#maybe the caption sounded better in my head

[illiana-mystery]

And here we find the mad scientist, in his natural habitat, hard at work to find his next discovery...

[gloomwitchwrites]

Whiskey, Neat - Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: snowstorm, bartender!Simon, tattooed!Simon, anonymous sex, sex w/ a condom, getting over a breakup, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, praise, alcohol

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: For Kinkmas 2024 (Anonymous Sex)

Caught in a snowstorm, you stop in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Drowning your time at the bar across the street from your motel, you find a little heat during the cold weather.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinkmas 2024 masterlist

“Another?”

You glance away from the television screen above the bar and meet brown eyes that are the same color as the drop of whiskey lingering in the bottom of your glass.

The bartender you lock gazes with places the open whiskey bottle on top of the bar. “This one is on the house.”

Arching an eyebrow, you observe the empty bar around you before answering. “I’m your only customer.”

The bartender shrugs. “It’s Christmas Eve. Feeling generous.”

More like there isn’t anyone else to make conversation with. Inside, it’s warm—almost toasty. The two television screens above the bar play old movies—the sound off but closed captions on. Around the ceiling dangle multi-colored lights that probably belong on a tree and not hanging in a bar.

You gently move your empty glass in the bartender’s direction. Lifting the bottle, he tops you off.

His name is unknown to you—his real name that is. Ghost is what he offered when you first sat down on a stool to drown your sorrows. Not only do you not know his real name, but half of his face is covered in a black half-balaclava. All you can see are his brown eyes and blondish-brown hair. There are tattoos—that much you know. The backs of his hands and fingers are covered in them, disappearing beneath the forest green knit sweater he wears.

It’s bizarre, but you haven’t said anything. Why should you? This is his establishment. You’re just a customer.

“Want me to leave the bottle?” asks Ghost.

Yes, is what you want to say.

The last few days have been fucking miserable. First, you found out that your boyfriend of three years was cheating on you. After dumping his ass and sending him packing, you had to promptly jump in your car and head out for the holidays, knowing you’d have to explain to your family why you came without him.

Then you hit a snow storm.

It was so light at first—just a dusting. But it quickly turned south, and now you’re stuck in this tiny fucking town in the middle of fucking nowhere with hardly any cell service.

“Better not,” you reply. “I need to be able to walk to the motel.”

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, his gaze momentarily turning toward the large window near the door. You follow his line of sight and almost flinch. The wind howls, occasionally rattling the window. Snow comes down in thick sheets. You can see the light from the streetlight across the street but not much else.

“Right,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And what about you?” you retort. “How are you getting home in this?”

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest. It’s not a threatening stance. He’s completely amused by you. A sudden rush of heat warms the back of your neck and sinks straight to your toes before curling upward to seize your core.

Get a fucking grip.

“I’ll sleep here.”

“You’ll—here? At the bar?”

“There’s a pretty comfortable sofa in my office,” he says casually. “Has a pull-out bed. Helps on these…late nights.”

Jesus Christ.

Your pussy is wet, nearly throbbing. It’s fucking insane. Ridiculous. You broke up with your ex not even two days ago. What the fuck is going on with you?

“But there must be someone at home who might worry?”

Ghost snorts. “Maybe my cat.” He rolls up his sleeves to mid-forearm, revealing more tattoos. The man is fucking covered. “What about you?”

Single. The man is single and asking if there’s anyone who might be missing you.

You down the rest of your whiskey. “Only family. They know I’m delayed.” He nods, and you continue before you lose your nerve. “I just broke it off with my boyfriend of three years.”

Ghost straightens a bit, his gaze intense. “Can I ask why?”

“He cheated. A lot.” All the emotions from that moment begin to stir. The whiskey might have chased away some of the ache, but not all.

“Sounds like a bloody fucking fool,” replies Ghost. “Letting something like you go.”

You laugh. “You hardly know me.”

“And you hardly know me,” he purrs.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Feeling bold, you venture forward. “It’s storming pretty hard out there.”

“It is,” agrees Ghost. “The sofa has room for two.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you tease.

Ghost takes your empty glass and places it in the sink behind the bar. “Don’t think anyone else is coming in.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Ghost comes around the side of the bar, a set of keys in his hand. He leisurely heads for the door, locking up. Pocketing the keys, he saunters back to you, confidence in every step.

Placing his tattooed hand on the bar top, Ghost leans in. “You can go if you want.”

“And if I want to stay?”

His other hand finds the side of your throat, he draws you in until your faces are nearly touching. “Then let’s help you get over that ex of yours, yeah?”

Oh my God.

You don’t remember getting off the stool or the walk back to his office. All you remember are Ghost’s hands and the way he leads you. He’s not pushy—simply confident and eager.

The two of you collapse onto the sofa as Ghosts hands immediately go for your thighs and hips. With the door shut, it’s dark in the office, the both of you mere shadows. The small window in the ceiling provides little light—most of it is covered in snow.

Even in the dark, your gazes are locked. You sense his heat—sense his desire. His touches are languid and unhurried. Savoring. But touching isn’t enough. You need to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours.

It’s a small test, and Ghost surrenders, allowing you to remove the balaclava. Even then, you cannot discern the details of him. Not really. You gently trace his bottom lip, and his mouth opens, the tip of his tongue swiping against your skin.

You lean in until your noses brush, mouths moments from touching, but you do not close the distance. His scent invades you, filling your lungs as the whiskey burns in your veins. It is Ghost’s growl that draws you forward—that brings your mouths together.

There is not one kiss but many. Each one is a claiming—an eraser of your ex from your mind and body. Your fingers tug at Ghost’s clothes, wanting him to be free of them—to feel his skin against yours.

His answer is to respond in kind, and between the kisses, clothes disappear until there is nothing between your bodies.

Ghost’s palms squeeze your ass and your pussy clenches. You inhale sharply, and Ghost uses this moment to break away from your stinging lips to fall upon your neck, sucking and biting as his hands roam upward to play with your breasts.

Ghost hums softly against your throat. He works a nipple to a stiff peak. Once done, Ghost dips his head and swipes his tongue over it. Your back arches, hips rocking against him in desperation, his hard cock poking your thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, hand descending to move between your legs, finding your clit.

He rubs at it gently and your breath hitches. Ghost explores, fingers moving further between to part you, finding you slick and wanton.

The next inhalation is his as he slowly eases one thick finger into your pussy. Your body immediately clenches around him. Ghost starts to pump his finger in and out of your pussy. His palm presses against your clit, rubbing up against it every time his hand flexes with the thrust of his finger.

The sensation of his finger sliding in and out of you is fucking perfect but it’s not enough to get you where you need to go. You want this man to dick you so good you won’t want to run back to your ex afterward.

“I’m going to taste you here now,” groans Ghost against your mouth. He emphasizes his meaning with an insertion of a second finger.

You have a moment to catch your breath before Ghost pushes you onto your back and drapes your legs over his shoulders.

Starting at your clit, Ghost swirls his tongue around it before tracing a path downward, leaving nothing untouched. With thighs spread, you’re completely open to him. An orgasm is rapidly building.

While your hips jerk against his hold, Ghost keeps you in place. He is setting the pace here—and you are at his mercy. Ghost’s tongue rotates in quick circles inside your pussy before retreating to trace the folds of your labia, and then sliding up to flick against your clit.

With his tongue on your clit, his finger presses against the entrance of your pussy before slipping in. Your body gives in easily, sucking his finger in until you take him to the knuckle. Ghost sucks your clit into his mouth as he begins to pump his finger.

You cry out, the orgasm ascending quickly. Moans of pleasure fill the room, and then you’re whimpering as Ghost continues to fuck you with his fingers and lick at your clit. The orgasm rolls into another, and it isn’t until you’re shuddering with overstimulation that Ghost retreats.

There is a moment of rest before his hand is around your throat, bringing your lips to his so that he can claim your mouth. You taste yourself as much as you taste him.

“I’m going to fuck any thoughts of your ex right out of that pretty head,” he murmurs.

Ghost eases you back onto the sofa. The hand at your throat lingers a moment before slowly sliding down between your breasts and over your stomach.

You hear the distinct sound of a condom wrapper. Ghost grunts and then his shadow moves, settling over you. With legs still spread wide, Ghost rests his cock against your sex. Your pussy pulses in anticipation.

He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock lining up and then slowly sinking in. You moan loudly as you’re stretched deliciously.

“You can take it,” he coos. “That’s it, love. Doing so well.”

More of him slides inside, your pussy fluttering—flexing—attempting to accommodate him. Ghost thrusts shallowly, retreating a bit before trying again. This time, your pussy accepts him greedily, the both of your groaning as he sinks to the hilt.

He takes control instantly. Each thrust is fluid and sharp, a pounding thing that drives you into the sofa. Your arms lace around the back of his neck, and Ghost’s face buries itself against the side of your throat.

“Feel so good,” groans Ghost. “Fucking perfect.”

One arm is braced up, hand firm on the edge of the sofa, fingers digging in for leverage. His other arm rests at your side, almost like a hug. You’re trapped beneath him, but it’s utterly delicious.

The room fills with the sounds of your slick pussy taking him. Each grunt and gasp of Ghost’s is hot against your skin. You cling to him, murmuring nonsense as he fucks you senseless.

You forget about the snow, about your shitty ex, and about the fact that you likely won’t make it to your family’s on time. This is a small town after all. They likely won’t clean the roads for days.

It means you can stay right here.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@marispunk @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @waves-against-a-cliff @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[merchelsea]

i can take it — logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x girlfriend!vowles!reader

summary: she finds out about what her father (her boyfriend’s team manager) has been doing to him.

author’s note: i know it has all been denied by logan himself but i wanted to do it anyways. DO NOT TAKE IT AS A FACT OR TRUE EVENT.

word count: 1k

warnings: idk if there's any cursing, not proofread, sad logan, kind of daddy issues (?)

masterlist | requests

you were at home, laying down on the couch watching a show while you waited for hunger. everything you had to do was already done and dinner was ready, but you weren’t hungry to eat it.

you were tired, tho. you could easily go to sleep right now, but you knew better than to go to sleep without eating first.

that was when your phone started to ring and your best friend’s name appeared on the screen.

you stopped the show and picked up the call, putting it on speaker.

“hi?” you stretched your body on the couch.

“hey, have you talked to logan recently?” she asked, going straight to the point.

you could notice in her voice some kind of worry.

“hm, yeah… why?”

“and your dad?” she asked again.

“what? no, not really.” you answered, not sure about what was going on.

“open up twitter, babe.” her voice sounded alarmed. “i think you might want to do this on your own, i’ll hang up now.”

you simply hummed a goodbye and started to see the panic on your twitter mentions.

everyone knew about you and logan by now, so you were not surprised with all the tags from his fans, but it seemed like they needed explanations on a certain allegation.

“what the fuck?” you screamed as you saw the caption of a podcast, your mind going red immediately.

it’s like you were only capable of feeling anger.

that’s when you threw the blanket you had over your body away and got up. not caring about your clothing, that was just a pj, you got to your keys and left the house.

getting in your car, you drove as fast as legally possible to get to your father’s office.

while driving, your mind recalled everything you had learned about your boyfriend’s situation in williams.

a friend of a friend of logan told on a podcast that your boyfriend wasn’t even having fun in the team anymore. that was happening because of your father. apparently, the older vowles wasn’t giving logan the feedback he needed anymore and they were not on speaking terms.

you know how you say good morning to everyone? yeah, not even that.

you were more than pissed about all of this. you could understand that your father no longer had faith in logan, you did not agree with him but you could comprehend. but not even speaking to him? this was another level of childishness.

you got to your dad’s office in a matter of minutes and immediately asked to talk to him. you were told to wait, but, impatiently, crossed the building until you reached his room on your own and didn’t even bother to knock before going in and slamming the door behind you.

“what the fuck is this about?” you threw your phone on his table, an article opened.

“what?” vowles asked, a puzzled expression on his face. he started to read and his expression went from confused to worried in mere seconds.

“you are using silence treatment on logan?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. he sighed as he supported his head with his hands. “you can not do this to a driver”

another sigh.

you wanted him to say it was all a misunderstanding, that maybe this person was wrong or even lying. but you were just hurt when he spoke again.

“oh… this.” he finally looked up at you. “what do you want me to do? pretend i’m proud of the american like i don’t regret having him in my team?” all you wanted to do in that moment was punch your father in the face. it was so not fair.

“you’re being childish.” you pointed out.

he angrily looked over at you, as if you were in the wrong. as if he was the one who had to explain how you were wrong and why.

“he’s not talented enough for f1, y/n.” you were already angry, but when you heard your own father talk about the man you loved that way you completely lost it.

you could not care less about how loud you were being. maybe it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but calling your father and imbecile felt pretty damn good.

“how the fuck is he supposed to deliver good results when he doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on?” you asked, honestly waiting for an answer before you started speaking again because the man in front of you was speechless. “the car isn’t good and the team isn’t good. you’re ruining it even more. he is talented and you know that, you just want to blame him for YOUR OWN mistakes.”

everything you had been holding in for some time, just because he was your father, was finally out. it should feel better than it did. you should feel way better than you did.

“that’s not true. and you should be ashamed of your little boyfriend for spreading things like this around.”

you couldn’t comprehend where this attitude came from. i guess you could really see how money changed people.

this was not the man you looked up to. this was not the father you wanted to be like when you were younger. and you had no problem of saying to his face that he had failed as a father.

