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silentscrying · 12 days ago

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🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TWELVE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, implied sexual content, playing dirty, not how basketball administration works, so many italics, the LAST CHAPTER! || sfw. 6.6k words.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

It comes out louder than you’re intending, but still goes unheard in the overwhelming noise of the stadium. Game two of the championship series is in full swing. Satoru throws his hands out, arguing with the ref, both of them talking over each other, and then Kento pulls Satoru away and says something else to the official. Ever the diplomat.

Mahito smirks, everything about the way he holds himself self-righteous and arrogant. Your nails dig into your palm and leave crescent-shaped imprints as the team falls into position for the free throws. What a stupid fucking call. And it’s not even the first questionable choice the ref’s made this game. Mei Mei looks all smug across the court, and it’s making your bones shake with anger.

Geto steps up with an unnervingly calm expression, bouncing the ball once with a resounding thump before taking the shot he shouldn’t have gotten in the first place. Swish.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d be rioting, but he only made it halfway through the second quarter before getting escorted out because “OH, YOU THINK YOU��RE HOT SHIT, YOU PONYTAILED PRICK, DON’T YOU?” and “WHAT ARE YOU COMPENSATING FOR WITH THAT NUMBER ONE ON YOUR JERSEY, PATCHWORK PRINCESS, HUH?”

Shigemo and Mahito definitely heard, and you swear Shigemo tripped a little.

You don’t disagree with Yuji’s uncle, really. You were honestly a little sad to see him leave.

In his place, you’ve picked up a steady stream of cussing under your breath, and beside you Nobara looks almost impressed by it.

Geto does that infuriating little half-smile and nails the second free throw, and you have to turn away, pace a few steps back and forth to collect yourself as the ball launches back into play. It’s third quarter and you’re losing, 64-79. Fuck. Fuck.

Ieiri’s hand comes down on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks, and you raise your head to meet her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not calm down or stand still or there’s still time to turn it around. She just looks at you like she knows, because she always knows—knows it wasn’t a fair call, knows the stakes are high, knows the tension is squeezing the blood out of your heart and the air out of your lungs like a vice.

She nods. I get it. I’m with you. You nod back.

You walk back to the sideline, fists balled at your side, and you watch. Satoru turns around, raking a frustrated hand through his hair, dislodging his headband. He turns around and you catch his eye, offering him a small smile. You hope it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Even from here, you can see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He cracks a half-smile back.

At the start of the fourth, you’re 75-83, the headset around your neck instead of over your ears—you can’t listen, don’t want to know what the odds are, don’t need to hear the commentators’ pessimism on top of your own.

It’s only eight points. They can do this.

At some point, the Curses sub Dagon on, and after a while he and Yuji are getting a little too physical—or Dagon is, while Yuji tries fruitlessly to not get obliterated. He’s just trying to get open for Satoru, but Dagon is practically on top of him. He’s playing dirty in a way that reminds you of Hanami. At this rate, Yuji’s going to end up on the ground.

“Fucking call something,” Nobara practically growls, eyes narrowed on the ref, who either doesn’t see or just doesn’t care.

Satoru, ball in hand, locks eyes on Dagon as he clings doggedly to Yuji’s side, backing up into him, sticking out an ankle in hopes of tripping him. Only Jogo stands between Satoru and the basket. Jogo swipes a massive hand at the ball and Satoru reaches out and just—fucking catches it.

He palms the ball in his left hand and uses his right to intercept Jogo’s fingers as they reach out, stopping him in midair, a flagrant foul, and the ref blows the whistle, calling the play. Jogo goes still and just stares at Satoru's hand around his, shocked. Yuji stumbles back as Dagon finally lets up.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri murmurs beside you.

“He did that on purpose?” Nobara says, but it’s not really a question. Satoru just fucking fouled Jogo to stop play before Dagon could hurt Yuji. You pull one side of the headphones up to your ear to hear the call.

“And that’s a personal foul by number six, Satoru Gojo, against San Diego guard Jogo.”

Megumi storms over to Dagon and shouts something sharp and fast that you can’t hear, and Yuji puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him away. Kento says something to the ref and it must finally hit home, because the ref mutters something to Dagon before the free throw, and after that he doesn’t try to pull anything shitty over on Yuji again.

Maybe it’ll be fine, you think as you hit the halfway point of the last quarter. The Sorcerers have already won once. They can do it again.

And then they lose.

The Sorcerers, they fucking lose. And as the stadium erupts in cheers and the Curses subs swarm center court, you’re suddenly worried that somehow the first time was a fluke—after all, the Curses are first seed, aren’t they? They’re supposed to win. They’re projected to.

No. It wasn’t a fluke. You know your team, you have faith in your team. They can turn this around, they have to. They’ve defied the odds before, and they’ll do it again.

This doesn’t mean anything.

On the jet, Satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck and you let him, playing with his long, slim fingers in your lap. When you land, he doesn’t go home, and you spend the night trading kisses and reassurances on the couch, against the wall, possibly atop the kitchen counter, and then your bed, and you fall asleep beside him thinking, It’s not too late. There is still every chance the Sorcerers can take this title home.

And even if they don’t, you think, listening to Satoru’s steady breathing in your ear, there are more important things.

—

The week passes in a blur of basketball, training, travel, late nights with Satoru and stolen kisses in offices and cars and bedrooms. The ref from the last game racked up such an outrage online that by the third game of the series—this time on your home court—you’ve got a new official entirely, one who has a great track record with the league. Hiromi Higuruma is actually fair, and things start to run more smoothly.

If someone asked you for a play-by-play of the two home games, you couldn’t give them one, just a vivid recollection of a few scenes, compiled in the back of your mind like a highlight reel.

Satoru and Geto facing off for the tip-off, eyes narrowed and bodies tense, nearly colliding as they both stretch for the ball.

Megumi coming off a dunk and breathlessly grinning at Tsumiki in the stands.

Satoru turning around at the last second to block Jogo like an instinct, like he has eyes on the back of his head.

The Sorcerers winning game three.

Higuruma fouling Mahito when he snags Yuji’s shirt in his hands, and Yuji nailing the free throw like it’s nothing.

Shigemo leering at Kento, only for Kento to pass the ball right around him, straight through the long, blond ponytail. Ino palming the pass and lobbing the ball into the net from the three-point line.

The Sorcerers winning game four.

All the built-up, coiling anticipation has you losing sleep, the knowledge that if you can hang on to this lead, just win one more, it’ll be over, you’ll have won.

The night the Sorcerers win the fourth game, you’re putting away laundry, listening to Mitski and humming to yourself. And then the music fades out and you frown, thinking your phone is just tripping out—until it segues into your ringtone and an unknown number lights up the screen.

You have no idea what to expect from this. The last time you answered an unknown number, you ended up talking to Takada.

“Hello, is this Sorcerers management?”

Definitely not Takada.

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

“Well, hey, glad I caught you! This is Yuki Tsukomo with the WNBA.”

Your breath stalls in your throat, fingers tightening around your phone. Yuki Tsukomo. The fucking commissioner of the WNBA. What the fuck?

You knew her in college, briefly, in a peripheral sense—her fifth year was your first, and she played for your university’s rival school. You crossed paths a number of times, but not in any way that would have been significant to Yuki.

Now, though, she’s a household name, a massive WNBA star in her own right before she retired and rose up the corporate ranks. She’s amazing. She’s an idol. And she’s on the phone with you right now.

“So, I’m calling about a career opportunity. I know this is a bit unorthodox, and if you’re interested I will certainly redirect you to our HR manager, but I wanted to speak with you personally. Is now a good time?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, sinking down onto your couch, trying to keep your voice even. “Yeah, now’s great.” Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“Wonderful!” Yuki says. “Alright. So we have a vacancy this upcoming season for a conference coordinator. It’s a fairly big role, but I understand you’ve had a great deal of success in NBA management over the last few seasons. Your name comes highly recommended. And, I mean, I remember your work ethic back in college.”

The first thing that sticks is that Yuki actually remembers you. You’re astounded. You were so sure she’d have no idea.

The second thing hits a moment later, taking a second to process. Career opportunity. Upcoming season. Conference coordinator. Conference coordinator.

Where the NBA is divided into six divisions, the WNBA has only its two conferences, six teams in each. Coordinating a conference would entail, essentially, managing half of the WNBA.

“I appreciate that,” you manage, and feel your eyes widening the more Yuki lays out the details of the position.

The pay is actually higher. Right now, you’re just managing one team. This, though—this would be monumental for you.

Relief floods your entire body when she says Eastern. You could stay here. You wouldn’t have to move. The WNBA operates on a different schedule than the NBA—you’d be able to maintain a relationship with the Sorcerers, travel during the WNBA season.

You could do this—you could have both.

“Just think about it,” Yuki says brightly, wrapping up the call. “I know it’s a bit out of the blue, and you’re busy with the championships right now. I know this is a tight deadline, but if you could get back to me before the end of the season, that would be fantastic—the vacancy was a bit unexpected and we’re trying to get a jump on things.”

“Yeah, absolutely, I—I’ll think about it. Thank you, Yuki. So much.”

“Absolutely,” she replies. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me. You have a good one!”

The line goes dead before you can reply. “You too,” you say to the open air, falling back onto your couch, boneless. Holy. Shit.

You only give yourself a minute before you open up your phone again.

“Toru,” you say, when he picks up on the first ring. “Can you come over?”

Fuck your laundry. It can wait.

—

He wants you to take it.

“This is fucking amazing!” he shouts, sweeping you into a hug, your feet off the floor. “Oh my god! This is so cool. My girlfriend is so fucking cool.”

“Toru,” you laugh as he sets you down. “I didn’t say yes yet. I just—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pulling you over to the couch, sitting down beside you. He pulls one knee onto the cushions, angling himself toward you, and takes both of your hands in his. “Do you remember that night in the gym?”

You snort. “No, Satoru, I don’t remember the first night we f—”

“Not what I meant, but yes, that was wonderful, let’s do it again,” he says. “Listen. I asked you, if you got a better job offer right now, if you would leave.”

Oh. You remember. Define better, you said. Better might mean a pay raise, an admin opportunity, a move back into the women’s basketball sphere.

Not for another team, you told him. You wouldn’t leave the Sorcerers for the Curses, or for some other group of players on another coast. But for higher-level management, something with the league—isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

“Don’t let us hold you back,” he says gently. “That’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.”

You look at him, sitting here in your apartment, looking like he belongs. Hair like silk under your fingers, eyes the color of oversaturated photos of a summer sky.

You realized a lot of things in the gym that night.

One was that you won’t leave behind what you love.

Another was that you still have higher aspirations, places you want to be, things you want to change.

And taking this job, saying yes? It’s not leaving.

Satoru will still sit on your couch and hold your hands and look at you like you’re the world. And then you’ll go watch him kick ass on the court, and you’ll go to dinner with him and Megumi and Tsumiki and Yuji, and you’ll spend the rest of your time investing in women’s basketball, that thing that’s had so much of your heart for so, so long.

But you can’t—you won’t—leave this team with just anyone.

“It has to be the right person,” you finally say, squeezing his hands. “I’m not saying yes unless I know you’re in actual, really good hands.”

“Well, I really don’t think anyone’s gonna use their hands quite like—”

You glare at him and he shuts up, biting back his laughter. He nods, releases one of your hands to push a strand of hair out of your face. “Then let’s find the right person,” he says.

An hour later, you’re both sprawled out in the living room with computers and phones and papers and a thousand tabs up, scrolling through pages of Google search results, scanning old rosters, throwing out names of a few standout NBA and WNBA managers, debating whether they’d leave their own teams for the Sorcerers.

And it hits you all at once, as you scroll through your contacts. You think about the small forward who was a freshman your senior year of college. She was a business management major, a great player, but you could tell she didn’t want to go pro, not like that.

“Oh,” you breathe, feeling like this answer’s been right in front of you the whole damn time. “Yes.”

Satoru perks up beside you, nudging you with an elbow. “Yeah?”

You look at him and feel the grin spreading across your face, hope sparking in your chest.

You should give her a call, you think.

But Satoru has already sat up, and he’s pulling you toward him with a devilish grin on his face. He shoves the papers and laptops out of the way and pushes you down with a hand on your shoulder, straddling you on the floor, white hair hanging down around his face like a curtain blocking out the rest of the world. It’s just you, and him, and his breath on your lips—

Yeah. The call can wait.

“You are,” he says, tracing the line of your jaw with one hand, “the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” The blood rushes to your cheeks unbidden, and you pull him down to press his lips to yours before he can comment on your blush.

“Not so bad yourself,” you breathe against his neck, and he takes your wrist and holds it above your head, kissing a line down your collarbone.

You have no recollection of getting to your bedroom, shoving the just-folded laundry off your duvet. All you know is Satoru’s fingers at the hem of your shirt, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his mouth on yours, wishing you never had to come up for air, thinking maybe you don’t need to. Maybe you and Satoru can just breathe each other’s air forever, and you never have to let him go.

