#lone star beer

[freetheshit-outofyou]

Story time. My dad gave me these yesterday as well. The pre-Bud Light issue can with no tab. My dad got it from one of the venders while working in a casino. Bud Light would be introduced into the market in 1982. The Coke came from Saudi Arabia from when I was there in the Gulf War. I gave it to my dad on post deployment leave. I had two other Cokes and a Pepsi that my landlord took while doing an inspection when I was stationed at Fort Bragg. We later caught the SOB entering the house when they thought we were gone to steal other stuff. That Lone Star is from the 70's. My Grand parents bought a 6 pack on a cross country trip and it was so bad they shot all but this one.

[reallydelicatezombie]

These are the things I think about.

[humongouscasheaglebagel]

[notesfromthecactuspatch-blog]

Making The Best Of A "Bud Situation"

Mrs MoMo was driving me to Fort Worth a few days ago for some reason I can’t remember now. When passing through Whiskey Flats, a small strip of Liquor stores along Highway 377, I saw my old buddy Mooch loading his pickup with cases of beer. He and a young man were rolling out cases of hooch from the liquor store called “The Beer Church.” I implored MoMo to turn around and take me back to the…

[its-a-wicked-twisted-road]

[echthr0s]

I will never be normal or sane about this

[lilalbatross]

9-1-1: LONE STAR 2x11 | Slow Burn

[buckevantommy]

buck walked right by firefox and didn't even notice. he's too caught up in the boys. in the cute boy. flirting with the cute boy. offering to hang out with the cute boy.

[watmalik]

Frat boy Carlos is this you?

…

Update: I’m now helping not Carlos. Wish us luck 🫡

[beeradvertisements]

[lonestarlife]

[traumatrios]

the name of the game

pairing… dodge mason x fem!reader

wc… 2.3k

summary… you don’t talk to strangers— but there’s something different about dodge. was it his charm? his looks? or the way you couldn’t get him off of your mind?

warnings… ends in smut, face riding, drinking (not drunk sex), iconic red cowboy boots, brief pain pleasure, dodge is soooo delusional

josie’s notes! um i kinda don’t remember how panic ended for dodge (i finished it a week ago) so take the beginning plot with a grain of salt

otherwise enjoy my lovelies ❤️

Dodge didn’t have many friends to begin with, but with most of the kids his age out of Cape and attending college, he did feel quite lonely. 

He’s not a stranger to the fact that college wasn’t in the cards for him– he had too many responsibilities. He knew his sister could very much take care of herself, but lazy Sunday’s on the couch next to her was where his heart truly belonged. 

His mother needed help managing the restaurant, because as much as she prided herself for her hardworking motherhood and independence, he saw the breath of relief she had whenever he was there.

He was perfectly fine as a blue collar working adult. What did he need college for anyway? It was too expensive, especially after the necessary but monetarily disappointing ending to Panic. He was too old to apply now.

Dodge took his time off of working at his bar to nurse the foam of a beer from another in a neighboring town. 

Was this really what his future was? He was dangerously nearing a seat in the same boat as the men surrounding him in the ambience of the dive bar: old (21) with a family at home (he was unattached with a sister and a single mother 5 minutes away from his apartment). 

Dodge might as well accept it; this was his destiny.

But the glimmer of fate came to him through a vision he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining from the wild dreams in his head or the material of a Playboy magazine. 

The mechanical bull sitting in the middle of the recreational space of the bar with a pretty girl attached to its saddle.

Dodge couldn’t tell if you were a saddle bronc rider (like himself) or just intensely familiar with your hips. You rode the mechanical bull like it was a kids bicycle with training wheels.

But with how you grinded against the fur of the mechanical bull with the rhythm it was bucking, he landed on the latter.

It was entrancing to look at, he admitted. The winks you sent into the collecting audience only strengthened his hopes of getting one shot at him. 

The mechanics continued to whir and spin you around, pathetic attempts to throw you off of the attraction you were obviously very skilled at riding. Have you been here before? Has he just never noticed you?

How could he never notice you.

Before he knew it, Dodge was leaning against the inflatable rim of the attraction, eyes wide in awe of your performance. One hand gripped the braided rope attached to the nape of the bull’s neck whilst the other waved in the air freely to your girlfriends, who had been screaming your name in the same way Dodge heard it yelled by paparazzi during award shows his sister watched on the weekends through the television.

The moderator of the attraction seemed just as impressed as anyone else watching you, even holding the twinge of suspicion some kept in the quirk of their brow. A crowd eventually formed around your performance, whistling and cheering you on as the meat of your calves squeezed the sides of the bull’s stomach.

Dodge thinks he heard a “yee haw!” come from the intoxicated group of guys (no younger than 30) stuffed in a booth attached to the wall facing your ass.

Bright digits flashed on the screen beside the control booth, announcing the new high score of Big Star Bar. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

As you unmounted the artificial bull, Dodge didn’t pull his eyes away from you like the rest of the crowd did. You weren’t a one hit wonder, he had to know your secrets. What was a girl with hips like yours doing in a random dive bar in Texas?

Dodge wasn’t sure how to approach you, especially after losing you in the crowd of girls in identical cowboy hats and guys in flannel. He was lucky enough to skin his eyes over the bar and spot your sparkling red boots tapping and gliding against the dingy dance floor.

The boy filed through the crowd until the heat in the air turned from heavy to sweaty dance floor heavy. 

Dodge scanned the horseshoe— painted? —on the back of your jean jacket and how it paired with your cowboy boots. It felt like something out of a movie, seeing your outfit.

“This your first rodeo?” he greeted, though from his stance behind your back, he wasn’t surprised by the small jump in your shoulders. But when you turned around, you were just as beautiful up close than you were on that damn bull. Dodge noticed the thick pieces of glitter scattered across your collarbone and how it seemed to match with the other girls in your party.

“Sorry. I don’t talk to strangers,” you shrugged, offering Dodge a friendly smile in apology.

Your gaze didn’t even falter or scan him, just unwaveringly looking him in the eye before you turned around again to chat with your friends. 

“Aren’t those the most fun to talk to though?” Dodge tried, and god did it form a pit in his stomach to feel like one of those guys that pushed for a girl's attention— a bad guy.

This got you to turn back around again.

Truthfully, his looks were hard to deny; especially with that ivory colored cowboy hat on his head. Otherwise, he wore a navy tee with a pair of dark jeans and black boots; the simplest thing ever. 

One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the other tapping its digits against the sweaty glass of a bottle of beer. 

