#making an announcement that they will make an announcement

[mayakern]

Things are bad right now.

As many of you know, way back in 2020 we weren’t sure if our business was gonna make it. Our factory was already on break for Lunar New Year–a month-long holiday for many businesses in the area–and with the announcement of COVID19, everything shut down indefinitely. We knew immediately we were in for a bad time. Despite our fears, our sales grew so far beyond anything we ever expected, to the point where we had to hire two employees just to keep up with demand! 

Unfortunately, even after our factory reopened, our problems were not over. Their quality drastically declined almost immediately, to the point that a significant amount of our  fabric would literally fall apart in transit between the factory and our office. Because of this, we discovered that our sales rep had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing about the factory she was representing, so when we told her the fabric was garbage her response was “👍 factory said it’s good!” At the beginning, only roughly 10% of our new product was defective and we were able to sell the affected items with a reasonable discount. By the end of our relationship with that factory, 40% of our midi skirts and 70% of our miniskirts were defective, some affected so severely that they practically fell apart when touched. And still, our rep said everything was fine and there were no problems and the fabric composition had not changed.

So in 2022 we changed factories. We hired Ash to handle this since I was way too busy managing fulfillment to do the amount of research and communication necessary to find us a factory that met our criteria. Finding clothing factories that can make clothing over a size 2-3X is significantly more difficult than one that can’t because it often requires larger and more expensive machinery. But Ash did it: she got us set up with a new factory that has excellent certifications for both their labor practices and their methods for textile production, that delivers consistent, high quality sewing on well made fabric that can be printed without suffering loss in detail–and she was armored with the knowledge for what makes a quality garment so she could check them if they tried to screw us on quality. Their minimum orders were way higher than our previous factory’s, so we decided to focus on ordering more units of fewer designs. We ordered way too much our first round–some of those designs were in stock until the 2024 blowout sale! But it worked out, and slowly we had a warehouse full of stuff to sell.

Fast forward to 2024, business is slowing down between the economy being bad and what seemed to be a general skirt fatigue amongst our customers. We tried expanding into shirts, which would’ve been successful if our minimums were lower. In the late spring we realized we were in trouble if we didn’t make drastic changes and we ultimately decided to end in-house fulfillment and transfer to a third party fulfillment center that would support domestic shipping in Canada and eventually the UK, EU, and Australia. In order to make that transition affordable we drastically discounted everything and that sale was super successful! We were able to begin shipping from the fulfillment center with an almost clean slate, even if it did mean having to close the store for almost two months and thereby missing out on two very important months of sales.

Unfortunately, we were stupid. We continued to order new designs on an every other month schedule instead of switching to an every month schedule, forgetting that having a backstock in a variety of designs is what previously helped us float between orders and now we quite literally didn’t have enough inventory to match the sales we made for last year’s holiday sale.

That brings us to now.

We’re a little stuck. We have a round of skirts in production (yay!) but they won’t get here until February (boo!). To get back on that monthly cycle we would need to order the next round of skirts right now, but we can’t pay for production until that next round of skirts gets here; if the current sale goes well, it’s paying payroll, not production. We are currently in the very difficult, horrible situation of not having enough money for next month’s payroll unless we are somehow able to make significant sales with our very sparse inventory.

We’re scrappy and we do our best to adapt to disasters and I’m sure we’ll find a way to adapt to this one as well, it’ll just take us some time to get there. Basically we’re going to be okay eventually–hopefully later this year–but in the meantime if we seem frantic, now you know why. 

If you’re been considering trying out our viscose shirts but haven’t been able to justify paying full price, they’re on clearance PLUS half off right now! That’s $9-$15 for the viscose tops, and other tops on clearance are $20-$45. Some of the shirts we’re having a LOT of trouble selling are now priced below cost to help us recoup some of the money we spent making them.

Any amount of support helps right now. Sharing posts, telling your friends, buying a $9 shirt–all of it helps. If our clothing isn’t your thing, we also have a Patreon you can support for as little as $1 a month. https://www.patreon.com/mayakern

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day and that 2025 is a brighter, kinder year for us all.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter two | formula one imagine

chapter two: a dutchman and an italian in london

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

y/n still has a decision to make, maybe a little visit can sway her vote

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PREVIOUS PART

the next morning y/n found herself sat on her couch with only brando’s loud purrs breaking the stifling silence. the letter from kimi sat on the coffee table collecting the condensation from y/n’s abandoned glass of orange juice as she continued to mull over the decision.

stuck in her mind, y/n stopped petting brando and stared off into the grey skies of west london. she told herself over and over again that decisions like this should be easy. simply, if she wanted to do it, she would’ve known the first time the offer was floated to her. but she didn’t have that immediate burst of excitement, instead she felt her heart stop and hairs on the back of her neck stand up. in that moment y/n had realised that a place that ignited that kind of reaction in her was not a place she needed to be - therapy had worked it seems.

but then again, if it was such a sure no, why wouldn’t it leave her mind? pictures of her in black alongside the young italian, back at the tracks she loved and around the people she admired flashed across her mind.

three polite knocks rung out across the apartment. y/n wasn’t expecting visitors and the front desk hadn’t notified her of any visits or deliveries. it was probably mrs. granger from down the hall forgetting which door was which again so she ignored it and went back to petting brando.

three more knocks, a little more urgent this time, came ringing through the rooms. brando’s ears perked up as he jumped down from the couch and trotted towards the front door.

“brando, come back here,”

y/n whisper-shouted towards the cat who neglected to heed her warnings. tiptoeing into the kitchen, y/n rifled through her draws for a weapon, settling on a ceramic rolling pin as her weapon of choice. as she crept towards the door y/n could hear some quiet bickering being dulled by the thick door and then a sudden pounding at it. brando meowed in surprise and bolted, likely for his preferred hiding place under y/n’s bed.

“y/n open the fucking door i know you’re in there!”

max verstappen. y/n sighed, lowering the rolling pin and opening the door. much to her surprise the dutchman wasn’t alone, peering over his shoulders was kimi antonelli himself.

“were you going to make me into a pie? move out of the way,” max said looking at the rolling pin and pushing past y/n into the apartment.

“yes, i guess you can come in max…”

max shucked off his shoes and moved into the kitchen, opening the fridge and cracking open a red bull. kimi followed apprehensively, taking his shoes off slowly and placing them neatly by the door.

“see! it’s almost like you knew i was coming,” max said with a smug smile, “now where’s my little boy?”

almost on cue, brando strolled back into the kitchen and immediately started rubbing against max’s legs. the dutchman knelt down and scooped brando up in his arms, red bull long forgotten as he doted on the cat.

“now you’ve tormented my son, do you want to tell me why you’re here?”

y/n asked, arms crossed and with an unimpressed look on her face. looking over to kimi, the italian quickly ducked his head and fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper. max continued cuddling brando, ignoring y/n’s questioning stare.

“i’m giving you two ten seconds to give me a good reason as to why you’ve come to disturb my peace today before i throw you out,” y/n announced. max cleared his throat and straightened his back, much to the chagrin of brando.

“right, okay,” max started, “you gotta take the job y/n. look at his little face,” max leant over and pinched kimi’s cheek, “look at him he’s so young and innocent. think of all the big ugly bullies like carlos and lando, you can’t leave him alone with them!”

“you came to guilt me into taking the job?”

“no!” kimi squeaked, “that was max’s idea. i wanted to come and tell you my reasons myself. i wrote you a letter but i don’t know if it ever made it to you.”

kimi’s eyes locked on the letter on the coffee table and looked back at y/n, eyes getting watery.

“oh. you did get it,” kimi started biting at his nails, “i’m sorry for coming and invading your privacy miss y/ln, we’ll leave you alone now.”

the italian turned to max, pleading with his eyes to go. max held up his hand, jostling brando again.

“we’re not going anywhere kimi, this has gone on far too long. y/n i get that you don’t really want to come back and for very valid reasons, but deep down i know you do. racing is everything to you and i know you changed your mind when you read kimi’s letter.”

kimi’s head shot up, looking at y/n with an unbridled and heartbreaking amount of hope. he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, as if to stop himself from blurting out whatever he was thinking.

“that bullshit article about zak is no reason not to come back. he’s doing it on purpose to keep you from coming back. he’s a fraud, we all know he is. he’s terrified of you, that’s why he takes cheap shots at you. you don’t need to go anywhere near him in the paddock but don’t let him keep you away from what you love.”

y/n sighed, her head in her hands but max just grinned, sending a wink kimi’s way.

“you know i’m right y/n.”

“why can’t you be a mentor? you can look out for kimi?” y/n countered, her words sharp like an animal backed into a corner.

“and have to spend more time with george russell? i’m sorry kimi but there’s only one person worth suffering through that for”

kimi didn’t really seem too bothered by the dig at his new teammate, his eyes not leaving y/n’s, holding onto every word.

“so you’re saying that i should have to suffer through that instead?”

y/n smirked at kimi and took her cat from max’s arms. she sat back down on her couch and motioned for kimi to come and sit beside her. the italian sat cross legged, body angled towards y/n. to his surprise the first thing the brit did was place brando on his lap. kimi let out a soft yelp before brando started nudging his head against kimi’s chin. ”he likes you, that’s a good sign. my brando is an amazing judge of character so i trust he would pick out a good work partner for me”

kimi stopped petting brando so abruptly at y/n’s words that the black cat pawed at his chest to regain the italian’s attention.

“so you think we could work well together?” kimi asked in a small voice, making sure to continue stroking brando’s head this time.

“the annoying one over there won’t leave me alone if i don’t say yes,” y/n said, nodding towards max. the dutchman let out a ‘i heard that’ from the kitchen but left the other two to their discussion. “but he’s also right. i love racing and it hurts me very deeply that i can’t do it anymore. but i also see a lot of myself in you and your letter was so sincere it’s honestly changed my whole world view. i’ve been throwing myself a pity party for three years, enough is enough - and i can’t think of a better racer to be a mentor to.”

“really?”

the smile on kimi’s face was all-consuming, his eyes crinkling and a little giggle escaping as well.

“yes. although i am also impressed you came all the way from monaco to ask me.”

max plucked brando from kimi’s lap and crashed into the armchair, “oh he came all the way from italy actually”

y/n’s head whipped back to kimi who shrugged, whispering a small ‘worth it’ under his breath. max continued,

“he messaged me on instagram - my official account so vic had to text me about ‘this kid who wants to see if you’ll go to london with him’. then he drove all the way from milan to monaco and then we took air max here. he’s a very dedicated one you got there”

“you drove from milan to monaco? do you even have a road licence?”

kimi went to interject but y/n kept going, “it’s so early, when did you drive? you didn’t drive overnight did you?” the silence was answer enough.

“that is so not good for you kimi! right,” y/n stood up, dragging kimi with her, “i don’t have the spare room set up yet so you’ll have to deal with my bed. i have some of max’s clothes here that you can borrow but i order you to go take a nap and in a couple of hours i’ll take you both to lunch.”

kimi followed y/n like a little duckling to her room, hearing max in the background grumble about how he never gets offered a bed for a nap. y/n grabbed some clothes from her bottom draw and handed them to kimi.

“sorry they’re red bull branded, that loser doesn’t wear anything else, we just won’t tell toto will we?”

kimi let out another giggle, heading towards the en suite room to change. at the door he turned to y/n who was plumping the pillows and making the bed.

“thank you for taking a chance on me. i promise i’ll make it worth it.”

“don’t worry kimi. i think we’ll be great together. get a couple hours of sleep and we’ll get some food.”

y/n moved towards the door and gave kimi a soft smile as she closed it. the italian felt an even bigger smile break out on his face and allowed himself to let out a girlish squeal - he just had to text ollie about this.

back in the living room both max and brando had moved to the bigger couch and stared at y/n with knowing eyes.

“what?”

“nothing. just by my calculations it took you a whole two minutes to crumble and start the mother duck act.”

“so you don’t want me to come back?”

y/n poked, max sighed.

“you know that’s not what i mean. but it’s cute, it suits you.”

“shut up,” y/n said, fighting off a blush, “do you want to watch some tv while the little one sleeps?”

max yanked the remote from y/n’s hand and patted the seat. it was just like old times, nearly.

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maxverstappen1

liked by olliebearman, isackhadjar and 803,899 others

maxverstappen1: when in rome

view all comments

user1: you’re not fooling me buster

user2: the way this is defo vic being told to create a diversion

user3: sorry to break it to the gal she’s not doing her best

victoriaverstappen: keep me out of this one

landonorris: rome you say

maxverstappen1: that’s what the caption says does it not

maxverstappen1: can you not send me twitter links you know i do not have the abomination that is that app on my phone

user4: so you haven’t seen all the f1 yuri ??? you’re missing out

maxverstappen1: what is yuri?

maxverstappen1: i’ll google it one sec

landonorris: can we get back to my original point please?

maxverstappen1: manners lando!

landonorris: they butted into our conversation ???

landonorris: you’re not in rome so stop lying

maxverstappen1: you’re right 😟

maxverstappen1: i’m in monaco!

landonorris: YOU’RE IN LONDON WE ALL KNOW YOU’RE IN LONDON

maxverstappen1: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: i literally saw you on my morning run today lando

landonorris; don’t try and gaslight me bitch

landonorris: i saw the twitter account of your private jet it says you’re in the u.k. ?

maxverstappen1: that’s an invasion of privacy lando, i can’t believe you

landonorris: THEN STOP LYING

maxverstappen1: wow, big accusation buddy, you must be learning from george

user5: max will never not bring that up

user6: the way y/n and george used to be so close i wish i could’ve seen her reaction to that whole thing

user7: considering he never said anything in support of her after everything that happened… well i don’t think he would’ve gotten much support from her

user8: george russell and y/n y/ln takes a drag i haven’t heard those names together in a long time

user9: real ones know they were the OG brit ship

user10: yall just can’t let a woman exist can you

user11: lando up in the business sorry mclaren you can’t fool me

user12: i think if y/n does come back to f1 she should be allowed to shoot one man a day there

user13: i agree

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the trio are huddled around a cramped table way in the back of the quaint restaurant. both drivers are meant to be following their meal plans but have both gone for the hearty bowl of pasta recommended by y/n.

“i can’t believe my best friend is going to be back in the paddock, i love you my little italian man,” max sighs happily, ruffling kimi’s hair. “but also i don’t care if you’re going to be in the mercedes garage, i need a united front against george this season i am not letting the shit he pulled last season fly.”

kimi suddenly stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, looking at y/n alarmed.