—

“And I'm sorry to throw this on you during championships, and I know that if—”

“I’m happy for you.”

“What?” You blink at Yaga, sitting across from you in his office with his fingers steepled on the desk. His collection of little crochet animals lines the windowsill behind him, a procession of colorful little creatures that feels wholly disparate from his dark clothes, his serious eyes, his broad-shouldered and imposing stature.

You thought this conversation would be harder. You were ready to lay it all out, to thank him for making this the best place you’ve ever worked, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, to tell him that this way he won’t have to deal with any complications that might arise from you and Satoru being together. You talked it over with yourself in the bathroom mirror and in the shower and before you fell asleep, like a final presentation in a class you needed to graduate.

As a conference coordinator, the WNBA will pay you almost 20% more than you make right now. You’ll be running the whole Eastern division. It’s everything you wanted when you first started in sports management. It’s everything you want now—you won’t have to move, you won’t be traveling during NBA season, you can have everything you’ve built here and everything you’ve been working toward all at once and it feels too goddamn good to be true.

“Look,” Yaga says, leaning back in his seat. “You have been instrumental to this team. And I would love to have you here. We all would. But you deserve to go where you want with this career. And if the WNBA is where your heart is, I know for a fact every guy in that locker room would back you.”

And you realize, abruptly, that Yaga was never going to be a real roadblock. That speech you rehearsed wasn’t for him; it was for you.

Yaga is happy for you, in that calm, unbothered way of his, and Kusakabe will be too. You’re suddenly kind of emotional about it, their unwavering acceptance, the encouragement, the truth in Yaga's words. That this team would—will—back you. Even if you tell them you have to pass your position on to someone else.

“I haven’t accepted yet,” you clarify quickly. “I just—there’s a lot of things to think over. But I didn’t want to leave you in the dark, in case… I mean. I love it here. I do. This is just… a big opportunity, I think.”

“Well. If you do choose to take the job, and you have a recommendation for me,” he says, “I would be very inclined to listen.”

Satoru thinks you should take it. Kasumi practically begged you. And you did make that call—you do know someone who could step into your place, someone who would love this team the way you do.

“Yeah,” you tell him, letting the tension melt out of you with the word. “Her name’s Riko. Riko Amanai.”

—

The series goes on, and you push the offer to the back of your mind, heading out to San Diego in hopes of taking home the title. You stand between Ieiri and Nobara, Charles Bernard and Rika Orimoto talking rapid-fire in your ears.

They become background noise as the game launches into motion—not a good start. Geto wins the tip-off. Satoru misses a free throw. Mahito fouls Kento so hard that Ieiri has to pull him off court to check for a concussion. (He’s clear, but he has to sit out for a moment to get his bearings, and you want to punch someone. Preferably Mahito.)

You lose.

The team's mood tonight is a few shades darker, yours saved only by an influx of photos of the dogs from Tsumiki back home.

tsumiki: [4 Image Attachments] tsumiki: [1 Movie Attachment] tsumiki: cuddle mode!!

Satoru steals your phone and sends her a .5 selfie of him wrapped around you in the hotel bed.

you: CUDDLE MODE

Still, the loss is a blow to the ego, and now the Sorcerers are three to the Curses' two. But there’s hope. The next match is a home game, and you could win it and take the series in six games.

Back at Jujutsu Arena, Naoya Zenin (you wonder what the relation is to Maki as she commentates dryly in your headset) pounds two three-pointers in the first four minutes. Takaba makes two free throws, and Geto just will not give Satoru a breath of air. Every time one of them scores, so does the other. It’s a brutal back-and-forth and you abruptly feel like you’re watching a tennis match instead of a basketball game.

Jogo and Mahito couldn’t be more different as guards—Jogo as a point guard is hulking and stands like a wall between the forwards and the basket, but Mahito as a shooting guard never stays still, launching himself around the court with all the abandon of a fucking trapeze artist, anything it takes to knock the ball from Yuji and Megumi’s hands.

Game six is a tight call, but the Curses win by two and cement the tie. It’s running the full seven-game series, the first one the Sorcerers have had since mid-season. The final game in San Diego will decide everything.

You spend the night before the flight at Satoru’s place, all the pent-up frustration and aggression and nerves spilling out in kisses and gasps and his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck, and when you both collapse into bed a few hours too late for a reasonable amount of sleep, you wonder if tonight was more of a workout than a basketball game ever was.

The Sorcerers reach game seven 3-3 and angry. It’s the most stressed you’ve been in what feels like forever.

“We’re gonna win,” Ino says as he paces the common space of the visitors’ locker area. He’s trying to be entirely unbothered, but he can barely stand still. You can’t help but crack a smile, though, as he enlists Yuji and the two of them bounce around trying to hype up the rest of the team, to ease the tension. It seems to work—Satoru laughs, and Megumi is trying to bite back his own smile as Yuji’s arms flail around wildly in an unprepared, spur-of-the-moment pep talk. Ino’s encouragement even seems to get to Kento.

“Let’s put this rivalry to fucking sleep,” Hakari says with a sharp-edged smirk. “Beat ‘em on their own floor.”

“Stay sharp,” Kusakabe demands. “Stay alert, stay calm. Fast on your feet, strategic with your passes.” He glances at Yaga to see if the head coach has anything to contribute.

He shrugs. “End of the season, boys. You walk out of here winners or you walk out of here with a fire under your ass to do better next season.” He crosses his arms, the fingers of his left hand drumming on his right arm. “Let’s try not to set any fires.”

Junpei laughs nervously. Making it all the way to championships in your first season must be a whole different kind of stress. You hadn’t even considered it until now.

Toge wraps an arm around him and ruffles his hair in some kind of half-noogie that is very sibling, or maybe just very boy. Yuta grins, and then everyone looks to Kento, waiting for the captain’s final orders.

“Do what you always do,” he says, looking at each of the guys in turn. “Stay open. Communicate. Weigh the risks. Seventy percent smart—”

“Thirty percent ballsy,” Ino finishes. Not Kento’s word—he usually opts for chance or risk. But the smallest twitch at the corner of Kento’s lips tells you he’s optimistic, despite everything. He nods at Ino.

“Right,” he says finally. “Let’s play some damn good basketball.”

The guys break into a chorus of cheers and Nobara laughs beside you as she films it. Nothing fails to get a rise out of the team like Kento dropping a swear word.

Before the team files out to the court, Satoru grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, heated, bruising, full of nervous energy.

“Score one for me, Six,” you say, and he grins before disappearing down the hall. Ieiri and Nobara start after them and look at you expectantly. But there’s something you need to do.

It’s the last day of the season, regardless of what happens. There’s no more pushing this back. You need to call Yuki back with an answer.

You hold up your hand, waving your phone for them to see. “I’ll catch up.”

—

The double doors leading into the gym are like a huge, metal sound barrier. The moment you open one of them even a crack, the noise comes flooding through, anxious and excited and face-painted fans spilling into the aisles, waving signs and jerseys and those stupid foam hands.

You tuck your phone into your pocket as the door slams behind you, and Nobara immediately catches your eye and grins. She points up into the visiting section.

For a moment you aren’t sure you’re seeing correctly—it’s weird to see them in colors that aren’t their own—but the woman at the end of the row, purple-streaked hair pulled back into a bow, leaves no room for doubt. The Samurai are here. All of them.

Akari waves at you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and yanks on Utahime’s sleeve until she notices and grins at you, too.

“Ready for this?” Ieiri asks, her med bag ready at her feet—just in case—and you shake your head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well,” Nobara says, taking her place between you and Ieiri, “we don’t have much of a choice.”

Twelve minutes feels shorter than it ever has. The first quarter passes in a blur, with Satoru winning the tip-off and both teams scoring well into the twenties within nine minutes flat. The visiting section is louder than it’s ever been, giving the home fans a run for their money—likely because of the Samurai, you think. Todo is hollering like it’s his last day on earth, and Haibara is as invested in this game as any one of his own.

Yaga lets Yuta and Toge on in the second quarter to work their magic, and they don’t disappoint, passing and scoring seamlessly before the Curses can ever hope to pick up on their silent signals.

Satoru is playing harder than you’ve ever seen him play. He’s lightning-quick, all reflexes and instinct, but Geto matches him in speed and strength and skill and strategy and god, it’s like they’re mirrors of each other. Halfway through the second, Hakari goes on to give Satoru a break, and the Heat follow suit with Ryu Ishigori.

You, Nobara, and Ieiri have given up saying anything, all of your attention on the court, rapt. At the start of the third, Kusakabe gives Junpei a long look, considering.

This right here is the highest the stakes can get. Nobody is expecting a rookie to come onto the court and score against a number one seed in the last game of the NBA season.

Maybe that’s why they do it.

Junpei is fresh off the bench, full of energy, and he’s small. He’s fast. He’s exactly what the Sorcerers need to get past Jogo and Mahito, while all of Geto’s attention is focused on Satoru.

The Curses make exactly the mistake they’re supposed to: they don’t take Junpei as a serious threat until it’s too late, and he’s already racked up the score by a solid nine points.

He comes off before the end of the third, after the Curses have caught on and ganged up on him on defense, but he’s grinning and exhausted and happy. You can’t help but catch his smile, let his enthusiasm send sparks of hope through you, too, as Ino goes back on in his place.

“They never stop underestimating,” Nobara muses, looking across the court at a tense Mei Mei.

“Good,” Ieiri says.

For the whole of the fourth quarter, the difference in score is never more than four. Back and forth, back and forth, squeaking shoes and high-pitched whistles and shouts and cheers and boos and the thudthudthud of the ball on the court, or maybe that’s just the noise your heart is making as it tries to break out of your ribcage.

They break the hundreds with a minute left in the game.

98-100, Curses.

You don’t know the last time you breathed.

101-100, Sorcerers.

Every muscle in your body is tense.

103-100, Sorcerers.

You feel detached from your own body, your own breathing loud in your ears.

103-103.

Geto has the ball and Satoru sprints, crossing the court to him in a few long strides, coming face-to-face with the man he’s known since they were teenagers in a high school gymnasium.

Geto’s dribbling, running, and then Satoru stretches out a hand and snags the ball in the blink of an eye and pivots on one foot, his whole body leaning in the direction of the basket, half-court.

Two seconds left on the clock.

There’s no way, someone in the stands is shouting. You want to tell them to shut up. You don’t have time.

You don’t know if it’s an accident, if it’s malicious, if Geto is really just trying to snatch the ball from Satoru’s hand—but you watch with your heart jumping into your throat as his fingers brush Satoru’s headband, dislodging it, pulling it down over his eyes. Like a blindfold.

He can’t see.

One second.

Satoru winds his arm back and throws the ball, blind, right over Geto’s outstretched arm, headband still covering both eyes. He wrenches it off in a flurry of movement and stumbles back, following the arc of the ball as Geto’s head turns to do the same—

Half a second.

Please, you pray to whatever fucking basketball god might be paying attention. You’re too scared to blink. .439 seconds. Time has never felt this slow, the whole of the stadium holding a collective, shocked breath. Orange numbers in your periphery, moving so rapidly you can’t keep up. .004, .003, .002, .001—

And then the world explodes.

“AN AMAZING BUZZER BEATER BY SATORU ‘SIX-EYES’ GOJO! ASTOUNDING SHOT, BLINDFOLDED, WELL PAST THE THREE-POINT LINE—”

“106-103 IN THE SORCERERS' FAVOR! ONE HAND, DID YOU SEE THAT, CHARLES? ONE HAND!”

You rip off the headset, maybe drop it to the floor, you’re not even sure, because the ball went through the net right as the buzzer sounded, and the screams are so deafening you can barely see, and Nobara is shaking you and Ieiri’s jaw is hanging open and the Sorcerers fucking won the NBA title.

Satoru’s surprised gaze finds you from across the court. He’s beaming, drunk on shock and skill and victory, and you are too, and maybe a little drunk on him.

Your feet are moving before you realize they are, pounding across the court like you’re the one playing, and then he’s sweeping you into his arms, his lips on yours, and you’re laughing into each other, and you don’t even care that he’s a sweaty mess because he made it and you beat them, you beat Geto and Mahito and Shigemo and Mei Mei and you won.

Yuji grabs you and Satoru both and drags you into the swarm. You catch Kento’s eye, and he nods at you, blond hair mussed and messy, and it might be the least put-together you’ve ever seen him with his playing goggles knocked half-off his face by the force of Ino’s hug, and he’s full-on smiling.

Megumi launches himself at Yuji and hugs him and it’s the most affection you’ve ever seen him show in public, and Nobara’s filming but not even looking at the screen as she jumps around, hooting and hollering and practically tripping over Junpei’s feet. Yuta has Toge on his shoulders and Hakari is suddenly standing next to Kirara, his secret-not-secret WNBA girlfriend—you didn’t even know she was here—and then the Samurai are jumping out of the stands and there are so many people and life could not get any better than this.