“Do you really wanna talk? Grandma taught me that boys like you never want to just talk.” 

Dodge couldn’t fight against that, not confidently at least. He knew he didn’t want to just talk, but he also didn’t know what else he’d want to do. Is this what being in limbo felt like?

You gave Dodge the grace of a second before pointing an eyebrow at him and turning again, only this time walking off with your friends to a different corner of the bar.

Dodge was too stubborn to talk growing up, and in this moment— and only this moment —did he curse himself for doing so.

In Cape, everyone was a regular. 

It didn’t matter where you went or with whom, you were known better than the alphabet.

When Dodge came into town, he became a regular. In most places, at least.

He knew you weren’t from Cape because you weren’t a regular here. Which is why he was surprised to see the same red heels he’s been dreaming about since the weekend stroll into the establishment he worked in.

You knew what you were doing, of course. You knew about Dodge Mason because Gina knew about Dodge Mason, and she knew about Dodge Mason from her boyfriend Daniel.

That’s how you got here, wasn’t it? But, Dodge didn’t need to know that.

He didn't need to know how your girlfriends teased you for playing hard to get or how you began sweating just from looking into his piercing eyes.

And when those piercing eyes caught the sight of the painted horseshoe on your back, he thought it must be my lucky day.

As you sat at the bar, Dodge couldn’t think of any other way to praise whatever god trailed you in here rather than repeating the same ‘thank you’s in his head.

“Evening, lucky,” he coined the nickname from the symbol. You fought a smile at his wit, instead rolling your tongue along the flesh of your lip. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you sir?”

Dodge chortled at your act, but your face stood unwavering. Your tits looked perfect while pressed against the bar, but Dodge managed to pull his eyes a little higher to see the small tick in your neck signaling your so-called ‘confusion’.

You must’ve not liked his silence, because you picked up the silence with a small sigh and your order.

“May I have a shirley temple with just a dash of lime juice, please?” you batted your eyelashes at the unconvinced boy, being met with the playful roll of his eyes. 

Despite himself, Dodge began to concoct your beverage. You were strange, he thought. Where did you come from? Were you visiting? Would he see you again if nothing came from this conversation? How would he be sure?

He had to make sure this one counted, not like that pathetic excuse of conversation at the bar. The clicking of your nails rippling against the waxed bar behind his back mimicked the ticking clock– he might as well shoot a shot. Perhaps it was an easy target, especially with his luck sprawled against your back. 

“Did your grandma also teach you these manners?” Dodge planted the highball in front of your impatient hands. You took a look at the glass, then him, then to the glass again, where your eyes stayed as you tasted the drink. The sugar spreads across your tongue, satisfying its parched state.

“I still don’t talk to strangers,” you said, but the smirk that played on your face told Dodge something different. Your game wouldn’t fool him, not when you drop it just as limp as that. Did you want him like he wanted you?

You two weren’t strangers, no, he knew you were meant for something more. 

“So you admit to it,” he turned his head from the focus on your drink, only to catch your face hot with guilt. He chuckled to himself at your game.

“We ain’t strangers. This is our second meeting, perhaps fate is sending a message?” God, when did Dodge Mason become so sappy? He was grasping at the ends of a rope he wasn’t sure you were on the other end of.

But then you smiled. You smiled and twirled the skinny black straw around the ice of your drink. “And what message would that be?” you challenged.

Dodge leaned his elbows on the dark oak of the bar. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before his proposal, or rather, ‘the message’. “You should come home with me tonight.” He kept it at that; simple and charming. 

You giggled like a schoolgirl at his confidence. By the looks of it, he had been a lustful young adult, admittedly like you, with maybe a studio apartment. Your mind could only think of one thing he planned to do if you accepted the invitation, and you knew it wasn’t puzzles and lemonade. 

Were you opposed? Not entirely. 

“And what would this night entail? What do I get from entering your home? You gon’ drive me home after?” You matched his stance, leaning forward on the folded elbows you stuck to the waxy countertop. Dodge felt a stream of intimidation flow through his veins at the way you pointed your eyebrow at him.

“Might have to come to find out,” he replied, swiping his tongue over the toothpick that hung from his mouth. You couldn’t restrain your eyes from flickering down to the pair of lips. 

You were sure the sharp metal of his handle left a burning mark when he pushed you against it in the barren hallway of his apartment building. But with the incessant kissing of his lips distracting your mouth– and eventually everything else –it didn’t matter much to you anymore.

Your frame had been stripped of all fabric, laying in addition to his in the ratty hamper dejected in the corner of his room. Soon enough, he was insisting on a third round to cure the burdens of his barren tongue.

“Wanna see how you ride up close, baby,” he reasoned through a hushed tone, kissing the clammy skin of your temple.

How could you refuse? Especially when his hands began to rub those soothing circles into your hips and the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear during the whisper.

When he was prodding his tongue into your entrance a few minutes later, you knew it was the right decision to follow him out of the door. With your tits bouncing underneath the warm light thrusting through the ceiling of the sauna he called his room, Dodge took it upon himself to bruise your skin of this (rather heated) interaction through two large grips of his hands on your ass whilst you fucked his face. 

Dodge’s curious tongue soon turned into a hungry one, accompanied by the brief scraping of his teeth against the puffy lips of your pussy. The small bumping of his skull against the wooden headboard spurred him on rather than slowed him down, and you hoped the string of moans and mewls coming from your mouth were enough gratitude to satisfy his desires.

Due to popular demand– a loose request that fell in pieces from Dodge’s dumbstruck position underneath you –you wore his cowboy hat, glaze sticking from your hairline onto the weaved material. Dodge didn’t mind, in fact, he reveled in the thought of that same sweat mixing with his own during a rodeo. Dripping down his face just like how the sudden flood of your sweet juices were coating the stubble on his chin and the point of his nose. 

Dodge lived up to his word the morning after, tapping the ends of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel to the tune of Bruce Springsteen’s voice singing “Glory Days” from the beaten up radio of Dodge’s Cadillac. Summers' heat wavered through the air of Cape even when Dodge drove past the speed limit on a lonely road. 

When you arrived at the doorstep of your grandmother's house, Dodge didn’t worry about the possibility of seeing you again, only admiring the way you swayed your hips and clicked your heels against the pavement during your strut. The corners of his lips pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk. 

He liked how your game was turning out.

traumatrios, 2024

divider by @saradika-graphics !

