#really did not need this to happen when i'm in the midst of my miss jean brodie brainrot ..............

[hairtusk]

okay so i haven't been offered the job i wanted ... buuuut they have offered me another job in the same place that i'm not 100% sure about. but it would be good experience. and i'd get paid. so i could save up for my masters. and move out of my parents' house ............ i have a casual interview next wednesday but it sounds like they really want me for the role. hmmmmm. much to think about.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hii you dont have to do this but can i request a part 3 to ethan x camgirl where they start talking and meet up. Thanks🫶

The ending kind of sucks, but it's already 1.8k and I'm tired of writing this fic so I'm posting anyway

Warnings: 18+, smut, p + v, virgin!Ethan

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

What were the odds that you and Ethan both lived in New York? You didn’t attend the same college — he was at Blackmore and you at NYU —, but it was still a damn good coincidence. It was also almost unbelievable that you never bumped into each other when you visited friends at Blackmore.  

After weeks of messaging back and forth — a few late night sexting sessions —, you decided to finally meet in person. It was nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time.  You couldn’t wait to see those sweet dimples and bambi eyes…and kiss the hell out of him. 

When Ethan got to the party, he felt dumb for asking you to meet him there because these frat houses were always jam-packed with people, but you were already on your way. It was too late to change the plans.

He stood in the room, deep brown eyes glancing around at the sea of faces, trying to spot someone who matched the beautiful girl he saw through his screen. What he hadn’t thought of was that looking for someone at a part could be like searching for a needle in a haystack. 

‘’Ethan!’’ Chad called out, walking up to his roommate with a red rub in his left hand. ‘’We’re missing a player for beer-pong, you in?’’ 

Chad must be truly desperate to ask him to be his beer-pong partner because he knew how terrible he was at the game. 

‘’Sorry, but I have to decline,’’ Ethan said. ‘’I’m waiting for someone.’’ 

A teasing smirk curled at Chad’s mouth. ‘’Someone, uh? You mean a girl.’’

Ethan rolled his eyes, fighting the blush on his face. ‘’Shut up.’’ 

The night went on, the frat party roaring with energy, and he finally spotted you in the midst of the crowd. You had on more clothes than he was used to seeing on you, but you still looked gorgeous — you always did. 

He made his way over to you, a shy smile drawing on his face as he got closer. 

You pulled Ethan into a greeting hug, feeling like you were past formal greetings. He saw you stuff your fingers in your cunt as you moaned his name, shaking his hand would feel strange. 

‘’You smell good,’’ Ethan said, your sweet perfume enveloping him, a nice change from the strong weed odor that filled the living area. 

You chuckled. ‘’Thanks.’’ You pulled back and raised your eyes. ‘’I didn’t expect you to be this tall,’’ you remarked in turn, surprised by Ethan’s height. 

Being around you felt surreal to Ethan. He had to pinch himself a few times to make sure he wasn’t in one of his wet dreams. But you were really there, sitting beside him on the couch, your knee brushing his leg every time you laughed. 

‘’You okay?’’ you asked, noticing Ethan shifting in his seat. 

‘’All is good,’’ he lied, his face forcing a smile. 

‘’You sure? We can go and get some air if you want.’’ 

‘’I don’t need air, it’s just— I don’t want you to think I wanted us to meet so I could use you for sex, but my dick has been rock hard since that hug and it’s getting really uncomfortable.’’

You looked down to see the tent in his pants and laughed softly. ‘’Why didn’t you say so?’’

‘’Because it’s embarrassing...’’ he mumbled, wishing the couch would swallow him.

Leaning closer, you said quietly. ‘’Would it be less embarrassing if I said I’ve been dying to leave and have you to myself?’’ 

No other words were spoken. Ethan just stood and you grabbed his arm as he guided you through the bodies of partygoers. He kept his head down and smiled at the ground, the feeling of your hand curling around his bicep sending butterflies in his stomach. If a simple touch ignited this kind of reaction from him, what would happen when your hands will be touching lower on his body?

The walk to Ethan’s dorm felt like a thousand miles away. The chilly night air nipped at your bare legs as you strolled through the dimly lit campus pathways, holding on to his arm the whole way. You couldn't wait to be inside and finally kiss him.

You barely made it inside the building lobby that you had pulled Ethan down by the front of his polo shirt and captured his lips with your own. He gasped against your mouth in surprise, not expecting that kiss, but quickly recovered and kissed back until he was out of breath. 

Grabbing his hand again, you hurriedly took the stairs to the third floor — as instructed —, and watched with amusement Ethan unlocking and shutting the door with a clumsy eagerness. 

‘’Come here, pretty boy,’’ you said, pulling Ethan down and kissing him again, gentle but deep. 

You could kiss him all night and never get tired, but the elephant in the room was nudging at your thigh and you just had to give it some attention. Without disconnecting the kiss, your hand wandered south down Ethan’s body, pausing right over the lump in his jeans. He let out a strangled moan at the contact, and it made you smile into the kiss.

‘’Should we take care of that?’’ you asked, dragging your mouth to his jaw while you rubbed him over his jeans,  touching him where nobody's ever touched him before, where he'd only dreamed of you touching him. 

Ethan’s head tilted back and you only saw it as an opportunity to kiss a line down the side of the neck, adding to the new sensations. You kept on stroking him slow and long until he couldn’t take it anymore, pleading once again. 

He peeled off his jacket, leaving it in a lump on the floor while you did the same with your sweater, leaving you in your lacy bra. You had picked it meticulously, hoping Ethan would be the one to take it off you tonight. 

‘’Fuck, you're gorgeous,’’ he murmured to himself, watching you closely.

You pulled at his polo shirt, and when he raised his arms to discard it, you looked at him appreciatively. He was hiding so many good things underneath those preppy clothes. You ran your hands along his chest, the smooth muscles that spread across his stomach and his chest and his arms. 

‘’You’re not bad either,’’ you replied, triggering a light blush on his cheeks. 

The rest of your clothes came off in a disordered fashion, trying to get naked as fast as possible. Once the goal was reached and everything was on the floor on the chair, you glanced down and smirked, admiring what you had only ever seen through a screen. Big enough to make you feel full, and pink and leaking at the tip.

‘’Looks even better in person than on camera.’’ You wanted to kiss it, but instead wrapped your fist around his cock, slowly going in up and down motions. Moans and pleas fell from his plush lips, causing more pre-cum to leak from the tip. ‘’Please what, baby?’’ you asked, gently caressing the line of his happy trail with your other hand. ‘’Just tell me what you want.’’

‘’I want you.’’

You leaned in to kiss him again, and this time the kiss was hungry as you guided him back to what you assumed was his bed — the letterman jacket on the other bed gave it away. You moved back and brought Ethan down with you as you lied on the typical college boy dark blue sheets. Some curls were falling in his face, reminding you of the shy boy you met months ago during a private session. 

You tucked his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at him. ‘’How do you want me?’’ 

On top. 

Connecting your lips for a quick kiss, you then grabbed a condom — which he had bought for the occasion — and switched positions so you were straddling him. Pushing up on your knees, you gripped the base of his cock and lined him up with your entrance. You could tell that Ethan was nervous, his breathing pattern faster than a few minutes ago. 

‘’It's okay. I got you.’’

You pressed gently, the tip barely sliding in, making Ethan grab the sheets and throw his head back from the overwhelming rush of new sensations. Slowly, you sank down onto him, inch by inch until he was all the way inside of you, and sighed. He felt so much better than you imagined. 

Ethan’s grip on the sheets tightened as a long moan drew from his mouth. ‘’Fuck, that feels good,’’ he whispered, his eyes still shut, scared that if he open them and see you sitting on his cock he’ll burst.

Taking a small pause to adjust, you tilted his face down to yours and leaned down, capturing his lips with your own as your breasts pressed against his chest. His eyes snapped open, only to close again and release the sheets to run his hands everywhere he could reach on your body. 

Once it was comfortable enough, you started moving your hips the same way you often did in your videos. Except this time, it wasn’t a dildo. 

Ethan groaned, squeezing your thigh and moving his other hand to your chest as you moved on top of him. He cupped your breast, and then tentatively squeezed your nipple. It sent a bolt of need through your core, settling right between your legs.

‘’Do that again, baby,’’ you encouraged, and moved your hips again, a long languid movement. ‘’You can be rougher.’’ You gasped, pressing your fingers over his, pinching and twisting your nipple the way you liked. It hurt in the best way. 

You continued moving your hips as Ethan played with your body, his mouth soon replacing his hands on your nipple, causing more mewls to ripple through. 

It wasn't long until Ethan began getting sloppy and whiny, silently letting you know he was close. Virgin men didn't last long — you knew —, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t use your own hand to speed your orgasm instead of making Ethan feel bad for finishing fast. 

You rubbed at your clit until you started to feel that coil tightening in your belly, getting close to the edge and, by some miracle, successfully reached your high closely together, echoes of your pleasure mixing as you clenched around Ethan’s spurting cock and milked him. 

When you were finished, you rolled off him, falling back on the mattress. You should get up and go pee, but Ethan curled up next to you after disposing of the condom, wrapping an arm around your middle and you didn't want to get up yet. He pressed his face against your soft breasts, a beaming smile on his lips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. 

‘’I’m really happy I spent my dad’s money on that private session.’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble  @luiise  @planetkt  @vampyrgoff  @adrluvh @mymultiveres  @miqi-16 @not-liah  @lovenats01 @doestalker @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336  @arinexeisnotworking @halforangecuts @l3ndryz  @ilovelandry  @your-platonic-gay-lover  @Danniackerman  @angelxxrose  @lottiefromsam  @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222

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[headspace-hotel]

further thoughts on modern extinctions of species

The scientists have a great difficulty laid out for them, doing public messaging about climate change/biodiversity loss that communicates the urgency and importance WITHOUT inducing a panic and helplessness that leads to apathy and shut-down (exactly what is seen in many young people in regards to climate change)

Now we all probably know here that it is really important for scientists to do "obvious" "water is wet" type studies showing something is a problem, even if the problem is obvious to anybody with eyes, because then the study can be used as hard evidence to change policies or to inform skeptics.

However sometimes these studies themselves end up becoming "Obvious" facts.

Because they are so important, they get cited a thousand times, and it becomes so seemingly reliable, that the methodology of the studies is not questioned very much.

It's not necessarily that the studies are even wrong—it's that their conclusions become Facts when the original study would only say "probably true under these specific circumstances" or "likely if measured within these parameters" or "suggested by what little evidence we can gather."

Here is one of those facts:

We know that abuse and misuse of our ecosystems can cause extinctions. But there needs to be hard evidence backing that up.

"The current extinction rate is over 1,000 times the usual background extinction rate" is an important estimate for understanding the magnitude of the damage deforestation, resource extraction, and other over-exploitation do to ecosystems.

But this estimate has become a Fact. It is treated like a black box. It is so widely cited and in particular it is so commonly used as evidence for the idea that human impacts on the Earth are irreversibly and unfixably destructive. People use it as irrefutable proof that we are in the midst of a mass extinction that we have very little chance of stopping. And that makes people feel hopeless...which makes people paralyzed and much less likely to act on behalf of their ecosystems. "We're all going to die! I can barely do anything, and it's unlikely to make a difference anyway. Why bother?" That's not good.

So...Here's an article that explains how this number is reached.

When bryozoans were my special interest I delved really deep into learning about fossils, and because of this I wondered, "How do we even know the background extinction rate, and how do we know there is a normal baseline for Earth's extinction rates?" The article explains:

I'm having a hard time finding very many articles about this, actually, if anyone has others, I would enjoy seeing them

So here's the thing...the fossil record is really, really, really, really, really low resolution. Fossilization is an extraordinarily rare event, huge periods of time are totally missing from the fossil record in any given place, and...this is just me, but since many living species can only be distinguished from each other by analyzing their genome, I doubt we could tell for sure if two fossils are the same or different species.

The way biodiversity is structured on Earth, there are usually small areas where large amounts of species diversify, often areas that are unique and isolated in some way. In other words, some areas are hotspots for species diversity. Many species on Earth have incredibly small, restricted ranges. (On top of that, these diversity hotspots are often islands or mountains...which seem unlikely to be areas where sedimentary rock deposition is happening.)

Since fossilization is such an unlikely event, and the fossil record is missing most of the time periods for each place because sedimentary rocks just weren't forming there (or they did and later got eroded), fossils probably preserve more wide-ranging, generalist species that were high in abundance. There must have been tons of weird, highly geographically restricted places like the Galápagos islands where bizarre creatures evolved and were never preserved because it was just a tiny area. (This makes me want to cry if I think about it too long.)

What's more, with vertebrate animals, species that fossilize and get easily noticed as fossils, tend to be larger-bodied, and larger animals generally tend to reproduce more slowly, which means the usual speciation and extinction rate for these larger animals might not reflect the speciation rate for, say, spiders or snails.

How is it determined that a taxon went extinct? Basically, when a taxon appears in the fossil record and seems to disappear, that's considered an extinction. However, that doesn't mean it did go extinct then. Maybe its range just became smaller, or maybe there is an unconformity. We could have a Coelacanth situation.

What I'm saying is...the fossil record is only a tiny bit of all the species that have ever existed, and probably wildly misrepresents the range of species evolving and going extinct at any time.

Now consider that the data is being filtered through something else that distorts it even more: databases and compilations of other scientists' works. So many disagreements and little errors pop up when you try to synthesize these!

All of these reasons are why I think "There is NO WAY we could estimate accurately what the average extinction rate for Earth is." Which is why it's frustrating to see the "1000x the background extinction rate" number treated like a rigid fact.

It's supposed to communicate that a lot of species have gone extinct in a relatively short period, I don't think it can be extrapolated the way it has been, to an irreversible and indescribably dire situation where the destruction of the biosphere is far beyond anything that can be fixed.

Here's the other part of this conclusion I find frustrating: How the current extinction rate is being calculated. It is based upon double and triple digits of species in each group (of vertebrate animals) having gone extinct both since 1900 and since 1500. Essentially, it uses these numbers from the vertebrate animals we know about that have gone extinct to extrapolate about the general overall extinction rates on Earth.

Articles and books that use this "1000x the usual background rate" statistic present it as some kind of ongoing process that is ruthlessly proceeding forward as we speak. But it is derived from scientists going, well, we predicted 1 or 2 extinctions for every 10,000 species per 100 years, but 100-something went extinct since 1900 that we know of, so this means the "current extinction rate" has changed to be a thousand times what it was.

I'm not great with math. But these numbers seem...coarse. Does that make any sense? The species that went extinct are each specific cases that we know about, and when you take these individual cases and multiply them by big numbers and divide those big numbers to get something like "20 species are going extinct every day!!" that seems wildly irresponsible. People are reading that and thinking, "Oh God, every single day more frogs and fishes and bees are gone forever" when there was such a large margin of error involved in each step of getting there that the final number is almost worthless.

And here's the BIG, HUGE, MASSIVE PROBLEM: The study treats the "extinction rate since 1900" as the same as "extinction rate today." The design of the study totally disregards ALL CONSERVATION EFFORTS AND ENVIRONMENTAL PROTECTIONS because it assumes that human impact on the environment in all times since 1900 is the same as human impact on the environment today.

It is baked into the design of the study that the conclusions will assume wildlife conservation is happening to a much lesser degree than it actually is, because it uses the time when there were no protections for wild creatures or consequences for slaughtering them in mass numbers and dumping toxic deadly chemicals in waterways to draw its conclusions on what's happening "Now."

Environmental damage is still continuing, but it is not right to terrify people by treating species extinction as a steadily ongoing thing that has "risen" since 1500 because of broad forces that have stayed totally consistent, rather than something that happened for specific reasons in each case and can be prevented from happening. I have no doubt that species are still going extinct, but so many have been saved and are recovering, and it really matters that effort has been put into preserving them.

[ever-eilish]

Could you do Billie Eilish asking r out

A (not so) bad day

billie eilish x fem! reader

a day that is supposed to be horrible takes unexpected turns, after you accidentally bump into a certain singer

author's notes: thank you so much for requesting, I really appreciate it! sorry if this is not what you wanted, I really hope you like it though! once again, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, enjoy❤️

warnings: a bit of cursing, but mostly fluff

Chaotic. That was the only way to define today. You know that saying that 'nothing is so bad that it cant get worse'? So, that saying has proven true today.