This was your home court, once. You feel like, somehow, you’ve taken part of it back.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU? THAT’S MY FUCKING NEPHEW!”

You whip around to find Sukuna in the front row, and your jaw drops not because he’s here and yelling and cussing but because oh my god, did he make it the whole game without getting kicked out?

Two security guys abruptly look at each other in alarm and start picking their way through the crowd toward him. Never mind. You’re fairly certain he already got kicked out and somehow just… got back in.

Ieiri yanks you into a hug, then makes a disgusted expression at Satoru when he tries to do the same to her. “You are so sweaty!” she shouts over the din, and he gets that shit-eating grin on his face and runs after her, throwing her over his shoulder despite her protests. You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

—

When the celebration dies down and your cheeks hurt from smiling, the teams line up and shake hands, one by one like a bunch of high schoolers forced to mutter half-hearted good games to the assholes from the other side of town.

Satoru and Geto are the last ones in both lines. And you expect them to brush past each other, not stay in one another’s orbit for a second longer than they have to, but—their interaction is lasting a bit longer than it’s supposed to. Their lips are moving, words you can’t make out. You’re honestly surprised they’re shaking hands at all.

But neither of them seem tense. To your surprise, Satoru barks out a laugh—just once, like he’s surprised by it himself. Geto looks down at his feet, smiling, and when they part ways, it’s with a clap on the back. Like old friends, maybe—or at least, not like enemies.

Interesting.

As your boyfriend—your NBA champion boyfriend—makes his way back to you, your fingers twist in the fabric of the jersey you’re wearing, GOJO printed along the back in blocky white letters.

You raise a brow when he’s within range, looking pointedly between him and the cluster of the other team.

He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, hair falling into his face with his headband slack around his neck. “He, uh. He said good game. But I think it might have also been an apology?” Satoru says, looking a little puzzled. “And… I did too?”

“Good game is… an apology?”

“It just—the way he said it. I don’t know how to explain it. But there’s something there.” Satoru shrugs. “We both could have handled a lot of things better. I’m… I don’t know that we’ll ever go back to the way things were. But he said we don’t need to worry about Mei Mei’s scheming anymore, either.”

Skeptical, you ask, “He can actually talk Mei Mei down?”

Satoru shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. But I think she might respect you a little bit for how much she didn’t manage to pull one over on you this season.”

It’s like she knows you’re talking about her. She turns to look at you across the court just as you look at her, and when your eyes meet, the smallest smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Just for a second, and then she turns away.

But it’s enough for you. Enough for you to believe that things between the Sorcerers and the Curses—between Satoru and Suguru—might change for the better.

You find yourself thinking about shifting dynamics, the way the environment of the team will already be different next season—it always is, you suppose. Nothing in the NBA ever stays still for long. It’s not trading season, but there have been rumblings about Choso Kamo being traded to the Sorcerers. You can only imagine the havoc he and Yuji will create together on the court.

But you’re thinking about that, and you’re thinking about Riko, and you’re thinking about the WNBA and you and Satoru and all the ways this is going to work. You know it.

He must see it in your eyes, because he doesn’t ask what you’re thinking about. He just says, “It’s not a pay cut, and even if it was, you could take it.” He grins, ruffling your hair. “Your boyfriend is super rich, you know.”

“Hah, hah.” You swat his hand away from your hair, but lace your fingers through his, pulling him down toward you for a kiss. “Toru?”

“Mm.”

“I took it.”

Yuki was ecstatic when you called before the game, chattering about emails and paperwork and HR and meetings before cutting herself off and telling you to go enjoy the game. “I’m not a betting girl, but if I was,” she said, “I think things are looking good on your end of the court.”

“Oh my god.” Satoru’s smile could power whole galaxies. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say back. “You just won the damn NBA Championship.” But he just smiles at you like the title means nothing to him, not when you’re standing right in front of him. “You know it means I won’t be traveling with you all the time. You’ll see me less.”

“And we’ll make it work,” he says without hesitation. “Because A, I made you a key to my place.” You blink, every word on your tongue suddenly falling away.

“You—what?”

He grins. “And B,” he says, tugging you closer, his voice getting softer as he leans down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I love you.”

The world around you is still. You’re still, except for the slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “I have loved you for a long time,” he tells you, “and I don’t plan on stopping.”

“Presumptuous,” you say eventually, and kiss him again. When you pull back he’s grinning, and so are you. “I love you, Toru.”

And the warmth in his eyes lights up the stadium more than the floodlights, more than the scoreboard, more than the camera flashes.

You thought the most electric you’d ever feel would be on the court, dunking, or on the sidelines, watching the ball soar through the air and slip through the net with a swish right as the buzzer went off. But you were wrong on both counts.

The most electric you’ve ever felt, the most yourself you’ve ever felt, is now, is here, is with Satoru Gojo and his hands around your waist and his lips against your lips and his heart beating against yours.

You’re just as proud of him as he is of you, and something deep in you knows this is what love is supposed to be, even footing on a basketball court, love and respect and pride in equal measure, bright eyes and warm hands and the feeling of the whole future at your fingertips.

Today, you watched the man you love score a one-handed three-pointer from half-court with a blindfold over his eyes. Score one for me, Six.

“Was that last one for me?” you ask, grinning up at him. “Some buzzer beater.”

“Oh, yeah.” The smirk his lips curl into makes you want to take the words back, wipe them away before Satoru can say whatever bullshit is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s too late.

“You can beat my—”

“Satoru!”

FIN.

directory. || prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

a/n: THE END!!! crazy. never written a tumblr fic before. or a jjk fic. or a x reader fic in general. it absolutely was not supposed to get this long, but oops! wild stuff. sad to see it end, but i’ve got something in the works for my man ino!! if there’s anything about the buzzer beater universe you want me to expand on/things you would like to know, flood the asks and i’ll answer. thanks for reading, friends :)

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maplesyrupsainz · 8 months ago

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Hiiii darling i was wondering if prompt 5 with Lance would be possible🥺🫣🩷

pairing: lance stroll x fem y/n reader (she/her)

genre: blurb, best friend's brother

warnings: none just fluff, use of "y/bff/n"

prompt: five [driver] trying to get you to go on a date with him

a/n: omg is this my first ever lance request

my masterlist | my 1k celebration

“aw, come on, y/n,” lance teased you mercilessly, “just one date. you know you want to.”

“lance, no.” you rolled your eyes, turning away from him. “it will always be no.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

lance was your best friend's older brother by two years. he was totally off limits to you in a romantic or sexual way, that much was always clear to you. but that did not stop him from continuously flirting with you and asking, no, more like begging, you to go on a date with him just once. he was becoming extremely difficult to deny, especially as over the years as he really grew into himself; he was undeniably hot.

“god, he's so annoying.” your best friend threw herself next to you onto your bed in a huff, obviously talking about her brother.

“what now?” you giggled, poking her side. you tried to keep conversation about him lighthearted, keeping her from being too mad at him at any time. what can you say, you're covering your back for that day you might really cave and go out with him.

“he always eats my food, he always steals my shampoo, he always scares any boy away that might just be interested in me for once. it's so annoying. and he doesn't even live in the same house as me!” she ranted, using her hands animatedly, making you laugh.

“maybe you should change your locks.” you suggested with another giggle.

“maybe i should kill him.” she stated, twisting her body round to face you, a serious expression on her face, making you burst into laughter.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you unlocked the door to y/bff/n's apartment, dragging your body heavy with tiredness into the hallway. you were staying with her temporarily; you were in between places and being fussy looking for somewhere new to rent.

“y/n!” a male voice called out to you suddenly, making you jump and drop your keys to the floor with a loud clatter.

“shit–” you muttered, immediately searching for them on the hardwood floor.

“oh, sorry y/n, didn't mean to scare you.” it was lance, of course. lance who spent 75% of his time in his hometown at his sister's place instead of at his own. it would've almost been cute, if it wasn't lance.

“what are you doing here?” you raised your eyebrows at him, still standing in the hallway with your coat and bags. you were expecting a relaxing night alone, as y/bff/n was away on a business conference overnight. he just shrugged in response. you didn't bother standing around for much longer, dropping your bags and peeling the layers off your body along with your shoes. you weren't going to let a man ruin the cosy night in you had planned.

“what's for dinner?” he asked, following you into the kitchen like a lost puppy.

“i was going to order a pizza.” you reply, picking up a stack of menus from the corner of the room.

“cool, i'll have pepperoni.” he grinned mischievously at you as you rolled your eyes. you ordered the pizza for him anyway, what else could you do?

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

it was just before 1am on the coach when the first yawn escaped your lips, stretching your body out lazily, like a cat.

“tired?” lance asked, a slight smirk playing at his lips. you shrugged, not wanting to be the one to end the evening. the two of you had been chatting easily all evening, watching a couple of movies and eating takeout pizza. you were surprisingly having a lot of fun with him, and felt very at ease. “or another movie?”

“you can put on another, if you like.” you shrugged again, leaving him to ultimately make the decision on where the rest of the night went.

“no, you look tired, you should get some rest.” you felt slight disappointment at his words, but who were you to challenge them. you nodded, stretching again in an attempt to start moving your body again. “you wanna know something?”

“huh?” you stopped moving then, looking over at him.

“we just had a date.”

“what?” you sat upright, suddenly more awake than you'd ever been. “what are you talking about? a date, no way.” you scoffed, shaking your head at him.

“it kind of was a date. think about it.” he shrugged, standing up. “well, that's me beat. goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.”

he left you there, wide eyed, confused, butterflies soaring.

#f1 #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #blurb #f1 blurb #lance stroll #ls18 #ls18 x reader #ls18 blurb #ls18 fic #ls18 fanfic #ls18 smau #ls18 fluff #maddie's fanfics

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sweet-evie · 1 year ago

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Baby Megumi & Best Sister Tsumiki Headcanons feat. Teen Dad!Gojo because I love this family unit, and my JJK brainrot is worsening the closer we get to 6th of July. 🫠

These are probably done before, but idgaf because we're about to see baby Megumi and high school Gojo again~ 🥹 Also, I'd rather do these instead of write fics because my Death Note X Code Geass crossover still needs my attention.

Megumi has a stuffed animal collection. 🐺 It started with one stuffed wolf that Satoru got him for his 1st birthday with Gojo, and Megumi pretended he didn't like them, but ummm... 8 years later, Megumi has 75 animal plushies. I like to think they're all small and cute.

If Shibuya and the other BS didn't happen, Megumi would have received another stuffed animal or two for his 16th birthday. Because tradition. 🥹

Just like Megumi has a collection of stuffed animals, Tsumiki has a collection of dolls. *cough cough* Barbies... It started with Licca-chan and eventually Satoru caught her eyeing Barbies in toy stores, so he bought her one. And then two. And then whole sets for Christmas or her birthday or whenever she showed Gojo her report card.

In addition to dolls, Tsumiki definitely had one of those big Barbie houses when she was 8.

Tsumiki ropes Megumi into playing dolls with her. He does it to make his sister happy. And they always include Megumi's stuffed animals.

Tsumiki had Barbie Posh Pets. (Totally not projecting... Maybe I am). I had those as a kid and the set includes a pregnant mama cat + 3 kittens. You can open the mama cat's tummy and take out a pink kitten. (That's kind of fucked up when I think about it now 🤦‍♀️). I imagine it's that sort of nightmare-inducing shit that Satoru notices and gets because he thinks it's funny. 🙃

The Barbie Posh Pet in question that Tsumiki definitely owns:

Anyway... Speaking of Barbie... Tsumiki saw her first Barbie movie because Satoru brought home a Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper DVD on one of their movie nights. He was just assuming she would like it...

She liked it, and they always had Barbie movies in the movie night roster ever since. Tsumiki loves them. Megumi thinks they're whatever but is amused, because Barbie movies have talking animals, and Satoru just loves to poke fun at the plot.

Megumi watches wildlife documentaries for fun. He's a National Geographic and Discovery Channel kid. He has a DVD collection that came with the encyclopedia set Satoru bought.

Megumi liked movies with animals. Are we surprised? He's seen all of the Dr. Dolittle movies.

Tsumiki cried watching Bambi. 🦌 Someone else definitely got teary-eyed while watching Bambi too. That 'someone' will also never admit it, even if Satoru totally caught that particular someone rubbing his eyes with his small fists during that scene.

Speaking of getting teary-eyed at watching cartoons. Satoru's damn lucky he can hide behind his blackout sunglasses, because he was totally sad and emotional when they finished watching The Fox and the Hound. 🦊🐶 You look at that Tod and Cooper friendship and tell me it doesn't remind you of SatoSugu a little bit.

The refrigerator in Megumi and Tsumiki's apartment is stocked with 80% sweets. It's Satoru's fault.

Satoru attends Megumi's and Tsumiki's parent-teacher meetings in elementary school, and he's popular with the PTA parents (especially the moms). Megumi hates it, Gojo revels in the attention. Some teachers invited him to be in the PTA, but ultimately, this special-grade sorcerer always has to decline. He's way too busy.

