#lots and lots to do. i finally found my glasses again so maybe i will get a few less headaches now!!

[obvithe-bestsoph]

when it hits, i'll be there.

masterlist requests word count: 1.6k

a/n: i'm really sorry everyone! i know i said i was going to post yesterday but I got injured pretty badly at my game and I'm out for the next few weeks so maybe more fics for you all lol. yeah, sorry again, I was just in a lot of pain and found it hard to get motivation for writing. anyway, enjoy! genre: angst to comfort warnings: social anxiety, panic attacks.

summary: you don’t mean to fall apart at his celebration, but when you do, it’s pedri who finds you - quietly, gently, like he’s always does.

You knew it was a mistake the moment the elevator doors opened. 

The lounge is packed. People laughing, clinking glasses. Cameras flashing. The hum of too many voices buzzing beneath the surface like static in your brain. You should’ve said no. Or stayed in the car. Or pretended you were sick. Or just said, “I’ll meet you later.”

But Pedri looked so happy. So excited to bring you this small post-match celebration for the Copa del Rey, a victory dinner for the team, nothing too huge, just the players, their partners, their families, and some staff.

Just enough people to make your hands go sweaty. 

You’ve never liked crowds. And lately, with general life stress and not much good sleep, your tolerance is even lower. You told yourself it would be. You’d stick close to him. Smile when necessary. One hour, maybe two. Then back to the hotel room. 

But within minutes, he’s swept into a conversation with Ferran, who’s waving over more teammates from across the room. Someone else offers you a drink. 

You take it. 

Not because you want it, or are thirsty, but because it gives you something to hold. Something to focus on. 

And when you finally catch Pedri’s eyes from across the room, you give him a small smile - a lie you’ve mastered. He sends one right back, warm and soft and proud. He mouths, “¿Estás bien (are you okay)?” 

You nod.

Lie number two. 

The room gets louder.

Someone near you spills their drink. Another person brushes against your back too close, too casually. The ceiling lights feel like interrogation beams. Your breath begins to shorten before you even notice. You can’t hear what the woman next to you is saying. You laugh anyway. 

Fake. Distant. 

You find a wall. Lean against it.

You scan for Pedri. He’s in conversation still, nodding, charming, his eyes crinkling as he laughs. You’re glad he’s happy. You don’t want to ruin that. 

But your heart is racing now, fast. Too fast. 

You try grounding yourself. Five things you can see. Four things you can touch.

Your palms sting.

Your chest tightens. 

Three things you can hear.

One - someone calling Pedri’s name.

Two - a phone camera clicking. 

Three - your own breath, stuttering and shallow. 

You can’t do this. 

You turn quickly, heading for the bathroom. You keep your face neutral. You don’t want anyone to stop you. If they try, you’ll cry. You know it. 

The hallway is better. Calmer. 

You walk through the restroom door, it’s quiet. That’s all you need.

You slip into the last stall, lock the door, and sit on the floor, back against the cubicle wall, curling into yourself, your hands trembling. Your chest is tightening, breath is coming too fast. Your knees press to your chest. You try to stay quiet. 

You can’t.

Your whole body feels like it isn’t listening to your brain, like it’s betraying you. Your breathing stutters. A whimper escapes. Your hands are icy cold, and your vision feels like it’s going dark at the edges. You clench your jaw, press your fists into the tops of your thighs. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The sound of the bathroom door opening barely registers in your mind. 

You freeze.

Footsteps, measured and steady, moving softly across the bathroom tile. 

You hold your breath, heart pounding. Please don’t see me. Please don’t hear this. Please don’t know. 

There’s a pause just outside your stall. Then, the sound of someone shifting. Not leaving. Just… listening. 

It’s too late when you realise what gave you away.

Your shoes. The ones Pedri picked out and gifted you for your birthday. The same ones Rosy, his mamá, has complimented before the match. 

You’re not sure how long she will stand there. 

You know it’s her. She knows it’s you. Still, neither of you say anything. 

But then the footsteps move again and the bathroom door opens once more.

And closes. 

She’s gone. 

You’re trying to breathe, trying not to make noise, but your chest convulses, your ribs hurt, your fingers are numb and trembling. 

It’s not the first time.

But it’s been a while.

You feel small and ashamed. Embarrassed. You’d told Pedri things were fine. That you could handle it. And now you’re shaking on a random hotel bathroom floor like a scared little kid.

You try the counting thing again. Sometimes it helps. 

Five things. Five-

You’re still shaking, head spinning, world tilting, when the door opens again. 

Then, a voice you could recognise from anywhere. 

“¿Mi alma?”

Pedri. 

Your breath catches in your throat. 

“Can you open the door for me?” 

You feel like you can’t move in. Frozen in place. Frozen in time. But somehow, you find your hands shakily twisting the lock on the cubicle door. You barely get it open before just takes you in - crumpled on the floor, eyes wet, lips pale and trembling, your hands white-knuckled against your legs.

“Oh, Y/N…”

You turn your face, trying to hide. 

“Please go,” you choke out. “I’m okay… I just- I just need a second.”

He turns your face back to look at him. “No seas tonta (don’t be silly). You’re not ‘okay’ at all.”

You gently brush his hands off your cheeks. “You have people out there. Teammates and friends and- and- and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

He looks at you like you’ve just stabbed him. 

“Embarrass me?” 

You feel his arms gently wrap around your back. He doesn’t try and pull you to your feet or move you at all. He just holds you there, grounded. Present. Calming. A hand running up and down your spine. 

“Amor, mírame (love, look at me).”

You do, slowly. 

“I would rather walk out of every press event, every match, every conversation in my life than ever see you suffer alone like this again. “No tienes que ocultármelo (you don’t have to hide this from me). No debería ser algo de lo que avergonzarte (it shouldn’t be something you’re ashamed of). Y a mí, desde luego, no me avergüenza (and i’m certainly not embarrassed of it).”

You hiccup softly, tears burning down your cheek. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

“My night is only good if you’re okay too.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, not caring if your smudged makeup gets on his shirt. “You’re not some burden to me, ¿lo sabes (you know)?”

You start crying again - this time, not from panic. Just overwhelmed. He holds you through it all. 

At some point, he sits down properly and pulls you sideways into his lap, your cheek pressed against his firm chest, his heartbeat right next to your ear. Strong and steady. 

Beating for you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, once the storm in your brain quiets. “It just… it hit so fast. I didn’t see it coming.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise for how you react. That’s not really your fault.”

You shake your head weakly. “You’re not understanding. I’ve been doing better lately. I didn’t want you to think that I was getting bad again.”

Pedri tilts your chin so you have to look at him. 

“Going through something hard isn’t ‘getting bag again’. It’s being human. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words feel soothing. 

Safe. Genuine. 

“Te amo,” you whisper, like it’s a secret.

“Te amo,” he whispers back, like it’s a promise. 

Minutes later, when your breath has steadied and the walls don’t feel so much like they’re closing in, he helps you to your fet. You feel shaky, but stronger with him beside you. 

“Do you want to leave?” he asks softly. 

You mod. 

He slips his hoodie over your head and walks the two of you out of the bathroom without a second thought. Doesn’t say goodbye to anyone. Doesn’t check over his shoulder to see if anyone is filming. 

Only keeps his arm snug around your waist.

The walk through the hotel is quiet. Peaceful.

His fingers never leave yours. 

When you reach the room, he helps you change into soft clothes, tucks a blanket around you, and brings you a drink. He doesn’t hover, helicopter or smother. He just stays close, offering quiet comfort the way only someone who really knows you can. 

At one point, you whisper, “Do you still want me to come to things like that? After today?”

Pedri looks genuinely confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t want to make you worry.”

“I’d rather be worried than smile without you.”

Your throat tightens again. 

“And, inevitably, when we do something like that again,” he adds, “We’ll have a aplan. We don’t even have to stay the whole time. We’ll make signals. We can go together, leave together. You never need to be stuck like that again.”

You lean into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His arms tighten around you. 

“I’m proud of you, you know?” he says quietly.

“For what?” “For being honest. For trying. For getting through it.”

You let the silence stretch for a while, but it’s warm now. Comfortable. 

Then you whisper something you hadn’t let yourself believe before;

“Thank you for not making me feel broken.”

He shakes his head against your hair. “You’re not broken. You’re the strongest person that I know.”

And he kisses you, it’s not rushed, dramatic or particularly passionate. Just slow. Certain. 

You fall asleep in his arms that night - not because you’ve forgotten how panicked and overwhelmed you felt, but because, for once, it doesn’t own you.

Because someone saw you at your worst… and stayed. 

And somehow, with him there, it starts making the world feel okay again.

[maevawrites]

'and they were neighbors' . . . jack abbott - mini series

✦ disclaimers/wanrings: drabble, fluff, cuteness, the use of y/n, y/n/n, & y/l/n, abbott elementary-style f!teacher x jack abbott (the pitt), written with a black reader in mind but anyone is welcome to read, reader is an art teacher, let’s just pretend abbott elementary and the pitt are in the same area for the sake of this, possible grammar and spelling mistakes...

✦ summary: for six months, the apartment next to jack's has been empty. then when summer rolls around, someone finally moves in—you. with your shy eyes and open heart, jack can't help but gravitate towards you.

✦ word count: 400

pt.1 | pt.2

imagine... jack abbott with an art teacher who will be working at abbott elementary the upcoming fall.

it had been six months, and the apartment next to his was still empty. he wasn't complaining though, the old tenant happened to be an aspiring saxophonist who, frankly, wasn't very good. jack had spent far too many mornings unwillingly listening to saxophone practices while trying to catch up on sleep before he was off to work that same night.

so when the guy came knocking on his door one day with a cardboard box in hand and explaining how he found a "gig" in louisiana and wanted to say his farewells, jack couldn't have been more than happier to say goodbye and get some peace and quiet back.

it had been a nice couple of silent months.

but then, summer came.

it was already hot when jack was getting home one early morning from shift. the sun was beaming and the air almost felt sticky from the summer heat. as he trudged his way back to his apartment floor with heavy shoulders, he was more than surprised to see an assortment of boxes stacked near the empty apartment by his own, the door opened ajar.

and then he saw you.

you wore a pair of overalls splattered with dried paint, a white tank peeking from underneath. your hair was up in a puff, edges slightly curling up from the heat and effort of moving things around. a pair of oversized clear glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you struggled to drag in a potted plant that had no business being brought indoors into your now apartment.

jack blinked.

then blinked again.

you looked like... a burst of color. a walking, breathing palette of warmth.

he stood for a second longer than he meant to, before slowly making his way over to you, dropping his backpack by his door.

"need a hand?" he finally asked, voice gruff and filled with exhaustion.

you looked up, startled. "oh—hi! uhm.. yes? if you don't mind?"

he did. he really did. all jack wanted to do on his way home was take a long shower and try to sleep. his body was sore, foot aching from his very long 12 hour shift.

but it was you.

something about you radiated everything he wasn't, and maybe—everything he needed.

so he stayed.

because it wouldn't hurt to help out his new neighbor... right?

✦ maeva’s thoughts: LMFAO hey y'all. it's been a minute but yk, life happens. i actually had a robby oneshot in the works but scrapped it cus i just didn't like how it was turning out (might post it in the future...) and decided to make this mini series instead. i was thinking... abbott elementary x the pitt would acc go so hard so i haddd to do it.

again i wanted to thank you guys sm for interacting w my blog whether that was following me or just liking one of my posts. it’s means a lot to me!

also i made these dividers myself so ntmmm if they look kinda bad… 😅

hope y'all enjoyed.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | meeting the family

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : your formula one boyfriend meeting your seemingly "normal" family

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2471

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im still ctfu at the fact they had carlos at fucking home depot 😭 bro was regretting his life choices in that moment deadass...

ʚ・max verstappen

you warned max. repeatedly.

“my family’s loud,” you said. “they ask personal questions. they hug. a lot.”

and max, ever the picture of calm, just nodded and said, “it’s fine. i’m fine.”

he was not fine.

not when your aunt opened the door mid-sentence about how “finally, this one brought home someone decent-looking.”

not when your cousin asked him five minutes in, “so how much do you really make?” followed by, “can i sit in the car?”

and definitely not when your grandmother cornered him in the kitchen and asked, “do you believe in marriage?”

you found him on the patio, clutching a glass of water like it was holding him together. he looked at you with wide, desperate eyes.

“are they always like this?” he whispered.

you fought a grin. “it’s not personal. that’s just how they love.”

“i think your uncle’s trying to set me up with your mom.”

you laughed and reached for his hand. “you’re doing great.”

“your dad just asked me if i’m ‘emotionally stable.’ i think i failed that one.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re fine. my dad asks everyone that.”

he sighed, finally relaxing a little. “okay. okay. i just… i didn’t expect the aunties to ask when we’re having kids before i even got through dessert.”

“oh, they will be asking that until the end of time,” you said with a smile. “you’ll get used to it.”

he looked at you, really looked at you, then nodded. “worth it,” he muttered, pulling you closer. “barely survived, but… worth it.”

you rested your head on his shoulder. “you sure?”

“yeah.” he smirked. “just maybe don’t leave me alone with your grandma again. she’s terrifying.”

“she’s 4’11”.”

“and somehow scarier than my father.”

you laughed into his neck. he pressed a soft kiss to your hair and added, “next time i’m bringing dutch snacks. bribe tactic.”

smart man.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis showed up to your parents’ house holding a neatly wrapped container of homemade banana bread and the kind of bouquet that made every woman in the room pause. he greeted your mom with a warm “hi, ma’am,” and your dad with a firm handshake and a perfectly timed “sir, it’s great to finally meet you.”

basically? he was ready.

and yet… you could still tell he was a little nervous.

you caught him straightening his sleeves and glancing your way when your dad started asking him about “career plans” and “future intentions.”

“so… do you ever plan to slow down?” your dad asked over dinner, raising his eyebrow slightly.

lewis smiled, totally composed on the surface. “i think when you find something that makes the fast pace worth it… slowing down becomes part of the dream.”

your dad paused. your mom swooned. you kicked lewis under the table.

later, you found him in the kitchen helping your mom do dishes — sleeves rolled up, casually chatting about travel and vegan recipes while drying plates like he lived there.

you leaned on the counter beside him, smirking. “so… you good?”

he glanced at you, voice low. “your dad’s got that i’ll bury you in the backyard vibe.”

you laughed. “he does.”

“he asked if i knew how to fix a leaky sink.”

“you don’t.”

“i said yes.”

you blinked. “you lied to my dad?”

he grinned. “no. i’ll youtube it later. if he tests me, i’m passing.”

you stared at him, speechless.

he leaned in and kissed your cheek. “i told you — i came prepared.”

that night, when you finally got a moment alone, he wrapped his arms around you and whispered, “they’re lovely. you’re lovely. i’d do it again.”

you looked up at him. “even the interrogation?”

he smirked. “especially that part. made me realize just how serious i am about you.”

you kissed him slowly, smiling against his lips. “my mom’s already planning a second dinner. just so you know.”

“cool,” he whispered. “i’ll bring more banana bread.”

ʚ・george russell

george showed up early. like… twenty minutes early. dressed in a collared shirt that made your aunt whisper “he’s posh” and holding a bottle of wine that cost way more than necessary.

“be cool,” you whispered as you opened the door.

“i am cool,” he said through a smile that was clearly three seconds from cracking.

inside, it began.

your dad sized him up with a handshake that lingered just long enough to be a test. george passed with a polite smile and a crisp “sir.” your mom offered tea and he accepted it with a “thank you, ma’am” like he’d been trained by royalty.

you watched him like a hawk as dinner started. he complimented the food (twice). asked your grandmother about her garden. said things like “actually, i read something about that recently” to your uncle’s conspiracy theories.

but you could feel the tension in his shoulders every time someone said “so tell us about formula 1.”

by the time dessert hit the table, he leaned over to you and whispered, “i don’t think i’ve blinked since we arrived.”

you giggled, squeezing his knee. “you’re doing amazing.”

he gave you a dry look. “your grandfather just asked if i know how to use a shovel. what does that mean?”

“it means he likes you.”

george blinked. “i’m terrified.”

after dinner, your dad pulled him aside. you watched from the kitchen, heart thumping, as they stood on the back porch talking. george nodded. smiled. laughed once — nervously. you bit into your lip.

ten minutes later, he walked back in and said casually, “your dad invited me golfing next weekend.”

your jaw dropped. “he what?”

george looked proud, smug even. “told you i was cool.”

you snorted, pulling him into a hug. “you over-prepared for this, didn’t you?”