I woke up 30 minutes late, spilled the coffee in my white clothes, missed the bus, and now I'm here, standing in front of the bland beige door, waiting for my boss to decide to call me to give me some more of his scolding.

Bad luck. That's the only word that can describe my day, or rather, my week.

Everything that could go wrong, did;

I'm in the midst of a series of catastrophic events ranging from the simplest, like knocking my butter breakfast bread to the floor — with the butter-covered part facing down, of course — to the more serious, like being threatened with losing my job by my annoying, weird boss.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when I see the door in front of me open and the middle-aged man walk out of the room - which looks more like a chain saddle.

"Well, well, it looks like you've decided to be late again?" the wretch says.

As if I'd choose to miss my bus, spill coffee on my white blouse, and wake up late.

"That way I'll have no option but to fire you," he repeats the same words he's been saying to me for so long.

Son of a bitch.

"Sir, please! I promise it won't happen again, I love my job!" I lied.

"I'm sorry, but you're officially fired," he announces, as if announcing me as an Oscar winner. I take a deep breath, count to a thousand, take another deep breath and, with all the calmness in the world, say: "FUCK YOU!" I throw my badge on the floor, and walk towards the office door, ignoring all the crooked looks directed at me, and leave that musty-smelling place.

I didn't even like it there!

My God, how am I going to pay my bills? Fuck that old cuckold.

Fuck that old-man

Oh my God, I'm going to have to sell my computer.

I hated my. co-workers anyway.

My God, my computer.

All thoughts were running. through my head in a whirlwind when suddenly I bump into someone in front of me and fall to the ground.

THAT'S ALL I NEEDED!

Without even noticing who it was, I quickly stand up muttering something like, 'I'm sorry'; and I offer my hand to the stranger sitting on the floor.

And it is at that moment that, with my hand outstretched, I begin to notice the victim of my lack of attention.

The stranger wore a black blouse with white stripes — or white with black stripes - and black shorts. Her beautiful hair had the roots dyed red, while the rest was dark brown.

I could have sworn I knew her from somewhere.

It's very sudden when I feel her warm touch on my hand - which remained stretched - and I feel the girl partially throw her weight on me to get up.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I should be more careful" she says, with an embarrassed smile.

"I'm the one who apologizes! I've been walking around thinking about nothing and ! ended up bumping into you" I say,

scratching the back of my neck.

"Are you okay? You hit it really hard against the floor" was only when the girl tells me that I notice my throbbing hip.

"I'm great!" I lied knowing full well that the last thing I was in right now was 'great'. "Hm, so, you live here?" the stranger says, acting as if she wants to continue a conversation.

I don't have anything better to do, after all, why not talk?

"No! I live in my house," say, internally cursing myself for the terrible attempt at a joke.

Anyway, she laughed, and I felt my. embarrassment soon go away when I heard the good sound of that laughter.

"Oh got it, you're the funny type, then?"

she asks me, clearly joking.

"That's what they say"

We stare at each other for a while when very quietly, I hear the click of a camera. The girl seems to hear the same thing as I do, when she suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me nto the convenience store next to us.

What the fuck is going on?

She pulls me further into the store and 'hides' behind a food rack.

Holy shit, is she being followed?

My God, could it be that she's a serial killer and I recognized her because of that?

Holy shit, I'm too young to die.

What if...

I am interrupted from my mental breakdown at the sound of his voice.

"Hm, I'm sorry about that. You know how it is, right? Paparazzi are everywhere."

My God, I was right.

She's a serial killer and I'm her next victim. "Are you going to kill me?" my eyes widen as I ask.

"What?" she says to me, visibly confused, "my. name is Billie! I'm a singer."

I let myself take a deep breath when I hear what Billie tells me. Well, at least I won't die today.

"Hey, I really enjoyed talking to you, and I wanted to meet you again" she says, looking deep into my eyes "what do you think about going to a coffee shop with me one of these days?"

Is she asking me out on a date?

"Like a date?"

"Yes!"

"I want to!" I reply promptly, and watch as she rummages through her purse for a pen.

"Here!" She finally finds a blue fine-tipped pen, pulls out my hand, and writes something.

Before I can process what was happening, I feel a small kiss being left on my cheek and watch her walk out of the store with her head down.

When I look into my hand, I read:

"Cafeteria 221B, Baker Street;

03/22, at 9:00 pm.

See ya<3"

Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all.

[gc-genshin]

Unveiled Affections

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader At Jujutsu Tech, a mysterious arrival shakes things up, piquing the interest of Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi. The unfolding connection the mysterious person has with their sensei, Gojo Satoru, adds a mysterious touch to the atmosphere at Jujutsu Tech.

In the midst of Jujutsu Tech's lively atmosphere, Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi found themselves engaged in their usual banter. Itadori's boisterous laughter competed with Nobara's sharp wit, while Megumi maintained his stoic demeanor, occasionally sighing at the antics of his fellow students.

As their bickering continued, a sleek car pulled up to the entrance of the campus. The trio paused, momentarily distracted by the unfamiliar vehicle. Their attention intensified as the car door opened, revealing a young woman in her late twenties, who stepped out with confidence, her eyes scanning the surroundings.

Itadori, ever the curious one, nudged Nobara. "Who's this? A surprise visitor?"

Nobara squinted at the woman, assessing her with a discerning gaze. "I don't know, but she looks important. Maybe she's lost?"

Megumi remained silent as he observed from a distance. 

The woman, undeterred by the trio's scrutiny, approached them with a friendly smile. "Hey, excuse me. I'm looking for Gojo Satoru. Can you guys point me in the right direction?"

An accent? Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi exchanged glances, still unsure of the woman's identity and intentions. Itadori, always eager to help, responded, "Gojo-sensei? Yeah, he's around here somewhere. What do you need him for?"

Before the woman could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted the scene. "Hey, troublemakers! What are you gossiping about over there?"

The trio turned to see Gojo Satoru striding towards them with his characteristic swagger. His presence commanded attention, and the students quickly shifted their focus to their sensei.

The woman smiled, recognizing Gojo immediately. "Speak of the devil. Satoru, there you are!"

Satoru? Itadori and Nobara thought. Who is this woman?

Gojo's eyes lit up with excitement behind his black, circular sunglasses upon hearing the woman’s voice. "Ah, [Name]! You made it!" Without missing a beat, he closed the distance between them, scooped [Name] off her feet, and spun her around in a joyous whirlwind. Laughter echoed through the corridor as the students, already bewildered, now witnessed a whirlwind of affection unfold.

"[Name], you really know how to make an entrance!" Gojo exclaimed, a wide grin stretching across his face. The unexpected display of exuberance left the students even more astonished.

Mid-spin, Gojo planted a playful kiss on [Name]'s cheek making her laugh more, the act dripping with affection. The duo seemed to exist in their own world, momentarily oblivious to the bewildered gazes of Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi.

Nobara raised an incredulous eyebrow, muttering to Itadori, "Is this real life?” Itadori, equally astonished, could only manage a nod, still processing the spectacle before him. Meanwhile, Megumi only observed with a subtle smirk.

As Gojo gently set [Name] down, he continued to hold her hand, their fingers entwined as they shared a brief, tender moment. The playful atmosphere lingered, leaving an indelible mark on the students' perception of their usually enigmatic sensei.

As the couple turned to close the distance to the trio, Gojo continued, "Guys, this is my amazing wife, [Name]! She flew in all the way from the United States to surprise me!"

The revelation left Itadori and Nobara utterly flabbergasted. So that explains the accent… Their expressions ranged from disbelief to sheer confusion. Megumi, however, remained composed, having known [Name] for years.

"Wait, you're married?" Itadori blurted out, wide-eyed.

Nobara raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Gojo-sensei, you have a wife? When did this happen?"

Gojo chuckled, reveling in the unexpected shock he'd unleashed upon his students. "Oh, it's been a secret for quite some time. [Name], these are the troublemakers I'm responsible for."

[Name] greeted them with a warm smile, unfazed by the skeptical gazes. "Nice to finally meet you guys. Satoru talks about you all the time."

Itadori scratched his head, still processing the revelation. "I never thought Gojo-sensei would settle down. How did you two even meet?"

As Gojo continued his animated recounting of how he and [Name] met, there was an undeniable spark in his eyes, and the air between them crackled with shared laughter and affectionate glances. [Name] listened with a fond smile, occasionally interjecting with playful remarks that only deepened the mystery of their connection for the students.

Nobara, catching on to the subtle romance, nudged Itadori and whispered, "I never thought I'd see the day when Gojo-sensei was a married man. Look at them, like a real-life romance novel."

Itadori chuckled nervously, still trying to process the revelation. Meanwhile, Megumi observed the unfolding scene with a knowing look, having witnessed Gojo and [Name]'s relationship evolve over the years.

In the midst of the chaos, [Name] turned to Megumi and a bright smile formed on her face. "Megumi! It's been months! How have you been?"

Megumi, who had maintained a stoic demeanor, couldn't help but crack a small smile. "I've been managing. Didn't expect to see you here."

[Name] approached Megumi with familiarity, pulling him into a tight hug. "Well, I couldn't let Satoru go on and on about his precious students without meeting the rest of them. It's good to see you again, Megumi."

As Itadori and Nobara observed this warm exchange, Itadori nudged Nobara with a smirk. "Looks like Megumi isn't immune to surprises either."

Nobara rolled her eyes but couldn't deny the subtle change in Megumi's demeanor. There was a softness in his expression as he conversed with [Name], a side of him rarely seen by his fellow students.

Gojo, still reveling in the attention from his wife, interjected, "These two go way back. [Name] has known Megumi for years. She practically watched him grow up."

Megumi's stoic expression softened as he recalled the countless times [Name] had been there for him, offering support and encouragement. "[Name] has been like family," he admitted, a rare sentiment from the normally reserved student.

[Name] reached out, gently placing a hand on Megumi's shoulder. "It warms my heart to see you doing well, Megumi. You're like a son to me."

Megumi's eyes softened, and a genuine smile graced his face. The students, witnessing this unexpected display of warmth, couldn't help but feel a newfound appreciation for the enigmatic woman who had just entered their lives.

“So, Gojo-san, are you, like, a sorcerer too?" Itadori asked with a mix of excitement and confusion.

Nobara, arms crossed, added, "Yeah, are you here to fight curses or something? Because we can handle that ourselves."

[Name] chuckled at their earnest inquiries. "No, no. I'm not a sorcerer. I don't have any cursed techniques or anything like that. I'm just here to surprise Gojo and spend some time with him."

Itadori scratched his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. "So, you're just a regular person?"

[Name] nodded, her smile unwavering. "That's right. I may not have any special powers, but I can handle Satoru just fine."

Nobara, intrigued, exchanged a glance with Itadori. "Well, you seem nice enough. But what's it like being married to someone like Gojo-sensei? He's not exactly your typical husband material."

[Name] laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the corridor. "Oh, he's definitely not typical. But he's my husband, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We make it work."

Megumi, who had been observing silently, couldn't help but crack a small smile at [Name]'s down-to-earth demeanor.

Itadori, still processing the information, finally asked, "So, you've known Gojo-sensei for a long time, right?"

[Name] nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of fondness and playfulness. "Yes, Satoru and I go way back. We've been through a lot together, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Nobara, her initial skepticism replaced with genuine interest, chimed in, "Okay, spill the details. How did you and Gojo-sensei meet? And how did you end up married to the strongest sorcerer around?"

[Name] chuckled at Nobara's directness. "It's a long story, but it involves a lot of chaos, a few cursed spirits, and a bit of fate. Satoru can be a handful, but he has a way of making life exciting."

Megumi, who had been quietly observing the interaction, finally spoke up. "You handle him well."

"It's all about finding the right balance. And you know a thing or two about dealing with Satoru, don't you?" [Name] winked at Megumi.

Megumi nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I've had my fair share of experiences with him." 

The conversation continued, and as [Name] seamlessly integrated into the dynamic of the trio, the skepticism that had initially surrounded her presence began to fade away. The students found themselves enjoying the company of this unexpected visitor, whose genuine warmth and easygoing nature provided a refreshing contrast to the challenges they faced as sorcerer-in-training.

Little did they know that [Name]'s surprise visit would not only bring joy to Gojo but also leave a lasting impression on the students of Jujutsu Tech, adding a touch of human connection to the world of curses and sorcery.

[Bonus]

As Gojo and [Name] shared a moment of warmth and affection, the students couldn't help but observe the couple with a mix of astonishment and curiosity. However, it was Itadori who, keenly observant, noticed a subtle but significant detail—the glint of a ring on Gojo's left hand that was wrapped around [Name]’s shoulders. Itadori's eyes widened as he nudged Nobara.

"Nobara, do you see that?" he whispered, nodding towards Gojo's hand.

Nobara followed Itadori's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Is Gojo-sensei wearing a ring? Since when does he do that?"

Megumi only stayed silent, having seen his teacher wear the ring on multiple occasions.

The students (save for Megumi) exchanged puzzled glances, realizing that their eccentric sensei had never been one to adorn himself with jewelry, let alone wear a wedding ring.

Itadori couldn't contain his curiosity. "Hey, Gojo-sensei, is that a wedding ring?"

Gojo, still wrapped up in his affectionate reunion with [Name], looked momentarily surprised by the question. He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You caught that, huh? Of course it’s my wedding ring!” 

Itadori scratched his head, processing the information. "Since when do you wear one? You’ve never worn it before."

Gojo's expression turned more serious. "Well, you see, we've been dealing with some particularly nasty curses lately, and I didn't want to risk damaging this precious little thing." He glanced at the ring with a fond smile. "So, it's been safely tucked away until now."

Nobara squinted at Gojo, a mix of skepticism and amusement in her eyes. "You're telling me the great Gojo Satoru is worried about damaging a wedding ring?"

Gojo chuckled, unfazed by the teasing. "Even the great Gojo has sentimental moments, you know.”

Nobara smirked, realizing there was more to the story than Gojo was letting on. "Sentimental, huh? You must really be in love, Gojo-sensei."

Gojo winked at them, his usual playful demeanor back in full swing. "Oh, you have no idea.” He said as he looked at [Name] with nothing but love and pure adoration, who in return gave him the same look back with a soft smile.

“Now, let's get back to the lesson, shall we?" With that, he led [Name] and the students toward the heart of Jujutsu Tech, leaving behind a trail of curious glances and whispered discussions about their sensei's newly unveiled romance.

[yourstory-teller]

The ramos one could be something like how he is breaking ankles and injuring people on the field but around the girl he likes he is all soft and sweet, his teammates can't believe it is their same aggressive teammate

Hey bb, thank u sm for requesting!! I'd never written for him before, but it was fun, even though I don't know if I really like this lol

But I promise you I did my best. Hope you enjoy it ♡

Tame the beast

Part of the players were moving in a frenzy. It was normal for this kind of thing to happen during a game, it was to be expected. There were just some people who crossed the line, or got really, really close to it. Some would say close enough to start something.

Ramos walked incessantly towards an opposing player, forehead pressed against his, while the other man kept stepping backwards, trying hard not to trip. "The fuck do you think you're talking to? Huh?" His voice changed considerably at times like this, so much so that even his own colleagues feared the things that he could do. After all, whatever happened to him could harm the entire equipe.

What happens is that, during a play, the Spaniard had made a tackle that directly hit the opposing player's ankle. After that, instead of helping him up, or apologizing, he scoffed, as the other laid down on the grass, complaining of pain. Obviously, the guy wasn't very pleased.

Some of both men's teammates moved to intervene and, after much painstaking, managed to pull them back. Sérgio mouthed an "Hijo de puta", before walking away. Well, it could be much worse, honestly.

Perhaps less than an hour later, everyone had already moved to the dressing rooms. The buzz was loud and between laughs, jokes and screams it was almost impossible to actually hear each other.

Neymar was the first to miss his friend. In the midst of what they insisted to call a conversation, he discreetly nudged mbappe and leaned in to speak close to the boy's ear. "Where's Ramos?" he asked, then saw Kylian move his head to look around the room, just like he'd done a few moments earlier. "He's been away for a bit, right?" "Right." And with a kind of unspoken agreement, they both got up and started walking towards the back of the room, close to the lockers. 