Elementary career days = Satoru telling the kids that he's a very powerful magician. 🎩🪄🐇 The kids believe him and the adults think he's joking. Well technically, he isn't.

Satoru is prone to bribing child tantrums with McDonalds. It doesn't always work.

Satoru, Megumi, and Tsumiki definitely went camping a couple of times. Sometimes Shoko tags along, but she never stays overnight.

Satoru lost Megumi at the mall. Tsumiki always found her little brother. He's honestly not that hard to find. He's either in a bookstore or a pet shop or a toy store that sells things Megumi likes.

Tsumiki is very forgiving of Satoru's tendency to lose Megumi in the mall.

Ice cream or parfaits for dinner are normal when you're living with Gojo. 🍨🍦

They've been to Disneyland. 🏰

Megumi likes zoos and aquariums.

Tsumiki is fond of handcrafting appreciation gifts for Satoru. 🎁Friendship bracelets, knitted socks and mittens she made in homeroom once that are way too small for him, multi-colored dreamcatchers (she made one for Megumi too of course), birdseed ornaments, lots of origami, very small bead bowls, flowers made of cupcake liners, etc.

Satoru has all of Tsumiki's DIY handicrafts tucked away in an Air Jordan shoebox. He also has a jar full of origami paper cranes that Tsumiki made when she was in her origami phase.

Satoru always took the kids to fun festivals whenever he could.

Satoru gave Megumi and Tsumiki the childhood they deserved -- gave them the childhood they were almost robbed of when Toji and Tsumiki's mom abandoned them, gave them the childhood Gojo never got to have.

All of that before Megumi lost Tsumiki and his life started spiraling for the worst. 😭

#Save&FreeMegumiPLEASE!

#jujutsu kaisen #headcanons #dad!gojo #fushigojo #megumi fushiguro #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #tsumiki fushiguro #fushigojo family #i think this post totally outs the fact that I'm an early 2000's kid #wbad shit posts #wbad blog

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ramblingsfromthytruly · 2 months ago

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my academic journey (warning: i ranted) -

so ever since i started school till about the end of 8th grade i was always a 90%+/straight A student. the kind of child my classmates & cousins would be compared too. not trying to glamorize comparison btw, i personally think that's really toxic & pressurizing. so yeah, i was a "good" quiet kid. i listened attentively in class and submitted all my homework on time. the only complain teachers had about me was that i was "too quiet" but that wasn't a real issue. i was just shy but talkative with my few friends yano. i spent the entirety of 7th grade & most of 8th grade in online classes so my habits of studying went to shit. still somehow managed 91% in my 8th grade finals. and then 9th began and it all went downhill. teachers kept saying 'next year is ur board exams, u need to study a lot, etc, etc.' so if u're not from india we basically have these major 'board exams' at the end of 10th & 12th grade. but 10th boards don't really matter all that much, teachers just make a big fuss about it. 12th boards matter, but that's also the time we give college entrance exams and that sorta matters more according to most ppl. n yeah, idk what happened but i got overwhelmed. i could no longer just do well in class and study before exams and get good marks. i felt dumb. my grades didn't see a single improvement. i honestly gave up in the middle of it all and got sick of school. and at one point, it became less burn out & more clinging to the familiarity of not doing anything. i became lazy. and i became a hypocrite. i'd always tell myself, this time i'm gonna study, this time i'm gonna score well. well that 'this time' never came. 10th grade got even worse and i scored 73% in my board exams because i barely studied at all. at the same time, my relationship with my parents has constantly been unraveling. and i saw just how much of their 'pride' was dependent on me being the kid they could show off and smile widely when others replied 'wow she's going places'. my father can't hold a single conversation with me now that doesn't go back to me being a disappointment. and now i'm the kid who has to listen to her parents compare her to others. 'be like her, your friend', they say. halfway though 11th rn and i guess what?? still no fucking improvement. but the thing is i know this is the last straw. i can feel it. i got around 64% in my first tests (pa-1) of 11th. haven't gotten mid term results yet but i'm estimating just above 50%. and the thing is it's not that i can't score well. i know my potential all too well. i know i can score such high marks. but the problem is i don't study. if i just studied a couple hours every day, i can easily manage above 80%. with constant improvement i can manage above 90% again. but i don't. and that's ending right this instant. i'm not gonna turn into an academic weapon overnight or smth ik that. but i'm gonna start slowly but surely working hard. i have big dreams, i know i can achieve them if i just put in the effort. plans have been made, all i need to do is execute them. execute my laziness. i'm gonna get better. i'm gonna prove everyone who thinks i'm never gonna do it wrong, and i'm gonna prove myself right. this comeback will be for me, my inner child. the little kid in me deserves to not wind up a washed-out failure.

academic goals! -

pa-2 - 75-80%

11th finals - 80-85%

12th pa-1 - above 90%

uni - iiser (college for pure science research, bs + ms integrated)

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psiroller · 4 months ago

Text

gaymers preview

i blacked out and what is this

au where everyone is playing an mmo that simulates dungeon meshi world but theyre all regular dudes named like larry and charles and stuff. the worst thing they do in this excerpt is cuss. im going to go finish chapter 4 but a friend needed a juicy carrot dangled in their face to finish their job applications. i am the picture of benevolence

cw: excessive gamer references and lingo

“Sorry, guys,” Laios mumbled into his crisp, high-fidelity mic. “I drew aggro early again.”

Chilchuck’s sigh came out in a raspy crackle. “We’re four rooms behind you, moron, what am I supposed to do about that?”

“I’m kiting the dragon back to you,” said Laios, hammering at his mechanical keyboard to try to get his speed buff cast while navigating the winding dungeon instance.

“You’re what!?” Chilchuck’s busted old Logitech headset clipped due to the volume. Laios’ hand slipped and he parried needlessly, locking him in place for a fraction of a second, the overlapping footfalls of the red dragon growing louder behind him. His ears were sweating under the cuffs.

“Laios, take the path on your right and keep running,” Marcille instructed, exasperated. “This is why you stay with the party, okay?”

“But we were talking for so long, I got bored,” Laios whined.

“Then why are you on the RP server, dumbass!?” Chilchuck hissed. Laios misfired a spell, alerting the party to his presence. The spatial audio on his headphones alerted him to his party moving up the tunnel perpendicular to the path he’d been assigned, chasing after the dragon.

“Because this is the one Marcille is on, Falin,” Laios jeered. Falin sent a winking smiley in party chat.

“Don’t deflect, Laios. You’re in deep shit if you die,” Chilchuck growled. Laios’ brainwaves flatlined as the dragon caught up to him, dousing him in crustily-textured flames that obscured his character. He kept aimlessly running, finding himself sliding along a wall once the flames cleared. The dragon wound up for its deadly right-armed strike and chunked a hefty amount of his health bar. Just as he regained his bearings, the dragon galloped and slid into a tail swipe that he managed to parry—it bought him just enough time for Falin to heal him, a glittery golden glow enveloping the screen. Laios slumped into the headrest of his gaming chair and breathed.

“Oh my God, thank you thank you thank you thank you—”

Another smiley, this one without the teasing wink. One day they’d talk her into turning her mic on, but she always worried about breathing too loudly. The dragon spun in the opposite direction for its follow-up attack, staggering Laios despite another successful parry. Chilchuck’s scrawny rouge dashed in after everyone else, buffed to the nines and firing poison arrows from the mouth of the arena. Marcille hammered the dragon with a barrage of fireballs, so overleveled for this dungeon that the dragon’s fire resistance was negated by the sheer amount of damage. A bunch of pre-cooked meals appeared in his inventory, dropped onto him by Senshi. The dragon turned its ire upon the dwarf, being within melee range, and hit him with a jet of flame—his health dropped by fractions of fractions. He ate another tail swipe without moving, his stout character waving at Laios and dancing a delightful high-kicking jig. The dragon tried in vein to get him below 75% of his max health before it all healed back in a few seconds. He continued tanking all the attacks, ramming the dragon with his shield every time the cooldown reset, and Laios hopped back into the fray. They alternated taking heavy swings, keeping the dragon stunlocked and helpless as Marcille charged her nuke spell, the one that made Chilchuck’s shitty Gateway lag for minutes on end.

Ka-choom. The dragon had collapsed before the animation was completed, the particle effects whipping away to reveal the corpse, glittering to indicate there was loot to be claimed. Laios cheered along with the bombastic fanfare; he heard Falin whoop from her room next door.

“Well done, newbies,” Senshi laughed. His beard brushed against his microphone, a strangely comforting sound. “You had me worried for a second!”

“Why? It’s just a game,” Laios said, clueless. “I’d just respawn, wouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t think our characters like dying very much,” Chilchuck said flatly. He’d dropped character, knowing that the night was drawing to a close.

“That, and it’s a huge hassle to run all the way from the start of the instance to come get your corpse,” Marcille huffed. “We’d have to wait for you to come back so you wouldn’t miss experience or loot… and Senshi has to log off in thirty minutes.”

“Gotta prep for the breakfast rush,” he said with grim resignation.

Laios briefly tabbed out to check his system clock. “At two in the morning?”

“Three here, son. I got to get the croissants rolled before five so they’re in the oven by five thirty, or the kids who come here to mooch off my wifi will buy something more than the cheapest coffee I have.”

“Oh.” Laios scratched his cheek. “Well, uh, have a good day at work?”

Senshi laughed, raspy and warm. “Someone’s never worked food service. Take care, everyone.” He accepted his share of the loot, giving away anything that couldn’t be crafted into a meal, and blinked out of the instance. When they emerged from the dungeon, he was long gone.

“I think I’m calling it here, too,” said Marcille. “Great work, you two. Until our next adventure!”

Her character bowed, and she too faded away.

I think this is a good stopping point, Falin typed. Laios smirked. “Oh yeah, I bet.”

>:( Don’t stay up too late, big brother! You have an exam in the morning.

Laios rolled his eyes, but he typed the emote shortcut to wave her off. Falin logged out. All that remained of his guild at this ungodly hour was Chilchuck, his character sat on the ground, likely checking the stats on the loot he’d acquired. He didn’t back out of the call; Laios could hear a long, whistling inhale, a holding of breath, and a satisfied exhale. He’d already lit up his post-raid cigarette.

“Well, uh, sorry for that,” Laios laughed. His chair squeaked as he shifted around in it. “I’m used to games where you can just run in and start pummeling the bad guys.”

Another long inhale. “What kind of games do you play? Call of Duty?”

“Ew, no,” Laios said, nose wrinkled. “I like Monster Hunter.”

Chilchuck snorted.

“What? Not good enough for you?”

“Can’t say it’s my kind of game, no,” Chilchuck said. There was a hint of a smile in his voice. “I know a girl that plays it. She loves it. But I guess I like more of a storyline in mine.”

“Ooh. Do you play JRPGs? Final Fantasy?”

Chilchuck barked out a laugh. “Final Fantasy was never my style either. I guess I prefer those old ones based on Dungeons and Dragons. That’s why I gravitated to this game.”

Laios sat his character down next to Chilchuck, loathe to log off but too tired to tackle his solo quests.

“Stuff like Divinity and Baldur’s Gate, then?”

“Yeah, Baldur’s Gate, that’s the one.” Chilchuck sounded a little brighter on the line. “So you’ve got some taste, eh?”

“Never played it.”

“Ah.” Chilchuck took another drag. “Elder Scrolls?”

“I played Skyrim,” Laios said. Chilchuck sniffed.

“Of course,” he grumbled. “Morrowind? Oblivion?”

“I always wanted Oblivion, but my mom wouldn’t let me buy it. Witchcraft.”

“That’s a shame,” Chilchuck hummed. “It’s good. A bitch to get running on modern machines, but I think it holds up.”

“How long have you been gaming?” Laios asked.

“Since the late eighties, early nineties.” Laios gasped, and Chilchuck laughed it off. The sound made Laios buzz. “Yeah, yeah, I’m old, get it out of your system.”

“That’s so cool! You’re into retro stuff?”

“I guess that’s what the stuff I grew up with counts as now,” Chilchuck sighed. “I heard someone call Aerosmith an ‘oldie’ and almost had a cardiac event.”

“You are old, then.”

“Yep. But I also got to play Fallout when it first came out. That ending was nuts. I’m glad I didn’t get spoiled for it.”

“The old, isometric Fallout games? You like those? I like Fallout.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you played Fallout 3?”

“Shooting people’s heads off in VATS is fun,” Laios said giddily.

“Sure it is,” Chilchuck drawled, and Laios had the sinking feeling he’d given the wrong answer. “New Vegas?”

“I was never into cowboys,” Laios admitted. “Never tried it.”

Chilchuck clicked his tongue. “God. I got some things to teach you.”

Laios sat ramrod straight in his chair.

