He kissed up and down your neck to soothe you as he sat inside of you to let your pussy adjust to the size.

“I’m okay Freddie, you can fuck me now,” you whispered into his ear. With no delay, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and groaned as he began to thrust in and out of you. He felt so good fucking you like this. Especially after he had just eaten you so good, your entire pussy was pulsing around him.

“Y/N,” Fred moaned, grabbing your hips and thrusting into you even harder, “you’re taking me so well. Just like that darling.” You moaned as you bounced from his thrusts. His hand moved to cover your clit with pressure. You were going to cum again, and so soon. How was Fred doing this to you?

“Freddie, you’re going to make me cum again,” you whined, you grabbed your tits again in a desperate attempt to hold onto to something steady.

“That’s alright, Y/N. I love making your perfect pussy come for me,” he grunted, lifting up your hips and thrusting even harder into your pussy. Your moans turned erratic as you felt yourself building up once again. You clenched around him one last time before your back lifted up, your pussy pulsating around his cock. His thrusts began to waver as he fell apart. You made sure to push yourself up towards him so he knew it was okay to cum inside of you. With one final thrust, Fred groaned as he released himself, your pussy getting filled with hot spurts of his seed. The two of you laid like that for a few minutes, catching your breath and recognizing the fact that you’d just fucked your family friend. Fred slid your panties back up your legs before leisurely putting on his own clothes.

“Freddie, we should probably get back. It’s going to be hard enough trying to pretend like this didn’t happen to George,” you noted, pulling your sweatshirt over you head.

“We don’t have to pretend, Y/N. At least not in front of George. He’s going to find out eventually,” Fred chuckled, placing a finger under your chin and kissing your lips softly. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to this. His stupidly soft lips made you dizzy every time.

“I guess that’s true… so does that mean you want to continue this?” You asked sheepishly, a blush rising to your face again as he gave you a smile.

“You’re daft if you think I’m not going to make you mine, Y/N,” he smirked. How many times was he going to make you blush tonight? You tried to play it off as the two of you descended from the fort and started off towards the hill again. In the distance, you could see George sitting up on the hill next to the fireworks. As you and Fred approached him, he stood up with a half empty bottle in his head.

“There you are! I figured you two went off to the treehouse…” he eyed the two of suspiciously, and it didn’t help that you had a permanent blush to your face.

“Sorry Georgie, Y/N wanted to check it out,” Fred said nonchalantly as he took a seat next to his brother. You followed suit and looked up to the sky as the two of them began to set off the fireworks. The sounds of summer made you feel at home, and the visions of two lanky red heads laughing chaotically as they lit off the fireworks made you smile. It sure was good to be back at the burrow.

[writingwithciara]

Missed Goal ~Quinn Hughes~

summary: after the devils beat the canucks, quinn returns to his apartment, where his roommate has a plan to cheer him up

word count: 2.3k

pairing: quinn hughes x roommate!reader

notes: I feel so bad that quinn didn’t score a goal in the game against his brothers. Like my heart physically hurts just thinking about. My poor baby ☹ Anyways, I think there’s a touch of anxiety speak closer to the end but that’s pretty much it for triggers/warnings

masterlist

“Are you sure you can’t come to the game tonight?” Quinn asked his roommate as he rushed around their apartment, grabbing his gear. He looked up at her and waited for a response.

“I really wish I could but I have to work tonight. Sorry, Quinn.” y/n looked at her roommate and smiled. “But I will be watching from here and I’ll be cheering for you. You’re going to do amazing tonight.”

“I really appreciate that. Thanks.” He looked at his bag and then back up to y/n. “It’s not going to be the same without you there, but at least I know you’ll be cheering for me here.”

“I’d cheer for you anywhere. And that’s a promise.” y/n smiled and walked over to him, extending her pinky. He wrapped his pinky around hers and placed a kiss on it. It was a simple gesture. One they did before every single game.

“When I get home tonight, we can celebrate. Win or lose.”

“You’re going to win, Quinn.” y/n smiled at her best friend. “You may be playing against both of your brothers and they may be great but you’re better. You got this, Hughes. Now go and dominate those Devils.”

“Thank you for being you.” He grabbed his bag and walked out the door. Y/n went to her computer and began doing her work tasks.

A few hours later, she turned the game on and abandoned her work to cheer for Quinn. When Jack scored during the first period, she cheered. She wanted to be happy for the boys but whenever something good happened, it was never Quinn. Jack scored, Luke scored and it seemed like every other player got a goal except Quinn. He did get an assist but that didn’t make y/n happy. Instead, she felt extremely bad for him.

Every time the camera would cut to him, he would look defeated and that broke y/n’s heart. It was bad enough he always felt somewhat inferior to his brothers when it came to hockey, but for the commentators (and even some fans) to constantly point that out, was a little upsetting. She knew he would be upset when he got back home so she decided she would make him feel better.

She ordered his favorite food, knowing he’d be hungry when he got back, and she set out some relaxation options for him to choose from. All of his favorite ways to wind down after a game. As she admired her work, she hadn’t realized how long it actually took to set it up until the front door opened and she heard the keys hit the table.

“Hey. I’m home.”

Y/n walked out of Quinn’s room and when she saw him, her heart felt like it was barely hanging together. His hair was a mess and it was hard to tell but it looked like he got dressed in a hurry and that his shirt was inside out.

“Hey.” y/n stepped closer to him as he ran his hands through his hair for what was probably the millionth time since the game ended an hour ago. “I saw the game.”

“I was kind of hoping you didn’t.” he chuckled lightly.

“And why is that?”

“I didn’t want you to see how much I messed up tonight. I don’t ever want to disappoint you or make you regret cheering for me.” He sighed and collapsed on the couch. Y/n sat next to him and pushed him to continue. “I feel like I should be playing better this year but I’m not. And maybe that’s because I know Luke and Jack are better players and it’s terrifying.”

“Quinn, you didn’t mess up tonight. And even if you did, I would still be proud of you.” She looked at him and smiled kindly. It was the smile that always brought him back when he got lost in his own head. “Jack and Luke may be good players, but they only got that way from watching you do what you do. You’re an amazing player and an even better big brother.” She looked at him again and noticed he was focused on her words. She also noticed how hard he was trying to hold all his emotions in. “I ordered from your favorite restaurant so let’s eat and once you’ve got a little bit of energy back, we can talk, okay?”

“Oh, you’re the best.” Quinn smiled a little as he reached for the takeout containers. As they ate, the faint sound of the tv playing in the background seemed to relax Quinn a little bit but  y/n could tell he was still stressed. When he finished, Quinn put the empty container on the table and looked over at the girl sitting next to him. “Have I ever told you much I appreciate you? Because it’s really true.”

“You have told me a few times before but really, it’s the least I could do. I mean, you’re allowing me to live with you for pretty much free so being the best roommate I can be is what I’m doing in return.”

“You know, I honestly thank god for bringing you into my life.” Quinn admitted.

“You should thank Jack because if he hadn’t come up to me at the beach that one time when we were 8 years old, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, either way, I’m beyond grateful that you’re here and that you’ve been here for so long.”

“Awe, Quinn. You’re gonna make me cry.” y/n smiled and touched his arm gently. The action made him get a little nervous suddenly. When she removed her hand, he felt heat where it had been. Suddenly, everything felt different. The atmosphere became warm and intense but Quinn couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “So, anyway, I have some options to help you relax. Go in your room and pick out whatever it is you want and I’ll make it happen.”

Quinn got up and quickly walked to his room. As he looked at each options carefully, he thought about everything y/n has ever done for him. She has put him first in every possible situation and she’s always there when he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. She knows exactly what’s going on in his mind at all times. They’re connected in a way that is unexplainable. She is the only one he knows he can come to when he’s feeling the stress and pressure of his career and he knows that she can easily lift all the worries away, even with a simple smile. Suddenly, it clicked. He was falling in love with her.

He picked up the bath stuff and walked back out to the living room, where y/n was busy cleaning up.

“So, how will you be relaxing tonight, Quinn?”

“I’m gonna take a nice hot bubble bath and think about some things.” He smiled and headed towards the bathroom. “Thank you.”

While he did his thing in the bathroom, y/n figured she would set up a mini movie night for after his bath. She popped some popcorn, set out some other snacks and put out a few drinks. She even queued up one of his favorite movie. Monster’s Inc. She knew he would enjoy something light-hearted and fun to finish off the night.

After nearly an hour of Quinn being in the bath, y/n started to get worried. She walked over to the bathroom door and knocked lightly.

“Quinn, you alright in there?”

“Yeah. I’m doing alright.” He chuckled from behind her. She turned around and Quinn was walking out of his bedroom and was in the middle of putting his shirt on. Y/n found herself staring at his body and the way his muscles flexed as the shirt went over his head and over his torso.

“I, um, got a movie all set up and ready for you to enjoy. I know how you like your alone time so I’ll just be in my room, finishing up something for work.”

“No. I want you to enjoy the movie with me. I had plenty of alone time in the car on the way to and from the game, plus that time in the bathroom. I think after the night I’ve had I would really love the company. Especially if it’s your company.” He mentally cringed at the last comment but when he looked at y/n, she was sporting a big smile.

“Well, in that case, I would be honored to be your movie buddy tonight.” She guided him back to the living room and started the movie.

About halfway through the movie, y/n glanced over at Quinn and he looked like he was lost in his head again. She paused the movie and softly placed her hand on the back of his neck, gently playing with the hair that was there. He closed his eyes and thought about the calmness her touch brought him.

“What’s on your mind, Cap?”

“Be honest with me, alright?” he looked at her and when she nodded silently, he closed his eyes and continued to speak. “Am I actually a good player? Or do people just like me because of my brothers? Is Jack a better hockey player than I am? Is Luke?”

“In my honest opinion, I think people love you because you’re incredibly good at what you do, not because of your brothers. You have a kind heart and I love getting able to see that loving side of you every day. People might like Jack better because he’s good looking and they might like Luke better because he’s just adorable. But you wanna know what I think? I think you’re one of the best damn players the NHL has ever had. You’re not a perfect player, but nobody is. Not only that, but you are kind, funny, smart, loving, caring and just perfect in pretty much every sense of the word, Quinn. Some people may not like you, but who cares? You have so many more fans than anyone can count. And your biggest fan? Well she’s sitting on the couch with you, reassuring you that you have no reason to worry. She ditched her work responsibilities to watch you play against your brothers and her heart broke whenever the camera showed that you were upset. She is your biggest cheerleader and wants you to know that she would never favor your brothers over you. Your biggest fan loves you a lot, Quinn. More than you could ever know.” y/n moved her hand from the back of his neck to his arm. He looked at her to search her eyes for any sign that she was lying but he couldn’t find any.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

“I love you.” He looked at his hands nervously. He had never told a girl he loved her before and now here he was, spilling his soul to his best friend. It made him worry that she would reject the idea. But when she began to run her hand up and down his arm, he felt better about his confession. “And I want you to know that I have never said those words to a girl before so this is new for me.” He took the chance to look at her and when he saw her smile, he knew he needed to get everything out. “I’m not sure when I started feeling this way but I honestly think the feeling has always been lingering in my heart. You have always been by my side and even though Jack is the reason we met, I love that you always preferred me over him. You are the one person in my life who has never loved my brothers more than me, and I love you even more for it. I love you and everything about you, y/n. You make me feel so much better, even on the gloomiest days. The ones where I don’t want to talk to anyone and stay in my room.  Those are my favorite days because even though I say I don’t want to talk to anybody, you always find a way around that and you cheer me up with absolutely no effort. And living here with you these last few years, watching the amount of guys that would stay for a night and be gone by morning, killed me. I didn’t know why at the time, but now I’m sure of it. Y/n, I’m really in love with you.”

Y/n didn’t say a word. Instead, she grinned and moved to straddle his lap. She didn’t break eye contact once. “I’m in love with you too, Hughes.”

And with that being said, their lips met in the middle and fit together perfectly. With each passing second, the intensity behind the kiss kept on growing. Years of feelings being poured out into one simple action. When y/n’s lips parted, Quinn took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, eliciting a small moan from the girl on his lap. He placed his hands on her back and pulled her closer as the kiss deepened. His large hands found their way under her shirt and rested on her waist while hers were tangled in his now extremely messy hair.

“Is it bad that all I wanna do is stay in this position for the rest of my life?” Quinn asked when they finally took a moment to breathe.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” y/n pulled him in for another intensely passionate kiss.

All 3 of the Hughes brothers ended up scoring that night.

-----

taglist: @worldlxvlys @jackquinnswife

[suniloli]

JUST FOR KICKS

29 May 2024

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: approximately 3 swear words, sexual innuendo, fluff

Setting: Prison (between s3-4)

Summary: Today’s weather was perfect for an impromptu prison soccer match. Prison goers — children, adults and spectators alike — become involved, including an enthusiastic you and uncharacteristically playful Daryl.

Author Note: Finally back from my 3000 year hiatus!!!! Here’s a little piece I wanted to get out before I lost it. This is more of an innocent one that I wanted to write (although it’s SUPER predictable ….) I hope the POV jumps are easily followable. Am working on another Daryl fic atm. Enjoy! - Sól

The gorgeous spring sun in the sky and the soft warm breeze were the perfect conditions to be outside and enjoying life. Well, what ‘life’ you could experience within the prison’s metal fences in the middle of an apocalypse anyways. 

This sort of weather was your favourite. It reminded you of your sporting days before walkers came to be, especially the excitement you felt before your games where you’d soak up the sun and let it fuel your competitiveness. Like a videogame character harnessing the sun’s power to unleash their most powerful combat moves. 

It boosted your spirit, and reminded you that even in this world, beauty could still be found. You just had to be open to it. 

And open to it you were. When a couple of the teenagers came excitedly kicking around a soccer ball they’d found, you couldn’t help yourself. Many others felt the same way, which is probably how you all ended up in a massive soccer game across the courtyard, children mixed with adults, the majority of prison goers spectating on the sidelines. 

You managed to get enough to have a 6 v 6, exactly three teens and three adults on each team. Your side included some of your closest friends, Glenn and Sasha. On the other side were Carl and Michonne, and some other Woodbury residents you’d seen around and shared a laugh or two with. Today felt the closest to the life you had before, which was one of sport-filled weekends. So, naturally, it brought out your zealous streak. You were going to win. 

“Guys. We need to fucking smash em’.” you asserted. 

“Y/N! There's kids here…” Glenn jokingly admonished. 

“We’re 15 man…” one of the teenagers pointed out. 

“Anyways…they’re gonna lose whether they like it or not. I’ll play up front. Glenn…you’re quick, so you’ll be with me…uh…” you drifted off, attempting to come up with a game plan. You were so focused that you hadn’t realised the run crew had arrived back and were driving towards the gates. Glenn and Sasha were watching you with amusement. The kids were waiting for your word. You were the professional after all. 

“She’s super into this,” Sasha smirked. 

“Hell yeah!” Glenn smiled. “She’s really good at soccer. We’ve had many conversations about it. Mad skills.”

Sasha patted his shoulder. “Guess we’re gonna have to step up our game then.” 

After deliberating with the kids for a bit, you and your team were ready. 

It was time. 

The whistle — an actual whistle someone had found — was blown by Carol, and the game was on. 

Oh, was the high shrill music to your ears. 

Kick-off commenced, the other team passing it amongst themselves for the first couple of minutes. Of course, since there were no real referees, and since Michonne happened to be right there, you gave her a little shove as you passed, giving her a teasing wink. 

“You bitch!” she laughed as she began running hard for the ball. 

You dashed forward, intercepting a pass meant for her, and crossed it over to Glenn on the left wing. 

Ever the quick pizza delivery boy, he sprinted up the sideline, onlookers getting excited. Making a few minor mistakes, he still managed to manoeuvre the ball around Carl, who you noted was surprisingly fast on his feet, and kicked it back to you sprinting up the centre field. You caught it with your left foot and continued on. Two defenders were gaining on you. 

You juked the defender on the left, rolling the ball under your right foot. Chipping the ball over the remaining defender’s head, you booked it straight to the goal. 

The goalkeeper’s face was full of determination. His hands were out in front of him, feet moving from side to side. In the second that you spent looking at him you could tell he was a bit unsure, but his confidence was unwavering. You admired it. 

However, you used his inexperience to your advantage. 