[cozage]

Gm!! I saw your inbox was open!! I was hoping to request something with Sanji, Ace n Franky with a selective mute (gender neutral) reader talking to them through their voice for the first time to confess? 👉👈

(Btw I wanted to let you know that your writing has such a grip on my heart, I must have re-read your Sleepy Afternoon hcs at least a hundred times 🥺🫶 and i hope you have a wonderful day!)

So sorry I didn't get a new chapter out today...the holidays kept me busy! Enjoy these sweet short stories instead <3 Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Ace, Franky Cw:  none :) Total word count: 1600

First Words

Sanji

Ever since you joined the crew, you had found yourself gravitating toward the kitchen. 

Being with Sanji was easy. He never pestered you with questions or asked you to speak. If he did ask questions, they were always non-invasive, yes-or-no questions that you could answer with a shake of your head. 

You realized you had feelings for him when he came into the kitchen one morning, dark shadows under his eyes. And before he began cooking, he signed good morning to you. You had signed back the same phrase before you realized that he had signed, not spoken. 

He beamed with pride as your eyes widened in shock. 

“You learned how to sign?” you signed quickly. 

He focused intensely as he watched the way your hands moved, and then slowly nodded. 

“I stayed up all night trying to learn the basics. I figured it’s lonely up there in your head.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger for effect. “I’m not very good yet, but I’ll try my best to follow you if you ever feel like communicating.”

You gave a soft nod, the thought making your eyes shine. Even just the effort of knowing good morning made your heart swell. 

As the days went on, Sanji got better at sign language. So much better that he indirectly became your translator for the rest of the crew if you ever felt like adding to the conversation. He came to your defense whenever Luffy begged you to speak, and helped make sure your voice was heard without ever judging you. 

As the two of you were sitting out on the deck one night under the stars, you decided you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You had to tell him. 

“I have to tell you something,” you signed.

Sanji stood up a little straighter, looking at you with slight concern. “What is it, my love?”

“I think-” you paused your signing. Saying the words with your hands didn’t seem right. You trusted Sanji with everything. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to say it. Out loud. 

“I think-” you whispered softly, your voice raw from time unused. But you grew more confident when you spoke again. “I think I might just be in love with you, Sanji.”

You could see him struggling to understand your words; the fact that you had spoken was enough to send him into shock. 

And then he leaned in and kissed you. 

You melted under his touch. Your body craved the feeling of his skin as he held your face against his. 

“I love you too, my dear,” he whispered back. “And my name on your lips is sweeter than anything I could ever cook up.”

Ace

Ace didn’t mind that you didn’t speak a lot. Or speak at all. He did enough talking for the both of you. 

Still, you liked being around him. At meals, you often found yourself sitting next to him. At parties, he was often at your door, dragging you out onto the deck to have a few beers with everyone. 

You liked how he could bring people together. He was always the life of the party anywhere you went. You enjoyed his warmth, both through his devil fruit ability and personality. 

You often found yourself staring at him, admiring everything about him. You knew every other person on the ship was doing the same thing. So even when his eyes locked onto yours and the two of you had silent conversations, you did your best to ignore that ache in your chest. He was loved by everyone. You weren’t special. 

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Ace said, taking a seat next to you on the deck. “I know you didn’t want to, and I know these parties can be overwhelming. So thanks for coming for me.”

You shook your head slightly, smiling softly. It’s no big deal.

“It is a big deal! You-” the rest of his sentence was cut off by a few of your crewmates screaming at each other and everyone cheering loudly. 

“Come on,” Ace mumbled, rising to his feet and holding out his hand for you. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. I can’t hear myself think here.”

You smiled and nodded, taking his hand. It was loud and overwhelming. You were here for Ace, to celebrate him being promoted. But that didn’t mean you liked being around crowds or rowdiness. 

There was only one place that was quiet on a night like tonight: the crow’s nest. So the two of you quietly snuck up the ladder and hid away from everyone. A moment of quiet amongst the sea of noise. 

“It's so peaceful up here,” Ace said softly. “I love it up here.”

You hummed in agreement. “I love you.”

Both of you froze. You hadn’t even been thinking about a confession. It had come out entirely on its own. 

You could feel Ace’s sharp gaze on you. “What?”

You cleared your throat, ignoring the heat on your face. “The view. I love the view.”

“You’re speaking.”

You finally looked at him, your voice rough. “I speak sometimes.”

“Never to me!” Ace ran his hand through his hair and took a long drink from the bottle in his hand. “You’ve never spoken to me!”

“I-” you stopped. You hadn’t spoken much since you had joined the crew. Only to Pops, really. And only whenever you were asked a direct question. Ace had probably never heard your voice. “I thought you had. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Ace said, laughing. “I just want to hear more of it! Tell me a story! Your voice is- is like-” he struggled for words, and then he smiled as his eyes locked onto yours. “It’s like a breath of fresh air.”

“It is not,” you smiled at his words, though. “You just feel that way because we can breathe up here without smelling our lovely crewmates.”

Ace barked out a laugh. “Stunning and funny. You really are the total package.”

You quieted at that. A true compliment from Ace didn’t happen often, and you could feel the blush creeping its way through your face. 

Instead, you laid back and turned your head toward the sky, choosing to watch the stars instead. You were almost asleep when Ace spoke again.

“I love you too, you know.”

Franky

You liked being in the workshop with Franky. Franky never tried to get you to speak. Most of the time it was too loud in there to hold a conversation anyway. The extent of your conversation was him asking you to get a tool for him, and you silently retrieving it. 

You weren’t sure it changed into something more, but you began watching him closely as he worked. After a day or two, he began explaining what he was building and all the steps that went into it. It wasn’t long before you were working on the bench next to him. 

Some days, Franky was chatty. He talked about his home, his old life, and other projects he had done. Sometimes he asked you simple questions about your past, but he never pried too deep. 

That’s what you liked most about Franky. Everything had been on your terms, and Franky had always received your decisions enthusiastically. He always supported you when you wanted to help him build a bench, but he also encouraged you to take rest days when you simply wanted to observe. 

Franky was always on your side. No matter what you decided, he was going to agree. He was your biggest fan, always cheering you on. 

And as his strong arms wrapped around you, both of you holding the torch to weld two pieces of metal together, you realized the heat on your face wasn’t just from the flame. 

Franky pulled his welding helmet up. “So, do you like welding?”

You nodded. “I think I like you more, Franky.”

Franky’s mouth fell open in shock. For once, you had stunned him into silence. Only the hum of the generator buzzed in the air. 