“I’d—I’d like that,” he sputtered, before he could second-guess it. There was a long pause as Chilchuck polished off the last of his cigarette, a distorted shuffling sound as he moved to stamp out the butt.

“Yeah?” Chilchuck’s voice was low and warm, the hiss of his terrible mic like the soft noise of a record player. “I guess I could dig around in my boxes and rip a few CDs for you. For the sake of education.”

Laios was no stranger to wrestling with his rig to play older games. He had a PSX emulator for Monster Rancher that he’d managed to get to read discs properly, and some old PC simulator games that they just didn’t make anymore. Yet still:

“Could you—help me set them up? On call? Sometime?”

“I don’t see why not,” Chilchuck said. “I got nothing better to do.”

#fic preview #ficroller #probably not going to do a lot with this for a while #but its been percolating #i like writing about ldrs bc i was in one for 7 years lol #we live together now :)#dungeon meshi #chilaios #laichil #dunmesh gamer au

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a-certain-romance · 1 year ago

Text

(Belated) Kinktober fic #3: Ei + monsterfucking

Characters/Ships: Demon!Ei x fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, gentle & rough sex, fingering, mirror sex

A/N: Yae next as the finale! I started writing those two at the same time. This got finished this first, & I hope y’all like it :)!

You didn’t plan on buying the ouija board, but you couldn’t look away from it. The thing was purple! And stained a pretty lavender color! Best of all, it was marked down for 75% off. Which in hindsight would’ve been a red flag, but it looked so pretty.

A few days later, it sits under your couch, unopened. You were brought out of your haze of your impulse spending when you realized the implications of what you just bought. You’ve heard the stories of how playful tricks attracted unwanted guests. After hours on end contemplating, you decide to might as well crack it open and give it a chance. You could always return it later. Or dump it somewhere if things go to shit.

The board came with a small how-to pamphlet. You look over the book briefly, experimenting with the little triangle shaped tool and moving it curiously around the board. The whole thing feels uneventful. Nothing scary has happened, and frankly it’s starting to bore you. The tool has yet to move on its own without the help of your impatient fingers.

You huff in frustration, mindlessly spinning the tool around until it suddenly haults in the center. Your attempts to move it are futile. Finally. The guide advises simple communication once you’ve made contact: common questions like asking the entity its for its name or how it died. You opt for the first. Tentatively, you ask the spirit its name.

The tool moves to B. Then to E. E again. It glides swiftly around the board until you speak out the name it showed you. “Beelzebul?” The dimmed lights flicker anxiously around you. The walls shake violently, making the doors rattle in distress. Shit.

A warm hand grazes your shoulder and you jump with a scream, and you end up falling to the floor with a loud thud. A woman appears before you. She’s tall. A thin pointed tail sways back and forth behind her. She has 2 horns protruding from the sides of her deep purple hair. They’re dark with ridges, and somewhat curled near the tips.

“It’s my official title. But you may call me Ei.”

You feel yourself from the shock. “You’re the ghost I was talking to?”

“Demon is the right term”

She bends down a bit, tilting your chin up with her index finger.

“You’re more adorable than most humans,” she muses, “How do you wish to be served?”

“Served?”

Her eyes narrow in confusion, “Is that not why you called upon me? That is usually the purpose for my summonings. I used to be used for power, but now I’m best known for sating one’s sexual drives and desires. It’s why I come up to earth, to pleasure others.”

“What about your pleasure?”

“My pleasure…?”

“Yes, yours. Doesn’t at least a few summoners want to give you pleasure before their own?”

She shakes her head, and looks almost shy at her confession. “Let me be the first then.”

“You, you wish to serve me instead?”

Your affirming nod makes her ponder. “No one has every asked this of me before. I am always the one to give…”

You ask for her hand. In doing so you lead her to your room upstairs. Your lay on the bed and beckon her over to cuddle with you, “C’mere.” Ei stiffly cuddles up close to you. Her pointed tail curls by your leg.

“I’ll be gentle”

And you were. For the first round that is. But Ei desired a stronger fix from you after getting a taste of what it’s like to be spoiled.

“Make me feel good again” She presses your fingers down to her aching folds. “Need you inside me~”

Ei rocks her cunt further into your hand, inserting only 1 of your fingers. With the way she clenches around just one, you slide in another to make her shudder. She greedily takes everything you give her. Ei’s warmth spasms as your digits penetrate that sweet spot you found in the first round.

The side of her face bounces into your chest with each passing thrust. The position forces her to look at her reflection in the mirror across from your bed.

You grin, and grab her chin to watch your movements through the reflection. “Look at that fucked out expression” you groan.

Her gaze drops down to where your fingers are stroking her core. Ei bites her lip at the way you’re absolutely wrecking her, worshiping her in a way no one else has. It makes her breathlessly cry out and cum all over your fingers. Her hand slides up from your neck to your cheek, gripping you with inhuman strength.

“I need more of your devotion”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #ei x reader #ei x y/n #ei smut #raiden shogun smut #💋

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somber-sapphic · 6 months ago

Note

hii could you possibly do a jj x reader book where reader is in denial abt being ill 🫶

Too Far

〖Summary: You and JJ have a fight about your health. This is my attempt at angst (with a happy-ish ending), just a heads up that I am still practicing so it may not count as real angst and instead h/c.〗

〖Word Count: 〗

〖Pairing: JJ x Sick R〗

〖Notes: Every time I drink caffeine for writing I think it's a great idea because I'll be able to write so much but then I focus on something that isn't writing for several hours. I played too much Toon Blast. Also this is sort of edited but not that thoroughly〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Y/n what the hell are you doing?” JJ asked, her words laden with exasperation. You looked up from the case file and raised an eyebrow. The two of you had been snippy with each other all day, each of your nerves fraying as the days without catching the killer went on. The fact that Hotch had ordered you to the hotel made everything worse, the guilt of not being able to help the victims eating at you.

“You want to check your tone?” You snapped back, the hoarseness of your voice taking a bit away from the punch you meant to deliver. It was probably for the best, the combination of exhaustion, stress, and what seemed like more than just the sniffles was making you bitter. JJ rolled her eyes and walked over to the desk, dropping the CVS bag beside the papers you had been studying for hours.

“Cold medicine. Take it. And seriously, put the file away and lie down.” You rolled your eyes, something that caused an explosion of pain in your head, but it seemed worth it for the passive aggressiveness. You didn’t want her to know how bad you were starting to feel, you couldn’t give in to the pressure of the team, and everyone worked while they were sick.

Your fever, stuffy nose, cough, and the pressure in your sinuses were not more important than catching a serial killer. Although the fever was really starting to bother you, weighing down your head and making your eyes burn. And your nose hurt from blowing it so often. And your body ached so badly that it felt like your bones were being squeezed. And your throat felt like you had lived off of a diet of lemon juice and broken glass.

“I don’t need cold medicine because I don’t have a cold. Why are you here anyway, I don't need a babysitter. Don’t you have families to interview?” JJ let out a harsh laugh and plopped herself down onto the bed, crossing her arms over her chest in clear frustration. What the two of you needed was a bit of space before a serious conversation but it wasn’t an option given the current situation.

“Right, of course not. The obvious cold symptoms are nothing, you’re shivering in a 75-degree hotel room because of a nonexistent draft. And believe me, I don’t want to be here right now but Hotch doesn’t trust you alone.” That last comment cut deep and her face clouded with guilt as soon as she said it. She knew it was too far but it only hardened your resolve.

“Then leave, there are six other people who could be here it doesn’t need to be you.”

“Why won’t you just admit being sick? Why? You are not helping anyone here, the only thing you’re doing is hurting yourself. Do you honestly think this is a good idea?” JJ exploded, dragging a hand through her slightly greasy hair. She’d been too preoccupied with your health and the case to have time for more than a quick shower.

“Do you honestly think I want to work like this? Of course, I feel like shit, my entire body is on fucking fire but if I stop working people will die!” You yelled back, tears brimming in your eyes. You’d finally said it out loud. You’d admitted to the thoughts that had been swirling inside of you, keeping you from even allowing people to talk about the way you felt.

JJ’s face fell as you felt tears that you couldn’t blink away beginning to run down your fever flushed cheeks. You barely had a handle on your emotions before but now the walls had crumbled to dust and you couldn’t take it. You felt so shitty for so many reasons, it was so hot in your skin and you were struggling to keep case facts straight in your head which only upset you further.

“Sweetheart,” JJ murmured, taking a half step forward. She’d seen you break down before but never on a case, when it happened it was always at home.

“No! No! JJ we’ve been here for weeks, he keeps taking them and we don’t even know why, we can't tell these people anything. They hate us, they have every right to fucking hate us! There has to be something missing and-and I can't just sit here and do nothing while people are dying!” You were sobbing now, your chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself down. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a tight hug, a self-soothing method that usually worked to calm you down. The switch had been flipped, you were acting on pure misery.

“Y/n, honey you said it earlier. There are six other profilers doing everything they can to find the killer. You being sick is not your fault but it is something we need to take care of. If you keep going like this you’re going to mess up, you’re going to hurt yourself, there are so many reasons why you need to rest. Come here, lay down, let me take help you. Please.”

She was right. You hated it, but she was. You were already mixing up facts about victims in your head, there was really no way that you could be of any use right now. The last thing you wanted to do was stop but even worse would be providing false information that would throw the team off the trail.

Despite your hesitation, it didn’t take long for JJ to get you settled into bed. She was working with the determination of a worried mother hen, moving quickly to check your temperature, feed you some medicine, and put a cool cloth on your head. You huddled under the fluffy duvet, your body already beginning to shut down now that you weren’t forcing yourself to work.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I haven't been fair.” JJ said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. She flipped the cloth on your forehead, sending a wave of cold through your body. You didn’t like it but she insisted that it needed to be there.

“Neither have I. But I can’t right now. Can we wait until we’re home?” You pleaded, voice exuding weakness. Even if you wanted to have that conversation there was no way it would be productive in your current state. JJ nodded in agreement and let out a deep sigh.

Nothing had really been resolved. The apologies from both were surface-level at best but at least there was an admission of wrongdoing on both sides. Your jobs had been hard on the relationship, harder than either of you had thought it would be. For now, the discussion would be tabled, saved for a time when the two of you were in a space to have it. It might not have been perfect but it was better than nothing.

〖Join My Taglist!〗 @villaneve4life, @lots-of-pockets, @bloomingflowersthings, @lovelyy-moonlight, @scrambled-brain-eggs, @juststuckhereforever, @chairhere, @iliketozoneout

#sickfic #fever #fanfiction #sick fanfiction #sick reader #sick fanfic #angst #sick you #sick y/n #jennifer jareau #jj x reader #jj x you #hurt/angst #hurt/comfort #flu #fever whump #sick whump #criminal minds sickfic #attempt at angst

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my-names-angel-but-im-not-one · 2 years ago

Text

Replaced or not?

Part -1 Part-2 Part-3 Part-4 Part-5

For summary n details check out part-1

Pairing: Obey Me Characters x Mc!

"You cannot go!!" MAMMON screamed at you for the 20th time this morning.

You decided that you'll visit Lucien and try to negotiate with him or maybe find a way to remove the damned mark by find something in his house. But mammon don't understand shit and don't want you to go.

"Mammon shut up I'm going and no one here can stop me" you said as you dust your dress and headed downstairs.

"Mc i still think you should not go-"

"What you think is none of my damn businesses Lucifer stop interfering "

"I'm going"

"um....y/n can i....can i talk to you for a minute" run hai said in a squeaky high pitched voice.

"No"

" y/n that is not a way to talk to a fellow student" belphegor said seething with anger.

'oh right how dare i talk like that to their fucking toy' you thought to yourself.

".....okay"

Run hai grabbed your arm and took you to her room. Her room ws filled with bright jewels and skin products 'the brothers do spoil her a lot'.

"You bitch are you trying to take my place!! How dare you act like a whore and get a damn noble's eye on you and now you even made 2 pacts!!! Why the fuck are you interfering between me and the brothers!!"

'this bitch' you thought

"Look i don't have time for this i need to go to the damn noble house plus you should know that aren't they your dogs?" You said and got out of the room only to find the brothers in suit dressed up and ready to go.

"Run hai sweety! I have a dress laid out for you get dressed quick were going to Lucien's too" asmo said dressed in pink.

"what the hell why are y'all going?"

"well we need to discuss a-about my o-ocean Lucien w-wanted to buy it a-and i think it'll be good t-to g-get it o-over with" Levi said .

"ugh whatever, Satan you coming with me"

"i can go with you-"

"yes I'm coming"

__________________________

"Welcome darling- what the fuck are they here for!!!" Lucien said

"Hello Lucien we're here to discuss things" Satan said smirking.

"um hii! I've heard about you and this mansion looks great would you mind showing me around!?" Run hai said in a pitched voice

"Why is that pest here!!" Lucien said enraged .

"pffft-" 'oh shit not like i could've controlled it '

I looked up to see Lucien softly smiling watching me . Ahem no.