You faked to the right, watching his eyes follow your movement, then swiftly cut to the left. His stance faltered, giving you just the right amount of time to hit the ball with your left foot. You could vaguely hear kids yelling in the background, Glenn’s shrill laughter, and Sasha’s cheers filling the air. 

As you kicked the ball, its trajectory started outside the line of the makeshift goalpost, and about halfway it began to curve inwards.  You held your breath as you saw the ball curving towards the very top left corner, waiting with bated breath as the goalie took a gigantic leap towards it. 

The ball sailed and sailed and sailed. 

Until you witnessed it pass just inside the post, and the satisfying *thud* of the ball hitting the ground behind it caused your teammates to erupt in cheers.

Pumping your fists in excitement, you saw Glenn sprinting up to you with his arms outstretched. 

“HOLY SHIT!” 

“Oof!” you breathed, getting thrown to the ground in a giant bear hug. Before you knew it, all of the kids, including those of the opposition — a definite product of over-excitement — began stacking on top of the both of you, until all anyone could see was a massive pile of bodies in the middle of the courtyard. 

Laughter and screams and fun filled the air. You didn’t even care about the goal anymore. The innocence and presence of the moment were enough to bring happy tears to your eyes. 

Rick wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he closed the gate behind the car. Looking towards the courtyard, he mumbled to himself in disbelief. “Are they playin’ soccer?”

As Daryl hopped out of the passenger side, he responded a bit incredulously. “Looks like it.” 

Opening the boot to retrieve the supplies they brought back, Maggie started giggling, seeing her husband with the ball. “Look! Go Glenn!”

Glenn had the ball and was sprinting up the sideline. At that moment, the three of them observed his and your play. 

“Damn girl…” Daryl breathed upon seeing your goal. Rick let out a low chuckle. Seeing his son playing was like being transported back to a time he thought he’d never get to experience again as a father. 

When Glenn tackled you to the ground, Maggie let off a grunt of amused disapproval and began jogging towards the fun. 

"She’s gonna’ suffocate!" Maggie shouted playfully, her voice full of warmth as she made her way onto the field. Slowly, everyone removed themselves from the stack, allowing you to get up and have a laugh. From where Daryl was, it looked as if you and Glenn were trying to coerce Maggie to join in rather animatedly. Cute. 

As the game continued, Rick grabbed Daryl’s shoulder breaking him out of his little trance. “You comin’ or what?” he grinned. 

Daryl looked to Rick, and after a couple of seconds gave him an upwards nod and made his way down to the sideline with him. 

“Ya’ refereein’ or somethin’?” Daryl asked Carol with an amused smirk.

“Something like that…your girlfriend is kicking some major ass.” 

“She ain’t…whatever,” Daryl grunted. Looking away and at the field, he saw Michonne pass it off to another player, resulting in a tying of the score and a multitude of cheers. Eyes drifting away from the scoring team and Carl’s silly victory dance, Daryl caught sight of you again. 

What you were wearing closely resembled tiny soccer shorts which showed off your long, toned legs. You almost always wore cargo pants, so that was certainly a sight for sore eyes. He stared as the muscles in your quads and glutes expanded and retracted as you ran with an elegance he’d never seen before. 

“You might wanna close your mouth before you start drooling big guy.” 

A faint blush crept up his neck. Turning to shoot Carol a glare, he growled a low shuddup before being interrupted by the ball landing at his feet. A bit perplexed, he looked down at it, and up again to see a bunch of teens running at him and obnoxiously calling for it. 

Daryl couldn’t help but smirk after being encouraged by Carol to pass the ball back. The enthusiasm of youth was so infectious, that even his reserved self couldn’t hide from it. 

“Come on, Daryl!” you suddenly exclaimed, causing him to glance towards you. Hearing your voice made a rush of warmth spread through his chest.

As Daryl looked over towards you, you were caught off guard by the handsome smirk he donned, his eyes glistening with something that made your heart skip a beat. Your cheeks flushed slightly, but not from the sun or exertion. 

“Gonna kick it or what?” You called out, a bit of a challenge in your tone. Daryl’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he booted the ball toward the centre of the field. Before either of you could say anything else, Carl beat you to it. 

“Come play Daryl! We need another person!” 

Carol nudged him in the side. “You should go…” 

Daryl looked between Carol, Carl, and finally towards you. You bit your bottom lip and gave a single shrug of your shoulders. The vivaciousness you exuded was alluring. Looking towards the plumpness of your lips and back up, Daryl’s eyes locked with yours and stayed there. It was like you were inviting him to join. Carol hid a knowing smile as he continued to stare. 

Daryl couldn’t leave you hanging, nor could he not indulge you (or so he told himself). Squinting his eyes slightly, he took a deep breath to steel his resolve. Your eyes were like magnets drawing him in. You were beautiful. 

 “Alrigh’...”

As Daryl started jogging onto the makeshift field, a couple of people started cheering and chanting his name. You giggled as he approached you. “Ma’am.”

“Sir.” you mimicked, hands on hips. You subtly lowered your eyes and gazed at him through your lashes. “Ready to get pounded?” 

“W-what?” Daryl stuttered, suddenly pretending he was interested in the play being made across the courtyard. 

“Are you ready to lose?” You laughed, pinching his side while watching his ears go red. He swatted your hand away. 

“Ain't I playin’ wit’ ya?” 

“Nuh-uh. Didn’t you hear Carl say they were short one?” You waited for a beat, before suddenly shoving Daryl backwards and running to chase the ball. “So better get into position, Dixie!”

Stumbling back a step or two from your playful shove, it was like a switch was flipped. Hearing his name being called and encouragement being thrown his way from the sidelines, Daryl was nearly completely overwhelmed. He wasn’t used to so much positive attention in this manner…especially your…blatant flirting? He almost didn’t know how to deal with it. 

Almost. 

Seeing you turn back to give him a wink made a certain desire erupt in his midsection. It ignited a type of fervour in him. 

It’s on girl. 

Daryl’s heart raced every time the two of you made eye contact. Not having really played a proper game of soccer before, it was difficult for him to try and manufacture some sort of on-field play with you. Although he’d touched the ball and passed it off to others a few times already, he was slightly trepidatious. The timing just wasn’t right for you to engage with him. 

So, he just decided to ‘go with the flow’. 

Daryl had to admit, this was some of the most enjoyment he’s had in a long time. Especially with other people. But mostly, he enjoyed watching you enjoy yourself. 

You were everywhere, laughing, shouting instructions, encouraging your teammates. You were truly in your element. It was like watching a different person, a side of you he hadn’t seen before. And damn if it wasn’t attractive.

Before Daryl knew it, one of the kids passed the soccer ball back to him, and he glanced up to see you were headed straight for him. He started towards you, eyes narrowing in determination. 

You saw your chance. Daryl finally had the ball and was within proper distance. You started sprinting towards him, admittedly a bit distracted by the glistening sweat on his arms accentuating every muscle fibre there. Focus Y/N. 

As you two closed the gap between each other, Daryl stuck his other leg out and pushed you for good measure, tripping you. 

Your momentum carried you forward, causing you to nearly fall head-first into the ground. At the last second you caught yourself, letting out a huff. A series of concerned ‘Oooos’ could be heard from onlookers. “What the hell Daryl!” you yelled at his retreating form. 

Admittedly, the action pissed you off a bit. Two can play at that game, chiselled arms be damned. 

You quickly pushed yourself from the ground and sprinted at full speed to catch up. You were there in no time. Getting ready to shove Daryl back from behind, you squared up your shoulder and collided with him. It was enough to mess up his footing, and the ball skidded off to the side.  

There was an element of shock across Daryl’s face as he turned around to find you behind him, causing your annoyance to completely fizzle out and turn into something more akin to lust-fueled amusement. The two of you locked eyes, and Daryl’s expression turned roguish. 

The next few seconds felt as if they were in slow motion. The ball sat stationary fifteen metres away, watching, waiting. 

The air cracked with unspoken tension. Your heart was almost beating out of your chest in anticipation of what was to come. Everyone in the vicinity had vanished from your awareness. Now, it was just you, Daryl, and the ball — although really, you were both more focused on the presence of each other than the game now. 

Without wasting another second, you lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Daryl’s sleeveless shirt. You heard him release a grunt of objection, but it was enough for you to pull him backwards and allow you to lead the chase. 

You heard Daryl yell smart ass as his footfalls sounded behind. You were so incredibly giddy that you felt like a little girl being chased by her little boy crush in the playground.

You were about three metres from the ball before you felt his calloused hand grip your shoulder, half shoving you in another direction. Catching a glimpse of the rarely-ever captured excitement in Daryl’s face, you began giggling as you tried to retain your balance. 

“Hey!” you puffed out. 

“Better watch ya’self” Daryl panted, trying to battle for possession of the ball which now had both of you fighting for it. 

“Better watch your —” you grunted, holding him back with your forearm “— self!” 

Just as you were getting the upper hand, Daryl used his arms to grab you and hastily shove you to the side. His touch set you ablaze. 

As he began running again, you managed to hook your ankle around his own, effectively tripping him over. 

As Daryl stumbled, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, laughing harder when Daryl’s hand caught you behind your knee and he pulled you down with him. You felt an intense surge of electricity travel up your leg and remain at your lower navel. 

Realising you were now trying to escape his grasp and army crawl towards the direction of the ball, Daryl swung himself from his side onto his stomach, scrambling to get a better hold of your slowly retreating legs. 

Surprisingly, you managed to drag yourself another metre or so before Daryl got a proper grip on your thighs, his fingers heavily dimpling into the skin there. Laughter never dissipating, Daryl smiled to himself, having trapped you on the grass. 

Twisting to lie on your back, you continued to squirm in Daryl’s solid grasp. You were able to sense every bend and every shape of every finger taking hold of your thighs. Daryl pushed himself up on his knees, now leaning over your squirming form. 

“Ya shouldn’ta never told me ya’ were ticklish…” Daryl said quietly before he released your legs and started attacking your sides with his hands. 

“NO!” you squealed, thrashing your body in an attempt to get away from Daryl’s large hands. 

Daryl couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the way your eyes sparked with joy. Your tousled hair strewn all over the grass with the sun beating down on your tanned skin made you look otherworldly. Like an angel even his own imagination couldn’t conceptualise the beauty of, but was still here in front of him, seemingly reciprocating his affections. 

You were laughing so much that you were gasping for air. Not wanting you to suffocate, Daryl slowly stopped his hands from moving and held them on your waist for a few seconds to allow you to get your bearings.

Staring into your eyes, he revelled at the softness beneath his fingertips. He focused on the small movements of your abdominal muscles beneath them, and watched your lips part as you pulled in heavy breath after heavy breath. His eyes were drawn to your lips once again as you wetted them with your tongue. 

Moving your hands from above your head to softly grasp Daryl’s at your waist, you huffed a small laugh and gazed at him with wide eyes. You admired his boyish handsomeness. 

“You. Are a prick.” 

Daryl let escape a small snort of his own and shyly chewed his lip. “Only fer ya’ pretty girl…” 

A small breeze picked up, slightly swaying the section of hair hanging from Daryl’s forehead. The way he was softly watching you made you want to pull him down to you and close the distance —

“Either play or get a room!” 

“Yeah! Jesus Christ…” 

The heat of the moment was ruined by a herd of teens resuming the play which you’d seemingly both forgotten all about. 

Both realising the…compromising…position you both were in, the two of you abruptly pulled away from each other, both going equally red from embarrassment. The sounds of people hollering and some mildly inappropriate noises filled your ears, adding to the awkwardness. 

“Oh my god…” you managed, sitting up and covering your face with your hands. 

Daryl stood and offered you his hand which you sheepishly took. He waited until you looked at him before he gave you his half-smile, reserved only for you. You’d never admit it, but it always managed to make you melt. 

“Ya’ actually ain’t that bad at soccer.” 

You shook your head in jest. “Shut up.”

*I DO NOT give permission for my work to be used/adapted/copied in any way.*

[solaris-amethyst]

💫Let's win together?💫

✨Pairing: Mingi x gn!reader ✨Prompt: We're both playing for the same obscure item. This is the fifth arcade I've seen you at... Want to join forces? ✨Word count: 1.4k ✨Genre: fluff, strangers to friends, non idol au ☀️Authors note: I have never been to an arcade so apologies for my bad description of the arcade game lol, the left picture is what I was trying to describe😅 but what did you guys think? Did you like this one?💓

There he was, you had been looking for the tall man who you had seen at multiple arcades. The two of you had been next to each other at multiple games and you had overheard him complain to his friends about how it was darn near impossible to win the little penguin holding a little umbrella and wearing cute little rain boots and a little scarf.

It was said to be very rare and apparently the two of you had both been trying to win it and both had been equally unsuccessful in winning. Your plan had been to go and ask him to work with you and see if at least one of you could win the darn penguin. You kept glancing at him waiting for him to be alone, not wanting to go up and talk to him as he was surrounded by his friends.

His friends were all laughing with him and talking. It took around fifteen minutes before the group split up and the man was alone walking to the first game to play. That's when you walked towards him, sliding up next to him.

"Hello, sorry if this is weird but we're both playing for the same super rare penguin with the umbrella, the rain boots and the scarf. This is like the fifth arcade I've seen you at... Want to join forces to see if at least one of us could win it?" You said as he had turned to you in slight surprise when you had started to speak to him.

"Umm.. hi? Sorry you really shocked me." He said looking a bit flabbergasted at the fact that you had just slid up next to him to talk to him. You shifted your weight from on feet to the other when he looked at you not sure what to say next.

"Sorry I probably came across as like super weird just sliding up to you like this. Let me start over, hi I'm y/n, we've been playing next to each other at a few arcades and I over heard you want the penguin as well and thought that maybe if we joined together at least one of us would have the satisfaction of winning the cute penguin." you told him and a small smile morphed onto his face.

"I knew you looked familiar. I'm Mingi! Nice to meet you." He shakes your hand "you know what I wouldn't say no to working together with someone so good-looking like you to win the penguin." he said with a smile and a wink, now it was your turn to look at him slightly flabbergasted at the fact that he was so bold despite having looked at you with big eyes and a shocked face just a few mere seconds ago.

The two of you ended up laughing when you locked eyes after his comments finding the whole situation a bit weird yet funny.

"So shall we go to the two games where we can try and win the penguin with the crane?" you asked looking towards the two machines where a bunch of plushies were located.

"Sure let's go!"

The two of you took your places and put in some money to play for the penguin.

"So, what made you start hunting for the penguin and not something easier?" Mingi asked glancing at you with curious eyes before turning back to start moving his claw machine in hopes of getting the plushie.

"Oh I just thought It was really cute and I may or may not have gotten competitive when a friend of mine told me there is no way I could get it. So I wanted to prove them wrong!" You told him before groaning when you saw that the plushie you picked up was another penguin but not the one you wanted.

"Ah that's similar to me. Had a friend dare me to get it and I didn't get it so I lost that truth or dare round and decided I had to get the darn penguin."

The two of you were conversing, getting to know each other more and more as your pile of plushies on the ground next to you grew and grew. The two of you were sharing stories about your friends and laughing as you continued the game, Mingi decided to tell you a story about how his friend Wooyoung had gotten stuck in one of the games causing you to laugh even louder.

"Wait wait wait, you mean to tell me he got his arm stuck in a game like this one?" you asked having to stop playing to fully look at Mingi who were trying to keep his laughter in as he told the story.

"Yeah, he was trying to win a plushie for our friend Yeosang and it got stuck on the way out and instead of calling a worker for help he stuck his arm inside the space where the plush lands to try and reach it but he got stuck as well."

"I would have panicked if I were him and had gotten stuck, like can you imagine? I get like shivers just thinking about it." You confessed and he nodded

"Yeah I always worry now when I pick up the plushies I win that I will get stuck despite knowing that I won't because I'm not shoving my entire arm in there." He told you as he picked up another plush that he just won and dropping it into the pile you had now made joint.

It was big and people were beginning to stare as they walked past the two of you, not that neither of you cared you were too busy in your own world of chatting and playing to notice. It wasn't until a worker came up to the two of you that you realized how absurd it all looked.

"Um excuse me but I'm gonna have to ask the two of you to leave this game. You've played for far too long and the amount of plushies you have is enough." The worker told the two of you catching the both of you by surprise

"Oh im so sorry we didn't realize how many we had at this point." You told the worker whilst apologizing.