“i rehearsed answers on the plane.”

you laughed. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re worth it,” he said simply, kissing your temple.

that night, when your mom whispered, “we really like him,” you just grinned and said, “yeah. me too.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was already charming before he even said a word — all polite smiles and “thank you for having me” as he handed your mom flowers and shook your dad’s hand with that practiced ease. but the moment he opened his mouth with a soft, “hola, mucho gusto,” the entire room changed.

your aunt leaned across the table. “did he just say ‘moo-cho goost-oh’? that’s beautiful.”

you blinked. “he said ‘nice to meet you.’”

“still.”

carlos shot you a look that said, what’s happening, and you just gave him a helpless smile.

the questions started flowing over dinner — about spain, about racing, about how you met. carlos answered each one with that smooth, careful english he used in interviews, his accent thick enough to make your cousins nudge each other every time he said something as basic as “pasta.”

but then your mom asked, sweet and innocent, “can you say something to us in spanish?”

carlos paused. “like… what?”

“anything!” your aunt chirped. “it just sounds so… passionate!”

you nearly choked on your water. carlos blinked once, then raised an eyebrow and said, voice low and syrupy, “esta cena está deliciosa. gracias por prepararla.”

your aunt gasped.

your mom blushed.

your uncle muttered, “i gotta learn a new language.”

carlos sat there, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him.

later, when you pulled him aside in the kitchen while your family was still swooning, he leaned into your ear and whispered, “they think i’m some kind of telenovela star.”

you snorted, trying not to laugh. “that’s what you get for having a sexy voice.”

“i said dinner was good,” he hissed.

“and you could’ve said it in english.”

“they asked!”

you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “welcome to my family.”

he sighed, but smiled, hands resting on your hips. “i like them.”

“they love you.”

he grinned. “yeah, well… tell your aunt i’m taken.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles fidgeted the entire car ride there. fixing the sleeve of his sweater. checking if the wine bottle was still wrapped right. asking if he should’ve shaved more closely even though he looked perfect.

you reached across the console and squeezed his hand. “you’re gonna be fine.”

“i just want them to like me,” he said softly, glancing over at you with those too-honest eyes. “not as ‘charles leclerc,’ just… as me.”

“they will,” you said. “because you’re exactly what i hoped they’d see me with.”

the second you walked in, your family swarmed, not in a bad way, but in that loving, slightly overwhelming way that made charles laugh nervously and tighten his grip on your hand.

he greeted everyone politely, warmly, his accent curling gently around every word. when your dad reached for a handshake, charles brought a second hand up to cup it, respectful. present. real.

dinner started slow. questions flew... racing, monaco, “is ferrari really like the movies?” and charles answered all of them humbly, brushing past the fame and turning everything into a story about his teammates, his brothers, or you.

“you must be under a lot of pressure all the time,” your mom said gently, passing him a serving spoon.

he nodded, smile soft. “sometimes, yes. but being around her makes it quieter.”

you kicked him lightly under the table. he winked at you.

after dinner, you found him in the living room — sitting beside your dad, deep in conversation. they weren’t talking racing. they were talking about piano.

“i used to play, too,” your dad said. “nothing like you, of course.”

“i bet you were good,” charles said. “do you still play?”

your dad smiled. “not in a long time.”

charles nodded, thoughtful. “you should. music… it’s like breathing when the rest is too loud.”

you watched your dad nod, quieter now, eyes warmer.

later, walking to the car, charles exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all evening. “so?”

“they love you,” you said.

he blinked. “really?”

you wrapped your arm around his. “really.”

he let out a soft laugh, head tilted slightly as he looked down at you.

“i’m glad. because i think about doing this a lot. showing up. meeting the people that made you… you.”

and he said it so simply, so sincerely, that you stopped in your tracks and kissed him right there.

just him. not charles leclerc, the driver.

just your charles.

ʚ・lando norris

“stop adjusting your hoodie. you look fine.”

“i’m not adjusting it. i’m…should i have worn this?”

you smirked as lando ran a hand through his hair for the fifth time in the last two minutes. “you race literal cars for a living and this is what’s got you sweating?”

he shot you a look. “i can’t crash in front of your mum, can i?”

you rang the doorbell and he visibly tensed. “babe, i swear to god, if your dad pulls out the dad-jokes or the shovel metaphors…”

you just grinned. “too late.”

he did surprisingly well at first, polite hellos, a slightly-too-firm handshake with your dad, handing your mom flowers with an “i googled what mums like, is this okay?” that made her instantly adore him.

then your little cousin asked, “are you famous?” and everything started unraveling.

lando laughed nervously. “uh. no. i mean. some people think so. but i’m just lando. not that cool.”

“is he always like this?” your cousin whispered not-so-quietly, and lando turned bright red.

you pulled him into the kitchen under the pretense of “helping with drinks.”

“they’re judging me,” he hissed.

“they’re watching you,” you corrected. “it’s different.”

“i made a joke about tires and your uncle asked if i think i’m top gear. i don’t even know what i meant.”

you giggled, handing him a tray of cups. “just be yourself.”

“okay, but myself just accidentally called your granddad boss man.”

you stared. “you what.”

“he looked powerful!”

he ended up winning everyone over, slowly but surely, making the kids laugh with stories from karting, helping your mom carry in dessert while balancing a tiny dog in one arm, and nodding along with whatever your dad was saying even though you knew he didn’t understand half of it.

later, as you sat together on the couch, your cousin whispered to you again, “he’s kinda weird.”

you smiled, watching lando lean his head on your shoulder, eyes already drooping. “yeah,” you said. “he really is.”

then: “but he’s our weird.”

lando blinked up at you, dazed. “was that good or bad?”

you kissed his forehead. “you passed. barely.”

he grinned. “i’ll take it.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar was calm the entire way to your parents’ house. calm like it was a race day morning. smooth posture, clean shirt, holding a bottle of wine like he rehearsed it.

“you good?” you asked.

“yeah,” he said. “just… mentally preparing for polite interrogation.”

the door opened before you could answer and your mom greeted him like she’d already decided to adopt him.

oscar offered the wine with a soft smile. “thank you for having me. it’s really nice to meet you.”

polite. perfect. predictable.

for the first thirty minutes, he was quiet and courteous. said all the right things. yes sir. no ma’am. thank you. that’s lovely. you watched your family size him up like he was made of glass.

then your uncle tried to make a dad joke.

and oscar just… blinked. “i think i lost brain cells hearing that.”

the whole table froze.

oscar took a bite of salad like he hadn’t just murdered a grown man’s punchline in cold blood.

your dad laughed first. then everyone followed.

you stared at him.

oscar glanced at you and said under his breath, “you warned me about questions. you didn’t warn me about that.”

from then on, it was like your family unlocked a new version of him. still calm, still respectful, but sharper now. teasing replies. dry sarcasm. perfectly timed reactions. he was roasting your cousin gently and complimenting your grandma’s cooking in the same sentence.

later, as dessert was being passed around, your mom leaned toward you and whispered, “he’s quiet, but he’s funny. like sneaky funny.”

you just smiled. “he does that.”

after dinner, your dad pulled him aside to talk. you watched from the kitchen as they stood on the porch, oscar nodding thoughtfully while your dad talked animatedly about something you could not make out.

when he came back in, you raised an eyebrow. “what did he say?”

oscar smirked. “he said if i ever mess up, you know where he keeps the shovel.”

your eyes widened. “you took that well.”

“i told him i know how to drive fast and disappear.”

you blinked.

he shrugged, then leaned in close. “relax. i smiled when i said it.”

and you knew, then and there, that your dad was probably already planning to invite him back.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[bettsfic]

things i've learned about cooking after finally getting the hang of it after 20 years of trying and also finally organizing my kitchen:

note that i mostly cook for myself so a lot of this won't apply to people who have to cook for their whole family

invest in good storage solutions. buy the pop top pasta holder, the fancy glass tupperware, the very pretty candy jar. if you like looking at it and it's something you'll use for years, maybe the rest of your life, it is worth the money

that said, depending on your budget, making a list of all of said storage solutions (and utensils, tools, appliances, etc.) and buying one a month is a good way to spread it out. again, if it lasts a lifetime and you'll use it, it's worth it

cook food you love. this is such a simple thing and for some people probably obvious, but as someone who is not at all a picky eater, for years i found myself only cooking things that were tasty but not to *my* tastes, just because the fancy recipe i found told me it was good

another note about cooking to your own tastes: if you're just starting out cooking for yourself, don't bother thinking about what's healthy. focus on making meals that you want to shovel into your face. healthy can happen once cooking gets easier. the idea is that you're learning to love food you make *more* than food that can be delivered

THINK SMALL. i, a midwesterner, seem to be genetically predisposed to buying the most giant of all things, because you can use big stuff for small things but not the other way around. for example, if you're only cooking for yourself or one other person, you can buy one of those little half baking sheets instead of a full one. a leeettle skillet for your one grilled cheese instead of hauling out the one that can fit four. the bigger one is heavy and annoying to clean, and even though that might not seem like a big deal, when you're weighing your options, these kinds of hurdles start to add up. again, if it will encourage you to cook, it is worth investing in

speaking of hurdles, make everything as easy as possible. i am a perfectionist. i like doing things the Right Way. so when a chef says, "don't use cooking wine, use real wine" when i don't buy alcohol, and "the key to good asparagus is only buying it in season" when i don't even know what that season is or where to buy asparagus locally, it just means i won't try that recipe even if i was excited to, because i've been taught (get ready for it) it's not worth doing unless you do it right. but fuck that. you're not aiming for the best, you're aiming for food you're excited to eat

when i say "as easy as possible" i mean so easy may that it might even become fun. buy jarred garlic, an electric can opener, pre-cut vegetables. pots and pans you think are cute. mats for your feet. the prettiest apron you've ever seen. take note of anything that pings your brain as "hard" even if your natural inclination is to dismiss it because *other* people don't find it hard. write it down. figure out a way to make it easier or better

cooking is an inherently sensory experience. if you have sensory issues, your goal is to accommodate yourself to the highest possible degree. if you avoid washing your hands because you hate the smell of your soap, throw it out (or give it away) and go on a journey to find soap that's more pleasing to you

if you research cooking, especially on youtube, you'll find a lot of youtubers who try to encourage you to make excess so you can freeze it, meal prep so you don't have to worry about cooking throughout the week, etc. these are great tips but again: none of that stuff is worth thinking about until cooking becomes easier. just think about one meal at a time

if you hate leftovers, make sure you're only cooking single-serving easy meals or slightly more difficult double-serving meals. don't bother with 4 servings of something you might hate. for the next-day serving, it'll probably taste better if you heat it up in the microwave on 70% or 50% power. this has saved like a hundred otherwise disgusting meals for me

i know those weekly meal box subscriptions are basically a scam and crazy expensive, but i bought 1-2 a month for a year with the same service and i started to understand the techniques they used above and beyond the recipes they were providing. it's really eye-opening to realize one of your favorite meals is really only 6 ingredients and you know *how* to put them together without reading any instructions

honestly the meal box was not more expensive for me than my food budget. everyone says buying grocery food is way cheaper, but if you're buying 2lbs of rice just to cook 2 cups and then you're never going to cook rice anymore, that's still the cost of that whole bag of rice. with a meal box, they only give you exactly what you need for the recipe. combined with going out to eat and getting delivery, 2 boxes a month ended up being about the same price

if you're the kind of person who needs to understand the theory behind basically everything in order to anchor the skills it requires, i highly recommend the book Ruhlman's Twenty. it goes through the science of cooking like heating food and why salt makes things taste good

once you get into a groove and you have a good idea of your favorite ingredients, pick 40 to always have on hand so that you're not buying for individual recipes and you can also organize your kitchen more easily. with 40 base ingredients you know that unless there's a special occasion, you'll basically only have these items to find a place for

if you work from home, break dinner into prep time and cook time. if you prep dinner when you go eat lunch, it's very hard to say "i just don't feel like cooking" when it comes to dinner time, because 1) all your food is out and ready to go, and 2) you're already done with half the work

progress and improvement may be slow. be patient with yourself. cooking is a life-long commitment and so you're not in any rush. be honest to yourself about both your ambitions and limitations, and set up your kitchen and shopping list to suit your needs

food is necessary to live. if you have to choose only one aspect of your life to focus on improving, i recommend cooking. even though we live in a convenience economy and can get basically anything delivered, i find i'm so much happier now. i have more energy. i sleep better. cooking food you love is one of the best gifts you can give yourself

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

We were never meant to break, but we did anyway (and still found our way back)

5000 words – the long story – Alexia Putellas x Reader – This may be heartbreaking but I promise you it'll be okay - Angst, Smut and Fluff - Mentions of grief and stillbirth. Please read with care.

I'm a little nervous to upload this. Had it on my computer for a while. Took a lot of patience and hours. Just needed to write a good ending and my brain was finally able to do so. Didn't have more words in me. This is it. I hope it's alright.

Alexia looked different under the soft gold of Barcelona’s morning light.

Like time had touched her gently, letting her age but not harden. You hadn’t seen her in nine months. Not since the night everything broke like thin glass between you.

She was the first to speak in the newly opened coffee shop, her voice quieter than you remembered. ‘’You cut your hair.’’

You almost smiled. Almost. ‘’You didn’t.’’

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable, just loaded. Like both of you waiting for the offer to reach back in time and pull something familiar out of the silence.

You breathed to the ache in your chest. ‘’I didn’t think I wanted to see you again.’’

Alexia flinched. Just barely, but you saw it. You always saw it.

She nodded, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. ‘’That’s fair.’’

There wasn’t anger in her voice. Just acceptance. Like she’d already had this conversation a hundred times in her head and knew she didn’t get to rewrite the ending. Not this time.

You let out a soft laugh, dry and hollow. ‘’How convenient that we both moved to a new place and still ended up in the same damn coffee shop.’’

She looked up at you again, lips twitching like she wasn’t sure if she was able to smile at that. ‘’I guess Barcelona’s not as big as we thought.’’

You shrugged, crossing your arms. Not out of defiance, just to hold something in place. Just to ache the anxiety running through your veins. ‘’Or maybe the universe has a messed up sense of humor.’’

Alexia didn’t disagree. She never did when you were right, even when it stung.

You step up when the barista calls your name, the scrape of the cup against the counter louder than it should be in your ears.

Alexia doesn’t move. She just watches you. Like she’s scared any sudden motion will break whatever fragile thread’s holding this moment together.

You grab the cup. It’s warm. Steadying. You don’t look at her yet, not really. Just past her shoulder, toward the window and the way the light filters in like it doesn’t know how tired you are of mourning.

‘’I should go,’’ you say softly. Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Alexia swallows. ‘’Yeah. Of course.’’

But still, you don’t move.

Not right away.

You stand there, heart thudding, breath tight in your chest. You know she’s still looking at you, and that’s somehow worse than if she’d already turned away. It’s been nearly a year, and she still makes you feel like your ribs can’t quite contain everything that lives beneath them.

You force a breath and turn, eyes blurring just enough that you have to blink fast before you speak.

‘’It’s almost been a year,’’ you murmur. ‘’And I’m still sorry… that my body betrayed us like that.’’

You don’t wait for a response. You just walk out, because if you don’t, you’ll shatter. Again.

Behind you, Alexia doesn’t follow.

Not yet.

Alexia didn’t realize she was still holding her breath until the door shut behind you.

The clink of the bell above it barely registered. What stayed, what pressed like a stone beneath her sternum, was your voice. Quiet. Raw. That last line ringing through her like a wound that never properly healed.

‘’I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that.’’

She stood there, in the middle of the coffee shop, like some ghost of herself. And then she left. Left before she started crying in public again. Like last spring. Like the night she said something so cruel, so stupid, that she watched you close yourself off in real time.

By the time she reached her mother’s apartment, her fingers were shaking again. And she felt nauseous.

Not from the coffee. Not from the early morning chill or the sprint upstairs. From everything.

From the look on your face when you saw her. From the sound of your voice when you said you still were sorry. From the fact that after all these moments, you still thought it was your fault. And part of her had let you. It’s almost been a year. And I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that.