"why did you called me here"

"well why don't we go inside we can talk there" Lucien said grabbing my hand

As we went inside i noticed that he do surely live in a fucking mansion . We reached the dining hall much later than I expected. We finally sat around the table and Lucien sat me at the chair beside him .

"so tell me now why did you called me here"

"well i have a proposal for you darling"

"I'm listening"

"I'll give you anything you desire clothes , jewels , money, unlimited luxury, even 75% of my possessions and in return you'll only have to give me one thing..."

"......and what's that.."

"You"

[A/N]: *hides behind Thanos* okay i know i was gone for a bit (lot) but i was giving my exams . So sorry for making y'all wait .

Btw run hai is actually based on somebody in my life I'll tell y'all if ya wanna know.

If you want to be tagged then drop a comment, no ask or DM about being tagged will be taken.

...

TAGLIST:

@obeymediasimp @c4xcocoa @gatorcatally @trisharay13 @candydreamer122

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heyidkyay · 10 months ago

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Fourteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: First bit is a lil messy! BUT it's just a way of moving through time whilst letting you know what's going on. Apologising anyway, tried to make it as simple as possible! Idk how I’m really feeling about this series atm ngl, hopefully I’ll find some more inspiration soon x

> Just a reminder! We left the last update with Mouse and her mum talking about Matty:) You can look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Mirror

14:04, 26 Dec 2023

For Christmas Denise Welch reunites with..

LOOSE Women star Denise Welch had a fun-filled Christmas this year with her two sons and...

*picture: family gathering featuring Matty Healy in red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 Glasses and beanie combo>>> @/user2 He was wearing that yesterday too @/user3 I wish my family was chill enough to take a xmas pic😭

[HOMESCREEN] 11:12

Facetime now Matty:)!! Incoming Call

Messages 4m Finnleyyy So will I be seeing my best mate this nye??

Instagram 11m Trumanblack mentioned you in a private story

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Matty spotted out in Manchester! *picture: long trench and red beanie*

Ugh! @/user1 Matty on new years! *with old friends // red beanie tucked into a jacket pocket* > Loveme @/user2 The beanie is spotted again.. >> Saidhello @/user3 @/user2 Been all over his ig stories too 👀 friends? @/user4 I'm sort of obsessed w it and the fact it's stirring up so many questions💀 ppl, @/user5 it's so nice to see him actually happy!! lemmebepartoftheband @/user6 WAITING ON THE NEXT ALBUMMMM

Instagram

Trumanblack Story today

The Sun

23:47, 31 Dec 2023

MATTY HEALY SPOTTED OUT FOR NEW YEARS CELEBRATIONS AFTER 'SUPPOSED' SOBRIETY

The 1975 frontman was seen out in London this evening with friends and other members of the band celebrating a...

*picture: Matty Healy all dressed up and sporting a red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 shit like this ruins people @/user2 That hat again! Was it a Christmas present? @/user3 another celeb trying at sobriety, another bullshit article @/user4 Where in London even was this?

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Band's interview with Variety today, click here for the video! Will be updating later on today:) *boys all pictured: George/shades, Matty/beanie&longtee, Ross/hairdown, Adam/leatherjacket*

[HOMESCREEN] 13:52

Messages 3m Matty:)!! Just wrapping up now, should be able to call in 10 x

Youtube 9m Recommended: The 1975 - Talks of tour? | VM Radio Uk

Instagram 21m Trumanblack just added to his story

AdelineWells sent you a direct message

23 New Notifications click to open

TWITTER: Partoftheband @/user1 Talks of tour??? Are they trying to kill me? Gotabf @/user2 The beanie!! It's back!! Milk @/user3 You reckon he's washed it? People! @/user4 He wears so much designer shit, why's he wearing a hat that looks like it was knitted by my nan??

With January, came sleet and heavy rain. Forcing us all indoors and making quick regrets over arduous New Year’s resolutions.

I had half a dozen interviews lined up in the first month alone, which was a promising start to the year but also incredibly nerve wracking. I’d spent the majority of the wavering days between Christmas and the 31st fretting over each and every detail, beyond thankful that my mum had stuck around a little longer after the festivities to help keep Teddy preoccupied.

Adi, thankfully, was stuck in the exact same boat, which meant that we could both bear the burden together. Leading to a whole lot of time being spent on the phone, making plans, or down at the studio, where Teddy could roam free. We were moving up in the world, as Matty now liked to claim, and so that meant more of our time being taken up by mundane tasks such as asking Hozier’s PA what kind of drink he preferred and avoiding a couple of Podcaster's sudden opinions on us.

Still, we were forever grateful.

Though it wasn’t just the radio show getting shafted with a shit ton of toil either, it appeared that work had Finn headed off to the States for a few gallery openings, and Matty pulled in all sorts of directions whilst the band sorted out their upcoming album.

I hadn’t heard a word of it, although the singer kept on endlessly chattering away about how much he loved the songs they were now producing, suddenly leased with a newfound life. Which always left me feeling happy, even if I did have to wait alongside the rest of the world to listen in. It was nice knowing that he was enjoying it all once more. Seeing as, music made Matty and Matty made music. And all that.

So anyway, what I’d been getting at there was that the last few weeks had been all too trying. Enough so that Matty and I had hardly seen hide nor hair of each other, and our Facetime calls had been fair and few. Which was something that didn’t just sadden me, but Teddy too it seemed, who’d come to quite like the musician and all of his odd quirks.

That fact in itself had almost sent me running, in truth.

And maybe that was silly of me, but Teddy was my everything and it killed me to see him upset over someone he barely even knew. But then again, I supposed he did know Matty in a way. Whenever Matty called, Teddy was there to tell the man about his day, whenever Matty texted he never failed to ask after Teds, whenever he sent pictures and videos of the studio and whatever else he was doing they were usually for Teddy to see.

I didn’t think Teddy had ever attached himself to a person so quickly. Which really did surprise me. Though oddly enough, what surprised me much more was the fact that Matty had just soldiered on and stuck with it, instead of running for the hills the first chance he’d gotten, like I’d expected.

Which was perhaps a bit of an unfair assumption on my part, but it was something I didn’t feel too guilty over- I’d made that clear to Matty the very first day the two of them had met after all.

Saying that though, I was left to eat my words as I watched that same man galavant his way around a London Zoo with a four year old plopped atop his shoulders. Doing so without complaint, and thoroughly enjoying it too.

“There! There, Matty! You see?” I heard Teddy call out in loud excitement as I trailed my way on after them, his little fingers holding onto the red beanie Matty now often favoured. Something I relentlessly teased him about but which left me feeling all warm every time I saw it.

“Oh yeah! I do now. Wow monster, how’d you even spot him over there?” Matty replied, feigning obvious awe and grinning madly when Teddy leaned over the top of his head to poke his face into view.

“I eat carrots.”

I snorted at the simple answer Teddy gave and Matty, forever charmed by my toddler’s antics, nodded around a low chuckle of his own. “I’ll make sure to buy a couple on my way home then.”

Stepping closer, I found it strange to be in a zoo so lifeless. Which probably sounded even more peculiar, but then again, it hadn’t been my idea to go ahead and rent the entire place out just so that we could have a nose around at all the wildlife without Matty getting mobbed. What a diva, hey?

“I still can’t believe you did all this.” I murmured to him once Matty had set Teddy back down on the ground, leaving my son to run on over towards one of the caged fences, calling out to the languid lions that laid beyond it.

“It’s sick.”

That had been Matty’s only defence since having arrived and me figuring this all out, it was as endearing as it was bewildering.

“It’s mental is what it is, you idiot.”

He glanced over at me, hands tucked up in his pockets, a smug grin now painted on his face. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to be charmed by him and his inane antics.

“Admit it, you’re loving this. Not having to worry about losing the kid and actually being able to get a look in at this lot.” Matty argued, and if he were anyone else he’d be swaying back and forth in utter delight- Wilmslow’s very own Willy Wonka- but all he did was simply look back at Teddy with a prideful grin, who was now currently trying to lure a lioness in closer.

Thing is, he wasn’t wrong. And Matty was enough of a git to know it too.

I didn’t grant him a reply though and instead wandered over to drag my son away from the ever nearing lion. “Did you see, mama? She likes me!”

I had to grin and bite back my sudden hysteria, although Matty snorted from his place now back beside us. “I did see, lovely! How about we go look at the snakes though now, hey?” And with that, Teddy was eager to part from us (and thankfully the lion) , sprinting ahead in the direction of a lizard sign that stood not too far away, leaving Matty and I to trail behind.

“Where all the animals are locked behind glass, yeah?” Matty piped up after and I narrowed my eyes at him in return, refraining from giving him a right good shove.

“Shut it.”

He merely cackled and looped an arm around my shoulders.

–

“They should just get back together. I mean- the money alone!”

I chuckled quietly to myself, moving about the tiny kitchenette at the studio and rolling my eyes at the man propped up between a Guinness World Records book we had and the sugar tin.

“I’m not saying that they shouldn’t! I’m just saying that they won’t.” I argued back, still rifling my way through a drawer in search of a sharp enough knife. “Those are two completely different things.”

“So what?” Matty scoffed, his displeasure with the whole debate managing to seep its way through the phone. “Fucking pair of pillocks, can’t even imagine how the world would react, the industry alone!”

I smiled, all too familiar with the daily rants of one Matthew Healy. This particular tirade of his had been spurred on by a comment I’d made on today’s show, it seemed he’d been listening in.

“Oo, is there a brew going for me?”

I glanced behind me just in time to spot Adi making her way into the studio, a large duffle bag for tomorrow's shoot thrown over her left shoulder.

“Who else?” I quipped back, grinning victoriously when I finally found the trusty blade I’d brought over from mine so many years ago now that laid between a wooden spoon and a jar opener.

“What are you even doing?” She asked me next, having already tossed the bag down onto the sofa and made her way over. She waved when she spotted Matty’s familiar face upon opening the fridge, used to his presence cropping up here and there by now, “Alright, Healy? Thought you had big meetings today.”

“We do. I’m currently hiding out in a bin.”

Adi paused to blink at the absurd reply and then shrugged, not seeing the point in questioning it any further. “And you?” She prompted me, plucking a pint of milk from the fridge and slamming it closed.

“So full of questions today, high inquisitor.” I sang, already moving to slice into the whole watermelon I’d brought on my way in, having right fancied it when I’d passed by the fruit & veg stall up on the high street. “And what do you think, Ads? Exactly what it looks like.”

“Yeah, but why?”

I just shook my head in answer and Adi seemed to take that for what it was, a blatant dismissal. Matty though, ever so sweet, must’ve felt a bit bad because I heard him pipe up again, “She’s gone and brought a whole watermelon. Paid five quid for the thing, you believe that?”

“Five quid! Did he ask if he could spit in your face too?” Adi all but exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers as she looked over at me.

“Yes, five quid.” I stressed, having already heard enough of it from Matty, who didn’t have a leg to stand on here. “Now leave off, or I won't share.” I wielded the knife between the pair of them jokingly and Adi relented easily enough, already moving to skim a piece I’d just cut from off the counter. I cast a shrewd glance towards my phone, “And besides you can’t talk, Mr. Millionaire.”

Matty snorted.

“Is it really that much?” Adi wondered out loud, sweeping over to get a better glimpse at my screen and the man hidden within it.

I rolled my eyes and smirked, already figuring that she’d try her luck with just that thought alone.

“Piss off, Wells.” Matty laughed, amused by the ever so sweet smile Adi had suddenly conjured up for him and the way she was now batting her lashes, “How the fuck did we go from watermelon to my networth anyway?”

“Extortion.”

“Nepotism.”

I stopped slicing to taste test a chunk of watermelon and heard Matty heave a heavy sigh.

Adi, though, just moved to ask, “Did you threaten the fruit & veg man then?”

“Fucking should’ve.” I muttered, but couldn't quite bring myself to regret the wasted fiver then, not when the fruit was almost heavenly.

“Can you stop eating? I’m in a crisis you know, and fucking starving.” I heard Matty complain, his voice practically petulant.

“Actually, you’re in a bin.” I corrected, taking another chunk, “So don’t be a drama queen. If you’re hungry, order a Deliveroo or fuck off home.”

Matty was almost pouting when I slid on over to join Adi by the phone, a plate overwhelmed with watermelon now towering between us. His frown deepened. “You’re proper evil, you know that?”

I simply grinned, “You love it.”

Only Adi noticed the faint hue that bloomed across the singer’s cheeks then. Seeing as I was already rambling away once again, talking about the weekend get-together we’d planned now we all had some time to spare.

“You’re still coming, right?” I then asked Adi, who was now smirking for some reason. I raised a brow.

She merely hummed around her next slice and dipped her head at me, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, babe.”

Matty’s eyes narrowed at that but I deemed it better to ignore whatever the two of them had going on, I found life to be much simpler that way.

–

It was almost gone nine and still no sign of her.