"Well stop playing we promise!" Mingi agreed, neither of you wanted to cause a scene so the two of you bent down to pick up all the random plushies as the worker walked away, happy the two of you would stop playing and let others play as well.

"Well... we sure got a lot of plushies but not our special little penguin." He said before giggling at the way the two of you were standing holding two gigant mountains of plushies.

"I can barely see because of all of the plushies." You said trying to see over them with barely any success.

"Why don't we go over to where my friends are hanging out, dumping them there and then going to another arcade to see if we can get our prize?" He asked looking over his own pile towards you.

"Sure! I would like that!" With that he lead the way to his friends to the best of his abilities. His friends were all talking and laughing until the two of you arrived with your mountains. That caused them to stop at the same moment Mingi dumped all of his plushies on the table before turning to help you unload yours as well.

"Hi everyone this is my new friend y/n. Can you guys watch our plushies for us? We're going to the arcade down the street to win that darn penguin plush! Great! Thank you!" Mingi said barely giving you time to say hello to his friends before he was steering you towards the exit. His friends were shouting a varying degrees of nice to meet you, yah Mingi and we'll call when we leave this place! As the two of you left them with the plushies.

Once outside you glanced at Mingi with a smirk before dashing off towards the next arcade shouting at him: "Last one there is a rotten egg!!"

"Yah!! That's not fair you got a head-start!!!" He shouted back before chasing after you to the next arcade. Neither of you really caring at this point if you got the penguin or not, just enjoying the new blossoming friendship between the two of you.

[frozenwolftemplar]

Flash Fiction Friday 1/10

I actually remembered to look for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt on Friday! 🎉🎉🎉

Prompt: "I can't stand it!"

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Word count: 694

She hated it.

Right from the moment Cass laid eyes on the whole delicate, lacy, feminine entireity of it, she knew that never, in her life, had she hated something more.

And she had just met the princess's boyfriend, so that was saying something.

(his self-aggrandizing attitude was bad enough, but realizing that the distinction her dad had been working towards for eighteen years went to him…she already knew life wasn't fair, but this was a new low).

With a disgust not shown to any bloodied rat left lying around by a palace cat or one of Owl's regurgitated pellets, Cass lifted a sleeve of the gown between pinched fingers. The fine silk, far thinner and softer than any of her tunics, rustled demurely, fabric rippling coyly with the motion, a coquette batting her lashes at the man whose favor she sought to win.

Ugh.

The sword propped against her bed was quick to volunteer its services, as were the embers whispering in the hearth, but Cass turned a deaf ear and blind eye, instead taking up the powder-blue gown and walking, like a condemned soul to the gallows, to the changing screen in the corner.

She really doubted she'd feel any better about the damn thing once she was wearing it, but she needed to try it on sooner or later; may as well get over it now. And, well, every now and then miracles happened.

Yup. Cass thought a moment later, smoothing a hand down the power-blue skirt. Miracle.

She hadn't thought it was possible to hate the thing more, but here she was (life really was cruel).

She hated the way it felt against her skin, too close and cool and foreign and- and pretending, not like the honest straightforwardness of the Guard cast-offs she preferred or even the brown-dominated dresses of her girlhood.

She hated the way it looked, colors of a breed that were strangers to the humbler hues of the forests and dells and endless meadows where she always felt so at home. (the second she could rip this off she was going to jump on Fidella and just ride until she found one)

She hated the way it changed her, because now, standing in her room, she saw The Dress divest herself from it. The sword by the bed, the shelves spilling over with books and maps and pieces of the outdoors, the armoire of weaponry standing staunch and imposing in the corner, they all stared at her askance now, questioning if this woman in the dress with lace-cuffed sleeves and wearing a choker of a hue to match the dress, really could be their possessor. (give her long enough, and she'd start wondering that herself).

But worst of all…she hated the honor that was woven into every stitch.

Because this dress was just that: an honor, the powder-blue for generations immemorial having been set aside for the personal handmaids of the ladies of the ruling family alone.

Like how Friedborg wore one to attenend the Queen, now she would as well to wait upon the no-longer-lost Princess.

And she knew she should be ecstatic, or at least grateful. An envy she never used to see colored the gazes of the other maids and the girls in town who used to exclude her from string games and skipping rope, and respect colored the whispers of the women hiding behind fans or staring down their noses at the town tomboy. Hell, she ran into Marcus, one of her old nemeses, the other day and he actually doffed his cap as he herded his pigs across the Mainland Bridge. She was someone now. Someone who had the ear of the future queen, someone who had a salary measured not in silvers, but gold, someone who would, per tradition, be granted a parcel of land- good land- when she retired.

Someone who was someone.

But she couldn't feel anything but dread.

Princess's ears could be deaf (and though she'd known her for all of five minutes she could already tell she was that sort), gold couldn't buy her heart's desires, and the parcel in the countryside was so, so many years away. She could only see the dress as one thing:

A cage, locked with the honor that gilded it.

And she hated it.

[the-painted-siren]

Again

Summary: Lloyd and Arin, as featured in the constant cycle of violence that was built on Ninjago’s foundation. Notes: Happy Dragons Rising Release Day! I wrote this one for a game of Who Wrote That, where the prompt was “plot twist.” I waited to post it since it featured themes/ideas from DRS2P2. I had fun with this one. Somewhat inspired by a Hades AU I’m working on with some friends. Tags: depictions of violence, major character death (kind of. It's temporary and symbolic. Death is an illusion in Ninjago.)

Ping!

1 New Message

“Fine then. Let’s end this. Meet me in the clearing where the monastery used to be.”

Arin’s feet drum against the earth in a hard, steady rhythm. There’s a sense of comfort in the movement—memories, warmth, laughter, flashes of him sprinting up one thousand steps toward the place he once called home. It used to hold his family there, or at least the people he once thought were a cheap replacement for the one he lost in the Merge. He once held them close to his heart—he still does—but at what cost?

His thoughts burns away before he reaches the top.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Lloyd rises to his feet. Old history writes a story across his features. Once he was a mentor, once he was a master. Now he is Arin’s grief-driven opponent. He is a protector at the cost of everyone else’s lives.

“I had to. I have to beat you.”

“This is your fault. It has been your fault since I first started training you.”

Arin swallows his fear and regrets. He takes them like a bitter pill. He is only here because of the choices he made. He chased after Ras. He learned the ways of the Wolf Clan. He is the reason the monastery burned down.

He is here because he has written himself into this loop.

That’s the thing about each ninja’s story—numerous and always increasing as they may be.

They have a beginning: they are the hero, they are called to fight, they strengthen their powers until they’re unstoppable.

They have a middle: they enter the fight, they pour every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears into every punch. They stand at the edge of the world.

They have an end: they have a burst of determination. They race toward the end, they drive the final blow. They win.

Arin can only hope that—this time—his story will be the same.

He catches Lloyd’s first strike with the sturdy handle of his war hammer. He grits his teeth, pushes back against the force that rumbles and rages and roars for dominance.

Arin had forgotten how strong Lloyd really is. He had forgotten that Lloyd could take his head off if he genuinely wanted to.

Lloyd’s second strike almost does. It’s well-times, it’s thought out. He pulls his sword back and whips it back around toward Arin’s neck and only misses by the width of a hair.

Arin rolls backwards, stumbles to his feet. His awkward footwork creates enough time for Lloyd to drive home the final blow. The sword pierces through armor and cloth and bone. Arin screams, wrapping his hands around the hilt that Lloyd grips.

“I’m sorry,” Arin whispers.

It’s a repeated prayer, he’s spoken those words more than he can count. He realizes after so many interactions, so many apologies, so much fighting for what he believe is right: if Lloyd ever forgives him, it’ll be a blisteringly hot day the Neverrealm.

He closes his eyes and sinks back into a river of blood. A freezing cold chill crawls through his veins. Exhaustion settles into his body like a heavy blade finding its home on the weapon rack. The hands of time brush over his skin, healing his wounds, sewing up his cuts, and softening his bruises.

He bursts awake.

Ping!

1 New Message

“Fine then. Let’s end this. Meet me in the clearing where the monastery used to be.”

Arin’s feet drum against the earth in a hard, steady rhythm. There’s a sense of comfort in the movement—memories, warmth, laughter, sprinting up one thousand steps toward the place he once called home.

It all burns away before Arin reaches the top.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Lloyd rises to his feet. Old history writes a story across his features.

“I had to. I have to make it out of here, even if it kills us both.”

“This is your fault. It has been your fault since I first started training you.”

That’s the thing about each ninja’s story—numerous and always increasing as they may be. They are clear cut. They have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Arin tightens his grip on his war hammer and charges toward Lloyd. His story has a beginning, a middle, and a beginning again.

Over and over.

It’s a foundation that he must destroy.

— — —

There is a universe out there where Lloyd and Arin are mentor and student. They exchange warm smiles, sparring matches, and lighthearted quips between blows. They are friends and they are inseparable.

There is a universe out there where Lloyd and Arin are hero and villain. They exchange vindictive looks, vicious strikes, and harsh words among pleas for mercy. They are enemies.

They are doomed to repeat the endless cycle of light versus darkness.

It is the same universe.

(There is a spark. There is hope. The fight can end.)

(He must be strong enough.)

[redlikerozez]

悪魔の巫女 | Akuma no Miko | The Devil's Shrine Maiden (08) written by RedLikeRozes

Chapter 8: Gladiolus (approx word count 5k)

Summary: Matsumae, upon remembering past victories, now has to face the consequences of winning the game.

Gladiolus - victory, pride, remembrance

Content warnings for this chapter: abuse (like a lot… her father is basically just evil), period-typical child brides

(Masterlist)

She should’ve known better, really. Things never turned out too well for her when she bragged about winning.

Matsumae had never been one to boast very often. The first time was when she was a girl of only eleven years old.

“I won! Mama, look! I won!”

A light chuckle escaped her mother’s mouth and she patted the head of the victorious little girl. Her dark brown eyes sparkled brightly up at her mother with immense pride in the golden sunlight of the afternoon.

“That you did, my little flower,” she replied warmly.

“Again, again!” the girl demanded, already scraping the Go stones from off the wooden board to set up again.

While her daughter may have boundless energy and motivation to play Go nonstop for hours, her mother was beginning to lose her interest — and, most importantly, her patience with the strategy game — especially with her young daughter for an opponent. Her mother hadn’t lost a game since teaching her daughter how to play up until now. Of course, she’d only let her win to end the game quickly, but her daughter didn’t need to know that.

“You have finally bested me,” her mother resigned. “Let’s take a break so I can regain my strength to play you again tomorrow.”

The little girl crossed her arms and frowned at her mother’s proposition. “No. I want to beat you again, now. If we don’t play right now, I may never win again! It has to be right now, Mama!” she huffed indignantly.

“My dear-” her mother tried to reason before being interrupted.

“Listen to your mother, you insufferable brat,” spat her father’s voice from the doorway where he had appeared. “Wife, you spoil your daughter too much, filling her head with useless things like games. She’s become wily and stubborn. She’ll never be a good wife.”

Both figures in the room who were so full of life and gaiety only seconds before became instantly demure and stiff at the presence that entered the room.

“Maybe I should find a better wife who would actually give me a son and properly discipline children.”

The slap to his wife’s face was one without mercy.

“Forgive me,” she said, bowing her head and holding her hot cheek with a cold palm. The girl, upon seeing her mother bow, did the same.

The girl suddenly felt her hair tugged upwards roughly and winced in pain, shutting her eyes tightly for what usually followed. Go stones spilled out of the girl’s lap and clattered onto the floor.

“Stop this nonsense, child,” he ordered harshly. “If I see this stupid game again after I leave this room, you’ll be sorry.”

“I understand, Father,” she whispered in a small voice, holding back a choking sob in her throat. 

The iron grip on her hair released and she dropped to the floor with a sigh of relief. Two terrified eyes watched his figure walk out of the room with a small bug-like monster buzzing around his head like always. Her mother never seemed to notice it. Before he left, he made sure to kick over the wooden game board, scattering what was left of the stones all over the tatami mats.

Once she was sure her father was out of earshot, a silent tear fell from her once-sparkling eyes and she crawled over to her mother’s lap.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” she whimpered into her mother’s chest in a barely audible voice.

“Shh, little flower,” her mother comforted, stroking her back soothingly. “Why don’t you go find Lady Yoriko and resume your studies for the evening? Your father and I would be grateful.”

“Yes, Mama,” she acquiesced after a deep breath.

Lady Yoriko was their family’s live-in teacher and mentor for their daughter. She was a high-born lady of the court and was instructing the Byouma’s daughter in the ways of being a proper lady, something her mother had very little experience in, being born and raised in a wealthy farmer’s house. The Byouma’s had only recently gained wealth from the father’s successful and shrewd business as a merchant, finally making a name for himself after being injured in battle when he was a young man. His injury had gotten him honorably discharged from the shogunate army, and despite struggling for some years, it seemed that his luck had finally turned around.

With this newfound prosperity, his only focus was on maintaining and prolonging his legacy. Marrying off his only daughter to some lord with either land or title was of the utmost importance if his wife continually failed to conceive a son. So employing a home tutor to ensure this future for his clan was a necessity. However, his daughter was a stubborn and impudent thing, frequently running away from her lessons, much to the chagrin of Lady Yoriko and the girl’s mother.

Even after being taught many skills required of a lady, her koto playing was nothing special. Neither was her singing, nor her calligraphy. But Lady Yoriko assured her father that she was a bright young girl with an active imagination and passion for poetry and reading. Lady Yoriko knew that with time, perhaps lots of time, the girl could become an elegant and proper lady fit for any wealthy man or even lord to marry, but only if she actually applied herself to her studies. 

Taking off down the hallway, the girl found her teacher out in the rock garden painting a delicate scene of sakura in bloom. She approached cautiously and quietly, hoping not to disturb the stern older teacher. 

She bowed her head behind the woman and spoke with a soft monotone and even voice, “Lady Yoriko, my mother and father request for me to go back to my lessons for the evening, if you’ll have me.”

The lady didn’t even look back. She only paused her brush stroke and raised a plucked eyebrow upon hearing the girl’s voice. 

“Is that so,” she said flatly, not really phrasing it as a question. “Begin by reciting ten times,” she ordered.

The girl internally groaned upon hearing the order and raised her head, careful not to show any emotion on her face and began reciting:

“Although its scent still lingers on the form of a flower has scattered away

For whom will the gloryof this world remain unchanged?

Arriving today at the yonder sideof the deep mountains of evanescent existence

We shall never allow ourselves to drift awayintoxicated, in the world of shallow dreams.”

“One,” counted her teacher, smiling softly at the perfect recitation. She picked up her brush to resume her painting. “Continue.”

The girl continued reciting Iroha nine more times, each more perfect than the last. When she had finished, Lady Yoriko finally turned around to gaze upon the girl with a pleased look on her face.

“What was it this time, then?” she asked the girl.

“Go,” she responded solemnly, scrunching up her nose slightly before remembering herself and correcting her face. “Father has forbidden me from playing the game ever again. And I finally won against Mother, too.”

Lady Yoriko’s plucked eyebrows raised again upon hearing this. “Go is a popular game in the court, even among ladies. I will speak with him about this matter. It will be useful for your studies to continue learning the game.”

The girl’s eyes widened, smiling brightly at her words. “Really?” she asked a little too enthusiastically for her teacher’s liking.

Lady Yoriko scowled and said, “It is improper for a lady to show such excitement. Please, remember yourself.”

The girl schooled her expression instantly and apologized. 

“Perhaps I can teach you some popular strategies if you promise to practice koto.” Lady Yoriko posited, clearly planning on bribing the girl to comply with her lessons.

The girl’s eyes were sparkling with excitement at her words, but tried her best to keep her face as still as possible.

“I promise I’ll do it,” she swore to her teacher.

She was already hiking up her kimono layers and scampering down the hallways to fetch the stringed instrument.

“Lady Byouma!” her teacher called after, horrified. “Ladies do not-” 

But she stopped herself. It was no use. The girl had already sprinted off into the manor out of sight. She shook her head disapprovingly and sighed heavily. 

“This child…”

The next instance was several years later, when she was newly fifteen.