The silence made you feel strange, and words began falling out of your mouth in an attempt to fill it. 

“You’re so kind and supportive to me and you always help me learn new things. You’ve been so amazing and patient these past few weeks and you’re always so encouraging and…I just…I like you a lot, Franky, and I was just thinking about how I wanted to tell you and then it just…came out.”

Franky was still staring at you, awestruck. “You can speak?” 

You covered your face. He was missing the whole point. Maybe he would forget the words you had actually said. 

He seemed to remember your words at that exact moment. “Me? You like me?”

A small smile creeped across your face. No backing down now. “Yes, I do.”

“Super!” His words made you laugh. “I’ve liked you for quite some time as well. Just didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Your smile finally widened, full and genuine. “You’re the place I feel most comfortable, Franky.”

He gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for an embrace. “And I will never stop being that for you, I swear it.”

[unsolvedjarin]

just you wait sunshine.

pairing: (sebastian vettel x driver! reader)

summary: sebastian’s retirement has led him to reminisce his past life and mistakes, including you. little does he know, the universe is about to give him a second chance via a small bookstore in switzerland.

note: this went on WAYYY longer than i wanted it to be and it didn’t really go the direction i wanted either, but we move

content warning: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, more sebastian centric than reader centric tbh (sorry i just love him so much)

word count: 3.7k

Retirement had been good to Sebastian.

He’d finally been able to spend time in his farm house, plant some trees, grow a garden, and along with all that, still have time to drive cars whenever an event needed him to. It was like his entire life schedule magically cleared up in front of him.

He missed racing of course, he won’t pretend that he didn’t. After all, he spent 15 years in the sport, it was his pride and joy for quite a long time. But that time of his life is over, he’s accepted that. He wanted to enjoy the other things in life instead, be able to see and experience things that the busy life of being a driver didn’t let him experience.

Sitting on a chair in his porch watching the sun set, he reflects on what he could have done differently. Who he could have treated differently. And when only one name enters his mind, the same one that’s haunted him for the past 5 years, he sighs reluctantly and heads back inside to prepare his dinner.

—

2012

“What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

The question takes you by surprise as you take another swig of your beer. The moon shone brightly on the porch of whatever airbnb your team had set you up at, and the stars were sparkling like they had never before.

“What kind of question is that, Sebby?” you giggle. “Isn’t this what we’re gonna do for eternity? Racing?”

Sebastian shrugs, looking up at the sky on his foldable chair that you had brought on the trip. “Yeah but after that, you know? I’ve always thought about what my life will be like after retirement.”

“Okay old man, because you’re sooo close to retiring,” you tease. He gives you a playful light shove for that, smiling as he does. The air feels freer and lighter than it ever has before.

“But seriously,” Sebastian chuckled. “Have you ever thought about it?”

You ponder for a second before replying, “No, not really. I mean my career’s just starting, I haven’t really thought about the end. But when I do retire, I think I’d like to be a writer.”

“Like those egotistical types to make a biographical book about themselves?” Sebastian asks, earning a laugh from you. The sound made him feel things that he’d only ever felt before with you.

“God no,” you laugh out. “I don’t wanna be like those old blokes who get obsessed with themselves after they retire. I just wanna write fictional books, maybe under a pen name. Just a simple life; me, my theoretical dog, and my theoretical book.”

Sebastian nods with an understanding look in his eye. He wants that life too. A simple one, away from the public. Even now at his young age, the paparazzis and press were getting annoying quickly.

“I want to live in a house far away from the city,” he says. “Maybe the suburbs— no that’s too near…a farm! I’ll live in a farmhouse.”

You smile at the thought of Sebastian Vettel, two time Formula 1 world champion, just lounging about in a farm tending to his animals and crops.

“Wouldn’t it get boring? Or lonely? Milking your cows alone?”

He answers you with no delay, “Well I’d want you to be with me of course.”

You thanked whatever higher power was listening at that time that he couldn’t see how your blush formed over the darkness of the night. Regaining your sense of self, you reply, “What makes you think I’d want to go with you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks genuinely. “You could write your books inside while I…I don’t know what type of farm I’ll make, exactly. But I’ll be tending to that and you can write your books with your theoretical dog.”

“It’ll be our theoretical dog, then.”

Sebastian replied with a soft smile, “Ours, then.”

—

He had settled on bees. Having a bee farmhouse. It wasn’t easy work, it was definitely more complicated than milking a cow like you had said, but it made him happy, and it made him content.

Well, as content as he could be.

You had your first kiss that night, Sebastian recalled. He remembers because even though you didn’t think it, he could see the red blush dusted lightly on your cheeks, a sign he made the right choice leaning in and making his move.

Preparing his dinner for one in his cozy yet lonely farm house, he realizes he could have had this all with you. If he had just been more kind and if you had forgiven him, you could have had all of this together. A life that both of you had always wanted.

—

2018

“Sebastian, I’m not asking you to retire or something, I’m just asking you to take a break, please,” you beg. He remembers your exasperated voice as clear as day.

“I can’t take a break, Y/N, you don't understand. If I don’t get at least podium in this race, that's it, my career is basically over.”

Scoffing, you replied, “Your career isn’t over just like that, you’ve still got another year with Ferrari for christ’s sake.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” he mumbled, opting to turn away from you and put on his racing gear instead.

He’d been distant the whole season, the tension between the two of you increasing and increasing that finally it just snapped this race weekend. He’d been icing you out, acting like you didn’t exist because he was ‘practicing for the races ahead.’

At first you understood, you were a driver too. You recognized the difficulty of always losing race after race, how after a while it took a toll on your mental wellbeing. So you gave him space.

Then, when that didn’t work, you tried reaching out, helping him. It was the worst mistake of your life. Every time you tried to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong so you could help, he kept pushing you further and further away, acting like you were getting in the way of his work, sometimes even getting angry.

That went on for the whole season, until finally today, on qualifying morning, you snapped and demanded he talk to you.

“What the hell do you mean ‘I wouldn’t get it’? I have the exact same job as you,” you accused. You’d been patient for months and his vagueness was starting to get on your nerves.

Whipping his head around angrily to face you he replied, “You don’t have to reach the same standard as I do. I have to constantly prove I’m the best, and you constantly prove to be a midfielder.”

Oh.

Oh.

That was a low blow, even Sebastian knew that. Your relationship had been teetering on the edge for the past year, but this was a make or break moment, and he knew exactly which one of the two it was going to be.