She had texted almost half an hour ago now, saying she was headed out, but Matty still kept his phone in hand, spinning it this way and that, just in case she tried messaging again.

“You’re driving me mad with that, man.” George suddenly announced, drawing Matty’s attention back to the table at the overcrowded club they’d picked out. “Stop it.” He added, swatting at Matty’s forearm when he’d barely acknowledged him the first time round.

Matty’s brow pinched but he let the mobile go with a clatter to the tabletop, “Happy?”

George exaggerated his smile in the same sense Matty just had whilst he clasped his hands in mock prayer before him, “Incredibly.” Then he relaxed back in his chair once more, face softening as Matty’s eyes shot out across the floor for the umpteenth time, “God, you’re really fucking strung up on this one.”

“Eh?” Matty immediately asked him, his head spinning back around to spare a glance at his mate.

“Just,” George began with a slow shrug, his chin dipped against his chest now in the way that he’d leaned back making his eyes appear all the more solemn. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so invested, is all.”

“Invested, fuck’s that meant to mean?”

Goerge just huffed. “I don’t know, Matty. Just, you’re not usually the type to get so caught up on a girl you’re chasing.”

“I’m not chasing her. We’re mates.” Matty hastily defended and could feel the way his face had instantly scrunched up with the force of it.

He was gifted a short snort in return, “Yeah man, sure, and I can fly a shitting plane.” At Matty’s ever darkening expression, George sighed once more and moved to prop himself up on his knees, “Look yeah? I didn’t mean nothing by it, only curious. It’s weird seeing you all moody and pent up about somebody. Been a while.”

It had been a while since he’d last seen someone properly, but that didn’t suddenly mean that he and Mouse currently had anything going on. He’d been too focused on staying clean, working on the album, and trying to forget the last year and a half had ever happened. And Mouse… well, she had a kid and didn’t seem the type to take to anyone so easily. They were mates. Just, mates.

Matty must’ve been quiet a little too long though because when George spoke again his voice had softened, as had his face. It almost looked pitiful now, enough that Matty wanted to force him away from his line of sight. But he didn’t, only glanced back out towards the floor.

“Matty, mate. I really didn’t mean to piss you off, you know that. I’m just saying it how I see it.” Matty rolled his eyes but George only continued to talk, “It’s obvious that you like her, man. Whether it’s just as friends or something more. But do me a favour and just have a long think about it, yeah? She’s nice and all, but I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

Matty bit back the scoff that lodged itself in his throat, “If anything, G, it’d be me hurting her. Wouldn’t be that unexpected though, would it?”

George’s hand came to grasp his shoulder at that and with a firm but gentle grip he forced Matty to better face him, he leaned in so his voice would carry over the music, his forehead now furrowed. “You’re not a bad person, man. Not everyone’s expecting you to fuck up all the time.”

Didn’t that feel like a fucking lie.

The hand pressed further and George shook Matty a tad, wanting him to comprehend his words. Take them in. “You’re doing good, mate. Really good. And we’re proud, alright? We are. All I’m saying is, have a think about what you want. Make sure you’re happier for it, make sure… that you can deal with everything that comes along with it. Understand?”

Matty’s mouth felt a little dry as he stared up into George’s eyes, seeing the genuine care held within them. Almost immediately Matty felt his walls crumble down around him and he struggled to find the right words to respond with. They were proud. So instead, he just nodded and George’s hand clapped the back of his neck with a winning grin.

“Good. Now, go get her, yeah?”

Matty frowned at the words but before he could think to question it the table was moving to welcome in a couple of newcomers and he turned in his seat to meet the eyes of a smiling Squeaks.

“Hey you.”

“You made it!”

She grinned back at him, beamed actually, and Matty felt his eyes flicker down to her lips for a second, then down further to the lovely little dress she’d decided on. He hastily stood up to greet her, wrapping her up in a hug- something that had come more and more naturally to them in the last few weeks- and rocked slightly. “Get all dressed up for me, did you?”

Mouse pulled away with a laugh, her head thrown back a tad before her glistening eyes set themselves back on him, she squeezed his arm, “You wish.”

He did wish. But he didn’t voice that passing thought out loud, filing it away to stress about later, and instead shuffled nearer to whisper, “You do look gorgeous though.”

The skin by her ear prickled with goosebumps and Matty pulled away before he could get too caught up in what that might have meant. He graced her with a slow smile, “Drinks?”

She let go of a breath, then smiled brightly back at him with a dip of her chin, “Drinks.”

–

“I haven't heard a word of it!” I said, pushing my drink down onto the table. I was currently on my fifth of the night, but the guys were forever getting new rounds in and so I knew it wouldn’t take me long before I was handed another.

“You said you didn’t like our stuff!” Matty immediately answered back, his voice a tad bit higher now.

I gaped at the claim, “I did not!”

“Yes, you fuckin’ did!”

The rest of the table was watching on in ever growing amusement, Ross’s eyes were dancing back and forth between Matty and I, whilst Adi wore a grin that could probably help power Blackpool Tower.

“I said I loved your earlier work. I didn’t say I hated the newer stuff!” I rebuked, desperately trying to think back to that first show I’d mentioned Matty in. Had I really said that?

Matty went to speak but Hann cut in before he could, “You two are mental. All I asked was whether she’d heard anything we’d been working on.”

George snorted, managing to drag his eyes away from his fiance to smirk at the pair of us. “Remember she claimed the band looked spent.”

Matty jumped to point in George’s direction, pleased, whilst my eyes widened, “I wouldn’t!”

“You did, love.” George laughed, looking more amused than hurt which was the only thing keeping me from being physically sick. “It’s alright, no harm done.”

I fish-mouthed, but even with that having been said, Matty was still grinning victoriously. “Fucking told you.”

Wrinkling my nose, I turned to neck the rest of my drink. “Yeah, well. I do love your songs, alright?”

Matty’s brows upturned, as if he was about to deny the claim and accuse me of lying, but Adi cut in, “No it’s true, she's been listening to your shit nonstop since you two met. Like it’s grating at this point.”

“Harsh.” Ross dragged out and Adi gave him a coy smile when she went to pat his chest, “You try listening to his gob on repeat and then we’ll talk, yeah?” She retorted easily, dipping her head towards Matty, whose face scrunched up unhappily.

“Careful, Wells. Starting to sound like you might not like me.”

Adi flashed him a toothy smile, “Who claimed I ever did?”

I was quick to reach out and grab Matty’s wrist when he frowned, ready to open his mouth once more. The motion seemed to grab most, if not all, of his attention because he wavered in his stance before letting himself be pulled over.

“He’s fragile, Ads.” I chuckled to her, hand cradling the back of Matty’s head when he leaned in to press his face against my shoulder. “All the big rockstars have delicate egos.”

Adi snorted and I watched as she let Ross drape an arm over her shoulders, her hand finding his.

“Not fucking fragile.” Matty said, but the heat of it was lost in the mumble against my skin, I laughed.

“Sure, babe.” I murmured fondly, smiling when I felt the curve of his grin against my neck. I started to run my hand through his hair almost unconsciously, letting the alcohol dim the anxious worries that would typically cloud my mind. “You’re a real man.”

“A real fuckin’ man.”

I rolled my eyes with a shake of my head that must've disrupted Matty’s newfound peace because he pulled away slightly, hands falling to rest on my hips, keeping us close.

“You’re proper nice, you know?” He mumbled in contradiction to our previous argument, his head falling forward to press his forehead to mine. His eyes appeared so much darker in this light, the little space between us had me holding my breath. “So nice.”

Instantly I was reminded of one of the first conversations I’d had with Adi about Matty, he’d been nice then too. “Thanks.” I chuckled before swallowing, eyes trailing between his before I voiced the thought. “You’re nice too.”

He smiled, one of those lazy ones where his eyelids drooped and the skin around his mouth wrinkled. His stare dropped ever so slightly and my mouth parted on instinct.

Matty licked at his lower lip, teeth grazing it ever so slightly. “I’m glad I met you.”

My heart stuttered in my chest, squeezing in on itself so tightly that I thought it might just give out, before it finally let go. “I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

Matty tilted his head at me causing the tip of his nose to brush against mine, I struggled to remember to keep breathing. “I’m glad I met you, Squeaks.” He repeated with an air of finality, either unaware or uncaring for the reaction it drew from me as he raised a hand to drag his thumb across my jaw.

I looked up into his eyes, unblinking. Aware that I’d never felt quite like anything this before.

“I’m glad I met you too.”

–

Metro News

Feb 2024 06:21

SETTLING DOWN? | ‘75 SINGER CAUGHT IN CLUB WITH SINGLE MUM

Last night it seems our local heartthrob was back out on the town again after a few weeks of silence, only this time he wasn't alone! Read more...

[HOMESCREEN] 07:59

Facetime now Finnleyyy Incoming Call

Messages 7m Adi x Babe wake up, shits going down over on twitter!! Also (very much related) did you shag Healy last night???

Twitter 11m You now have 378 notifications

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc The Band spotted out in London last night with the MouseOnAMic girls! *picture: a story from Adelinewells instagram//blurred group photo*

backofmyvan @/user1 Is this real?? *picture: blurred Matty and Mouse in a dark club* Funnyface @/user2 Is that the radio host? she has a kid?? Saidhello! @/user3 I woke up to chaos. On another note, how are my matty girlies doing today?

100 notes · View notes

toomuchracket · 10 months ago

Text

lovers' quarrel (ross x girlband gf!reader angst)

day 5 of valentine's week. schedule clashes are getting to you. enjoy <3

you haven't spoken to your boyfriend in a week.

you're sleeping in the same bed as him, yeah, but ross is always asleep when you let yourself into his house at 11pm, body aching after a 12-hour day of dance rehearsals and video shoots and last-minute touch-ups to the instrumentals and harmonies and mixing on your band's new album. and you're always asleep when he leaves at 8am to drive to the studio to finish recording the new 75 LP (scheduled for release a month after yours), a kiss to your sleep-messy hair the only real bit of physical contact he gets to give you.

even your phone calls during studio breaks keep missing each other; you only hear your boyfriend's voice filtered through crackly phone lines, an obvious reminder that you're apart. in fact, the closest you've felt to ross in about eight days is when you use his body wash, in the freezing shower you take to soothe your screaming leg muscles before you get into bed with him.

you hate this. you miss him, so much.

ross misses you, too - he tells you at the end of every voicemail he leaves, paired with a “love you”, in such a defeated tone it brings tears to your eyes. you call him back, leave a similar message of your own, and go back into the rehearsal room and dance your heart out, as if it isn't breaking more with every passing second.

is this what life is always going to be like for the two of you, a loving relationship reduced to fleeting moments of getting to spend time with each other in between tours and shows and recording sessions and writing and promo? you're not sure how long you could take it, if it is.

but you love ross. so fucking much. surely you can do something to make it better for both of you.

the question is… what?

you're mulling over that on your lunch break, sat alone outside the studio complex with your tofu bowl and lucozade, thinking about how thursdays have always been the worst day of the week (double maths back in the day, and now the final full day of work left before you can actually maybe talk to your man for once), when the answer appears through the summer drizzle. well, actually, it's gabbriette who appears, dashing over to you from her (matty's) car and screeching as the rain hits her hair.

you laugh, standing and letting her barrel into your arms. “hi, wifey.”

“baby girl!” she kisses your nose. “you look gorgeous.”

“gabs, i've been dancing for three hours straight. i look like shit.”

“but hot shit. like, super sexy shit,” she grins. “how's everything going? do i get a sneak peek of the new video?”

you smirk. “depends. did matty send you down here to spy on us?”

gabbriette laughs. “he's too stressed to even think of suggesting anything that smart. no, actually, i'm just here to see how you're doing,” her beautiful face shifts into a more serious expression. “because when i asked your boyfriend how you were, literally thirty minutes ago, he very cryptically said he didn't know.”

“ah.”

“he did then explain that you guys hadn't broken up, but it scared me,” she squeezes your hand. “you okay? like, i know you're both so busy - george is literally pushing the guys to the limit in the studio right now - but…”

you sigh. “yeah, we’re just so busy that we keep missing each other, that's all - i get home when he's sleeping, he leaves before i wake up, and we're never free to call at the same time. like, i didn't even know that thing you just said about george, because we haven't talked for days,” you slide down the wall to sit, and gabbriette follows. you sniffle. “he sleeps right beside me, but i miss him like he's continents away. and i hate it, gabs, i really hate it.”

“oh, baby,” she puts her arm around you and kisses your head. “it'll get better soon, though, won't it? you finish here tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“yeah, but,” you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “then the boys get to this manic stage i'm in now, then i have to do promo, and they have to do promo, and i just don't know when it'll end.”

“i know the feeling,” gabbriette sighs. “it's not easy, us being us, loving the people we do. but that's the way it is, i guess. we just gotta,” she half-heartedly punches the air. “push through it.”