Lady Yoriko had just slid open the shoji door to the room where the girl was currently practicing a melody on the koto that her mother had requested her to learn. She had no time to criticize her posture or finger placement, but shuffled through the doors holding two letters and began to announce the news.

Her father had requested a special performance later this evening before him and several important guests.

Upon hearing her mentor’s words, the girl struck a wrong, sour chord on the koto and stopped playing instantly.

“He said what?” she asked, absolutely bewildered, but trying to regain her composure. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Pardon me, Lady Yoriko. Can you repeat what you said?”

“Your father has requested a koto performance and recitation tonight at dinner to show off to several guests your progression in ladyship,” she said again, delicately.

It took her a moment to resume the song again, mind racing at her mentor’s words. Her father had never requested something like this before. 

“What is the occasion for Father to request such a thing of me?” she phrased carefully.

Lady Yoriko hesitated and listened to the girl play music for a moment before speaking. “My lord has informed me that he has begun to receive potential offers for your hand in marriage, the most interesting being the son of a wealthy general close to the shogun. Consider it a test to see if you are a presentable option to your suitors. They are concerned about your aptitude as a lady and wife given your family’s background.”

She stopped strumming the instrument, taking in Lady Yoriko’s words and mulling over them in her head.

“Lady Yoriko, couldn’t you have told me this earlier?” she asked, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt. “I need time to prepare… I need-”

“Everything has already been arranged, but I only found out this morning,” she said grimly. “Your father only just told me or I would have undoubtedly told you sooner. Trust me, I am just as displeased with the timing of this affair as you.”

The same moment, her mother came in with two attendants trailing behind, panting and out of breath. They looked like they’d been running.

“Have you heard?” her mother asked. The girl nodded. “Then we must begin preparations immediately!”

It seemed like her father really hadn’t told anyone about this affair. Maybe he was secretly sabotaging the poor girl just to beat her for messing up later. Whatever the reason, the house suddenly became lively with servants bustling about trying to clean and make the house as suitable as possible for the important guests tonight.

As for the girl and her attendants, her mother and mentor, there was much to be done to make her presentable to men of such standing. Eyebrows needed to be plucked and drawn on, teeth needed to be dyed black, white foundation needed to be applied, and red lips needed to be painted. As for her clothes, she was dressed extensively in around fourteen layers of silk, each more intricate and lavish than the last.

It was the girl’s first time she’d ever been dressed up like a proper lady before. The first time she was being presented as a potential bride for wealthy suitors. Though thoroughly terrified at this proposition, she knew in her mind and heart that there was no room for error tonight. This was her one chance to prove to her father and the world that she was a lady and an adequate bride. 

She could only dream of finally being taken away from her father’s house to live with a new man and start a family of her own, full of love and gentleness. She had no idea what any of her suitors would be like, but truth be told, she didn’t think anything could be worse than her father.

Standing in the shadow of the paper screen door, she practiced reciting every poem she knew off hand and ghosted her hands over phantom koto strings.

“Presenting Lady Byouma Matsumae, only daughter of Lord Byouma Kojiro,” Lady Yoriko announced as she ushered an attendant to open up the shoji door to reveal the girl.

Matsumae blushed feverishly, hoping the foundation caking her skin would hide the uncouth color on her cheeks. She entered the room gracefully whilst covering most of her face with an ornate fan and quickly flashed a glance at the guests.

Her father sat in the middle with her mother at his side. There were two elderly gentlemen at his right and left, each with a younger man sitting at their right hand side, presumably their sons. The left men looked to be from the shogunate, with stiff posture and determined gazes, wearing the typical military robes of swordsmen currently off duty. The right men looked more relaxed and were wearing fine silks, similar to the dress of her father, probably merchants as well. 

Everyone watched her with anticipation as she floated to the center of the room and swished herself down in a flash on a floor cushion.

The two older men gasped and one son had his mouth slightly agape. 

“So elegant,” the military general breathed.

“Like a swan!” the merchant exclaimed.

She slowly lowered the fan covering her face and bowed to everyone in the room before her. Lady Yoriko took a seat a little ways behind her, watching with pride. When the girl picked her head up, she just stared at her father, waiting for his instruction with a practiced serene expression.

“As you can see, she has graceful features,” her father remarked. “Cheeks full like apples and lips thin like reeds.”

“Her eyes are as big and bright as a koi fish’s,” the merchant noticed, thoroughly entranced.

“Yes, but her nose is a little low and a bit too wide for my tastes,” noted the general.

Her father’s eyes narrowed at Matsumae briefly, as if blaming her for her own features.

“What, are you blind?” the merchant retorted. “She is quite beautiful, Lord Byouma.”

“Just wait until you hear her play!” her father encouraged the men who waited eagerly for the performance to begin.

He made a motion to Lady Yoriko. She shuffled over next to Matsumae and helped her carry the koto into her lap. She nodded at her pupil, whispering inaudibly to the rest, “Begin.”

She takes a deep breath and swishes her kimono sleeves out of the way and places her hands gently above the strings. Her heart was thrumming in her chest as she began plucking out the melody she’d practiced for years, nothing like the complicated melody her mother asked her to learn a couple weeks ago. 

She was nearly finished with the song when suddenly her mind fell blank. What on earth was the next chord? She couldn’t remember. She’d never messed up this part of the song before and for the life of her, she just couldn’t figure out the next note.

She paused her shaking hands and even shakier breath and stared down at the instrument in her lap in painful, awestruck, confusion. Wracking her brain for anything she could think of, her face twisted in horror and shock as she continued to draw a blank. It had been a couple seconds of silence at this point, surely not gone unnoticed by the guests.

Her panicked eyes searched around the room for answers. Instantly locking eyes with her mother, she found sorrow and disappointment staring back at her. Gazing to the figure next to her mother, her father was glaring daggers and curses into her heart and soul as the sickening high-pitched laughter of the bug-monster tittered about around his head. No one else seemed to notice or hear this.

The merchants to the left of her father looked worried and concerned while the military men to the right, especially the general, looked disgusted. He wasn’t even looking at her, his gaze was set on the floor, shaking his head. 

“See? This is what I was worried about, Kyotaro,” the general mumbled to his son viciously. 

And with that, he actually stood up and began walking out of the room. 

“I’ve seen enough of your daughter,” he mentioned. “We will be rescinding our offer. Thank you for your time, Lord Byouma.”

The son, Kyotaro, looked over to Matsumae with a sorrowful look in his eyes and nodded slightly to her before bowing to the host and taking his leave as well, following after his father.

Matsumae was trying to hold back tears at this point. There was no way she had fumbled her one chance at freedom so stupidly. She gently pushed the instrument off her lap with still shaking hands and reached for her fan to cover her face in shame.

Lady Yoriko was already taking the instrument away, a brief hand on her shoulder as condolences.

Her father was chasing after the general and his son, spouting numerous apologies and was practically begging for them to come back to no avail.

She flashed the fan in front of her face and looked away to Lady Yoriko who nodded at her. She moved to get up and leave the room.

“W-wait!” the merchant spoke up. “Will you still recite for us?”

Matsumae locked eyes with the eager man. His words stuck into her skin like knives. A part of her wondered if was only asking for pity’s sake. She looked back at her mother who nodded silently.

“If my lord wishes to hear me recite, then I will recite,” she said as evenly as possible, trying desperately not to let her voice break. 

She silently racked her fluttering heart for a poem that she could definitely remember.

The ever-vigilant Lady Yoriko spoke up upon seeing her start to panic again, “Does my lord have any requests? Lady Byouma is quite well-read.”

The merchant also began racking his brain for a while, which Matsumae was thankful for. It gave her some time to calm down and begin remembering titles and lines of poems and novels that she was familiar with.

The silence broke as a soft voice spoke up, “Does my lady know Genji Monogatari? It’s my favorite.” It was the son of the merchant. 

She flashed a quick glance to the son and nodded gently. He was a plain, but handsome man, maybe eighteen or twenty. His eyes were bright and kind. He leaned slightly forward on his calves, eager for her to begin. 

Neither of the two merchants seemed phased that she had just bungled her koto playing. Maybe she could still save herself.

She began in earnest, reciting each word perfectly. The two merchants perked up and leaned in even closer, dazzled with her storytelling. She grew more confident upon seeing their reactions and began adding voices and small actions to add more color to different parts of the story. 

Her father eventually came back in and returned to his seat. He didn’t bother looking up at his daughter or even listen to her recitation. She tried to block out the laughter of that cursed bug-monster that would chime in every now and then.

“...on rare occasions, despite all resistance, love did gain a hold upon him, it was always in the most improbable and hopeless entanglement that he became involved,” she recited.

At this line, she made direct eye contact with the son of the merchant. She saw a faint blush come to his cheeks and he looked away, embarrassed.

Maybe she really had saved herself.

Suddenly, her father spoke up, “Ok, that’s enough. We’ve heard enough of that, yes.”

She shut her mouth quickly and shrank back into her skin.

“Does the Lady Byouma possess any other notable skills other than koto and recitation?” the elder merchant asked. “How about haiku?”

“I believe we have heard quite enough out of the Lady Byouma,” he interjected bluntly, clearly still unsatisfied with her performance earlier.

“Can you play Go?” piped up the merchant’s son.

Matsumae looked at him and then to her father with bright eyes, hoping to be granted permission.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea-”

“I would very much like to play a game of Go with Lady Byouma,” the man said confidently but not rudely. “With your permission of course, sir.”

Her father narrowed his eyes for a moment and silently considered his options. The despicable bug that buzzed and swished around his head was laughing uncontrollably as he stayed silent. He made a motion to Lady Yoriko and she motioned a nearby attendant to go grab the wooden board and stones. Her father nodded to the son who thanked him in return.

The attendant came back with the game materials and another servant helped move up a cushion for the merchant’s son to sit on next to the board.

“Shall we begin, my lady?” he asked, sitting across from her with a nervous smile on his face. 

She nodded, smiling back at him.

After several minutes of near silence as the two played the game, only occasionally glancing up at each other to smile and then hurriedly look away. 

Finally, there was a winner.

“I believe that is the game,” she said, placing a final stone with pride in her eyes.

The merchant’s son looked at the board in awe, suddenly aware of his grave situation. 

“I resign. You win, my lady.”

“Indeed, my lord,” she said, smiling boldly. “I have bested you.”

He let out a chuckle and bowed his head. “That you have,” he spoke, intrigued with her confidence.

Her father said a couple more words to the merchant and his son, thanking them for coming and bidding them a safe trip back home. The son wasn’t listening to any of it. He was utterly enchanted with Matsumae, practically gawking at her the whole time, stealing glances whenever he could feasibly do so.

Matsumae was hiding her blushing cheeks with the fan. The son was enamored. There was no doubt he was still interested in her as a bride, even if the general and his son weren’t, even if she had completely made a fool of herself with the koto performance.

“We will be in touch, Lord Byouma,” the merchant assured her father. “We are very impressed with your lovely daughter.”

They left with their attendants and promised again that they would send correspondence of their decision in the coming days.

Matsumae, Lady Yoriko, her mother, and several attendants were helping Matsumae undress in her room. All fourteen layers of silk were whisked away to be cleaned and hung back up on the kimono racks, called ikou.

Without warning her father suddenly slammed open the shoji door, causing everyone inside to jump in surprise.

“Leave,” he commanded the servants.

The attendants bowed and left hurriedly. Same with Lady Yoriko. But her mother refused.

“She did nothing wrong, Kojiro,” her mother pleaded. “It was only a small mistake. Please, do not punish her for this.”

But he wasn’t really there. Left in the room, it was only Lady Byouma, Matsumae and her father’s wrath.

“Wife, leave,” he threatened.

“I refuse.”

He looked at her with an intense gaze before he slapped her so hard she fell to the floor.

Matsumae tried to remain calm. Internally, she knew the moment she messed up that things were bound to end up like this eventually. But what she didn’t expect was her mother trying to persuade him out of it.

He started with insults first. Calling her all sorts of names under the sun like “useless, screw-up, idiot,” she just closed her eyes and listened, trying to block out any emotion on her face as his words seared into her ears like burning hot coals.

Next began the worst part. His punches and kicks to her still-growing body, never failed to heal in more than a couple of weeks at most. It was lucky that she wasn’t allowed out of the house much or else people would see her skin and face decorated with bruises in various stages of the healing process. Only once had he broken her arm by accident, but even that seemed to heal fairly quickly.

Today, however, he seemed hell-bent on actually causing real damage to her as punishment for bungling her most promising marriage prospect. His blows had more anger to them than ever before, and more power. Sometimes it even felt like as he punched her, there was almost a second, slightly delayed impact to his attacks.

He was aiming mostly for her nose, spouting curses about how ugly and misshapen it looked. Next, he targeted her arms and hands in particular for forgetting the melody to the song. When he was finished, several of her fingers were twisting in directions that shouldn’t normally be possible.

She squinted through her already blackening eyes as he kept going. Usually he only did this for a couple minutes, but with his newfound anger, it seemed like he really wasn’t going to stop until she was dead or dying.

Seeing this intensity and animosity in her husband's eyes, her mother jumped in front of her daughter, shielding her from the onslaught for a brief moment.

Almost as if he had predicted this, he slammed his wife's head down, but he had miscalculated. The edge of her temple hit the edge of a piece of furniture before she crashed to the floor, growing still.

This seemed to halt him for the time being. He backed off and looked at his work, satisfied. He turned around to leave the room and call for a doctor, but he paused briefly to spit back in their direction as he left.

Her mother was never the same after that. She mostly sat still and had to be fed and bathed and carried everywhere. There were moments when sometimes she could recognize Matsumae or her surroundings, but for the most part these were fleeting minutes of clarity in a new forever of quiet stillness.

Matsumae prayed that her marriage would go through soon with that son of the merchant. She wanted to get out as quickly as possible and take her mother with her. 

It was two agonizingly long months later that the rejection notice came, saying that they heard of another maiden of similar beauty that had a larger dowry. That was the final breaking point for her father, his anger boiled over and he ran for the vitriol.

The last instance was just now.

She should have known better, really. Nothing good ever comes from her boasting.

Even encased in ice, she still found a smile across her lips as she heard the retreating footsteps of Uraume and her master.

It only just dawned on her that the game was over. A euphoric string of laughter escaped her mouth, something she hadn’t heard in a long time.

“I won!” she realized. “I won the game!”

Sukuna stopped walking upon hearing her outburst. Uraume looked back with indescribable fury and narrowed eyes at such disrespect.

She couldn’t stop laughing at the irony of it all. Neither of the two participants really expected this outcome. 

But she was technically right, Sukuna concluded.

He had promised not to kill her if she won the game. However, he never said anything about Kenjaku. Who knows what that creature would do if he got his despicable fingers on her. At this point, Sukuna didn’t really care what happened to her. As long as she was out of his sight, he couldn’t care less what Kenjaku or anyone else did with her.

Kenjaku, who had been watching the fight from further up the mountain, was grinning with malicious intent at the girl. He watched Sukuna and Uraume disappear into the mountains and slowly descended before the girl, approaching cautiously.

He toppled over a couple of limbs with his foot from the pile that had formed and smiled even wider.

“Truly remarkable,” he admired. 

Matsumae stopped laughing at hearing an unfamiliar voice and whipped her head around in the direction of the new signature of cursed energy that had approached. His cursed energy left a sting in her eyes and an acidic and bitter taste in her mouth, like she was about to throw up. 

Sukuna’s cursed energy reeked of death and pure strength and power, but this person’s cursed energy felt downright vile and evil. She’d never encountered anything like it before, and instantly snapped out of whatever mood she’d let consume her momentarily.

“Who… Or what are you?” she asked, still not sure if what was in front of her was even human or a curse.

“No one and everyone, I suppose. I am whoever I want to be,” he replied. This only served to confuse her further. “But who I am does not matter. I want to know, just what are you? And what is it that you can do?”

She didn’t know how to respond as she heard his strangely calm footsteps slowly walk up towards her trapped form. She started to panic internally, not wanting this person to come any closer and tried in vain to wriggle out of the ice trapping her lower half.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

There was a swift chop to the back of her neck and she fell unconscious.