“kimi, stop worrying, i’ve said yes, i’m not going to back out now,” y/n said, refilling the italian’s glass of water, “but i can’t guarantee i’ll be anything but just civil with george.”

“wait!” kimi yells, mouth full of pasta, “ollie and i have always wanted to know what happened between you two, if we’re allowed to know…”

y/n and max shared a look.

“i didn’t know me and george were such a hot topic with the rookies. i don’t know whether to be annoyed or not?”

“well it’s just me and ollie,” kimi slams his cutlery down and waves his hands, “one time i was wearing some of your merch after an f2 race and i was sat with toto when george came in and he took one look at my shirt and just glared at me. it was very weird but we’d never heard of anything about you two.”

“i mean we haven’t spoken in three years so i’d be impressed if there was still some gossip to go around,” y/n turned to max, “but if it’s anything like the last two races, it won’t take long to kick off again.”

max laughed to himself when y/n grabbed his hand.

“what did you say to him allegedly? that you’d put him on his head in the wall… well it sounds familiar…”

both max and kimi gasp, the younger leaning in, on the edge of his seat.

“oh boys, let me take you back to 2019…”

may 2019.

jimmyz smelt overwhelmingly of sweat. fancy sweat, but sweat nonetheless. y/n was stuck in the sea of bodies, clinging to the arm of mick schumacher and her watery vodka cranberry like her life depended on it. many hours earlier she stood proudly on the top step after winning the formula two feature race by an impressive ten seconds, her dancing partner standing second on the podium.

“i’m going to get a drink, do you want one?” mick tried to shout over the booming music. y/n waved her half-empty glass in his face and gave him a thumbs up. the german nodded and turned, starting his fight to get to the bar.

now alone, y/n let the atmosphere of the club and her earlier victory wash over her. yes, she was doing the typical white girl club dance but she’d earned that right on the track. y/n was lost in the music when mick finally returned, balancing his drink, two tequila shots, two limes and a packet of salt.

“i told you i didn’t need a drink, silly,” y/n yelled in his ear.

“the barman told me podium sitters had to have a tequila shot, jimmyz law?”

y/n took the shot glass from him and one of the limes. mick licked two lines on his hand and poured out the salt. she raised her eyebrow at him.

“what? we’ve done worse?”

she leaned forward and licked the salt from the german’s hand, threw back the shot and sucked on the lime. tequila shots still hadn’t gotten easier. mick beckoned her forward and whispered in her ear, “miss monaco winner, i fear we have an audience.”

y/n pulled back and looked around jimmyz. lewis hamilton was nearby, taking off his comically wet shirt for a captive audience after daniel had insisted on emptying another bottle of champagne on the brit. sebastian vettel had dragged an unwilling charles to jimmyz, who despite the thunder in his eyes, tried to dance along with his teammate. the trio of rookie brits were all off to the side, both lando and alex were trying their luck with the many girls alongside them in the vip booth but george stood alone. he was glaring, y/n thought it was at her but on a closer look, george was attempting to murder mick with his eyes.

“well doesn’t he look like a ray of sunshine,” comments mick, spinning her around again. “i should probably go check on him, that williams was as shit as ever today, he doesn’t take losing very well.”

y/n thinks she hears mick mutter a little ‘he should get used to it’ but elects to ignore it. she lets him spin her once more before making her way over to the booth.

“penny for your thoughts mr russell,” y/n asked, dragging him to sit down in the booth with her. george sits down but puts some healthy room between them and looks around, paranoid.

“leaving room for jesus, georgie? don’t worry, i won’t tell if you don’t?”

y/n laughs at her own joke but george looks less than impressed. y/n face falls as she takes a long sip.

“hey, i know today was tough but you don’t have to take it out on me i’m just trying to talk to you.”

george grumbles something under his breath. y/n looks at him, asking him to repeat himself. george looks out onto the dancefloor, not replying.

“you clearly have a problem, can you spit it out or i can just go back to mick.”

“i’m sure you’d love that”

“excuse me?”

george scoffs and goes to stand up. y/n gets up just as fast, a little unstable on the heels she thought she could handle for just one night out.

“i said i’m sure you’d love to go back out there and rub all over mr nepotism out there,” george shouted spitefully.

“i’m allowed to dance with my friends george. i don’t see what the problem is here.”

george wipes his face in frustration, “that’s the issue - you don’t think. what if people were allowed to film in here. a video of you like that, licking his hand like that - imagine what they would say?”

“i don’t have to imagine when you seem more than happy to say it yourself george.”

“i’m trying to be a good friend, clearly someone has to think of these things if you won’t”

y/n laughs bitterly, “my knight in shining armour, thank you for taking time out of your day to metaphorically slutshame me so i don’t have to.”

george groans and slams his drink down onto the table.

“mick is not just a friend, he is a competitor. there’s a difference. people will say things - that you’re sleeping with him to get an advantage, that you’re using him and his name to get a seat in formula one,” george said, exasperated.

“or is that just what you think?” y/n said, looking up at george with tears in her eyes.

“no! of course not, but people will say that y/n you have to be careful.”

y/n’s tears turned to hot, angry tears, the tequila shot pushing her to say the things she would usually push down.

“let them. if what you say is true, they’ll say it even if it’s not true. who cares? what do you expect me to do when i make it to formula one? take a vow of celibacy and not leave my hotel room every weekend?”

“i’m not saying i agree with it but this is how the sport is right now unfortunately. your image will matter so much more,” george said, trying to grab her hand but y/n yanked it away from him.

“george, people will call me a slut no matter what i do - i’m not going to let it stop me from celebrating when i want to, when i deserve to,” y/n hissed, she’d had quite enough of this conversation, this is not what a monaco winner does to celebrate.

“they won’t respect you if they see you like this,” george pointed to her dress, a short black number that showed off her legs but had a high neck, “they definitely won’t respect you if they see you dancing like that with mick or licking his hand.”

y/n’s head was hot, she needed george out of her sight or this could get ugly. “it sounds like i’ve already lost your respect, or did i even have it to begin with?” george protests, but y/n kept going.

“why do you really want to keep me at home? do you want to have me all to yourself, is that why mick is bothering you so much? or can you not stand the fact that i might beat you next year? a girl you deem a slut might be faster than you? might get a better seat than you faster? i might be a girl and you might think in some fucked up way that you have dibs on me because you’ve known me so long but let it be known, you try and pull anything with me on track and i’ll put you on your fucking head in the wall.”

y/n turned on her heel and stormed out of jimmyz.

present.

“oh shit.”

max whispered while kimi sat with his mouth open, struggling for words.

“we were young there,” y/n goes to explain, “but he ruined that monaco win for me. i think in a weird way he was trying to help but it came out wrong.”

the waitress had come to start clearing away the table and kimi was still gaping like a fish.

“that was so much worse than i was expecting. am i still allowed to tell ollie, i promise he won’t tell.”

y/n chuckled, “you can tell who you want, kimi, i don’t really care. it’s a fun tidbit, maybe if he pulls a fast one again with either of you it’ll be a cute ted’s notebook segment.”

“now that would make the sky prices worth it.”

GQ Man of the Year Red Carpet Live Updates

excerpt of red carpet interview between Y/N Y/LN and interviewer

interviewer: hi y/n! wow you look beautiful tonight!

y/n: thank you so much, you look amazing too!

interviewer: oh! you’ve got me blushing…

y/n: that’s my job!

interviewer: it’s amazing to see you, this is your first public appearance in over three years, we’ve missed you!

y/n: i know, i was nervous for tonight, i thought maybe i’d be on the red carpet and everyone would’ve forgotten who i am…

interviewer: we could never forget you

y/n: that’s too sweet

interviewer: especially when you’re turning looks like these

y/n: i know, three years of religiously wearing sweat pants, i knew i had to dress to impress

interviewer: don’t leave us for the sweat pants for that long i beg

y/n: i think you’ll see me out and about more often don’t worry

interviewer: is that a hint

y/n: it can be… as much as i would love to give you the exclusive darling, i have a contract i have to abide by

interviewer: very intriguing… well thank you for stopping and talking with us tonight

y/n: no worries! i’ll see you around

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the apartment was quiet when y/n returned from the GQ Man of the Year event, max and kimi had only been there for a couple hours the day before, but already the apartment seemed scarily empty. brando slinked up to y/n brushing against the expensive fabric, meowing for food as if y/n hadn’t gotten the notification for his automatic feeder.

“oh stop being so loud, baby,” y/n slumped down on the couch, kicking off her heels, “i might order some food and give you some scraps if you’re nice to me.”

the back of the dress was too complicated to tackle on an empty stomach so y/n resigned to eating cheap takeout in her designer dress. the chicken shop was embarrassingly frequent in her recent orders but she purchased her usual order anyway, not like she had a diet like the others anymore.

after just five minutes of scrolling through twitter, seeing her fans having a meltdown did bring a smile to her face, the bell went. her usual chicken shop was good, but not that good. however, in a good mood, y/n swung the door open with a smile.

“oh. you’re not my chicken shop order.’

“no. i’m not. but you are a mercedes mentor now?” lewis hamilton said with a tenacious smile.

“i’m kimi’s mentor,” y/n reminded him quickly, opening the door enough for him to enter.

“quite a get up you’re in,” lewis said, “quite a way to annouce your return.”

y/n poured a glass of water for him, “technically sky announced my return. you sad you missed me at mercedes?”

lewis smirked and moved around the kitchen counter. he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “what could you teach me?”. the air was thick with tension and the room was suddenly a lot hotter, y/n didn’t know where to look or how to reply. as she stood there, just inches away from lewis with her mouth open, ready to reply, the bell went again.

“that’ll be the front desk with my food,” y/n choked out, moving back towards the door and taking in a deep breath. she took the food from the concierge and slips him some money as a thank you.

y/n placed the order on the counter and flicked her eyes back over to lewis. “i’d say we could share, but this is definitely not vegan. was there a reason you came? i didn’t even think you had my address?”

the smirk again. “i can’t just want to come and see you? in his excitement max was very loose-lipped, but i can’t say i’m too angry about it. i would’ve preferred if you had trusted me with it from the start…”

“no one had my address,” y/n replied.

“max did.”

“max is different”

“how so?”

“he just is, okay? i didn’t think anyone would want anything to do with me after the crash. i just wanted to wallow in peace”

“please don’t assume how i feel about you again,” lewis finished his water and moved towards the door, “i’ll leave you to your food, don’t be a stranger in the paddock.”

lewis picked up her hand and gave it a quick kiss and left as fast as he came.

what the fuck. the door shut and y/n was floored. what just happened?

whatever it was, it would have to wait until after she had eaten to be processed. while plating her food, y/n picked up her phone and opened her text thread with max.

i’m serious dude, stop giving people my address.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: oh wow so this series blew up - i'm serious i got such an influx in followers i'm so glad you guys are enjoying it! some new players have entered but you'll just have to keep guessing! one warning, i do go back to work thursday so updates will slow but one of my new years resolutions was to write more anyway!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998

[temeyes]

BOOM!!! we're so Back!! opening this month's c/mms again! as we always do, you can check the sheets are over [h e r e]. slots will be unlimited for now!

reblogs and likes are always super duper ultra mega APPRECIATED, HIHIHI LOVE YOU ALL~~~

[ferncloud]

bunny kitty mousey

[whxre-bxby]

Player 001 (Young-il) x Reader

"Poor Little Y/N..."

My attraction to older men fuels the creativity within me to write

Oneshot - angst, death, blood, silent attraction, romantic feelings Masterlist

When Gi-hun decides to rebel against the guards and marches out of the player's room with his small army, you join them. Innocent, caring little Y/N, who's never held a gun in her life nor seen one before she ended up in these games, bravely sucks up her fear of dying and breaks the rules by exiting with the armed players. Among those are Young-il and other people you trust now.

You go because your fear of losing them and watching not a single one of them return is far worse than your instinctive fear of death.

Lovely, selfless Y/N who holds in her tears and forces her trembling hands to calm down while aiming her weapon at guards and pulling the trigger.

After leaving the stairs on which your group has been ambushed, you make it to a corridor when Gi-hun and Jung-bae leave you behind to advance further into this hellhole of a place.

You don't like splitting up but you can't stop them, so you stay with the group, continuing to help them through the gunfight. But then Young-il shouts that he is going after them and needs two people. Young-il, who's been a trusted member since you all met him after the first game. The man who pulled you into a room with him when the voice announced the number 2 during Round-And-Round, saving you without hesitation.

The man who insisted you take his pillow to hug at night because you couldn't fall asleep without the comfort of clutching something against you. Even though you kindly rejected his offer, he didn't take no for an answer and didn't leave the side of your bed until he was sure you accepted his gift and were as comfortable as you could be in this place.

So of course, you volunteer to go with him, as do two other men. He glances at them before his gaze rests on you a little too long, and you can see the gears of thought turning in his head. His expression isn't so stern and tense anymore and you watch his eyes soften as his head slowly leans back against the wall.

"No...not you, Y/N..." he says, his voice no longer loud, before waving the two men over to him and leaving with them. His words stung you deeply. You didn't understand why he said that to you. Oh, only if you knew he was going to betray the two good players he brought with him...

Brave and dedicated Y/N, who feels it's been to long since she's heard from either Gi-hun's team or Young-il's, so she runs after them, towards the control room. The sound of distant gunshots has your kind little heart racing with adrenaline. The urge to help and protect being stronger than your will to live.

What life would it be if you knew you could have helped, but didn't? What if they all died while you would cowardly wait and hide. You would be tortured by those thoughts forever.

Fast but scared Y/N, who sprints through the cold-coloured hallways and up levels of stairs, past dead guards and over puddles of blood because as long as you haven't found your friends' dead bodies, you have a reason to live and fight on.

Close gunshots no longer scare you. It could be your team firing them. But then you reach the first proper obstacle. The two players who went with Young-il were dead and their bodies pierced by bullets. The sight startles you, but you've seen this before. As long as it's not one of the other three, you can live with it. You have to. So you continue up the stairs, desperately wanting to find someone you know for your comfort and safety.

Shocked yet relieved Y/N who finds Young-il on the other side of the stairs, gun in hand but body slumped on the ground and tracksuit splattered with blood.

Such a good heart you have... immediately running to his side and checking up on him. He seems to be fine, though you can't be sure until you know where he's been hurt.

Silly you, that blood isn't his.

You don't even pay attention to the confused and unexpected look in his eyes. Oh, he did not expect anyone to find him now. He wasn't sure what to say or how to act anymore. Young-il thought his time of pretending to be Player 001 had come to an end. But he had to keep up the act in front of you right? Right?