“if there’s anything i’m ashamed of, is being your daughter.” you heard him start to complain, but you're already out the door when a proper word came out of his mouth. you rushed outside, too tired to fake smiles to people around you.

you needed to find logan. that was the only thing in your head.

tears already filled your eyes when you started the car, and you couldn't see properly, because of them, the whole way.

but you never gave in, none of them fell from your eyes until you were at his door and he looked at you, worry stamped on his eyes.

"hey? baby?" his hands rushed to the side of your face to make you look at him.

you couldn't help but notice how selfless he was. that made your heart sink. the way he always worried about other people first, even when he is in the worst position possible.

"i hate you." you let out, in a cry, and let your arms circle his body, pulling him to yourself.

logan let go of your face to pull you inside, and closer to him. he was as confused as one could be. and the circumstances he was put in during the day did not help him.

"baby, please tell me what's going on." he asked once your grip over him loosened and he could look at your face again.

"my dad..." logan's heart skiped a beat. he knew the older vowles disliked him, but he never thought he could actually put himself between you and logan. he was desperate to know the rest now. "what he's doing to you, that's so not right. so not fair." you finished, and heard your boyfriend let out a relieved sigh.

he was actually happy that it was about the whole williams situation, and not your dad poisoning your mind.

"baby." the driver starts, but his face tells you he doesn't regret not telling you. that doesn't anger you, like you thought it would. it actually makes you fall in love with him a little more.

"you never said anything, you stupid american." he couldn't help a chuckle at the nickname and you punched him in the chest. he realized just how serious you were about this and guilt rose in his chest.

"i didn't want you to worry, y/n."

his blue eyes were a little darker because of the lighting but you could still see the pain in them.

formula one was his dream as a kid, as a teenager and as an adult. he fought like hell to get there, and even when things got tight, he never gave up. you knew all about the financial struggles that would've ended his dream if it wasn't for williams.

they noticed his talent and helped him get to better categories of the sport he loved so dearly. and the boy? he loved that team and was so thankfull for them that it actually hurt you. your father actually helped ruining his path at formula one and still, that boy stood loyal and helped the team and his teammate in everything. standing by their calls and decisions even when they jeopardized his races.

"logan, i should've known about this from the start." you knew you could've done something for him if you knew about the situation sooner. maybe if you had talked to your dad, bringing some sense into that old head of his. anything but let this circus keep going until it reached this point. "what they're doing to you... it's so unfair."

"but i can take it, love." he smiled softly at you and you almost felt the urge to punch him. how could he think so low of himself that he didn't see how much he didn't deserve that treatment.

"i know you can, the thing is you shouldn't have to. let alone go through it on your own." you said in a higher voice, capturing all his attention. "logan do you realize that you're not having fun racing? you said it yourself." tears were no longer falling out of your eyes, and the ones on your face were starting to disappear. "you have loved this sport ever since you were born, and they are ruining it for you."

"i know that." he almost screamed. he was quick to apologize with his eyes, but you couldn't care less about the tone he was using. you wanted him to be angry, you needed him to let everything out. "i hate it all, y/n. but it's my dream to be where i am today."

"i know, logan. and that's what makes me more upset. their ruining your dream and you're smiling through it, letting it happen."

"i'm not 'letting it happen'." he said, hesitating a little. "i'm just... maybe if i did things a little better, i would not be in this situation but i didn't. and i have to deal with it." your expression softened and you let out a sigh.

"it kills me that you think that this is your fault." he started tearing up and you pulled him to yourself. he hid his face in your neck and you gently stroked the back of his head. "it's not your fault, baby. you are doing amazing for someone with so many difficulties."

you took your time in each others arms, calming down while feeling the touch of the person you loved.

"i'm sorry that i never told you. but it's your dad and i needed you by my side." he pushed himself back to look you in the eye. "i don't know if i could do it without you."

you were still not over everything he had told you, and would definitely come back to the topic sooner, but right now what mattered most to you was that logan felt loved and appreciated.

he was already going through a lot, and it killed you to see the man you loved like that.

"you will never have to worry about that because i'm here, logan. and i love you, always."

with his face in your hands, you leaned closer and peck his lips. that's enough for him to remember everything he was fighting for. he had to fight for himself. and with you by his side, he believed it was possible.

"i love you too, always." he leaned his forhead against yours. "thank you."

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged TEASER

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, others tbd

Teaser Length: ~1.5k | Full Fic Length: ~20k

Note: it's christmas timeeeee!!!!!! i missed DK so dearly since Teach Me so I had to bring him back for the holidays. everyone, check out the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios everyone worked so hard and im so excited to read them. thank u @gyuswhore and @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-ing this teaser

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

Comment to be tagged when the fic is posted later this month!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you, and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends texted you how big of a jerk he was, a few calls but you ignored them. All you want is to wallow in self pity. 

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze makes deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit. Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked, and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. Sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of loosening even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flight’s delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

However, you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving are ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes.

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (2/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The first breakfast together is a good idea to get to know each other better. And to make the first arrangements. And to cheer each other up.

Warnings: google translated French, mention of "nice guys"

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: part two my loves! please tell me if you liked it!

Back when you went to school, you always woke up to the cooing of the pigeons that lived in the tree outside your childhood bedroom. They announced the new day, which was filled with learning, friends and fun. True, the time of your graduation had been incredibly exhausting, but in all the summers that followed, you woke up in the morning to the same sound and nostalgia felt like an old friend.

But now it's mid December. There are no birds outside whose chirping might wake you in the morning. And yet you've been lying awake in your bed for an hour.

All night you've been thinking. Charles apparently didn't try to break into the bedroom to kill you. You haven't heard any strange noises all night. But deep sleep was still out of the question with a complete stranger sleeping on the couch one room over. He did seem nice last night - after you had talked things out halfway - but the "nice guys" are also the worst in the end. 

After all, you had to experience that firsthand. 

Hands clasped behind your head, you stare at the white ceiling of your room. Your cell phone is lying next to your pillow. Some time ago, you lost it somewhere in your bedspread, and when you had to shake it out, the phone flew into the nearest wall. Since then it has its permanent place near your head.

A quick glance at it tells you that Charles will theoretically be asleep for just under two more hours - if you can believe him. Normally, you'd be getting ready for work right now and eating breakfast. Maybe you'd fry up some fried eggs or make some yogurt with berries. And then you'd go to work in peace.

Frustrated, you put your forearms over your face.

Right after you woke up, you googled for new job openings, but except for a new dog-sitter job posting, there doesn't seem to be anything new. Nothing at all. If the job were advertised with a reasonable salary that would allow you to continue financing your life in Monaco, you'd think twice about applying.

Finding a job that suits you, is fun, and pays a good salary is incredibly difficult. Almost impossible. When you were younger, you once saw a picture of a triangle on the internet. One corner said "friends," the second said "good grades," and the third said "sleep." The caption read "You can only choose two." That's exactly how job hunting feels.

You wouldn't tell Charles about it. Your unemployment, like his affairs, is private. If he asks, you'll simply say you're off because the company requires its employees to take vacation days in December. Doesn't sound convincing, but at least it doesn't completely suck.

Oh God, hopefully he won't ask.

As your stomach speaks up with an almost embarrassingly loud bubbling sound, you can no longer suppress your hunger. You slip out of bed and change from your sleep outfit - a big shirt and comfy sports shorts - into a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater before quietly turning the key in the door lock.

The rest of the apartment is silent. You sneak into the bathroom on your socks to brush your teeth and quickly comb your hair. As you slip on your shoes at the front door, you glance toward the couch to make sure you weren't dreaming last night.

The fact that a stranger is suddenly standing in your apartment, claiming that it is his apartment, sounds very far-fetched. And that he then spontaneously starts cooking sounds even more implausible. 

But you didn't imagine it. Charles is lying with his back turned to you between the pillows, the blanket tangled between his legs. He seems to be sound asleep, because when you open the apartment door, he doesn't move a bit. 

After taking a good look at the dog-sitting job this morning - two cute dachshunds, Hubert and Guenther - you had drawn up a chart of the things your new roommate and you would need to discuss.

Cleaning the apartment, for example. Since you'd still be staying in the bedroom, you'd obviously keep the room clean. Maybe you could also clear out a drawer in the dresser for Charles to put some of his things in, so he doesn't have to live out of a suitcase. But it's definitely too early for that. After all, you've only known each other since yesterday.

Although the morning has just begun, the sun is shining pleasantly warm as you walk to the nearest bakery. Having breakfast together definitely can't hurt if you plan to get to know each other better so that your shared apartment can function well. As long as Charles doesn't kill you and gets a little involved as far as organization goes, you'll be fine. Last night he already said that there are some things that need to be discussed today. And as long as the organization and in the end also the execution is not only dependent on you, the ship will probably not sink. 

Marie, the incredibly nice saleswoman who gives you a small, free piece of cake every Saturday, bags you two pain au chocolat and two croissants before you pay and she wishes you a nice day. While you don't know what Charles likes to eat for breakfast - if he eats breakfast at all - you're certainly not barking up the wrong tree with the pastries. Besides, breakfast isn't just about getting to know each other better and getting some structure, but you'd also like to apologize. For being willing to hit him over the head with the newspaper.

You quietly enter the apartment, only to find that Charles is already awake despite the time - 8:13 a.m. He's sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you close the door behind you. His brown hair is sticking up from his head, and he wearily runs a hand through his strands before looking at you.

"Bonjour." His voice seems to have dropped an octave since last night, and it's rougher than yesterday, too, which is probably due to waking up. His gaze moves from your face to the bags in your hand. "Petit déjeuner?" Breakfast. You nod. "Pour nous deux?" For both of us? Again, you nod. Charles closes his eyes briefly before rising from the couch. "Give me a moment. Be right back."

While he's in the bathroom, you put two plates on the dining room table and add everything that could be used for a good breakfast. You quickly rinse the dishes Charles put in the sink yesterday and put them away. 

When your new roommate rejoins you, he looks more awake. He sits down across from you at the table and reaches for a bag. As he grabs a croissant, he looks briefly surprised, but you're too distracted by the pillow print on his cheek to notice. 

"How did you sleep?" he asks as you take a bite of your pain au chocolat. 

You swallow. What are you supposed to answer him? That you slept fitfully all night, afraid he might be a murderer after all? Would be a great topic of conversation to start the day. 

"I don't know," you answer neutrally. Charles tilts his head. "I mean, it was kind of weird knowing that someone completely foreign was sleeping just one room over."

"I'll bet." His smile is faint, but genuine. Little dimples bore into his cheeks. "Maybe we should make sure we're not particularly strangers to each other then. After all, we'll be living here together for quite some time. And I'd hate to be responsible for you not getting a decent night's sleep."

"It's okay," you answer him. "I haven't slept properly in ages."

"I'm always told that a good night's sleep is important. That's why mine is sacred to me." He rubs his free hand over the dark stubble on his chin. "Besides, it's not healthy not to sleep soundly. From that point of view, it's worth a try to me. And I'd hate to be responsible for your poor sleep. 

Most of all, you'd like to tell him that while his presence unsettled you last night, he's not the reason you can't rest, or sleep through the night. That he's not responsible for you falling asleep late and waking up early. But you don't. Because it's none of his business.

"While we're on the subject -" you put your pain au chocolat on the plate in front of you, "why are you up already? Did I wake you up? I swear I was trying to be really quiet, but -"

"I got a call," he says curtly. "Until you were standing in the doorway, I didn't even know you were gone. So, everything's cool." The smile is gone from his face. Apparently, his caller is just as popular as the one you pushed away last night. Or maybe he's just tired.

Since it's none of your business, you try to distract him. "So, Charles. How about it? What else is in you besides being able to cook? What do I need to know about you?"

Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc turned twenty-five in October, born and raised in Monaco. He has two brothers, one of whom is older than him and the other younger. He speaks English, French and Italian and does a lot of sports. He likes to eat pasta, but his nutritionist - who the heck has a nutritionist? Someone who can afford to have a second home in Monaco, of course - always advises him against it. 

He also travels a lot for work reasons. On his cell phone he has a lot of photos that he has taken in different countries and to be honest, you are already a little envious. Except for your home country and Monaco, you've never been anywhere else. What would you give to be able to travel so much? A dream that will probably remain denied to you, if your bank balance is to be trusted.

Some of the photos, he confesses, were taken by Joris - your Joris. You knew Joris was also a photographer by trade, and judging from the pictures, he's incredibly good at what he does. Apparently, the two of them travel together more often. Either the two are best friends or Joris is Charles' personal photographer. Or both. 

He won't tell you exactly what the Monegasque does for a living, though. "Something with cars," is his answer, and since you have relatively little idea about it, it's quite enough for you. He tells you a lot about himself, and you secretly hope that the information he gets from you will be enough for him, and that he will please not ask about your job.

But there you are mistaken.

"So what do you do for a living?"

The pastries are eaten so you crumple up the bags and throw them in the trash can. You stand up, and as you turn your back on Charles, your face contorts briefly. "I'm a photographer."

You hear Charles rise from his chair as well, stacking the plates. You barely noticeably flinch as he suddenly stands next to you. "And who do you work for?" He places the plates in the empty sink, grabs the sponge and detergent, and begins washing the dishes.

"For a small magazine, nothing wild," you reply curtly, drying the clean plate Charles holds out to you with his foam soaked fingers. It clanks as you put it in the cupboard with the others. 