A/N:

(Masterlist)

Words to know:

Ikou - kimono stand Go - Chinese strategy game played with white and black stones, sort of similar to chess Haiku - a traditional Japanese form of poetry composed of three lines with a pattern of 5-7-5 syllables each Sakura - cherry blossoms Iroha - a Japanese famous poem written at some point during the Heian era, it's a perfect panagram of the different kana in the Japanese syllabary (linked in works cited for the translation I found) Genji Monogatari - The Tale of Genji, one of the most famous early novels written at some point during the Heian era by Murasaki Shikibu (linked in works cited for the translation I found)

Works Cited

“Iroha.” Translated by Ryuichi Abe, Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 17 Feb. 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iroha.

Murasaki, Shikibu. The Tale of Genji. Translated by Arthur Waley, eBook #66057, The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1925, The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tale of Genji, https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66057/pg66057-images.html#Footnote_I_1, Accessed 4 May 2024. 

Thanks for reading this far! Comments and kudos are always appreciated and I will try to reply to all that I can. Feel free to ask any questions in the comments below! xoxoxo

Tags: @chaoticwinnercupcake @kariatenoh

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[wyattjohnston]

never said a thing - pierre luc dubois

summary: everyone knows that luc wants a trade... you're just the only person he hasn't told directly.

word count: 2,667

main character: gender neutral reader

note: this is a very very late pinch hitter fic for @pcttymcrlecu as part of the summer fic exchange 2k23. thank you for your patience!

i had to fudge the timeline because i didn't realise luc's trade request happened post-season. i really feel like it happened before the trade deadline

You’d known about Luc’s trade requests before you met him—the entire city of Winnipeg, the province of Manitoba and the entire NHL fan base knew. It was inescapable, just like it had been when he was moved to Winnipeg after requesting a trade out of Columbus.

You were happier about the first one, less so about the second and that only got worse as time went on and the official third one came.

Meeting Luc wasn’t anything you’d planned but had still taken longer than you’d expected it to. Winnipeg wasn’t small, though it certainly wasn’t the largest city, and everyone seemingly had some sort of connection to the Jets—even if it was a Six Degrees of Mark Scheifele sort of deal.

A friend of a friend knew where the younger Jets players liked to spend their free time, as if that wasn’t widely known by everyone in their 20s anyway, and you found yourself in the same bar as Luc, Logan and Jansen.

You found yourself at Luc’s house a lot after that.

Nobody seemed to mind the weird, nebulous state of your relationship—situationship is probably the best word to describe everything that you were. It hadn’t mattered, not really, that you showed up at Luc’s house at the first text with little care for the time he sent his you up? text because he was always just as quick to show up when you sent him a photo of your empty bed without any words to accompany it.

It was always You and Luc, even though there was no You and Luc.

The trade request rumours go unmentioned in the time you spend together—the first alleged request being negated by a one-year contract and the second, the most recent, never coming up. You couldn’t forget them, though. You caught yourself looking at Luc when his back was turned, hoping you could will him to talk to you. Hoping he would explain the request. Hoping he would tell you directly.

Time passed, though, without any mention from Luc that he no longer wanted to be in Winnipeg. Without any mention that whatever You and Luc were had an expiration date.

The Jets lost four games in a row, ending their season in the first round of the playoffs. It hurt because they’re your team—a crushing disappointment especially after winning the first game so soundly and taking game 3 to second overtime—and you watched every game from start to finish.

It was another turning point in your situationship with Luc. As much as you were always a text message away, Luc never asked right after road trips. You never expected him to. It was a boundary set in place that you were more than happy to adhere to.

Except.

The text wasn’t even the usual you up? but an explicit come over that had your heart rate spiking. It was the most direct either of you had ever been and you didn’t know what it meant at all.

He’d barely arrived home when you were buzzed into the building if the suitcase at the door was any indication. He looked exhausted, standing beside the intercom with his forehead pressed against the wall.

You didn’t wait before moving towards him, your footsteps disgustingly loud in the otherwise silent apartment, and pressed your forehead into the space between his shoulder blades.

In a hoarse voice, muffled by the wall he was leaning against, Luc asked, “When’s it my turn to win?”

He wasn’t crying, something you were grateful for because you knew you were ill equipped to deal with it, but he may well have been. The sagging of his limbs, so tired and dejected that his muscles weren’t even tense, and the defeat in his voice were foreign to you.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, unable to think of anything else and not wanting to make a wrong move and upset him even more.

He signed, his entire body shaking with it, and admitted that he just wanted to go to bed.

You agreed, despite it being far from what you’d gone for. Moving him was easy; he put up no resistance as you led him down to his room. You’d never seen him so low, never moved him so easily, and, as many times as you had undressed each other in that very room, taking his clothes off was the strangest part of it all.

He helped you undress him in so much as he moved his limbs when he needed to, but he was very much just doing as he was told.

“You’ve got so many more years in you, Luc,” you said when you were finally laying in the bed.

“It never feels that way.”

Waking up in Luc’s bed wasn’t strange by any means, nor, quite frankly, was the morning wood pressed against your lower back. Being the familiar territory that it was, you roused Luc from his sleep and started your morning the right way.

He was visibly happier than the night before—or, maybe not happier but definitely less noticeably distraught—and falling into old habits was simple and welcomed by both of you. The closeness, physical and emotional, something he needed judging by the way he held you through breathy moans.

It wasn’t until you were showered and sitting at his kitchen island with a coffee as he got ready for end-of-season interviews, grumbling as he moved throughout the house.

Your timing probably wasn’t the best, waiting until you were standing at his front door saying goodbye just before he fronted the media, but you had never shied from the hard conversations. Even if you delayed them until the last—often worst—possible moment.

“I’ll see you when you’re back for training camp?” you asked tentatively, wringing your hands in your lap.

Luc hesitated for so long that you thought he might never say anything. He couldn’t meet your eye when he said, “Yeah. End of August, probably.”

You watched him carefully, scrutinising the painful casualness of his response, the lack of any giveaways that he was lying or that he hoped what he was saying wasn’t true.

You knew too much, though.

His casual demeanour faltered as you met him with an equally long silence—you weren’t hesitating for any reason other than to make him uncomfortable.

He shifted his feet and looked everywhere in the room except at you. He was opening his mouth to speak when you finally decided to keep talking, cutting him off.

“Are you ever going to talk to me about requesting a trade?”

Luc’s demeanour changed from confused to defensive immediately when he asked, “Do I need to?”

“I mean… yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. “You were really just going to leave for the summer and never come back?”

“I—” The colour drained from his face. “Yeah.”

With your hands pulling at the bottom of your hoodie, you felt your heart rise into your throat. There wasn’t anything else for you to say, which was a blessing because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure what would have come out.

You nodded once, stiffly, and then again after a beat before you let the barstool screech against the tiles as you stood. He didn’t make any move to stop you as you grabbed your purse, and you could feel him staring as you walked out the door. You cursed the apartment building for having quiet closing doors when all that would have made you feel better was hearing something slam behind you.

June came and went, July disappeared as quick as it arrived and August… well August dragged on painfully.

You worked through the perfect weather and the perfect photos your friends posted of their perfect vacations. It wasn’t all that different from every other summer since you graduated and it was no different to the previous summer because you didn’t see him then anyway.

A lot of energy had been spent trying to get him out of your mind, not least because all of your work colleagues seemingly spent their every waking moment talking about Pierre-Luc Dubois and his trade request. When the trade to LA had finally happened, all they could talk about was “eight years and eight point five million, who does he think he is?” or “he’s just going to ask for another trade in 2 years so jokes on them!”

You, though? Mostly you’d been able to move past it. August rolled around and you didn’t care about Pierre-Luc Dubois.

Until, that is, you were standing in The Forks Market, ready to eat your weight in mini donuts because it had been a long, long week, and, above every other head you saw him.

You couldn’t leave in the rush that you wanted to, or at least suddenly speedrun the market, because you did want your donuts more than you wanted to leave so you turned your head, tried to hide behind some other people and hoped that he’d never spot you.

That was too much to ask for, of course.

The stall called your name and you knew that everybody in the immediate vicinity had heard it but still you collected your food and tried to make a beeline for the exit only to have your name called again.

You stopped but didn’t turn around, hoping that maybe Luc would just turn and leave but you knew that was foolish. You felt his presence as he got closer, his body so much larger than those around him that even without seeing him you just knew.

He said your name, in such a deceptively soft voice that you had no choice but to turn around, to look at him and see a sorrow on his face that you hadn’t ever expected. Definitely nothing you’d ever seen before.

“You got something to say or?” you prompted when he just continued to stare at you.

“How are you?”

You recoiled at the question, your eyebrows pulling together, followed by an eye roll so rapid that it actually hurt. Luc flinched himself but didn’t rush to say anything else.

“That’s not the conversation I want to have,” you said, brutally honest. “Especially not with you. So, I’m going to take my food and leave. Enjoy LA.”

You stepped away, causing him to stand up straighter and reach for you—but only briefly before he thought better of it. Still, he said, rushed, “Come back to mine.”

“And why should I do that?”

“I have—” he cleared his throat. “I have to talk to you and I don’t want to do that here.”

You hesitated but ultimately agreed when curiosity got the better of you. As much as you’d not wanted to think about him, it had been impossible to shake the desire for any sort of explanation.

Walking into his apartment again didn’t feel like a bad idea, but it did feel weird to see it mostly empty with packing boxes stacked against the walls. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was going—gone—and yet the reminder still had you looking away instantly back to Luc.

Luc pulled out the food that he’d bought at the market—an actual meal—and set it down on the kitchen island where the only remaining seats in his apartment were, just three barstools.

“I hope they gave you a fork because I don’t have any cutlery,” he said sheepishly.

You sat down beside him, placed your own bag down and told him, smiling to yourself, “I don’t think I need a fork to eat mini donuts.”

The laugh that erupted from him shocked both of you. You more so, you thought, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him laugh so heartily, so carefree. It ended up being the reason for your abrupt silence, the joy being pulled from you and a donut being shoved into your mouth to avoid any questioning.

He didn’t seem to notice that your laughter had stopped for any reason other than deciding to eat, so he ate his curry still smiling and starting a conversation about Ryan Gosling as Ken that you had to admit was endearing even if you didn’t want to. Your own contribution to that conversation was minimal despite how much you had enjoyed the movie in the first place.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked during a break in the conversation where Luc was getting ready to start playing the movie’s soundtrack. That was so far past normal that you had to get out of it, that you had to bring him back to the reason you’d even gone to his apartment in the first place.

Luc looked chastised as he put his phone back down on the table. He turned the stool so that he was facing you, the one stool still in between you, and all joy had fallen from his face. He reached one hand out, resting it on the empty stool, and inhaled.

“I asked for a trade.”

“So, I heard.”

“I can’t keep losing.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning sympathy, “Because the Kings got so much further than the Jets did. Understandable.”

Whatever was left of his openness disappeared, his face making it clear that he’d shuttered. You didn’t care, really, when that was the lame excuse you’d gotten.

“I don’t even care about that,” you said, waving off the poor excuse. “Honestly, I don’t care that you requested it because whatever it’s your career and your life, you can leave if you want—why didn’t you tell me, Luc? If I hadn’t asked, I really don’t think you would have told me.”

“I should have,” he admitted, without hesitation, his face relaxing into something somewhat remorseful. “I know I should have. Even if we’re just… casual, fuckbuddies, whatever we’re calling it, of course I should have told you. It just took me until you got mad for me to realise that.”

 “What? You didn’t realise I was human until that moment?”

“I didn’t realise you cared.”

That chastened you quite effectively, because it was true that you’d never given much—or any—indication that it was more than just sex. Not a great deal more, at least not until you thought you were going to lose him, but enough that the friends in friends-with-benefits had clearly meant a lot more to you than it did to him. You couldn’t have expected him to know that when your conversations were limited to if the roads were okay on the drive to one another’s place.

You admitted, quietly, your eyes averted to your lap, “I don’t know if I did until I heard you wanted out. Then I thought about it at length and by the time I asked you about it… Lying to me is just about the worst thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t think you’d bring it up,” he said slowly. “I really just thought you would leave; I’d go back to Quebec and then, when the season started, I’d be somewhere else and then you asked and… I realised I cared about leaving you behind.”

Your eyes fell shut, overwhelmed by what he’d told you. You were sure nobody had ever cared about leaving you behind before. You wondered, briefly, how long it would have taken Luc to contact you if he hadn’t seen you that evening, though it was something that could be found out later. More pressing was the confession you’d just received.

Your eyes opened, and Luc was looking at you with a softness and longing that overwhelmed you all over again. All you did was laugh nervously, shyly, to yourself, and tell him, “I don’t even know anything about you that I haven’t learnt from the Jets’ broadcasts.”

“I don’t think I know anything about you either,” he confessed, unabashed. “I want to learn; if you want to teach me.”

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

i forgot i have a tag list rip (very sorry if you’ve already seen the fic!!)

@fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @laurenairay @jarmorie @diary-of-jj @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @sssstarstruck @pr3nt1ss

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪

trent frederic.

word count: 1.4k

no warnings

"you've begun to feel like home" — the fray

- - -

You loved seeing your boyfriend. In fact, there was nothing in the world that you loved more than watching him on your flatscreen TV, playing hockey in the “big leagues”, as you notoriously called it, much to his annoyance.

One thing you never seemed to get tired of was his undying love for the physical aspect of the game. There was nothing more satisfying to you than to watch him stick it to some glorified asshole on the ice, knowing they damn well deserved whatever came to them. 

Trent was an enforcer; you always liked that.

And because he knew it, he was nothing short of thrilled to come home to you after the Bruins’ 5-4 loss to the Kings. The team may have lost, but Trent achieved his first Gordie Howe Hat Trick, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset. He was on cloud nine, and he wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

You’d been casually living with him for about a month, and it was barely official. In truth, you’d just stopped going home and he never protested. One day, you even came back to your very own half of the closet, which had somehow become empty since the last time you’d seen it.

When you heard the unmistakable click of the front door unlocking, you all but jumped up from your spot on the couch and beelined for the entryway of the apartment. As the door creaked open, you finally were able to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend’s face, and you could immediately tell that he was putting forth his best effort not to smile like the dork that he really was.

Before his bag even got the chance to touch the floor, your arms were around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “Congratulations, T.”

His smile broke through as his arms found their way around your waist, hands meeting in the small of your back. “Thanks,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Mhm,” you smiled, pulling back and looking up at him. As your eyes examined his face, you noticed the small butterfly bandage stuck to the bridge of his nose. Naturally, you pulled your hand back and raised it to the spot, using your thumb to gently graze it. “He got you good in the nose, I see,” you giggled.

“Yeah. It’s not too bad, though,” he confirmed, looking down at you. “I’ve had worse.”

You pressed a small kiss to the bandage. “I know. Trust me, I remember.”

You stepped away from him and started for the couch, where you were comfortably sitting before he came home. Your hand patted the seat next to you, beckoning him to come and join you. “And, if I remember correctly, you lost the fight today,” you teased. “So…a cut and a penalty for nothing!”

“Well, excuse me,” he responded in a mocking tone. “You just gonna taunt me like that every time I lose?”

“Feels like I’ve been doing it a whole lot lately…”

An innocent expression took shape on your face as your eyes darted around the room, your hands folded in your lap. With a shrug, you added, “I might need to find a new boyfriend who can actually win.”

A roll of his eyes followed, along with a nudge of your shoulder by his own. “Oh, I’m sure you will. Have fun with that.”

Another soft laugh exited your lips and you turned to him, lowering your voice slightly.

“I know I tease you, but it’s all just for fun,” you told him. “I couldn’t have been more excited watching you today. Every day. I mean, god, you’re playing in the NHL, T. That’s insane.” Your head shook back and forth slowly. “It’s amazing, and I just,” you paused to take a breath.

“Fuck, I’m just so happy for you.”

He beamed down at you, a flustered smile shaping his face. “Thank you,” he replied gently.

Your head then fell atop his shoulder, his arm slipping between you and the couch cushion behind you to wrap around your waist. He pulled you in and brought his face closer as he looked down at the top of your head. You then felt his lips press a soft kiss to your scalp, and your body relaxed into his almost instantaneously.

“Sometimes I get nervous when you fight,” you spoke quietly, breaking the silence and changing the subject.

“What about?” he questioned, and you shrugged in response.

“Nothing specific, really, I just…don’t want you to get hurt, y’know?”

“Now, when have I ever really gotten hurt besides a few cuts and bruises?” he countered, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. His free hand came around to your front and reached for one of yours, then entwined your fingers together.