He couldn't. It all happened so fast, he could just sit back and watch you hug him before you search for a wound to explain the bloodstains. Your face painted in great worry and distress. Your commitment to improving his wellbeing astounded him.

But the dream-like moment didn't last long and was canonically interrupted when footsteps were heard rushing down the other flight of stairs, towards the two of you.

Young-il had no reason to fear them. But you, who at this point were frightened by the very sight of them, made the alarm in your head start ringing. You abruptly turned around, facing them instead of the face you found great comfort in.

Young-il, who suddenly felt his heart drop deep into his gut when he realised the danger you could be in now.

Brave but teary-eyed Y/N, who sits on her heels in front of her friend, attempting to shield him while shouting at them to stop.

Young-il, who panics, wanting to move you behind him while attempting to wave the guards away, or at least not to open fire. But then it happens. The sound of a gunshot echoes through the cold walls and before either of you can process anything, the impact the bullet caused, had your body falling back. You land next to him, head supported against the wall and lock eyes with Young-il. A look of wide-eyed shock takes over his expression and he can only watch the consequences of his actions unfold before him.

Your trembling arms reach out for him, but not for help. You're still trying to save him, but your attempts are weak. Another harsh bang rings in both your ears and that does it. As the second bullet buries itself deep in your flesh, having pierced through vital organs, the light in your eyes vanishes and your body goes limp next to him.

Young-il can't move. You, the only person who's shown this kind of care for him in years, are now dead because of him and his actions. He made you trust him and now he had to watch you pay the price for his mistake. He should have never shown you any attention.

Poor little Y/N... your pretty body has failed you. But it was your heart that killed you.

Yes, I know. Tragic. Sorry. I'm sure you'll survive in other fics.

It's past midnight but fuck it I'm posting it.

[starkwlkr]

the girls are fighting!! | toto wolff

an: because i’m seeing oasis this year, i thought it would be nice to make this pls don’t hate me, i love the spice girls!! (i only know one of their songs) fun fact: the original idea for this was that the reader was a grunge singer from the 90s but ever since the oasis reunion was announced that’s literally all i can think about

oasis member!reader

INSTAGRAM

liked by yourusername, britpopcults and others

f1updatingdaily f1 twitter recently brought up the feud that y/n l/n (oasis bassist and toto wolff’s wife) and geri halliwell (spice girl member and christian horner’s wife) had in the late 90s until 2019. y/n recently told rolling stone magazine that her and geri have love for each other now and attend races together when they can. while at least one horner and wolff settled their differences, christian horner and toto wolff continue the horner/wolff rivalry that was started by their wives.

hereswonderwall I’m not a big fan of the spice girls but when geri gave y/n the future trophy wife mug . . . it was iconic

y/nupdates y/n and geri: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 toto and christian: 😡🤮

hamilton444 got a picture with y/n and geri in monaco last year! they were so nice and even facetimed my mum! she’s a big oasis and spice girls fan

feelgoodbitch toto and christian will never work it out on the remix

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liked by lewishamilton, gerihalliwellhorner and others

yourusername i guess gerihalliwellhorner was right 🙃

gerihalliwellhorner 😅😅

liamgallagher you traded the bass for fancy shite??

yourusername i would trade you for a strawberry

liamgallagher rude

yourusername see you in may for rehearsal! don’t be late you old man xx

mercedesamgf1 that’s my wife! - toto

ferraridepressionclub manifesting a divorce so i can keep y/n to myself

mercedesamgf1 blocked and reported

ferraridepressionclub WAIT NOOOO

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[gothicfied]

Nam-gyu / Player 124 Headcanons

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots, drug use/heroin use (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Walking down these strangely colorful stairs, with the equally strange backgroud music being the only thing that filled the silence between all the surviving players, made you feel like throwing up. You just witnessed people literally die right in front of you, shot for the smallest movement. If it wasn't for the adrenalin pumping throughout your body, you sure as hell wouldn't have survived either.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jolt. "Woah," Player 124, according to his jacket, stopped in his tracks when you did, too, holding up his hands in a defensive manner, "sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." While you just looked at him annoyed, a grin started to form on his lips: "What? Just wanted to know if you're okay. You scared or something?"

જ⁀➴ From then on Nam-gyu refused to leave you alone, constantly teasing you about your, very valid, fear and distress. No insults, no nothing made him stop - no - the purple haired junkie egged him on. After some time you just started to ignore him, or at least tried to. For whatever reason, Nam-gyu was very touchy with everybody, but especially you. He dragged, grabbed and shook you by your shoulders like a ragdoll when talking to you, sometimes weirdly rubbing over your back in an almost comforting way.

જ⁀➴ He'd purposefully walk past your bed to hush a quick "Good night." before lights out, often times observing you in the golden light of the piggy bank that was the only dim light source at night. Seeing you struggle to find some rest made him chuckle to himself, knowing that he had the same problem, too.

જ⁀➴ Before the first voting, he'd grab you by your arm, trying to charm you into voting in favor of the games. It was almost like he was able to sense that you wanted to quit, but it should've been blatantly obvious. Only someone with a death wish would want to continue this. Maybe he had one, after all. Once, you noticed from afar how he was nagging Thanos to give him one of those colored pills, drugs, pushing the sleeve of his right arm up to reveal the inside of his elbow. From your distance, you couldn't quite make out what he was showing him, but you assumed it were heroin marks. Well, now you kinda felt bad for him.

જ⁀➴ You weren't quite sure what to think of him. Nam-gyu would often bite around his fingernails, tug his sleeves over his hands, since this place was deathly cold sometimes, and stress over many things you also stressed about. Noticing you two weren't all that different after all, you warmed up to the idea of interacting with him.

જ⁀➴ Obviously, it couldn't all go the way you wanted it to. Not being affiliated with anyone around here proved itself to be a much greater problem during the mingle.

As soon as the spinning platform everyone tried to balance themselves on stopped along the music, the female announced the number: "Ten!". Immediately players started to scramble and hurry to find themselves a group, a group of men almost running you over. Fear, stress, anxiety, dread - You felt all of it at once. The clock was ticking down and all you could is stand there and look around you, already accepting your fate. But, apparently, the universe said no: A hand quickly grabbed you by your arm, forcefully pulling you with them. You were slammed against the wall of one of the small rooms as the door shut behind you, the timer reaching zero almost directly after. "What the fuck were you thinking? Seriously? Why did you just stand there?" it was Nam-gyu who was yelling at you, keeping you pinned against the wall by your shoulders. "Do you wanna get yourself killed?" You stared up at him, with a kind of offended expression, and he just stared back. In fact, all other eight players were staring at you two. Noticing the deafening silence, Nam-gyu turned his head around to Thanos, who just raised an eyebrow. "What? We need more people to vote 'O' anyway."

જ⁀➴ You felt like you owed him something now. Picking away at some of the kimbap you couldn't bring your to eat anymore, you scanned the dorm area for Nam-gyu. He was surprisingly alone for a moment, Thanos being off to bother someone else with whatever problem he came up with now.

Hesitantly, you took quick steps towards Nam-gyu's bed, coming to a halt right in front of it. He saved your life, the least you could do was give him some of your food that was being handed out to you players pretty sparsely. Feeling your presence behind him, he tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ears, not even needing to turn around to know it was you. "What is it?" Perhaps he was a bit embarrassed because of that moment after all. You sat down next to him on the, pretty uncomfortable mattress, handing him the rest of your food you wrapped back up in the aluminum foil. Just a quick moment of eye contact was enough for him to understand that you were really grateful for what he did back there.

જ⁀➴ If the guards wouldn't let you use the bathroom, claiming this late at night no one would be able to, Nam-gyu would be the one to come over to the door, hammering against the glass and demand that they let you in. "Come on, she's a woman," he'd exclaim, "have some decency." And when the door finally opened, you'd give him a smile. An actual, honest one.

જ⁀➴ It's as if Nam-gyu lived for that. Your smile, your small acts of gratefulness after he saved your life. You've grown on him - he'd even understand it if you'd continue to vote against resuming the games. Thinking about you being able to live your life to the fullest made him happy, even if he didn't understand that feeling quite yet.

[alchemistc]

Found this in my drafts and decided to finish it up, written before the Abby reveal so we're just pretending that never happened, have some outsider pov of the alt timeline where Tommy and Buck met before Buck was at the 118.

Tommy is being weird. That's the only way Hen can describe it. He's been quiet on calls, none of the usual banter and posturing she's used to; he's been quiet in the station, prone to staring at the space between his lap and the dinner table even as Chim spouts off some ironic quote that would have had him cheesing it up a few weeks previous; he's been quiet as he packs his shit and heads out for his truck. Each afternoon since he'd quietly announced his transfer to the 217, he's been quiet, and it's weird.

Hen's not entirely surprised. Tommy's nothing if not protective of his own feelings - years and years of Gerrard all hanging over their heads even though he'd admitted a few drinks deep one night that he was pretty positive his professionally scathing complaint about Gerrard was very likely what tipped the scales ("Could have been Sal's, though," he'd said with a shrug as his eyes drifted to the head on his beer.). From what she's gleaned off Chim, there's a good chance he'd been an ass in part to protect himself from feeling too bad about losing someone, too (again) - not that that's any type of excuse for the shit he'd had a hand in putting her through. An excuse for the things he's said, in the heat of the moment, in the quiet caverns of life under a shitty captain.

(Stumbled apologies, serious expressions on a face softened only by the shots he'd been buying all night, words said and unsaid between them and the gaping maw between a Chim happy to accept and move on while Hen downed her tequila and waited for the other shoe to drop.)

It's been years since then. Years and years winding between them all, a dozen captains and more than a few transfers of good firefighters away from the 118, and something good and warm and special brewing in their house with the arrival of the captain who'd made family dinners a daily occurrence.

She'd sort of expected Tommy might finally open up, when those family dinners kept going and Nash kept staying and things started to settle into something closer to friendly instead of the soldiers of war camaraderie they'd grown so used to. And maybe he has, to someone who isn't Hen - who'd taken his little efforts to change at face value and refused to put in more work than that for a colleague who'd made mostly bare minimum efforts post-Gerrard, always accepting the new status quo, refusing to make waves. She respects Tommy. Trusts him on the job, and sometimes off of it when they've had a shitty shift and need to decompress before they go home to the people in their lives who can never really understand losing someone to the heat of a fire, to blood loss and blunt force trauma. Doesn't care for him the way Chim seems to, doesn't really desire a closer relationship than the one they've maintained through the turnover of captains and the 48's they pull on occasion.

But Tommy's being weird, and Hen's pretty sure she's the only one who sees it.

She waits until she's sure Chim has a date to hit up Tommy for an after shift drink, and his eyes crinkle around the corners in suspicion because he knows just as well as she that she's putting them in an awkward position without the buffer zone of an extra coworker to fill in the blank spots of the things they don't say to each other. He'll be gone in a week. There's not a single fucking reason for her to try to get to know him better now.

"Sure thing, Wilson," he says, and when he offers to drive them both Hen makes up some excuse about needing her car in case of some Denny related emergency.

---

She expects it to take a while. Ply him with a few drinks, figure out what it is about Howie that always puts Tommy at ease so quickly when they're out like this and try to replicate it - he keeps things close to the vest but Hen has ways of weaseling things out of people once she's got them where she wants them.

Tommy sighs and picks at the label on his bottle. Thins his lips, and stares at her sideways. "I'm seeing someone," he says, in an undertone, and Hen hasn't even taken her first sip from the bottle he'd ordered for her, too, while she scrounged up one of the smaller booths. His eyes dart, like he's checking to make sure no one else is listening, that no one here recognizes him, and Hen - Hen knows that look. She just can't square that look with Mr. Toxic Heterosexuality himself.

Hen takes a sip. Forces herself not to vibrate out of her own skin because - because - because she's gotta wait this shit out. Could be he's found himself attracted to some weird goth chick, or a woman with meat on her bones, in which case he's in for a big ole smack to the head or one of the looks she reserves for when the boys get a little too caught up in their locker room talk.

He darts his gaze up. Meets hers, steady on, for the first time in...weeks, actually, now that she's thinking about it, and the guilt there in his eyes sure is something to behold.

"He's younger," Tommy says, and Hen rolls her tongue over her teeth so she doesn't do something stupid like hone in on that pronoun with either glee or full-on righteous anger.

Hen narrows her eyes instead, and is surprised that he keeps her gaze. She's expecting - unnecessary contrition, or maybe a ducked head or excuses. He chews on the inside of his lip and chuffs out a self deprecating laugh.

"I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing and he still lives in a frat house."

Hen's mind goes somewhere inappropriate, and she has to stop herself from making a truly horrible hand gesture because he can't possibly mean -

He rolls his eyes. "I know where to stick it, Wilson, that's not the issue."

She has about half a million questions queueing - things she's not sure they're close enough to ask, things she doesn't actually want the answer to but stick there in the back of her mind anyway, things she'd never ask someone who'd been kind to her from the outset. "How'd you do it?" he asks, and Hen remembers the way he'd stood, arms crossed and face blank and something sad and vulnerable in his face while she lectured from her red and chrome pulpit. Jesus. He's known. He's known a while.

"I've never exactly been passing," she tells him, and winces at the aggression in her voice, in that statement, in the very existence of the idea. He shoots her a bitchy look that's far more familiar, in line with their normal dynamic. It has her rolling her shoulders back, has her sitting up a little more in her seat. "Is that - are you asking me how to come out?"

Tommy shrugs. Tips his head. "You're the one who wanted to get drinks."

"And if I hadn't asked?"

She knows the answer. The dumbass would have transferred out of the 118 with no one the wiser. Probably fallen off all the group chats, squared with himself for however long it took, decided one way or another who to tell from there. But he's here now, talking to Hen. Telling Hen, the person he's probably the least close to.

Hen sighs. Takes a longer drag off her beer this time while Tommy folds up a piece of the label he's ripped off. She's not gonna be his fucking gay guru. They're not anywhere approaching that close.

He could have lied, though, is the thing. Seems like he's maybe been lying for a while, if the uncharacteristic fidgeting is anything to go by. She knows him under stress, knows him when he's walking through literal fire. Figurative fire is an entirely different matter. She doesn't know that Tommy.

The words that fall out of her mouth aren't the ones she's aiming for. "You and Sal." she says, and then bites down the rest of that sentence like it'll burn them both. His eyes dart up. He shifts in his seat.

"The only reason I'm saying a word is because the answer is no," he says, and - yeah that's fair. Everyone has the right to come out of the closet in their own fucking time.