“So it’s like that,” you decided with a tone of finality. Sebastian wanted to ask for your forgiveness right then and there, to apologize, to make up for the last few months of being an asshole, to beg you not to throw away your years together just like that.

But he knew he was in the wrong, and he was too stubborn and egotistical to apologize.

Sensing the silence from him, you nod with teary eyes you tried so desperately to stop from flowing freely. Sebastian wanted nothing more to wipe them away, to hold you in his arms, but he never could do it.

“This is how you want it to end?” You asked him. It was a genuine question. You were giving him one last choice, one last chance to make up for how he’d been treating you the past year.

He stayed silent.

“Enjoy your fucking career, Vettel.”

—

He won that race. It was his first win of the season, but he felt like he had lost the championship itself as he stood on that podium, eyes looking for you in the crowd like he usually did, finding you absolutely nowhere.

After your argument he tried to talk to you in the paddocks but you constantly avoided him, the act not being hard when he wasn’t allowed inside your team’s hospitality building nor paddock. That fight was the last sensible conversation with each other you ever had.

You retired the year after that. You moved out quietly from your shared home, and he heard you stayed with Jenson for quite a while. He couldn’t blame you, Jenson had always been kind to you— Sebastian had no place to be jealous.

Hearing the beeping of his oven, Sebastian snaps out of his trip down memory lane to grab his dinner. It was a tray of lasagna, one he was sure he would be eating again tomorrow lunch because of the size of it.

He thinks about how he wouldn’t have to place the excess in a container for tomorrow if he just had someone to share it with. If he could share it with you.

Going through his grocery list at 10 in the morning, Sebastian notices a new store out of the corner of his eye. He’s been to this street countless times to do his grocery down the road— they had a brand of milk that no other nearby grocery had— but he had never seen that store before.

It was a bookshop. A small one compared to the large shops that surrounded it, but it stood out enough to be noticed yet cozy enough to feel inviting. It was a cold morning in Switzerland, and the heater inside just invited him further in until he found himself standing at the doorway, taking in the smell of books and the absolutely gorgeous decor.

He will admit, he hasn’t seen a bookshop like this in quite a while. The second he stepped foot inside he felt the love radiate through it, as if he knew the owner personally and how they had a passion for their store.

All Sebastian could think about, however, was how much you would love this. How you would adore running your fingers through the spine of a second hand book, or how you would pick a fresh new one for him to read and he would do the same for you, just like you both did back then.

He won’t pretend that he never looked for your book when you retired. He knew you weren’t joking about publishing one, he just didn’t know what pen name you chose so he never could find it.

“Looking for something specific?” A voice makes him turn his head around to see the woman behind the register looking at him inquisitively. He realizes that he was just standing in an aisle not really reading or picking up a book.

Sebastian shakes his head, “Not really, just browsing. I was thinking about how a friend of mine would have liked to see this store, it’s right up their alley.”

“Why don’t you invite them then?” A different voice speaks.

…It can’t be.

That voice.

That voice.

No, he was hallucinating, dreaming maybe. Yes, this was a dream. That would be the only explanation why from behind him he heard a voice he missed so dreadfully, one he tried imagining talk to him again some nights, one he watched old videos for, one he—

“Sebastian?”

It was you. He would recognize your voice anywhere. He turns around, and the world seems to slow down as if it suddenly focused on just the both of you. The background blurs and everything is hazy and distorted but you were there. Standing in front of him, actually real. Older than he remembers but not in a negative way, just more mature. More peaceful. More you.

Staring at you in the middle of a bookshop in Switzerland after 5 years, Sebastian couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. What would be right? Would there be words he could tell you that would make you ever forgive him?

“I-” “You-”

You both start at the same time, making you laugh at each other. It was the first time he’s seen you smile since 2016. He used to say he would burn cities to see you smile, and he’s glad he knows now that that feeling hasn’t changed.

“You first,” he says. He wants to hear what you’ll say so he can choose his words better.

“I, uh,” you laugh awkwardly. It was still a beautiful sound to Sebastian. “I was actually slightly expecting to see you here.”

Oh. Well he didn’t expect that. You…you were expecting to see him? Like purposely thinking about him? The thought boggled Sebastian.

Noticing his visible silence, you speak up again. “I co-own this bookstore,” you smile. “I knew you lived around the area so I expected I’d bump into you eventually. It’s not the main thing that I do, but my Swiss friend you just talked to behind the counter wanted to make a bookstore but was low on funds so I decided to help a friend out, you know?”

Oh he knows. You were always so kind when it came to your friends. He remembers, he used to be one of them.

“That’s really nice of you,” Sebastian says. He slaps himself internally for the dumb reply he gives. “You uh, you look great.” Way to fucking go Sebastian. What a great conversation saver.

“Not in a weird way, of course. I mean I would never try to make you feel uncomfortable by saying that. Did you feel uncomfortable? Was it weird? It probably was. I mean I haven’t seen you in so long and that’s the first thing I say it’s so stupid and I could have said something of significance but—”

You stop Sebastian before he rambles on any longer. Holding his fidgeting hand, you chuckle at the sight of the nervous German in front of you. “Relax, Seb. I’m not mad. I’ve moved on.”

Oh.

“You have?” He asks, not thinking before he speaks because he knows he hasn’t. How could he move on from the best thing that ever happened to him and the biggest mistake he ever made?

The question takes you aback, pulling your hand away from his. For a second Sebastian thinks he’s messed up all over again, but you simply reply, “I meant from racing. But I know what you think I mean.”

“Can we catch up? I’ve missed you.” Sebastian hears himself say it before he even realizes the implications of his words.

“Oh.” you say with a pause. It makes Sebastian’s heart sink. Maybe you really have moved on, but in a way that you didn’t want him in your life anymore. He gets that. It looks like you’ve built a nice life for yourself outside of racing. Even if he never gets to be in it. He’s proud of you for being able to move on. “How about we sit down for some coffee first? I know a place near here.”

Oh thank god. Sebastian wasn’t ready to be deprived of you again so quickly.

Walking to the cafe, the air was thick with the tension between the two of you. While your accidental meeting in the library had gone well, the spark of the moment had faded and the reality of the situation had settled in. This was someone Sebastian had deeply wronged, someone he still deeply loved, and there were too many words unsaid there about both.

Sitting down at the window seats— he remembers how you loved sitting there so you could watch the people outside— you flag down a waiter to take both your orders.

“I’ll take a macchiato and— Seb do you still take your coffee black?”