When they were already farther away from the shouting of their mates, a much more subtle and smooth voice could be heard. And when I say smooth, I mean smooth. It sounded eerily like someone speaking a few good octaves higher than what they would usually sound like, like when you're talking to a baby, or a dog.

It took them a while, but they gradually did recognize that voice. "Is this-" Kylian started, but the older man was quick to bring a hand over his mouth.

"I know, honey, I'm sorry, but he started it!" Sergio sounded like a kid being scolded and the two secret listeners did everything they could not to burst out laughing. What a time to be alive.

"I miss you too, baby. But I'll see you soon, right?" This time, the tone used was much lower, almost pleading. He most definetely sounded nothing like the number four they had just seen and heard out on the pitch. It was almost ridiculous to imagine that it was the same man.

"Okay, anjo, I'll call back later. Love you." Ney's eyes widened and he quickly grabbed his friend by the arm to avoid being caught snooping around.

That's when they noticed. Glorious moment.

To say that they laughed about it again and again and again, was an understatement. Neither of them spoke about that with the others, but they didn't need to, anyway. They would eventually find out themselves.

As said, Sergio got to see you not long after that. You had gotten a few weeks off and, of course, would spend as much of that time as possible in the company of your handsome boyfriend. You had arranged everything, every little detail together, and his anxiety was almost palpable, even over the phone.

So, like the hopeless romantic that you were, you decided to surprise him by arriving a few days early. It was cliché and could be very predictable, but you still hoped he wouldn't suspect a thing. He didn't. When you showed up that day, right after a match his team had emerged victorious from, he was as incredulous as you imagined he would be, perhaps a little bit more.

You calmly walked over to your boyfriend while the others were still busy cheering around. He was standing still, seemingly in disbelief of the fact that you were actually there, within reach, for the first time in a while, too fucking long, if you asked him. But when you were just a few steps away, looked like it finally hit him and Sergio was immediately grabbing you into the tightest, warmest embrace, that you missed so much.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of being at home.

When you pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes, he stared back with such apparent adoration, that it made you dizzy. Your foreheads now rested together, his lips brushing against your trembling ones. And as he whispered how much he loved you and that he had no idea how he managed to endure all this time away from you, you could feel his tears flowing down your own cheeks.

That's when everyone noticed.

After that, the other players teased him to death. Light hearted jokes, of course, even though sometimes they did carry a hint of envy. Whistles and kissing noises, but it just didn't bother Ramos. The only reaction he'd show was an eye roll and, occasionally, a slight blush that took over half of his face.

"So, Ramos, is she going tonight?" Marquinhos asked, eyebrows dancing suggestively. "We know she's going, he can't even breath without her" "He's whipped, doesn't even deny it"

It would be impossible for you to realize that there really was such a big difference between Sérgio Ramos on the field, and Sérgio Ramos when he was in your company. To other people, however, this discrepancy seemed more than obvious.

Of course, he wasn't really a violent person in everyday life, at all. He was a serious person and somewhat closed off, sometimes even frowning, but not violent. On the field, however, it was a completely different story. When he wore the team's shirt, his presence on the field was nothing short of threatening, in many ways. Sérgio was a great player, fast, skillful, but, above all, an aggressive player. And this was the man the team was used to.

Maybe that's why it was so shocking for them, seeing the two of you together.

Right after a tough workout, or another bitter defeat, which wasn't uncommon playing for PSG he would crawl into your open arms and completely melt, like putty against you.

"It's amazing" You'd hear a whisper, coming from, you just knew, probably Neymar. "She tames the beast." It took a lot of effort and a maturity that you definitely didn't have, for you not to chuckle.

It was funny, yes, but also flattering and, in a way, gratifying, to know that there was a side of him that was kept just for you, and no one else.

"Come on, babe, we're gonna have fun." Your grip around his waist was tight and you moved so that your chin was resting on his chest.

While spending the season with him, you learned that it was common for the players to gather after some more intense training sessions or a few matches, sometimes to celebrate, sometimes to lift their spirits and feel more invigorated to get back to the fight. These weren't really parties, but more like get-togethers, albeit relatively ostentatious and considerably eventful.

"We can have fun here!" You sighed, despite the smile that made its way to your lips. "I know, but we're gonna have plenty of time to stay here. Please, love." You insisted once more, giving him your best attempt of some puppy eyes, but he'd always been better than you in these type of things. He sighed and rested his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes.

You found yourself smirking as he looked back at you, an amused glint in his brown orbs, which now looked almost black. It all happened so fast and you honestly don't know how, but in a second Sergio was hovering over you, strong arms pinning yours against the mattress. It was easy to notice how there was still so much care and delicacy in how he held your wrists.

"Fine" He lowered his head until his lips were ghosting against the corner of your mouth. "But after that, it's gonna be just us. In this room. For a long time." You couldn't control the giggle that rumbled through your ribcage. "Si señor."

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (16/22)

Chapter summary: You go through a difficult period following your breakup with Yelena, and you and Wanda end up falling down the rabbit hole for the second time around

Chapter word count: 6.4K | Warnings: Angst, Mild smut | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Before you say anything, I have a plan. Enjoy :) P.S. My requests are open

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Seventeen Part One

--

Sixteen

“And then she kissed you?” Agatha asks. She looks the same way she does when she’s actively participating in gossip, hanging onto every detail of the latest scandal that keeps most people entertained in their insignificant lives.

Wanda solemnly nods, as if validating a piece of tragic news.

“Why aren't you thrilled?” Agatha observes quietly, picking at her tooth with her fingernail. “I mean, doesn't that confirm that she still has feelings for you?”

“You remember what happened last time, right? When she did more than just kiss me?”

Agatha grimaces, “Right, of all places, in our stockroom." Then, her tone morphs into a more probing one, “But, did the kiss feel as if she just wanted to get into your pants?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, her heartbeat quickening as she reminisces about its tenderness. It felt akin to a first kiss—vulnerable, slightly apprehensive, tinged with anxiety, and yet, at the same time familiar—like finding her way back home.

It was perfect in every sense. 

But it was tainted by its very nature. It was a betrayal. And if there were truly raw feelings behind it, then it’s worse—it would mean that you have been emotionally unfaithful to Yelena. 

Wanda may have ruined yet another relationship.

In the midst of her internal struggle, she finally manages to answer Agatha, “It felt like hope,” giving voice to her undeniable feelings for you. “But she’s with Yelena.”

“I never really had faith in that relationship to begin with,” Agatha retorts dismissively, cleaning her hands with a towel before reaching for one of the cookies on display.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Wanda chides.

“I’m only being honest,” Agatha says, unapologetic in her bluntness. “You were fucking each other like rabbits and then a few weeks later, she gets a girlfriend. That's a classic rebound scenario. I'm surprised the woman she's with allowed herself to be used like that.”

Wanda finds Agatha’s uninhibited words a little offensive, though she understands that their deepening friendship has allowed for such unfiltered honesty between them. Even though she's jealous of Yelena, Wanda understands that she is good for you. She doesn't like how Agatha talks about Yelena as if she's too naive to try a relationship with you.

Wanda feels she can relate with Yelena. Often, love makes us scared that we might never get a second chance, so we choose to take a leap of faith, despite the warning signs.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?” Agatha asks, taking a bite of her favorite cookie. Wanda makes a mental note to deduct that cookie from the stock count.

Wanda shakes her head, replying, “Nothing,”

Agatha pauses mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock. Wanda can't help but observe the crumbs of food lodged in her teeth. “You're not going to seize this opportunity?” Agatha questions, disbelief coating her voice.

“Y/N needs to sort things out,” Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. “Without my interference.”

“You’re not afraid of missing out on this chance?”

Wanda sidesteps Agatha's question with one of her own. “Why are you suddenly supportive? It wasn’t long ago when you couldn't stand her.”

“I’m supportive of you. I’m rooting for your happiness, dear. But I’ve seen you at your worst, and I think you’re putting on a brave face right now.”

Wanda's eyes dip down. Her friend isn’t entirely wrong.

“What happens if she decides to stay with Yelena?” Agatha probes further.

Wanda's response isn't immediate; she takes a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before replying softly, “Then I hope she’ll be very happy with her.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, because of course, Wanda would say that. Even if you were being served to her on a silver platter, she’d worry for your happiness over her own. 

“And where does that leave you?” Agatha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Wanda lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, her face unreadable. “Living life as it comes, I guess. Just one day at a time.”

At this, Agatha decides to drop the subject. She has a strong feeling that Wanda’s just waiting for you to come to her, and when you do, she's certain that Wanda won't maintain this pretense of indifference. As for Wanda, she doesn’t want to obsess over what you’re doing or thinking. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake of hoping for an outcome that only you can decide.

Switching topics, Agatha raises an eyebrow and asks, “And the pup? Is he doing okay?”

Wanda smiles faintly, “I brought him home yesterday.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Agatha remarks. “Do you reckon Sparky masterminded all this to get Y/N to your place at an ungodly hour? Can dogs be that crafty?”

Wanda throws her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious right now?”

A wicked giggle slips from Agatha, spreading until Wanda finds herself laughing along. She doesn't notice the arrival of a guest until the distinct sound of the call bell jars her attention.

It’s Valkyrie, casually leaning against the countertop, looking awkward and so unlike her usual self.

Agatha casts a sly glance at Peter, who's been trying to catch her eye ever since Valkyrie stepped into the cafe. When Agatha isn't around, Peter fills her in on the latest happenings, a reliable source of juicy tidbits. Peter quirks his brows and discreetly nods towards Valkyrie, his mouth miming a silent message. Reading his lips, Agatha pieces together that this is the woman who recently found herself entangled in Wanda's intricate web.

Agatha sweeps her eyes over the woman appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Wanda rubs her palms together, a habit she’s developed before taking a customer order. “Hi, Val! What is it for today? We have new beans delivered all the way from Niseko–”

“Actually,” Valkyrie softly cuts her off. “I was hoping we could talk?”

Agatha watches their exchange, an eager twinkle in her eyes. With the pace at which interesting events are unraveling, she may as well pop a bag of microwave popcorn to truly savor the unfolding drama.

Wanda nods and moves away from the counter, temporarily handing the reins to Agatha. They pick a spot in the furthest corner from the kitchen, well out of earshot, much to Agatha's disappointment.

“First off, I owe you an apology,” Valkyrie begins. “I’d blame it on the alcohol, but there’s no excuse for me pressuring you too much to take shots. That wasn’t cool at all. You already said no several times and I ignored you.”

Wanda waves her off casually. “Oh, it's alright. I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You couldn't have forced me to drink if I really didn't want to, right?”

Valkyrie's frown dips further at Wanda's easy dismissal of the issue. “No, Wanda. If I'd kept on, I might've pushed you into it even if you didn't want to. I'm just glad Y/N stepped in when she did.”

Something flashes in Wanda’s eyes at the mention of your name. Valkyrie catches it but opts to ignore it for the meantime.

“Yeah, I did feel a bit cornered that night,” Wanda concedes, a smile returning to her face. “But it's water under the bridge now. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

“You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?” Valkyrie attempts to lighten the mood, but her tension is evident in her shaky voice and the way her fingers fiddle with her watch.

Wanda chuckles. “It's a skill I've been honing lately.”

Taking a deep, measured breath, Valkyrie gathers her courage. "Alright, here it is..."

Wanda tilts her head at her curiously, wondering what it’s about.

“I like you,” Valkyrie blurts out. “I don’t normally confess to someone I’m not even dating, but you’re… incredible. That's how I feel about you and I thought you should know."

“Oh! Uh…” Wanda trails off, blushing at Valkyrie’s confession.

Valkyrie nibbles at her lip, observing as Wanda fumbles to put her thoughts into words. She silently hopes she's left Wanda speechless in a good way.

“There’s… someone,” Wanda manages to utter out eventually. “I've been in love with her for the better part of my life.” Or maybe her whole life, if she’s being brutally honest.

Valkyrie nods, her throat tightening to hold back the sting of rejection. “It's her, isn't it?” she ventures, silently alluding to you.

Wanda diverts her gaze and emits a modest laugh. She must have made her feelings too obvious for anyone to see.

“She’s my ex-wife,” is all the explanation Wanda offers.

“Wow,” Valkyrie looks taken aback by the revelation. “That sounds messy.”

“It's beyond messy,” Wanda retorts.

“Go on,” Valkyrie encourages.

Wanda looks at her, thoughtful. “Are you sure you want to delve into my past? It might take some time.”

Valkyrie smiles, already leaning in closer to signify that she’s all ears. “I made time this morning specifically to talk to you. I want to understand, at least, why I'm being rejected.”

Wanda chuckles softly at the gesture. Collecting her thoughts, she starts to narrate a condensed version of the turbulent history she's had, of how she ruined everything that’s good in her life.

When Wanda wraps up her story, Valkyrie simply says, "Wow, that's... pretty fucking messed up."

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wanda admits, biting her lower lip, anxiety swirling in her gaze. She worries that revealing her darkest past may have cost her a budding friendship. “I think I saw your interest, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions and have the wrong idea. I just wanted us to be friends. I still do, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, I want to be friends with you, Wanda. More than the fact that you’re hot, we have a lot in common too.”

Wanda's cheeks tinge a soft pink at Valkyrie's flippant comment about her being ‘hot’.

“So, friends then?” Valkyrie extends her hand.

Wanda smiles in relief. “Friends.”

***

A phone call rouses you from sleep. You groggily glance at the clock and realize you've overslept.

“It’s done,” your lawyer's voice cuts through the grogginess as soon as you pick up the call.

Disoriented, you squint against the daylight streaming in through the window. “What are you referring to?” you inquire, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Vision has settled,” she elaborates, her words crisp and distinct. “And he caught a flight to Tokyo last night.”

“He's gone?”

“From what I've heard, he intended to use the settlement money to finance his studies overseas. He won't be returning in the near future. But even if he does decide to cut his trip short, you're safe. He has no legal means to trouble you anymore,” she assures you.

“You've got snitches now?” you quip, your eyes narrowing in suspicion even as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Her laughter rings out through the phone, followed by a breezy, “You're welcome,” before she ends the call.

It's over. A chapter of your past has finally closed. Vision has physically left the city, and you've literally paid your dues. You hadn't realized you were in a kind of self-imposed cage until now, when a sense of liberation pulses through your veins.

Before you can fully indulge in the relief provided by your lawyer's news, however, a persistent knock at your door breaks your reverie. You can't help but wonder who it could be, and how they bypassed the building's security without a notification from the concierge.

As you pull the door open, you find yourself face to face with the last person you expected to see.

“Nat?”

She appears ready to tear you apart. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, 'this is it, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend'. Strangely, you're indifferent to whatever she might inflict on you. Having her here at least affords you an opportunity to have a conversation.

Yet, Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't even spare you a glance. Instead, she brushes past you and starts gathering random items into a large duffel bag she brought along.

“Nat, can you please just talk to me?”

“What for, Y/N? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yelena broke up with me,” you say.

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Nat, please,” you plead. “You can’t just cut me out forever. I’m your best–”

“Are you?!” The outburst that tears from her is enough to make you recoil. “Are you my friend, Y/N? I woke up to my sister on my doorstep, in shambles. All thanks to my ‘friend’.”

You wrap your arms around yourself as tremors course through your body. Tears start to flow down your cheeks at the mere mention of Yelena.

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk,” Natasha rages on. “I stood by you through thick and thin. I held your hand through all the shit you went through last year. I brought you into my home. I took care of you. I loved you–” Natasha's voice catches on 'loved', and your heart shatters at her use of the past tense.

“–and you just betrayed me, like I meant nothing. You betrayed my sister like she meant nothing. We both cared about you, Y/N.” Her voice dwindles near the end, her next words coming out just above a whisper. “So, no, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m s–”

“You know what? I can’t fucking do this. I’m just gonna send someone to collect Yelena's things. If I don’t, just throw out her stuff like you did with your relationship. Goodbye, Y/N.”

The door slams shut behind her. You find yourself on the floor, curled into a ball, as you grieve the friendship you’ve known all your life.