"So this kid," Hen says, moving on, and - oh. There's that look. It's a little dreamy-eyed, the way he's been getting sometimes when he's looking down at his phone and trying his hardest to keep a straight face. "What's the deal there?"

"He's new," Tommy says, and Hen can feel her brow tic up of it's own accord, because he says it with the authority of someone who isn't new. Hen has to wonder exactly how many times the perpetually single Tommy joke had been made while Tommy was less than single. God, that had to have stung, hadn't it? "He's - apparently he didn't realize he was flirting until I kissed him about it."

That's remarkably brave for a man who isn't out to a single person he and Hen are mutually acquainted with. At least as far as she knows - Chim can't keep a secret to save his damn life so at least she knows he doesn't know.

"You know you didn't have to tell me any of this."

His expression is wry. He bites his lip, curls his tongue over his teeth, shakes his head like he's clearing cobwebs. "The transfer isn't the only thing I had on the docket for major life changes."

Karen's gonna be pissed if Hen doesn't get the dirt, she tells herself as she leans forward, so she throws a teasing edge to her voice as she quirks a brow. "This life change have anything to do with your baby gay or is that just a natural progression of the coming out process?"

Tommy's posture eases, just a little. He gives her a look that she's more familiar with seeing when Chim's in the booth next to him, or they're elbow deep in shit-talk at the station.

"Happy accident, actually," he says, and Hen leans in to listen to him dish when his eyes go all soft and gooey.

___

She's known Evan Buckley a total of six hours the first time he mentions his boyfriend. There's a nervous edge to it, like he's still testing the word out, like the syllables are unfamiliar, and he glances down at the phone in his lap right after he says it, like he's double checking something. Hen wouldn't have pegged him for it, for all that she tends not to make assumptions. It's just. He's so.

Hen shoves back against the stereotypical bullshit and throws him a bone, because he looks like he's fucking desperate to share information on the fact that someone cares enough about him to let him call them his boyfriend. She lobs a layup, something relatable about 'my wife, Karen'.

"Yeah, Tommy said you were married."

Hen pauses. Wonders if she can turn her head like an owl so that she doesn't have to shift her weight to look behind her at where Buck is happily washing dishes, elbow-deep in sudsy water. There's no one else up here with them - most of the shift is working off dinner downstairs.

"We never have meals like this at home, I'm lucky if the guys I live with don't steal my last packet of ramen before I can get to it," he'd said, and she remembers Tommy grinning at the memory of this Evan he'd been seeing being inordinately impressed by the fact that Tommy could grill a steak. ("Jesus, Kinard, are you sure you're not robbing the fucking cradle?")

Hen shifts. Eyes him a little more carefully as he turns his head to meet her gaze, and - holy shit, she's actually feeling a little protective of Tommy Kinard right now. "He know you're out here sharing his business?" It's not the tone she's going for - admonishing instead of exploratory, but Buck just grins at her over his shoulder, like he's pleased Tommy has someone watching out for him. Shit. She'd been a little concerned that Tommy was in over his head, stuck up on the idea of being out out and clinging to the first boy that batted his lashes, but it feels like maybe there's more to it than that. She can't square that with what has to be at least a decade of years between them, but -

Love is love, and all that.

"We, uh. We've been talking about it."

Hen raises an eyebrow, because that's not actually a green light to air Tommy's business.

"He - well last night we talked about it again. So. I mean it's not like Facebook official or anything. But he said it was cool to talk to you. A-all of you. He's - everyone at Harbor knows me."

It hurts a bit to know that Tommy's been there less than six months and felt more comfortable being himself with a bunch of strangers, but...

It's good. That he has that. That he's not walking the world just shoving bits and pieces of himself away.

Hen watches him rinse his arms and square his shoulders and shift to face her. "How'd you two meet, anyway?" she asks, because Tommy had been so stuck on the trying to figure out how to have an honest relationship piece that she'd never gotten around to asking.

Buck's expression could be easily mistaken for a solar flare, for the way it lights up the whole loft.

[strayingawayy]

dance class with daddy!

...where your little girl teaches her daddy, the main dancer of one of the biggest kpop groups, how to dance

“you’re doing it wrong!” your daughter shouted, hands on her hips as she glared at minho.

minho, ever the professional, stopped mid-spin, eyes wide. "what do you mean, i’m doing it wrong? i’m literally following you!" he tried to mimic her tiny movements, his arms flailing in all the wrong directions.

“no, daddy! like this!” she spun in a perfect circle, her arms extended gracefully, before stopping to point at him again. “do the feet! the feet!”

minho blinked, clearly confused. “the feet? you didn’t tell me about feet!”

“do the feet!” she demanded, bouncing on the spot, her voice serious like a little dance instructor.

you were on the sidelines, biting back your laughter. minho, the literal main dancer of stray kids, was struggling to keep up with your toddler. it was hilarious.

minho tried again, his feet doing some awkward shuffle. “like this?”

“no! no! you need to do the other feet!” she screeched, pointing at the floor dramatically. “other feet, daddy!”

he froze, looking at you for help. “what other feet?” his voice was desperate, almost pleading for you to intervene.

“i have no idea,” you said, barely containing your laughter. “she changes the choreography every five seconds. just follow her.”

you watched as your daughter stomped over to minho and grabbed his hand, tugging him into position. “now we jump!” she announced proudly, before proceeding to jump up and down in rapid succession.

minho gave you a wide-eyed look, his body already aching from the "dance." “she’s a drill sergeant, not a dance teacher.”

"jump, daddy!" she yelled, practically jumping herself into the air, her little legs barely lifting off the ground. minho sighed, giving a half-hearted jump. “like this?”

“no!” she shouted. “like this!” she then proceeded to twist her body in a way that looked like an interpretive dance move gone wrong.

you were wiping away tears of laughter, watching minho try to follow along. every time he thought he had it, she changed the move. "she’s a genius" you teased.

minho collapsed onto the couch, defeated but amused. "i’m officially her backup dancer."

your daughter, hands on her hips, nodded seriously, as if she were the one making the final judgment. “good job, daddy.”

minho grinned, rubbing his sore arms. “i’m never going to live this down.”

but you knew, as the three of you giggled together, that these were the moments minho would treasure most. no stage, no spotlight—just his little girl and the other feet.

___

@staytilldeath @somedumbthings @itisjustpaula

[elfwreck]

AI chatbots have some marginally useful features in business.

Those features are not "replace employees who would otherwise write the thing."

They're good at brainstorming help - as in "generate a list of 30 ideas about this topic." Most of them will be junk or boring. Sometimes they'll be useful and worth exploring.

"Generate a list of random product names." Cool, you've tapped into a random generator that isn't stuck on whatever ideas are bouncing around in your head this week.

"Draft an email about the upcoming office party; mention that there will be snacks provided." You have saved yourself 8 minutes of incredibly boring "write yet another announcement in business-speak" time.

It may have some uses in "summarize this report" (which still needs human review, because it can easily miss the important nonstandard details - but you may have a more useful outline to check than the TOC). It may have some uses for "write a contract requiring A, B, and C, based on this other contract for Past Client and incorporating our new address and policy about X" - again, it'll need a human to check it, but it may be faster than playing copy-paste games with the old contract.

Nothing made via generative AI is client-ready. Nothing is ready to be sent out. The review stage takes much longer than review of something human-written.

In a few cases, saving the human-writing time balances that. But in more: there's a great risk of sending out something with hallucinations or dangerous, liability-inducing errors.

Generative AI can make you a clipart image of a tree that you don't need to deal with royalties for, yay. If you are paying for a subscription to the image service... it would've been cheaper to just get a free public-domain clipart image from Pixabay.

When I became freelance, one of my first marketing contracts was fixing my boss' blog posts and articles that he had 'written' with ChatGPT.

It was the single most soul-sucking task I have ever done in my life. I could have ghostwritten it for them faster than it took me to edit it.

ChatGPT would often hallucinate features of the product, and often required more fact-checking than the article was worth.

It is absolutely no surprise that 77% of employees report that AI has increased workloads and lowered productivity, while 96% of executives believe it has boosted it.

The reality is that it's only boosted the amount of work employees have to do which leads to increased burnout, stress and job dissatisfaction.

Source.

[enwoso]

BOUND BY THE PAST | alessia russo x child!reader

it’s another long one, 4.1k words of angst and a small bit of fluff in there somewhere🤏🏼. honestly this was fun to write, and i’ve also in the process lost the request so whoever requested this thank you!

but what i will say is, i really wouldn’t wanna mess with alessia tbh.. especially after reading this. girl goes full on mama protection mode.

anyways enough spoilers, enjoy!

grumpy masterlist | psa: this fic is set after a bridge to cross, so i would recommend reading that to find out who harrison is.

the emirates stadium was alive with cheers as the final whistle blew, alessia felt the familiar rush of victory as her teammates surrounded her. the game had been a triumph and the buzz of the crowd still echoed through the stadium.

alessia's gaze scanned the stands briefly, somewhere closer to the bench was alessia's parents and her older brothers along with leah's family all cheering along, them choosing to sit in the stands for once in stead of the comfort of the friends and family box to be able to feel the excitement of the win as the season was coming to an end.

but her focus shifted as she searched for some other faces entirely, you were seated in the box with your dad, harrison. it had all been alessia's idea, she knew her family were coming but if they were seated on other sides of the stadium.

in alessia's mind the plan was foolproof, she had told her family that you were having a going out with harrison, and she had told harrison step by step what to do to not bump into her family.

even leah didn't know about harrison coming to watch the game.

"so tiny isn't coming today?" leah asked as she sat tying her shoelaces clad in a full arsenal tracksuit, her hair in a messy bun.

alessia shook her head as she finished making her pre-match drink, "no harrison's taking her out for the day, it's the only day he could do this week and i think he said something about taking her to the soft play" alessia explained, it hadn't been the only day he could do this week and he definitely didn't mention a soft play.

alessia in her mind knew the plan would work, she kept it this way, not telling anyone as she knew how fragile yeh situation was. she didn't want to ruin the one of the last home games of the season for anyone or at least have to deal with the inevitable confrontation — at not before she had to.

—

"mummy!" alessia froze mid step, the familiar sound of your voice ringing out through the corridor as she tried to make her way to the family area after having been showered post-match. her heart skipping. a mix of delight and apprehension filling her chest.

turning towards the sound, her breath caught the sight of you bouncing down the hall, your tiny hand firmly clasped around harrison's.

harrison followed hesitantly, probably knowing alessia would say something to chastise him about not sticking to the plan. his tall frame towering over the little girl as he let her lead him.

his posture was awkward, as his shoulders were slightly hunched as a white t-shirt adorned his body his long arms filled with tattoos as he looked as if he wanted to shrink himself.

his eyes darted around nervously, scanning the area. he was well aware this wasn't the plan.

"y/n, slow down," he muttered, glancing back towards the way they'd came. he had hoped to avoid running into anyone, let alone alessia's family.

but you were determined, your hair which was in little pigtails bounced as you practically skipped towards the private family area. you coming to a hault in front of your grandparent, your uncles and leah's family who were in there too.

you looking up at your mummy's shocked face with an innocent grin, "i brought daddy to see you, mummy!" you announced proudly looking between both harrison and alessia as if you'd just presented your mum with the greatest gift

harrison cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly under the weight of several pairs of stunned eyes. "hello" he said softly, giving a weak wave.

the room froze, as alessia's parents exchanged wide eyed glances her mum placing a hand over her chest as if steadying herself more than likely knowing what was about to happen. her dad's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as they flickered to alessia awaiting for her to say something.

but instead it was luca who broke the silence.

"what the hell is he doing here?" his voice was sharp and dripping from venom as he already moved forward as if to place himself between harrison and alessia.

"luca." carol warned but it was too late.

harrison instinctively pulled you a little closer, your hand tightening around his. "i'm not- i don't mean to-"

"you didn't mean to what?" gio cut in stepping up beside luca. his tone was cold as his expression was one of pure disbelief. "show up uninvited? drag her into this?" he gestured towards you as you were becoming more and more closed off.

"i wasn't trying to cause trouble," harrison said quickly his voice calm as he glanced down at you who was looking around and at him with confusion, clearly sensing the tension. "she wanted to see her mum, i didn't want to upset her."

"you've already done enough of that," luca snapped his tone still laced with venom.

the comment from luca, seemed to hit a nerve. harrison's expression shifted, his calm demeanour giving way to frustration. he straightened his posture, squaring her shoulders.

"look, i get that you don't like me, i get that i've made mistakes. but im here for y/n now. i'm not going anywhere no matter how much you scowl at me"

luca scoffed, stepping closer, "you think a few months of effort erases everything you've done? you don't deserve to be in her life"

"luca!" alessia's voice was sharp, but harrison didn't back down as her voice blended into the background.

"you think i don't know what i've done?" harrison shot back, his voice rising slightly. "you think i don't live with that every day? i'm not here to make things right with you or anyone else in the room, expect my daughter. that's it."

"your daughter?" gio crossed his arms, his face hard as he continued, "the one you walked out on the moment things got tough?"

"i've owned up to that," harrison snapped, his calm composure was cracking, fast. "and i'm doing everything i can to fix it. you don't have to like me, but you don't get to decide whether i'm in her life"

"what do you not get, you don't get to just show up and demand to be a dad!" lucas's voice was sharp, his frustration boiling over, "that little girl isn't just some box you can check off to feel better about yourself!"

harrison clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides, "i'm not trying to feel better about myself. i'm trying to be a father to my daughter and for what it's worth, alessia seems to understand that — something you two clearly don't."

"enough! stop it" alessia's voice raising as it cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. she stepped forward, placing herself between her brothers and harrison.

"mummy?" you voice was trembling as it broke through the shouting, small and wavering. your tiny hands gripping the bottom on alessia's jersey, her big blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears as she glanced between the adults.

harrison's anger drained instantly as his gaze dropped to his daughter opening his mouth to try and fix it as alessia shook her head for him to back down.

alessia immediately crouched down, pulling you into her arms, "baby, it's alright," she whispered, stroking the back of your hair. but your body was tense and your little fists balled up into alessia's jersey as you buried your face into your mummy's neck, desperately looking for any sort of comfort.

alessia turned to look for leah, leah being stood quietly by the door watching the mess unfold, shock slightly radiating on her face as well as a small pang of betrayal as alessia felt she couldn't tell her that you were coming to watch with your dad.

leah had heard the yelling from the corridor as she surged down still buzzing from the win but her smile quickly turned into a frown when she walked into the room.