“I guess you’d be right,” you laughed to yourself, letting your eyes close as you felt his thumb grazing the skin of your hand lightly. “I love watching you fight. I just don’t want to see you get too hurt. Do you have any clue how bad I wanted to kill that Lomberg guy for choking you like that?”

You felt his breath hitting the top of your head when he chuckled, his chest rising and falling. “I don’t doubt it. Maybe it’s a good thing that you weren’t there then, eh?”

“Yeah. It is,” you agreed with a firm nod.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

“I know,” you joked bashfully. Your eyes met with his as you turned to look up at him, matching smiles shaping your faces. “But you love it.”

“Yeah,” he practically whispered, looking down at you with unmistakable affection in his eyes. “I do.”

He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours, allowing the kiss to linger for just a moment before slowly pulling back. He’d never looked so pretty—you were convinced. You loved every part of him, from his warm, open-mouthed smile to each faint freckle on his face. And you always had peace of mind knowing that he felt the same way about you; not a single day went by without him reminding you of that.

“I love you, but you gotta stop worrying so much.”

Wide eyes were your nonverbal response—your only response, at that. You knew that your ears hadn’t deceived you, and you knew exactly what it was that you heard. You only wondered if that’s really what he meant by it.

“You…huh?”

He chuckled softly at your surprise and brought your intertwined hands up. He flipped them over, then brought his lips to the soft skin on the back of your hand and looked back up at you.

“I love you.”

He spoke the phrase with conviction, not a lick of hesitation present in his tone. Neither of the two of you had verbally expressed it to each other. Yet, it should’ve seemed almost obvious that he felt that way. Hell, he’d been showing it to you without saying it since day one. And besides—you already knew that you felt the same. You had for a long time.

“I love you too, Trent.”

Breaking out into smiles began to feel almost ritual to the two of you, your hand releasing his and finding its place around his neck, allowing you to envelope him in a tight hug. The warm skin of his neck pressed against your cheek as you buried your face in his shoulder. His eyes slowly fell shut once you were comfortably settled into him.

“I meant it, though. You don’t have to worry about me.” He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head. “I’ll be okay,” he murmured, hand trailing up to your hair and gently stroking it. You only nodded in response.

“I’m so proud of you, Trent,” you whispered into his shoulder.

There was not a thing in the world that you enjoyed more than the feeling of his large—abnormally so, as you’d tell him—calloused hands holding you, keeping you close. Quietly sitting with him, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s presence. You knew that time didn’t come to you frequently, so when you had some, any at all, you never took it for granted.

So you stayed there for the rest of the night with him, wrapped up in his arms. It wasn’t long before you felt yourself drifting off, and he followed you shortly after, making sure that you’d fallen asleep before he could even try.

A situation you undoubtedly wouldn’t have thought to be so natural with someone, yet you couldn’t have possibly imagined being in anyone else’s arms. No person in the world could make you as comfortable as he did.

Trent meant everything to you. And you knew that you meant the same to him.

[stationintern]

drarry prompt: bus ride

okayyyy let's go. also inspired by the @goblinmatriarch prompt about running into someone when you're already late and having to decide whether to make your appointment or follow your heart

Freddie’s great. Really, he is. Or, he was. Draco’s not sure– the years all blend together.

He’s on the bus to Freddie’s house, and London passes by the window in a blur as he allows himself to get lost in his thoughts. He hasn’t always taken the bus. He used to Apparate, back when he was young and excited and had less to think over. He’s happy, isn’t he?

He and Freddie each bring something special to their relationship. Freddie has a rather large cock and isn’t in any rush to move in, which is ideal since Draco values his personal space. Draco has the kind of skills in bed you can only get from a few years of self-destructive sexual promiscuity, and the kind of humour you can only get from another few years of re-assimilation into the society you were once exiled from, which requires the ability to laugh at one's self a good amount.

It’s been three years, and maybe the whole not-moving-in thing should be a concern. They aren’t really… moving forward in any aspect of their relationship, and at first that was preferable. Now, Pansy’s got married, Blaise and Anthony are on their third vow renewal (in the Bahamas this time), Greg is expecting a child, and Draco feels distinctly behind the times. Maybe he should start looking for something more serious? Is this what he wants? A long-term boyfriend who has never been interested in anything more, liked him enough to push him towards it, pull him in. Why hasn’t Draco felt the need to go deeper?

There’s no way to be sure, so now he takes the bus. 

It slows to a stop and Draco doesn’t bother to look up from his novel– the one he’s perpetually stuck in the middle of, a mask and a wall to hide the horde of questions running through his mind every time he chooses to ride public transportation– until there’s a shifting in the seat next to him. The bus is nearly empty, so there’s no reason for someone to choose the seat next to him, and if he’s learned anything by now, he’s learned that being singled out means that he’s been spotted– never as a naturally handsome, intelligent looking man, but as Draco Malfoy, and there’s hardly a situation where that could be positive.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“You’re on the bus.”

“As are you.”

Potter looks the same as ever– younger than he should, ridiculously hip, hauntingly handsome. Sometime over the last decade he’d got himself an eyebrow piercing, and since then Draco has had to make a conscious effort to avert his eyes whenever his ex-archenemy-turned-coworker is near. 

They have an unspoken understanding these days, ever since they realized they both work for the same nonprofit. The Youth Entertainment Coalition formed around five years back, and Draco was assigned to the Literacy Department. Its goal being to avoid the same kind of teenage radicalism that presented itself during the war, and Draco was a shoo-in for a leadership position. He was young, apologetic, and had extensive experience when it came to being radicalized, so of course he would know how to combat it. His department began opening twenty-four-hour bookshops and game rooms, creating a safe space for teenagers to come research and meet people different from them at all hours. And they may not have any set-in-stone evidence of its effect, but no wars have broken out, so they count that as a win.

The only downside of the job proved to be Potter, who made it a point to linger around their shared office building whenever he could. His presence became a constant reminder of everything Draco could have been: good. They don’t antagonize each other, they only speak when necessary, and it works quite well. No murders have occurred… yet.

“Why not just Apparate?”

Why not just Apparate to his boyfriend’s house? He used to.

“I like to collect my thoughts,” Draco replies, “In a third location. Not at my house, not at my destination. Sometimes it’s nice to have somewhere in-between the two.”

Potter shifts again. Draco still hasn’t truly looked at him. If he did, he’d have to look at that fucking piercing, and Potter’s eyes, and he’d end up with so much more to think about than before. There’s simply no time for that.

“Why are you taking the bus?” Draco asks.

“The same reason, I guess. It’s nowhere,” Potter replies, “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Draco agrees, “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“From where?”

“Blind date.”

“A good one?”

“Not at all. He sucked.”

Draco takes a sharp breath. Of course, Potter is into men. Yet another thing Draco does not have time to think about.

“You’re gay now?”

“Now? I’ve been gay.”

Draco finally takes the leap and looks over at Potter, who gleams in the afternoon light- with his unapologetically toothy smile and consistently round glasses perched low on his nose. It’s ridiculous, how handsome the man is. Draco has done pretty well ignoring it, but there’s only so much a person can take. It’s simply not fair, how someone can be so good-looking and morally upstanding. 

“And the Prophet?”

“Haven’t picked up on it. Where are you headed?”

“Chelsea,” Draco says, simply. He could say ‘my boyfriend’s house,’ but he doesn’t, unsure of why.

“Mm. I’m sick of blind dates.”

“As is anyone whose ever been on one.”

“It makes me lose faith in my friends, you know? Like, I don’t know where they find these people.”

“The gutter, most likely.”

“I just want to meet someone organically, but it gets to this point when you’re an adult… where it feels like you’re just out of people to meet. Am I making sense?”

“Yes,” Draco gets it, “It’s hard to get to know people. You have to rehash everything, let them in. It’s easier to just stick with the people who’ve been there, who know you… intimately.”

“Exactly,” Potter breathes a heavy sigh of relief, sinking low into his seat and spreading his legs obscenely, “You know, I’ve wanted to get to know you. For a while, actually.”

Draco’s blood freezes like ice, “Me?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, knocking shoulders with Draco, “But, like, how was I supposed to approach you? You were always around, but in the office you have this… face. Like, don’t speak to me about anything other than my bookshops or I’ll explode.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Whatever. Why would you want to get to know me?”

“You’re interesting.”

“In which way?”

“All of them.”

Draco’s mouth hangs open for an embarrassing amount of time while he processes that response, “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah. You can… get to know me. I suppose.”

Draco’s not sure what kind of spirit has possessed him, but apparently it’s hell-bent on making his life more complicated than it was before.

“Are you free tonight?” Potter asks.

The bus slows to a stop, and Draco’s knows that this is where he should get off. He's already running late, and this is his stop. But, curiosity and dissatisfaction propel him into action. He holds up a finger, pulls out his phone, and brings up Freddie’s contact.

I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tonight.

Draco knows that he’s walking a fine line here. Standing up his boyfriend to hang out with someone he’s attracted to and wants to get to know better. But, deep down, he knows that Freddie won’t care. He probably wouldn’t care if Draco broke up with him right now with a text that simply said ‘we’re over.’ All in lowercase, no less. 

Freddie has never been prone to loud emotions, and nobody's emotions are louder than Draco’s. Something’s been missing for a while.

It is time to move forward. It is time to get to know new people, even if they’re old enemies. Maybe that’s the best part of it all– getting to go over their shared history and recontextualize it, see what was behind the wall of hatred they kept safely in between them for all of those years.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and looks over at Potter, who is staring at him with a boyish raise of the eyebrow and tilt of the mouth, full of anticipation– something fresh and interesting and completely unknown.

“Yeah,” Draco replies, “I may not be new, but I’m definitely free.”

if you liked this, feel free to leave a comment or kudos over on ao3!

[footy-fictionist]

Championship loss - Julian Brandt

Pairing: Julian Brandt x female reader

Warnings: I'm gonna break your hearts again with the Championship loss, but also a lot of fluff, soft moments, teeny tiny bit of teasing, badly translated German, mentions of Jannis and Jascha

Word Count: 1653

Note: As always, English is not my first language. This one has been on my mind since we lost. Next one should be a Jude one and then I can get to the requests in my inbox. This one just had to come out now. Remember it's fictional, some parts may be alike with real life and some I just came up with. Please do not copy and/or publish my work, reblogging is perfectly fine!

Dortmund vs Mainz. The last game of the season and all we needed to do was win. Win so we could win the league. Win so we could lift the Meisterschale. That was the dream, everything Dortmund had worked so hard for and we didn’t win it. The equalizer from Niklas wasn’t enough because Bayern won their game. And now everything has become a nightmare. She’s watching speechless as she sees the defeat and utter disbelief on everyone’s faces. 

But the one she is worried about most hasn’t come back onto the field again. Julian was subbed out in the 62nd minute and she knows he’s beating himself up. She may not be able to see him from where she’s stood, but she can feel his pain. Pain she also feels because she loves Dortmund, but it’s probably nothing compared to Julian’s pain and the other players. She’s not even surprised that not a single fan has left the stadium, the fans loyal to a fault. She’s still trying to find him when the stadium camera’s zoom in on the bench and there he is. Eyes red and teary, a few wet streaks and Julian just staring into the distance. That’s the moment she started crying too.

She watched as Terzic went to Julian and patted him on the face. The camera’s stopped showing the bench after that and a few moments later Julian stepped back out on the pitch. She watched as he slowly made his way to his teammates in front of the yellow wall. He didn’t really approach anyone, just standing between everyone and she knows he is already closing himself off. The disappointment is clear everywhere and yet the yellow wall sings and they support their players. They clap for the yellow wall, apologizing to the fans and thanking them for their support. 

She watches as Julian crouches down, hand going over his face. She grabs onto Jascha’s arm, who has been standing next to her the whole game. He looks down at her, eyes leaving his brother. He sees the pain on her face, the tears still streaming even if she wipes them every few minutes. He pulls his arm out of her grip and she looks up at him a little panicked. She’s scared that she had upset her younger brother-in-law, only to have him wrap his arm around her shoulders to help comfort her. In return she wraps an arm around his waist. She looks back to where she last saw Julian only to see his deflated form sitting near Nico. 

All she wants to do is go to him, but she can’t. She’ll have to wait till he comes to her. She watches as the team gets up and goes to walk past the fans. The fans comfort the players as they walk by, a few of them giving away their jerseys, Julian included. And even though it really isn’t the time, she can’t help but admire Julian and his physique. She sees him shirtless all the time, but after a game it always hits differently. But it’s not just his physique, it’s the way he takes the time with fans, talks with them and shows them he is as disappointed as they are. And yet he appreciates every single fan. His introverted side is not in sight with the fans. But she knows that’ll change once they’re alone.

She notices that Jascha stopped rubbing her arm and that’s when she notices her tears have stopped as well. She turns to him and thanks him for being a brilliant brother-in-law. She spots Jannis still near the other photographers, he turns that exact moment and they lock eyes. He waves at her and she manages to wave back with a bittersweet smile before he turns back to take more pictures. That’s when Jascha softly squeezes her arm and she follows his gaze to the pitch. And she sees her favourite sweaty blonde walk towards them. 

His head is down, but he walks with purpose.

She already has the boarding digging into her hips before he’s even close. But the second he’s close enough, her arms wrap around his shoulders. It’s as though a weight drops off his shoulders and he wraps his arms around her waist. They hide their faces against each other’s necks. She inhales his scent, a scent that’s pure Julian and she hears him do the same. She can’t help but tighten her grip on him a little and move one hand to his golden locks. He pulls her in a little closer and presses a few small, soft kisses to the nape of her neck. 

“Ich bin so stolz auf dich, Schatzie.” 

“Wofür? We drew the game and lost the title. We bottled it.” 

She immediately pulls away and he looks at her a little offended that she’s pulled away from him so quickly. She immediately makes sure to make it up to him by putting her hands on his jaw and drawing his face closer to hers. His arms tighten around her again as she does so and she presses a few butterfly kisses across his face. 

“I’m proud of you for the good times, the bad times and everything in between. You have given it your all, you all managed to get back from 9 points difference. You battled through an injury whilst being in your prime and you still managed to give Bayern the biggest challenge they’ve had in years. You, Julian Brandt, are one of the best players on this team and if you’d ask me alone, I’d tell everyone you are the best. For your spirit, your passion, your perseverance, your love for the club and the fans. You live and breathe football at this club Schatzie. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d end up being like Reus for the fans. You give everything and more Jule and you can’t imagine how proud I am that I get to call you mine.”

As she’s talking to him, she can see a few tears start to gather on his lashes again. He presses his forehead to hers and the smile he gives her is brighter than the sun. She returns the smile and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s sweet, loving and passionate all at once. 

“Ich liebe dich.” He whispers against her lips and she smiles, returning the phrase to him. 

It’s then that they realize where they are and that they’re not alone. Julian presses another quick kiss against her lips before going to hug Jascha, who is giving him a mischievous look. Both Julian and her give Jascha suspicious looks but he just waves them away. They share a look but let it go. Mats approaches them to tell Julian that they have to go inside. Julian nods and turns back to her one more time. He presses another kiss to her lips. 

“Will you wait for me here in the stadium?” She nods at him and presses another kiss to his lips.

As he makes his way to the dressing room, she and Jascha head inside to wait for Julian in the family area. She gets the chance to ask Jascha what his mischievous look was for. He just glances at her and tells her to look at her phone. She gives him a confused look but does as he says. She sees a few messages from him and the second she opens them, she knows why he was acting that way. He took some pictures of her interaction with Julian. And she can’t help but feel happy that he did. It’s clear in the pictures that they clearly love each other very much and she knows she’ll definitely use one as her background and that she’ll hang a few in their apartment. 

“Danke, Jascha.” 

Jascha just shrugs and gives her a wink. They talk for about 20 minutes and during that time Jannis has joined them. He’s showing her some of the pictures he made when some players finally enter the room. Julian makes an immediate beeline towards them, ignoring everyone else and she knows he’s in his own headspace now. He gives Jannis a slap on his back and then moves to wrap his arm around her. He stands close to her, now without the boarding between them. His forehead leans against her temple and she runs a hand through his still partially wet hair. 