***

Dark screens and unreturned messages follow.

Yelena has blocked you on every possible platform, cutting off any form of communication. Natasha hasn't, but she leaves all your messages unread, allowing your calls to go unanswered, seemingly enjoying your desperation. Clint ignores your texts, and Kate only responded once, promising to try and speak to Yelena for you. That was a week ago, and there's been no word since. You didn't think you'd be back in the dark place you were in a year ago, and the worst part is, you brought it on yourself this time.

The only news you get about Yelena is from your own mother. A few days after Yelena left your shared apartment, your mother called to ask what had happened. Apparently, Yelena had told her the news herself and asked her to take care of you and make sure you were alright. Throughout the call, you cried silently, feeling the remnants of Yelena's care for you even after you broke her heart.

And your mother, perennially at odds with handling emotions, simply offered her condolences. Although by doing so, she offered more support than she did when you were weathering your divorce from Wanda the year before. With your latest tragedy out of the way, she proceeded to ask if you could make time to visit Montauk over the holidays.

***

Drinking is… a problem. Again. 

But you approach it with more caution this time. You don’t drink as much at home so you can avoid not showing up at work the next day. Rather, you sneak in a flask in the office, sipping from it from time to time to keep you the right amount of…adrift. You’re too good with numbers that even with a little haze in your head, the alcohol doesn’t interfere with your work. 

It interferes with other thoughts.

***

When Kate finally calls you, you’re in the middle of a disastrous presentation at work. Her words had been brief, only giving you the time (three in the afternoon) and location (The New York Public Library) where she wanted to meet. 

It takes some time for you to locate Kate within the vast elegance of the Rose Main Reading Room. She's tucked away in the northeast corner, engrossed in her work, even on a Sunday. A towering pile of books rises to her eye level on her desk.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you.” Kate says without looking up as you settle on the vacant seat next to her.

“Wrong about me?” you ask, keeping your voice in a hushed tone.

“I had this fleeting thought that you might actually be a good person.” she says.

Swallowing hard, you struggle to find a response, well aware that Kate is just laying out the facts. What kind of person would cheat on their best friend's sister? What kind of person would throw away years of trust and a lifelong friendship?

“She told you?” you finally manage to ask.

“Yelena didn’t say much,” Kate says with a hint of sorrow. “But I've never seen her look so…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words, and eventually concludes, “She doesn't look like the Yelena I know.”

You’re afraid to ask what she means by that. You haven’t looked in the mirror yourself, in fear of seeing the results of your own wreckage.

“She quit today, you know?” Kate reveals, setting down her pen to give you her full attention. You don't see resentment in her eyes, only caution. This is the most compassion you've been shown since your relationship with Yelena fell apart. 

The news of Yelena's resignation hits you like a punch to the gut. She had a promising career ahead of her, and she'd found a supportive environment in her workplace. It's hard to believe she'd just abandon that so abruptly. You feel a wave of nausea at the thought.

“I sort of saw it coming,” Kate adds. “Not her resignation–God, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge. I… I saw you running back to Wanda.”

Your eyes narrow curiously as you regard Kate. “How?” 

Kate sighs, pushing a pile of papers to the side to give you her full attention. “It's not a secret, you know. You might think you're being discreet, but you’re more transparent than you'd like to believe. You’re a completely different person when she’s around. I saw it during the 6-miler event we all joined by chance.”

There’s no point in denying any of that. The weeks that follow after that, you were crying to your mother regarding your conflicted feelings about Wanda. But if you had been aware of the signs as early as then, would things be different somehow?

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Kate,” you say, the words sounding weak and inadequate to your own ears.

“I know,” Kate says quietly, and there's a touch of sympathy in her eyes that makes you feel even worse. “But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. And people are getting hurt because of it.”

You can sense that Kate is one of those people–by hurting Yelena, the girl she clearly loves. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You wish there was another way to convey how sorry you are–a keyword to make it all go away.

“Yeah, me too. Mostly because I have to tell you that we can no longer be friends.” Kate says, looking genuinely upset about her decision, her gaze dropping to her hands as she twirls the pen between her fingers.

“I know,” you nod, appreciating her honesty. “Thank you.”

“Look, I have no idea how deep your thing with Wanda goes. All I know is you can’t keep running away. You can’t keep hiding behind the comfort of other people.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment, even though you're uncertain how to put her words into practice.

"Can you pass on a message to Yelena for me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously.

Kate lets out a sigh, her fingers halting their movement on the pen. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“Could you tell her that I'm sorry...that I truly loved her?”

A moment of silence follows your request as Kate studies you, her lips pursed. It might seem hypocritical of you to make such a claim, but she refrains from passing judgment. But seeing your bloodshot eyes and your pale chapped lips and the lack of life in you, she thinks there’s probably some truth to it.

***

It takes you an additional week before you summon the courage to visit Wanda's apartment. 

Truth be told, you've been hiding away in shame, confining yourself to either your bedroom or your office, instructing your assistant to keep the door closed and not to disturb you, secluding yourself from the outside world. Aside from interactions at your work, you haven’t talked to anyone. 

A moment of misjudgment led you to lose everything that you were left with when you lost Wanda. But gradually, even as you were beating yourself up over and over again with the dissolution of your relationship with both Romanovs, Wanda became the only one you can think about. You can't escape her pull, no matter how hard you try. 

Eventually, you devolve into nothing more than a compulsion; a compelling need to see Wanda. Which is what brings you here, with your fist poised to knock on the door. But just before your knuckles make contact with the wooden panel, the door swings open, and Wanda's voice unthinkingly spills into the hallway where you stand.

“–let me ask if the neighbor has some sugar–” Wanda halts dead in her tracks as she comes face to face with you.

The timid smile on your face drops as soon as you realize she's not alone. Behind her, comfortably perched on the couch is Valkyrie.

“Seems like you're already entertained. I'll head out,” Valkyrie proposes, getting up on her feet. “I'll pick up my shirt when you come around for the run next week, sound good?”

Wanda nods in a daze to that, her eyes never leaving you.

"No, I should leave," you counter weakly.

“No, Y/N, please stay,” Wanda implores. “See you later, Val. Thanks for the shoes.”

You stiffen and step aside as Valkyrie moves to gather her belongings. When she finally approaches the door, standing next to you, she tilts her head to murmur a parting sentiment intended for your ears only.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I had a spill on my shirt. Don't let her down this time,” she whispers. 

Her words stun you into silence long after she's left.

“Y/N? Please, come in,” Wanda invites you, her voice trembling slightly. Nodding silently, you step inside.

You regard each other quietly, simply observing one another for what feels like an eternity. This isn’t how you imagined things would go when you thought about coming here this morning. You wanted to see Wanda because you needed to be with her. But now, all you can think about is Wanda and Valkyrie being all over each other.

“It’s been awhile,” Wanda offers, not really sure how to begin as you stay awkwardly near the door–as if you’re strategically placing yourself there in case you decide you want to run. She studies you, attempting to read your expression, to figure out what this could be about. She’s been thinking about the thumb drive that contained the video of her and Vision. Did you finally see it? Did you decide to pay him off?

Or is this about Yelena? Wanda’s been thinking if you came clean to your girlfriend about the kiss, wondering if you've managed to patch things up, and if Yelena has forgiven you.

If you’ve chosen to be with Yelena after all.

“Yeah, Valkyrie was here pretty early, wasn't she?” you state more than ask, a hint of bitterness edging your words. You glance at your watch, adding, “At 6:30 in the morning, no less.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your tone, as though she's on the receiving end of an unfounded accusation.

“She was on her morning run, dropped by to hand over a pair of shoes from her club's sponsor. Nothing more,” she explains.

You snort, "Sounds awfully convenient."

Rather than entertain your skepticism further, Wanda redirects the conversation elsewhere. What you presume about her and Valkyrie is the last of her worries right now.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Wanda asks, her voice a little unsure. When your eyes meet hers, Wanda sees the signs of sleepless nights and a certain emptiness that paints a clear picture.

You and Yelena are done.

And it's breaking you. Her heart aches, even knowing that you're now, technically, available. She never wanted this for you. And she can't help but feel that she messed up your happiness once again.

“I just... I needed to see you,” you admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Looks like you didn't waste any time though.”

“Valkyrie and I are just friends,” Wanda insists, the edge of her patience beginning to fray.

“You seriously think I'll believe that?” you shoot back.

Wanda heaves a sigh, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. Doesn't change the truth.”

“She was wearing your shirt.” you highlight, not quite ready to drop the issue.

“She spilled coffee on herself. I gave her a clean one. That's it.”

“And I'm supposed to accept that at face value?” you challenge, an eyebrow arched skeptically in her direction.

“Yes, you are!” Wanda says firmly. “Because it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you.”

I wouldn't lie to you. Her words reverberate within your skull, playing on repeat like a broken record.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? You're not sure whether you can still believe her.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda's plea rings out, sounding lost and desperate. She isn't even certain what she's asking for. What she does know is that you're teetering on the edge of a breakdown, still reeling from the pain of your breakup. 

You don’t look like you’re in the right mindset to talk about what you’re going through. About how you both left things. And as much as Wanda wants to figure this out with you, she can’t do anything if you’re not willing to trust her.

“Wouldn’t lie to me?” you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm and a painful sort of humor. “Alright, let's put that to the test, shall we?”

Wanda's throat tightens. She's unsure where you're heading with this.

“Yelena and I broke up. She left me that same morning,” you start off casually, as if discussing the weather. “Because she deserved better. Because I am, as it turns out, selfish and deceitful, right?”

“No–”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Wanda's mouth snaps shut at your words, a sense of finality creeping into her. “...yes,” she admits quietly.

Slowly, you advance towards Wanda, your steps intentional and calculated. She remains rooted in her spot, refusing to back down.

“Do you feel happy that Yelena and I have broken up?” you ask.

Wanda looks hurt by your question. "Y/N, no, of course not–”

Your stoic expression tells her you're not buying it.

“Do you regret our kiss?” you probe, stepping closer, until Wanda finds herself backed against the wall. You lean in, foreheads almost touching, your dark eyes daring her to lie to you.

Wanda takes her time to answer, but when she finally does, her expression is resolute, as though she's trying to prove a point to you. “No, I don’t regret it,” she murmurs, her words a mere breath against your lips. Wanda looks so taken by the hungry look in your eyes that she fails to see what comes next.

The kiss this time is a stark contrast from the last. There’s an edge of danger to it, almost like the kiss that started Wanda’s downfall that culminated in a near-death experience, the kiss that was punishing and every bit of the hatred you harbored for her. 

But there's also a desperation to it–as if you're sinking and this kiss is your lifeline; a frayed, ragged lifeline that could only be the one to pull you back to the surface. 

As Wanda's head hits the wall with a soft thud, a pang of concern breaks through the haze of your fervor. Swiftly, you slide your hand between her head and the hard concrete, cushioning her as the urgency of your kiss escalates. Wanda almost sobs at the subtle tenderness behind your action, the considerate gesture leaving her somewhat taken aback, considering the harsh exchange you'd had just moments before.

No, this is nothing like your previous encounter.

You're not biting down to break skin. Your fingers aren't pressing into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your tongue isn't demanding or invasive, it's simply there, matching her rhythm and intensity. Wanda is unable to do anything but moan under you and rub her thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s building there.

Yet, you still don’t let her touch you. You don’t let her fingers venture up your stomach from under your shirt. Instead, you catch her hands, lacing your fingers through hers, and pull her arms above her head. All the while, your lips deftly trace a path down her throat. It’s soft and wet and so utterly delicate–everything Wanda thinks she hasn’t earned.

Nothing prepares her for the moment your hand makes contact with her core, even through the fabric of her shorts. She realizes just how much you’ve been holding back when you cup her forcefully, groaning from the heat and dampness that hits your palm.

If this means what Wanda thinks it means, she doesn’t want it to happen against the wall of her living room.

“Y/N?” she whispers raggedly in your ear, feeling the heel of your hand starting to grind against her clit. 

“Yeah…?” you moan against her heated cheek as your fingers slips beneath her panties and find wet, wiry curls.

“Fuck–” Wanda whimpers at the contact. “B-Bedroom, please.”

Following her lead, you hoist Wanda up and her legs instinctively coil around your waist. She directs you towards her bedroom with verbal cues, realizing you're far too engrossed in lavishing attention on the skin just above her breasts to care about bumping into furniture. Your hand drifts up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and skillfully unfastening it.

And then no words are spoken at all after that.

***

Wanda stirs awake near noon, realizing that she's skipped her therapy appointment. Instinctively, her hands reach out to the area beside her, expecting to feel your warmth. However, she is greeted only by the cool sheets of the bed, the space vacant.

You're gone.

While she had been lost in dreams where she had a second chance at the life she yearned to have with you, you had quietly dressed and slipped out of her apartment, leaving no trace or note behind. You had vanished as silently and swiftly as a dream at daybreak.

Wanda arches her back, mimicking the languid stretch of a cat, the resulting pops of her spine easing the tension more than the action itself. The sex was… phenomenal. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.

When a bit of the afterglow wears off, she is haunted by a question: What happens now?

More importantly, are you coming back? Or is this a one-time thing for you?

With a weighty sigh, Wanda allows herself to collapse back onto the mattress. Doubt creeps in as she begins to question whether her decision to let this unfold was the right one. After all, you’ve both been down this path before, sex was not a magic remedy that mended everything. 

What she couldn’t deny, however, is how gentle you were with her. You were making love to her, and nothing could sway Wanda from this belief. It sparks a tiny ray of hope within her that perhaps this time, you're ready to give her another chance.

Maybe, just maybe, you're open to trying again.

Yet, the vacant space next to her feels almost accusatory. Wanda has never been fond of waiting. But it’s the only thing she can do for now.

After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

***

The call from her therapist comes at around nine in the evening. Wanda considers it a little unprofessional, given the late hour, but she supposes that Calliope sees at least a dozen patients a day. Truthfully, she’s been anticipating this call all day, especially after she deliberately skipped her session to–

A soft snore escapes from your half-open mouth, drawing Wanda’s attention momentarily.

–spend time with you. Wanda can’t explain it, but she’s afraid to bring this up to Calliope. And she knows that if she sees Calliope or talks to her, it would open the floodgates and everything will come rushing out before she can stop them.

She's missed two calls now, but the phone in her hand vibrates again and Calliope’s name stares back at her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda finally picks up.

“Hello, Wanda?”

“Hi,” Wanda replies, aiming to sound cheerful.

Calliope wastes no time getting to the purpose of this call. “You missed this morning’s session. Did something happen?”

Wanda's gaze drifts to you, sleeping soundly, your hair a mess as it spreads out in every direction. The sheets have slid down, exposing your bare back in a manner that makes her want to abandon the call and join you.

“Oh, uh... I just got tied up at the cafe. Sorry for not informing your secretary,” she hastily lies.

“So, everything's okay then?”

“Yes,” Wanda confirms, her eyes never leaving you as she replies honestly this time. Calliope seems satisfied with that and proceeds to book a slot for Wanda two days hence before ending the call.

You open an eye at her lazily, your voice muffled by the pillow as you ask, “Who was it?”

“No one,” Wanda says without batting an eye. “Just a supplier for the coffee shop.”

Your response is a drowsy murmur, your face sinking deeper into the pillow as you pursue the lingering traces of Wanda's scent. A smile tugs at Wanda's lips at the innocence of the gesture, despite the fact that you’re very naked under the covers. She hadn’t anticipated she’d see you again so soon, moreso that she’d sleep with you again right away when she does. But you had showed up unannounced, yet again, and casually asked Wanda if she'd eaten dinner already. Wanda had barely gotten the word ‘yes’ out, before you’re urgently reaching out and snatching her into a hungry kiss.

And then it was all lips and touches and her coming into your mouth three times until she had to literally cover herself with her hand just to get you to stop. 

Wanda's cheeks warm as she surrenders to the memory of your fervent reunion from only a few hours prior, but your sleep-laden murmurings, muffled as they are by the pillow your face is buried in, yank her back to the present. She chuckles lightly and perches herself at the edge of the bed, drawing a line along your back with her fingertips, raising goosebumps along the path.