"le, can you take lovie out. she shouldn't be seeing this.." alessia begged as you clung to your mummy, tears spilled from your small eyes.

leah nodding as she pushed herself off the wall, her heart arching at the sight of your confusion. alessia tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as she kissed your forehead whispering an 'i love you' before handing you over to leah.

leah shifted you so you rested comfortably on her hip, as she began to turn towards the door, she shot alessia a pointed look. leah's voice dropping to a murmur, "i told you this would happen when they found out."

alessia's jaw tightened, her frustration boiling over, "not now, leah" she snapped her voice sharp as she gritted her teeth together. leah left with you to calm you down as alessia turned to look at the boys who were still arguing.

"you fucking abandoned her, and abandoned that little girl. you don't deserve the right to waltz back into either of their lives like nothings happened.” luca spat back as harrison's jaw tightened as he kept quiet but his mind was definitely ticking away of what to say next.

"and you think showing up here unannounced is the way to do is?" gio added his arms crossed over his chest protectively.

"unannounced?" carol, interjected gently her gaze shifting to alessia, "did you.. know about this?"

all eyes turned to alessia who felt the weight of their stares pressing down on her, as she swallowed hard glancing briefly at harrison before nodding.

"i gave him the tickets," she admitted, "for lovie but i didn't tell anyone cause i didn't want to ruin the day for anyone."

"ruin today?" gio repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief at his sisters actions, "you ruined today the moment you gave him the tickets."

"you think i wanted to ruin today? i'm not here for you?" harrison snapped rising to his feet, his voice was low but sharp, his frame tense as he squared up to gio. "i'm here for my daughter!"

gio stepped forward too, his expression thunderous. "you don't get to act like the hero after disappearing for years. showing up doesn't erase what you did!"

"i never said it did!" harrison's voice rose again, his frustration starting to bubble over. taking another step forward towards gio, his chest puffed out. "but i'm not going to stand here and let you talk to me like i don't care about her. i'm trying to be better-"

"better?" luca barked out a harsh laugh as gio joined in before looking back at harrison with the same thunderous glare.

"alessia doesn't need you, y/n doesn't need you. you don't belong here, mate."

"that's not your call!" harrison shot back, his voice dangerously loud now. he took another step closer his fists clenched at his sides.

"gio stop!" alessia's voice rang out as she begged the two to stop, even now luca was trying to get gio to back down as he reached out to grab his shoulder but it was just shrugged off by the younger russo brother.

"you don't get to decide what's best for her," harrison continued, his voice trembling with restrained anger. "she's my daughter"

"don't you dare say that word like it means something to you." gio hissed stepping closer to harrison, his voice venomous. "you're nothing but a selfish coward who runs away when things get tough!"

harrison's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides, "say that again," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"i said, you're a coward," gio spat, his eyes blazing as he stowed even closer.

the words barely hung in the air before gio swung, his knuckles catching harrison square on the cheekbone which would definitely turn blue by the morning.

harrison staggering back as his expression snapped from shock to fury in a instant. and without hesitation he lunged forward his first slamming into gio's jaw with a satisfying crack.

"you want to say that again?" harrison snarled, his chest heaving as gio was the one to stumbled this time.

gio wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at harrison. "you think that scares me?" he hissed already moving towards him again.

"enough!" mario barked from across the room, but neither of them seemed to hear.

luca rushed forward, shoving harrison back hard enough to create some space, "seriously knock it off!

alessia took the chance to dart herself between them, he hands trembling as she pushed against harrison's chest. "stop it! both of you!" she pleaded, her voice breaking.

her plea was just loud enough to pierce through the tension, as harrison's fists slowly uncurled and gio rubbed his jaw breathing heavily as he halted st him.

alessia turned to her dad, her face flushed and tight with anger, "they're done," she said firmly, her voice trembling with finality as she glanced between them, "aren't you?"

gio muttered something under his breath turning away while harrison stood rigid. the fire in his eyes gradually dimming. but alessia didn't move, staying firmly in place until both men retreated.

"this isn't helping anyone, and i'm not letting, either of you turn this into a war zone-" alessia shouted her voice firm as both boys hands were red with fury and there faces right with frustration.

"i'm not trying to fight, i just want to be there for my daughter" harrison squeaked out his voice low and strained.

“you don't deserve to be here for her!" gio fired back, but alessia spun on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"gio! enough!" she snapped. "you don't get to decide that. i do. and i've made my decision."

"less-," gio started, but alessia cut him off with a glare.

"no, gio." she said fiercely. "this isn't about you and what you think. this is about lovie. and right now she's down the hallway terrified because of you two"

the silence that followed from alessia's words was deafening and her words must have hit a soft spot as both boys retreated form where they were, moving to be at the side of the room as alessia stayed stood in the middle of the chaos.

"less, we're just trying to look out for you," luca began his voice was calm as he tried to justify his and his brothers actions. "you know we're only trying to protect you and tiny-,"

"protect me?" alessia spun around, her voice sharp and trembling with emotion as her eyes blazed as she stared down her brother. "you think this is protecting me? scaring my daughter? making her cry? how is that helping anyone?"

"less, come on," luca interjected, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "we didn't mean for it to get like this. we just don't trust him, and—"

"and that gives you the right to pick a fight in front of her?" alessia cut him off, her voice rising, her hands clenched at her sides. "she's four, luca! she doesn't understand why her uncles are yelling at her dad. do you have any idea what this is going to do to her?"

"alessia—" gio tried, but she held up a hand, silencing him.

"no, gio. you've done enough damage." she snapped, "all you've done is make everything worse!"

both russo brothers looked visibly chastened, their gazes dropping to the floor. carol stepped forward, her face pale. "alessia, sweetheart, maybe we should all take a moment to cool off—"

"i don't have a moment," alessia said, her voice breaking slightly. "my daughter is crying in the hallway because of all this. i need to go sort out the mess, they've made."

without waiting for a response having heard enough from them, alessia turned on her heel and left the room, her chest heaving as she tried to collect herself.

—

alessia finally found leah after having to take a few minutes herself to let out a shaky sigh. leah was sitting on a bench near the locker room. you cradled in her lap.

your face buried in leah's neck, as your body still trembled slightly from time to time as small hiccups left you. leah's hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as she whispered low and soothing reassurances.

"hey" alessia said softly as she approached the two, her heart breaking at the sight of you being so upset. her body filling with so much mum guilt.

leah glanced up, her expression a mixture of concern and lingering frustration as she shifted you slightly so that alessia could take over. "she's a bit shaken up," leah murmured standing as alessia crouched in front of the two of them.

"thank you" alessia said quietly, her voice filled with genuine emotion as leah nodded lingering for a moment before stepping back to give some space.

"lovie, baby" your mummy whispered, reaching out so gently to stoke the hair out your face as your were sat curled up with your knees to your chest. "it's okay, mummy's here now."

you sniffed, finally lifting your head up out of your knees to look at your mum. your face was red and tear-streaked as your lips trembled. "why was uncle gio and luca so mad at daddy?" you asked so innocently, your voice a little raspy from crying.

alessia's chest tightened, pulling you into her arms holding you tightly as the two of you sat on the floor. alessia's back hitting the bench behind her.

"oh my love" she murmured. "sometimes grown-ups say things they shouldn't when they are upset. but that doesn't mean they don't love you, okay? uncle luca and gio love you very much. they just.. got carried away and shouldn't have acted like that, especially when you were there."

you rubbed your eyes with your fists, your voice trembling as you asked, "am i not going to see daddy again?"

the question hit alessia like a punch to the gut. she pulled back slightly, her hands gently cradling your face as she looked into your wide worried eyes.

"oh baby no," she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. "that's not going to happen, you'll be able to see your dad again, i promise."

"bu-but uncle gio said he shouldn't be here," you whispered, your tears starting to build up again, "d-does that mean he has to go away?"

alessia swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in her throat that was building from your worries as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"no, baby," your mummy assured you, "uncle gio only said that as he's worried about mummy, not because he doesn't want you to see your daddy. and daddy won't be going anywhere - you'll still get to spend time with him."

"really?" you asked, you voice trembling with hope.

"really" alessia promised as she pulled you into another hug, "you and your dad are creating a special bond and no one is going to take that away from you. not uncle luca, not uncle gio, not anyone."

your small arms tightened around alessia's neck, "i don't want you and daddy to fight" you murmured.

alessia's heart ached at the simple plea, "we aren't going to fight, my love." she said softly, "sometimes grown ups make mistakes, but i promise i'll do everything i can to make sure you don't see that again."

you nodded against your mummy's shoulder, you little fingers clutching the fabric of alessia's hoodie. "okay," you whispered.

leah, who had been standing a few steps away, finally stepped forward again, her expression tender, "hey angel" she said softly, crouching down next to alessia and your level.

"how about we go and get some ice cream? i think we all need a treat after today, huh?"

you lifted you head, your tears starting-streaked face slightly lighting up, "pink one with sprinkles?"

leah smiled, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, "the biggest pink one with loads of sprinkles, as many as you want!"

alessia pressed a kiss to your temple, grateful for leah's presence in that moment. "what do you think, baby? wanna go get some ice cream with lele and mummy?"

you nodded, a faint smile creeping onto your face. alessia stood, holding you close as leah placed a comforting hand on alessia's back.

as they started to pack away there belongings from the changing room, everyone else left seamlessly a good hour ago. a quick redo of your hair and the three of you were ready to go.

as they walked out from the changing room, alessia whispered softly to you, "everything's going to be okay, lovie. i promise."

the three of you only a mere metre from the exit, alessia with her backpack slung on her shoulder and your little one which had left with you this morning when harrison came to get you in her hand as you held the other tightly.

leah chatting and lightening the mood by asking you about your imaginative ice cream order. small gasps and giggles leaving leah's lips.

"can you take lovie?" alessia asked as you held tightly onto your mummy's hand, leah nodding her brow furrowing as to why though. "i'll meet you at my car in five, i have one more thing i have to do before ice cream time!"

alessia's head nodded towards the room where her brother's and harrison were still in, stood in silence mainly giving each other dirty looks. leah nodded smiling as she began to walk out the exit door, continuing to ask you what flavour ice cream you were going to get on this big ice cream you'd made up.

walking into the room the tension was thick — heavier than any moment alessia had ever witnessed between her family and harrison.

it felt like the room was on edge of something much worse than what had already happened. the harsh words, the mistrust, the frustration.

stood looking between the her brothers as gio rested an ice pack on his jaw while harrison rested one on his cheek — the swelling on both of them starting to show slightly.

alessia's arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face a mask of calm resolve but the storm brewing inside her was undeniable.

her brothers stood across from harrison their expressions full of disdain ready for another attack. as for harrison, for his part was still stiff and defensive, clearly feeling the weight of alessia's family's anger but trying to hold his ground.

her gaze locked firmly on her brothers and harrison, as gio opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologise or maybe to carry on the screaming match but you'd never know as before he even had a chance alessia cut him off.

"zip it, you've said quite enough today," she said, her tone sharp and unwavering, "and that goes for all three of you" she added pointing to the three boys before turning her gaze to her brothers.

"you two have crossed the line today. so i'll make it clear, again. in my life, my daughter or my choices are mine to decide — neither of you get to tell me how to handle it. especially when it comes to my daughter."

luca opened his mouth to argue but alessia raised her hand stopping him dead in his tracks, "shut it." she said her voice a low growl that sent a clear message.

"i don't want to hear another peep. not from you, not from you" she pointed to gio who was about to say something too, "or from you" pointing over at harrison.

the room fell healthy silent all them staring at her stunned in disbelief. alessia took a slow, steady breath collecting her thoughts for a moment.

"i get it," she said her voice now steady but there was a fire in her eyes that couldn't be ignored. "you're angry. you're protective. you're all trying to act like the hero and protect me and love. but trust me, i don't need any of you trying to believe you know what's best for me. i've been doing this on my own and i'll continue it that way. and that includes harrison — whether you two like it or not."

she looked directly at harrison, then back to her brothers her eyes fierce with strength she'd been holding back all this time. "i can make my own choices on who's in my daughters life. and if i decide harrison deserves a chance then that's my decision. not yours."

gio's fists clenched as he moved his head as if he were about to say something else but alessia was already ahead of him, again.

"don't you dare," she warned him, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "don't you even think about interrupting me."

her brothers stood there, tight lipped, completely taken aback by the intensity in alessia's voice and the authority in her words.

harrison meanwhile, stood still, ice pack still held to h the side of his face, unsure of what to say, but realised the trust of it all. this wasn't the time for his defence — he had to let alessia take charge.

alessia stepped back, giving them all one last piercing look, "i'm done here. so if you have a scuffle you want to continue, then do it once me, my daughter and my girlfriend are out this building. do not ever bring that type of behaviour around my daughter again, or you'll live to regret it."

the finality in her words echoed through the room. without another word, alessia turned on her heel. her heart pouring as she walked toward the door, he back straight and shoulders square.

she didn't wait for anyone's reaction - this was her moment and she wasn't backing down to any of them. they all had a lot of grovelling to do.

as she reached for the door, she glanced over her shoulder one last time, "bye!" she said coldly, her voice unwavering. "i'll be with my family, where i belong. don't try and talk to me until you've figure out how to respect my choices."

the silence that followed her leaving the room was deafening. luca, gio and harrison all left standing there, two with ice packs held to their faces as the weight of the blondes words sunk in. 

but alessia wasn't looking back anymore, she was done trying to explain and make them see things her way. she had made her choice — you, leah and herself came first.

[nerdycheol]

I Loathe You Forever? | Jeon Jungkook

❤️‍🔥Pairing: real estate developer!jungkook x architect!f reader

❤️‍🔥Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, slow-burn romance, comedic misunderstandings, professional rivalry, personal growth, future smut

❤️‍🔥est. release date: 14 Jan 2025

‼️JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post‼️

note: I'M BACKKK, with a series this time. Had written n number of plots for an enemies to lovers fic. FINALLY, came to this. Hope y'all give love and support.

Yours lovingly, Rae 🐼

(TAGLIST OPEN)

Jeon Jungkook is a cocky, successful real estate developer who thrives on cutthroat deals and winning at all costs. You, on the other hand, are a fiercely independent architect who despises his arrogance and underhanded business tactics. The two of you have clashed multiple times over competing projects, your mutual disdain becoming infamous in the industry.

When a high-profile client announces a massive partnership project, you and Jungkook are forced to work together, much to your horror. Your constant bickering and passive-aggressive jabs turn every meeting into a battlefield, making it nearly impossible to get anything done.