Nodding, he looks out the window with a light blush on his cheeks. The fact that you remembered his— albeit simple— order made him happy and he had to catch himself otherwise he would be smiling like a teenage boy again. It was truly the little things.

“So,” he speaks up, straightening up and looking at you.

“So,” you mimic. “I go first or you go first?”

“My life has been pretty televised before I retired, there’s nothing really surprising in it. You go first.”

You spend the next 30 minutes filling him in on your life, how you avoided the media for the past few years, how you live in a cozy home with your dog, how you still exchange presents with some of the older grid during Christmas (Sebastian admits he got jealous here).

But the most important part was when he heard how you finally wrote that book you always talked about.

“Really? You finally published it?” Sebastian asks. He could see how the smile on your face was genuine, unlike the many times he saw you put on a fake one for the press or the media. It made him happy.

“Yeah, I finally found time after I retired to start it. Surprisingly it’s actually much harder and less peaceful than I thought it’d be.”

“At least it’s not a biographical book,” Seb jokes. The throwback makes you giggle, but it also makes you both acknowledge the elephant in the room. There were still so many things left unsaid, you both didn’t know where to start.

“Y/N back when I said those things, you know the ones, I didn’t mean them.”

Giving him a sad smile you reply, “I know, Seb. But it doesn’t take them back. Besides, that silly argument was just the straw that broke the camel's back, we were on the edge of our relationship for so long, you knew that too.”

“I know, but that was my fault it was on the edge too. I kept pushing you away because of Ferrari and how disappointed I was in my career. I didn’t realize at the time how much it was hurting you until I finally lost you. I know it makes no sense to say it this late when all is said and done, but I am sorry.”

Sebastian’s words stunned you to silence. You knew he never meant pushing you away, despite your last fight he was never intentionally that unkind, it was just racing that pushed him to be like that back then. But hearing the words coming from him hit differently, the way he said the two words you’ve been yearning for for years. I’m Sorry.

It couldn’t make you forget, but it could make you forgive.

“I know you are, Sebby,” you say. The old nickname brings a nostalgic smile on his face. “I’ve forgiven you years ago, just after I retired. I figured I should let go of my ghosts and that’s what I did. Though I won’t lie, your ghost did put up quite a fight giving me tears at night,” you joked. Sebastian could sense the hint of sadness in it.

He wishes he could make it all go away, to fix it just like he used to be able to. But he knows it’s not that easy. Not when the years have separated you both. It’ll be hard getting your trust back to let him into your heart even just as a friend, but goddamn if he wasn’t going to try and fix it.

“Will you ever show me the book?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. “I doubt it. It’s not up your alley anway, historical fiction.”

“Anything you write is up my alley. Maybe you can come over sometime and show it to me,” he says, not realizing the underlying meaning to it.

“Careful, Sebastian,” you say. “Forgiving is easy when you’re given time, but forgetting is harder. Let’s take baby steps.”

Baby steps. He could live with that. To Sebastian it doesn’t matter if it takes days or years to get you back in his life, he’ll let you take your time. You deserve it. And if you choose in the end to walk out of his life again, well, then he deserves it.

You hug each other goodbye when you leave, the hug lasting longer than it should have. He knows he promised baby steps, but when you buried your head into the crook of his neck and tightened your grip around him softly, he couldn’t resist pulling you closer to him and holding you there for a few seconds. He misses this, the closeness of it.

He sends you his address if ever you were in the area again, and you notice how the profile picture he has for you on your number was still the one of you when you were both rookies. It made you happy.

Sebastian didn’t expect anything more to happen, he spent that night contemplating what good deed he must’ve done to bring you back into his life again. Whatever it was, he was grateful he had done it.

The next afternoon as he was reheating the Lasagna— that he ultimately forgot yesterday— in the oven for lunch, he heard his doorbell ring. Opening his door he spots a package on the floor, one that was wrapped with a cute bee themed wrapping paper. It made him chuckle. He expected that whoever or whatever was at the door was you, but this was the next best thing.

Sitting down on his porch chair, he opens the package delicately as if it were fragile. He can feel the outline already, it was a book. Moreover, it was your book. Sebastian couldn’t believe it.

There was a note attached that read, ‘Forgot to tell you yesterday. I missed you too.’

The few words were almost enough to bring him to tears, but he continued and opened the book to scan its contents. The typing Published 2020 stands out, making him realize how long he’s missed out on this.

But what truly catches his attention is the dedication. Smack right in the middle, the words to be seen by everyone, read; For my Sunshine, the amount of words left unsaid will never match the amount of love I still have for you in my heart.

He may not be able to fix his mistake just like that, but Sebastian would wait however long it took for you to love him again, as a friend or as another. As long as his sunshine was in his life again.

[zweiginator]

What if divorced!art gets dragged to a club one weekend by his foundation-buddies and he obviously doesn’t want to but he forces himself and then it turns out that escort!reader is also there with her friends and they see each other outside of «work» for the first time… And her friends doesn’t know about her escorting so maybe they recognize him and maybe she goes to talk to him because her friends says she should «flirt more»🤭 And then ofc he fucks her in the dirty club bathroom

divorced!art upset because he hasn't seen you in weeks. everything has been busy since he hit the ground running with tennis again. practice after practice, signing sponsorship deals, galas and charity fundraising. and you had been busy too. art didn't know this, but you're a student as well. you didn't tell him not because you didn't want to share your life with him, but because it made you feel juvenile. of course, it's university and you're almost finished with your degree after five and a half years instead of the usual four--but you still feel dumb talking about that part of your life with him. for you to bitch about group projects and essays about political science while art is upset about custody battles and petty divorce politics--it feels trivial.

but your friends want to celebrate the semester being freshly over. just a few more summer classes for you and you will finally graduate. you'll finally get to hang up your hat and say goodbye to escorting. to that taboo little secret that's been dragging your eyes into sunken purple holes for the past fourteen months.

and your friends don't know, of course. it's impossible to explain to a group of girls whose parents pay for tuition and books and groceries. gas, clothes and even the designer heels they wear to the club they're standing in right now--that you need to do this. for money. to survive.

no, it isn't ideal. but this is the real fucking world and sex sells.

so they think you're prudish. they've never seen you have a boyfriend or flirt because that's your job every other day of the week. to pretend to be in love. to fuck lonely assholes and pretend to care about their lives. to believe them when they say they aren't a bad husband. that men have needs.

they urge you to flirt with men at the bar. but like always, you're just not interested. and all the men in this shitty tavern-bar-turned-college-club are all the same. middle-aged men who shoved their wedding bands in their back pockets to pick up pussy from a doe-eyed girl in her twenties.

none of them are remotely attractive. and you're thanking your lucky stars that you don't recognize a single one of them.

your friend taps on your shoulder. "there's one hot guy here. you may recognize him. he's kinda famous."

you down the rest of your drink. "oh really? i doubt i'd be interested."

but she points to a man leaning against the bar way off in the corner. sad eyes and salt and pepper hair that was once dirty blond; you've seen his baby pictures. he's tall and in love with you and you with him and you could strangle him right now because he hasn't returned your calls or texts in over five days.