"For that one?" He points with a nod to the magazine lying on the small coffee table. Of course, it's the one you threatened him with yesterday. A wide grin spreads across his face as you roll your eyes. 

"Sorry," you apologize, but are secretly glad for the opportunity to change the subject. "What would you do if someone strange suddenly showed up at your apartment?"

"I'd probably threaten to call the police." You don't know how that's possible, but his grin gets even wider and his dimples even deeper.

You have to grin. "Ah, so we're joking about that now? That I was standing there all scared, armed only with a magazine?"

Charles' gaze is amused, but gentle. The green in his eyes sparkles as he looks at you. "Just wrapped in a towel, not to mention. But I'm sure you would have kicked my ass."

Charles stows his bedding in the hall closet while you wipe down the table to clean up the last remnants of your first breakfast together. After fluffing the couch cushions, he sits down and pulls his laptop from his backpack. Stretching out his legs, he gestures for you to join him. 

"So," he begins as you sit down at the other end of the couch. You pull your knees to your chest as he waits for you to get comfortable. There are only a few inches between your feet. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I've been thinking about all the things that come up when you have a roommate." He looks up from his laptop for a moment. "Well, actually, I was just Googling."

You're pleasantly surprised that he actually thought about it. And apparently, not just a bit. He's even created an Excel spreadsheet, with weekly plans, tasks, and a financial overview, as far as grocery shopping goes. He included every little detail in his lists. 

Very dedicated, the young man in front of you. 

"We're summarizing." Charles stretches out his arms and folds his hands behind his head. You've spent an hour talking everything out, going over several possibilities, and finally you've come to a common denominator.

"Since you live in the bedroom, it's also your job to keep the room clean." That was the easiest point. "And that's why it's up to me to clean the living room. The bathroom gets cleaned weekly, on a rotating basis. Since you just cleaned it recently, it's my turn next week."

You come to an agreement that you will buy groceries from the money in the joint household fund - a small cookie jar where you actually stored sewing supplies - and he will cook instead. Since you're more of a frozen pizza kind of person and his nutritionist sends him a weekly meal plan, Charles also wants to put more money into the household fund. The fact that you benefit from both the meal plan and his generosity doesn't seem to bother him.

"That settles the organizational stuff," he finishes, setting his laptop aside. "But we should establish other rules. For the interpersonal stuff."

You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow. "Interpersonal?"

"Yup." He stretches again, and his white shirt slides up a little so you can see a strip of skin from his belly. You quickly look away. "Communication and stuff. So if something's bothering you, please tell me." Charles crosses his arms in front of his chest, his shirt straining over his biceps. "I don't feel like having to ask five times to get you to finally come clean. My patience is definitely too thin for that."

Understandable. Your patience is not quite that thin, but when someone doesn't speak up and then acts passive-aggressively, that's a no-go for you, too. 

"Open communication. Got it." You cross your arms in front of your chest as well. "But then please give me a heads up if you're bringing someone home with you. I don't want to come home at some point and be left in just a towel again. And if you do bring girls, I'll stay the night somewhere else." With his looks, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have at least five women wrapped around his little finger. Maybe you're crossing a line with the request, but if this whole thing is going to work out, it should be cleared up.

The smile that just now had a firm place on his face disappears. "Don't worry. It's not going to happen."

Apparently you have crossed a line, or rather hit a sore spot. All of a sudden Charles seems tense, the relaxed atmosphere seems to be lost and you would love to take it all back and apologize, but your roommate is faster.

"I don't think we need to talk about privacy. Everyone has their own stuff to deal with. If someone wants to talk about it voluntarily, that's fine, but no one is being pressured into anything here." You nod silently. "And I think honesty is important. I experience so much dishonesty in my job and it makes life so much more difficult and stressful. Just be honest with me, no matter what, and I promise I'll be honest with you, too. No matter what it's about."

The topic of unemployment pops into your head, but disappears again as Charles scoots closer to you on the couch and sits up straight. "We'll work it out. As long as you promise not to murder me in my sleep. After all, I don't have the option of locking myself in a room." His smile has returned to his face. It's faint, but at least it's there. 

"You caught that?" you ask, biting your lower lip.

"Like I said, the walls aren't very thick. But I don't blame you." He winks at you. "But I hope I'm not a complete stranger to you now."

He's actually not. True, you haven't talked about much personal stuff yet, but that's sure to come with time. Or maybe it won't. Sharing an apartment doesn't necessarily mean you'll become best friends. And that would be fine, too.

"I'll think twice about locking the door tonight," you quip, and his smile widens. It's so infectious that you follow suit.

"All right. I think we can work this out. I haven't drawn up a roommate agreement now, but we're both adults. We'll stick to the agreements and if one of us thinks of anything else, we'll talk it over and work it out." He holds out his hand for you to shake. "Deal?"

You hold out your hand as well, but before you can shake his, the cell phone in your pocket rings. You pull it out and when you see who's calling you, your smile vanishes in a millisecond.

Why is he calling you? Hasn't he humiliated you enough? Embarrassed you? Made you the joke of your - former - friend group? What does he want from you now?

You press the call away and, frustrated, toss the cell phone between you on the couch and rub your hands over your face. You don't notice that Charles has caught on to the situation until he speaks up.

"Are you busy now?" As you look at him, he's still smiling, but a little softer. His smile doesn't reach his ears now, but the green in his eyes gleams nonetheless. 

You exhale loudly. You're out of a job. What could you possibly be up to? "No. Why?"

Charles gets up from the couch. "Then let's do something. I know a really good lookout point. You can see all of Monaco from there."

Whether he actually feels like doing something with you, or is suggesting it out of pity, you don't know. But maybe Charles deserves a little benefit of the doubt. And you definitely don't feel like sitting around on the couch waiting for anything to happen.

"Come on, Y/N," he tries to coax you out of your shell.

"Are you going to take me to a secluded place to kill me? Or are you really going to show me a nice lookout point?" You stand up so that you are facing each other. You have to tilt your head back a little to look him in the eyes.

Charles looks down at you. "Do you really think I'd kill you now, after we've spent ages discussing our shared apartment? Wouldn't that be wasted energy?" He rolls his eyes playfully. "Give yourself a break."

"Fine," you reply to him. You raise your hand and point your index finger at him. "But if that lookout isn't the most beautiful I've ever seen, I may kill you."

Charles laughs. He almost closes his eyes at that. The sound is so heartfelt you have to grin.

"Deal."

next part

[diamonddaze01]

HIIIIIHIHI just discovered your blog and read the jeonghan drabble with prompt 75 and OH MY GAWDDD I'M IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING. The flow, the banter, the chemistry just mwah mwah mwahhhhhh, ik i HAD to come and send in a req (before reading alllll of other works cuz i expect them to be just as good, if not, better)

Idk if it's done already but I would LOVE love for you to do a seungkwan drabble with prompts 29 & 39 (maybe a little sprinkle of rivalry there). I'm just a sucker for coworker!seungkwan and i feel like your writing would do him justice

morning rush

pairing: seungkwan x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "It’s been fun. We’ve had a good run, but you parked in my spot. I’m going to have to kill you now." and "Why don’t they just kiss already?" au: office au, rivals to ???? | warnings: none! a/n: nonie this is so so sweet, i really hope i did your ask justice <33

The low hum of Seungkwan’s car filled the parking garage as he turned the corner, his morning ritual of peace and perfection rolling along smoothly. His go-to playlist blasted one of his favorite songs, the kind that put a spring in his step even before caffeine. Today was supposed to be his day.

Until it wasn’t.

He hit the brakes so suddenly his car jerked forward, and his half-full coffee cup jostled precariously in the holder. For a moment, he just stared, blinking as if to will the sight before him to disappear.

But there it was. Your car. Parked in his spot.

Not just any spot. The closest one to the elevator—the spot Seungkwan had earned through months of arriving early, guarding his little slice of heaven like a hawk. And now, it was occupied by your obnoxiously familiar vehicle, complete with a dusty rear window and that godforsaken bumper sticker: My other car is a broomstick.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of the heinous crime. As the camera clicked, he already imagined how this confrontation would go. Maybe he’d send the picture to you with a passive-aggressive caption like, Are you training for the villain role in my life movie? Or maybe he’d just frame it as evidence to present in court.

Instead, he parked three levels down—three—seething as he trekked up the stairs. The elevator was out of the question; he had to burn off this rage somehow.

By the time he stepped into the office, Seungkwan had rehearsed a dozen opening lines, each one more cutting than the last. He spotted you by the coffee machine, humming softly as you fixed your morning latte, the picture of carefree oblivion.

“You parked in my spot,” he announced, his voice sharper than a stapler misfire.

You turned leisurely, the mug in your hand halfway to your lips. “Good morning to you too, Boo.”

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me,” he snapped, setting his bag on the counter beside you with a thud. “You stole my parking spot.”

“Oh, your spot?” you asked innocently, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

“It’s implied,” he shot back, his tone dripping with indignation.

“Implied?” You tilted your head, as if mulling over the word like it was foreign to you. “Implied where? In your head?”

“Yes, in my head, and in reality,” he hissed. “I’ve been parking there for months. Everyone knows it’s my spot. It’s common knowledge—practically office law.”

“Well, maybe you should get here earlier next time,” you said with a shrug, taking a sip of your coffee as if his mounting frustration was the whipped cream on your morning.

“Earlier?” he repeated, his voice climbing an octave. “You want me to arrive earlier? I already beat half this building here every day!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, grinning over the rim of your mug.

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. “You have no shame.”

“None at all,” you replied cheerfully, setting your mug down with a satisfying clink.

“This isn’t just about the parking spot,” he said, stepping closer. “This is about respect. This is about decency. This is about maintaining order in a world that’s already too chaotic!”

“Oh, please.” You waved a hand dismissively. “You’re acting like I set fire to your cubicle. It’s a parking spot, Seungkwan. Relax.”

“It’s not just a parking spot!” His hands flew to his hair in exasperation. “It’s a symbol of—of stability! And you—you’re—”

“An agent of chaos?” you supplied, smirking.

“Yes!”

“Good. Chaos suits me.”

His mouth opened, clearly ready to fire back, but something sharper came to his mind. He folded his arms and gave you a pointed look. “It’s been fun. We’ve had a good run, but you parked in my spot. I’m going to have to kill you now.”

You snorted, utterly unfazed. “Go ahead. Who else is going to keep you on your toes every day?”

“I could finally have peace,” he retorted, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

“Oh, Boo.” You patted his arm mockingly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with peace if it hit you in the face.”

He sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You’re insufferable.”

You raised your coffee cup in mock surrender. “Big words for someone who couldn’t out-present me in the pitch meeting yesterday.”

“I didn’t lose! The client just liked your ridiculous use of emojis in your slideshow.”

“You’re jealous my slides had pizzazz. Admit it.”

The sound of snickering cut through the tension, drawing both your attention.

Soonyoung and Seokmin stood by the printer, blatantly eavesdropping.

“Why don’t they just kiss already?” Soonyoung stage-whispered, nudging Seokmin with his elbow.

Seokmin snorted, shaking his head. “Seriously. The tension is suffocating. I can’t focus on my spreadsheets with all this unresolved sexual energy.”

You blinked, your brain stalling for a split second before indignation kicked in. “Excuse me?”

Seungkwan turned on them, scandalized. “Are you delusional? I wouldn’t kiss this…this – spot-stealer if my life depended on it.”

“Good,” you shot back immediately. “Because I’d rather make out with a parking meter.”

He glared at you. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed?” You let out a laugh. “You wish I was obsessed with you.”

“Oh my god,” Soonyoung groaned, throwing his head back like he was personally offended by the lack of progress. “This is painful to watch. Just kiss already!”

Seungkwan turned to him, eyes blazing. “Do you want to lose printer privileges for the rest of the week?”

“Do you want to admit you’re projecting?” Soonyoung countered, grinning like he’d just won a debate.

You pressed your lips together, biting back a smile as you grabbed your mug and brushed past Seungkwan. “See you tomorrow, Boo. And don’t forget to set your alarm earlier.”

“Unbelievable!” he called after you, throwing his hands in the air.

Behind him, Soonyoung and Seokmin exchanged a knowing look.

“Ten bucks says they’re making out in the parking lot by Friday,” Soonyoung said.

“Twenty says in front of Seungkwan’s parking spot,” Seokmin replied.

Seungkwan spun on them, his glare scorching. “I can hear you!”

“We want you to,” Soonyoung replied smugly, grabbing his freshly printed documents. “Someone has to make you face the truth.”

As they walked away, Seungkwan turned back toward your retreating figure, still fuming. But somewhere beneath the indignation, a tiny, treacherous thought crept into his mind.

Maybe chaos did suit you after all.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[romanticinlove]

Petty

Summary: people are hating on you because you're dating Jude. Hmm maybe you can make a TikTok.

Jude Bellingham X f!Reader

_______________________________________

when you and Jude first started dating, you knew what to expect. You knew that as a famous and handsome football player, he would have millions of girls chasing after him and hoping that they could be in your shoes. When he first posted you on his instagram story, he didn't want to do a soft launch. He made a post about his recent trip to France, and in it, he had a picture of you and him in a mirror selfie, he tagged you and thus everything began. there was a small group of normal fans who congratulated the both of you and who complimented you. But unfortunately, there were more people who were being rude.

User_123: SHES dating him? like why

Bellingfan: He is way out of her league omg

Footy.fan: He could honestly do some much better

When the post went up you didn't really look at the comments, because you knew what would be waiting for you.