One fateful night, after a client dinner filled with alcohol, dares, and heated arguments, you wake up in Las Vegas, hungover and... married. Neither of you remembers how it happened, but the signed documents and legal proofs are undeniable.

Initially, you both agree to annul the marriage immediately, but the client—delighted by your “union”—makes it clear that the partnership will only proceed if you remain married for the duration of the project. Seeing no other option, you begrudgingly agree to keep up the charade.

As you navigate your “fake marriage,” the forced proximity leads to unexpected moments of vulnerability. Jungkook begins to admire your dedication and creativity, while you start to see glimpses of a softer, more genuine side of him beneath his bravado. Your love-hate dynamic begins to shift as you realize your animosity might have been masking something deeper all along.

But when the truth about how you got married comes to light, your fragile truce is tested. Can you overcome the mistakes of your past and admit your feelings, or will your stubbornness ruin your chance at real love?

CHAPTER INDEX:

The Nemesis

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 12)

You woke up feeling uncomfortably warm. Not that it bothered you too much—it was the kind of warmth that made you feel too comfortable to move. Wrapped tightly in a cocoon of blankets, you realized you were stuck in someone’s arms.

And when you blinked your eyes open, all you saw was darkness.

The darkness of someone’s shirt.

You shifted slightly, trying to free yourself a little, but the grip was way too strong. You literally couldn't move, the blankets wrapped too tightly around your body. It made you squirm a bit to try and get free, but still, nothing. "Mhm..."

"Kyle, Johnny, let her go." Simon's low voice sounded muffled somewhere behind you, his heavy hand patting your covered body lightly. "I don't think humans enjoy nesting immobile like this."

Which, yeah, had some truth to it, considering you were still squirming a little, unconfortable with being stuck in place so firmly.

"It's for protection..." Johnny whined—mostly playfully—as he gave you one last squeeze before loosening his hold, pulling you up slightly so you could now see the rest of the room. The blanket that was wrapped around you not so constricting anymore. "Well, good morning, pup! Slept well?"

You blinked slowly, still feeling too sluggish to answer properly. Instead, you rubbed your eyes and face slowly with both hands, trying to wake up a bit. That didn’t stop Johnny, though, who immediately reached out to feel your forehead, checking your temperature. "Ah think it went down..." The Werewolf muttered, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. It was harder for him to gauge your temperature when he ran much hotter than humans.

"Let me."

Gaz stepped in, leaning closer to feel your forehead, his feathers twitching slightly even when his body was otherwise totally still.

"You feel much better, fledgling." He announced, a small, gentle smile on his face.

"Great! This means we can play, right, pup?"

You glanced up at Johnny’s face nervously. He looked so eager, but you weren’t quite sure if you were ready to play yet... he was still way too big and scary to consider fighting with him.

“Johnny.” Simon reprimanded in his low voice as he stood from the nest. “What did we talk about before?”

"And ya think ah'll hurt her or somethin'? Ya don't knae human limits either, do ya?" Johnny didn’t yell, but his naturally loud tone rose slightly, and your body tensed instinctively between the soft blankets.

Were they fighting? Were they going to argue because of you?

"Humans are more delicate." Gaz chimed in with a neutral tone, stretching his wings as he stood up from the nest, still addressing Johnny. "Especially her, weak as she is after the flu...."

"I knaw ya worried, Ky. I knae, but I'm very careful. Ya knae that." Johnny replied, his voice softening as he moved up to hug Gaz's side gently, one hand smoothing down the feathers on his wing. "Besides, ya have to help me convince Ghostie—he’s such a hardass."

"Har har." Simon deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he bent down to lift you out of the nest. His heavy hands patted your pajamas gently to both fix your clothes and wake you up a bit.

Johnny grinned smugly, amused by Simon’s reaction, his wolf ears pressing down as he let go of Kyle to approach you.

"Ay, pup, do ya wanna see how hybrids spar?" Johnny asked with a mischievous grin as he looked down at you, stepping closer to Simon.

"Huh...?" You murmured, blinking up at him, caught off guard.

"Johnny—" Simon hissed, the raspy, airy sound of a Wraith’s warning making you jump back in surprise.

Only to be interrupted by Johnny tackling him down back into the nest, the Werewolf growling back as they tumbled on top of the blankets and pillows.

You gasped weakly in surprise, eyes wide as you watched them both fall to their knees, Johnny's bicep trying to get a hold of Simon's neck as he tried to push the bigger man down. Simon was clearly stronger though, as he held back the Werewolf's arm and pulled it off of him.

Gaz chuckled sharpily at his two mates' antics, shaking his head softly as he walked past you to go to the bathroom. The soft feathers of his wing brushed against your back reassuringly as he went.

You noticed Simon’s sclera starting to darken, and he let out a low hiss before tackling Johnny's side roughly, pinning him to the nest this time. Johnny growled back, his nails digging into Simon’s arms, in his compression shirt, which somehow resisted tearing under the sharp claws.

You could see both of their muscles bulging with how much strengh they were fighting eachother with.

“You two muppets, stop that.” Price’s voice came from the doorway. He entered the room, shaking his head in mild amusement at the scene. “You’re scaring the kid.”

Johnny took advantage of Simon’s brief distraction to push him off, immediately crawling over to you with a panting grin.

"See? Isnae it fun??" He asked, leaning on the edge of the nest with his arms crossed and his head resting on them. "Course ah'd go easy on ya, pup. Let you mess me up, aye?"

"Who called, Price?" Simon asked, straightening up and casually scratching his arm where Soap had sinked his nails in.

"Nikolai. He was with Kate and Rya." Price replied with a small, affectionate smile, a tinge of affection on his gruffy voice.

"Are they...?" Simon started to ask, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Price, trying to be subtle to avoid worring you in case he was wrong.

"Yes, they are paying us a visit soon." Price confirmed, his tone careful as he gauged your reaction.

"Who...?" You asked quietly, already feeling anxiety creep in at the mention of three new people.

"Bonnie lassie, it's okay, aye? It's just our pack!" Johnny said quickly, trying to reassure you as he got up to his knees to manage to look you better in the eye. "Our pack is very nice, aye? Nice people, very gentle! Ya'll love them!"

"Well, Rya, sure, but Nik and Kate...." Gaz emerged from the bathroom, looking refreshed and wearing a small, amused smile.

"Gaz."

"Kyle."

Both Ghost and Price immediatly scolded the Harpy in unison, their tones sharp but familiar. Gaz just laughed it off, shaking his head lightly.

"Kidding, kidding~"

"They are very nice people, I swear it, doll." John said quickly, his small smile softened by the warmth in his voice, though partially hidden by his beard. "I'll show you pictures after, okay?"

You hesitated, still feeling uncertain. Nervousness tightened your chest, but you nodded slowly. It wasn’t like refusing was an actual option. This wasn’t truly your house. Maybe the best you could do was what you'd done in some foster homes before that had frequent visitors: hide away from sight until they were gone.

Like a cat.

"Let's have breakfast, hun. And you need to take one more dose of medicine. Maybe some warm tea too, hm?" Kyle smiled, his wing brushing your back gently to nudge you toward the door.

You were still getting used to the mornings in their house. They were clearly early risers, with none of them showing the slightest hesitation about starting the day even if they just woke up. The ease with which they interacted, did chores, and moved around impressed you. It was a stark contrast to your usual sluggish mornings.

Not that you were grumpy in the mornings—just… slow. Sluggish. You often zoned out while sitting at the table, barely able to keep up with the energetic chatter and movement around you. They talked continuously, laughing loudly, getting up and sitting back down, picking up dishes, and cleaning as they went.

Truly impressive. You could never.

After taking a warm shower, brushing your teeth, and getting dressed in warm clothes, you found a new problem, though. Johnny was trailing you like a persistent puppy. His wide grin practically begged you to join him in whatever he had in mind.

"If you're going to play with her, take her downstairs to the gym." Simon suggested, clearly offering no help in discouraging Johnny's enthusiasm.

The small, betrayed look you shot Simon only made him chuckle softly as Johnny gently took your hand, leading you toward their indoor gym.

The gym was much bigger than you'd expected, equipped with far more gear than some gyms you'd seen before. The bright white lighting and clean concrete floors created a spacious and organized feel. Each piece of heavy equipment was well-spaced, making it seem as though every detail had been carefully planned.

You scanned the area, taking it all in, until Johnny tugged you toward a section lined with thick, black padded mats on the ground.

"I... don't know how to... fight...." You murmured, your brows knitting together in confusion as you looked up at Soap. It was almost a silent plea for clarification.

"I knae, lassie, don't ya worry! We're just playing!" He beamed at you, guiding you to the edge of the mats. "Here, take off your shoes, bonnie."

Both of you stepped onto the mats. You wore the new socks John had gotten for you—purple with white stars—that carefully protected your small feet, while Johnny went barefoot. His feet were large, with sharp toenails and thick fur along the tops, really what you would expect from a Werewolf.

"What... do you wanna play...?" You asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper in the otherwise quiet gym. "Play fight...?"

"Ah like some wressling like anybody, mah kids also love it too! Ah'm sure we'll have some fun, wee lass!"

He smiled confidently, dropping to his knees. He had an eager and wolfish grin on his face, energy pratically radiating from him.

"Let's see what ya got!"

Part 11 /

[dafodils-on-the-moon]

This is fantastic and now I CONSUMED with ideas of what “ignore of previous commands” Adrien does/says next.

Like, I imagine him just blue screening for a solid two minuets in which Marinette’s like “OH NO DID I BREAK HIM OH SHIT” before he just says one of the million different things that ran through his head as he realizes “oh, free will. I have it.” Like all the things Gabriel had told not to do/feel etc. like

He just silently takes off his orange Gabriel brand converse and chucks them as far as he can, proceeds to kiss Marinette fill on the mouth and announces:

“I’m going to comic-con. Also, I want to elope.”

Adrien deserves a belated teen-rebellion/ early midlife crisis. He deserves to like his cringe weird-kid dreams.

Adrien dying his hair pink and getting a wolf cut or smth. Wearing all-thrifted clothes, getting a nose ring, earrings and a tattoo. Adrien going to comic con and using his dad’s fortune to support local artists and getting Marinette into anime cosplay. Adrien making a fursona. Adrein fostering like, 11 cats, 8 hamsters and a tortoise. Adrien deleting his official social media and only running a niche blog of fanedits and poetry. Adrien quitting half his extracurriculars and trying something new every month instead. Adreinette being an obnoxious PDA couple.

Marinette both being deeply supportive of his interests cause yay free will and also battling her own social anxiety as she too learns how to not give a fuck in public and getting to know this version of Adrien (who reminds her of cat noir??).

it's probably nothing

[psychoticbipolarbear]

Unprofessional innuendos

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: You keep teasing Hotch jokingly, a habit that stems from your feelings for him, but when you want to make a move he doesn't approve of, he thinks it's time to tell you he secretly likes it.

tags: daddy kink implied, age gap, pre-season 1, fem!bau!reader, Haley isn't with Hotch

word count: 0.9k

“Boys, we all know that Daddy loves me best,” you say with a laugh as you lean back in the chair with a smug smile on your face. 

Derek laughs with you as he shakes his head, knowing full well you are right, while Spencer looks like you just shot his dog. “What about me?” he asks hesitantly, pointing at himself. 

“You’re Gideon’s favorite, I won’t give you Hotch too.” 

“And I’m the oldest child both parents forget about,” Derek notes as he stands up and stretches his arms above his head. You throw a pen at him, but he catches it with ease and walks over to put it on your desk. “Come on, I’m paying for the drinks tonight. You’re coming too, Reid,” he adds, giving a pointed look to the youngest member of your team. 

You don’t move, instead you turn to the hallway where Hotch and Gideon’s offices are, wondering if you should at least offer them the chance to join you. Gideon barely came with you, but Hotch agreed every so often, and when you could convince him to drink more than two glasses, things always got interesting. He could be fun when he let his walls down, when he joined the playful banters, or when he played along with you when you were back on your usual bullshit after one too many drinks. 

So, despite the others’ protests, you jump up and run into Hotch’s office to convince him to join you. He’s playing hard to get, but you know you could easily get under his skin with a few sweet words, and sure enough, he rolls his eyes and closes the folder he was working with. “Fine,” he says, then stands up to follow you. 

Fast forward to one in the morning, when he’s standing at your door, holding you up while you try to open your front door. Derek offered to take you home, but he wasn’t that sober either, so Hotch took it upon himself to get you home in one piece. Despite being aware of your intoxicated state, he gives you a lecture in the car about how you should try to behave, toning down the innuendos that are usually flowing out of you more often than not. And it only happened around him, which made him wonder if there are real feelings behind them. 

One day is enough to put the pieces together, and when the team goes to their respective rooms after a long day of traveling and getting up to speed with a new case, you can’t help but linger around your boss’ room, debating whether or not you should talk to him. You know he was right that night, that you were taking things too far, that you were overstepping boundaries that existed for a reason. But you didn’t know what to do, your crush on him made it impossible to be around him and act normal. 

And tonight you had a moment of enlightenment and figured out what route you can take to solve this. So, you knock, impatiently waiting for him to open the door for you. When it creaks open, you see that he’s already dressed for bed, wearing a white shirt and black track pants, and his hair is a mess already. “Did something happen?” he asks.

“I know it’s late, I’m sorry. There’s something I want to tell you, but I don’t want to wait until the morning,” you admit, glancing past him into the room as a sign that maybe you shouldn’t discuss it there. He gets the message and steps aside to let you in. “I’m leaving the team,” you announce when he leans against the wall. 

Hotch freezes, but his brown eyes tell you that his brain is in overdrive. “What?” You nod, not feeling like responding with words. “No.”

“That’s not up to you.”

“It should be. Is it because of what we talked about in the car?” he asks as he steps closer, slowly closing the distance between you. You nod again. “Okay, listen to me very, very carefully. I said what I said because I don’t want a scandal. I swear to God, one day the way our team members communicate will trigger a sexual harassment training. Garcia and Morgan? You and me? That’s completely unprofessional, no matter how natural it feels to us,” he says. 

You think about what he said, then you note, “But you never join in when I say those things. It’s not mutual.”

To your surprise, he lets out a laugh, then reaches out to cup your face. “Don’t think I don’t want to,” he admits, leaning so close you can feel his hot breath on your skin. “I love the way you’re teasing me, surprisingly, I even find your stupid daddy and sir kinks endearing, but I need to draw the line at work. I’m your boss, there are rules against relationships like that.” He thinks about this, then lets his hands slide down from your cheek, moving along your neck, down over your collarbone, exploring your sides as he leans in to kiss you. “Stay here tonight. Let me show you how badly I want you,” he breaths against your lips.