"art donaldson." your other friend sighs. "he's a tennis player and i'd fuck him if i didnt have a boyfriend."

it's then that art turns around. likely feels the eyes of six girls burning into the back of his skull. he's holding a beer bottle and he looks forlorn, his typical woe is me demeanor that makes him so fucking attractive to you. lights up that neanderthal part of your brain that makes you want to fix the unfixable.

and then he smiles. it makes you blush and your friends, not knowing the tendrils of your history together that have now become rooted in the ground beneath you, tell you to go for it.

"he's staring right at you."

you know that. art knows not to make it clear he knows you; it would open up that whole can of worms.

so he waits for you to come to him and you pretend to be nervous which isn't that hard because you are already.

when you get to him, he whispers in your ear.

"they don't know about your job, im assuming?" he wants to wrap his arms around your waist but he refrains.

"they don't. but they know you, and they're very fond of you. they want me to flirt more."

art flags down the bartender. he gets you a gin and tonic, remembering how you liked the one he made for you that first night at his hotel room. you were just trying to make him feel better.

"well im glad im the lucky man." he sits down on a stool and hooks his leg around the stool next to him to bring it closer. he motions for you to sit and your friends are all staring at you but pretending they aren't.

"me too. although i don't know how much you deserve it." you take a sip. "given how you haven't responded to my calls in awhile."

art takes your drink from your hand, sets it down. he rests his hand on your lower back.

"im sorry honey. i haven't been meaning to be an asshole. there's a lot going on with tennis and everything."

you run a hand through his hair. "i get it." you feign a frown. "you just may have to make it up to me." and when you uncross your legs, art can see your thong. he tenses his jaw.

"i do need to make it up to you, don't i?" he takes a swig from his beer. "i'll tell you what." he glances around, at the bathroom door swinging open. "why don't i go to the bathroom to freshen up and you come check on me in a few minutes, yeah?"

he's so close you can smell the beer on his breath. you nod and he goes toward the bathroom.

your friends want to come over and ask you all about it, but then you're knocking on the bathroom door with your special knock. the one that only you and art know.

he pulls you inside, and the bathroom is dingy with a flickering light and graffiti on the walls. drawings of dicks and crude words but art sits on the toilet seat.

"c'mere." he reaches out to you and you go to him. a pavlovian response that makes you so fucking wet to be near him. to be on his lap like you're supposed to be. he kisses you like he missed you because he has. he's not supposed to. his lips trail wet, hot kisses up your throat and he's greedier than usual. dragging your pussy over his throbbing erection. he's only wearing his briefs on his bottom half and you tug at his shirt because you want to see all of him. feel all of him. he does the same to you. panting into your mouth because his cock rests between your folds. nudges against your clit as you grind on him.

"fuckin' ruined pussy for me." he throws his head back and you grab his jaw to kiss him. sloppy and disgusting but you love the taste of him. how your lipstick melds into his saliva. drips down his neck like you're a vampire taking him for everything he fucking has.

"yeah?" you rake your nails down his chest and take his cock out. it's bare against your pussy, your panties pushed to the side.

"nothing turns me on anymore. nothing gets me off. only you. that tight fucking cunt."

he never talks like this. so crude. but you love drawing it out of him. milking those dirty words as you stroke his heavy cock for him. people bang on the bathroom door but neither of you fucking care.

you sink down on him. you do it all at once. you're addicted to how his hips spasm and his eyes roll back and he lets a strangled moan-groan hybrid escape him. he holds onto the flesh of your ass as you fuck him.

the porcelain of the toilet creaks unsteady below you and you're completely on top of him, your feet behind you as you fuck him harder and harder. but he asks for more because he wants you more.

"fuck me--fuck me--" he repeats it over and over. guides you up and down and up and down his cock from base to tip. "your pussy was fucking made for me. i need it, i need it--"

his mouth hangs open and you can't believe he's yours like this. you want him to cum but then again you don't because then he can't be inside you anymore. and that's precisely where you want him.

his jaw is tense and his neck pulses with his heartbeat as he presses his forehead to yours.

"i want you--" a moan. "to hit me. i want you to fucking claim me."

so you smack him, and his arms wrap tight against your waist because he's cumming and he wants it to stay like this forever. but if it can only be a few more minutes, that will do too.

[kingkatsuki]

Imagining Mitsuki trying to play matchmaker

And maybe she’s done that before, thrown girls at her son hoping he’ll hit it off with one of them and give her grandchildren. But it just royally pisses him off and he wants nothing to do with any of them. Then maybe she gives up for a while

But booooyyyyy oh boy, if you’ve caught his eye and she notices? She may not have introduced you, but she’ll make it happen. Just trying to help him out ya know?

She’d have to be as subtle about it as possible though. I could see him pushing you away just to spite her, even if he was head over heels for you.

I got a little carried away talking about this, but I just love the idea of Mitsuki meaning well, but never quite getting it right.

Warnings: Mitsuki tries to play matchmaker.

Word Count: 1.6k.

It isn’t that Mitsuki wants to force him into a relationship, she means well. She doesn’t like the thought of him coming home to an empty apartment each night, especially because she’s one of the few people who know about his night terrors. She’s been on the receiving end of many a call at four in the morning where he’s calling to make sure everything’s okay, or hearing him as a young man screaming in the night when he wakes up from another one of those nightmares. And although she’s taught him well, never needing to learn to cook, clean or use a washing machine— some companionship can’t hurt.

There was a time that Mitsuki thought that Bakugou wasn’t searching for love— that he’d already found it. His cheeks turning a violent red when she’d suggested that he was dating Kirishima, immediately reassuring him that she wouldn’t love him any less and that she’s happy he’s found someone as Bakugou tried to set her straight.

It isn’t that she ignores Bakugou when he says he’s not looking. She’s just worried, and maybe she’s right. Maybe he is lonely, and could use someone to help fill that void between work and sleep.