"hey baby, have you seen the comments on my instagram post?"Jude called out from the living room. You were both hanging out in your apartment that night, and Jude finally looked at his comments, as he too had been neglecting them.

"No, why?" You said as you entered the room

"People are so rude, like don't call yourself a fan of mine if you can't be supportive of my girlfriend" Jude scoffed as he closed his phone.

You sat next to him on the couch and touched his face. "I know it sucks but there's always gonna be people like that, they just have no respect for anyone and they think that by being rude, they'll have some type of influence on your life." You continued as he put his head on your lap.

"I know but it's so frustrating, I wish I could just like shut them all up" Jude sighed one last time. As you nodded in agreement, an idea popped in your head. You had recently seen a TikTok trend that couples would do and you thought that would be just the solution.

"Hmm maybe we can" you told him mischievously.

"What do you mean"

"well, there's this trend on TikTok we could do, it would definitely shut them up" You smirked and sat up.

"Ok what would we have to do." You thought about the best way to shoot the video, just enough to really show everyone, but not too much to be scandalous. You then decided what you would do. You got up from the couch and began to direct Jude.

"Take your shirt off" You instructed. Jude gave you a confused look. "Trust me, would you" He smiled at you and followed your instructions. "Ok now lay down on the couch" He did so and then you layed down next to him. You decided to put your head on his chest and pulled up the sound, then you began to film and lip-sync to the audio.

He chose me, he don't want you

He chose me, Nanny nanny boo boo

Before you could even finish Jude began laughing at the audio choice. You ended the video and looked over at Jude.

"Where did that come from" Jude said as he finished laughing.

"I told you it's a trend on TikTok" You shrugged and looked at him "This will definitely get the message across" You and him watched the video back one more time to make sure everything looked right. "Ok what do you think should we post it?" You asked him.

"Y'know what, post it. I'd like to see what they say to this" Jude smiled at you.

You added the caption: All jokes (Not really)

Then you hit post

"It's officially on my tiktok, and now we wait" You said as Jude put his shirt back on

"Ok well while we wait, why don't we continue watching that show" Jude said

"The one about the smart kid?" You asked

"yes, the grandma is so funny in that one" Jude laughed as you put on the show.

_____________________________________

Thank you for reading, lmk what you think!

Also thank you guys so much for the support on my last one. I appreciate y'all 🫶

[woso-story]

The Next Step

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon

Mapi sat on the balcony of her apartment, staring out at the Barcelona skyline. Normally, this view calmed her, but tonight, her thoughts were anything but calm. She had been with Ingrid for three wonderful years. Three years of laughter, love, and building a life together. She knew Ingrid was the one—she’d known it for a long time.

But proposing? That felt monumental. What if it was too soon? What if Ingrid wasn’t ready for marriage? The fear of rejection gnawed at her, no matter how much she tried to shake it off.

“I need advice,” Mapi muttered to herself, pulling out her phone. She fired off two messages: one to Alexia Putellas and the other to Esmee Brugts.

---

The next day, Mapi met Alexia at a cozy café near Camp Nou. Alexia, ever the team captain, got straight to the point.

“So, you’re finally doing it,” Alexia said with a grin, stirring her coffee.

Mapi sighed, leaning her elbows on the table. “I think so. I mean, I want to. I’ve wanted to for a while. But what if it’s too early? Or what if she doesn’t want to get married at all?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Mapi, you and Ingrid are soulmates. Everyone can see how much you love each other. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Mapi hesitated. “Still, what if I mess it up?”

“Keep it simple,” Alexia said. “Do it somewhere meaningful, somewhere private. You know Ingrid—she’s not about flashy gestures.”

---

Later that evening, Mapi called Esmee. The young Dutch player had become like a little sister to both her and Ingrid.

“You’re really going to propose?” Esmee asked excitedly. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mapi said, laughing nervously. “But do you think Ingrid even wants to get married?”

“Are you kidding? She adores you,” Esmee said. “And you’ve been together for three years. That’s not rushing anything.”

Mapi smiled, her confidence growing. “Okay, so where should I do it?”

Esmee thought for a moment. “You’re going on holiday to Portugal soon, right? Do it there. Somewhere beautiful and private. Maybe at the beach?”

Mapi nodded slowly. “Yeah, that could work.”

---

A week later, Mapi and Ingrid arrived in Portugal for their much-anticipated vacation. They spent their days exploring the charming streets of Lisbon and relaxing on sun-soaked beaches. Every moment felt perfect, but Mapi’s nerves grew as the day of her planned proposal approached.

On their second-to-last evening, Mapi suggested a sunset walk along a quiet stretch of beach. Ingrid happily agreed, her hand slipping into Mapi’s as they strolled along the shore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Mapi stopped. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

“Ingrid,” she began, turning to face her girlfriend.

Ingrid tilted her head, her expression soft. “What is it?”

Mapi reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box. Dropping to one knee, she opened it to reveal a simple but elegant ring.

“I’ve known for a long time that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make me better, you make me happy, and I can’t imagine a future without you. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Ingrid was speechless, her green eyes wide with surprise. Then, tears filled her eyes as a radiant smile spread across her face.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Of course, yes!”

Mapi slipped the ring onto Ingrid’s finger, and they embraced, the sound of the waves crashing around them.

---

The next morning, Mapi posted a photo on Instagram: the two of them on the beach, their hands intertwined, with Ingrid’s new ring prominently displayed. The caption read: She said yes. My forever.

The comments section exploded almost immediately.

Fans from around the world flooded the post with congratulations, their joy palpable. The women’s football world buzzed with excitement over the engagement.

---

When Mapi and Ingrid returned to Barcelona, they were greeted by a surprise. Their teammates had organized a celebration at a local venue, complete with decorations, food, and even their parents in attendance.

Mapi’s jaw dropped when she walked in. “You guys didn’t have to do this!”

Alexia grinned, raising a glass. “Of course, we did. It’s not every day we get to celebrate a León-Engen engagement!”

The night was filled with laughter, heartfelt toasts, and plenty of dancing. Ingrid’s parents beamed with pride, while Mapi’s family embraced Ingrid as one of their own.

As the party wound down, Mapi pulled Ingrid aside. “I still can’t believe you said yes,” she said teasingly.

Ingrid laughed, wrapping her arms around Mapi. “How could I not? I love you more than anything.”

Mapi kissed her softly, her heart full. She knew this was just the beginning of the next chapter in their story—a story of love, commitment, and a future they couldn’t wait to build together.

[its-time-to-write]

This may be a bit of a strange idea (Feel free to ignore this request)

But since your about Jaime Tartt baby fic. I had the thought of Jaime trying to give reader a break takes the baby in a stroller to training with Roy and Roy is just kind of like WTF and other hijinks ensue like maybe someone flirts with Jamie with the baby or roy gets left with the baby at somepoint or Reader is freaken out cause the baby is gone. IDK just an idea that has been stuck in my head since I read your baby fic

Dude this request was not strange AT ALL. It was actually nice because it was similar to something I wanted to write, and I haven’t been able to do that because I’ve been doing requests. THANK YOU.

i’ll still be right next to you my dear

Your daughter Bea is five months old. You’re still sleep-deprived, but less than you were a month ago. Jamie does his absolute best as her dad and your husband, but the weight of it still falls to you. Things have gotten considerably less tense, too, since you moved out of the flat and back into your house. It was weird at first, both you and Jamie walking on little eggshells around each other. 

The tension was broken with an all-hands-on-deck moment at 1am, when Bea had a stomach bug or something, and you two had no choice but to just laugh in resignation at the sheer enormity of the mess she made. There go the beginnings of sleep training. 

Bea had her own schedule, one that involved being an early bird like her dad. She would wake up five to ten minutes before his 3:30 alarm went off, and it got to the point where he barely even set it anymore. 

Jamie would get out of bed, throw on some pants, change her, and then zip through his morning routine. He’d put her back to bed, give you a half-awake kiss, then be out the door before Roy could knock. 

(Roy made that mistake early on, waking Bea. You thoroughly chewed him out in an exhausted rage. Jamie says it’s the closest thing he’s ever seen to Roy crying).

Anyway, at 3:55 this Saturday morning, Jamie kisses you, says, “I’ve got Bea, so sleep in,” and is gone before you even know what’s happening. 

You flop back on the pillow and are out in seconds. 

—

“The fuck is this?” Roy says the moment Jamie steps out the door, pushing a happy Bea in her jogging stroller.

“The fuck does it look like?” Jamie replies. “Her mum needed sleep, so Bea’s joining us for training.” He leans over the stroller to look at his daughter and coos, “Isn’t that right, angel?”

Bea makes a delighted gurgle and Roy grunts.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me the great Uncle Roy is daunted by a silly wee baby?” Jamie says, grinning. “You are Bea’s favorite.”

Roy glares at Jamie. “Don’t fucking lie to me, everyone knows Sam’s her fucking favorite. She even likes fucking Isaac better than me.”

Jamie pouts. “Don’t listen to him, Bea. We know you love Uncle Roy, even though he’s being a twat.”

Roy just grunts and looks at Bea. “You know how I feel about you, kid,” he says. She babbles. She knows. 

“Alright, come on. Suppose the stroller gives your dad some extra weight while he runs.”

Jamie grins, and starts jogging down the street.

—

You wake up to the sound of silence. No Bea, no Jamie. Just birds chirping and the sun shining. You squint at the clock. 8:37am. You reach for your phone and see a selfie from Jamie of him, Bea, and Roy marked 7:02am with the caption, headed to breakfast! 

You now have a hazy recollection of Jamie saying something about taking Bea when he left, but it felt like a dream at the time. The silence makes more sense now. 

You smile and send heart emojis. I love you! you type. 

love u 2, Jamie replies. Then: I hope that was for me not Roy?

You shake your head. That boy. He thinks he’s a comedian.

You roll out of bed and stretch. Time for a nice, long shower, then a good coffee from Jamie’s complementary espresso machine. You’re not gonna lie, there are certain perks to being married to a footballer.

—

Meanwhile, Jamie and Roy have stopped for breakfast at a café that Roy says fits in with Jamie’s diet. He says no coffee and Jamie makes a disgusted face and replies you’re not the boss of me, which is why they’re letting Bea decide if Jamie gets coffee or not by seeing who will get her to smile first. 

Jamie wins, of course. It’s part of being a dad. 

They’re sitting at a table outside till 9am, Bea out of her stroller and in Jamie’s arms. They’re on their third cups of coffee and Bea’s draining her bottle of formula like there’s no tomorrow. Jamie is in the middle of stroking Bea’s nose (a miniature version of yours) and watching her eyes blink slow, when two girls walk up to their table. 

“Ohmygod, no way, is that your baby?” one girl asks. 

Jamie looks up and gives a polite, perfunctory, “yeah,” and turns back to Bea. Roy’s sitting back in his seat, ready to watch this unfold. 

“It is like, so totally adorable. There’s something so sweet about a baby, don’t you think?” the other girl says, putting her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. He shifts away as politely as he can. 

“I just think that like, men with babies are so much hotter than men without babies,” girl 1 continues, oblivious to Jamie, who has shifted Bea onto his chest and is displaying his left hand as conspicuously as possible. He taps Bea’s back with his ring finger in what he hopes is an absentminded manner. 

Roy holds back a snort.

“Especially single dads,” says girl 2. “Soo hot. I’ll give you my number if you ever need a babysitter.”

She’s barely done speaking when Jamie blurts out, “I’m married.” He looks so harried that this time Roy can’t hold back a laugh. The girls turn to him with a glare, then back to Jamie. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” says one of them. 

“Pretty sure she does,” Jamie replies. “And anyway, I ain’t interested. Have a good morning.”

Bea, the angel that she is chooses that exact moment to start burping. 

The girls give her a disgusted look and turn away. 

Roy looks at Jamie, eyebrows raised and a ghost of a smile on his face. “Nice fucking move with the ring finger,” he says. “If it were me, I’d’ve fucking given them a different fucking finger.”

“That’s where you and me differ, granddad,” Jamie replies, wiping spit up off his vest (waterproof, thank god), “I’m a gentleman.”

Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

— 

The windows are open, the laundry is spinning, and you’re dancing around the house. You love Bea, but god you also love good rest. And a clean house. And Jamie Tartt. Man, you love him. You can’t believe he took Bea out for the whole morning and knowing him and Roy, they’ll be out until at least 11am. You smile. That gives you time to head to the shops and pick up some flowers, which will make you feel like a civilized human being, one who has her life together and can take care of her child and her husband and maybe, just maybe, one who is in the mood to get laid tonight. 

—

Jamie and Roy are strolling through Richmond, passing by shops and enjoying what feels like the first lovely day in ages. Jamie hasn’t heard from you since you asked is this shirt clean or dirty? with a picture near the washing machine. He knows Saturday cleaning is like a ritual to you, one you picked up in high school and carried on through college. You have a system and you take your time, windows open and music playing. He can picture you spinning around the house putting things away, and that mental image is enough to make his face split into a smile. He remembers the Saturdays you spent before Bea, you cleaning and dancing, and him, well, not helping but certainly dancing with you and promising that he’ll give you more dirty sheets to wash if you’d just take a tiny little break? In the bedroom? With no clothes on because they need to be washed, wink wink?

It usually worked. 