Your brain doesn’t work properly anymore, you can’t think of a reason why you should say no to him. So, you stay, giving in to the sexual tension that’s been building up ever since you joined the team. From that night on, you don’t even think about leaving the team again. You just tone down the comments to play by his rules.

[randombush3]

the winner takes it all

alexia putellas x reader

summary: an unexpected invitation throws your world off-kilter

words: 6276

content warnings: it's a bit unfaithful

notes: in this universe real madrid is a proper opponent and rival to barcelona, in the sense that funding and history is relatively equal (so it's basically more like the men's rivalry)

idk where this came from tbh

Amb gran alegria, 

Alexia i Olga

T’invitem a celebrar la nostra unió matrimonial. 

10 d’agost de 2025

Gran Hotel Mas d’en Bruno

You haven’t read Catalan in years. You squint at the details. 

You wish you had forgotten it. 

Only Alexia would do this to you, twisting the knife as though it’s a favour, a compliment. Make it seem psychotic for not wanting to go, make it seem like it’s not a big deal. 

The invitation isn’t personalised. You are not special in her eyes. You have been allowed onto the guest list, you have no mark in her life. Surely Olga would have objected if she’d known, if she’d been told. Maybe Alexia doesn’t talk about it. Maybe she has heard your name on match reports and team sheets, announcements for captaincy, interviews with Las 16 who called you traidora then and call you traidora now. 

As if she knew it was coming, your phone begins to light up with messages from Alba. Apologies, perhaps, in her own Alba way. Stuff like ‘are you coming’ and ‘you don’t have to’ and then more buzzing, vibrating the shitstorm into a phone call. 

You don’t speak often. Why would you? But you answer it, listless, really, and unsure what the correct approach to this even is. 

“Hola, traidorita,” she says with a nervous giggle, reclaiming your nickname in Barcelona but reminding you of how you are perceived nevertheless. “I don’t know why you are on the guest list.” 

Alba is like this: straight to the point, unafraid of her sister and unafraid to tell you what she thinks. They are very different, which is why she is the only one who has your current number in her contacts. 

“You told her where I live,” you respond. Your shock makes no room for manners. “Because no one there has my Madrid address, Albi.” 

“No one here has it, yeah. But she asked around. Well, Olga did.” She laughs again. Her nervousness is high-pitched and easily detected. “Told Ale that she has to have her childhood best friend at her wedding.” 

“Childhood best friend?” 

“Estranged childhood best friend?” she tries, and you can hear the smile and the teasing fucking smugness in it. You wonder if anyone else knows you have been invited. Alba because your address was squeezed out of her, sure, but… “And my mother thought it was a good idea too, before you try to murder a woman you have never met.” 

“I’ve met Olga before,” you say without thinking, because that’s far easier to focus on than the idea of Eli getting involved in this completely undesired reunion that is about two centuries too early. “When I was going out with, eh, I don’t remember her name. A model. You know what they’re like. Olga’s the one who works for… thingie.” 

There’s a sigh from the other end. “So many models yet not one name has been retained. Do you even ask them?” 

“We’re not usually doing much talking.” 

“Zorra.”

“Coming from you…” You smirk at the thought of all the little secrets Alba’s had you keep, a tradition that started young and became increasingly frequent when you removed yourself from everyone else’s lives. It’s like a journal, only you judge her. “You’re doing a good job of distracting me until I agree to go.” 

She hesitates, then. You’re not an idiot and you know why she called. Alba is supportive but she has her own agenda most of the time, and no one else knows the exact time you get back from training aside from your fellow teammates. Even then, most are too intimidated to contact you in general, let alone to ask about being invited to Alexia Putellas’ fucking wedding. 

Alba is also very manipulative, a professional puppeteer. And she knows exactly what to say. “It’s been fifteen years. Are you going to let her win?” It’s an infuriating provocation but it hits its target with ease. 

…

The first step of preparing for this wedding takes place in the form of the Euros: you’re going to win it and be happy enough to ignore the impending doom hanging over your off-season plans. Going into the competition with heavy medals round your necks makes cockiness the slippiest of slopes, and it is safe to say that most of your teammates are prepared to cruise through at least the group stages. 

An unexpected injury rips Jenni’s opportunity to play from her grasp (an echo of her ex-girlfriend, you briefly think), and she is flying back to Mexico before the tournament begins. Montse is a captain down – of course only this kind of disaster could happen to her – and before Patri can even open her mouth to volunteer for the role, you are dragged into a leadership meeting.

You’ve worn the armband before, though it seared and burned and blistered until you threw it in Jorge’s face and demanded someone else absorb the hatred it brought. He went ballistic as you’d said it, you remember, his face going red in the soft glow of your hotel room the night before the World Cup final. He’d leaned forwards, fist clenched, knuckles white and wanting to choke the life out of you.

“You have no respect!” he’d roared, voice splitting like thunder against the thin walls of your hotel room. “Not for me, not for your country, not for anything!” His breath was coming out in sharp ragged gasps. He spat. You’d wiped it off your body. “I thought you had scraped all the Catalan out of you, but here it is!” he’d screamed, loud enough to be heard but so comfortable in his power that it did not seem to frighten him. “Selfish and arrogant. You should have made it Seventeen.” 

He’d left in his rage, slamming his door. 

You regretted smiling in pictures with him, shaking his hand, kissing his cheek. You regretted the press conferences and interviews, the shaky defence you had constructed, the words of faith and trust you had professed and tried to believe. It had changed you, just a little bit, that incident. Made you think about who you are, where you come from. Made you remember someone you’d tried to forget. 

But Irene and Alexia, staring at you with both contempt and confusion as you take a seat at the conference table, don’t know any of this. Why would they? To them, this is the traidora. 

“Y/n is going to take Jenni’s place as third captain,” says Montse firmly, if she even knows how to do that. Irene and Alexia share a glance. Their roles have been restored for this competition and they are not prepared for an intruder to take that from them, although Irene will later remind Alexia that it is not your fault Jenni got injured. “I trust you three will come up with a suitable management plan. If you need me, you know where to find me.” 

None of you really do know where she lurks, but she is walking off before you can clarify. 

“We already have a strategy.” And she says it in Catalan, looking falsely apologetic when she is kicked underneath the table. 

“Good job, Alexia,” you tell her, so nauseatingly saccharine that you almost think of the nearest route to a toilet. She’s surprised you’ve granted her a reply though, which is satisfying enough. About to spit out another remark to divide yourselves further, you shift in your chair, stretching out your legs underneath the table. 

It is then that her ring catches your eye.

It’s delicate, shiny. A neatly cut diamond set in platinum with slight details that tell you someone thought about Alexia when they had this made and got it all wrong. Or maybe this is what she likes now. It’s not what you’d have given her.

She sees your eyes fall to her fingers, watching carefully as your gaze heats the metal and makes it almost too hot for her to keep on. You don’t really want her to know that you’ve seen it but you’ve made it bleeding obvious and so the predicament spirals and Irene wants, desperately, to leave you two alone – she knows shouldn’t, she’s aware of the health and safety risk. 

There is something about the way Alexia clenches her jaw, posture stiffening as she allows herself one flicker from your face to the ring, that tells you she is bracing herself for a bullet. She always did have an uncanny ability to read you, however unwanted it was. 

You lean back in your chair, aware of how the bystander is holding her breath, and decide to swallow the words burning on your tongue. You’ve accepted her invitation, and bitter manners are still manners. “Congratulations,” you say, words clipped and brittle, each syllable more venomous than the last. 

The chair makes a screeching sound as you stand. Irene flinches but Alexia does not move. She refuses to watch as you walk out of the room. 

…

Three hours later, Alexia is off the phone with Olga and knocking on Irene’s door with an embarrassed suppression of urgency. Shoulders hunched and lips downturned, the sight is enough for her to be ushered inside with only the quiet flap of Irene’s arms to beckon her forwards. With this part of the training camp being not quite tunnel-vision yet, Irene’s room is littered with toys and toddler stuff. Usually Alexia would be looking at them in quiet excitement. Right now, she is not so sure. 

“Second thoughts?” Irene asks, and Alexia half-jumps backwards in shock, about to furiously shake her head and profess her love for Olga– “I think the plan is good. I don’t think we need to worry about Y/n in the centre, seeing how she’s been playing there this season.” 

It slowly dawns on Alexia that Irene has assumed this is pre-tournament nerves, and that she is being shown such a vulnerable side of her co-captain because, well, who else can be? No one wants to see their commander gulp at the sight of the battlefield. 

“She still favours her left,” Alexia gets out. “She might drift, leaving a big gap for you to cover.” 

“She’s got offers from PSG, Chelsea, and Washington Spirit. It’s in her interest not to drift.” 

“She’s good at drifting.” 

Irene doesn’t respond to that. 

“Since when did you wear your ring to training?” is what she chooses to say instead, asking the question with a healthy fear of getting her head bitten off, taking a small step backwards to put her at a safer distance. 

Alexia doesn’t reply immediately, her fingers grazing the ring as she thinks. The weight of it seems heavier now, almost suffocating in the sterile air of the hotel room, as though this is everything she’s been trying to avoid. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. It feels like everyone is starting to notice. 

“I didn’t think it was an issue.” Her voice is tight, defensive, but with a subtle, betraying crack. She pulls her hand back from the air, letting it fall to her side. “We hardly did much more than pass the ball today so I kept it on.” 

It’s a poor excuse. It comes off for the cameras, not the contact of the game. Irene knows that. But, to her credit, she doesn’t push. She just watches Alexia, eyes narrowed slightly in an unreadable expression. “I just thought you guys were keeping it a bit more… private.” 

Alexia turns her gaze to the floor, staring at the scattered toys and items around the room. The simplicity of it all, the domestic innocence, makes her feel even more tangled. She feels an urge to lie, to say that Olga asked her to, worried that you’d misinterpret its absence, but Olga doesn’t even know she has reason to lose sleep. She hasn’t found the courage to explain. She hasn’t felt the need to. 

And, really, the truth is right here, echoing between them. Irene would have pieced together the story, as many of Alexia’s teammates have, hearing drunken retellings on nights out from whoever has known the two of you the longest that time. Maybe Alba has spoken to her, revealing everything after a round of tequila shots, as she tends to do. There are a few suggestions the older woman could make to her teammate, wounds she could open and then nurse, but she doesn’t and so she waits. 

Until, finally, Alexia admits, “it’s complicated. She has caught me off-guard.” It could mean many things, but it is either your captaincy or the acceptance of her wedding invitation that has done Alexia in. She wonders whether this feeling of dread and uncertainty is the game – or the life waiting for her after she comes back from Switzerland. “Look,” she says abruptly, “I’m not here for advice, Irene.”

“Then why are you in my room?” She doesn’t have an answer for that. Irene sweeps her outside, gently but firmly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” she treads lightly, “but when was the last time you had a conversation with her?” 

…

The training pitch in Switzerland is unseasonably hot, the kind of heat that clings to the air and makes tempers run shorter than usual. It’s almost a cure to homesickness but then the team look at each other and are back to hating every minute of this. There’s an undeniable divide. Montse either does not care or has not caught on. 

It’s about your twentieth rondo this session, the ball zipping across the wilting grass as it touches Barça foot to Barça foot, the girls obviously enjoying this. You’re only holding back because too much investment will lead to another injury, and you are getting somewhat tired of being called a traitor. The players surround you with a ruthless efficiency that is starting to fray your nerves, and you make a note to talk to your coach about training, knowing that it will be easy to manipulate her into following something akin to what the girls at Madrid are more accustomed to. 

Alexia is one of your taunters. Of course she is. 

“Just three more interceptions,” she calls out, false strain, false support, false encouragement. 

You bite back a retort, instead standing still as Aitana rolls a ball right past you. You wipe the sweat from your brow, feigning exhaustion, but the pretense is only that in name. Everyone knows you are one of the best defenders, the Barça girls especially, with their insane pride for La Masia. 

“Lazy,” Alexia mutters. 

You don’t respond, focusing instead on the fire in your chest as you forcibly break the circle and march towards Montse. She looks up from her clipboard as you approach. 

“We should split training.” She pauses and then nods. “Attack and defence, at least. And don’t let the press hear this, but, my god, Montse, I do not like how they’re all back.” 

“We’re a stronger team,” she says, but she’s smiling and you are definitely her favourite. Another deep breath and she is calling a water break. 

The girls retreat to the sidelines for ice and hydration, and you reunite with the people you like. Your club teammates prefer you at national camp, because there is something less reclusive about you. It’s as though you’re trying to prove that you get on. 

Olga hands you a water bottle, the contents of which you guzzle down in one go. She begins to comment on the absurdity of Alexia’s mandated rondos (“why do they have to keep reminding themselves how to pass a ball?”) and while you agree, your attention is diverted. Alexia is standing a few meters away with Mariona Caldentey. She’s listening to something the forward is telling her, face focused, finger twisting her ring around in circles. 

That fucking ring. 

You look away before you are caught in such a compromising position, wiping your forehead with your damp training shirt. 

“Oye,” Misa’s voice pulls you back, “are you paying attention?” You’re not even sure when she joined the conversation. Your relationship with the goalkeeper has always been overly complicated. You work very closely, what with you commanding the backline and her… also commanding the backline. But she’s friends with people who must have at least once wished you dead, so it’s hard to tell where you stand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lie, screwing the cap back onto the water bottle and placing it in Olga’s held-out palm. 

“You’re never this spacey. You’ve been off since the meeting,” she presses, her voice gentle but insistent. “If this is about the captaincy–” 

“It’s not,” you snap, harsher than what was meant. Her eyes widen slightly and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sorry. It’s not about that. I’m fine.” 

Misa doesn’t look convinced but she nods, letting it drop. Gratitude relaxes your shoulders but the uneasy silence that follows is punishing enough for you to be eager for training to resume. 

Now that the rondos have been left behind until tomorrow, you divide into teams for a scrimmage. The squad is split into four and you throw yourself into the exercise. Every touch, every pass, every run is perfect, and you are unrecognisable from your lackadaisical lull only ten minutes ago. You’re pushing your body and it flicks onto autopilot, driven by muscle memory and determination. 

Your head’s not in it. You can’t outrun her shadow. You can’t think when your teams are against each other. 