The sentence repeated in her head over and over again, each time bringing a fresh wave of sickness. She barely made it up the stairs before she had to brace herself against the wall outside her mother’s door, swallowing back bile and shame.

This had started happening more often since that night. Since the silence became the only thing between you.

She knocked with the back of her hand. Weakly.

The door opened almost instantly. Eli must’ve already known.

‘’Alexia,’’ her mother said softly, no questions, no scolding. Just recognition.

Alexia didn’t respond. Just shook her head once, lips pressed tight, and bolted toward the bathroom.

She didn’t make it all the way. She sank to her knees in the hallway, one arm braced against the wall, the other gripping her stomach like she could somehow hold it all in. But she couldn’t.

Eli was beside her in seconds, crouching down, pulling her hair back gently and resting a steading hand on her back.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t loud. But it was emptying. The kind of sickness that came from a place no medicine could fix.

After a while when her body had given up and she was just left there, hollow and trembling, Eli passed her a glass of water and a damp cloth for her face. She didn’t speak, didn’t rush. She just sat with her daughter in that quiet, aching space where love didn’t ask for explanations.

After a long pause, Alexia finally found her voice again. Raw and thick with guilt.

‘’She was at the new coffee shop,’’ she said quietly, eyes unfocused, staring at the ground. ‘’She was right there… and I couldn’t…’’ Her voice broke, and she pressed her palm against her eyes to stop the tears from coming. ‘’I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t make it right.’’

Eli didn’t respond immediately. She just helped Alexia sit up, one hand steadying her shoulder as she guided her to the couch. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like she knew how fragile Alexia was in this moment.

‘’Come on,’’ Eli whispered, her voice soothing. ‘’Let’s get you comfortable.’’

Eli adjusted the pillows behind Alexia, making sure she was settled just right, before moving across the room. The soft click of the lighter echoed in the quiet room as Eli lit the small candle. It’s warm glow casting shadows on the walls, and turned the flickering light toward the table. The light danced on the surface, drawing Alexia’s attention to the framed ultrasound photo resting beside it.

For a long moment, Alexia didn’t move. She just stared at the photo, eyes blurred with unshed tears. The silence in the room pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

She’d tried so hard to bury that part of herself. The part that carried the weight of what they’d lost. She’d thrown herself into her games, into the chaos of her professional life, hoping it would silence the emptiness. But it didn’t.

Eli came back to her side, her presence steady and solid. She didn’t push Alexia to speak. She simply sat down beside her, the silence between them comfortable in a way that only years of shared grief could create.

Finally, Alexia broke the silence. Her voice low, barely a whisper. ‘’I can’t stop thinking about what I said. About how I let her walk away.’’ She let out a shaky breath, rubbing her hand over her face. ‘’And now… now I think she blames herself for everything. I didn’t fix it, mamá. I made it worse.’’

Eli’s arm found its way around Alexia’s shoulders, a steady comforting weight. ‘’You were both lost, Alexia. You were both hurting. You never got a chance to heal together.’’

Alexia leaning into her mother’s warmth. ‘’I just wanted to fix it so badly. But I pushed her away instead. And now…’’ She paused, her breath catching in her throat. ‘’I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.’’

Eli kissed the top of her head gently. ‘’It’s not about forgiveness, querida. It’s about healing. And that can’t happen until you’re both ready.’’

Alexia picked up the ultrasound photo, her fingers tracing the edges softly as if it might slip away if she touched it too hard. She felt the ache of the past settling deep in her chest again. The photo was a reminder of what she lost. Not just a child, but everything that came with it: the plans, the future she’d imagined with you.

With a deep quiet breath, Alexia set the photo down again. The weight of the moment too much to hold for long. ‘’I just want her back,’’ she whispered, her voice cracking, her eyes welling with tears.

Eli didn’t try to stop the tears. She simply held her, quiet and steady, knowing that sometimes the only thing you could do was be there. The pain wouldn’t go away. It never really did, but being here with her mother in this safe space gave Alexia a fragile thread of hope.

Back across the city the quiet followed you home like a shadow.

Your apartment was small, modest, lived-in. The kind of place where the furniture didn’t match and the walls were soft with memories. You dropped your bag near the door and toed off your shoes. The silence pressing in as if it had something to say.

Baya greeted you at the threshold, slow and curious. Her tail curling against your ankle like she knew something in you had cracked open again. You bent down, pressing your face to her fur, eyes still hot from the tears you’d barely kept in back at the coffee shop.

‘’Hey, girl,’’ you whispered against her fur. ‘’I saw her.’’

“I actually saw her.”

Baya only blinked, but it felt like enough.

You stood again and drifted toward the kitchen counter, placing the now-cold coffee cup down like it weighed a thousand pounds. Your throat still burned from everything you hadn’t said. From the way her eyes followed you as you walked out.

You hadn’t planned to say that last thing. The truth that had clawed at your ribs for nearly a year. It’s almost been a year. And I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that. It came out too fast. Too sharp. But it was true.

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened a window, letting the cool air hit your face. It helped, a little. Just enough.

You moved to the bookshelf, not for a book, but for the small flat box tucked between them. You didn't open it. You just held it, pressing it to your chest. Inside was the same photo. The one they printed when you weren't sure if it was still real, before everything fell apart. You hadn't looked at it in months. Couldn't bring yourself to.

Baya brushed against your legs again, and you sank to the floor slowly. Curling into yourself on the rug. Your apartment smelled like lavender and old tea. It was small. Yours. But it still felt like something was missing.

You'd Baya for almost four years now.

She wasn't planned. You'd found her through a rescue center just outside the city, all winy limbs and wide eyes. Something in you had clicked the moment you saw her. You hadn't even asked Alexia before filling out the papers. Just texted her a photo and wrote, her name's Baya. She comes home tomorrow.

Alexia had replied with: You adopted a cat? Without asking? You hate sleeping with fur in the bed.

And then a minute later: She's kind of cute though. I call the name 'Tigre' if she claws me once.

She’d rolled her eyes for days. Claimed she didn’t want a cat. Didn’t like them. Said she was a dog person. But within a week, you’d walked in on her stretched out on the couch with Baya curled on her chest like she’d always belonged there.

“She was cold,” Alexia had muttered, stroking the tiny kitten’s ears like it wasn’t the fifth time that week.

And from that point on, Baya was as much hers as she was yours.

She’d scoop her up and carry her around the apartment like a baby. Let her sleep on clean training kits. Left her little dishes of chicken when she thought you weren’t looking. Once, after a hard away game, Alexia had laid face-down on the bed for two hours. Baya curled up in the small of her back like she knew how to anchor her.

That was just… who Alexia was. Even when she was tired. Even when she said she didn’t care.

She always did.

You pulled your knees in tighter, resting your cheek against them, the ache behind your eyes dull and steady. So many pieces of your life still had her fingerprints on them. Even now.

Baya padded over and curled up at your side, purring low and warm. You reached out and stroked her back, your fingers moving slow.

“I know,” you whispered. “I miss her too.”

She'd been confused, after it all happened.

Your belly had been full one day, and then it wasn’t. Alexia had been home, and then she wasn’t. The laughter, the warmth, the weight of two people living and dreaming under one roof. Gone.

And Baya, for all her quiet intelligence and feline pride, couldn’t understand why the energy in the apartment had changed so suddenly. Why the crib box stayed unopened. Why you barely moved from the bed. Why you sobbed into her fur some nights and wouldn’t let her go.

She waited by the door for days, her tail flicking every time keys jingled in the hallway that weren’t yours. She wandered into the bedroom at night, meowed at the emptiness on the left side of the bed. She sniffed at the small pile of folded baby clothes you couldn’t bear to throw out.

She mourned with you.

She just couldn’t say it.

And you… you hadn’t had the words either. Not when Alexia said what she said that night. Not when she looked at you like it was your fault her heart broke.

So you left the apartment you once called home and came here. Smaller. Quieter. Yours. But not whole.

You turned your face into your knees, closing your eyes against the sting building behind them again.

Nearly a year, and still, the silence hadn’t learned how to soothe you.

Neither had the coffee shops. Or the sun. Or the passing time.

It had been six days since she saw you.

Six days since you walked out of that coffee shop with shaking hands and eyes glassy with everything you didn't say. Six days, and Alexia still hadn't forgiven herself for going after you.

The apartment was quiet now. She was back home, her real home, the one you'd picked together. The walls still held the shape of your laughter in them, somehow. It was cruel, how sound could linger after everything else had gone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees. Her phone dangling from her fingers. No notifications. She hadn't expected any.

The nausea had eased some, but it still came in waves. Especially when she thought of you. Of what she's said that night.

She could still see it. Your face. That look right after the words left her mouth. The way you crumbled so quietly it took her days to realize it was the last time you'd let her see you fall apart.

Her mother had told her to stop torturing herself, but Alexia knew that was easier said than done.

It had been almost a year, and still, her mind replayed the same moment over and over: Her own voice, too sharp. Too cruel.

Your silence, like a blade.

She hadn’t meant it. God, she hadn’t meant it.

But grief made monsters out of people. And that night, Alexia had let hers win.

Now, with the house too quiet and your ghost in every corner, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She reached over, picked up the folded onesie from the drawer she never opened anymore, pressed it to her chest, and let herself fall back on the bed.

It was soft. Still smelled faintly of lavender and that detergent you insisted was the only one that didn't smell too clean. She had argued, said the baby wouldn't care. That they'd throw up on it anyway. You'd just smiled, hand already resting over your swollen stomach, and said... humor me.

You'd been five months along when you found it.

Tiny. Pale yellow. With a stiched little bee in the centre. You held it up in the shop like it was some kind of treasure, eyes wide with the kind of hope Alexia hadn’t let herself fully lean into yet. Not then. It terrified her, how ready you were to love something so small, so vulnerable, so not here yet.

Still, after that day, she started calling her mi abejita.

Her little bee.

She’d whisper it against your belly when she thought you were asleep, her hand spread wide across your skin, anchoring herself to a future that scared her just as much as it thrilled her.

Sometimes she'd hum, quiet and low in her throat, the way her mother used to do when she was small. And she's imagine a baby cradled in your arms with your same sleepy smile, the onesie soft and warm around their tiny limbs.

Abejita, she’d say with a grin whenever she came home from training. Crouching down to kiss your stomach before she kissed you. You'd always roll your eyes. Pretend to scoff at how she made everything a nickname, but your hand would always find hers. Always.

And then one day, your belly was still.

And the nursery door stayed closed.

She hadn’t said abejita since.

Couldn’t.

Now, holding that soft yellow fabric to her chest, Alexia felt the name bloom and break all over again inside her.

After a long pause, Alexia sat up slowly, pushing herself to her feet. The onesie lay crumpled in her hands as she stared at the empty space across the room, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.

She needed to say something. Needed to tell you she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant the things she said. But the words wouldn’t come. They never did.

With a shaky breath, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and unlocked it. She started typing, her fingers hovering over the screen for what felt like hours. Finally, she began. Just simple words, just a simple I'm sorry. But she couldn’t do it. She deleted it. Again.

Instead, she stared at the screen. She thought of you. How you used to look at her when you smiled, the quiet way you held her. How you used to laugh at her silly nicknames for everything, how abejita used to make you roll your eyes, but never in a bad way.

Her thumb hovered over the message again.

"I miss you."

She couldn’t send it. Not yet. But it was the first time in months she allowed herself to write it.

Alexia stared at the screen for another minute before locking her phone and tossing it back onto the bed.

She sat there for a while longer, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. Still, the thought of reaching out felt like a lifetime away. Like something she didn’t deserve to do yet.

The next weekend, you didn’t expect to find yourself standing outside the stadium. You couldn’t even explain why you were here, the crowds buzzing around you like a memory you didn’t want to remember but couldn't shake.

It all started when you stumbled upon an old pair of tiny FC Barcelona socks. Blue and garnet, with the faded emblem just visible enough to make your chest tighten.

They must’ve slipped from one of the boxes you had yet to go through. You hadn’t thought about that in so long, the way you used to laugh when Alexia came home from training with tiny gifts for a future you were both so excited about.

And then, as if some invisible force was pushing you, you found yourself walking. Just walking. Until you were here.

Outside the stadium.

The sound of the fans, the buzz of excitement, the occasional shout as people hurried in. It was almost too much. Too alive for the space inside you that felt so empty.

You didn’t plan to go in. You hadn’t even bought a ticket.

You were just standing there, watching, like a ghost.

The world around you seemed to move in a blur, and for a moment, you considered turning back. Going home. Pretending you hadn’t been pulled here by the quiet pull of memory.

And that’s when you saw them.

Alexia’s mother, Eli, and her younger sister, Alba, weaving through the crowd, both with bright smiles and eyes that searched the sea of faces around them. You froze. Your heart skipped, then thudded painfully against your chest as they drew closer.

“Oh,” Eli said, her voice warm, familiar. Her gaze softened when she spotted you, but there was something unreadable in her expression. “What a surprise.”

Alba, the younger of the two, gave a shy, cautious smile. “You’re here?” She asked, glancing at the entrance, her voice uncertain. “Are you going in?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and your throat tightened. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t even know why you were here.

“No,” you replied quietly, shaking your head, trying to hide the wave of emotion that had rushed over you. “I... I’m just here. Standing outside, I guess.”

Eli's eyes softened even more, and she stepped closer, her tone gentle. “I understand.” She said it like she didn’t need you to explain any more. Like she knew, and that somehow, in some way, she was here for you.

Alba looked between the two of you, almost unsure of what to say next, but Eli gave her a small, knowing nod.

“Sometimes it’s the first step,” Eli added, her voice quiet but firm, like she was offering something deeper than just a simple observation. “Just standing here. Even when you don’t know why you’re here.”

You nodded, the words slipping into your chest like a small, heavy stone. It was hard to breathe. But you didn't look away. You let the moment sit. You let it breathe. And just for a second, in the stillness of it, you could almost hear her. Alexia. Right there with you, her presence an echo in your bones.

You looked down at the tiny socks in your hand, the ones you hadn’t even realized you were still holding.

Without thinking, you pressed them into Eli’s hands. She blinked, surprised at first, but then looked down at the socks, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric.

“These...” you trailed off, unsure of what you were saying, why you were saying it. The words felt foreign. “For Alexia. Just... tell her... I don’t know. Tell her I’m sorry. Or that... I don’t know. Just give them to her, please.”

Eli’s gaze softened even more, and for the first time, you noticed the pain behind her eyes, the shared weight of everything unspoken. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

“I will,” she said simply, her voice steady.

And that was it.

No grand gestures. No promises.

But somehow, it felt like a first step.

The match had ended hours ago, the sounds of the cheering crowd still echoing in her mind, but now the stadium was quiet. Alexia stood at the back of the locker room, her body sore, her thoughts clouded with a heaviness that hadn’t left her since the moment she’d stepped onto the field.

She tried to focus on the game, tried to lose herself in the adrenaline and the sharp concentration that came with being on the pitch. But every time the ball came near her, every pass, every goal, her mind flickered back to you. How you used to cheer for her, your eyes bright and full of pride. How you would bring her small tokens of love after every match. Sometimes a coffee, sometimes a handwritten note tucked inside her locker.

But it wasn't just the little thigns that made her heart ache. It was the bigger things, the things she has allowed herself to dream about. How, when you'd sit together on quiet nights, you would talk about the future. About bringing your future daughter to the stadium one dat, a tiny Barcelona jersey on her back. Holder her up to see her mami play.

You'd laugh at how she'd probably be more interested in the snacks than the game, and how you'd support Alexia from the stands, together as a family.

Little bee. Abejita.

Her chest tightened, and she could feel the familiar ache deep inside her. The ache she’d tried to ignore, but no matter how hard she pushed, it was always there.

“Alexia,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. Eli’s steady presence was a comfort, even when it felt like nothing could fix what had been broken.

She turned slowly, her hand still gripping the locker as if it could steady her. Eli stood there, Alba beside her, both of them looking at her in that quiet, knowing way they always did when something was wrong.

Eli didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at Alexia, letting the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t judgment, not really. It was more like she was giving Alexia the space to break if she needed to.

“You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” Eli said softly, her voice like the calm after a storm. “But I think you know what’s in your heart.”

Alexia swallowed hard, the weight of her emotions threatening to spill over. She had spent the entire match trying to bury everything. Bury the memories. Bury the guilt. But it all came crushing back now, unstoppable. She wanted to say something, to explain, to apologize. But nothing felt enough. The words wouldn't come.