You’d lay in bed for precisely ten minutes afterward, take a no-nonsense shower, then kick him out of the house. He’d be gone for an hour, buying you that chocolate you liked and whatever flowers he thought suited the day. There’s a good thought. He should get you flowers, a reminder of their early days of romance. And maybe, just maybe, Bea can sleep soundly enough that they can revive other traditions, too. 

“Roy,” Jamie begins.

“No.”

“Oi, you didn’t even let me finish!” he says indignantly.

“Fine. What do you fucking want.”

“It ain’t for me,” Jamie says, “it’s for Bea. And my wife. I want to get her flowers, but it ain’t easy to push the stroller and look. Can you take Bea around the green? I’ll come find ya when I’m done.”

Roy stares at Jamie, and Jamie is sure he’s going to say no. But then Roy walks around to the front of the stroller and crouches down in front of Bea. 

“If your dad fucking goes and gets flowers for your mum, do you promise to be alright for twenty minutes? I know I’m not fucking Sam or Isaac, but Phoebe thinks I’m a good uncle. She’s a proper fucking dweeb, but a good judge of character.”

Bea just stares at him. Roy slaps his thighs and stands up. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jamie grins and says, “Bye, Beatrice. Be good for Uncle Roy.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead, a boop on the nose, and is gone, weaving through Richmond, man on a mission. 

“Your mum’s a fucking saint for putting up with him,” Roy says to Bea. Bea says nothing. She’s fallen asleep. Roy shrugs and starts pushing her in the direction of the green. Better asleep than crying. 

—

You’re showered, dressed, with just a touch of makeup, and you’re on your way to the flower shop. There’s this little one you and Jamie used to go to. You know the owner a little, but you suppose Jamie knows her better because he’s been in more. She’s about the age of his mum, and has a soft spot for him. He overpays and always leaves one flower for her. He hasn’t had the time to be over since Bea, so you say hello and show her some baby pictures, and then some of Bea and Jamie. You both laugh over your favorite, Jamie passed out on the couch, mouth open, wearing gray sweatpants and a single sock, with Bea on his stomach in a gray onesie and a single sock. She’s drooling on him and his hair’s a mess, but you think it’s adorably hilarious. Like father, like daughter. 

Now, you’re perusing the flowers. It smells wonderful, the warm weather diffusing the fragrances through the shop. You turn a corner and bonk straight into a man with his back turned to you. You open your mouth to apologize and he turns, and out comes, “Jamie?”

He smiles and you peer behind him. “Where’s Bea? Oh my god Jamie, did you lose our daughter? She had better be close by, I swear to god, Jamie Tartt, how do you lose an entire baby, especially one as noisy as Bea?!” 

You’re oblivious to Jamie’s attempts to interrupt your rant, so when you pause for a breath he says, “love.”

You turn to face him, from where you were trying to stand on your tiptoes hoping for a glimpse of Bea’s stroller. 

“I didn’t lose her. She’s with Roy. D’you really think I’m that irresponsible?” 

He looks so hurt that you realize what you’ve been saying. Your hands fly up to your mouth. Of course Jamie wouldn’t lose Bea. He loves her. He looks at her as though she makes the stars shine. 

“Babe. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and then I wasn’t expecting to see you without Bea, and I thought I’d surprise you by getting flowers before you both got back, and-” you stop. Jamie is gently holding your face and smiling, no longer hurt. 

“Babe,” he says, “love of me life and best mum around, it’s ok. I know whatcha mean.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bit funny we had the same idea, innit?”

You smile. You’d been so caught up in your split-second worry about Bea, you didn’t even realize what was happening. 

“Guess some things don’t change,” you reply. “You pick out any good ones?”

Jamie places his hand over his heart. “Love. I only pick out good ones. I picked you, didn’t I?” You laugh at his sparkling eyes, and put your hands on his waist, pulling him close. 

“Pretty sure I picked you,” you reply. 

Jamie hums. “That’s a fuckin lie, and you know it.”

Your feeble retort is cut off by his lips on yours. 

—

You and Jamie walk toward the green, hand in hand. He’s holding bright yellow daffodils in the other. 

Jamie spots Roy first. “Oi!” he yells, “look who I found!”

You wave, jog over to Bea, and crouch down. “Hi baby! I missed you! Did you have fun with Uncle Roy?” Bea babbles at the sound of your voice. 

“Oh good,” you reply, “he is your third-favorite uncle, after all.”

Roy nods. “You fucking get it. Jamie tried to feed me this fucking bullshit that I was fucking number one.”

“Jamie!” you say. “Everyone knows it goes Sam, then Isaac, then Roy.”

Jamie puts his hands up defensively. 

“Honesty,” Roy says, “Such an admirable quality. Remind me again why you’re with this fucking prick?”

You pretend to think for a moment then say, “For his money.”

Jamie says “Oi!” so you quickly amend, “And his smokin’ hot body.”

Jamie nods, satisfied. “That’s better.”

Roy is looking at Jamie in disgust. “You two are so fucking adorable, it’s fucking disgusting. C’mon Bea. I see Sam over by that bench. Let’s give these fucking idiots some time alone.”

You and Jamie turn to each other. 

“He said we’re adorable,” you say, grinning. 

“He said we get alone time,” Jamie says, grinning back. 

“Roy!” you call, “how much time do we have?”

“Three hours!” Sam yells back. “I want to walk Bea to my restaurant!”

You and Jamie turn back to each other, giddy. 

“You know what that means,” you say. 

“Sex,” he replies immediately. 

You laugh and grab his hand. “C’mon, babe. Let’s enjoy our alone time.”

As you walk away, Jamie says, “Oi, need to tell you about these girls who were trying to flirt with me. But don’t worry, I gave them the finger.” He holds up his ring finger and you slap his arm. 

“This is why I love you.”

“Really? And here I only thought you were with me for my money,” he replies. 

“And your hot body. Don’t forget that one,” you say. 

“How could I forget?” he says. “When we get home, let’s put it to some good use.

[httpsdana]

Gavi one where she’s feeling really insecure and comparing herself to others because she’s not the tiniest girl and he just showers her with love

Insecure~Pablo Gavi

*GIF isn't mine. credits to the owner*

A reminder that everyone reading this is absolutely beautiful and i love you all so much 💋💞

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers i write for

y/n wasn't the tiniest girl ever. She had some fats in her belly, and for her, her thighs where way too big. For her, her face was too round and her cheeks were too chubby. For her she was too much.

Feeling insecure since you were a child only makes it more traumatic when you grow up. You carry that guilt with you until it becomes unbearable. And when you finally start feeling good about yourself, or when you finally accept yourself as you are, something ruins it and takes you back to zero, where you're standing in front of the mirror, and pointing out every imperfection you can see in your appearance, and body.

That was the case with y/n. Growing up as a child she was always bullied for her body. She never felt good about herself. Reaching high school you would say the bullying stopped, but it didn't. It only became worse. That's why when she met Gavi after her graduation, she thought he was just there to make fun of her or something.

She pushed him away thinking that its better than getting attached. But his desire to make this broken girl his won, and there they are happiest as ever.

Well that was until Pablo decided go post a picture of them. They had always been the pribate couple. They only posted pictures where their faces don't appear, just pictures of their hands interwined, or one where their backs are to the camera with his arms around her.

But this picture was on another level. It was a picture of them at one of their friend's wedding. She had a slightly tight dress on, and her stomach was bloated and on display, her hair was out of place and her lipstick was ruined. Her shoulders looked too broad and her smile was awkward. Everything seemed wrong.

Although she knew it was a bad thing to do, she opened the comment to see what people thought about it, and it seemed like everyone had the same opinion as her.

nah look at that double chin 💀🤣

gurl should've gotten a bigger size 😬

is gavi actually dating her-

ain't no way literal models exist and he's with her 💀

i wonder if he's forced to date her or smth

Tear streamed down her face like a river. She didn't think these comments would affect her that much...but they did. She knew people will not like her, but she didn't think she would get more criticism than she did back in high school.

She locked her phone and covered her face with her hands, trying to calm herself down by taking a few breathes.

Maybe if i had blonde hair Pablo would like me more? or colored eyes? he probably thinks I'm too basic for him. or too fat. why is he even still with me? so he can leave me when he's bored? or when he finds a model that's suitable for him?

These thoughts ran through her head, only drowning her even more. She thought that maybe scrolling through tiktok would keep her mind off what she just saw.

Oh how wrong she was. The only videos she saw showed pictures of Pablo with pretty girls, or from his last meet and greet, girls all over him, some giving him their instagram and others their number.

What made it worse was seeing Pablo keep the papers with him. And the caption are all the same thing about Pablo deserving a prettier girl.

She threw her phone across the room and burst into tears. She didn't think it would hurt this much, but it did.

"you scared the hell out of me! why didn't you open the door when i knocked?!" Pablo barged in the room, making her flinch and the sound of the door

Only when he saw her puffy eyes and wet cheeks, his face softened but showed worry instead

"are you okay mi amor? why are you crying what happened?" he asked in a soft voice

He tried wrapping his arms around her but she only pushed him away and tried to stop her sobbing

"y/n.. what's wrong?" he asked, hurt evident in his voice and his eyes

"why are you with me Pablo? are you still here to make fun of me? why are you not with a model or something like literally every other football player? why are here with me? a normal basic fat girl with chubby cheeks and huge thighs and an ugly smile and a-" her sentence was interrupted by Pablo pressing his lips on hers

"y/n baby why are you saying that? you know i adore you. I'm literally so in love you that I can't even look at any other girl. I would die for you my love. Why would i want a model when i have you? a pretty, smart, super adorable, and an amazing chef as my girl. why would i want a girl who only cares about what she wears or how she looks or what she owns. I only want you sweetheart. I only love you and only what to have you in my arms every night. I don't know why you think i would leave you. you're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I don't know what made you feel this way, but please don't ever think that low of yourself. I'm so proud of you and i love you so so much" he said in a soft tone, his hands holding her face and wiping her tears with his thumbs. He kissed her tears away and brushed her hair away from her eyes.

She managed to give a small smile. Her stomach erupting with butterflies at the sweet words said by her boyfriend. She felt the genuine love they shared and the sincerity in his voice.

"I don't deserve you. you're amazing. i love you so much" she whispered, wrapping her arms round his torso and laying her head on his chest

"please don't say that. I'm the one who's lucky to have you in my life"

[wosoragebaiter69]

together forever

hayley raso x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: I got my new goalie gloves today 😜

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

“Come on, the beach will be fun. Aussie beaches are like the best in the world! And it’s summer. Get up.” My girlfriend says.

“Hayley, we’ve been everyday this week.” I sigh sinking into the couch.

“Yeah but we haven’t been there on sunset. Sunsets on the beach are a different kind here.” She ends up giving puppy dog eyes which she knows I can’t say no to. In all our years of dating she still manages to make me crumple.

“Fine, it better be worth it.” Her smile grows wider and she jumps up and down. To which, I can only laugh at.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.” I grab my phone and a towel, before following her outside and we begin the walk to the beach.

The walk consists of small talk, Hayley seems slightly nervous but I can’t imagine why. Maybe she doesn’t think I’ll like it? Time can only tell. I place her hand in mine in hopes that whatever she’s worried about will go away when she sees the sunset.

Once we arrive, I place the towel down and immediately gape at the sight in front of me. The sky is lit up in all sorts of warm colours. The sun only a third of the way set as it casts an orange glow around it. Yellow and red fill other parts of the sky, making the whole area look like it’s out of a painting. The water contrasts perfectly against the horizon, where large ships can be seen but barely.

“Haiz.. I don’t know what to say. This is… beautiful. Why wasn’t I shown this earlier?” I look at her, still in awe about our surroundings.

All she does is smile.

“I needed to wait for a special moment. Now sit. Sunset doesn’t last too long. Maybe take a picture? Even though we both know nothing compares to real life.” I nod at her words wondering what the special moment could mean.

I turn my gaze back out to the water, watching some distant surfers riding waves and getting taken out, there’s not many other people though.

“I can feel you staring babe.” I break our peaceful silence.

“I know.” Does it sound weird that I can hear her grin? Confused, I turn to look at her but my mouth drops at what she’s holding. Before I can say anything she starts.

“We’ve been dating for 3 years, which have been the best of my life, no one can make me feel the way you do. I’ve had relationships, but you’re the one that has felt the most right. If I’m not with you, I wonder what you’re doing subconsciously. Which is why I’ve decided I want you to be mine forever. So, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N will you make me the happiest woman ever, and marry me?”

Throughout the speech my eyes well up, I can’t believe this is happening. When she finally says the question, there’s only one answer to be said.

“Yes, with every ounce of myself yes!” I cry out, she takes the ring out of the box placing it on the left ring finger.

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” I say before thinking about it.

“I was about to say the exact same thing.” She takes my hand and kisses it. “The best sunset in the world, with the best girl in the world.” I blush uncontrollably, not even trying to hide it.

“Are we going to tell the fans? When they find out they’re gonna go crazy.” I exclaim, it’s only last week her national teammate Ellie got engaged.

“Yes we can if that’s what you want. Now?” I nod smiling. I take the photo, making sure to include the jaw dropping sunset. Hayley’s arms are wrapped around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder kissing my neck softly. While I show the ring in all its glory, she probably went broke.

I take to instagram, including her on the post with the caption ‘I’ve got the best fiancé a girl could have, and you all have another thing to go crazy about.” I hit post laughing with the one I get to call mine, and we sit until twilight. Nothing else needs to exist if I’ve got her.

[spidybaby]

Flowers

Summary: Who would have thought some flowers can make that much drama.