"Can you repeat that?" she prompts, massaging your neck.

You lift your head slightly, your eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I said–do you need me to go?”

Wanda shakes her head, even though you can't see her. “Let’s just sleep,” she whispers.

Wanda gets up to remove her shirt over her head. Then, she slides back under the sheets and curls up against you. She presses her bare body to your back, fitting herself perfectly against your shape. Your warmth seeps into her, filling the cold spots that your absence had left behind.

Wanda notes that this is the first time you’re willing to stay since before you found out she cheated on you. She closes her eyes and allows herself to drift away. If you’re staying, then there's an opportunity to talk about this tomorrow.

***

Leaving a slumbering Wanda behind is not easy. You have to gingerly disentangle yourself from her grip to avoid waking her up. Initially, sleeping with Wanda was not part of your plan, but seeing her with Valkyrie had stirred a sense of jealousy within you that led to a powerful desire to claim Wanda as yours.

And so it kept happening, again and again–like a drug you just couldn't shake off.

You haven't really thought about what it all means. To be honest, you've been actively avoiding it. A week of overthinking has left you stuck at a dead-end, feeling numb and desperate to feel something, anything at all.

And in all this, Wanda is the only one who seems to fill the void, the only one who doesn't make you feel so alone.

***

“Dr. Williams?” Pietro says hesitantly as he picks up the call.

“Hi, Pietro. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,” comes Calliope's voice, clear and loud.

“No, I was just–did we have a scheduled meeting that slipped my mind?” he inquires, wondering about the suddenness of this call. 

“We didn't,” Calliope assures him. “I'm actually calling about Wanda. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently?”

Pietro doesn’t like the sound of this. “No, I haven’t. Is she okay?”

“She missed her appointment this morning without notice. It’s the second time in a row. And I just got off the phone with her… she was deflective.”

“I'll check in with her,” Pietro promptly assures, before adding more softly, “Should I be worried?”

“She has agreed to meet me on Tuesday,” Calliope replies, deftly skirting around his question. “So, it may not be a pressing matter. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No problem at all, Dr. Williams. Feel free to call anytime.”

As the call ends, Pietro is left alone with his thoughts. His mind is whirring with worry for Wanda, and he sits there for a moment, lost in thought. With a sigh, he places his phone back on the coffee table, a frown etching itself onto his face.

Feeling restless, he picks up his phone again, fingers swiping the screen with a certain degree of nervousness. His gallery opens up, a collection of countless memories frozen in pixels. He scrolls through it, stopping at a particular picture that still haunts him.

It's a hard image to look at, a memory of a particularly painful day. But he keeps it, just in case he needs it, a ghost hiding in his phone.

He knows, if push comes to shove, he has this to fall back on.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby | @swiftie1-0-1

[starlitmelanin]

hi can u pls write something where reader has been too busy to check in w aurelien but he’s had a difficult week and is receiving online hate and he feels hurt that reader is neglecting him in his time of need so he acts cold and distant but she apologises and makes it up to him

bruised hearts | aurélien tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x fem!reader

word count - 1.1k

warnings - none

another match lost.

another round of criticism raining down on aurélien.

he sat on the couch one night, head in his hands, the harsh reality of another crucial match slipping away settling like a heavy fog, suffocating and unavoidable. every missed opportunity, every misplaced pass replayed in his head like a haunting loop, the voices of critics louder than ever.

it was ridiculous, really, how quickly the world turned against him. one bad game, and suddenly, he was the villain in their story. they didn't see the effort, the countless hours of training, the sacrifices made. they only saw the mistakes, the moments of imperfection that they blew out of proportion.

the headlines were merciless, blogs and social media lighting up with malicious comments, fingers pointed squarely at him, as if he alone carried the weight of the team's failures. he had become the poster child for every perceived failure of real madrid, and he felt the sting of their words, each comment like a dagger to his confidence.

his nights became restless, haunted by self-doubt and frustration, and in the midst of it all, he longed for the comfort of one person.

you.

you were supposed to be his anchor, the one who grounded him when everything else was falling apart. but lately, even you seemed distant, preoccupied with your own life. he understood, he really did. yet, it didn't make the absence of your support any less painful.

you'd been busy. that was the simplest way to put it. deadlines at work, family obligations, and just the general chaos of life had pulled you in a million different directions. it felt like you had little left to give when you came home, barely managing to exchange a few words with aurélien before collapsing into bed.

you hadn't noticed the changes in his demeanour, the subtle signs. how he lingered longer in bed, his eyes clouded with a heaviness that wasn't just fatigue, how he'd withdrawn into himself, his usual bright energy dimmed, how the small frown lines etched deeper across his forehead whenever he glanced at his phone.

the few moments you did share with aurélien were filled with your distracted kisses and half-hearted hugs. you missed the tightness in his jaw when you brushed off his attempts to talk, the way he tensed when your phone buzzed yet again, pulling you away from him.

the inevitable argument came on a rainy friday afternoon. you were both home early for once. aurélien was sitting at the kitchen table, his deflated mood evident in his slumped posture and the distant look in his eyes.

dropping your phone, keys, and a takeaway bag on the counter, you greeted him with a tired smile, leaning in for a kiss. he turned his head, and your lips brushed his cheek instead.

the snub definitely stung, but you let it slide, chalking it up to him probably just being tired.

"you okay?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

"i'm great," he replied, his voice clipped. "walking on sunshine, actually."

you frowned at the clear sarcasm. "you sure? you seem—"

"i said i'm fine, y/n," he snapped, cutting you off.

"okay, what's your problem?" you finally asked, your voice edged with frustration. "why are you acting like this?"

"my problem?" he looked up at you then, his eyes cold and hard. "my problem is that my girlfriend can't even see that i'm struggling. my problem is that you've been so wrapped up in your own world that you haven't even noticed what's been happening to me."

"noticed what?" your eyebrows knitted in confusion, surprised by the sudden raw pain in his eyes. "what are you talking about, aurélien? i don't understand—"

"exactly!" he stood up, anger flaring up to mask the hurt. "you don't understand because you haven't been paying attention. i've had the worst week, and you've been too busy to even see it."

your frown deepened, your mind a tumult of confusion as you replayed the week in your mind, trying to figure out what could've led to this, but you came up empty. "what happened?"

his phone was shoved towards you, messages and tweets filling the display. he'd been trending all day, a staggering 30k tweets under his tag. a mocking tweet about his talent was the first thing you saw. it was posted only a few hours ago, but it already had a ridiculous amount of likes.

you continued scrolling, seeing all the negativity, the animosity, the resentment being shown towards him, each one more vicious than the last. your stomach twisted as you read the hateful words, the malice aimed at the man you loved.

"aurélien, i... i'm sorry. work has been crazy and–"

"and what? you couldn't take five minutes to ask how i'm doing? to see if i'm okay?"

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, guilt and regret crashing over you. "i didn't know. i should have known. i'm sorry."

he didn't respond, just turned away, retreating to the guest room for the night. you barely slept, the night too long, the bed too cold, your mind replaying the argument over and over.

the next morning, you found him sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in his hands. he looked tired, his eyes shadowed with sleeplessness.

you approached cautiously, your heart heavy. "aurélien, can we talk?"

something in your tone must have reached him, because he glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. "yeah, we can talk."

you sat down across from him, taking a deep breath. "i'm really sorry about last night. about this whole week. i know i've been neglectful."

he didn't say anything, so you continued. "i didn't realise you were going through so much. you were right, i should have paid more attention."

"i'm sorry too," he said after a moment, reaching across the table to take your hand. you were his person, so naturally, he could never stay angry with you for very long. "i shouldn't have yelled at you. i was hurt and i lashed out."

you squeezed his hand, softly, reassuringly. “it’s okay.”

the two of you sat there for a while and had a conversation. a genuine conversation. about your priorities, about the things you both needed to work on.

it was a start.

as you cleared the dishes some time later and he got up to leave for training, you leaned against the counter, watching him. "good luck today," you said softly. "i love you."

he paused, turning to look at you. "thanks," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he leaned in to give you a kiss. "i love you too."

and as he walked out the door, you felt a tiny bit of the weight lift off your shoulders. it wasn't perfect. it was a little bit messy, a little bit ruined. but it was yours.

you'd get it right, eventually.

[tojisun]

"...but you were a stray piece, unable to truly fit in." GHOAP WHEN I CATCH YOU. WHEN I CATCH YOU!!!!!!

I think what I really enjoy about hyde is seeing the strength and selflessness they have in this situation, even at the expense of their own self. Because it is a Herculean task to leave the person you love and the person you grew a connection with, even if the extent of those relationships fell short of what you wanted. But there's also an element of hope in their character, at least for me there is. This same strength could easily pick the pieces of themselves back up. It could easily hold those pieces together again. It could easily allow them to move on. But the human aspect of their character is that they'll likely hold onto them (figuratively) for as long as they can, even when they don't know the way Ghost had begun to warm up to them, the way Soap was filled with sorrow once he found out they had left. It's just the way grief works - you gotta go through the waves before there's any chance at moving on.

It makes me wonder how Ghoap fare after they find out Hyde left. We know they grow a little connection to them, especially Ghost since he doesn't warm up to people well, but did the boys have a deep enough connection to grieve for what could've been? Does Soap even know that Ghost was warming up to Hyde? That he was looking forward to the three of them? Did Soap truly want a poly relationship? Do they realize how selfish they had been for indulging in each other freely but stringing Hyde along with scraps of their affection? all thoughts, all wonder. no need to answer any of those questions btw, just wanted to share my thoughts!!

im so sorry it took so long to reply to this ask because of how much it meant to me. im so so happy to see the love for hwwl and hyde, and how even amidst the dogshit i put them through, you guys indulge me anyway 🥹

and absolutely!! going into writing hwwl, as inconsistent and short bursts they are, i have always known two things: hyde will always leave, and ghoap will always face some type of hurt because of it. i guess another thing to glean from that is that hwwl wouldn't have a happy ending in a romantic way. there's no good suffering (hyde and their selflessness leading to a requited love) nor a chase (ghoap running after them to bring them back into their fold) nor a revenge arc (someone else loving hyde the way they should, and it being thrown to ghoap's faces). it is just a quiet splintering, as everything is with hyde.

i'm so so glad to see you mention the element of hope in their character. hyde deserves that at least. yes, they let themselves be dragged into the mess with ghoap because it had been the only way they can even have ghost in their life, but they also deserve to step back. there were sooo many scenarios i wanted to bring out that would end up with hyde leaving - some of them explosive, and some of them so entrenched in turmoil - but just thinking about how they left in the midst of mending things with ghost (that one-sided animosity that ghost held onto) was such a sweet release. it's like when an over-inflated balloon is held carefully, and the tight hold on the rubbered end loosens up slowly until enough helium leaves so that no explosion happens. and it's as peaceful as it could be; a kind escape, and hyde deserves a quiet parting so no... ghost (ha!) can haunt them in their new voyage.

thank you so much for this and teehee i answered ur questions!! mostly because i do love shaping hwwl like this, through asks, but also the next instalment is being a bastard and i can't finish it ugh </3

but did the boys have a deep enough connection to grieve for what could've been?

i thought about this day and night because i know in my heart of hearts, ghost wouldnt. johnny would, at least for what it was - before it was ghost and soap and hyde. he would miss that slip of thing that only he and hyde had. and i think johnny needs to feel guilty every time ghost comes over to pull him in ghost will always wait for him, of course he will, but i see this distance creating another friction, then another cause for ghost's resentment to hyde

Does Soap even know that Ghost was warming up to Hyde? That he was looking forward to the three of them?

he will never because ghost will deny himself, and therefore johnny, any moment of regretting. hyde left them, why would ghost let their past haunt him? (it always does).

Did Soap truly want a poly relationship?

not at first. he was... selfish. he just wanted them for himself; with no commitment. he rationalized it by saying that in their bleak reality, with such a thunderous life, it was difficult to have anything more than pressed bodies and hot kisses. but when he is alone in his bunk - hyde had already started pulling away by then, and ghost is away on a mission with gaz - johnny thinks and feels and yearns

Do they realize how selfish they had been for indulging in each other freely but stringing Hyde along with scraps of their affection?

ghost knew hyde loved him. he know hyde only agreed because that arrangement was only ever the extent that ghost would give of himself to them. and he used it to tag them along because johnny liked - loves - hyde, and ghost loves johnny so he will give him everything johnny knew. he just... pretended he couldn't see because he trusted hyde to pull away if they don't want this fucked up arrangement anymore. he just didn't expect them to leave

[meowcatsposts]

Warm [Werewolf bf]

⚠︎ warning ⚠︎ : a little angsty at the beginning, yandere behavior from Argos

✎ notes:

idk if this fic makes a lot of sense - if it doesn't, I'm sorry (I needed an outlet for my emotions, esp with this one)

if you're interested, here's the previous part!

Overview: Argos begins to give you more freedom, but it might've not been the best idea. (He also treats you to a warm bath btw)

It’d been a shitty week. Everything had been bubbling and churning and crashing inside you, like litter in the ocean. Litter choked and killed the poor sea life; people choked and killed your emotions. You tried your hardest to hide it from your keen boyfriend and it seemed to work, because he didn’t say anything. 

As twisted as it sounded, Argos stayed silent because he wanted you to be happy. He’d been giving you much more freedom lately–on the sole promise of secrecy–and you (and he) thought you’d absolutely enjoy it. Interacting with people other than him was refreshing–thrilling, even…at first. Your family and friends and acquaintances were oh so glad you were back, and it brought a huge smile on your face. They missed you! 

Argos followed you, however, anywhere you went. Sometimes he was a human, wearing a hoodie with sweatpants. Most times he was a wolf, slinking into alleys and shadows. He was happy to see you happy–he cherished your smile…loved your laugh, after all–but he just couldn’t shake off the fact that they never asked you what happened or where you went. Ever. If they cared for you, he thought, wouldn’t they wonder?

Currently, you were at a lovely gathering and in the midst of venting to a trusted confidant. Curses wouldn’t stop spilling from your mouth and you half thought no one deserved to hear the profanities spewing through your lips, but they nodded along, sitting on a chair and sipping on a drink. You were getting to a peak in your story, then–

“This is really good!” they exclaimed, gazing into their cup. “What did they put in this?”

Oh.

The response was so out of pocket and so completely unrelated to what you were venting about, it sucked all the words right from your mouth. Your mind went blank. 

“I-” you started. 

“You know,” they continued to babble…and the rest faded away.

Quite frankly, you were beyond offended. Despite seeing all red you politely excused yourself and calmly walked away, drink quivering in your hand. You thought you’d nearly break that pretty little glass cup. Stay calm, you urged yourself. Stay calm. The last thing you–or anyone else, for the matter–wanted was another tiring confrontation at a lovely reunion, right?

Argos saw how your lower lip quivered. He saw how your eyes glistened. He saw how hard you gripped your drink. He saw everything, and it took all of his willpower not to rip the door off its hinges with his claws and steal you away. Sharp ears pressed against his head, his black fur melted with the shadows’ dark embrace. He’d get you out. Somehow. 

“Oh? Who’s this?”

Hearing some excited whispers, you glanced over to see what was happening. It’s probably some long-lost person coming to visit, you told yourself, standing uncomfortably in the corner of the room, swirling your empty glass. Nothing interesting, most likely.

Wrong. 

Among the sea of voices you heard his, gravelly and deep. It cut through the air like a sharp knife, and it sent shivers up and down your spine. 

It was Argos, in the flesh. 

What in the world was he doing here? His copper eyes locked with yours and you quickly looked away, fighting the crooked smile that was creeping up your lips–he never failed to find you, did he? When you looked up again he was standing in front of you, large frame engulfing your vision. You nearly let out a yelp but he put a finger up to his lips, silently shushing you. (That simple shirt–the way it stretched tautly over his shoulders and chest, hugging his pale arms tight–looked delicious on him, you thought. As always.)

“What are you–” you started, in a hushed sort of way.

He cut you off by holding onto your hand rather firmly, but not enough to dig into your skin.

“Taking you home,” he replied, rather harshly. 