They go home soon after that and once home they order some food and crash on the couch. He’s quiet as he hands her the remote for the tv. He makes sure she’s in the corner of the couch and then goes to lie down between her legs, his front pressed against hers, head on her chest. She chooses a series and runs her fingers through his hair as they wait for their food. They don’t talk and she knows Julian isn’t paying attention to the tv. He’s in his own head, thinking of today’s outcome.

They eat in silence once the food arrives and then move to their bed. She knows he needs his own headspace to get over it and she lets him approach her if he needs anything. She’s used to it and she knows it’s what he’s most comfortable with. He’s in bed before her, but the second she gets on the bed he immediately pulls her to him. He pulls her as close to him as he can, her head on his chest this time and the sound of his heartbeat calms her completely. His scent envelopes her again and she sighs in complete content, making Julian smile and press a kiss to her hairline. 

“Danke, meine Liebe. Ich liebe dich.”

"Natürlich, Schatzie. Ich liebe dich für immer.”

This time it’s Julian that sighs in content. He presses one more kiss to her hairline and then they both drift off. 

Ich bin so stolz auf dich, Schatzie: I am so proud of you darling Wofür?: For what? Ich liebe dich (für immer): I love you (always/forever) Danke: thank you Meine Liebe: my love Natürlich: of course

[justinspoliticalcorner]

S.V. Dáte at HuffPost:

PITTSBURGH ― Ninety minutes Tuesday night may well offer newly anointed but still relatively little-known Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris her last and best chance to define herself for voters, even as Donald Trump tries to do it for her. The vice president has managed to consolidate most of her party’s voting coalition in the seven weeks since President Joe Biden abruptly ended his reelection campaign and threw his support behind her. But her failure to lock down some groups, such as young Black men and Latinos, has left her campaign in a precarious position against the coup-attempting former president with less than two months left until Election Day. “The challenge for both, in a sense, is to define Harris, as Trump is well-known,” said David Axelrod, the Democratic consultant who helped Barack Obama win the White House in 2008.

Trump, who has been convicted of 34 felony counts, has spent the duration of her presidential candidacy attacking Harris as a “Marxist” and “communist” who holds extreme views on cultural issues. Harris has emphasized her résumé as a prosecutor and California’s elected attorney general in her attempt to portray herself as a pragmatic centrist. Recent polling shows that, despite both of their efforts, a significant percentage of Americans say they don’t really know much about her. A recent New York Times survey found that 28% of likely voters say they need to know more about Harris, while only 9% say the same about Trump. One Republican consultant who has worked on multiple presidential campaigns, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said he cannot think of a higher-stakes confrontation in the history of modern presidential races. “I’m not sure I have enough wine handy tomorrow to get me through this debate,” he said. “I think it could be a complete game changer. It’s going to be the single most important debate after the previous single most important debate that got Biden bounced.” Tuesday’s contest was initially supposed to be the second one between Biden and Trump. That matchup ended, though, in the weeks following Biden’s disastrous performance in their first debate of the 2024 election cycle, on June 27. Biden sounded hoarse and looked weak, which his campaign blamed on a cold, and flubbed questions, reinforcing many voters’ concerns about his age. At one point, he said he finally “beat Medicare” when he meant to take credit for beating the pharmaceutical industry. Biden’s polling numbers cratered in the days and weeks to come, as did his fundraising, and prominent supporters urged him to drop out. On July 21, he announced on social media that he was ending his reelection campaign and followed up shortly with another post endorsing Harris for the nomination. Tuesday’s debate will be hosted by ABC News at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia but will be simulcast by most other broadcast and cable networks. It is scheduled to begin at 9 p.m. EDT.

[...] Harris’ only experience in a national general election debate was in 2020 against then-Vice President Mike Pence. Trump, meanwhile, has now done six general election debates: three against Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton in 2016, two against Biden in 2020 and the one this June against Biden. By most accounts, though, Trump has lost five of those, with his tendency to bully his opponents and repeat outrageous, over-the-top lies turning off many viewers. Only in his last encounter with Biden, when the 81-year-old president largely defeated himself with his answers, did Trump tone down his act as Biden faltered. Both Democratic and Republican consultants and officials agreed that a success for Harris is one where she offers a vision for the country while not getting herself bogged down responding to Trump’s likely attacks.

Tonight could be the only time Kamala Harris (D) and Donald Trump (R) face off against each other on the debate stage.

A win for Harris could give her the momentum she needs to get ahead in the polls and possibly be the favorite to win.

A loss for her; however, gives Trump the momentum to take control of the race.

The Prosecutor v. Felon debate is coming up at 9PM ET/8PM CT on ABC and numerous other outlets on cable, streaming, and broadcast.

#Debates2024 #Debates

See Also:

Wake Up To Politics: The tasks facing Harris and Trump tonight

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.22<< >>Ch.24

CW: none

Chapter 23: 'Till We're Invisible...

Word count: 4.8K

Doing the whole ‘reversal of knowing a person’ to ‘not pretending they don't exist’ is a hassle.

You try not to get too bothered by it as life makes and breaks its course, but it's still a blow to your heart, perfectly settling a bigger and new scar that'll last for a good while. Maybe even forever.

The decision that was mutually agreed on was the worst, especially dealing with it from Miguel. Even with the basic number of texts you sent, he would egregiously find a way to respond in such a manner that conveyed he could give two flying shits, if not less.

It was very annoying, like pulling teeth. You were aware of his method, and you wanted to bite that bullet and let it float away in the endless breeze, but your stubbornness was winning as you tightened onto that desperation of wanting to fade on some type of positive note. Or, more realistically, a neutral one.

That part was dangling for dear life, while the other was fighting to let go.

When he left for the actual last time, you rewound that evening non-stop in your brain. Not a single detail was lost, and you could recite the argument and the following pacifying conversation verbatim.

It also didn't help that you could still taste his lips on yours.

Your thoughts would drift, the many what-ifs plaguing you if either he or you had removed that watch. Would he have tried to dismiss them and then proceeded to take you back into his mouth? What if they never needed help? Would it still have gone the same way? Hundreds more haunted you.

Ronnie took notice of your weird one-eighty mood shift—well, more of a ninety-degree turn.

You were slightly better after finally coming to some type of conclusion. There were still a few or more inquiries that stuck to you, like hot glue on a broken furniture piece. Was the canon a physical element or merely a hypothetical concept that is only talked about? How legitimate is it exactly? What would happen if a canon was wrong? Were you really supposed to not exist?

You regret not asking for some tangible proof and evidence.

But at the end of the day, it was a momentary experience. An encounter that you wish would have lasted for much longer.

Mindlessly shelving items, you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of whatever world of wonder you stuck yourself in.

“Hm? How may I help you?” You casually peer up, expecting a customer, only to see Ronnie staring at you with a quirked brow.

“You were out of it again. I said you can go on ahead and take your break now.” She turned to the racks before looking back at you. “And to also tell you that you've been stuffing most of the things in that box here.”

You glanced up to be met with clothes, books, and a few board games, all disorganized and shoved in a spot where wooden figures are supposed to be.

“Oh, right. I'm sorry. I'll fix this and put them in the right spot. You can go ahead and start my break timer now, if you'll like.”

Ronnie blew a raspberry and lowered herself to the balls of her feet. “You honestly think I'm going to do that? I know I like using my boss powers for... certain intentions, but I occasionally like to use them for good too.”

You rolled your eyes, and she gave you a few playful punches. “But no, I'm not going to do that. I'll take care of this. You go on and relax that pretty head of yours.” She started to remove the articles of clothing, putting them in the box before moving onto the books.

“Ronnie, it's okay; I made the mess, and I'll fix it.”

“How have you been doing?”

You blinked and rolled your neck at the sudden tightness. “How am I doing?”

“I'm pretty sure that's what I said. How are you doing?”

“I, um, I think I'm okay. Yeah, I'm still taking it day by day.” 

She clicked her tongue and sighed. “You think you're okay, or you know you're okay?”

Your mouth went dry, and your throat randomly felt sore. You haven't told Ronnie about what exactly went down when Miguel came that day. It's been close to two weeks, and you were hoarding up all those feelings.

You didn't want to burden her anymore with the mess you're dealing with. She's already done so much that you felt as if you had to step back.

“Yeah. I'm–I'm fine.”

She twisted her lips to the side and ran her fingers down to detangle knots from her hair. “You don't have to be by yourself during this.”

The guilt was feasting heavily on your soul. “I-I know. It's like I've been saying, it'll pass eventually.” It has to.

Ronnie didn't say anymore and rubbed your back. “Alright, I'm not going to pester you. But just know, I'm always here. And I'm still not afraid to find him and beat his ass with trusty ol’ lummy over there.”

She exaggerated her wave over to the checkout counter. A twitchy, small smirk made its way when Ronnie hugged you.

“Thanks, Ronnie. But I still think that isn't necessary.”

“Middle ground. If I personally see him myself while casually out and about, I will find a way to make the bat magically appear.”

You silently muttered, “Oh my gosh,” dramatically dragging your fingers down your face and giving a sidelong glance.

“There will be no barrier. Now go and take your legally mandatory break that has suddenly been pushed to an hour and a half.” She stood up and stretched her arms in the air, leaving you slightly befuddled.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I'm sure, an extra thirty will be added.”

Your mouth opened when she jutted in again.

“And if you tell me you don't want to leave me here by myself for that long, you're getting the rest of the day off.”

She knew how to take advantage of these situations, and you were aware you weren't going to win this no matter how many objections you projected at her.

With a huff and a raspberry of your own, you took the undeserved leisure time, eyeing that smug grin while you gathered up your bag. You acknowledged the care she was giving with another embrace and made your way out to get something to chow down on.

Stopping in front of the Asian street food restaurant, you debated on heading inside and relishing the tasty cuisines when your mind aimlessly migrated to the day you two dined here. The comforting sway you both invited when he discarded his sunglasses, gazing into those beautiful ruby-reds, that culminated a sense of ease and reassurance. How the conversations made it seem like no one else was in the building besides him and you.

Realizing your hand was on the handle, you drew away and persuaded yourself that you were in the mood for anything else. 

Settling on a simple chicken wrap, cookies, and fresh fruit, you took the meal to go and ventured wherever your legs led you. You absently munched on the sugary pastry goodness, loving the unpopulated sidewalks before the rush. You were always thankful for having an 11 a.m. lunch instead of noon; you didn't have to endure the bustling nature of crowds or long winded lines and angry customers who held them up just because they didn't have an extra pickle on their sandwich. 

You took advantage of these soothing moments.

Ambling more down and finishing the last of your grapes, you stumbled on an overfamiliar space. Blanking out for a second, you groaned out and plopped down on the bench. You did your best to ignore the park, finding ways to steer clear of this part at all times. But even your body clashes with your mind and reasoning.

The adjacent bench remained empty, but your brain sought to create a visualization of him. You could distinctly remember it all, despite wanting to erase it. You dared not come this way after that last night, when he ran away. It added way too much salt to that wound. A truck load on it.

Tirades of reminiscence frequently bombard your nonchalant feelings for him. You strived to keep it at bay, but there's times like these when it's of no use.

You allowed it to go, just for this day. That night will always be near and dear to you. He left an imprint on your heart. You reached for your phone and clicked on his name.

‘Thank you.’

That was the last message. 

You remember eyeing those three dots going on for nearly two minutes, boring at the screen hellbent on what he was going to say. Your brain virtually knew he wasn't going to send his genuine thoughts or his true words, but that lowly fraction of false hope was sneaking its way into the heart.

When those dots stopped for a few seconds and then continued bouncing, you felt your pulse and heart racing. Maybe he was ready to prove you wrong; he was going to have that sliver of hope prosper and scream, ‘I told you so!’

You did say, ‘I told you so,’ but it was the major side that won.  

Blinking back whatever sentiment was trying to brew, you slipped your phone back into your pocket, holding one last stare at the wooden seat before standing up. You still had plenty of time to wander about, so you took a deeper look into the more downtown vicinity.

It was crowded, but that's to be expected as it's the main hub section. Hover cars speeding by, followed by blaring honks, was such a huge contrast from the serene park that's less than ten minutes from here. 

You dodged people in expensive business attire who were too busy tapping away on their tablets or talking into their watches, which was a hassle. They would bump into you as you muttered an apology, but only to receive a scowl or a “watch it!” in return.

No wonder he barely came out here. If this was a scene you had to grudgingly witness every morning of every day, you would stay stuck up in that stuffy skyscraper too.

You momentarily came to a stop, apologizing to a person who almost ran into you. The tower was deadlocked in your line of sight. You unexpectedly felt cold, despite it being a hot summer day. Goosebumps pricked at your skin as his giant castle leered down at you.

The only difference was that there was no moat. No snapping sharks swimming in lava. No. It was simply automatic doors that were in between you and his domain. 

The world seemed silent, a suspended notion, as time and the ones in front and behind were coming to a frozen standstill.

Your brain was rushing with questions like a rapid river racing downstream into a waterfall. Do you dare step in? Would you be immediately identified by his insane technology? Would you get kicked out by security once you were recognized?

Would he be on the lower floor level? What would happen if he was and you saw each other?

Your legs trembled, and your feet took hardy steps as if they were ready to collapse at any given moment. Your throat parched, clenching like a child twisting a colorful, plastic bendy straw. It was territory you were going to cross; someone was lowering the drawbridge for you.

Or maybe you misunderstood and might drop straight into the trenches. 

You were really going to go in. To trek into his hellish arena. Holding your breath, the doors slid open, and a waft of cool A/C blasted into your face. All you could see was black, your nails burying into palms, breaking some of the skin. You took a deep breath in and swiveled until you were overlooking the active citygoers again. 

“This isn't worth it. I'm not going to just rush into this without—”

Swarms of people were shrieking, pointing up at something from the side of the corporate building.

“Someone is falling! Someone jumped!”

Marginally confused, you pressed through the crowds to see what the commotion was; if somebody had leapt, surely the hundreds of spiders residing in there would've had a prevention plan for it happening. Surely.

Scooting closer, you squinted and shielded your eyes from the sun to get a better view. From what you could distinguish, it was a person in a black suit; you couldn't tell if he was running from something or not, and another figure was nosediving after them. You adjusted and cupped both of your hands on your forehead to see a red and blue suit…

That red and blue suit belonging to a distinctive individual.

“What the hell?! Mig- uh, Spider-Man! Spider-Man!” You jolted out, stumbling and bumping into others; they didn't seem to care as a waterfall of vividly bright dots dispersed in the same direction as Miguel and the other figure.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your sockets at the situation unraveling. You couldn't possibly fathom what was going on in Miguel's head. Is that a bad guy he's chasing? It must be if hundreds of heroes are chasing after them. But why is this villain also wearing a suit? Could they have gone rogue?

You sprinted, wanting to keep up, but the surge of people intrigued to witness this spectacle was getting in your way. No matter how many times you said “excuse me,” no one bothered to budge. You tried to keep your attention on the action, but by the time you finally escaped the abundance of the crowd, he was long gone.

With a racing heart and a garbled yet stunned brain, you make your way out of the cluster and back to the park. Collapsing on the bench, your leg bounced and your brain rushed as you strived to recount what you had witnessed. Haphazardly yanking your phone out of your pocket, almost dropping it on the pathway, you hover over his name and click on it.

Is this a good time to text him? He's obviously busy with whatever he was chasing, but your worries were overtaking you.

“I'll just text him now, and whenever he's not busy, he can respond. Yeah.”

Your fingers typed faster than they ever have, asking if everything was alright and to get back to you as soon as he could. Your daily alarm for your break popped up, and you opted to hail a taxi back into work instead of speed-walking back to beat the clock. Arriving three minutes ahead, Ronnie couldn't help but lift a brow when you came hurrying into the door.

“I know you like to be here early to beat the clock, but calm down; you're good—”

Ronnie dropped a container on a nearby display table, her gaze tensely locked on yours. You were disheveled, like you'd seen a ghost or been haunted by one. She tapped her nail on the lid, waiting for you to tell her what you encountered.

Admittedly, barging in the shop wasn't the brightest idea because now Ronnie isn't going to let it go until you're forced to talk about it with her. With her hand on her hip and her finger at you, she was prepared to get you to speak when a customer asked for some service.

“I'll ring you up. One minute, please.” You thanked whoever was looking out for you, striding to the back to clock in and hop right back into work.