Warnings: none, kinda angsty but fluffy.

A/N: I've been so busy with college that I feel bad for not posting. So here's this piece. Hope you like it 😀💛

Everything started with your friend giving you the idea of pranking Kylian, posting a story of some flowers with the caption "thank you baby ❤️"

At first, you didn't want to because Kylian was the kind of boyfriend to always give you flowers, taking you to dinner, doing little things for you.

But when the vacation started, he went to Miami with Achraf and Melissa. You declined his invite to go with him. Due to your work, you needed to be available for your coworkers since you were just promoted as a higher up.

Melissa was sad. It was her first vacation away from the kids and now away from you. You both became really close since you began dating Kylian.

Kylian is someone who girls always try to get with. Something you weren't to moved to, it didn't worry you. You trusted him, and he trusted you. It's teamwork.

Something that began to worry you was him not answering his phone, your texts, nothing. It was like he went ghost mode.

You thought it was because his data was not active or something, but then you saw the ig post. He has data to post, then he can at least dm you to let you know he was fine.

You didn't need him to be glue to the phone for you, but at least let you know he was fine. Only that.

So, you texted Melissa, asking her if she was enjoying the vacation, if she was tanning. But, she left you on read.

That's when the words of your friend made sound in your head. Was that a good thing to do?

"Of course it is. It's a harmless story, and you can even text him saying "thank you for my flowers while you're away." Your friend says, looking at the flower catalog. "So this peonies, please"

You open your phone just to see the seen texts. You didn't understand why he was acting like that. If he wanted a space free vacation, he could have said it.

"Okay, all done. Let's go." Your friend says, grabbing your arm to drag you outside of the store.

"Wait, did you pay?"

"Yes, you'll get them tomorrow."

You both ended up at some cafe, talking about the updates of your lives.

"Don't worry, if you're not comfortable with this, you don't have to do it." She says as she leaves you on the door of your house.

"I'll think about it."

You wave her goodbye as she drives off.

You went off with your night, didn't want to bother Kylian. Maybe he's busy and needs a breath from everything. Maybe he wanted to be alone for a while.

"Maybe you're too much for him," a voice in your head says.

Okay, no, you're not. If you were, he would not be with you.

You push all those thoughts out of your head and decide to sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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You saw the pictures he posted, the outfit you helped him put together. Yet he still hasn't answered your texts.

You take a look at your bouquet of peonies, you think a little bit before taking the picture. You add a white heart, uploading it to your story.

You send a pic to him over text, thanking him for sending them while he was on vacation.

You decide to turn off your phone as soon as you start receiving the notifications of instagram. You turn on your TV and start your favorite show, taking a caring only on the TV.

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Kylian was calmly talking with Achraf. They were going to dinner with some friends of him.

"Kylian, you're such a lover boy for your girlfriend." Melissa says, looking at your story. Kylian didn't understand, but he just nodded.

He got that type of comment from Achraf, too. He was kind of confused about why the sudden interest on him being a "good boyfriend."

It was not clear until Neymar texted him, asking him where he found the peonies, wanting to get some for his baby gender reveal and not being able due to the shortage of them.

He frowned, reading the text, Neymar attached a picture of your story.

You tag him in a story of a big bouquet of peonies thanking him. He never sent you that bouquet. He told Neymar that he will text him the info, but he didn't have any info to share.

He quickly noticed the text you sent him. "Thank you, mon amour. You're the best ❤️ I love peonies, and you know it 🥰" He tried to call several times. You didn't answer. It went straight to voice mail.

After that, Melissa asked him what was wrong, and when he explained, she tried to call you, nothing. Even Achraf gave his phone to Kylian, nothing.

He was worried. Who sent you flowers? Why would someone send you flowers? Were you aware he was not the one sending you flowers?

He stayed in, but for nothing, you weren't answering your phone.

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You turn your phone back on the next day. You needed to make some calls and send some emails so you will do it from your phone.

The first thing you saw was that you have 5 missed calls from Melissa, 8 from Kylian and even two from Achraf.

You also got a lot of texts. Even one from Bruna, Neymar's girlfriend, she was asking me to ask Kylian where he found the peonies. She wanted some for her gender reveal.

You answer her, giving her the info from the florist. And also assuring her that you will be at her gender reveal.

Another text was from Ethan, asking you to go out but using that insta story to deliver the message. You say yes.

And then a text message from your boyfriend. He was asking if you're available to call you. You wanted to say yes, call him and talk, but your toxic side says no. Let him overthink. So you ignored his, Melissa's, and Achraf texts. Instead, you call Ethan and tell him you'll pick him up to go to brunch.

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"You have to calm down." Achraf says, watching Kylian passing around the room, phone in hand. "Maybe you did send them, and you're forgetting it." He shakes his head no, he didn't. He would remember.

"I didn't."

"Ethan and her are going out." Melissa says, reading the text Fayza sent her. "They're going out for brunch."

"Why is she not answering my texts or calls then?" Kylian sat down, angry.

"Maybe because you haven't answered hers." Achraf points out.

Melissa agreed with him.

"But she told me she was going to be busy." He almost screamed. "I didn't want to distract her."

"Okay, but you even told Melissa not to answer her. Maybe she's mad at you."

And I was true, Kylian told Melissa not to bother you. Since you got your new work, you were busy, so he didn't want you to feel like you were pressured to do a lot of things at the same time.

"But.-"

"But nothing," Achraf interrupts. "Let's not worry, even if the flowers are from another dude, she thanked you. She's not thinking about anyone else."

They both shut his insecurities, and Melissa took his phone. She sent you a text saying sorry for not answering and sending you some pictures.

The rest of his vacation was weird, he keeps sending you texts, and you kept ignoring him but updating your social media.

Melissa and you talked, you told her about the plan you and your friend had. She laughed and told you it was all between you and her.

Kylian, on the other side, was overthinking. He wanted to go back to Paris and be with you. In the last few, he sent you different things. He sent you flowers, he sent you chocolate, he sent you your favorite food, and he sent you your favorite coffee to your work.

You find all that cute and funny. He was so jealous. Your friend and you enjoyed the moment. He was getting his own medicine.

The day of his return, you text him as if nothing happened. Asking if he wanted to be picked up by you.

He immediately say yes, asking you how you were, if you received his things, you just answered with a "see you at the airport, amour"

Making him worried sick. Are you mad at him? Are you breaking up with him? Are you mad about something else? Achraf made him stop, telling him he was overthinking.

The whole flight he was thinking about you, he even texted Ethan for help, asking him to reserve for a super fancy restaurant, to run to the jewelry for something special for you and even asked his mother to go with his brother to pick you a special dress for the night.

When he arrived, it was 10 am. Perfect time for him to rest and to be with you all day and have that special date at night.

You waited at the parking of the airport, his driver was there with you, since he sent him to get you. Due to the flight being private, you could wait there.

You see the plane landing, and your stomach is full of butterflies. You missed him, too much for you to admit outloud.

When Achraf and Melissa got out of the plane, you and Lana got out of the car. Lana ran to her mother, and you said hi to Hakimi. After lana and Melissa greet each other you hugged her.

When Kylian was down, he waited for you and Melissa to talk a little bit, hugging his niece. Melissa pointed with the head to Kylian, who has his eyes fixed on you.

"Hi," you say softly, hugging him tight. "I missed you." You kiss his cheek. He was happy to see you, his face buried in your neck, enjoying the perfume he loved so much.

"I miss you more," he kissed your neck, making shivers run down your spine. He can feel them. Loving how your body reacts to him. Only him.

"Let's go, lovebirds," Melissa says, laughing as she enters the car. "You can talk at home." You both laugh, Kylian kisses your lips and walks hand in hand with you to the car.

The whole trip to his home was them telling you about the trip, and Lana asked some questions to her mom.

"Text me when you're home." You say to Melissa, she was going to her house, leaving Kylian and you alone at his own house. "Bye, Lana." You both waved them goodbye and enter his house.

"Come here." You say closing the door. You open your arms to him, kissing his lips. "I missed you so much, you have to tell me everything."

"I had so much fun, we have to go together, again, it's such a vibe."

You both walked upstairs, he needed to rest and you were helping him with the suitcase. "Thank you," he says, looking at you organizing his stuff. "I have something for you."

"More?" You laugh. "All you did was send me things. You already gave me enough, Ky."

"There's never enough with me." The cocky tone of voice he's using is funny to you. Sometimes you forget your boyfriend is The Kylian Mbappé. "I even have a whole plan for us tonight."

"Kylian, you have to rest." You put the suitcase down, leaving it for later. You needed to cuddle him. "I love you, but you're probably tired. I want you to feel good for this new season."

"I'll do that, but I have to spoil my baby. If I don't do that, who will?"

You spend the day with him in bed, both resting and loving the time you have together. This tight schedule doesn't allow this kind of moment very often, so you both learned to work around it.

Spending every minute you can together, after practice, after every match, free days, holidays. Every second was important for you. Even if it was only a hug and good luck or if it was a whole night, you appreciated everything.

You went home to get ready, his driver telling you he was collecting you at six o'clock. You thank him and run inside your house to get ready.

The first thing you see when you walk inside is the big designer bags. You gasped, not expecting all that.

You open your phone to thank Kylian for the things, assuring him that I was too much for a date night and you'll make it up to him.

After a long shower, you did your makeup and style your hair, using the fragrance you know he loves and wearing the dress he gave you. It was a beautiful black dress, he also went out of the way and got you this diamond necklace that's the perfect match for one he owns.

The driver picked you up at the exact time. He was alone. On the seat was this other gift, you sigh. He's killing you with all the gifts.

The little note attached to the black box reads "Open me" next to a heart he obviously drew. Inside was this lock bracelet from Tiffany.

"You're just the best 😍" you text him with a picture of the bracelet on you.

He was so excited for you to arrive. His foot is moving with impatience. He wants you to know he's all you need.

He knows that he's going out his way, giving you a little more than necessary, but he has all the money in the world when it comes to you. Never checking the price tag. It was for you so he didn't care how much.

"Hey handsome, care if I sit?" You whisper in his ear, making he shiver. He gets up to pull your chair out for you. "Thank you, such a gentleman." You kiss his cheek before taking a seat.

"I just want you to know how much I love you." He says, sitting back on the chair. "I'll do anything for you."

"Even if that meant going bankrupt for me." You joke. He laughs loud, not caring about people or nothing. You love seeing him like that, so free, so happy.

"I'll give you everything you want."

"I know, you know I'll do that too, just not that crazy with diamonds. But I'm all yours if that make it up."

You both talk about everything and nothing at the same time, Kylian rambles about life, sports, and his family. And you do the same.

"You know what's funny?" You ask him, ready to confess the whole bouquet thing. Knowing all his doing is his normal self but also is a little him being jealous.

"Tell me, amour." He grabs your hands. Bringing them to his mouth.

"You did all of this for some flowers."

You don't miss the way his body pauses for a second. He's not making eye contact like before. "What?- What are you talking about?" He laughs nervously.

"You got jealous because someone sent me that bouquet, so you started to send me more flowers, some chocolate, food, coffee, you did all of this." You drink your wine, enjoying how his mind is working trying to make an excuse.

"I don't recall, maybe you're confused." He says, eating more of his food.

"So you don't recall calling me eight times because you didn't send me that beautiful peonies bouquet?" You ask again. He's just shaking his head and eating. "Well, I do, and I got to thank my friend for sending it."

He choke on a piece of stake, coughing dramatically. "You have to what now?" He asks after a big sip of wine.

You explain to him everything. He's embarrassed for believing you meant you weren't coming because you were so busy that you couldn't even answer his texts.

After reassuring him, it was okay, but agreeing on talking more openly when this kind of doubt ran his head. He apologized, and you did too.

With him, everything is easy. Talking, laughing, and loving. He's yours, and you're his. No matter the gifts , the trips, the busy schedule. He's yours and only yours yo admire, to love and to share a life with.

"Let's pay and go home, champ," you say, making a signal to the waiter to bring you the check. "I promise you I was making it up to you for all the gifts." You caress his hand with your nails. Thing that he loves.

"You know you don't have to."

"Oh, I want to." You intertwine your hands. "Hope you still have that Miami energy. You'll need it for the night."

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

08 to be human. where ushijima forgets that he is only human and you remind him

<< 07 sun and moon. | >> 09 (coming soon)

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: sorry it took so long to post this part, it just never came out right - ave word count: 2.6k warnings: angst, fluff if you squint tags: @lemurzsquad

your violin rests on the stand in the corner, practice for the first chair audition forgotten as you once again get distracted checking your phone for any new notifications. 

you click into the group chat anyway, scrolling through their updates from tokyo. the latest text time stamped 8:59pm three days ago was a photo of the three of them at tokyo tower, with a caption of ‘missing our fourth :’)’ from semi,. there was another one of them with their food at their hotel and a collection of random photos that they thought to send you when they are away for a match. 

then there’s the photo you had received from tendo of ushijima doing a push-up while you were eating, causing you to choke on your food and coughing within an inch of your life. you did a double take and true enough, he sent it to you as a private message. 

you had left him on seen, naturally.

sliding down to your knees with your back against the wall, you let the device clatter to the floor next to you. 

tonight the silence is deafening in your ears. you thought you enjoyed the peace and quiet that you get to yourself in your home, but perhaps you had just grown accustomed to it. just like how you had grown accustomed to being around your friends, even enjoyed their company. 

you hug your knees, feeling a certain hollowness in your heart in the shape of a certain someone with eyes of the color of your favorite drink. you allow your memories to rush over you, remembering the night you shared as the weather turned cold, huddled in your barely warm enough jackets with a thin blanket laid out on the freezing ground, sharing your dreams for the future under the night sky with only the stars as your witnesses. 