His voice was low as if he was purposely killing it; it came out in an almost baritone growl. His copper eyes were glued to the door–your ticket out. As you stared at him bewildered, he tilted his head toward the exit as if saying, ‘Let’s go home,’ and all you could do was oblige, half-stunned and half-grateful for his sudden act.

He whispered a soft, “Come,” as he squeezed your hand and tugged you along with him.

Inevitably, people tried to pry and ask questions, but he evaded each query with a charming, rugged smile and swiftly went along his way, you in tow. It seemed to work, because they stood there, too stunned to speak. 

When the two of you were out of prying eyes and ears, Argos shifted. (He had you hold his clothes, though, before he did; he shredded too many already.) He was so big–bigger than a pack mule–yet silent and invisible. (No wonder he’s able to stalk you.) Fur as black as obsidian ran in silky waves along his robust body, thick coat melding perfectly with the night. Paws as big as a dog’s head touched the ground as he gazed at you expectantly.

“You want me to ride on your back?” you asked, quite unsure. 

A muffled hum rumbled in his throat, telling you, “Yes.”

“...Ok.”

The ride home was pleasant. You mindlessly played with Argos’s thick black fur, running your fingers along it, pinching it gently. It was relaxing, hearing the soft crunch of leaves beneath you, burying your face in his warm back. He didn’t mind it when you played with his ears, either, or when you ran your hands along the sides of his fuzzy neck. He was just happy you seemed calmer. Less sad. 

After shifting back, Argos decided to treat you to a small bath. Might as well, he figured, because his clothes were off and you didn’t seem to mind the nudity anymore. The bath wasn’t anything fancy–no petals, no bubbles, no oils–but it was warm, and he was there to take care of you. His deft fingers massaged shampoo into your scalp, and you sighed in relief.

“Are you ok?” he’d ask softly once in a while, washing you off. You just hummed in response, eyes closed and enjoying the sound of water bouncing off the walls. 

He got into the tub after washing up himself, warm water sloshing around as you felt his skin against yours. You leaned into his touch. He pressed gentle kisses on your nape, then along the curve of your neck and shoulder, bringing you closer with his arms.

After a few moments of comfortable silence he mumbled against your shoulder, “What I did was a mistake…” frustration tinging his voice. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You knew damn well the reason why, but nonetheless asked softly, “...Why?”

He didn’t say anything, just buried his face in your shoulder further, arms wrapping around your waist tighter. 

They’d pay, he thought to himself.

[chemicallywrit]

Well well well, look who's having a real day off for the first time in six thousand years! I'm gonna write because that's what my soul needs! It's time for Audio Drama Sunday! Here's some shows I enjoyed this week...

♟️ @camlannpod first of all. I called it. Second of all. How DARE you. The discussions about names and power in this episode were fascinating and...I don't know, I love a hero who's devastatingly normal. Gwen/Shujun can make anything happen with her words, is the damsel in distress, but she's just normal. Perry is normal, Morgan is normal, and Dai might not be normal by neurotypical measures, but he's just some guy. Except that he's really not. And the group of them can either embrace it or suffer.

🧃There is never a week when @thesiltverses doesn't go all the way off, and this one went ALL the way off. We have to talk about Shrue having a whole breakdown and then moving forward anyway. Felix, Ray, and Daisy were amazing, but I also have to give all the flowers to Rhys Lawton, who I met recently and was an utterly terrible villain in this episode. Corporate horror. Who knew? (Anyone who works in corporate knew.)

🐗 The season finale of @victoriocity was funny and amazing and incredibly well done as always, but the stand-out moments are the moments of friendship between Clara and Fleet. I just. I love them your honor. They are best friends. Do not separate them. It's really good to see Fleet cracking open a little bit. Just a little. He's still Fleet, after all.

🍦I listened to the new Among the Stars and Bones on the way home from work and it was absolutely chilling. My word. The number of times I screamed. Oliver Smith was incredibly scary even in the midst of the horror, Jordan Cobb is always a treat, and my word, the crowd of Nabonidas crew members...Hey, Chris Magilton, writer of Among the Stars and Bones, what the hap is heckening???

1️⃣3️⃣ I've started listening to Thirteen! I love a horror anthology, but especially one with a central theme. So far most of the stories present you with a protagonist who is missing closure, and a creature who offers it, for a price. Thirteen is about grief. The stories are rhythmic and spooky, and at one point alone in my house I actually really scared myself listening. Check out Thirteen, it's a treat.

⛽️ In other shows I've started listening to, @desertskiespodcast is gorgeous and lovely and...the only word I can think of is effervescent. It's like a cold soda on a road trip. It's maybe just what I needed. My favorite part is definitely the cold opens, especially the one about Cash laughing. Jared Carter has incredible comedic timing.

In Inn Between news, we just posted 5.8: The Blood, which might be my favorite episode of the season, depending on how the next one turns out. In The Dead news, this next story is a HUMDINGER. Did you cry at Giancarlo in the last story? GOOD, now it's time to run for your life through London. Y'all are gonna love this.

Catch y'all next week or whenever I have time to write again! If you like what all this is, maybe drop me a tip?

[riacte]

I think one of Aqua29's (H, Dave, False, Cub) best qualities is that they were an extremely forgiving and consistent team

(I know the MCC just happened, but my brain is going crazy right now and all the details are flying past my head but I hope you'll get the general idea.)

MCC's nature is that it is unpredictable. That's what makes it fun! The chickens, the weird lag (sometimes 💀), luck, sudden clutches, etc etc. But this unpredictability can sometimes mess up teams on a really good trajectory. One "bad" or "unwanted" game would kill a team's morale- I've seen that before.

In the midst of the MCC chaos, Aqua29 is very solid. They were steadily climbing up the ranks and kept their morale high. Even when they won one round of Dodgebolt, they convinced themselves to act like they "were losing". I forgot the English word for it but their mental states / attitudes were very consistent throughout the entire MCC. This helps them power through the unpredictability. Especially for MCC29, which is a well-balanced MCC and pretty difficult to predict (and the stats don't do False and Cub justice in this particular situation).

As I said before, Aqua29 is very forgiving. This allows them space to make mistakes and to bounce back. Dave felt pretty guilty over dying to speedbridging in Sky Battle and said he really usually doesn't do that, and while the loss of the team's best PvPer might be fatal in some other situations, Aqua honestly did fine. Their morale wasn't affected.

In Rocket Spleef Rush, sometimes a teammate would die "early", leaving two teammates behind, and it felt like they took turns dying early, which showed how balanced they were. Same with TGTTOS. Sometimes an individual teammate might get unlucky in a round of TGTTOS, but overall they all worked hard, and they could pull it back.

Battle Box would be another good example, in which they lost the first two rounds, adjusted their strategy, and then did better. Dave also apologised for missing the comms during the round against Purple, but like SkB, they progressed normally.

In Grid Runners, sometimes they placed bottom half in some rooms, but they steadily improved and cleared them faster- ending up in the last room in which H bossed everyone around and they got through it the quickest. There is a narrative: they learned from earlier "mistakes", had the room to afford making mistakes, and improved. Therefore, they rose up.

And Dodgebolt. Dodgebolt! All four of them are good at it. Of course, we have HBomb, king of Dodgebolt. Then Dave, confident PvPer. The two hermits, both great shots, have grown more confident in their skills. They all trusted themselves to the point they didn't need H to nudge the arrow in their direction- they just picked up the arrow if they felt like it. Cub did that, and he got his kills. Even if half of the team was taken out, or heck, even if it was a 1v3, they had enough skill to power through. All four of them were in good shape, felt great, and meshed well together.

In a way, Aqua29 are each other's safety nets. No one got top 10. Their placements were: 12th, 13th, 20th, 21st. Which honestly wasn't too far from each other. You won't really expect a team with those individual rankings to get second in coins, but they did. Even if False ended up losing the 1v3, her valiant efforts would motivate the team even more and I'm sure they would've won (even though a Cyan reverse sweep would be cool).

And it's this kind of stability and mutual support that powered them through MCC. They didn't get the finale they wanted (Survival Games), that was out of their control, but they squeezed themselves into Dodgebolt anyway. I won't deny that they were lucky- MCC is unpredictable, so luck is often a factor, but I feel they could weather a storm.

Aqua29 is a nice team to watch live. They always bring it back, and I'm not just talking about placements or coins, it's also their morale. This team is going up with Blue9 and Purple15 as one of the competitive hermit teams with best overall team synergy. They were very stable and encouraging of each other <3

[annepsilvaauthor]

Begin Again - Lee Dutton

Pairing: Lee Dutton x OC (Natalie WentWorth)

Summary: The life of renowned lawyer Natalie WentWorth was quiet in Boston, but everything changed when she received a call from a former Harvard colleague, Jamie Dutton. After reflecting a lot, Natalie agreed to solve some problems at the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch, but she did not imagine that her life would change completely when she arrived in Montana. One of the reasons for this change was Lee Dutton, the eldest son of John Dutton, cowboy and livestock agent, who would represent all the comfort she needed to have in the midst of the chaos of the Dutton family. Natalie could begin again at that ranch.

Warnings: Subtle sexual innuendos, brief language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, fluffy.

Part I

Cowboy stuff

Lee was sitting in one of the stands of the Greater Montana Livestock Auction when the president of the session asked everyone to get up, as the Montana anthem would be sung. There were around a hundred people scattered around the shed, some went to really buy the cattle, the buffaloes or the horses arranged surrounded in the center, others accompanied those who would come to buy, to have fun, and others, those who were upstairs of the place, came to do politics. It was in that place that his father was at that moment.

Lee stood up, took off his hat and held it on his chest as a sign of respect. The little girl of no more than twelve years old singed the Montana anthem in the microphone while the rest of the audience stared at the Montana flag extended from top to bottom on the wall behind the auction directors' table. He had not yet returned home since what happened at the Reservation, he just had time to stop by a cafeteria to buy some donuts and remove the bulletproof vest. Lee wore the same heavy boots dirty with mud, jeans, flannel shirt and a cream jacket, which matched the color of his hat.

After the anthem was sung, everyone clapped their hands and the auction actually started. Two cowboys rode on the horses and began to chase half a dozen cows in the enclosure while the announcer explained the qualities of those horses. However, Lee could not pay attention to the first batch because the entrance door opened and that lawyer appeared. Like him, she still wore the same clothes that afternoon, with the difference that the curls of her blonde dyed hair were falling apart, but she was still beautiful.

Lee watched Natalie walk aimlessly through the corridors between the stands as if she were looking for a familiar face or some specific place to sit. Her small size probably prevented her from seeing on the other side of the fence, despite wearing very high heels that highlighted the shape of her legs. She walked confident, with her expression concentrated, but Lee somehow knew she was lost.

Then he raised an arm and waved to her with a smile. Natalie didn't realize it right away, since he was on the other side of the enclosure and the announcer screamed in the microphone. Lee got up and went down the stairs from the bleachers, walking towards her.

"Are you lost, Miss WentWorth?" He joked as he approached her, scaring her slightly.

"Why are you everywhere I go?" She asked, still looking upset.

"This is my state, madam. You're the intruder here." Lee mocked by trying to pull out a smile from her, but she was irreducible. "I can guide you where you want to go."

Natalie sighed strongly and pierced her eyes through the environment. "I have no idea. Jamie told me he would be here, but he didn't clarify where he would be."

"Jamie? Jamie Dutton, my brother?" He asked surprised and she nodded. "I'm confused."

"I don't have time to explain now, Mr. Dutton. I just need to talk to your brother urgently."

"OK." Lee sighed and looked up at the office on the second floor of the auction. "He's up there."

"Thank you." Natalie was already heading towards the office, but Lee interrupted her with a hand on her small arm.

"I don't think you're allowed to enter there. There are only the most influential people in the state and they don't allow anyone to enter." Lee explained politely, but you could feel a little afraid in his tone.

"I was invited by your brother to be there. I'm sure they'll let me in." She got rid of his touch easily since he didn't squeeze her tightly. Natalie took a few steps towards the cabinet again, but stopped and caught up with Lee. "Aren't you like John Dutton's successor? Shouldn't you be up there too?"

"I spend all the day busy with this political bullshit, ma'am. I don't want to waste my night with that either." He explained looking upset about something for the first time. "If you want to try your luck up there, it's your problem. I'm going to stay down here doing something I know and like to do: cowboy stuff."

Lee hid his hands inside the pockets of the jacket and turned his back on Natalie, walking back to his place in the stands. He observed that she disappeared through the door that gave access to the stairs on the second floor and he decided to concentrate on what he had come to do there.

"Now, we're gonna start out with lot number two! It's Royal M. Duke a 2013 registered English bull ofered by Double G Angus Ranch sired by Supreme Domino out of Miss Domino. Now, we're gonna start the bidding out at 25,000." The announcer screamed in the microphone while the animals paraded in the enclosure.

"I'm at 25!"

"I'm at 50!"

The ranchers raised their plates to warn about the auction bid and Lee was just watching for now. He used to do that long enough not to be enchanted by the first lots, because they were usually the most expensive and did not always have enough potential for the price. If it were his father there he would certainly buy those oxen, since they were strong and virile, after all it would be a great way to resell them later. But Lee just thought about how those animals would behave in the pasture, whether they would be able to help or destroy the ranch. It was like his father always said, Lee had a thought of a cowboy and not a landowner.

After lot two was sold, Lee noted that Natalie reappeared on the ground floor with a worse expression than she was before. She stepped on her heels so firmly that even from afar Lee could swear that he heard the 'tec-tec-tec' noise on the floor. Natalie crossed the fence and found Lee's bleachers. She snaked between the people until she reached the last step, sitting next to him with all the strength she had. Natalie snorted so much that she looked more like one of the oxen being sold down there, although those oxen seemed more docile than her at that moment.

"Do you want to...?" Lee tried to talk, but she interrupted him with her index finger in the air.

"No word. If I hear another Dutton speak today, I'll explode!" She squirted keeping her hands closed next to her head and Lee widened his eyes.

Then he scrambled in the bag and removed a pink box, where the donuts were stored. Lee chose one with a vanilla flavor and offered one of the donuts to Natalie without saying a single word. He watched her eyebrows descend in accordance with her shoulders and she chose a chocolate-flavored doughnut. When taking a big bite, Natalie let out an exhausted sigh mixed with satisfaction. Lee didn't say a word, just smiled and continued to observe the following lots.

When lot five was sold, Lee felt confident enough to talk to the woman next to him. She seemed calmer, she had eaten almost all the donuts he bought, but he didn't care. She seemed to be having a very difficult day, so a little sweet wouldn't hurt her.

"There's only one thing I like more than taking care of my father's ranch." He started in a mild, polite tone.

"And what would it be?"

"Donuts." Lee lifted the empty box and Natalie seemed to realize that she had attacked those donuts.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay. They were really a lot of donuts." He smiled playfully and she gave a mini smile. "A smile. We're getting progress, aren't we?"

"I'm not always like that, you know? You're only seeing me on a bad day. And getting hungry affects my mood even more." She confessed watching the horses run through the fence.

"I'm glad I had food, otherwise I would probably be the food." He played once again and she kept her smile. "How many hours have you not eaten?"

"Since I arrived in Montana. It's a novelty after novelty and I didn't have much time to eat or even to go to my apartment." She paused to look around. "And now I'm sitting in the stands of a livestock auction next to a person I don't even know. What a strange way to end the day, don't you think?"

"What do you mean we don't get to know each other? You know my name and my job, you even know who my family is. And now you know I love doughnuts. That seems to me to know a lot about someone."

"This argument is so unbelievable that I almost agree." She crossed her legs and watched him for the first time that night, noticing that there were doughnut crumbs on his beard. She laughed internally. "There are...crumbs in your beard..."

"What?" He tried to look down as if it were possible to see the crumbs that way and tried another way. Lee ran his fingers through his beard, but because it was too thick it was difficult to remove the pieces.

"Here, let me help you." Natalie advanced her hands towards him, but Lee interrupted her with a dazed look.

"Be careful, it's hard to make it perfect like that."

Natalie rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'll be, now, shiu."

Lee watched her little fingers reach for his beard, wiping his hair with concentration and dexterity. He watched her small face, brown eyes, prancing nose and small, full lips, as if they formed a heart. She was a really beautiful woman, a different beauty from the one he found in Montana, it was something refined, subtle, feminine. He could barely feel her touch, but he still did. It was a delicate one, even kind. Lee was enjoying that version of her. At least, Natalie didn't want to kill him anymore.