The ring must have come off now, and she is getting stuck in. She’s relentless and irritating, evading your teammates’ tackles and drawing you into her. It’s almost transportative: back you go to gardens after school or being barefoot on the beach, forced out of your relaxation and into an endless game of ‘tackle me like you mean it’. She has that same glint in her eye, that same goading gleam. You consider it, but crutches at a wedding is a low blow. 

And so you lay off. Just on her, and only just enough so that she knows you are not trying. You do not care for petty squabbles. You are not willing to go back to those memories, to that time. 

Or at least, that’s the message you hope she gets. 

The games slowly wind down, prompted by Montse’s whistle to signal the end of the session. You stay on the pitch longer than anyone else, taking you time to collect the stray balls scattered across the grass. It’s partly an excuse to delay walking into the locker room, where the tension will be thick (you were not the right choice for third captain in the eyes of your teammates), and partly because you need a moment to breathe. 

The others slowly disperse, peeling off to the showers or collapsing onto benches. Alexia lingers longer than most, wiping away her sweat with her shirt, abs exposed and tensed. She watches you as you move across the pitch, and though her gaze is subtle, you can feel it blazing hotter than the sun lashing down on you. But, despite her staring, she too is eventually coaxed away. You’re unsure whether she is thankful for the interruption. 

When you finally make your way to the changing rooms, most of your teammates are in the showers, and the sound of running water mingled with laughter echoes. You take a seat at the locker you were assigned and let out a slow breath, peeling off sweat-soaked socks with mild disgust. You turn to fling them into your laundry bag, but their flight path is blocked by a blonde who has clearly delayed her own shower to talk to you. 

She’s looking oddly pensive. You don’t like it. 

“We need to talk.” It’s uncomfortable for Alexia to say and it’s worse for you to hear. You’re not sure you’re okay with her decision to become reasonable and mature. It’s quite the compliment to always be the cause for stoic, rational Alexia Putellas going absolutely batshit crazy. 

Driving her up the wall is fun. 

“I’ll send you an invitation. No need to tell me which room is yours.” You give her a smile. And, like you always do, you walk away. 

…

There’s a charge to the air that is choking you by dinner time. The upgrade to captain allowed for your own room, and it is easy to blow off teammates who want to have plans with you with the simple excuse of needing to talk to your agent. You technically do, since you are going to leave Madrid during the transfer window, but you have no intention of dialling his number until he confirms the best and furthest team wants you. 

You’ve spent the evening avoiding the majority of the players, which Montse took advantage of, encouraging you to spend dinner discussing tactics with her and her staff. You feel like the teacher’s pet. You know how angry it is making Alexia.

Collapsing on the bed when you back into your room, you let out a loud groan, sinking into the mattress. Your phone buzzes on the bedside table and for a moment, you think it might be Alba, allowing you no peace and quiet despite her distance. Instead, it’s a message on the team group chat from the strength and conditioning coach about tomorrow’s gym session. A wave of relief washes over you; anything but her. 

Still, as you scroll, you catch yourself lingering on the names in the group chat, your thumb hovering near Alexia’s. Your stomach tightens and the memory of her tone, her expression, pulls at you like a tether. 

She’s not going to drop this. 

It’s no longer a matter of avoidance in the camp. You’ve said you will be present. She must want to ensure you will not make a scene. 

A knock at the door, so quiet you are almost convinced it was imagined, breaks you out of your brooding. Your eyes watch the wood as though it will be splintered in a moment, but when you make no move to get up, a more insistent knock sounds. You sigh as you pull yourself off your bed, dragging your feet towards the door. Opening it, you find Alexia standing there, arms crossed and wearing an expression you can’t quite decipher. It lacks her usual burning hatred. She looks exhausted. 

You struggle to feel any sympathy. 

“What?” you snap. It’s a bit harsher than intended but you don’t let on that that’s the case. 

“Can I come in?” You guess that she didn’t pick up the hint when you gave her no invitation. You do not want to talk. You don’t do that to people much anymore. 

She expects the door to slam in her face – and you consider it – but it’s your hesitation that tells her she can, and so she slowly moves inside, shoulder brushing yours because you refuse to move out of the way. And then she raises a deliberate hand towards the door, pushing it shut. You ignore the ring. 

You lean against the door once it’s shut, arms folded as she wanders further into your room. She looks out of place somewhere so personal to you, standing awkwardly in the centre and trying not to look at the explosion of clothes and books that has been detonated on the floor. 

She reads the titles of a few – classics that look dense and boring. Something hungry inside her dulls a bit, because you have not changed in this respect. 

“You’re quiet for someone who wants to talk,” you prompt, mostly because the silence is unbearable. 

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her arms drop to her sides, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves. She tries to meet your eyes, but falters when she sees the cold indifference staring back. You’re looking at her like she’s a stranger. It stings more than it should.

“I didn’t invite you to the wedding,” she says finally. “Olga doesn’t know about us.” 

“There’s no ‘us’,” you snap, sharper this time.

Her jaw tightens and for a second, she looks as though she’s been struck. “Don’t lie.” 

“There is no ‘us’,” you repeat, your tone icy now. “That disappeared the minute I–” 

“Left,” comes her interruption, her voice trembling just enough for you to notice. She steps closer, her shadow crossing yours, and her eyes narrow. “Which was your decision, not mine.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Don’t act like you didn’t have a say in it.” 

“I didn’t!” she fires back, her voice rising. There is something raw beneath it – something fractured. “You didn’t give me one. You walked out, and you shut me out like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.” 

Her words hang in the air and for a moment, you don’t know whether to shoot or turn away. But her gaze pins you in place, fierce and unrelenting, as though daring you to deny it. 

You hold her stare, your throat tightening. “And you didn’t try to stop me.” 

The silence that follows feels deafening. Neither of you moves. Neither of you blinks. You’re both standing on landmines and have nowhere to go. 

Her jaw clenches, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Her voice, though low, crackles with the heat of restrained anger. 

“You didn’t give me a chance to stop you.” And she steps closer, ready to bite. The door presses against your back as you instinctively move away. “You made up your mind before I even knew what was happening.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.” You shake your head. “I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to leave, Alexia.”

Her expression darkens, something in her eyes flickering dangerously. “That’s not the point. You didn’t just leave the club. You didn’t just leave me. You left everything. Our family. Our life. Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you walk away as if none of it mattered?” 

Your chest tightens but you refuse to let her words land. “You don’t get to make me the villain here.” 

“I don’t have to,” she snaps, her voice rising now, accent thickening with her anger. “You were part of my family, part of me. You were at every Christmas, every birthday. My mother adored you. Alba still loves you like you are her own sister! And you just disappeared like none of it meant anything. Like we didn’t mean anything.”

You flinch at the weight of her words but force yourself into steadiness. “I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t mine, it was yours.” 

Her face twists in disbelief, voice trembling as it rises again. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You were my family. My first everything. My first kiss. My first…” She pauses, her voice cracking. You swallow hard – you don’t want the fucking itemised list. “My first time. You think I just gave that to anyone? You think that it was just fun and games?” 

Your stomach churns as she stokes a fire you’ve tried to smother for years. “It wasn’t nothing,” you agree, although it sounds like you are contradicting her in a way that causes her to falter on her drive forwards. “It was everything. That’s why I left. Because I couldn’t be what was needed anymore. Because I knew if I stayed, I’d only–” 

“Only what?” 

You gulp. 

She’s back in your face, voice laced with venom. “Hurt me? Ruin me? Let us all done? Guess what, you did that anyway. Leaving made it easier? Made it hurt less?” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you shout, voice splitting. 

“You stay!” It echoes and it bruises your skin. Her eyes are blazing now, tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. “You stay, because that is what you do when you love someone. When you love a family. You don’t just walk away from them. You fight.” 

You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between guilt and pride. She sees it and it only seems to enrage her further. 

Her voice drops, anger so torrid she has to purposely cool her tone. “You know, I thought that my world was ending then. I thought you’d done your worst. But I was wrong. Because your betrayal wasn’t just personal, it was… political. To not see someone you love except for when they are sitting at the feet of this. Corruption’s pet. Pandering to an organisation you hated, while the rest of us fought for scraps.” 

Heat rises in your chest. How dare she– “I don’t pander to anyone.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” she spits. She’s too close. She’s too inescapable. And her anger is no longer fiery but icy, piercing through your skin. “I’ve seen the way you act around them, bowing your head and playing the loyal soldier while they tear us apart. You think I didn’t notice how he favoured you? Or how Montse magically replaces an irreplaceable member of–” 

“It’s not like that,” you counter, but the words feel hollow even to you.

“Then what is it?” she demands. “What is it that makes you stand there and let them walk all over us? Let them divide us? And don’t you dare say it is for the good of the team. The team hates you for it. We all do. You’ve earned every bit of it, traidora.” 

The word hits you like a whip, lacerating and making you bleed. Your hands curl into fists so tightly your nails dig into your palms, the sting barely enough to contain the fury surging through you. “Don’t you dare call me that!” The sentence tears out of your throat, rough and jagged. You take a step forwards, the air between you crackling with tension, your voice breaking as you spit, “you don’t get to say that to me. Not you.”

“Why not?” she challenges. “It’s what you are. You left, you betrayed everything we stood for, and then you came back just to make things worse. You made your choices.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her, the anger and heartbreak in her eyes, eviscerating and leaving you hollow. But then, something shifts in the air between you, and you find your voice again, souring from before.

“Is that why you’re here, Alexia? To throw all of this in my face? To let out fifteen years of harboured emotion? Or is it something else?” 

Her brow furrows in confusion. Surprise. And then her expression twists into anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You take a step forward now, and she is forced to retreat. “Do you not want to marry Olga, Alexia? Is that it? Is that why you’re here? Because you think you can come into my room, dredge all of this up, and make me the reason you’re unhappy?” 

Her face pales as she takes a deep breath, hands trembling at her sides. “Don’t,” she warns, firmly enough to signal you need to push.

So you do. 

“You came here because you’re scared.” She shakes her head but it’s rigid and forced. “Because you’re not sure you can go through with it and you want me to give you a reason to back out. Well, I’m not going to do that for you. This isn’t my mess. It’s yours.”

She says nothing and you feel sick. Her chest rises and falls with each gasping breath. She opens her mouth but again, you are left with silence, and the expression in her eyes flickers between defiance, confusion, and vulnerability. For a long moment, it feels like everything that could be said has been. 

The air between you is charged, but neither of you know which way it will go. 

You stare at her watching her waver. And it hits you: she doesn’t know what to do. 

All of this, all the anger and the pain, all the accusations and betrayals, has led her here, to this moment. She thought she had an answer, she thought she would be able to end this, but now? Now, Alexia is lost. There is too much here, too much to lose. And for the first time in a long while, you are feeling the same thing. You are both no longer sure if you want to fight. 

She takes a hesitant step closer and you freeze. But then, just as quickly, her hand moves – not to strike, not to harm, but to touch you. Her fingers brush lightly over the fabric of your sleeve, almost tenderly, before they fall away, and you don’t know if the motion was meant for comfort or something else.

Her breath is ragged, coming in slow, uneven gasps. Her eyes never leave yours. You don’t want them to. 

“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” she murmurs, the rawness in her tone shattering any remaining wall between you. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

How do you respond to that? You want her to leave but the thought is unbearable. You want space but she is not close enough. Something inside you stirs, something you can’t fight; a need to understand her and make her understand you. To make her see how tangled this, how impossible it has always been. 

Before you can form the word, before you can even think, she moves in closer, and there is no longer distance. She doesn’t ask for permission. She doesn’t hesitate. And then, without warning, her lips are on yours. 

It’s soft, tentative at first, as though testing the waters of something neither of you is sure of anymore. But then it shifts. Her body leans into yours, and the kiss deepens, more urgent now, as if this is everything that has not been said and has been at the same time. Your heart races, a million conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, betrayal, love – it is all here, you can taste it on her lips. It’s fierce, desperate, and it feels like an endless cycle of need and regret, pulling you both back to something raw, something irretrievable. 

Her hands find your waist, gripping tightly as though anchoring herself to something that could pull her under. You instinctively respond, pulling her closer, drawing in the heat of her touch, the scent of her skin, the pressure of her body against yours. For a fleeting second, everything else fades away. There’s no past, no future, only here and now. 

And then the fog clears. 

You pull back, breathless and worse off. You’ve fucked up again. Alexia is crying. 

“I’m not the person you think I am anymore,” you say, but it’s hard to meet her gaze. “I can’t be that person for you.”

Her eyes search yours desperately for lies, for deceit. She wants it to be wrong. She doesn’t know why. And she replies, “I don’t care what you think you’ve become,” because she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to her.

You stare at her, heart pounding, and you want to feel like this will be worth it, but nothing comes except cold emptiness. You force yourself to stay upright. “I think the wedding will be good.” She swallows. “You’ll be happy with Olga. I’m sure of it.” 

It’s a death sentence. 

This time, it is Alexia who leaves. 

…

The wedding is beautiful. Blissful sunlight makes the venue seem to glow and it is hard not to be impressed with how they have set this up. 

The model at your side is also beautiful, but you remind yourself it is not a competition. You focus on the whispers of anticipation from the guests, the rustle of the dresses as people pass in merry groups, clinking their glasses and finishing their champagne as they take their seats. Everything looks perfect, plucked from magazines and tasteful brochures. This must be what Alexia wanted. 

Your date is occupying herself in conversation with the man seated next to you, who might be hitting on her, though you don’t care. She slides a hand over your thigh anyway. 

The ceremony begins, although you’re not really concentrating on it. You try to focus, listening as the officiant speaks, but the words have become a dull hum. It’s all so rehearsed, so expected, and it’s boring. You won’t be getting married anytime soon, that’s for sure. 

You know the flow of these things: the vows, the promises, the kiss, and the crowd’s applause. It’s a performance, though it’s not quite a farce. 

And then, it comes. The moment. The one that feels like a trap. 

The officiant pauses, glancing out over the gathering. “Si algú s'hi oposa, que parli ara o calli per sempre.”

For a heartbeat, time slows. The air thickens. Every muscle in your body tenses and the world around you goes still. You catch yourself holding your breath, gaze instinctively shifting to the woman standing at the front of the altar. 

Alexia. 

Her eyes flicker briefly in your direction – just a flicker, but it’s there, unmistakable. It’s her moment of hesitation, well masked but clear as day to you. But before you can make sense of it, she’s looking away, eyes fixed back onto Olga. Her expression hardens, more composed now, and you know that you are not going to break this silence. 

The officiant, oblivious to the storm passing between you both, waits for a beat longer before continuing, his voice echoing in the silence. 

And she’s married. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s over now. You’ve let her win.