“i am going to go professional as a volleyball player,” wakatoshi had shared with you. not surprising as he was one of the top three spikers in the country, it had only seemed natural, almost expected of him. “tokyo, maybe.”

you had turned to lay on your side, head propped up on your elbow to look at him in all seriousness. “i never told anyone, but my dream was to go play for tokyo philharmonic orchestra. after all these years, i think i still want to do it.” 

you shrugged, “i know i am nowhere near good enough yet, but i want that to be my reality someday when i become good enough. i have been working hard to audition for the first chair in the school orchestra. the teacher even said that with a little more work i have the potential to be in that position next year.”

you stopped abruptly, having realized you were rambling. it must have sounded stupid, you thought. you were nowhere good enough, unlike wakatoshi, to go to the national stage, and yet, here you were, talking his ear off about wanting to join the tokyo philharmonic orchestra.

you dropped onto your back, looking away into the darkness of the night. “never mind, that was stupid.”

“no, no, look at me.” but you had refused, thinking he was probably just trying to make you feel better about yourself. 

his hand had cupped your face, gently turning you towards him. your heart skipped a beat, feeling his skin on yours, and realizing that he was close enough for you to feel the warmth of his exhale on your freezing cheeks. it was right that moment that you were so sure that your cheeks burned under his touch.

when you met his eyes, you had expected to see surprise, but to your own surprise, you found only pride and belief in them. as if he saw it coming. that he believed in you. 

“let’s go to tokyo together then,” you thought you saw hope glimmering in his eyes that night. 

or maybe it was the reflection of the twinkling stars, you keep telling yourself to quell your own hope rising in your once barren heart. wakatoshi had gone and planted a whole garden lush with flowers of every variety you could think of. had watered and tended to the shrubs with care and affection. with stolen glances and half-smiles. 

in his absence, your heart yearns for its owner. i’m yours i’m yours i’m yours, your traitorous heart whispers in his presence. 

you are afraid. for you have learnt that hope, this fragile thing with feathers, has been singing its tune in your ears this whole time. you are scared of being the only one who feels this way and getting hurt. you are scared that this whole time, you are the only one who needed him, that he does not need you. you are scared that hope has skewed your perception and you have been lying to yourself about the small possibility that he feels the same towards you.

a frantic knocking breaks you out of your thoughts. to your surprise, you find semi at your door with hands on his knees, panting for breath. a ghost of a smile passed over your face, reminded by the time wakatoshi showed up in a similar fashion on your doorstep.

“when did you come home from tokyo?” you frown, unaware that the team is back from nationals. you take in the defeat in his eyes, the quivering hands by his side. and you piece it together. the radio silence since three days ago. the fact that he is back home in sendai. oh. oh. 

shiratorizawa lost.

“i thought he told you, he said-” semi shakes his head. “never mind”

before you could say anything else, semi pushes past you into your house, grabbing a thick jacket and holding it out for you to wear. confused, you oblige, and he pushes you towards the door, fishing out a random pair of shoes. “it’s ushijima. we need to go now before that idiot does something stupider.”

semi pulls you into a fast paced run passing familiar houses and scenery. on a route you recognize because you walk it to school everyday. to shiratorizawa, you realize. 

“semi-” you protest through your panting, unused to the physical exertion on your body. your lungs are burning, throat dry and hurting with every breath that irritates it further. 

the cold wind bites at your skin. the barren tree branches swaying as if urging you on towards wakatoshi. worry clouds your mind, running through the worst scenarios that could be happening right down. if they had lost the nationals, why didn’t any of them tell you? and the ‘he’ semi mentioned, who could it be if not ushijima?

the blood freezes in your veins as you come to the conclusion that ushijima decided not to tell you. ushijima decided not to tell you.

the volleyball gymnasium comes into sight as your breath catches in your throat, feeling it squeezed out of your lungs. lips trembling, you snatch your hand out of semi’s, as you double over, retching onto the exposed ground next to the paved walkway. 

semi looks at you worriedly, rubbing your back guiltily. “i’m sorry”

your eyes meet his, lips parting to ask for an explanation, but not before another wave of nausea hits you. “what happened.” you manage the question before taking a shuddering breath, trying to remember how to breathe as the world spinned before your eyes.

“he’s not stopping. or listening to any of us.” your body sways as you stand up, so semi guides you to the entrance, looping an arm around your waist to support you.

you immediately find him on the court, ordering shirabu for another set. the young setter seems conflicted over his words, but tosses to him anyway after some hesitation. three other players trying to block his spikes. exhaustion showing through their sluggish movements.

and ushijima. you notice the unfamiliar black pad gracing his left knee. semi huffs, “his knee is irritated but he refuses to rest, and the first years are too scared to not listen to him, even if it is for his own good. the rest of us, we tried to talk to him, but he is not listening.”

the sight of him causes embarrassment to bloom in your chest. you have a pretty good guess of who semi meant when he said “he didn’t tell you?” earlier. your cheeks flush scarlet not only from the exertion of running here, but also from the betrayal you felt from being left out of the loop. how could he?

“what makes you think he would listen to me if he wouldn’t listen to you guys? when he didn’t even bother to tell me that you lost in nationals?” you clench your jaw, tamping down on your rising temper. 

“y/n!” tendo shouts excitedly from the other side of the net, looking like his savior just arrived.

you give him a glare in return. they are all complicit in withholding this information from you. 

ushijima winces as he lands on his feet, the spike bouncing off the back corner of the court. your traitorous body reacts instinctively to make sure he is fine, hand reaching out towards him as your feet itches to bring you to him. your heart betrays your mind, worry for his well being threatening to overcome the disappointment and betrayal you feel.

you clench your fist, lowering it to your side. semi gives you a look, to which you respond, “don’t”

ushijima turns around, almost surprised to find you there. then his eyes dart to where semi has his hand on your waist, and they darken as he meets your stare. as if semi crossed an unspoken line. 

you lift your chin, holding his gaze as if asking what about it? your chest heaves in angry short breaths, barely noticing how the court dies down as the second years quietly usher everyone out. 

and then he starts walking towards you, looking so much like a hunter who caught his prey in a trap. you tense, unknowingly taking a small step backwards. you had a feeling this is how his opponents feel when they stand on the other side of the net against him. and yet, they had won the match against shiratorizawa.

you feel taken aback when he leans down and envelops his arms around your frame, head nuzzled into your neck. the sensation of his breath on your skin as he breathes you in skyrocketing your heart rate. traitorous heart.

it is unlike the ushijima you know to behave so intimately. sure, it is common for some physical affection here and there as friends, but this… you swallow. this, you think, is crossing the invisible line as friends. suddenly, the unwelcome thoughts of him liking you back invade your mind, and spiral into whether you should tell him. but what if he does not feel the same way? 

you don’t know if your fragile heart can survive that. you shake your head, banishing the thoughts away into the void.

your brain tells you to push him away, to keep him at a distance with your anger, while your heart wants you to pull him closer and never let him go. you blink, heart at war as the two sides fight for dominance.

you lift your arms to return the hug, but hesitate as the logical side of your mind reminds you of the person in front of you. he is not meant for you. a tiny crack appears in the heart he put back together. you clench your fists, about to let them fall back down to your side, when you felt something warm trickle down the dip of your collarbones. 

and your heart breaks all over again for him. you hug him back tightly, one hand buried in his hand, with the other running up and down his back to soothe his tired heart.

one last time, you promise yourself, remembering the line he’d drawn between you by not telling you about their loss. the last time you put him before yourself, you think, as you shove your own disappointment and anger away. but you couldn’t help the question that popped up in your head before you did just that — what exactly am i to you, toshi?

you know there is no words you can say to make the loss hurt less. you know he has replayed the match over and over in his head so many times to analyze their mistakes, and likely came up empty handed. 

so you offer him something else instead. “you promised me to take care of yourself.” a quiet invitation. a safe space to express his locked up feelings, having to play his role as the captain in front of their team. 

you could almost taste the disappointment and the sadness of the defeat from the way his shoulders started shaking and the warm liquid wetting your jacket. oh, the things you would do to take his pain away. even at the cost of your own heart.

that night, as you pulled the blankets over him after giving him an earful about pushing his limits when his body needed rest and moved to leave, he asked you to stay. despite your better judgment, to which you blamed it on the time of the night, you climbed into bed next to him after putting one of his shirts on. 

with little protest, he had pulled your shivering frame against his, arm slung over your waist as his breathing slowed and he fell asleep. you had whispered his name in the darkness before turning around to face him. 

there was a little frown between his eyebrows that you smoothed away gently. you thought that he looked younger in his sleep with his mouth slightly open in an ‘o’ shape without the weight of the world on his shoulders. your hand rested on his cheek, admiring his profile in the light from the small rays of moonlight peeking through the blinds, bathing him in a soft glow.

with your parents, you thought you had seen the worst love can do to a person. with ushijima, he’s the one who’s seen you at your lowest, the first one you want to tell your good news to, the one you want to see after a long day, long before you fell for him. it hurts on a different level that he doesn’t see you in the same way that he is there for you. that he doesn’t feel he can come to you with his own problems when he was there for you. 

and it frustrates you to no end. what does he expect out of this, really? when he ran to your house that night? it makes you angry, but you don’t regret it. this feeling in your chest, it makes you want to pluck the moon from the sky and give it to him. anything he wants, you will give it to him if you could. 

without him, you would still be lost. he had shown you the way out of that darkness, stayed by your side through it all. why wouldn’t he let you do the same for him?

when the morning came, you were gone before he woke up. there was no trace of you having stayed the night that ushijima could have sworn he dreamed you up in his arms. except a mildly threatening note for him to rest and stay away from practice that sends a smile tugging at his lips.

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[steviewashere]

She Lives in My Dream State

Rating: General Pairings: Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Platonic Stancy, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson CWs: Mild Recreational Marijuana Use (More Implied/Referenced) Tags: Post-Canon, Vague Timeline, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Pining, Pre-Relationship, One-Sided Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Good Friend Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Vague Bisexual Awakening, Bisexual Steve Harrington (If you Squint), (He Hasn't Figured Out All His Feelings Yet for Eddie), Eventual Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Bittersweet, Hopeful Ending, Talking About Dreams This isn't my New Years fic, but I whipped this one out really fast tonight (because I'm pining over somebody I can't have, all that good stuff), so. I promise I've got a couple works that are coming out hopefully by the end of the week! I've just been very ill—woohoo!!! Title taken from Tyler, the Creator's "See You Again", the actual lyric is, "You live in my dream state."

🫂—————🫂 Steve and Nancy become close friends. Closer than most. Maybe not closer than he and Robin, but close enough. They're enough together. And Steve just has to take that.

He reasons that they'd be better friends or maybe even best friends had circumstances not have been. If Nancy was never his girlfriend and the Upside Down never happened and he was never bullshit. But. Well, you can only get so much out of people. And this is what he gets. An ex-girlfriend that still laughs at his jokes, but doesn't touch him the way it matters. An ex-girlfriend who's a friend, nothing more.

She moved to Boston, following her dreams like she always said she would. He believes in her, so he knew, of course, that she'd get to where she needed to be. Steve shouldn't miss her, not as much as he does, but he does. That's the problem. He'll get phone calls from her, excited and bright and short, she's got a column in the local newspaper, her dorm-mates are considerate, there's a library within walking distance. He's so fucking happy and proud.

But also...

"I think I'm still in love with her," he confesses one night. It's late, too late to be talking. There's a burning sweep of ash in his throat, a joint nearly roached between his fingers, and some movie playing in front of him. The television is quiet, buzzing and fizzing.

"Yeah?"

Oh. And Eddie's here, too. Replacing one friend for another. Not that Nancy did stuff like this, sitting around with him, smoking and shooting shit. No, she was more the kind of girl who enjoyed binging some rom-com from the discount bin at Family Video, sipping hot gos as Steve put it out into the world. She liked wine nights—it was the only stereotype she allowed herself to have.

He swallows around smoke. The joint begins to hurt, so he leans forward towards Eddie's coffee table, putting it out in an already full ashtray. They should really break this habit. Do something else. Find another thing to entertain them, but the weed loosens the works. Makes it easier to be himself without trying so damn hard. Not like it matters. Eddie figures him out anyway. Perceptive bastard.

His hands hang between his knees. Head heavy on his neck, pulled forward so his shoulders hunch. The screen flashes, and so his eyes dart to figure the picture. He's never been able to paint it clearly, doesn't understand the image, can't caption the words.

"I don't know," Steve murmurs, "it's just...she calls me, y'know, tells me everything going on in her life. And I know she's broken up from Jon, working on herself—whatever that means—but I...I hear her talk about these guys and girls she's bumping into on campus. Don't think she realizes, but she's on her way to falling in love with her lab partner."

"You saying you're jealous of a person you've never met?"

"I'm not the jealous type"—

"Sorry, Steve, it sorta sounds like you are."

Sighing, relenting, Steve rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. Nods against the back of the couch, gaze adrift to the water stains on the ceiling. "Maybe I am, then. But I'm not gonna do anything about it, swear. She's happy now. Has her whole life ahead of her. Not the kind to settle down and have a brood of children, I get that, but I guess the dream still clouds my brain."