It was Alba who spoke next, her voice quieter than usual, almost uncertain. “We saw her, Ale. Outside the stadium.”

Alexia’s heart stuttered. “What?”

Eli nodded, her eyes soft but tinged with a sadness Alexia had come to recognize all too well. “She was standing outside, near the entrance. Just... standing there.”

“She gave me this,” Eli continued, holding out the tiny pair of FC Barcelona socks.

Alexia’s breath hitched in her throat. “She gave you those?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she quickly blinked away the sting behind her eyes.

Eli looked at her, her expression a mixture of understanding and something else, something softer. “Yes. She asked me to give them to you.”

Alexia didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t breathe. The socks in her mother’s hands seemed to hold all the things she couldn’t put into words. All the things she had wanted to say but hadn’t been able to.

Her hands shook as she reached out, gently taking the socks from her mother, holding them in her palm like they were something precious.

“I don’t know what to do,” Alexia said, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t look up at her mother or sister, keeping her gaze focused on the soft fabric between her fingers. She didn’t want them to see how fragile she felt.

Eli stepped closer, her hands reaching to rest on Alexia’s shoulders, grounding her. “You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to have all the answers. But you know, I can see it in you. How much you love her, how much you want to fix this.”

Alexia felt something inside her crack, the weight of everything breaking open. Her mother was right. She did want to fix it. She wanted to reach out, to somehow make things right again. But every time she tried to take that step, the fear gripped her. Fear that it was too late, fear that she had already destroyed everything.

“You don’t have to go back right now,” Eli said softly, as if reading Alexia’s mind. “But I think it’s time to stop running from it. She gave you a way back.”

Alexia looked down at the socks again, the softness of them almost too much to bear. “She still wants me to... come back? Even after everything I said?” Her voice cracked, the guilt making her stomach twist.

Alba stepped forward now, her young eyes filled with a wisdom Alexia had always admired. “She gave you those socks. That’s a sign.” She smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness. “She still cares. I think she’s just waiting for you to take the first step.”

A silence hung in the air, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a possibility.

She told herself she would try to find you the next day.

After the game, after the conversation with her mother and sister, after holding those tiny socks to her chest for what felt like hours. She knew. She had to try. No more running. No more waiting for signs she was too scared to follow through on.

But that night, as she finally drifted into restless sleep, her body aching and her heart just as sore, her mind pulled her somewhere else.

You were there.

Not in the way you had been outside the stadium, hesitant and hurting, but in the way she remembered you. Glowing. Soft. Heavy with life and laughter and something so close to joy, it made her breath catch even in the dream.

You were on top of her, hips rocking slow, full of warmth and reverence. Her hands were splayed across your belly, round and full. Your skin hot beneath her palms. Her eyes couldn't look away.

"Do you still like it when I ride you like this?" you asked, your voice teasing and breathless. But it wasn’t just playful. It was searching too. Needy in the way heartbreak always was.

She tried to answer but her throat caught. She nodded, her hands tightening on your hips as you moved, the weight of you grounding her in a way nothing else had since.

You leaned in, brushing your lips along her jaw, your belly pressing against her chest. She swore she could feel the faintest movement under her hands. Like the dream version of your daughter was still there, still alive between you.

You kissed her again. “We could’ve had this forever,” you whispered.

And then you were gone.

Alexia woke with a sharp gasp, her skin damp with sweat, legs tangled in the sheets. The ache between her thighs was real, but it was nothing compared to the aching in her chest. She pressed a hand to her stomach, then to her heart.

Maybe it did.

It was the 14th of the month.

One more month.

One more month since everything fell apart. Since the bleeding. Since the stillbirth. Since the silence. Since the words that should never have been spoken. Since the goodbye that was never really said, but lingered in the air like smoke in a house that used to feel like home.

You didn’t mean to go to the valley that morning. You just drove.

No destination. No playlist. Just the ache in your chest and the silence of a car that had once carried soft humming, lazy conversations, Alexia’s laugh when you'd mispronounce a Spanish word. It was automatic, muscle memory, the road pulling you toward the one place that still felt like it belonged to both of you.

The valley hadn’t changed. The grass was wild again, yellow and green in patches. The air smelled of damp soil and eucalyptus. A few wildflowers had managed to push through the dirt like they always did. Resilient things.

You parked and stepped out, the wind curling around your coat. Your boots sank slightly in the soft earth as you walked toward the ridge. The same one where you used to sit with her, her hand always reaching for yours. Her head sometimes resting on your shoulder when she was tired, which was often.

Baya hadn’t wanted to be left alone that morning. She meowed at the door when you grabbed your keys, her eyes wide and alert. But you had to go. Just this once. Just for a little while.

You sat down slowly, hugging your knees to your chest.

The wind moved around you like it remembered. Like it knew.

You didn’t cry. You just... breathed. Let yourself feel the ache without fighting it. Let the memory of her hands settle in your lap like something you were finally brave enough to hold again.

It was the 14th.

Almost a year.

And you still weren’t sure if you had healed, or if you were just getting better at carrying the weight.

You hadn’t meant to bring the ultrasound photo.

It was still tucked inside that old journal you barely opened anymore, the one with the fraying spine and soft pages that had soaked up more grief than ink over the past year. But when you reached into your bag, it was there. Right between a folded tissue and an old receipt from the coffee shop neither of you had stepped into since.

You took it out with careful hands, like it might tear just from being touched again. The little curve of a shape in that black-and-white blur. The tiny heartbeat that had lit up the screen like a miracle. You traced your thumb across the corner without meaning to.

“You would've almost be walking by now,” you whispered.

You placed the photo gently in the grass beside you, weighted with a stone, the wind catching at its edges like it, too, didn’t want to let go.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

The wind had picked up, and your ears were full of it. Until they weren't. Until the quiet sound of shoes crunching on fresh grass made you stiffen just slightly, not turning around, but not breathing either.

You knew that step.

Alexia stood a few meters back, uncertain, her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. Her hair was tucked messily into a bun, her cheeks pink from the wind, and her eyes. God, her eyes, already glassy when she looked at you.

And when you finally turned to see her, you saw what she was holding.

The onesie.

The socks.

She didn’t say anything. She just knelt in the grass beside you slowly, like any sudden movement might break the air between you.

You watched her hands fumble, nervous, careful. She placed the tiny socks down beside the ultrasound photo. Then the onesie, folded like a prayer.

No words yet. Just things you both had once bought for a life that had never arrived. And still, somehow, here you were. Carrying it all, together again, in the only way you knew how.

Her voice was barely a breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know you would either.”

A pause.

“I think… I think we needed to be.”

It was silent for a while.

The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled, only witnessed. The wind rustled through the grass around you, tugging gently at the corners of the ultrasound photo, the folded edge of the onesie. Baya wasn’t there, but somehow, it still felt like the three of you. Four of you. Together again in some impossible aching way.

Alexia sat beside you with her knees drawn up, arms around herself like she was holding in something too fragile to name.

Then she broke.

She tried to hold it in. You saw it. The way her jaw tightened, the way she blinked too fast. But it cracked through anyway, as soft and sudden as a prayer:

“Our abejita…”

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and it was over. Her shoulders caved in, her hands trembling as she reached out, not for you, but for the space between the socks and the photo.

“Oh God,” she gasped, covering her mouth. “I... she was real. She was ours.”

''Our abejita...''

You didn’t realize you were crying until the wetness blurred your vision. Your throat burned. You wanted to say something, anything, but you couldn’t. You could only cry. Because hearing Alexia call her that again, our little bee, it did something to you. Ripped you open and, somehow, stitched a piece of you back together all at once.

And even now, almost a year later, the words she’d screamed at you that night came flooding back like a fresh bruise to the chest.

“Your body was never ready for this. You ruined this.”

You had never heard her sound so angry. Never heard her say something so cruel. And she hadn’t meant it, you knew that now. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t split something deep in you. Because you believed her. For a long time, you did.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered, as if reading your mind. “I swear to you. I was scared, and broken, and angry at everything but you. But I didn’t know how to hold it. I let it turn into something sharp, and I threw it at you because you were the only person close enough to catch it.”

She looked at you then, fully. No walls, no defenses. Just tear-streaked eyes and open hands.

“I am so sorry.”

It was almost unbearable, the honesty in her voice.

“I killed everything when I said that,” she continued, voice shaking. “And you... you were already in pieces, and I made it worse. I didn’t know how to stay. I hated myself for what happened and instead of protecting you, I punished you for it.”

You pressed your hand against your chest, as if that could steady your breathing.

“She’s not gone,” you said softly, eyes on the little things you had both brought. The photo, the socks, the onesie still faintly smelling of clean cotton and what-ifs. “She’ll always be with us.”

Alexia made a soft sound, half a cry, half a breath. Her hand inched closer to yours on the ground.

You nodded, eyes wet. “No matter where we go, or who we become. She's part of both of us. We made her real.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she closed the gap between your hands, her pinky brushing yours.

“She was love,” she said. “Even if it was short.”

You leaned into her shoulder just slightly. Not a promise. Not a reset. Just a quiet return to something that had never really stopped mattering.

The wind moved gently through the valley again, and somewhere, in the quiet between your bodies, the ache felt a little less lonely.

You didn’t talk much after that.

Just sat there for a while longer, letting the silence hold both your grief and whatever it was that had started to bloom between the cracks again. And when you stood, brushing the grass from your coat and gathering the little things you both couldn’t bear to leave behind, Alexia didn’t ask what came next.

But when you looked at her, really looked, you knew you couldn’t let her walk away again.

“Come home with me,” you said, gently. “Just for a bit.”

Her eyes flicked up, unsure, guarded again for a moment like she didn’t trust herself to hope. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I don’t think I could take being alone tonight. And… I think maybe you can’t either.”

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she nodded, and followed you to the car.

The drive back was quiet. Not awkward. Just... tender. Like you were both trying not to breathe too loud, afraid it might startle the fragile thread that had formed between you again.

When you opened the door to your apartment, the lavender hit first. Then the warmth. Baya was already padding over with soft little steps, tail high, eyes wide with curiosity.

And as soon as she saw Alexia, she stopped.

Her ears perked. She stared for a long beat, and then walked right over like it hadn’t been nearly a year.

Alexia dropped to her knees without a word, arms opening instinctively.

Baya pressed into her chest, letting out a low, whiny meow that sounded so close to a question, and a forgiveness, all at once.

Alexia’s head dropped forward, her forehead resting against Baya’s soft fur. You watched her shoulders shake.

“I missed you Baya,” she whispered to the cat, and maybe to you, and maybe to something else entirely.

You closed the door quietly behind you. Took a breath.

It wasn’t fixed. Nothing was. But watching the two of them, your past and your maybe, staring back at each other like they'd both been waiting for this.

It felt like something had come home.

The months that followed were soft, hesitant, like a dawn breaking after a long, difficult night. Neither of you rushed. Neither of you knew exactly how to begin again, but somehow, in the quiet moments, you found your way back.

It wasn’t perfect. You both knew that. There were days when the silence felt too thick to bear, when one look or one word would send you spiraling into a place you weren’t sure you’d come back from. But then, there were moments when Alexia would brush her fingers across your hand as you sat in the kitchen, a reminder that she was still there. Still with you.

And you? You slowly learned how to trust again. Not all at once, but piece by piece. There were mornings when Alexia would wake up early, as she always did, and bring you coffee without a word.

Placing it beside you on the couch as she sat next to you, pulling you close with that quiet strength you’d always loved. She wouldn’t rush. She wouldn’t demand anything. She just was there, and somehow, that was enough.

At night, you’d fall asleep with your head resting on her shoulder, her steady heartbeat under your ear. You remembered how it used to be, how safe you had felt in her arms before everything had come crashing down. And every night, you’d wake up to find her still there, steady as ever, like she hadn’t moved an inch.

There were conversations that had to be had. Real ones. Hard ones.

Alexia would sit across from you, hands in her lap, eyes soft but still heavy with guilt. “I’m not going to lie,” she’d say, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’m scared, too. I don’t know how to make things right, but I want to. I want us to be whole again.” You tried couples therapy. Which helped a lot with regaining trust.

You'd listen. You’d feel the weight of her words, of her vulnerability, but there was a flicker, tiny, almost imperceptible that reminded you of the woman you had loved so deeply before. It was there, and that was the start of it. That was where you began.

You both took things slowly, learning how to be in each other's lives without the expectation that everything would be fixed overnight. But what you found, what you built, was trust. It wasn’t the same as before, not entirely, but it was a new kind of trust. One that came with an understanding of each other’s broken pieces, the shared acknowledgment of your wounds, and the slow, steady work of mending them together.

One afternoon, Alexia took you to the beach, a place you hadn’t visited since the pregnancy. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it until you stood there, the waves crashing against the shore, the salty air filling your lungs. She held your hand, her touch grounding you as the world seemed to fall away.

“We never went for a walk on the beach with her.” she asked, her voice soft.

You shook your head, the memory still sharp, still tender. “No. We didn’t.”

“She’d have loved it here,” Alexia murmured, her voice thick with both regret and longing. “The sound of the waves... the feel of the sand. She’d have loved the ocean.”

You squeezed her hand, your heart heavy but somehow lighter all at once. “We’ll take her with us. Every step. She’s still with us.”

Alexia nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, everything felt like it was beginning to settle into place, even if the pieces would never fit perfectly. The pain of the loss was still there, sharp and ever-present, but it no longer defined you. And neither did the past.

You started building something new together. One step at a time.

Two years later, everything had changed. Slowly, quietly, but with a depth that no words could quite capture. The pain of loss had softened, like waves smoothing over rough rocks. But it had never left.

You and Alexia had taken the leap. Adoption. Your sweet, bright little girl, now three years old, had found her way into your arms. She was perfect. And though there were days when fear still lingered, fear that you might not be enough, or that you might fail her.

Those fears had, over time, slipped away. You had become a family. Not in the way you had first imagined, but in the way life had ultimately unfolded. And it had been more beautiful than either of you could have hoped.

Alexia stood beside you, her fingers lightly brushing against your own. The years had softened her edges, but the strength you had always admired was still there, deep in her eyes, in the way she moved, in how she cared for your little one.

And then there was her family, Eli and Alba, standing just a few steps away. Sharing quiet smiles as they watched you all. You were all here, together. And this moment, this place, felt like a soft landing.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, and the air smelled of salt and fresh flowers. You walked slowly to the spot where you’d always imagined this moment. Where you’d been together before, and where you would be again.

Alexia had picked a few flowers along the way, yellow and white ones, the same ones you had always picked when you came here. The same ones you had brought to the valley to remember your lost child.

She would’ve liked these,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Alexia paused, kneeling down to gather more of the delicate blooms. She smiled faintly. “I think she would’ve. Yellow, for our little bee.”

You crouched beside her, feeling the weight of it all. The bittersweetness, the peace, and the love that still flowed, undying, between you both.

Your daughter toddled over, her small hands holding her own bouquet of flowers. Tiny, but perfectly picked. She had always been fascinated by nature, by the way things grew, and how something as small as a seed could bloom into something beautiful.

You watched as she knelt down by the sand, carefully arranging the flowers in a circle. She spoke to herself as she worked, and you smiled when you heard what she said.

“Perfect... just for abejita.”

Alexia’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of the word, but when she looked at you, you only smiled gently, reaching for her hand.

“She’s always here,” you said softly, watching your daughter. “In everything we do. In everything we create. She’s part of us.”

Alexia nodded, her hand squeezing yours, the simple act of holding it a promise. A soft, unspoken promise that everything, everything, would be okay.

Together, you all placed the flowers by the sand, a quiet memorial that spoke of love, loss, and life continuing on. Your little girl’s laughter echoed in the wind, the sound of a future that was still bright, still full of hope. And even though the past would always be there, woven into the fabric of your family, it didn’t hurt the same anymore.

Your love for your daughter, for Alexia, and even for the memory of the little one you lost, would never fade. It was there, in every petal you placed in the sand, in every flower you picked together, in every laugh, every soft touch, every quiet moment shared between the three of you. It was all real. All still there.

“She would’ve loved it here,” Alexia said softly, watching your daughter run toward the waves, her little feet leaving footprints in the sand.

“She would’ve loved it,” you agreed, your voice full of a tenderness that only grew with time.