"Your father doesn't want my help." She confessed seriously while still touching his beard. "The reason for this you must know by heart."

Lee reflected for a moment and understood what she wanted to refer to. "He didn't let you in there, did he?" Natalie shook her head confirming his question. "What about Jamie?"

"Well, he asked me to wait out here." Her tone regained a certain annoyance. "I don't understand why I left my city to come here and be humiliated like that."

Lee sighed strongly, grunting a little. "What do you have with my brother anyway?"

"We studied together at Harvard. We become friends and even work together in some cases. Then he returned to Montana and we lost contact every day. Two weeks ago he called me asking for help with his family's affairs, but apparently he didn't ask for his father's opinion."

"He didn't ask because he knew that his answer would be no. My father doesn't trust those who are not in the family, much less those who are from another state."

"And what does he do up there if he doesn't trust people outside the family?"

"It's an influence. To do politics it is not necessary for there to be trust from both sides, in fact, it seems to me the complete opposite. You must be suspicious of people to be able to be two or three steps ahead of them."

Natalie lowered her hands to her own lap and looked at him with a reinvigorated curiosity. He could even swear that he could see a smile on her graceful face. "For someone who is not interested in politics, you seem to understand it well."

Lee let out an ironic laugh. "I said I didn't like it, I didn't say I didn't understand it."

It was her turn to laugh, but in a restrained mode. "You are more than your name and your job, Mr. Dutton, much more than that. If you were up there you would probably be the kindest person in that room."

"I'm not sure about that, but I certainly wouldn't prevent a competent lawyer from entering."

"I would really appreciate that."

Lee noticed her gaze changing towards him, it seemed more friendly, even kind, as if she were lowering her guard with him. He returned her comment with a complete smile trying to show her that despite being a Dutton, he was not so thick, unless he needed to be, which hardly happened. Dirty work usually stayed with his father or with Rip. Lee only dealt with the real affairs of the ranch and the livestock commission. The conversation between the two did not stretch for long, because they noticed Jamie approaching the stands.

"Maybe I need to buy more donuts?" Lee asked her when Jamie approached.

"Thank you, but I can deal with it more calmly now." She replied with a tiny smile.

"If you think so..."

Jamie crossed the steps of the stands and asked one of the ranchers to move away so that he could sit next to Natalie. It was a discordant vision, two lawyers properly dressed among ranchers who only cared about cattle being auctioned in the fence in front of them. They were displaced, so they caught the attention of almost everyone present in that place, including the people upstairs. They caught their father's attention.

"I see you've already met my brother Lee." Jamie announced it to her with a smile and waved to his own brother.

"It seems that he is the only Dutton who really gives me some credit here." Natalie seriously mocked and Jamie gave up his smile. "Don't tell me I came here for anything, Jamie."

"I wouldn't say that. I just didn't have enough time to tell him because I called you here."

"You had two fucking weeks to tell him, Jamie."

The Dutton sighed strongly and lowered his head, shaking it in accordance with what she said. "He doesn't know the seriousness of what we are facing. There was no one here competent and reliable enough who could help me with that."

"So because of your cowardice in talking to your father about my arrival I was humiliated all day. I'm not surprised that you need help, Jamie, you can't even have the courage to try to convince your father about the matters of his own interest." Natalia acquired a firm and even enraged tone by pouring her indignation on Jamie.

"I understand your anger, Nat. And I'm sorry about that, I'm really sorry. I will be honest about what we are facing and I am sure he will accept your help."

"Are you really convinced of that? He didn't seem willing to change his opinion."

"I can talk to him." Lee intruded in the conversation, having the curious look of both lawyers. "One cowboy understands the other."

"That's not your job, Mr. Dutton. It wasn't you who made me drive thirty-six hours from one state to another." Natalie stared back at Jamie, who swallowed it dry and fixed his suit.

"I'll fix it, I promise." Jamie didn't wait for her to give a triplica about that and soon got up. "Do you need help with the change?"

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you do, that's why I called you."

Jamie went down the steps and was soon walking back to the cabin on the second floor. Lee listened to Natalie's strong and accelerated breathing next to him and decided to leave her quiet, after all, he had no more donuts to calm her down. The next few weeks would certainly be busy and he couldn't wait for them.

[gabriels-wings-of-freedom]

sorry to bother but..

just imagining gabriel calming down an angry and pissed off s/o at the Winchesters in particular

bonus if they dont get angry easily

also you're one of my favorite gabe/spn blogs who still post ^^♥

Awwww, thank you!! Enjoy!💖

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

Mad

The Winchester boys really piss you off one day. Luckily, Gabriel is there to stop any homicides from happening.

The boys have finally done it. They hit a new low that's so low that you actually managed to get angry at them. In fact, it wasn't just one thing. It was a multitude of things that built up until you finally snapped at them.

And it was scary.

Dean always was one to irritate a little, but Sam was too nice for that. It was only when he was influenced by his older brother that things can get bad. Normally, you chalk it up to boys being boys and try not to mind so much. However, recently, they did something that caused you to go over the edge.

You couldn't even remember all the things that led up to this. All you did know was that you had gone out of your way to buy groceries for them, your car had then been stolen. You called Dean to come and get you, but he didn't answer his phone. Later, Sam called and apologized (Dean had been "busy"), and said they would come get you in a minute. They never did, and you ended up hitching a ride with a stranger that you hoped wasn't a demon all the way back to the bunker where you met a frazzled Sam and a drunk Dean.

That's when you unleashed hell.

"I have gone so damn long without getting mad here! But now you start this shit by FORGETTING about me! Leaving me to find my own way back here!" You shouted at them, Dean (drunk as he is) still looking scared while Sam tried to talk you down.

"Y/N, listen, I know-"

"Do I sound like I'm done yelling at you? I'm pissed!" You shouted, and Sam's mouth shut as he took in your rage like a child. In the midst of your yelling, you couldn't hear the small fluttering of wings as two angels arrived in the room.

"See Castiel, I told you-woah...What did we miss?" Gabriel asked the younger angel as he took in the scene. Castiel looked at your angered form, a scared look then formed in his eyes, and he noped out of there.

Leaving Gabriel alone.

Normally, Gabriel wished you would get angry more often. The boys take advantage of you sometimes because they know you'll forgive them. Well, Gabriel isn't so forgiving. If anything, they deserved a good yelling at by you. However, he knew it wasn't good for you to be so riled up.

"Y/N, Y/N, listen me. I need you to listen." Gabriel suddenly appeared before you, blocking your view from the boys like intervening a fight between two feral dogs.

You just stared at him, still pissed, maybe even more so now that he stood in your way.

"As hot as it is, you don't need to get so worked up cupcake. It isn't good for you." Gabriel then placed his hands on your shoulders, which calmed you slightly. But only slightly.

"But you heard what they did to me. And by the way, thanks for the angelic assistance." You then snapped at him for not sensing that you were in need of help. However, Gabriel took your petty anger with grace, gently rubbing your shoulders.

"I'm sorry about that. I was caught up in things. But they aren't worth your anger, Y/N. Nothing is worse than you losing that sweet smile you have." Gabriel flirted a little, which caused a slight grin to grow on your face.

"See? There it is! The smile I missed so much!" The archangel teased you before moving to kiss you quickly, which caused you to giggle. Him soon joining your now giddy demeanor.

"Thanks Gabe. I needed some calming down." You said to him, and he just nuzzled his head against yours, his cheek touching yours.

"Anytime cupcake." He whispered, and you guys were just kind of in your own little world.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were frozen in both fear and amazement. Fear because they didn't know if your wrath was over, and if they dared move you would strike. And amazement because they didn't know that Gabriel had such calming powers despite his impish personality.

Suddenly, the fluttering of wings sounded.

"Is it safe?" Castiel's voice whispered behind the boys.

"We...don't know." Dean responded, still watching you guys. However, that seemed like code to Castiel.

"Understood." The angel then said before placing a hand on both Dean and Sam's shoulder. With a fluttering of wings, the three of them were gone and to safety, leaving you and Gabriel alone.

And your rage may be gone, but Gabriel was just getting started.

Those boys were in a rude awakening for angering you.

[cerealmonster15]

not 2 be dramatic but also it is my blog where i can ramble about what im feeling whenever i WANT!!! anyway i like. feel like something is fundamentally missing from my entire being or w/e lol. like. i mean there's a very high chance i have adhd which does explain a looooooooot of The Way That I Am and my struggle at doing and focusing on stuff and things and my rapid rotating around short interests in things. but like i also feel like [and maybe this is part of adhd idfk, i havent been Officially Diagnosed just a lot of therapists and friends with adhd all tell me i probs do lol] i just dont feel motivated to do things. and ive been this way i think a lot of my life. i realized a looooong time ago that i was not so motivated by passion but by fear!!!!! fear of failure or whatever!!!

fuckin adding a readmore bc i ended up talking forever lmao

like in school. i got good grades but i never really felt smart exactly. i was able to work really hard and spend a lot of time doing homework and whatever because i feared the consequence of failure. i didnt wanna get bad grades [not even from like a threat from home or anything, i just was afraid of the system lol like i didnt wanna fail and then snowball into ruining everything for my future or w/e. like i've always been kinda 0 to 100 in things like that lolol]

but like i remember going into college like "well i am interested in physics and compsci so i guess ill declare double major til i decide which one id rather do" but i didnt really have a clear goal. physics i dropped first because as much as i like the concept, the classes were still hard and i didnt have any idea of what i'd do with it if i did pursue it. comp sci i at least was like "well i like video games i could do something with that probably" but then i nearly flunked and dropped the class lol. my fault for skipping an intro class bc i was like "Well i learned a lot of the basics in high school" bitch u did not retain any of those basics. anyway i ended up swapping to digital arts under that same "well i like shows and games maybe i can do something with that" and that did ultimately lead me to grad school for game dev and learning what tech art is and all that. and i was employed as one for a lil while!

but then i got let go. and in the midst of a really Hard Time to be unemployd for gamedev bc of the mass layoffs ALSO happening over and over and over and over, so despite the fact that i have some industry experience, i have a significantly harder time even getting interviewed. but a lot of it is my portfolio - unfortunately the nature of the jobs i had didnt really net me much in the way of tangible portfolio work, and a quality / updated portfolio really is what matters in this field

and thats where i hit my problem. i really am not self motivated or like, creative. i dont really have ideas. a lot of my portfolio was school assignments <- stuff i had to do. stuff people told me to do. even now, i sometimes do vfx to help my partner with his solo game hes been making for years, and thats my main portfolio addition source because i need someone to tell me what they want. and then i also struggle to see the vision of that sometimes like ive been SO STUCK on a specific effect im making for the game bc im not understanding the vision and also im not really around other tech artists or vfx artists much anymore. not like in grad school lol. even at my prev job i was the main vfx person so i was kind of on my own floundering around to figure stuff out- and a lot of times i couldnt. there was no senior to guide me if i got stuck.

so when i'm just alone in a vacuum with nothing forcing me to do things i just dont. i LIKE vfx and shaders and even python, but if i dont have a thing where i have to follow specific tasks i just cant think of anything interesting or unique to do myself. even a lot of the python ive learned recently was from a udemy course, which helped a lot bc it was structured with little assignments, explanations i understood in small bursts, and specific projects with specific goals. one of those i did kinda expand on based on what i learned to make a portfolio thing, sort of. it's out of place on my artstation bc it's not really gamedev related at all but its python and it's SOMETHING. python is a tech art skill at least. i can replace it sometime if i have more relevant things but i just dont right now. i dont know what to make. i have no tool ideas, or even if i have a vague idea i just go "i dont really know how id do that" and dont feel motivated enough to figure things out or to make that vague idea even somewhat interesting. vfx i just go "i dont know how to make this look more interesting" and get stuck at unimpressive points if anything. i dont have the designer or passion part of the brain that i kinda need to survive this and it scares me. i like the structure and stability of being employed because someone tells me what they need. i dont know what i'm supposed to do on my own but im supposed to figure it out otherwise my portfolio stays stagnant forever!!!

so many times people will like. have a side project. they learn from those projects. they have a vision they want to see completed and they pick up skills for that thing. my partner is a big example with his game hes making - he could already program but hes learned a lot of the art needed to make it work, because he wanted to see the game made. people have like their comics or animations or games or whatever they do, hobbies, anything that they feel passionate about and i feel like i just lack that passion. scared that i like the idea of doing things more than doing them even if i do enjoy doing the things when i do them, but not enough to like, get myself motivated to lol. if that even makes sense.

like idk. i at least have martial arts - i did aikido in college and i do capoeira now- but it's stuff i can only do bc i have a regular group i pay and go participate in with other people. once i dont have those group settings i dont do it on my own.

ive tried to get myself to learn musical instruments so many times but once i stopped taking lessons for sax or piano bc i got busy with school, i mostly just dropped them. i cant motivate myself enough to practice on my own even tho i did learn enough fundamentals that i probably COULD if i just. cared enough i guess. i always had in the back of my mind that it would be cool, IN THEORY, to draw comics or make a dating sim/visual novel of any flavor, a virtual pet, a farm sim, whatever. but i dont actually have the vision for it. i dont have a story to tell. i'm not motivated enough. ive looked up several times ways i might be able to use python to make a lil tamagotchi project to practice but i just never do!!! maybe i know enough python from the udemy now that i could but would i?? idk!!!

people always say you learn best by just jumping into it. find something fun you want to make or do and then learn as you go. but i dont have passion. im in a vacuum. even with my fics, i still like writing my fics!!! but i slowed down so much on those. because before, i was writing them to share between my friend and me when we were first getting into twst and based off a lot of inside jokes and ideas bouncing off of each other lol. fics, aus, doodles, whatever. and we still talk twst but she isnt caught up to main story anymore and it's not as much of a thing we talk as often or deeply about. i think my doodles got a lot more boring as a result and ive had less ideas. but i do still love the characters so so so so much and i do have fics i want to write... but it slowed down and i dont WANT it to slow down. i get excited over characters and games, and it doesnt really help me in terms of trying to fuckin Get A Job or Learn A Skill or whatever but. like at least it's something. i feel like my doodles got more bland too like i just kinda redoodle the same stiff generic things over and over and over again forever

there are so many things i can just do a little bit of but not enough to be like. impressive. or hireable. or helpful or smart or knowledable or whatever. like i can crochet a little bit. i can sew a LITTLE bit to get some simpler cosplays but nothing fancy. im not motivated enough to push those further to like "make my own clothes" or a more ambitious cosplay even tho i like the base level stuff. i can program a LITTLE in python but cant motivate myself to figure out what to do with it. i used to know a little hlsl and i know some node based shader stuff but not enough to be super deep with it. like more than a non tech artist i guess but not enough to make things that really look all that good 😑 i used to do tech theater in high school, but only really knew the basics of the woodworking and lightbooth stuff, not enough/not kept up with where i could do anything with that now even though i enjoyed it then. i was in chorus in school for like five years in middle/high school and i took some basic piano and saxophone lessons but every time i try to go back to something like that im dusting off the cobwebs. i also have always had huge anxiety so i coudnt ever have considered a performance thing with it anyway. whenever i was in school chorus production musical things i was only in ensemble parts or at the very least singing with a small group of other people because i never had the ambition or desire or bravery to try and stand out lol. i liked being backstage. i started learning to rollerskate but i only ever really got to a point where i could move around without falling over and then as soon as i started capoeira i never touched the skates again. even though it was fun! i studied spanish for years and used to practice with my father but i barely ever do now, even thought i knew enough to go to spain on a school trip we still were in an english comfortable environment and i really could just fumble my way through simple conversations in spanish. i dont keep up with it enough to like, be able to smoothly translate more casual dialogue or whatever and as much as id really love to practice that more, i once again dont have the motivation or drive or even ideas for it. i have a few times thought learning portuguese for capoeira or japanese for just generic enjoyment of japanese games and anime and stuff would be cool but i do. not. stick. with. it.

i do notice lately that the other thing. next to the fear of failure motivation. it is the community thing. i do capoeira not out of fear but because there are other people i go and do it with. i pay for the classes, i enjoy the classes, i do the classes with other people. when i was in school i had other classmates doing the same things with me. when i was in tech theater or chorus clubs i had clubmates. music instrument classes i had the instructor / it was something my mother was paying for me to do / the instructor would give me homework to practice and i had to be able to report to that person the next week so i would have the incentive to do it [another failure thing i guess but still lol]. cosplay i do alone as i make it but then i see other people at cons. i hadnt done new ones in a long time tho because i wasnt going to cons, and the only one i made recently i also had the motivation and deadline of a con coming up that a friend and i were going to go to together and our cosplays connected. theres community. but right now i have no job to worry about failing at, and no coworkers to bounce ideas off of. personal projects are in such a vaccuum i just dont have the motivation or self discipline. even the udemy python thing, some lessons are more interesting than others, and it's general python stuff so rn the recent stuff is like, good dev stuff but not gamedev stuff; but i have learned enough where i probs could take it and run but i dont know how or why or what to do with it!!!

i dont know if im even making a point here i think ive just had these thoughts swirling around my mind and overwhelming me for. well kind of forever LOL

[sicknessbysalem]

meet new blorbos from my offsite writing that i decided needed to Have A Moment(tm) {i would give him many} 

tw emeto, fever, panic attack, religious trauma, mentions of conversion therapy

if you have any requests, comments, concerns, etc., send me an ask!!