Eddie looks to him, he can feel his burning stare. He keeps his gaze astute on the ceiling. There's something in him that melts with Eddie's molten eyes—he'd let the change happen at a moment's notice. Not now, though. And definitely not yet. "You guys are on two different worlds," Eddie states softly, "she isn't yours to keep. And I'm sure she doesn't want to be kept, not now at least." He bumps his hand on Steve's thigh, the contact burns, but Steve doesn't shy from it. Instead, he lolls his head and looks over.

One day, his brain won't be set on Nancy.

Maybe it'll be somebody else.

"I don't how you're supposed to do it," Eddie continues, "but you have to move on, Steve. Be her friend, but don't let the thought of her eat away at you."

He swallows, a sour lump heavy in his throat. "I know," he mutters. His eyes are heavy, wet when he blinks them. But Eddie doesn't acknowledge that, doesn't make fun of him. It's nice. Steve sighs. "I just think I'm gonna love her forever and there's nothing I can do about it."

"I know, Steve," Eddie whispers, matching the tenderness, "but one day, things will be different. I swear, Stevie, they will."

"Yeah"—he nods once, quickly. Lets out another soft breath—"did you know that Nance and I met on her first day of freshman year?"

"Mm, no I didn't. Tell me about it?"

At least Eddie won't shut him down on this. Not like other people have.

"She had these big, square glasses on," Steve reminisces, "her hair tied up in this ponytail, stray hairs all around her face. We were at this club fair. I was looking into the student council and she was at the booth beside me, the business club's. And all I could think was, there's no way she's interested in that, must be her dad talking."—he snorts—"when I went over to ask her about it, she did one of those big, nasty sighs. All...jaded or whatever. She told me her dad was full of shit. Honestly thought she was gonna be some prissy, pretty mouthed girl who's well-mannered—that kind of garbage—but she wasn't. She was honest.

"I knew, right then and there, that I was gonna find a way to woo her. Maybe it was just...maybe I was being a bit too out there for a fifteen year old, but I honest to god thought she was the one for me. My soulmate. But then...well, y'know the story of us. Not meant to be." Steve sighs, wistful and forlorn. The image of fourteen year old Nancy Wheeler, her too big glasses and her smile full of braces, gone in an instant. He continues, "That dream I had where she was my wife, we had that whole crowd of kids, sometimes I think that was my dad talking. The ideal family mumbo-jumbo. But I think, if her and I were different people—if she wasn't afraid of becoming her mom and I wasn't afraid of becoming my dad—maybe that whole thing could'a worked out. But...Nancy's too brilliant for that. Too brilliant for nuclear bullshit. And I'm sorta...sorta behind, y'know. Late bloomer on what I want."

Eddie blinks at him. His wonderfully dark eyes pulling Steve back to himself. The hand has returned to sit against his thigh, heavy and warm and sure. Grounding. "What do you want, Steve?"

He blows out a sharp breath. "Loaded question," Steve says, "I want to get out of Hawkins, I know that much. Find somewhere to be. To be what, I'm not sure, but something more than just...just world's best babysitter who knows when to have a car at the right moment and also the inventory system for movies I've never fucking seen."

The smile that compliments that statement is only born from Eddie's warm laughter. He wants to nurture that smile, the way his cheeks stretch with it. It's the warmest thing he's felt in a long while.

"What about you, Eds, what do you want?"

"Honestly, I don't fucking know," Eddie answers in turn. "I wanted to be a world famous rockstar. But every time I put my fingers on the frets, I think about Metallica and world ending doom, so...guess that's sorta out of the cards. Oh, maybe I could write shit! I could...I could take the whole world ending bullshit and turn it into some sci-fi novel. Call it...The Underworld or something."

"The Underworld or Something sounds like a mouthful," Steve teases.

"Right...The Underworld. Title in progress. Hell, you know, maybe you could be my editor?"

"I'm not a strong enough reader for that, Eds." Eddie chuckles and nods, conceding. Steve just relishes in the tired sound of his laughter. "Got any other gigs you think I could do?"

"Book binding," Eddie says easily, "it's methodical. Takes some energy to focus on the craft, but you work a lot with your hands and tools. Something quiet, so you aren't dealing with angry moms and their crying children. But something just bland enough that you're not overexerting your efforts. Could put your brain on hobbies you wanted to work. Book binding and playing basketball in your free time sounds like the dream for you, Steve."

"Yeah? You've been thinking about this for a while? 'Cause, gotta give it to you, if that's improvised, you're a fucking genius."

"Ah, thank you, thank you...you flatter me, sweetheart. In another life, I take the world by storm with my on stage presence."

"Why not in this one?"

"Hollywood's too convoluted," Eddie says, "they'd probably do some evil shit like put me on an unethical diet and call it the beauty world's next hot tip or something. Or, y'know, they'd put me in a Speedo catalog. Don't think I could do that, ruins the integrity of my image."

Steve snorts again and swipes his tongue inside his lower lip. "Hm," he assesses, eyes squinted at Eddie's shorts-clad legs, "you've got good enough legs for it, though. Put you in some zebra print tighties and call it couture."

"Again, Steve, you flatter me." Eddie hits his thigh again, drawing his attention back. "Seriously, though," he says, voice dropped low, "one day you'll have things figured out enough. Maybe you'll still love her, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll be binding books or working a cash register. But, someday, you'll be the Steve Harrington you need yourself to be. Not today, and that's okay."

"Yeah," he sighs, "not today."

He thinks of Nancy, happy in Boston. Jonathan happy in Lenora. Robin in Seattle. All of them, sans Eddie and himself, separated and happy.

It's bittersweet, to love somebody he can't have. It always will be. He knows, despite himself, that he's going to love her until the day he dies. And she won't know that, and that has to be okay. They missed the chance—he missed the chance. Things are for the better, though.

He has a new friend in Eddie. He's got a load of feelings to stifle through. And he's got a lot to look forward to in the coming years of his very formative twenties. But for now, this is it: wallowing on Eddie's couch, tossing jokes at one another, smoke coating his throat.

It's not the best, but it could certainly be a lot worse. Things are reasonable and he's alive and some stuff is amiss, but things will work out.

Especially since he's got a new person on his side.

🫂—————🫂

[dcdreamblog]

As it happens, my birthday is now Gay Marriage Day in the United States, not the present I was looking for that year, but it's interesting. So I tend to have a lot of Pride Month stuff coming up on my various social media around that date--and this year I spotted someone at a Pride Parade I had not seen in ages.

To be precise, Extraño of the New Guardians, who as far as I know was the first "out" gay superhero of the modern era. I distinctly remember seeing on the news years ago that he was dead. So, did he come back from the dead at some point, was he just not actually dead, is this a relative or lookalike? And of course please fill us in on the backstory.

The death of Gregorio de la Vega has been greatly exaggerated, often on purpose, usually for exactly the reason you think.

Born in Trujillo, Peru, de la Vega probably has some amount of Homo Magi blood in him since he was always able to perform minor feats of magic. Until he was chosen by some sort of alien process meant to select the breeding stock for the next, greatest stage in human evolution. They empowered de la Vega, turning him into a potent sorcerer and granting him membership on this new Adam and Eve team, The New Guardians. One problem. Gregorio de la Vega is a gay man.

Very much disinterested in this whole "breeding a better humanity" thing for fairly self evident reasons. He did however, christen himself "Extrano" which is simply Spanish for "Strange", calling to the alienation and otherness he had been made to feel his whole life for how he was born. He was, he IS, the first openly gay superhero to have ever existed.

And his first costume looked like thissss

(A photograph of Extrano, the caption is meant to be encouraging to queer youths. You ARE Strange, so own it" that sort of thing.)

He is noted as speaking with an exaggerated queer affectation, referring to himself as "Auntie" and making himself the sounding board for the other members' romantic frustrations. In short, he was playing up to a stereotype. A positive version of a stereotype, a heroic persona of a stereotype, and yet a stereotype it remained. His costume eventually changed into one that was a lot more...shear. A stereotype of another kind but his affectation didn't change much. Much has been said about this. Whether he was a poor role model for indulging in these affectations, whether he was brave for simply being out at all, this that and the other thing. Here's my opinion...I don't care.

I am not going to sit here in judgment of a man whose mere existence did more for my right to live, and love and thrive comfortably in my own skin and as my own self than I could do with 100 years as dictator of the world. Was he living to an expectation in order to find what amount of acceptance he could in a queerphobic society? Maybe. Was he hiding behind it in fear of not being "gay enough" in a time and place where the idea of what queerness is was very narrow? Maybe. Was the man just honestly like that? MAYBE.

The point I am making is you'd have to ask him because the man is still alive.

He vanished from the public eye for a long time for one simple reason: Like a lot of gay men his age and of his era, Extrano contracted HIV.

The stigma attached to the condition at that time cannot be overstated and so, in seeking treatment, he put his own health first and the clucking of tabloids last. For many years the headline that he had died at a clinic somewhere in Peru, or Singapore, or Mexico, or whatever circulated every six months.

It wasn't until a few years ago when he was called upon that what had become of him was publically known: He had become an incredibly powerful, incredibly respected, incredibly FEARED arch magus. One that went toe to toe with Eclipso on live television when the villain attacked a pride parade, the event that lead to the foundation of the loose group now known as Justice League Queer.

And he looks like thi-

(A head shot of de la Vega taken from the back of his recent memoir "Queer: It Means Strange")

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Da- BONK MAINTAIN PROFESSIONAL DETACHMENT!!!

Point being, the man is alive, and well and in the public eye for the first time in a LONG time. If you want to know who he is or what he thinks, you can read his book, or watch the 8 different TV interviews I was able to find on Youtube.

He's given talks about his queer journey, being gay in Latin America, being gay in Peru specifically, growing up gay in Peru in the 70s and 80s even more specifically. Living with HIV, living with HIV AS a gay man. Being an HIV positive superhero. Being a gay superhero. His treatment, his sudden thrust into being a patriarch for the queer hero community. He has been on a whistle stop tour of every single public event that will hand him a microphone. If you wanna ask this man a question, kick in the door of your nearest gay bookshop and odds are he will be giving a talk at that store when you check!

To answer your "question" when asked about rumors of his death so long circulating he is quoted as saying. "Death is not allowed to kill me until I've had my fun."

[solradguy]

Recently I've started to try and study a lot of the artwork for Guilty Gear, particularly the artwork by Daisuke. I was reading your translation of the notes in the XX artbook and I realized that on a lot of the artwork I really liked, Daisuke mentioned mistakes he made. I found this odd since, again, most of them I thought were absolute masterpieces.

I know that people always say "You're your own worst critic", especially to artists, but I guess that it never really set in until I was reading those.

I get nobody's art is perfect (Daisuke is no exception, there are pieces in the artbook that even I could see were rather flawed), but the fact that I am staring in aw at some artwork and I then read that the creator of it was upset that the perspective was all off feels insane. Kinda makes me think about how I critique my own art when I have so many people in my life who think I'm an amazing artist.

I know this is gonna sound stupid and corny but I wanted to get this out of my head since it's been in there for at least a week or two now. Probably didn't word this the best since it's getting a bit late since I decided to stay up to listen to the new (and by new I mean two years old) Red Hot Chili Peppers album while drawing and I thought of this again.

Also thanks for translating the art book. Although the artwork by itself is still great, the comments (as I have stated) were really insightful for me personally. You really are a rad guy, at least in my eyes.

When I first translated Artworks of GGX 2000-2007, I thought Daisuke's harshness towards his art was possibly a Japanese cultural thing, since it's not uncommon for creators in Japan to kind of talk down their own accomplishments ("kenkyo"; [1] [2]). But then I got a bit better at Japanese and read commentary and autobiographical works by other artists—Hirohiko Araki, Kentarou Miura, and Ryoko Kui [3]—and they're much more positive about their creations. They're still humble about it, as any professional generally is, but they certainly aren't as critical as Daisuke is in Artworks 2007. It's definitely odd.

Artworks 2007 is an updated/expanded reprint of an edition that came out 3 years earlier, Artworks of GGX 2000-2004, so a little over half of the captions in Artworks 2007 were written between 2000 and 2004. If it wasn't kenkyo that made Daisuke critical about his art, then, I thought, maybe all the work he had on his plate leading up to the Sammy-Sega merger, which threatened the Guilty Gear IP as a whole[4], had him in kind of a depressive/hyper-critical mindset? That still feels like it could be plausible; his more recent (>2010) commentary is a lot kinder.

It is reassuring knowing that even incredibly skilled artists like Daisuke can still fall into being mean about their own art. Some things never change haha Here's hoping, like Daisuke, we all crawl out of that hyper-critical borderline self-loathing art pit 💪

Thanks for reading the translation!! And for the compliment. Artworks 2007 was my very, very, first large scale GG translation project and I'd like to redo it some day, some of the translations are a little wobbly.... I didn't make a Japanese manuscript for it though, which means I'll have to rescan every page again to get the text off them 😵‍💫

~ https://sakuratips.com/2020/10/20/humble/

~ https://interculturalwordsensei.org/kenkyo/

Hirohiko Araki is known for Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Kentarou Miura for Berserk, and Ryoko Kui for Dungeon Meshi

~ https://www.siliconera.com/arc-system-works-now-owns-the-rights-to-guilty-gear/

(sorry for the ~ before the links lol tumblr really wanted to turn them into embeds...)