"She’s still with us."

''Our abejita.''

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

Please let me know what you think of it. I would love to hear your thoughts.

[gloomwitchwrites]

hi!!! i literally started reading your blog and FR YOU HAVE TALENT. Got me giggling and kicking my feet cus of that girl dad!tf141 fics.

I was reading one of the links you put in for prompt ideas and I read that one six words sentence from link five: "I can't risk losing you again." hello?? potential angst to fluff?? I couldn't get it off my head and i was wondering if you could write something from it :>

Thank you so much! That's so sweet of you! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading the Just Like Dad stories. I had a lot of fun writing them.

"I can't risk losing you again" is such an open-ended prompt. There is a lot you can do with that. I hope my humble offering is enough. I certainly went more angst than fluff on this one, but I really do love sad things with twinges of hope thrown in.

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, mild blood, non-graphic mentions of violence, angst, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications

Simon "Ghost" Riley: An enemy of Simon's harms you, forcing Simon to make a tough decision. (wc: 315) Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Kyle decides there is only one way to keep you close. (wc: 323) John Price: Price worries after you tell him you're pregnant when the first pregnancy had complications. (wc: 329) John "Soap" MacTavish: Johnny learns that falling in love with a teammate can only lead to sorrow. (wc: 542)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Busted door. Shattered glass. Overturned table.

The lights aren’t working and rain enters through the open patio door. You are safe and whole and far from this. But is it enough? Will Simon be able to keep you safe?

What was once doubt is now cold truth.

It’s not your trashed home but the state Simon found you in. It was your heavy-lidded eyes and bruised face. It was the pools of red that Simon didn’t know belonged to you, the dead man facedown in the carpet, or both. It was your smile of relief when you realized it was Simon drawing you into his arms.

Simon knows the man who did this—no. He knows who fucking ordered it.

And when he finds Makarov, he’ll show that fucker just how trigger-hungry he can be. The lead will burst and fuse to his lungs, and Simon will bathe in the aftermath.

All that’s left is your safety. If Simon knew that his career would lead to this, he would have taken steps to protect you years ago. You are always his one bright spot, that candle in the dark that is his life.

With you, he became more than his trauma. More than his guilt. More than his past. With you, he found peace. He found happiness. You are the sugary candy that sticks in the teeth but is too addictive to give up.

Departing is agony. The return is his reward and his longing.

You are everything.

And that is why he let you go.

Why he said, “I can’t risk losing you again.”

He put his head in your lap, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs and failed to push down the tears.

Laswell will take you far away. She will keep you somewhere safe.

Makarov won’t find you.

And maybe—perhaps in the future—Simon can return to you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is a nervous wreck.

The tiny box sits heavy in his pocket, burning an invisible hole. His plan is not the most romantic, but the two of you aren’t the type to go big. It’s all subtle, and Kyle only wants this moment to include the two of you.

This is his last chance.

Kyle’s final opportunity.

In this relationship, Kyle has kept you second. Not on purpose but out of habit. Work is his lifeblood. It drives him, and every successful mission is a point of pride. But in keeping up with that, Kyle left you behind.

His absences lengthened, and over time, he noticed you were pulling away, closing off. But that isn’t your fault. Kyle created the perfect brew for you to drink. These are the consequences of his actions, and he needs to make it right.

There was a time when Kyle nearly did lose you. When he came home and thought you had packed up and left without saying a word. That broke him. Made him realize just how distant he’d become.

Change is difficult.

But Kyle did it. Slowly.

Your smile returned, and when he comes home, your greetings are full of passion.

I can’t risk losing you again.

Kyle takes a deep breath as the deadbolt on the front door disengages. There is a slight tremble in his hands. Kyle is never nervous. Never. But fuck—taking this next step is driving him up the goddamn wall.

He pushes off from the couch, turning just as the front door swings open.

You step inside, face turned away as you go to shut the door. When you finally glance into the room, all the nervousness inside Kyle’s chest evaporates.

Your smile is so sweet, and you don’t hesitate. Dropping your bag, you rush toward him, and Kyle cannot help but meet you halfway.

He’s making the right choice in asking you to stay with him forever.

John Price

“You’re not happy.”

John is happy. He is. But old worries bubble up, seeping into the joy. It’s tainting everything, and that is clear by how your smile starts to fade.

“I am happy,” he says, but his mouth is a hard line. John knows he’s frowning.

You shake your head, one hand resting over your stomach. “Don’t lie, John.”

This is supposed to be a happy moment. He should sweep you up in his arms. He should kiss you until you’re begging for air. But all John can think about are all the doctor appointments he attended with you, and the grimness of what might not happen.

From that came a daughter. John loves her. Adores her. But bringing her into the world nearly killed you. He grappled with that stress while being as present as possible with you. Growing your family has always been a dream, and John doesn’t fault you for a second. There is no family without you.

John grasps the sides of your face and moves into your space. Your own hands close over his, keeping him from retreat.

“I am happy,” he reiterates. “But we both know what it took to bring our daughter into the world.” John shakes his head absently and breathes deep. “Don’t do this for me.”

“John—”

“I can’t risk losing you again.”

This time, your smile returns. There is a hint of sadness lingering behind it, as if you too are reflecting on all that happened.

“Everything will be fine.” You release his hand and gently cup his cheek.

John kisses your forehead, his thumb absently tracing your jaw. “Are you sure?”

The decision is ultimately yours, and John will respect whatever you decide.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he nods.

John pulls you in, lips finding yours. When you melt into him, accepting all that he’s giving, a wave of peace settles over him.

This is right.

And whatever happens, the two of you will face it together.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny drips water all over the floor. He is soaked through. Shivering. But he could give a fuck.

“Where is she?”

“Soap—”

“Where the fuck is she, Price?”

Captain Price sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “She needs rest.”

Johnny swallows down his retort. He’s not upset with Price, and shit like this happens all the time, but he needs to know if you’re okay.

You took a fucking bad fall, and Johnny couldn’t stop to run after you. The mission comes first, and it wasn’t his job. Other people stepped in and whisked you away. But from the height you plummeted from, Johnny feared the worst.

Still does to an extent.

If you were dead, Price wouldn’t hide that from him. But he might hide how bad you’re injured as a way to protect him. Price has always been fatherly in that regard. Right now, it’s driving Johnny fucking nuts.

“Captain. Please,” Johnny clenches his fists and then releases them. “Let me see her.”

Price’s frown smooths a bit and the middle of his brow wrinkles with concern. “For a few minutes. All I can spare.”

Johnny has to keep from rushing to the hospital room doorway when the words leave Price’s mouth. He has Johnny walk with him to your door. Thunder rumbles in the distance and rain steadily hits the large window at the far end of the hospital room.

Just as Johnny takes a step inside, Price’s hand is on his shoulder.

“She’ll make it,” is all he says before he shuts the door.

Johnny lingers right inside. All the lights are off except a small lamp in the corner. Your eyes are closed, and your face is peaceful. There is bruising. A few bandages. The machines next to the bed beep softly.

He was so eager—so determined to get to you. Now, Johnny deflates.

On quiet feet, he grabs a chair and brings it over to your bedside. You don’t stir. Simply sleep. Johnny eases down into the chair and leans forward, his forearms crossed as he rests them on the side of the hospital bed.

Still, you don’t move. And Johnny doesn’t dare wake you.

Rest is important, and all he wants is for you to recover.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That I didn’t come sooner.” The rain picks up and Johnny smooths back his wet hair. “But I can’t keep doing this. Every time you’re hurt I—” He sighs heavily and rests his forehead on his crossed arms.

“I can’t risk losing you again,” he murmurs into the bedding.

It’s become too much. You’re not supposed to fuck your coworkers and you shouldn’t fall in love with them either. But Johnny did both. With you. And he cannot take that back.

He’d give anything if you’d set this all aside.

Your fingers brushing against his scalp startle him. Johnny lifts his head, only to find you watching him. There is a soft smile on your lips, and his instinct is to grasp your hand and bring it to his lips, kissing each knuckle and then your palm.

The moment your mouth opens to speak, there is knock at the door. Johnny frowns and looks up, finding Price in the doorway.

“Time’s up.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife

@miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff

@berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria

@lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic

@suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

[vrystalius]

Yo! Hello its me again! Could i please request like a reverse isekai where the kny characters end up in reader's house? And maybe she is like Mad rich but like.. Not a spoiled brat she likes to do charity and make money for herself and maybe she is living with her cousins, she is smark but can be stupid (if you know what i mean) i don't know, you can do whatever you want, (there is not enough reverse isekai fanfictions😭), anyhow, hope you have a good day and you didn't get sick of my (a lot) requests😁🫶🏻👋🏻

Hashira getting reverse isekai’d

Your favourite hashira suddenly appeared inside your home! How will they react to your home and the modern world?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyu x gn!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not adjust to this change quietly— he is ready to destroy and slice every single piece of tech that decides to randomly beep or talk to him. You once found Sanemi trying to get his katana out of your ceiling after throwing it with full force against your smoke detector, after it beeped to remind you to change battery. It scared the shit out of him, so he put an end to that thing. Often times when using your phone, Sanemi accidentally activates Siri. He first thought that a demon was speaking through the phone with some kind of blood demon art, then, after explaining to him what exactly Siri is and what she does, he just begins cursing her and cussing her out every time she activates on him. You once had to remind him not to grip it so tightly, or else your screen might crack.

A thing he really, really likes about your modern home though is your bathroom. The shower, the large mirror, sink, toilet… just everything about it. The first time he stepped into your shower and closed the glass door behind himself, Sanemi was first confused about the shower settings. He turned every knob that is able to be turned, both cooking himself alive and dodging the water in fear of freezing, achieving both of these things in one shower. Once he finally found the perfect temperature, it was time to test all of the products you have, and not sparingly. Shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, shower gel, body scrub and whatever else he could get his fingers on— once he got out of the shower and returned to you, his smell was almost overwhelming, but at least you know now that his har is somehow able to look even better than before.

After a long adjustment period, you sometimes catch Sanemi watching the TV. He made himself comfortable in a corner of your couch, cuddled up in heated blankets (he learned how to use the settings all by himself!) and watching one movie after another. He’s quite the binge-watcher apparently, watching one action movie after another for hours on end. At the end of such day, he’ll complain about his eyes burning up without having any idea how that happened.

“Hey, wanna join me? Blanket s’ warm and I found a movie about some weird metal things moving really, really fast and guys kicking each other’s asses— Huh? Cars? Are those these fast carriages sliding around on there?”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He is incredibly curious about every single thing and would try to understand how everything works. Kyojuro would inspect your microwave and press every button their is, watching the pizza pocket he threw into there react to the different settings and then grieving about how the once weird snacks he wanted to try turned into a piece of burnt remains. Despite being the most comfortable with the traditional meals he used to eat, Kyojuro would love to try any dish you even mentioned by name once! Since you can get your food delivered to your front door, Kyojuro can try as many different cultural dishes as he can get his hands on! Or as many as you can get delivered to tour home. Ordering food is something he always gets very excited about, like what do you mean you can order all kinds of cultural food in a matter of minutes? How do the restaurants have all the ingredients available and are always ready to serve customers? And why do you refuse to order a so-called Happy Meal for him? Isn’t it supposed to make one happy?

Another thing Kyojuro is very excited about is the gym. He accidentally stumbled upon a fitness center after returning from buying groceries, staring at the people training inside with those weird machines. The hashira spotted a couple of people build broader and stronger than him, making him realise that this may be some kind of modern training ground. He begged on his hands and knees for a membership so he can explore all these new machines and weight excursuses. Once Kyojuro got inside, he was like a child in a candyshop. He spend the whole day testing out every machine, noting his own limits and setting goals on how to get even stronger. Despite no demons terrorising your world, he still wants to keep his muscles and gain strength to offer nice pillows you can lay your head on and also have the ability to open sealed jars for you without struggling.

“Can we order sweet potato tonight? I miss eating it, and it’s my comfort dish…. Also, I believe I may have started to develop homesickness. I miss my brother the most, though… Not that I don’t like it here, I love it! I just miss my father and brother, that’s all.”

Giyu Tomioka

Staying true to his nature, Giyu would be silent and awkward in this new space. He’s scared of offending you in any way but simply taking his haori off or sitting down onto your couch since he has no idea about the manners and behaviours expected from him in this world, but at the same time doesn’t bother to ask you in order to not burden you in any way. So, he quietly followed you around the house in and inspect your furniture and decorations, sometimes curiously picking something up and inspecting its function. His favourite object so far is a rubix cube he found on your desk. You caught him turn the sides, trying to understand what the point of this thing is. Does it have something on the inside? Why are the colours all scrambled up? While watching his irritation grow because of not being able to sort the colours, you suggested that Giyu can keep it and try to solve it after giving him a small briefing on what the point of the cube is. Thanking you, he kept the rubix cube on his body to play around with it whenever he has time. He is seriously invested in it and really wants to solve it in order to prove to himself that he can solve a complex puzzle and to maybe even impress you a little.

Also, you discovered that Giyu likes noise-canceling headphones, music and e-books. You often find him cuddled up together on your sofa, his face illuminated by your Ipad in his hands. You could hear the faint sounds of soft and slow music from the headphones he was wearing. He looks incredibly invested in whatever he is reading, so you snuck up on him and glanced over his shoulder, reading a couple of lines. It wasn’t a fantasy story or a random novel like you thought, but Giyu was actually reading an article about the behaviour of cats. Adorable, you thought, so you left him be and went on with your day. The water hashira eyed your form as you left, sneakily switching tabs and returning to what he was actually reading: a fluffy romance novel. He looks over his shoulder twice, thrice, checking if you are still near before feeling comfortable enough to continue his reading in peace.

“Can I borrow your.. headphones? They’re called headphones, right? Yes, I’d like to borrow them again. I want to use them to have more silence, you are being very loud and I wanted to read something.”

💠

You never bother me with your requests! They are always so fun to write for!! Also, I hope it’s okay I kind of “simplified” your request— I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Also, I didn’t include Gyomei because I was unsure of what exactly to write for him, but I may update this tomorrow and a small scenario for him <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[httpknjoon]

the princess and the rockstar | jjk

[PROLOGUE]

plot | Once upon a time, there was a crowd-favorite crown princess who found herself romantically involved with a famous rockstar. See how they will try to navigate the world and maybe live happily ever after.

genres | angst, fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au, established relationship!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | made a lot of changes... this one's only a prologue! i'll be posting the first chapter in a couple of days :)

main masterlist | series masterlist | spotify playlist

[EXCLUSIVE] Royalty, Romance, Rumors: Zafiro's Queen YN Tell-All Interview With Kaira Bahl

For the first time ever, Queen YN of Zafiro sits down for an afternoon tea with The Solar’s very own Kaira Bahl to share about her journey to being the youngest ever to head a monarchy, along with telling personal stories and addressing rumors from the past. From being the world’s loved crown princess to Zafiro’s first female and youngest leader, Her Majesty opens up about what it truly means to be a queen.

As I arrive in front of the Sapphire Palace, it is surprising to see the Queen YN herself waiting by the big sapphire blue doors of the palace. Sticking to her known fashion sense, Her Majesty stunned in a customized floral Dior knee-length belted dress and white gloves. Her most-prized silver crown was absent from her head.

When I asked about it, she laughed, “It’s too heavy. I don’t wear it around at home.”

Home. Home for Queen YN is the Sapphire Palace, which is known to have 542 rooms, which include rooms for royal guests, royal staff, state meetings, offices, and bathrooms.  It also has recreational areas that Queen YN is planning to open to the public as she shared on her 20XX State of the Nation Address, one of the firsts Her Majesty has done since she was crowned five years ago.

The Queen led me to her favorite part of her home: The Garden. She proudly showed off different plants from places all over the world. She shared how each is a gift from friends, world leaders, and local Zafirons who are all aware of her passion for nature. I curiously asked what is her favorite among the countless plants. She then asked one of her staff to help her carry a vase full of reddish-orange flowers.

“These are tiger-lilies! I loved it for many reasons, but I will tell you one… I love it mainly because of the thousands of symbolisms about it,” she winked, still wearing the youthful smile she had years ago.