“mmm,” you take a drink of your juice. “what i wouldn't give to just have dinner with him, you know? go somewhere nice for a night, and think about nothing but the two of us.”

your friend turns to face you. “so, why don't you? make a reservation for tomorrow night. surprise him when he gets home. clichè, but,” she winks. “i'm sure ross won't complain about coming home to you all dressed up and gorgeous. i know i wouldn't.”

you burst out laughing. “you're gonna lose your shit when we go inside and you get to see my album cover outfit, babe.”

“oh my god,” she presses her face into your shoulder, then sits up with a smile. “but seriously. i know you're exhausted, and so is he, but plan a date, have fun, make it a regular thing. you guys are perfect together; don’t let that slip away.”

“alright. thank you for the support,” you hug her. “i love you.”

“i love you, angel girl,” gabbriette pulls back and kisses your nose again, before standing and helping you up. “now, i am dying to see what you and the girls have been cooking up. shall we?”

you link your arm through hers. “let's go.”

***

when you hear the key in the lock, you brush down your dress a final time and hurry into the hallway. your heart skips at the sight of ross - clearly exhausted - stepping through the door; you can't keep the smile from your face, and one appears on his after he kicks his shoes off and turns towards you.

he exhales. “god, you're a sight for sore eyes. hi, love,” his arms open, and you run into them and allow yourself to be wrapped up in your boyfriend. “missed you this week.”

“missed you, too,” you nuzzle into his neck. “how are you, darling?”

“perfect, now that i've got you in my arms,” his smile is audible. “not letting you out of them for a second, by the way. need to catch up on holding my girl.”

you giggle. “what about dinner?”

“i can eat pizza with you on my lap on the sofa, can't i?”

oh. your heart feels slightly heavier than it did a second ago. “that's… what you want to do for dinner?”

you do your best to keep your voice light, but ross doesn't miss a trick. he pulls back, frowning slightly. “yeah. something calm, after us both being so busy this week,” he seems to notice your dress for the first time, brow furrowing even further when he takes in your polished appearance. “but that's not what you want, is it?”

“well, baby,” you let go of him, wringing your hands nervously. “i’ve, um, made a reservation at that place you like down the street. for tonight.”

ross pinches the bridge of his nose. “why would you do that, sweetheart?”

your jaw falls open. what? “oh, i just thought it might be nice to go out. save us doing the washing up,” the joke falls flat, but you clear your throat and continue. “and, you know, i’m home now, not coming in exhausted at midnight or whatever, for once, and i-”

“oh, okay,” ross laughs mirthlessly, and your blood runs cold. “just because you're not tired, i should forget my own tiredness and force myself to go out for an overpriced meal i don't even want to eat right now? just because?”

you don't think you've ever felt smaller in your life, and your voice shows it. “no, i just thought-”

“exactly. you just thought, about yourself, not me,” ross hangs up his jacket, shaking his head. “i mean, really, love? you of all people know what it's like, burning yourself out in the studio every day. is it really so surprising that i wanted to come home, to my own house, and just spend the night there?”

something inside you just snaps, and your next words shoot from your lips like bullets. “no, i fucking know the feeling, ross,” you glare at him when he turns to look at you, slight shock on his face at your sudden aggression. “66 hours i've worked, this week, across five days, and at the end of every single one of them i've wanted nothing more than to go straight home to my flat and collapse onto my bed. but d'you know what i've done instead?” you laugh, manic. “i've driven here and stayed with you, because i thought that even if we couldn't spend time together properly, at least we were with each other in some way. and you can't even be nice about the fact i wanted to do something special for us tonight. because, yeah, i was thinking about us when i did it.”

ross looks at you for a second, then shrugs. “well, i didn't ask you to do any of it.”

you nod, biting your trembling lip. “right,” you squeeze past him, picking up your handbag from the console table. tears prick at your eyes as you open the front door. “enjoy your fucking pizza, then.”

a sob escapes your lips as the door slams behind you, tears hitting off the steps as you hurry down them towards your car. with shaking hands, you rifle through your bag to find your keys, unlocking the door and climbing inside so you can cry in peace and figure out where to go. you half-expect ross to follow you, knock on the window, apologise… but nothing. the front door stays closed. even the blinds in the front room don’t move.

you're tempted to wait to see how long it would take him to come after you. but it's not a great look for you to be sitting outside his house in tears, and - to be honest - you don't really want to see him right now, anyway. you need to go somewhere. not your flat, because that's the first place he'd look for you - if he even decides to bother, that is. no. you need to go somewhere else, be with other people, people who love you. but not your bandmates, because that would be ross's next point of call.

and then, it hits you - gabbriette. you scroll through your contacts until you find her number, and hit call; what you don't expect, however, is for her boyfriend to answer. “hi, darling!”

“oh, hi, matty,” you sniffle. “did i dial you? i thought i'd called gabs.”

“no, you did, she just got me to answer because she’s making dinner,” he replies, his girlfriend audibly yelling in greeting in the background. “speaking of dinner… i thought you and ross were meant to be out right now? everything alright?”

you don't say anything in response, just burst into tears down the phone. matty sighs. “oh, fuck. come over, darling. i'll open the wine now.”

“thank you,” you say between sobs. “i'll see you in a bit.”

when you get to his house twenty minutes later, you reckon the two of them must have been standing at the door waiting for you; as soon as you ring the bell, it opens, and you're enveloped into a group hug so tight you can't tell who's who.

matty kisses your head when the hug ends. “just wanna say,” he begins, passing you a ridiculously large glass of red wine. “that while ross is my best friend, he will hear nothing of what's about to be said tonight. so… yeah. rip him to shreds.”

“oh, i intend to,” gabbriette squeezes your hand. “he came home to you looking like that and he didn't wanna go out with you? stupid boy.”

you wince. “gabs…”

“sorry, sorry. but i'm right,” she turns to matty. “don’t you think, baby?”

he nods. “he's an idiot,” something beeps in the kitchen, and gabbriette squeaks and runs towards it. matty puts an arm around you. “come on. we'll have a seat, and you can tell us everything.”

“okay.”

and you do just that, settled next to matty on the kitchen counter so gabs can hear and react while she cooks; you aren't quite sure you'd be able to make it through reliving the argument without the plates of focaccia she keeps laying on your lap, to be honest. anyway - both of them react quite accordingly to your story, dropped jaws and wide eyes and utterances of “he said that?” punctuating your words.

matty shakes his head when you finish talking, putting a hand on top of yours in a brotherly way. “i'm sorry, darling. he can be a moody bastard at times, i know, but that's… that's awful.”

“i get that he's tired and he didn't want to go out,” you sigh, taking a drink of your wine. “but he didn't need to make me feel like a stupid bitch for suggesting it,” you well up again. “and now i don't know where i am with him.”

“oh, baby,” gabbriette runs over to kiss your hair and hug you. “listen, you'll stay here tonight - we'll have a good time, talk shit, have some wine, and then we can figure your love life out tomorrow. cool?”

you look between the two of them, nervous. “i don't want to intrude…”

“oi, none of that,” matty squeezes your hand. “what kind of brother would i be if i didn't take of my little sister?”

“love you, mate,” you hug him, then turn to gabs. “both of you.”

“and we love you,” she kisses your cheek. “me more than him. seriously, i love you so much.”

matty laughs. “she’s right, actually,” he says to you. “came home raving about the sneak peek of the album she got yesterday,” he looks at you pointedly.

you roll your eyes. “fine, i'll tell you about it.”

“fuck yeah!”

you're still telling them all about the album and its processes when ross makes contact, almost two hours after you left his house. matty's phone rings, the contact photo (an old selfie of the two boys) visible to all three of you; the atmosphere changes from buzzy to sombre when you see it.

matty looks at you. “i don't have to answer it if you don't want me to.”

you look at the buzzing phone, the picture of your boyfriend on the screen filling you with a weird mix of emotion. “no, it's ok.”

“you sure?”

you nod. “if he asks where i am, you can tell him,” you murmur, looking at the floor. “i don't want him to worry.”

“right, darling,” matty takes your hand, and picks up his phone with the other. “alright, mate?”

gabbriette hugs you as ross speaks, inaudible to you; you're thankful for her support, because your stomach's in knots waiting for matty to reply. his eyes flick to yours, nervous. “yeah, she’s here,” he says, squeezing your hand. “she’s alright now, but… she really wasn't when she first arrived. surprised she managed to drive here, to be honest - that's how upset she was.”

you chew your bottom lip as ross says something else. matty quirks his eyebrows. “depends if your girlfriend wants to see you or not, mate.”

gabbriette squeezes you tighter. you shrug, and mouth “need to get it over with anyway”; matty grimaces, and relays the message to your boyfriend. “she's not opposed. but,” he shifts in his seat. “don't expect a warm welcome. that includes from me, too - it's none of my business, and i love you, but seeing my friend cry like that was fucking heartbreaking. i can't believe you could be so cruel.”

god, you love your friends.

you smile as matty wraps up the call. “yeah, i can imagine you feel awful about it; i'd be worried if you weren't. and yeah, i'll tell her, alright?” he gives you a thumbs up. “see you soon.”

“he's on his way?” you ask once the call ends.

“he went to yours. freaked out when you weren't there. so, he'll be here in five,” matty looks at you tentatively. “and i've to tell you he's extremely sorry and also that he loves you more than anything and finally that he’s a cunt for what he said.”

“i coulda fuckin told you that last bit,” gabbriette mutters. she smiles at you, though. “but the other bits are, you know, promising.”

“yeah,” you murmur. “shall we go and wait for him, then?”

she kisses your cheek. “if that's what you want, sure.”

true to his word, ross knocks the door five minutes later; you sit on the stairs in the hallway, gabs in front of you protectively (at her insistence), while matty answers. “hi.”

“alright?” ross's face isn’t properly visible from the angle you're at, but you can hear from the scratchiness of his voice that he's been crying. it hurts you to think about that. “can i come in?”

matty nods, stepping back to let him in. ross follows, an awkward dance, and immediately sees you. his face crumples. “hi, love.”

you wave. you're not sure if you can speak.

ross looks at gabs. “can i, um, talk to my girlfriend alone for a second?”

she turns to you. “you cool with that?”

you nod. she kisses your cheek and stands, staring ross down as she walks over to matty and they leave the room. once they've gone, ross flinches. “has she always been so scary?”

“you would be exactly the same way if she hurt matty,” your voice is hoarse, your crying just as obvious as your boyfriend's.

“yeah, s'pose,” ross takes a tentative few steps towards you, gesturing towards the stairs. “can i sit?”

“mhmm.”

“thanks,” he takes a seat on a step a few down from you, turning so he can talk to you properly. “i'm sorry, love, i really am. and i don't really have an excuse for being such a dickhead, other than tiredness, which isn't even an excuse because you've been more exhausted than i am and you still made the effort to do something nice for both of us,” he takes a shaky breath. “you look beautiful, by the way, even now; slightly off-topic, i know, but i just had to say it.”

“thanks,” you say quietly, picking at your cuticles. “thought you'd like this dress.”

“i love it,” ross smiles sadly. “i love you. and the fact that i hurt you… i feel fucking terrible about it,” his lip trembles. “i love you more than anything, or anyone, and i don't want to lose you. the thought of it fucking terrifies me, and,” he begins to cry, and your heart aches. “i worry that i'm not enough for you. i worry that i don't do enough for you, take you out enough. i worry that you'll get bored of me, bored of making all the effort, bored of sitting at home watching football or films, and one day you'll just leave me.”

what?

“oh, ross,” your heart shatters, and you scooch down to sit next to him and hug him.

“m'sorry, i know i'm the one in the wrong, but i have to be honest,” he cries into you. “when you said you wanted to go out instead of stay in, i freaked that i was boring you. and then when you brought up staying at mine instead of yours…”

“you thought it was me saying i was fed up.”

“yeah.”

“oh, baby,” you start to cry, too. “no. it was me just being pissed about you trying to say i didn't know the feeling of wanting to go home when you're tired. i didn't mean it in any other way, honest.”

“no, i know, my love. i was just scared.”

“why, though?” you look him in the eye. “you're the love of my life, ross. you're more than enough for me - everything i need, and more.”

he sniffles. “did you mean to quote beyoncé there, or…?”

“well, no, but it was apt,” you giggle, stroking his dimples when he smiles. “look, i was hurt by the way you reacted to me - an ‘oh, that's nice, love, but could we go out tomorrow night instead?’ wouldn't have gone amiss. but,” you kiss his nose. “i accept your apology, and i love you and our relationship very much, just as they are. just don't ever fucking treat me like that again, alright?”

“i promise you i won't, love,” ross kisses your nose in return. “i love you. and i'm sorry i was a grumpy shit about dinner, because i'm fucking starving now.”

you laugh, kissing his neck. “i reckon gabs has got us covered there. but if not,” you grin. “we can always get a pizza.”

“you're never letting me live that one down, are you?”

“not a fucking chance.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #valentine75 #girlband gf #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald angst #ross macdonald x reader #ross x reader

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