For the rest of the workday, you were in a cold sweat. Ronnie gave sidelong glances, but you pretended to not notice, taking every shopper that waltzed in or doing all the menial tasks. You were home free when the last person exited the building. After finishing up the rest of your cleaning and snatching your bag, Ronnie blocked your way out.

“Alright, I held it in all day. What made you nervous when you came in?” She folded her arms and leaned back on the door.

“It was nothing, just a dog chasing after me, but I got away, as you can see.” You gave a thumbs up and painted your best ‘I'm fine’ smile. “So you go ahead and rest up; I'll see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

Taking that step forward to get the point across, she didn't budge an inch. Shaking her head, Ronnie groaned out. “I'm worried for you. You can't run in with this deathly and deranged look; then tell me it was something simple like a dog.”

“Dogs can be scary.”

“Some can, but I know it wasn't a dog. Well, unless it was a certain dog that I can't stand—”

“Ronnie.”

“Then tell me. I'm seriously worried for you. You can't keep bottling all of this up. You have to let yourself get something off your chest.”

You bit your bottom lip, your head shifting downward with the blank gaze rolling in. She wasn't going to quit; she's persistent as all hell, and it was beginning to annoy you. You really wanted to go home and be by yourself to check if he replied back, but you knew the more you held off, the less you'd be trapped.

Closing your eyes and titling your head back, a raspberry escaped. “I saw him. No, he didn't see me; I don't even think he was aware of my presence. It freaked me out more than it should; that's why I came in the way I did.”

Ronnie's downturned lips and knitted brows weren't helping your cause or mood. You hoped she was going to stop there and let you go home, for your sake. She couldn't do much to help you, as much as she wished, but with your obstinate demeanor, she might as well have been a fish stuck in the bowl.

“Alright, I won't force it out of you. But you're withering away, and you know you can't hide that from me.”

You expelled a long sigh and nodded. “I know. Have a good rest of your night; see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

With that exchange, you carefully closed the wooden entrance and made your way home. You are fine; why couldn't she understand that? You got that ending to the final chapter, and yeah, sure, there was no epilogue or continuation that uncovered the many unanswered mysteries cemented so deep that it may even go further than six feet; at least you still were given something. 

And yet, it still wasn't enough.

It's still not enough for you to let go. It's still not enough for you to forget him because you know you never will. It's still not enough for you to close the threshold on this self-battle you're facing to make something that doesn't work.

The many days that you've gone by, reciting this shitty mantras of how it's over and how you need to let him wash away with the wild tides of the ocean and you'll make it out okay, were nothing but complete and utter bull. All you've done is tell yourself lies after lies.

And you didn't make it any better for yourself.

You find yourself slowing your steps, standing there frozen, forever consuming those pergolas that want to welcome you in, which taunts you into a false sense of security of dreams and memories. The lush and tempting evocation of your first kiss or how breathtaking Miguel was next to those flowers.

You desperately had to get back home, especially when you heard your phone ping. That self-preservation of not looking was chipping away. You ran like you were competing in the hundred-meter dash, practically clambering into the elevator and into your apartment.

Kicking your shoes off, not caring where they were, you slumped on the couch and opened up your phone… To an email from some store newsletter going on about a sale.

The disappointment did crash down hard when you checked that he didn't even read the message.

“I guess whatever that person he was going after must have been a big deal.” You tossed your cell on the coffee table and went to cook up some instant noodles, lounging on the sofa, half watching some animated film, before laying down and passing out.

Day after day, you messaged Miguel, asking if he was okay. You didn't want to worry, but your brain would gun it to the worst-case scenarios whenever he didn't respond. You tried to squeeze more presumptive thoughts, such as he's busy, he's overly tired, and he's just recovering.

The delusion was tucked in all over.

Every ding was a heart attack. You would drop everything and scramble to your phone, only to be met with this disillusionment when it was some stupid email or a video someone uploaded. 

You ended up having to turn off all notifications except for messages, and the only person who was contacting you was Ronnie, who was checking in.

Two days turned into four, and four into a week when you had enough horrors you were conjuring (to the point you believed you might have been dead), you were ready to call him up when you saw that all your messages had been read. Your blood boiled, but you cooled yourself. Maybe he just read them, and he's going to say something. Or maybe he's been so caught up in whatever happened that he couldn't exactly get back to you. Benefit of the doubt, you are willing to give it.

That, and you don't want Ronnie to raise any suspicion.

‘Hey, I'm just seeing if everything is alright. I know it must be madness over there for you. I really hope you're doing okay and they're not stressing you out more than before.’

You hit send, your eyes not leaving that confirmation. It was delivered. Then a minute went by. It hadn't changed. Minute two, still nothing. You were ready to give up when it switched to read.

Your heart was ready to leave your chest. Keeping a lookout for Ronnie, you glanced back between her office door and the phone. You were patient, ready for those little circles to emerge. You tapped your foot to the beat of the song playing over the speaker, nerves wrecking throughout your body.

“Come on, Miguel. Say something. Please, say anything—”

The door handle began to jiggle, and that's when you spooked yourself, sliding your phone back in your pocket, and rubbed your clammy hands on your pants. Trying to be as casual as physically possible, you pretended to busy yourself by rearranging little figures on a miniature storage rack.

“The feed to the security cameras is in my office. Remember?” She sat a bag of old electronics on the counter and ruffled her already unruly hair with her free hand.

Damn technology. Always ruining your position.

You removed your hands from the items and folded them in between your thighs. At least you didn't have to scramble to come up with an excuse for why you were acting in a weird manner.

“I'm not going to fight you over why his name was in your mouth, but just know, it's going to ruin my psychological state the more it settles. I'm letting you know now.” She vocalized in a chirpy but non-joking tone.

If she wasn't going to engage and tussle you for it, then that's the path you were sticking with. You'll tell her eventually. 

Eventually.

You didn't hear your phone go off once for that entire day. You believed you might have accidentally turned it down during your panic state, and work was non-stop, swamping you enough to not even give it a quick peep. Though you were glad to have the distractions, it took away from the daydreams of what he might have messaged you.

Yet, when you got home that evening, you were met with your sided concerns, forever stagnant on that screen.

You felt yourself being reeled back into that realm of emptiness. You veered off into the void, hot tears descending down your cheeks right onto your phone.

Later that night, you blindly found yourself back on the dating app, swiping left and right, giving low-effort conversations and flirts, before giving up and pleasuring yourself with your vibrator and hand. 

You had to restrain yourself from calling out his name when you got into it. It was going well, from the low buzzing to your fingers pumping in sensual yet sporadic motions. Turning the intensity up, you pressed the button one more than what you were originally going for, and the toy amplified.

Shuddering, you bit down on a pillow, stifling your moans, letting your body become free from the intruding thoughts. Then you granted that embark. That unchained will to let it wander, to let it go into a more imaginative world. 

His name slipped from your lips during the venture of the moment. 

You jumped, removing your fingers and tossing the vibrator at the foot of your bed. You huddled up, your knees touching your chest, as a hefty breath brushed against your skin.

Your mind was gone, and you didn't know what to do anymore.

Ronnie refused to allow you to submit back to your fallen endeavor when you returned to work after learning (she forced it out of you), you had wallowed in bed all day and eaten nothing. Taking your break with yours, she treated you to delicious ice cream, buying you both a huge brownie sundae.

“You're talking. I'm not taking no for an answer either. I'm not taking an ‘I'm fine;’ an ‘I swear I'm okay;’ I'm not accepting any of that.” 

She was holding you at gunpoint. Her persistence was undeniably relentless, and the only way out was to cave in.

So you did. Merely halfway.

You excluded the details on what you exactly saw him doing; you took out a bunch of specifics regarding what was told to you that day he came by. But you did give enough that could satisfy Ronnie's needs.

From how you felt under pressure to text him to get his stuff, bits of the reason why you two couldn't be together (you had to make one up), and how you shared a kiss.

“Please tell me you didn't—”

“I promise you, we simply kissed. That's all.”

“Because I swear I would pummel him into the ground and have you...”

She took your heated silence with caution and took a huge bite of her sundae. You felt depleted by the end of it. Ronnie ended up changing the subjects, chatting about some family drama regarding changing the name of the shop and how her aunt had to be bailed out of jail for the fourth time in three months.

You mostly listened, ad-libbing here and there, as you dazed away. 

There was something so funny about this whole plight. How a simple person can work their way into your life and change your everyday routine, shaping it into this ever trivial but marvelous reality. Then, one day, like a powerful storm striking down an unsuspecting town, it comes crashing into a pile of rubble. Well, at least with rubble, you could probably make out what the structure was originally; this was crumbled into nothingness that even an expert couldn't tell you.

Almost finishing the last of your dessert, you looked into the empty cup and the small scoop of ice cream and brownie crumbs on the spoon. A treat is good at the moment, and when you get to the final bite, all you want to do is savor it forever.

You don't want it to end.

You brought another one after your shift, waiting to get home to munch on it. Kicking your shoes off, you placed a record on the turntable and sat down in your main comfort zone. Feet on the coffee table, you tugged out the cursed electronic device, unlocked it, and closed your eyes.

Earlier in the morning, you sent a single message pleading for him to say anything, to relay a sign that he was okay, that he is okay. You still had your phone on silent to not psych yourself out.

With bated breath, you opened one eye, then flung the phone on the other end of the couch and ate the rest of the dessert. It was just you and the soft melodies in the back.

You gave up four days later. 

You finally decided to give yourself some self-care. You gave your heart and mind the break they probably needed.

With a heavy soul and a heavy hand, Miguel was just another number in your messages. A bunch of random digits that are in your phone log.

As large, thick tears flowed down, you couldn't tell if the weight was lifted or if it harbored you down even more.

You guess you had to let time reveal itself to you, no matter how much you needed that answer now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy @oharaslove @ella-janehaven

[egg-emperor]

'Show me one time where he's genuinely a good person with good intentions, where selfishness, ego, and desire to survive and save the world so he can rule it isn't involved. There isn't any.' ehh, i don't know, id argue eggman saving tails in lost world counts. dude doesn't need tails to get past the yeti, only sonic. he yells 'tails!' to try and alert him and sounds generally concerned when doing so. He also makes the decision to save him in less than a second, meaning he didn't have time to weigh the pros and cons of saving one of his worst enemies, he just instinctively went to help him. mind you, this doesn't even contradict him threatening to turn tails into mincemeat in sa1, because as he explains, he's a complicated guy *shrug*. not trying to start any drama or anything, but i def believe there are a few stand out moments in game canon when eggmans 'human side' is shown that cant really be explained away without heavily reaching imo

I knew this could possibly be one of the moments someone could raise. But I have a response locked and loaded, I always account for everything and am ready to go lol. And I don't think it requires what I'd consider heavy reaching to explain away because I go by what can be seen/heard of game then carefully think about what it means while considering his character and what tracks with everything we know.

I see Eggman's save of Tails as calculated decision. There are a lot of benefits: Making the team up seem more genuine and convincing, winning Sonic over some more and possibly finally Tails after how hostile they were towards each other, the way the more is up against the D6, the better, and the way Sonic could possibly be less focused on the mission if he lost Tails. Also the bonus of how he'd prefer to kill both Sonic and Tails more personally than some random unplanned battle robot, just like Sonic falling into lava would've been underwhelming.

Eggman could see that he was starting to gain Sonic's reliability when he said that they need him to shut down his machine, while Tails wasn't happy about it and felt like Sonic trusted Eggman more. So if he jumps in and acts like a hero and saves Tails, it's going to help him seem more genuine and possibly win Tails over more too after their beef with each other. It makes sense for him to be prepared to act to seem convincing whatever it may be, even though he of course couldn't have predicted the modified robot to attack him.

I don't purely say this off vibes because when Sonic says "you could've gotten yourself killed" Eggman quickly smiles behind Sonic which makes him seem very suspicious I love it lol

It looks sly and mischievous for a guy who just saved someone's life, it's not giving "he did it out of the goodness of his heart", more like "yes it's working, Sonic said he 'can't figure me out', I'm convincing >:)"

If you think it's not possible that he could've thought that fast to weigh pros and cons, he had the plan to betray Sonic and Tails the moment they got him past the Deadly Six and back to his machine and new Eggrobo all along. So I contextualize everything within this. That gives plenty of time to plan on trying to make his facade of a willingness to work with them without any tricks all the more convincing. This is why I feel that him jumping in to save Tails was more calculated than it appears at first watch.

Plus, we know he can think and act that fast anyway. Because in the Lava Mountain scene where he fakes his death, he was planning to do that the whole time and was prepared but he couldn't have expected for it to be kicked off by the Deadly Six breaking the bridge. Yet he was able to quickly act to save Sonic, so he could still keep the Zeti back while he went to reprogram the machine and he could destroy him himself with his new mech as planned.

Him suddenly thinking fast to save Sonic was for selfish and sinister self motivated reasons, and I think it makes a lot of sense for the same to apply to Tails.

Shrugging it off and saying he's just a complicated guy was also the perfect thing to say that wouldn't make it obvious that he was trying to convince them to keep him around. Because otherwise they would've likely realized it doesn't add up with how he was acting just a couple scenes ago when he said he thinks he "liked it better when [he] was trying to destroy [Tails]" If he dismisses it in such a casual way that can't be disproven, he's not trying too hard to convince them.

But if you think parts of that are a little too speculative, though it does have a little something on screen and the context of why he's teaming up with them to support it, we can also go by how he visibly acts much more blatantly in the later cutscene at Silent Forest, when Tails falls into the trap.

Eggman has no reaction, he just stands and silently watches. Doesn't even have the slightest look of suprise or shock like the Frozen Factory Tails save cutscene, which makes the latter feel more performative of a response while he was right in front of Sonic.

He then gives Sonic a little speech while he's devastated to motivate him, so that he'll "make sure his sacrifice isn't for nothing", his sly way of saying "alright but you've still gotta help me, I'm not letting you get hung up on this" lol

He needs to make sure Sonic won't lose focus of their mission and still work hard and not lose hope, so he can get him past the Zeti and betray him later.

And he just gives a little "eh whatever" shrug while Sonic isn't looking again. Much like how he grinned when Sonic wasn't looking in the other scene. Like when Sonic isn't looking, you see the real same old Eggman and how he really feels about both situations.

It's really funny how much he just doesn't even react or give a fuck in this scene lol. I think it really testifies against him really caring about Tails in his previous save considering this is the next cutscene he's even in.

It makes sense for the reasons behind the save is a combination of performing heroics to seem more reliable in this truce because he was planning to betray them the whole time, along with how he expected Sonic to lose focus of their mission and not perform as well if he was devastated by the loss of Tails. So when he couldn't save him this time, he brings out the little motivating speech since it's all he can do now.

Especially since the modified battle robot would've certainly resulted in Tails' death which of course would've had a heavy impact on Sonic and could've affected his performance, while they weren't sure what the Deadly Six were going to do with Tails though Eggman did think of it as like a "sacrifice". So I see that as explaining his earlier actions of the save.

Like this, I can't think of any others that I wouldn't also have an explanation for that tracks with the way he's selfish and self motivated. Lost World, to me, really seems like another prime example of that instead. I love Lost World Eggman and just how much there is to explore and consider about his actions, knowing that he was using them and was going to betray them the whole time.

Eggman does a have a human side and genuinely human moments in the series because being human isn't being a good person. There are many ways to be. Selfishness is very human too. He has a bunch of human traits and moments that remind us that he's human and none involve him being a genuinely good selfless or caring person because it's not required for him to be.

I haven't seen anything that people use as examples of him being a good person that I can't find reasons to argue against and they don't require any huge reaches or speculation as there are always scenes and dialogue to support my points, like the stuff I used here. The more I go back and reanalyze, I only find more to support them despite my open mind and neutrality looking into it.

I only see a pure evil villain with a funny side who is exclusively self motivated only acts for purely selfish reasons that personally benefit him. Which tracks with the kind of egotist and narcissist he is, it's the strong defining core of his character that influences his mindset, goals, and actions throughout the series consistently. There isn't any scene where I can see any exceptions to this.

I encourage you to have your own take and disagree so we can have a discussion like this though. I understand you're not trying to start drama and respect your perspective, I'm interested to see and discuss and share my thoughts. I understand what it's like for people think it's your intention though, it sucks. This is always a chill space to agree or disagree as long as you're chill about it too. 🤝