We had our interview in her garden. A spot was already set up for us under her acacia tree, a simple blue couch and center table with cups of tea and a variety of biscuits on it. Just like what we agreed on in the first place, this interview will only be documented through an old-school recorder and a notepad. She firmly asked for camera restrictions. The Queen also asked for my solo appearance, no teams allowed, as she will be alone during the whole interview. Just the two of us. Finally, Her Majesty asked to read the whole article first before I publish it online.

So, reader, if you are reading this article, please know that this is approved by Her Majesty herself. Anything that you might find offensive or displeasing to The Queen is already worthless for a battle cry. Again, Queen YN herself has reviewed everything in here.

With that, shall we start?

For every minute that passed, Jungkook's phone has been receiving messages from anyone who knows him. It can be from his phone's messaging app, Instagram's direct message, Facebook Messenger, or even email. He gets mentioned with every post of excerpts from your unexpected interview that was just posted tonight at midnight.

Now, it's almost three in the morning.

Jungkook has barely slept for the last couple of hours. His phone is somewhere in his bedroom, set on Do Not Disturb mode just so no one can reach him in this confusing time. Instead, he has his laptop on his dining table, staring right back at him while he holds a glass of ice-cold whisky in his left hand. The interview article is said to be a long read, requiring almost an hour to read the whole thing. But he found himself stuck in a single part of the article for three hours now.

Suddenly, looking at the tiger lily inked on his arm suffocates him. He looked away as he felt tears burning the corners of his eyes. He gulped away whatever was blocking his throat. He wanted to close his eyes, but every time he did, all he could see was you tracing the said tattoo with your index finger, then looking up at him with a small smile.

A smile that he had last seen that day. He tried looking for it in your recent photos, but he could not find it anywhere.

Taking the glass to his lips, Jungkook tries to swallow down the ache he has been feeling, hoping that it will shake off the memories out of his head and the numbness in his body. But it didn't work. Nothing worked.

AN EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW:

"I pledged to be protective of everyone, whether they are from my nation or not. And if things happened between me and another person, I like to make sure that the encounters or the relationship will just remain between us."

note | hello! i'm reconstructing this series and it has been sooo long since I posted anything about this. so please let me know if you still want to be on the series taglist. i will be making a new one, so please reply below if you still want to join it. thank you! <3

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@rbrm094 @rjsmochii @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @thvlover7 @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @coralmusicblaze @stupendouscookiehumanmug @namgoogieee @yoonjinhusbands @borahaeb1ch @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @taechvita @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @razzletaffy @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @cuntessaiii @annoyingcolorfox @kooliv @jksgirlhere @razzletaffy @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @ficluvr613 @kpopssuregi @prettypink11 @diamondjeon @raemanova @jalexad @lveegsoi @qualityjoonie @recklesselfless @minewlove @yooforeaa @joonwater

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones @senaqsstuff

[itneverendshere]

you said i have to trust more freely - r.c series (three)

requested here; (one); (two)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (the duff inspired) word count: 5.4k

You hadn’t planned for that kiss to happen the other day.

It was supposed to be all part of the game, of the plan.

You just wanted to learn things properly. Right? But you knew, you had wanted it, and worse, you had liked it.

God, what the hell were you doing?

He was Rafe Cameron. Cocky, rich, your nightmare with a reputation that should have sent you running in the opposite direction. And yet, here you were, feeling the ghost of his lips against yours, wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled back. If you hadn’t let the spell break.

"Focus," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head like you could shake him off too. You had bigger things to worry about—like Nate.

Remember Nate? The whole point of this was to get him to notice you, to finally realize that you were more than just the girl he studied with. You weren’t supposed to be getting caught up with Rafe Cameron’s sudden vulnerability or, God forbid, catching feelings for him.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you turned down the street toward your apartment. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the thought of Rafe stayed with you for hours, sneaking its way back in every time you thought you’d pushed it out for good.

What was it about him, anyway? He was hot, sure. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you sometimes, like he was seeing something deeper. Like there was more to this than either of you were willing to admit. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe you were starting to want him to see more.

By the time you reached your door, you had spiraled enough to know you needed a distraction. So you did what any girl in your situation would do: you grabbed your phone and texted Harper back.

You: Movie night better include wine. Lots of wine.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Harper <3:  “Already taken care of, babe. See you soon.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling a little better. It was exactly what you needed. Maybe after a few glasses of wine and some cheesy rom-coms, you’d finally stop thinking about that stupid kiss.

As you closed the door behind you and flopped onto your bed, your phone buzzed again. Expecting it to be Harper, you lazily reached for it, but your heart nearly stopped when you saw Rafe’s name instead.

Rafe: got your notes ready for tomorrow? or should i just show up and charm my way through it?

You stared at the screen for a second, unsure whether to laugh or throw your phone across the room. Why did he always have to do this? Act like nothing had changed when everything felt different?

Not that you were any better.

Finally, you typed back.

You: “depends. can ur charm get you through an entire chapter on portuguese colonization?”

His reply came almost instantly. Like he’d been waiting for yours.

Rafe: “we both know my charm can get me through anything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the stupid smile tugging at your lips.

You: “let’s not test that theory. see you tomorrow.”

You tossed your phone aside, willing yourself not to overthink the fact that just seeing his name pop up on your screen made your heart race.

You were going to get through this. Nate was your goal. This thing with Rafe was just a detour. A very distracting, very complicated detour that you’d handle... eventually.

But tonight? Tonight was for your girls, your movies, and drowning out the chaos in your head with as much wine as it took to stop thinking about blue eyes and stupid smirks.

Later that night, you found yourself sprawled out on Ava’s couch, surrounded by blankets and popcorn, watching some cheesy rom-com that Harper had picked out. The glow of the TV cast a soft light over the room, but your mind was still elsewhere. Even with your best friends beside you, laughing and making snide comments about the movie, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

It wasn’t just the kiss—although that had definitely been messing with your head lately—it was everything. The way he’d been acting, the things he’d said, the stupid nickname that you couldn’t seem to shake. Harper and Ava had a point, but they didn’t know Rafe like you did. Not anymore, at least. You’d seen sides of him recently that no one else had, and while you weren’t exactly sure what to make of it, there was something there. Something more than just the cocky rich boy everyone saw.

You sighed, reaching for another handful of popcorn, but Harper, ever the perceptive one, caught the look on your face before you could hide it.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, nudging your leg with her foot. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Yeah, you’ve barely roasted this movie,” Ava added, throwing a piece of popcorn at you. “That’s not like you.”

You didn't want to get into it, “Just tired, I guess. Long day.”

Harper wasn’t buying it, though. She turned the volume on the TV down and sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. “Okay, spill. This is about Rafe, isn’t it?”

You groaned, covering your face with a pillow. “Can we not talk about him ?”

“Nope,” Harper said, yanking the pillow away. “Not until you tell us what’s going on. I know a liar when I see one."

Busted.

“Did something happen?”

You hesitated, glancing between the two of them. They were your best friends, and you knew they only wanted what was best for you. But the whole thing with Rafe felt complicated, like more than just a stupid crush. Still, you couldn’t keep it all bottled up forever.

“Fine,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “There was... a kiss.”

Harper’s jaw practically dropped. “A kiss? With Rafe?”

“When did this happen?” Ava demanded, practically bouncing in her seat. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“I was scared!” You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again as you thought back to that moment in the library, “He knew I never kissed anyone and offered.”

“Wait, what? Your first kiss was with Rafe freaking Cameron?”

Ava gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “He offered? What the hell does that even mean? Did he just, like, present his lips to you like some weirdo?”

You groaned, wishing you could shrink into the couch and disappear.

“It wasn’t like that, okay? We were talking, and it came up. I told him I hadn’t kissed anyone, and then he was all, ‘I can fix that,’ or something. It just... happened a few days later.”

“So, what was it like? Was it good? Did he use tongue? I need details, girl.”

Harper elbowed her. “Ava! Let her breathe, she’s clearly still processing.”

You felt your cheeks heat up even more as you fidgeted with a loose string on your sweater. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it was good, okay? Really good. But it’s Rafe, and now everything’s weird, and I don’t know what to do.”

Harper’s expression softened,  “Okay, I’m trying to wrap my head around this. You’ve hated Rafe for, like, ever, right? And now, all of a sudden, you’re kissing him? What about Nate?”

“I know!” you groaned again, throwing your head back against the couch.

Ava looked like she was about to explode. “So... do you like him? Because it sounds like you’re starting to like him.”

“No! Maybe? I don’t know.” You buried your face in your hands. “I wasn’t supposed to like him. It wasn’t part of the plan. But then he had to go and be all... different. Like, he’s still Rafe, but sometimes he’s—I don’t know, sweet? Ugh, that sounds ridiculous.”

Harper sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Babe, if you’re getting all messed up over a guy like Rafe, this could be a problem.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. You didn’t want to like Rafe. He was the last person you should be catching feelings for. 

“Guys like him? They’ll pull you in, mess with your head, and leave you confused as hell.”

“I know,” you said, hating how true that sounded. “But it’s not just that. There’s something else. Like, when we’re alone, he’s— I don’t know. He lets his guard down, and I see a side of him that I don’t think anyone else does. He's weirdly honest."

Harper raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not catching feelings?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, flopping back against the couch. “I don’t even know anymore. I thought this was just a stupid kiss, but now it feels like everything’s different. And it’s so dumb because I should be focused on Nate!"

Ava and Harper exchanged a glance, both of them looking concerned. Harper was the first to speak.

“Okay, maybe this is a sign you need to figure out what you really want. Do you want to keep chasing Nate, or... do you want to see where things go with Rafe?”

You blinked, the question hitting you harder than you expected. What did you want? Nate had always been the plan—nice, safe, uncomplicated Nate. 

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was how you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His stupid grin, the way he’d tease you but also get serious for like, two seconds, just long enough to make you question everything.

You sighed, pushing your hair out of your face, “This was a terrible mistake.”

Harper crossed her arms, studying you. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Call him.”

“What?!” You sat up, heart racing. “No way. I can’t just call him out of nowhere.”

“Yes, you can,” Ava chimed in, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Here’s the test—if he picks up right away, it means he’s been thinking about you too. If he doesn’t? Then maybe he’s just playing games.”

You stared at them like they’d just suggested jumping off a cliff. “Are you guys serious? There’s no way I’m doing that. You're not serious."

Harper smirked, grabbing your phone off the table and holding it out to you. “Do it. Right now. Trust me, if he cares, he’ll pick up.”

What kind of fucked up science was that? Rafe? Liking you? It was ridiculous. There was no way. Not when he'd been with so many girls, kissed even more, and never gave you a second glance. You were just...there.

Your stomach twisted in knots. “What if he doesn’t answer? What if he thinks I’m weird for calling at night? What if I just— explode from embarrassment?”

Ava waved her hand dismissively. “If he doesn’t answer, then you know where you stand. But if he does... well, that’s another story. And I highly doubt you’ll explode. Just call him and see.”

You took a deep breath, staring at your phone like it was about to bite you. It felt reckless, terrifying even. But you were curious too—what would happen if you actually did it? Would he care? Would he answer?

“Fine,” you muttered, grabbing the phone from Harper and quickly finding Rafe’s name in your contacts before you could change your mind.

Ava grinned, leaning in. “Ooh, this is gonna be good.”

“I thought you hated him—"

“Call him!”

You hit call, holding your breath as the phone rang once, twice—

And then, to your absolute horror, it stopped. He picked up.

“Hey,” Rafe’s voice came through, “Everything okay?”

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You glanced at Harper and Ava, who were both staring at you like this was the most exciting thing to ever happen. You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal, like you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes freaking out about calling him.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, cringing at how awkward you sounded. “I just... wanted to see if you were ready for tomorrow’s study session.”

Lame. So, so lame.

Rafe chuckled softly. “You called me at night to ask about studying? I didn’t know I was that irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron.”

He laughed again, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Too late. Anyway, I’m ready for tomorrow. Was studying really the reason you called?”

You glanced at Harper and Ava, who were both nodding furiously, encouraging you to say something—anything that wasn’t study-related.

“Well... maybe not just that,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

There was a pause on the other end, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, more serious. “I’m glad you called.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

There was another moment of silence, like you were both trying to figure out what to say next.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Rafe said, his voice a little lower, almost... warmer? “Night.”

“Night,” you replied, and then the call ended.

You dropped your phone onto the couch, staring at it like it had just turned into a bomb.

Harper squealed. “He picked up right away! And he was flirty! Oh my God, he likes you!”

Ava clapped her hands, bouncing on the couch. “I knew it! He’s totally into you. Nevermind what we said earlier. Rafe Cameron is into you. We were wrong. Scratch the whole 'he’s just messing with your head' thing. He’s definitely catching feelings.”

You scowled, “Where’s your backbone? Five minutes ago, you were all, ‘Rafe’s trouble, don’t fall for it,’ and now you’re practically shipping us?”

Harper shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, but that was before he picked up right away and sounded all soft. That’s different, babe.”

“Exactly!” Ava chimed in. “Nate who?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. He’s... safe. And uncomplicated. Why am I even entertaining this idea of Rafe?”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Because safe doesn’t make your heart race. And it sure as hell doesn’t make you stay up all night overthinking. If you were so into Nate, you wouldn’t be calling Rafe at night. Or letting him kiss you!”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. They had a point, as annoying as it was. Nate might’ve been the goal, but Rafe was what had your head spinning. You groaned again, flopping back against the couch.

Sure, maybe he’d been acting a little off lately. Like, sometimes he’d actually ask you how your day was or show up when he knew you’d be around. You didn’t think much of it, though. That’s just how it was with guys like Rafe—he probably wanted something, or maybe he was just bored.

You huffed, feeling your cheeks heat up. “It’s just so stupid. He’s Rafe. He’s... ugh, he’s complicated, and I don’t even know if he’s serious, or if he’s just bored, or what. And now I’ve kissed him, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and—”

“And now you’re realizing that maybe Nate isn’t what you really want after all,” Harper finished.

You sighed, hugging a pillow to your chest. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He’d flirt, he’d flash that stupid grin, and then he’d move on like nothing ever happened. Why would you be different? 

“Easy. You figure out what you want. Not what Nate wants, not what Rafe wants. You. And until then, just... enjoy. No one said you had to decide everything right now.”

Harper nodded in agreement, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah. Take it slow. And for tonight, let’s just not overthinking every little thing, okay?”

Yet, you thought about him all night. You’d seen the way he treated other girls. He’d throw them those lazy smiles, the ones that practically screamed I’ll forget your name by tomorrow, and it always seemed to work.

They all fell for it—why wouldn’t they? Rafe was good at getting what he wanted, and he never stuck around long enough for things to get messy. You? You were invisible up until recently. He only paid attention when he felt like pissing you off. Your friends had to be reading too much into things.

This was Rafe. The same Rafe who was impossible to figure out, who never took anything seriously—least of all you. There was no way he liked you. 

But the next day came way too fast, and you were paying for it. Hard.

You groaned as you dragged yourself into the library, sunglasses on like they were going to somehow shield you from the pounding headache.

Harper and Ava had insisted on one more glass of wine, which of course, turned into two. And now, you were here, praying Rafe wouldn’t notice that you felt like death.

As you slumped into the chair across from him, he immediately raised an eyebrow, “Rough night?”

You gave him a look, your head already throbbing too much for his sarcasm. “Don’t even start, Cameron.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your state. “Wow, I can smell the regret from here. You look like you partied with a bottle of tequila and lost.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “It was wine, thank you very much. And yeah, it was a little too much.”

He chuckled softly, flipping open his notebook. “A little? You look like you just survived a war zone. Was the study session that boring to look forward to?”

“Ha ha, so funny,” you muttered, wincing as you reached for your bag. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely.” He tilted his head, clearly enjoying every second of it. “I’m impressed you made it at all. Should I have brought a bucket? You know, just in case?”

You glared at him from behind your sunglasses. “I hate you so much right now.”

Rafe just grinned, unfazed. “Trust me, it’s mutual. But seriously, you need water or something? You’re about two seconds away from face-planting on that table.”

You bit your lip, knowing he was right but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Still, your mouth felt like a desert, and the thought of anything cold and hydrating sounded like heaven.

“Maybe… a coffee?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Huh? No?”

“You’re not drinking coffee before you eat.”

You squinted at him, thoroughly annoyed. “Rafe, I’m hungover, not five years old.”

He just raised an eyebrow, clearly not swayed.