A mother can always tell, after all.

But Mitsuki’s methods can be a little unorthodox. Masaru tries to tell her not to meddle, that their son will find love when he wants to. On his terms, when he’s good and ready. But now he’s pushing thirty, not even a tabloid based rumour about a girlfriend and she starts to get antsy.

The window for grandchildren is slowly closing, and the hope is diminishing so of course she has to take matters into her own hands. It’s for Bakugou’s benefit, it’s like she’s doing him a favour.

At first Mitsuki is trying to set him up with someone based on attributes, wealth, success, career goals. Even though it’s difficult trying to find someone as motivated and strong as her son, she knows there are thousands upon thousands of women out there that would love to date him.

And poor Bakugou would prefer to be doing anything else with his time, sitting in his boxers playing video games and sipping a beer sounds far better than a twelve course dinner with portions so small he’s got to cook at home after. Especially with women he could care less about, listening to them drone on at him about their meaningless lives while he picks at his hors d'oeuvre two courses in.

No matter how perfect these women seem on paper, how compatible they are based on personality tests and star signs the dates never work out.

When this tactic doesn’t work, Mitsuki still won’t give up. Working in the fashion industry for as long as she has means she’s got a phone book full of gorgeous women. Personalities may not match up, but however bias it may sound she knows her son is an attractive man. So it’s easy to scroll through her contacts to find an array of women who would jump at the chance of a date with the Number Two Hero (also another benefit she slips in to conversation).

Bakugou tugs at the black tie around his neck as he stands awkwardly in the corner of another one of his mothers networking parties. Wondering how at 29 he’s still subjected to this kind of misery, thinking this would have stopped well into his teenage years. Groaning internally when he can see her out of the corner of his eye dragging a pretty young woman towards him. He knows the drill, knows exactly what that old hag is up to as she gives him a warning glare that only he can see. Turning to the poor girl with a faux sincere smile as she introduces her to him, her hand tightening around his forearm in warning as he offers his hand out to the poor girl.

But as quickly as Mitsuki arrived she’s gone, pretending to wave at someone in the crowd as she excuses herself and leaves Bakugou standing alone with this woman. Listening to her begin to rattle off ad campaigns or endorsements she’s been involved in like he gives a fuck, and talking about how many offers she’s received for her next one. It’s all he can do not to tell her that he doesn’t care and walk off as he notices that old hag watching from across the room as he throws back his whiskey and excuses himself to the bar. At least there’s enough alcohol to drown out the pain and suffering his mother is currently inflicting on him.

Mitsuki’s quick to join him, wine glass in hand, as she asks what he thinks and gushes about how pretty and perfect she is.

“Yeah? So why don’t you date ‘er then?” Bakugou scoffs as his mother rolls her eyes and he can tell if there were fewer people in the room she would’ve hit him upside the head by now.

It’s exhausting.

Groaning as he collapses into bed to find one new text message from the girl he’d been introduced to hours earlier. Knowing that his interfering mother had clearly given his phone number out— again.

But when perfect matches, and pretty faces don’t work Mitsuki changes tactic. After that, it’s just anyone.

Bakugou could be saying thank you to a girl in a coffee shop whilst he’s out running errands and Mitsuki is asking if she wants to go on a date with her son— she already had a boyfriend. Or the kind waitress at lunch who gave him a little extra spice in his ramen— she wasn’t interested in men. And even one time where Bakugou stopped to let a lady onto the train before him— she ended up posting about it all over social media before he’d even arranged the first date.

Deep down, there’s never anyone Bakugou truly wants. Dates are done out of obligation, and spending a few hours taking someone out for food or drinks means his mother is off his back for a few weeks or a few months depending on how well he can hide the immediate break up.

It’s a few months later when Bakugou realises the true lengths of how far his mother is willing to go to get him married off. He’s given a short, curt answer about his last break up. A “relationship” that Mitsuki thinks lasted for six months, but really there wasn’t even a third date. He’s out for drinks with the guys after work when Mina shoves her phone in his face, drunkenly squealing about how she didn’t realise he was trying to date people right now. And Bakugou didn’t realise himself— grabbing the phone from her as he assessed the profile. Thinking it was just another scam account trying to con lonely, desperate women out of their money, but he notices it. Pictures uploaded to the profile that only his mother has access to, key words that she’s used on many occasions to describe him.

That old hag. He groans, passing the phone back to Mina as he steps out of the bar to call his mother. Hearing the disappointment in her tone when he says he’s not interested. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact she made the profile, telling him there’s hundreds of women replying to his page. That he can have his pick of any of them if he wants to— but it just doesn’t feel right?

Until there’s you.

And there’s almost something about you that makes Mitsuki not try, because however much she loves and adores her son you’re almost too good for him? You exude happiness, positivity and love. And Bakugou is well, Bakugou.

And somehow you get together and you just work? Like there’s some sort of gravitational pull navigating you into each others orbit. And everything is just easy.

It’s not like expensive dinners, formalities and pretense. It’s comfortable, safe, warm. When Bakugou finds his place with you, he wonders how he ever spent so many years alone. Now he can’t ever imagine life without you, and Mitsuki is shocked when he appears at the door with you for the first time. Because for the first time, her son looks genuinely happy.

The most positive thing about it is now she no longer has to try and play matchmaker for Bakugou, the hard work is finally over. And now she has far more things she can annoy him with instead— like grandchildren and marriage.

And although she may hate to admit it, she’s happy that her son could pick a better match for himself than she ever could. No matter how much she insists that if she’d met you first she would’ve immediately set you two up on a date.

Bakugou finally found his own happiness in you.

But just because she no longer has to play matchmaker, doesn’t mean she won’t try to organise your wedding, your first home, your first child. And you better be prepared for her slightly unorthodox methods for that too— as she buys you pretty lingerie for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines—

“You can’t buy my wife lingerie for valentines, you old hag!”

“Maybe if you’d marry her she’d actually be your wife, you little brat. You should be grateful I’m trying to help.”

And oysters being the main course when she invites you over for dinner—

“They’re a natural aphrodisiac, you know”

“You can’t talk about sex so openly when we’re eating, you old hag. Jesus—”

Most family dinners include Masaru offering you a large glass of wine in the kitchen as you watch your spouses argue together.

But deep down Bakugou is just grateful that you stick around even though Mitsuki is almost a third wheel in your relationship. But you make the perfect team, and together you can handle anything— even his mother.