The sun blazed mercilessly over the dirt track, transforming the once solid ground into a shimmering, heat-soaked track. It rained that morning, the track was still able to be raced on. But fuck, Maverick was sure the air was trying to kill him.

The air was thick and heavy, muggy and disgusting and hot, making every breath a struggle as the oppressive heat pressed down on everything. Maverick Sterling in particular.

Maverick sat on his motocross bike, his helmet resting precariously on the handlebars. His normally vibrant complexion was now pallid, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward that he was practically laying his head on the handlebars, trying to control the nausea that churned in his stomach.

Walker crouched beside him, his eyes filled with concern.

“This heat’s not your friend is it…” Walker said softly.

Maverick shook his head. Heat always did this. Heat made him feel like shit. Heat made him have flare ups. And he just so happened to take part in one of the only outdoor sports that took place outdoors in the heat of summer.

The roar of engines and the buzz of the crowd seemed distant. Walker placed a steady hand on Maverick's back. Maverick was just trying to keep his lunch in his stomach a little bit longer.

“You hanging in there?” Walker asked. Sure, his sister was the nurse. But, he could help Maverick. At least for now.

Maverick nodded weakly, swallowing hard. "Yeah, just... the heat. It's really getting to me." He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of Walker's hand, grounding him.

Walker glanced around, ensuring no one else was paying too much attention. "Remember what Willow told you to do? Deep breaths. Focus on something else, even if it's just for a minute… do you have your medicine?”

“No… no I don’t,” Maverick said. Walker didn’t miss the way Maverick seemingly gagged trying to talk.

“Alright, alright” Walker said, rubbing Maverick’s back through his jersey. “Just breathe.”

Maverick took a shaky breath, the air hot and thick. "I know, I know. It's just... hard right now."

Walker tightened his grip slightly, "You're tougher than this heat, Maverick. But if you really need to, I can pull you out. Nobody’s going to get mad about it.”

“No, I’m good,” Maverick mumbled, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. Anything to stop feeling so shitty.

“Farthest thing from it, dude,” Walker chuckled, “But I’ve got you.”

Maverick forced a smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. "Thanks, man. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Walker chuckled softly. "Probably puke all over your bike."

Despite the queasiness, Maverick let out a short laugh, the sound almost foreign in the midst of his discomfort. "Yeah, probably."

Walker straightened up, giving Maverick's back one last reassuring pat. "We'll get through this. And when you cross that finish line, it'll be worth every second of this hell."

Maverick nodded, his resolve hardening. He wiped the sweat from his brow, taking another deep breath. "Alright. Let's do this."

Walker stepped back, giving him space. "Remember, I'm right here. Just focus on the race, and let me worry about the rest. Gate time."

Maverick gripped the handlebars, feeling the familiar weight of the bike beneath him. The nausea still lingered, but the last thing Maverick wanted was to drop out. He looked up, put on his helmet and goggles, and went to the gate. He got first pick of spot, so he positioned himself dead center of the lineup. It felt safer there.

As the starting signal loomed closer, Maverick squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw, and forced himself to think of literally anything else that wasn’t throwing up on the spot.

The roar of the engines filled the air as the starting gate dropped. Maverick surged forward, the powerful machine beneath him responding to his every command. He was used to racing like this, and currently he tried using it to his advantage.

The track, a maze of jumps, turns, and rough terrain, stretched out before him. Despite the oppressive heat, Maverick's focus was razor-sharp. Racing was everything to him, he refused to let it go.

Each lap felt like an eternity. The vibrations of the bike reverberated through his body, amplifying the nausea that gnawed at his insides.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay present, to keep his mind on the race and not the relentless churning of his stomach.

Halfway through, the heat became unbearable. His skin felt like it was on fire under his gear, the air he breathed scorching his lungs.

The nausea came in waves, each wave more intense than the last. He could feel his strength waning, his muscles aching with the effort of maintaining control. Motocross was brutal, sure. But motocross while feeling like one wrong breath would send your lunch, breakfast, and possibly dinner out of your body before you could react was a new level of exhaustion.

As the race neared its end, Maverick's vision started to tunnel. He could barely see the riders ahead of him, focusing solely on the track, the jumps, the turns. His stomach clenched violently, threatening to empty its contents right there on the bike.

He had to finish this. He had to. He punched the gas, shifted gears, and did everything he could to get across that finish line as soon as possible.

When the checkered flag finally waved, Maverick crossed it with a final burst of speed.

His heart pounded in his chest, he could feel a sort of throbbing in his gut, knowing it was only a matter of time.

He rolled to a stop, the world spinning around him, already trying to undo his helmet and take it off. Walker was already there, guiding him off the bike with a steady hand.

"Maverick, you did it!" Walker's voice was filled with pride and relief. But Maverick could barely hear him over the pounding in his head. He fumbled with his helmet, desperate to get it off.

As soon as it was free, he staggered to the side, something hot and acidic alrwady starting to pour out of his mouth, forcing him to collapse onto the grass.

His stomach convulsed violently, and he vomited, the contents of his stomach splattering onto the ground. The retching was harsh and unrelenting, leaving him gasping for breath between bouts.

Maverick felt his stomach pull in, felt the chunky substance force itself up and out into the grass, every round leaving him coughing after, which just sent up more sludge into the grass. As he heaved up a sickeningly sweet round of pure liquid, Maverick wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to substitute two and a half energy drinks for breakfast.

Walker knelt beside him, shielding him from the prying eyes and cameras that had started to gather.

"Give him some space!" Walker barked at the encroaching crowd, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He kept a firm hand on Maverick's back. Maverick braced himself forward with his hand, spitting, trying not to throw up again now that he knew people were watching.

“It's okay, Mav. Just let it out." Walker said.

Maverick heaved again, his body shuddering with the effort. The heat, the exertion, the sickness, the caffeine—it all came crashing down on him, overwhelming his senses. He wondered how much more he was going to throw up, he felt like it had been forever that it just kept coming.

After what felt like an eternity, the vomiting subsided. Maverick’s body trembling with exhaustio. Walker helped him sit back, handing a bottle of water, which he sipped gratefully, rinsing his mouth and taking small sip, trying to catch his breath while the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.

“How shitty did I do this time?” Maverick asked softly. “I kind of… lost it at the end. Couldn’t see anyone, nothing.”

"Shitty? No… Mav, you did amazing," Walker said quietly, "One of your fastest races yet. You held second and third for a while but then you did something at the end, took off and you won, Maverick."

Despite the lingering sickness, a weak smile tugged at Maverick's lips. He had done it. It took four years in all, but Maverick wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’s start climbing the ranks again like he did years ago.

“So I just have to get super sick at every race then, ritually,” Maverick chuckled.

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Walker said, “My sister is a nurse, not me.”

-

The sun had long set by the time Walker and Maverick arrived at their shared house, the oppressive heat of the day giving way to a cooler evening.

The race was over, the crowds dispersed, but the remnants of the day's ordeal clung to Maverick like a stubborn shadow.

After a cold shower and changing out of his gear, Maverick still felt nauseous and generally unwell.

The cool water had done little to alleviate the turmoil in his stomach, and the soreness from racing was beginning to set in, a dull ache in his muscles.

He had sat in the living room for a little bit, watching tv with Walker, dozing off every once in a while. Each time he apologized.

“You need to rest,” Walker chuckled, “Besides, what else are we doing tonight? Racing is exhausting.”

“I never asked…” Maverick asked, “How did your race go?”

“Good, third place. Gotta hold down that low spot on the podium.” Walker chuckled.

They settled on the couch, the soft cushions a welcome relief to Maverick’s aching body. Walker turned on the TV, the low murmur of a documentary filling the room.

Maverick tried to focus on the screen, but his eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion pulling him under. He dozed off, the rhythmic sound of Walker’s breathing a comforting backdrop.

When he woke, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, rich and savory. His stomach clenched in protest, the nausea returning with a vengeance. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the bile down, but it was no use.

He got up, planning to just go lay down in his room to take this feeling away.

“Hey, you’re up,” Walker said, “I made extra in case you-“

“No… no…” Maverick swallowed thickly, the saliva pooling in his mouth threatening to betray him. He forced it down, his voice strained. “I… I’m going to lay down.”

Walker watched him with a furrowed brow, concern etched into his features. "You still aren’t feeling so hot?”

Maverick shook his head, the motion making his dizziness worse. “Medicine… not kicking in…”

The room seemed to tilt slightly, his vision blurring at the edges. His stomach churned violently, and he knew he had to get to the bathroom before he could lay down. He took a few unsteady steps, his body protesting with each movement. The nausea surged, an unstoppable wave crashing over him.

He barely made it to the bathroom, stumbling to his knees in front of the toilet. His body heaved, expelling the remnants of his stomach's contents with brutal force. The retching was harsh and unrelenting, each spasm leaving him more drained than the last.

All he had at the moment was water, and maybe some left over from earlier. Whatever was in his stomach was determined to come out, and Maverick’s body was too happy to oblige.

Walker appeared in the doorway. He moved to Maverick's side, crouching down but giving him space. "Just breathe, Mav. You’re okay. I’m right here."

Maverick's breaths came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on Walker's calm presence, grounding himself in the here and now. The nausea eventually subsided, leaving him weak and exhausted.

“Do you want me to call Willow and see if she can get you something stronger?” Walker asked, “Or can you try and take another dose of your-“

“No, to both,” Maverick panted, heaving and spitting one more time, “Too late… I’ll just vomit it back up.”

Walker handed him a damp washcloth, which Maverick used to wipe his face, the coolness soothing against his flushed skin.

“You need anything?" Walker asked softly, his hand resting lightly on Maverick's shoulder.

Maverick shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "Just… need to lie down."

Walker helped him up, supporting his weight as they made their way back to Maverick's room. The journey felt endless, every step a struggle against his body's weakness. Finally, they reached the bed, and Maverick collapsed onto it, his body sinking into the mattress with a weary sigh.

The hours ticked by slowly. Walker busied himself with small tasks around the house, his mind never straying far from his friend.

As the night grew later, he decided to check on Maverick again before he went to bed. He knocked softly on the door before entering, finding Maverick still lying in bed, his face drawn with discomfort.

"Hey," Walker said quietly, moving to sit beside him. "How're you feeling?"

Maverick turned his head slightly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Still pretty nauseous," he admitted. "And just... gross."

Walker sighed, reaching out to ruffle Maverick's hair gently. "You still running warm?" he asked as his hand felt warmth beneath it.

Maverick nodded slightly, his anxiety evident in his eyes. "Yeah. Can’t shake the heat."

Walker knew all too well how much fevers heightened Maverick's anxiety. He shifted closer, his presence a silent reassurance. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here."

The room was quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the air conditioner and their steady breaths. Walker continued to mess with Maverick's hair, the repetitive motion calming for both of them. He could feel the heat radiating off Maverick's skin.

Maverick didn't say much, but he didn't need to. The silent understanding between them spoke volumes. Walker's presence, his quiet support, was all Maverick needed in that moment. They didn't need to talk about the race, the sickness, or anything else. If this was a fever and not retained overheating, Walker knew what might happen. They both did. They both knew what Maverick had gone through, what might resurface given the stress of it all, and that was enough.

Walker stayed with him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand a constant, soothing presence in Maverick's hair. It effectively knocked Maverick out pretty quickly, the twenty four year old finally falling properly asleep.

The minutes stretched into hours, the night deepening around them. Maverick's breathing gradually evened out, the tension slowly leaving his body.

Walker stayed with him, watching over his friend as he slept. He wanted to stay, he should stay. So, he would. Willow would probably slap him if she found out he didn’t. Or get Vanessa to break him in half. Or both.

The house was still and quiet as the night deepened, the only sound the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Walker remained at Maverick's bedside, his own eyes growing heavy with fatigue. He glanced at his friend, noticing how Maverick's seemed uncomfortable, even when he was sleeping. Walker knew what that probably meant.

Maverick's feverish state brought on restless dreams, his subconscious mind dredging up memories he had long tried to bury.

He was back in the cold, sterile rooms of the conversion therapy center, the harsh fluorescent lights blinding him as he was subjected to endless sessions meant to break him down, to reshape him into something he wasn't. To convince him that he was an abomination. To convince him he was some horrible human being just for being in love with his best friend.

The dream became more vivid, the voices of the counselors echoing in his mind, their cruel words blending with the nausea that still churned in his stomach.

Maverick's heart raced, his breathing quickening as the dream tightened its grip. The feeling of suffocation, the relentless pressure to conform, overwhelmed him. He tossed and turned, his body drenched in sweat.

Suddenly, Maverick jolted awake, his eyes wide with panic. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled to free himself from the lingering grip of the nightmare. The room felt too small, too hot, too stifling. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the terror that had seized him.

Walker was instantly alert, his hand moving to Maverick's shoulder. Walker knew this, he did. This happened more than either of them wanted it to.

“Mav, hey, it's okay. You're safe. You're here with me," he said, his voice calm and steady.

Maverick's eyes darted around the room, struggling to focus. The remnants of the nightmare clung to him, feeding his anxiety. He tried to take a deep breath, but the nausea surged again, forcing him to double over. Walker was quick to react, grabbing a nearby wastebasket and holding it for Maverick.

"It's alright, just breathe," Walker murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Maverick's back.

Maverick heaved, the retching violent and painful. The panic attack and nausea fed off each other, creating a vicious cycle that left him gasping for air. Tears streamed down his face, the combined physical and emotional strain too much to bear.

Walker remained a constant, steady presence, his own heart aching for his friend. "I'm right here, Mav. Just let it out. You're not alone," he repeated, his voice a lifeline in the storm.

Minutes felt like hours as Maverick's body finally began to calm. The nausea slowly subsided, leaving him weak and shaky. He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he tried to regain his breath.

Walker placed the wastebasket aside, wiping Maverick's face with a cool cloth.

"You're okay," he said softly. "It was just a dream. You're safe now."

Maverick nodded weakly, his eyes still closed. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I just... I couldn't stop it."

Walker shook his head, his expression filled with compassion. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through so much. It's no wonder your mind is trying to process it all. This always happens, Mav… it’s okay.”

Maverick opened his eyes, meeting Walker's gaze. "It just... it felt so real. Like I was back there. I can’t go back there.

Walker nodded, " Well, you aren’y there. You're here, with me. At my place. Your parents and the nuns can’t get you here. You’re rebuilding your motocross life and you’re going to be fine. You’re safe, I promise."

Maverick took a shuddering breath, the fear and nausea still lingering but less overwhelming with Walker by his side.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse but sincere. “I’m sorry…”

Walker smiled gently. "Always, Mav. I'm not going anywhere. You don’t need to apologize… do you want me to call Willow and see if she can get you something stronger?”

“Maybe in the morning…” Maverick said, “I.. I think I’ll be okay.”

Walker nodded, “trust me, you will be.”