“Hungover means your brain’s working even worse than normal, so yeah, I’m pulling the adult card here. You need food before coffee.”

You rolled your eyes, regretting it instantly as your head throbbed harder. “Fine. I’ll get food after the coffee.”

He shook his head, already getting up. “Nope. I’m grabbing you a bagel or something.”

“Rafe, seriously—” you started, but he was already walking away, not even bothering to let you finish.

You slumped back in your chair, groaning under your breath. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You hadn’t eaten anything since last night, and your stomach was twisting in a way that wasn’t just from the hangover. But it was so typical of him to boss you around, like he knew what was best for you. He seemed almost too serious about all this, like it wasn’t just about breakfast or caffeine. Was he actually… worried?              

He was being so over-the-top about something so simple. Maybe he noticed things you didn’t even realize were slipping—how little you’d been eating, how tired you always seemed. You didn’t want him to worry, to get so wrapped up in how you were doing. But the fact that he did… 

Rafe returned, dropping a bagel in front of you. “Eat. Then you can have your coffee.”

You blinked at the bagel, caught off guard. “You actually got me food?”

He gave you a look. “You really thought I wouldn’t? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A pain in my ass?” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it. You unwrapped the bagel, taking a cautious bite, and, annoyingly, it actually helped. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. Now, once you finish that, we’ll get started on actual studying. You might wanna take those sunglasses off too. It’s not that bright in here.”

“Stop being so smug about it,” you grumbled, but you took another bite of the bagel, your headache easing just a little.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he owned the place.

“Hey, if you’re gonna drink like that, you should at least have someone who can take care of you after.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat. “Is this your way of saying you care?”

“Eat your bagel.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the flutter in your chest. Why was he always like this? One minute he was the biggest pain, and the next, he was sweet? You took another bite of the bagel, trying to ignore the way his comment made your stomach do a weird little flip.

Rafe just watched you, arms crossed, looking smug as ever. "I'm not saying anything," he teased, leaning forward slightly. "But you did call me last night."

You nearly choked on your bagel. "That was for studying!"

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a grin. "Oh, right. You totally call guys at night to talk about history."

You threw a balled-up napkin at him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Don't start with me, Cameron. You texted me first!"

"Fair enough," He caught the napkin effortlessly, still grinning, like teasing you was the highlight of his day. He was holding his hands up in surrender, but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes. "Don’t know if it’s the kiss or maybe you’re just starting to realize I'm not all bad."

You scoffed, trying to brush off how much that actually hit home.

"Please. You're still an entitled jerk, Rafe. One kiss doesn’t change that."

But the truth was, maybe it did change something. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. And now, sitting here with him being all unexpectedly considerate, it was getting harder to pretend like there wasn’t something going on.

“So it hasn’t been keeping you up at night?”

“Why would it? It was just a kiss. Happens all the time, right?”

His smirk widen, “So I didn’t get your panties in a twist?”

You were going to throw a book at his face.

"You’re so full of yourself," you muttered, trying to act unbothered, but your pulse quickened.

Rafe leaned in a little closer, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “I’m just saying, it seemed like more than ‘just a kiss’ with the way you keep getting flustered. You sure it didn’t mean anything?”

You narrowed your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

“What do you want me to say, Rafe? That I’m totally falling for you? That I can’t stop thinking about the kiss? Because that’s not happening.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back again, but something shifted in his expression. He was still teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity now, almost like he was testing the waters.

“Good to know. Guess I’ll just keep doing my thing then.”

“Your thing? What, being an annoying, arrogant jerk?” you shot back, though there was less bite in your tone than usual.

Rafe’s lips twitched, “I’d hate to think I’m keeping you up at night.”

Ugh. Why was he like this? Why was this working on you?

You rolled your eyes, trying to stay focused on the whole reason you were here in the first place: studying, Nate, anything but this. But the way Rafe was looking at you right now, like he could see through all the walls you put up... yeah, it was messing with your head again.

"Can we just study now?" you grumbled, flipping open your textbook, praying the conversation would shift before your cheeks got any redder. "I didn’t drag myself here to talk about your ridiculous fantasies."

His grin softened into something more genuine, and he shook his head, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good. Let’s get started before your brain melts from that hangover.”

But as you pulled out your notes, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered just a little too long. And worse, you knew your heart was doing the same—stupid fluttering and all.

There was something about this back-and-forth with him that was starting to feel... different. And maybe, just maybe, that scared you more than you were willing to admit.

As the two of you dove into the study session, you tried—really tried—to focus on the material in front of you. But every time he leaned in a little closer or cracked a joke that made you roll your eyes, your mind wandered back to that kiss. To the way he looked at you when no one else was around. To the fact that, as much as you hated to admit it, Rafe Cameron was making you feel something you hadn’t expected.

“Do you remember that bonfire when we were sixteen?” he asked all of a sudden.

You raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment. “Which one? There were like, a million bonfires.”

“The one where you dumped your drink in my face.”

Your hand froze halfway to your mouth. Oh. That bonfire. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the memory came rushing back, clear as day.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, it’s not exactly something you forget. One minute I was talking to you, and the next, I was soaking wet with a face full of—what was it? Lemonade?”

“Spiked lemonade,” you corrected, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “You deserved it.”

“Deserved it?” he echoed, leaning forward, clearly enjoying this trip down memory lane. “I asked if you wanted to hang out by the water. How’s that deserving a drink to the face?”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the old annoyance bubble up again. “You asked me to hang out after you and your friends had spent the whole night making fun of me."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, maybe we were a little rough back then. But I swear, I wasn’t trying to be a dick that night.”

“You were always a dick,” you muttered, but there was no real heat behind your words. Sixteen-year-old you had despised him and his cocky attitude. 

He smirked, “You were so pissed off. Your face was all red, and you were shaking with anger, like you couldn’t believe I’d even dared to speak to you.”

“You had it coming.”

“I probably did,” he agreed, a softer look crossing his face. “But I remember thinking, even back then, you were different. You didn’t take shit from anyone.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. “Wait, are you actually complimenting me right now? What is happening?”

Rafe just grinned, leaning back again, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I’m just saying, you’ve always had more fight in you.”

Your stomach did that weird little flip again, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the crumbs left on the table. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an ass, I wouldn’t have had to.”

“I think that’s why I liked messing with you so much.” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “You always pushed back.”

You bit your lip, not sure how to respond to that. The Rafe you remembered from back then was all arrogance and teasing, but this... this was different. It was like he was admitting that he’d seen you in a way no one else had back then. 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching cut your conversation short. You glanced up, thinking it might just be another student passing by, but your heart nearly stopped when you saw Nate walking toward you and Rafe.

Rafe’s smirk faded instantly when he spotted him approaching.

“Hey,” Nate greeted with a casual smile, though his eyes flicked quickly between you and Rafe, “Didn’t know you guys studied here too.”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal even though your brain was racing. “Yeah, uh, just catching up on some work.”

Nate’s smile wavered slightly as his gaze lingered on Rafe, then back to you. “Mind if I join? I was just gonna find a spot to get some work done, but...” His voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

For a second, you were torn. Nate was here, right in front of you—the guy you’d been chasing for months, the one who was supposed to be the plan. But Rafe was sitting across from you.

He leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms with that signature smirk creeping back onto his face. “Yeah, sure, the more, the merrier.”

You shot him a look, silently pleading with him not to make this worse, but he just raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the situation.

Nate pulled out a chair, setting his bag down, “What’re you working on?” he asked, glancing between you and Rafe.

Before you could answer, Rafe spoke up, again, “Just a little review. Nothing too complicated, right?” His eyes flicked to you, daring you to answer.

You swallowed hard, feeling both their gazes on you. “Yeah, just going over some notes. We’re almost done, actually.”

Nate’s eyes lingered on Rafe for a beat longer than necessary, like he was sizing him up. “Right. Cool. I guess I’ll just... grab a spot over there.” 

“You do that.”

“Rafe.” you grumbled under your breath, kicking him under the table.

"You wanna grab lunch after? I was gonna head to that new sandwich place, and figured you might want to come."

For a split second, you hesitated. Lunch with Nate was the safe, easy option—exactly what you’d been trying to hold onto. But the way Rafe was watching you now... Nate’s invitation wasn’t just about lunch. It was a claim, a reminder that he was the one you were supposed to be into.

"I, um—” you started, but the words were stuck in your throat.

You’d just spent the last half hour trying to convince yourself that Rafe didn’t matter. That this whole thing with him wasn’t a big deal. But now, with Nate standing right here, it felt like your brain was short-circuiting.

Rafe stood up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Well, looks like you’ve got plans," he said, his voice flat. He glanced at you, before grabbing his notebook. "Catch you later, I guess."

Before you could say anything, he walked away, his footsteps heavy as he left the library. You stared after him, your heart doing this weird thing where it felt like it was both racing and sinking at the same time.

Nate raised an eyebrow, watching Rafe go. "That guy’s... intense," he said, his tone light, but you could tell he was fishing for something.

You forced a smile, "Yeah, that’s Rafe for you."

But even as you said it, your mind wasn’t on Nate. It was still stuck on Rafe—on the way he’d looked at you before he left, like maybe he’d been hoping you wouldn’t just go along with Nate’s plan. Like maybe he’d wanted you to choose something different.

"So, lunch?" Nate asked again, his smile back in place, but it didn’t feel the same. Not anymore.

You swallowed hard, nodding automatically. “Sure, lunch sounds good.”

But as you followed him out of the library, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you’d just walked away from something important. 

[lightseoul]

a/n. i really had to start writing for akaashi again on bakugou's birthday of all days, huh. in any case, this was a lot of fun to write, and came quite easily to me because i relate to akaashi a lot, personality-wise. somebody hold a gun to my head and force me to write more for him, because i've truly missed the guy. (0.8k)

c.w. minor haikyuu timeskip spoilers.

akaashi keiji is a smart man.

at least, he’d like to think he is.

to be fair, he’s always had good grades even way back in his formative years, was in the advanced classes in secondary school despite being busy with volleyball, and graduated with high honors in college. and while he is more awkward than he likes to admit, he’s always had his wits to fall back on—allowing him to ace his job interviews, eventually propelling him to work as one of the editors of a leading publishing company in central tokyo.

so, yes. maybe it isn’t farfetched of him to think he’s at least above average.

but right now, as he stares at his reflection in the relatively dirty mirror of the decidedly empty 12th-floor bathroom, he’s starting to doubt everything he’s ever believed about his intelligence.

but then again, love did have the reputation of making someone blind.

although, in his case, he’s far from blind. if anything, his vision is currently 20/20, thanks to his glasses.

his glasses that he never wears to work for the fear of looking like a dork, and thus he’s always made do with those prickly contacts—

until today.

the day after he overheard you talking to your mutual coworker on your way home, where you conveniently mentioned in passing how you found nerdy-looking guys cute.

…wait a minute.

did he just say love?

vigorously shaking his head, he reaches for some tissues at the side and curses when they stick to his hands after an attempt to dry them. jesus, for a company that’s known to have a high net value, they sure could invest in two-ply napkins, at the very least.

maybe he can bring that up with you later on, he thinks to himself as he walks along the sparsely populated cubicles, the early morning sun streaming through the floor-length windows. he’s not sure if the outsourcing of bathroom tissues is part of your job description as the hr analyst, but he’s running out of ideas on how to approach you, and truth be told, he’s getting antsy.

plus, he’s made the leap and worn his glasses today. it would be a waste if he couldn’t at least say hi to you.

or, you know, show his face. and hope to dear god he passes off as nerdy-looking.

the good kind. (for the love of god. please.)

“akaashi-san?”

akaashi freezes mid-step. fuck, he was so in his head about this entire ordeal that he didn’t notice it was getting close to the usual time you arrived at work.

clearing his throat, akaashi takes a shaky breath—not too deep, lest you find him out and his fried nerves, the way they always end up when you’re around—before finally turning on his heel and facing you.

and when he does—face you—it takes everything in him not to turn the other way and run for the hills.

to his credit, though, he stays still—perhaps a little too still—and musters a small smile. “y/n-san.”

he can only watch as the bewildered expression that was just etched on your face morphs into a similar smile. “i—uh, didn’t expect to see you this early.”

akaashi barely stops himself from cringing. his tardy streak is not something he wishes you’d notice about him.

“oh, yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, “there’s just—uh—a few deadlines that i need to meet, and i figured i get a headstart.”

liar, he could hear kuroo’s taunting voice in his head.

contrary to the antagonistic persona of the ebony-haired man residing in his head, though, you—being the good person that you are—only toss him a sympathetic yet encouraging smile, and he’s once again reminded of why he likes you so much.

“well, don’t push yourself too hard,” you offer, your work bag in one hand and a beverage in the other.

“thanks,” akaashi smiles—a little too curtly for his taste—before stepping aside so you could walk past. “i won’t.”

“great,” you laugh, and he stays put for a second as the distance between you two gets bigger and bigger—at least, until you turn again to face him and he stiffens.

“what?” he asks, hoping he’s not dripping with self-consciousness.

“nothing,” you shake your head, before spinning on your heel once more. “just—nice glasses.”

needless to say, yesterday was the last time he ever wore contacts to work.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

[mediocre-writing]

Don't run away from me | Ellie Williams

` synopsis: Y/n is having a breakdown because she's attracted to a girl, Ellie is having a breakdown because she met probably the most beautiful girl in the world.

pairing; Ellie Williams X Fem!Reader | Modern Au!

- Fluff, fluff and little angst (Y/n is having a lot of trouble accepting her sexuality.)

Notes: My first language is not English, sorry for any mistakes, After a long time I finally posted this lol

request taglist in the comments please

—

PROLOGUE | NEXT

"Dina, why do we always have to go to Jesse's coffee shop? I know you really like him, but he's terrible at making coffee." Y/n says trying to warm her hands with the steam from her mouth.

"But he's great at other things." Dina says smiling and opening the door to the establishment.

"Disgusting."

The bell rings, and Y/n sighs as she enters the coffee shop, it was warm, cozy and had an irresistible smell of coffee and cappuccino.

"Look who I came to!" Jesse says, coming out from behind the counter and going straight to hug Dina.

"As if we don't always come for that horrible coffee of yours." Y/n says, putting her hands in her pocket as she watches the two hug.

"Rude." He says, letting go of Dina and going to hug Y/n who pushes him away laughing.

"Shut up and go make our coffees." Jesse rolls his eyes but smiles.

"The usual?" He asks walking backwards.

"You're the best Jesse." Dina says and Y/n scoffs.

"The best? Seriously?"

"Look friend, I think you've been very bitter lately." Dina says hugging Y/n.

"Maybe you're the one who's too soft." She says, taking the card out of her purse.

The cafeteria is not very crowded, but not very empty either, at this time of the morning it is usually busier.

"Here are your orders!" Jesse says placing the two glasses on the counter and taking the card from Y/n's hand.

"Is it decent?" Y/n says laughing and taking the glass.

"Funny, so how are things between you and John?"

"Oh, we don't talk anymore." Jesse looks at her in surprise.

"Really? I thought it would work, you two look so alike." Jesse looks between Y/n and Dina who nods in agreement.

"No... Not really, but thanks for introducing us Jesse." Y/n puts the card in her pants pocket and smiles at Jesse.

Jonh was a great friend of Jesse, he had a great interest in Y/n and so he finally convinced Jesse to introduce the two.

"Sure, well I have to get back to work, see you later?"

"Sure!" Dina responds immediately and Y/n rolls her eyes again.

"Unfortunately."

The two of them found themselves heading towards the cafeteria door.

"Is this like a courtship ?"

"Maybe it is, maybe not" Dina answers and Y/n smiles opening the door, but when the wind hits her glass, she smells a strong smell of cappuccino.

Y/n opens the lid and groans when she sees that Jesse had given her the wrong order.

"See, Dina, you distracted him, the order is wrong." She says, showing the cup to her friend.

"Where is your-" Dina is interrupted by a loud female voice.

"Damn Jesse, that's the third time you've messed up my order this week."

"I think we found where your order is." Dina says with a laugh.

"Your little boyfriend is not normal." Y/n says this going to the girl who is screaming at the counter and Dina follows her.

"Excuse me, I think your order is with me, I haven't even taken it yet so-" Y/n says nudging the redhead who has her back to her, ready to jump over that counter and hit Jesse.

She turns to face Y/n, and her face softens immediately, Y/n who has a friendly smile on her face feels something different in her chest when she sees the girl's face making the smile fall a little.

"Really? Well I... I already drank this, but I'm going to buy you another one." She says with a gentle voice now, and that smile she gave at the end.

holy shit, what the fuck is this?

"No, it's okay, you don't need to-" Y/n says awkwardly and the redhead shakes her head.

"No, I'll buy it, Jesse makes her another coffee." She says, turning to the boy with an angry expression, but turns to Y/n again with a gentle smile. "I'm Ellie."

"Y/n." She answers and Ellie repeats her name softly and Y/n thinks her name has never sounded so beautiful and-

HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!

Dina coughs and Y/n comes back to reality.

"Oh, this is my friend Dina." Ellie looks at Dina with a friendly smile.

"The reason Jesse won't shut up." This makes Dina's eyes widen with a happy smile on her face.

"What does he say about me? Please-"

"Here's your coffee!" Jesse says quickly making Y/n and Ellie smile and look at each other.

"Thanks for the coffee, but I think it's only fair to buy one for you too, this one must have gotten cold by now." Ellie smiles fondly and takes the cup from Y/n's hand.

Their fingers graze, and Y/n's heart is practically beating out of her mouth.

"No need, maybe next time."

Next time?

The two look at each other for a while, and Dina and Jesse look at each other with a knowing look.

"We should go, it was great meeting you Ellie, thanks again for the coffee." Y/n says looking at her feet feeling her cheeks hot.

"See you around." Ellie looks into Y/n's eyes, and wow

what beautiful eyes.

"Bye Ellie, see you later Jesse!" Dina says smiling and hugging Y/n by the shoulders.

The two leave the coffee shop in silence, and as they walk down the sidewalk, Dina looks at her friend with a mischievous smile.

"What was that?" Dina's voice brings the girl back to reality.

"What?" She asks looking at her friend.

"Were you listening to me? What world were you in?" Dina asks smiling.

In a world with green eyes, red hair, beautiful freckles and-

"No, think about guys Y/n! Guys, guys, guys!"

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking about that girl back there? Ellie isn't it?" This makes Y/n feel her cheeks heat up.

"You're delusional, you know I only like men Dina." Dina looks at her with a frown.

"Really?" Dina asks, not convinced at all.

"Yeah, John and I could have worked out." She says, taking a sip of his coffee.

My God Jesse, learn how to make coffee.

"And what went wrong?"

"He doesn't like Star Wars." This makes Dina stop in the street in disbelief.

"What?" Y/n stops too and sighs.

"He doesn't like Star Wars."

"No way you stopped talking to him because he doesn't like Star Wars, I didn't even know you liked Star Wars." Dina says, approaching her friend.

"Well, now I like it." Y/n says with a shrug and starts walking again.

"You know there's nothing wrong with liking girls, right?"

"No, now that I'm talking to my parents again." Dina looks at her confused.

"Your parents? What the-"

"Dina please." Y/n whimpers and the other girl sighs.

"Okay, but let's talk about this later."

Y/n takes another sip of her coffee and her mind goes back to the girl with green eyes.

What a beautiful smile she had, what did her hair smell like? And her perfume ?

For Y/n! Thinking of men, men, men!

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yanderes x Reader

You never intended to be loved this way.

It began innocently enough, or as innocent as things can be when two pairs of eyes follow you everywhere—one like a flame, the other like ice. You didn’t notice it at first. They were just classmates, just neighbors, just friends-of-friends. Just coincidence.

But it’s funny how coincidence feels a lot like fate once you’re in too deep to walk away.

Their names don’t matter anymore. Not to you. Not to them. They only care about what they are to you: yours.

His voice is soft, like lullabies sung to sleeping children. He brushes your hair back from your eyes and murmurs about how much he loves you, how perfect you are, how lucky he is that no one else got to you first. You don’t remember when he started coming into your apartment uninvited. You just woke up one day to the scent of breakfast, and there he was—beaming.

He whispers things into your ear at night. Things like:

"They’ll never love you like I do. They can’t. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. I’d carve out my own heart if you asked."

You believe him. And it terrifies you.

The other one’s love is quiet, simmering beneath the surface like a volcano that hasn’t erupted yet. He doesn’t whisper. He watches. You feel his eyes on you even when he isn’t there—especially when he isn’t there.

Once, you caught him standing across the street from your building in the rain. No umbrella. No coat. Just standing. Staring. When you finally confronted him, he only said, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

He always knows where you are. Not because you tell him, but because he’s already there.

You once tried to distance yourself. Blocked numbers. Moved without telling anyone. Burned letters. You made it twenty-two hours before they found you.

He cried. Cried like a widow at a funeral, clawing at your sleeves, asking why you’d hurt him like that, why you’d leave him when you promised—though you don’t remember ever promising anything.

The other didn’t say a word. Just stood at the end of your bed in the motel room and stared at you with a look that made your stomach twist. Then he sat down, gently, like he had all the time in the world.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you said.

He tilted his head. “We haven’t even started.”

You live between them now, like a cracked bone healing in the wrong shape. He cooks for you. The other drives you to work. He deletes contacts from your phone. The other changes your locks. He sleeps with your shirt under his pillow. The other keeps a file of every conversation you’ve ever had.

They hate each other. Of course they do. But they don’t fight. No, they don’t dare risk ruining the thing they both love most: you. So they’ve reached a kind of truce—cold and temporary, a storm that builds beneath the surface. Every now and then you catch them exchanging glances that could strip paint from walls. But they don’t touch each other. Only you.

Always you.

You don’t remember what freedom feels like. You wonder if you ever really had it. Maybe you were always meant for this, for them. A beautiful flower trapped in a glass cage, admired and possessed. Loved too much. Smothered in it.

Some nights, you still try to run. In your dreams, mostly. But even there, they find you. One holds your hand and begs you not to leave him alone in the dark. The other cradles your head in his lap and promises he’ll never let you go.

You wake up tangled in sheets, sweating, shaking, with your phone buzzing beside you. One message from him:

“Sweetheart, where did you go?”

And one from the other:

“Don’t ever disappear on me again.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror. There are shadows under your eyes now. Scars on your wrists, not from knives, but from the grip of someone who couldn’t bear to let go. You open your mouth to scream but no sound comes out. You’re not sure you remember how.

They say they love you. Again and again. Like a mantra. A spell. A curse.

And the worst part?

A part of you loves them, too.

Masterlist

[yvesssssssss]

A night of forgetting

Nagumo had seen a lot in his life—bloodstained floors, desperate men begging for their lives, and the quiet flicker of a soul leaving the body. But he had never seen you like this.

He stood by the entrance of the small, dimly lit bar, arms crossed as he watched you giggle at something the bartender had said. Your cheeks were flushed, your head resting against your palm as you twirled the edge of your glass between your fingers.

You were absolutely wasted.

Nagumo sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair. He wasn’t surprised. You had told him you were going out drinking with friends, and he figured you’d let loose, but he hadn’t expected this level of intoxication.

Still, he found himself smirking. You really couldn’t handle your drinks, huh?

He approached the bar, sliding onto the stool beside you. "Rough night?"

You turned to him sluggishly, blinking a few times as if trying to focus. Then, slowly, your face twisted into a pout. "Who… are you?"

Nagumo’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second.

Oh, you were that drunk.

He had expected you to be tipsy, maybe even clumsy, but not recognizing him? Now that was new.

"Aw, babe, that hurts." He placed a hand over his chest dramatically. "Did I really become that forgettable?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, studying his face as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "Wait… do I know you?"

Nagumo chuckled, tilting his head. "You tell me."

You squinted at him, then leaned in, your face mere inches from his. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, a mix of plum wine and something stronger. Then, just when he thought you might recognize him, you gasped dramatically.

"You—You're so pretty!"

Nagumo blinked. Then, after a beat of silence, he burst into laughter. Of all the reactions, this was not what he had expected.

"I mean, look at you!" You gestured at his face, swaying slightly in your seat. "Your eyes… so sharp! And your hair! It’s like—like moonlight!" You sighed dreamily. "Are you an actor? A model?"

Nagumo grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "Something like that."

You gasped again, this time clutching his sleeve. "Oh my God, are you famous?! Wait—are you in the mafia?! You have that… that dangerous look, like—like you could kill a man with a toothpick or something."

Nagumo raised an eyebrow. Well, she’s not wrong.

"You have to be in the mafia!" You nodded to yourself, convinced by your own logic. "Or… or maybe you’re a spy! Are you?!"

Nagumo leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That’s a secret."

You gasped yet again, completely enthralled. "That’s so cool!"

He couldn’t help it—he laughed again. He had seen you drunk before, but this? This was a whole new level of entertainment.

"Alright, pretty girl, let's get you home," he finally said, reaching out to steady you.

But you pulled away dramatically. "Wait, wait, wait!" You pointed a wobbly finger at him. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?! I don’t even know you!"

Nagumo chuckled. "Is that so?"

You nodded aggressively. "Yes! What kind of girl do you think I am?! I—I have a boyfriend!"

At this, Nagumo's smirk widened. "Oh yeah?" He tilted his head. "What’s he like?"

You sighed dreamily. "He’s sooo cool. And smart! And a little annoying, but, like, in a hot way." You wobbled in your seat. "And he's super good at disguises. Like, scary good. Sometimes I think he could be a serial killer, but, y’know, sexy."

Nagumo grinned. "Sounds like a dangerous man."

"He is!" You hiccupped. "But I love him." Your voice softened at that, and despite your drunken haze, there was something genuine in your tone. "He drives me crazy, but I love him so much."

Nagumo felt something warm settle in his chest. Even in your completely intoxicated state, even while looking straight at him and not recognizing him, you still talked about how much you loved him.

He exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. Damn, he was lucky.

"Alright, alright," he said, standing up and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He dropped some cash on the counter and then turned back to you. "Let's go, princess. Your sexy serial killer boyfriend would kill me if I let you stay out this late."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I dunno… you seem suspicious."

Nagumo rolled his eyes playfully, then, in a swift motion, reached out and flicked your forehead.

"Ow!" You pouted, rubbing the spot.

"That jog your memory?"

You blinked. Then blinked again.

And then, all at once, realization dawned on your face.

"Wait a minute…" You pointed at him, eyes widening. "Yoichi..?"

He smirked. "Took you long enough."

Your expression twisted in embarrassment, your hands flying to your face. "Oh my God. Oh my God."

Nagumo chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. "Come on, lightweight, let’s get you home before you confess your love for me again in public."

You groaned into your hands. "Please kill me."

"Aw, but you just said you love me too much."

You swatted at his arm weakly, making him laugh as he guided you out of the bar.

Yeah, you were going to regret this in the morning.

But for now, he’d just enjoy having his girl, drunk out of her mind, still loving him even when she didn’t know who he was.

[hey-august]

Imagining a scenario where crossguild is founded and reader is an underling working for the trio. One day they excuse themselve from the room before a meeting is supposed to start and Crocodile and Mihawk share a look.

“They are quite charming.” “Indeed…” “… I do believe I have a few excellent bottles of whiskey in my personal collection.” “Hmm… I’m afraid none of my vices are something you’d be interested in Hawkeye.” “That classified shipment you have coming in would do quite nicely.” “… Deal.”

And so Crocodile and Mihawk have set up a bet on who can seduce Reader first.

And Buggy is PANICKING. Like his stupid little crush wasn’t already embarrassing enough to deal with, now he actually has COMPETITION (well, even more threatening competitors anyways, he’s are Reader already gets swarmed by the regular) and he’s deeply aware of his own shortcomings, it’s like the universe conspired to make him miserable once again.

Buggy finally gets the gall to try and visit reader in the early evening, snacks in hand, he’s gonna make it casual, ask if they want to just spend some time drinking and eating and- Oh hi Mihawk…. Oh… that’s some expensive wine you got there… expensive cheese for that matter as well. Great. Lovely luxury charcuterie you two have there… NONONO HE’LL BE GOING NO PROBLEM BYE!

So what inevitably happens after three months of Crocodile and Mihawk pulling out all the stops to sweep reader off their feet? What’s the conclusion that arrives when Mihawk finally, FINALLY just asks in a moment of rare impatience “As you may probably be able to tell, I’ve been courting you for quite a while. I do wonder if the interest is mutual or if you have an eye on one of… my associates.” ?

Of course they immediately stammer out an apology, they are really flattered, but they do indeed have fallen for one of his associates. Buggys soul just collapses inwardly and Crocodile shoots an annoyed Mihawk the most shit eating, smuggest look imaginable.

“… It’s… uh. I mean if Chairman Buggy would even LIKE to go on a date with me that is…”

And Buggy fucking LOOSES it then and there, blabbering and ugly crying immediately because???? HE WON? HE WASNT EVEN IN THE RACE BUT HE WON!? Like the little lame dog that FINALLY won his first race- the universe smiled at him for once and he- he-

His colleagues just stare at the scene unfolding in bewilderment, only finally speaking again when Reader and Buggy have left the room, Reader shooting them an apologetic look as they run soothing circles into Buggys back.

Crocodile absolutely ruins the expensive table as he slowly and furiously drags his hook along the exotic wooden top. Mihawk just sighs and grabs them both some glasses of whiskey. Obviously they never had a chance because Reader insert is clearly absolutely insane.

LOVE THIS. A LOT. LET'S TALK ABOUT IT MORE?

Like 500 words of talking about it, pls.

Warnings: sfw, gn!reader, courting croc + mihawk, buggy being buggy, we need more crybaby buggy, mentions of alcohol

Okay, Crocodile and Mihawk laying out the terms of the deal are delightful. Same page, same thoughts, it all just needed to be acknowledged.

I’m imagining the three men sitting at a table while Buggy is just shrinking back in his seat because of how fast the pit in his stomach sunk.

They’re completely talking over him because he is of no consequence in this game of theirs. Buggy has no stake in this. No place at the table. Crocodile and Mihawk know it. Buggy knows it. But Reader doesn’t.

When Mihawk asks Reader to join him for an evening treat, they can’t easily turn away the powerful man. Plus, it’s not often they get to eat a well-plated charcuterie. Some fancy cheeses with all sorts of mold, dried meat imported from faraway places and animals, olives soaked in flavors that sound bizarre but somehow work, and a tart wine to wash it all down. Reader might be more accustomed to more common fare, but this is an opportunity worth taking. 

Then again, maybe not. When Buggy pops in, juggling a bag of salty chips, chocolates with an unknown amount of cocoa, and fizzy drinks, Reader wishes he would have agreed to sit next to them.

While Crocodile invites Reader to start the morning with a fresh cup of drip coffee (which is nearly as hot and strong as the man who brewed the drink), it sounds like a good way to get a headstart on the day’s tasks. Still, when they see Buggy walk past a little later - bedhead piled high, slippers shuffling on the ground, and the belt of his robe trailing behind - they feel a pang in their chest. Maybe it’s because of the caffeine content in the drink.

Anyways, Crocodile and Mihawk continue their game and Reader is collecting all the prizes. Simple but high quality jewelry. Dinners with linen napkins. Fancy trinkets that Reader is too nervous to take out of the packaging that seems to be as expensive as the item itself.

All nice, but sometimes Reader yearns for a stuffed animal instead. Accessories that might be described as gaudy. Or flashy. They want to hear obnoxiously loud laughter instead of a restrained chuckle. They want…

Him.

That sad wet hankie of a man. Not Crocodile, who foraged for mushrooms to use in a dinner for Reader. Or Mihawk, who lent Reader one of his favorite books.

Reader likes Buggy. The shining star. The guy who makes them laugh, simply by being himself. The guy who wears his emotions on his sleeve. Especially now, since he’s wiping away his tears and snot.

Sure, Buggy is a flashy fool. Reader is a fool too, if that’s their preference. And behind their overfilled tumblers of whiskey, Crocodile and Mihawk know that they’re fools, as well. 

How could their standards be so skewed that they fell for someone who likes an idiot? And yet, that’s part of Reader’s charm.

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree. 

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes. 

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly. 

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive. 

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips. 

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni. 

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour. 

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink. 

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?” 

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request. 

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be. 

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows. 

To say that you were stunned was an understatement. 

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn. 

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears. 

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to. 

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful 

She’s precious 

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know… 

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh. 

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”  

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks. 

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge. 

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel. 

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

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