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bokutosbabe · 4 days ago

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If I Could Never Give You Peace

( bllk boys when your secret relationship is leaked by paparazzi)

a/n — wrote this on a whim after listening to peace by taylor swift

content — some nsfw but not explicit, fem! reader, cursing , all characters are 18 or 18+, slight ooc maybe?, some characters are repeated

synopsis — what happens when your relationship is leaked?

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i'd give you my sunshine, give you my best ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' everyone thought you'd broken up '

listen, you knew dating a good soccer player in high school was a big deal, but you didn't realize how big of a deal it really was when he went pro.

this was the same boy ( now man) that you'd been dating since you were 14, so nothing really changed your views on him. if you could love him through his awkward phase, and he could love you through yours, there was no way you'd break up.

again, you didn't realize that your relationship was such a big deal. it wasn't that the two of you were a secret, it was more of a 'private not secret' situation.

so when the two of you woke up in your shared bed because of just how many notifications the both of you were getting, you knew something was up.

and low and behold, something was wrong. when you opened any social media the first thing you saw was a strangely amazing photo of you and your long-term boyfriend kissing. really, if it wasn't a paparazzi photo, it would be your lock screen.

"aren't we just the cutest?" he asked you, phone thrown back onto his bedside table as if he didn't have a care in the world. (and he really didn't, not in this case)

truly, the only thing that may make him angry in this whole situation is the fact that he got woken up far earlier than his usual routine by all the commotion.

but of course, as he was dozing back off, you were reading the comments, as any loyal significant other would.

soccerluvr45: omg is that is gf from high school? i thought they broke up

okay, yeah. he had a rather public instagram account in high school that his rabid fans had found that had pictures of the two of you, but you'd never broken up?

reading through the many comments, it was like everyone had collectively decided the two of you'd broken up.

"mhm...just ignore it. the pr lady will deal with it." he mumbled as he grabbed your phone from your hands, laying it beside his before wrapping his arms around you.

"go to bed, 's too early to deal with all this."

his fans were silly, if they could see you with this bed-head man right now, they'd see there was no way the two of you would ever break up.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, yo hiori, NIJIRO NANASE, hyoma chigiri

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' pr nightmare '

anyone who knew your boyfriend knew he was...a little extreme.

and unfortunately for you, this also applied when your relationship became public because of a slight slip of focus from the two of you. it wasn't that you were trying to keep your relationship a secret, you'd already been together a year now, but you also weren't trying to out yourselves.

yet, one singular minute when the two of you slipped away to the bathroom together at a soccer banquet...well lets just say a paparazzi was scarily ready to snap someone, anyone's, photo.

so here you were, sitting in a terrifyingly big office with your boyfriend and almost his entire management team.

"do you know what this could do to your reputation?" his manager asked. "it's just two adults doing adult things, they should've been in that bathroom! that would've gotten them—"

"okay, sir..."the pr woman cut him off, ever too enthusiastic to be talking about your private lives.

"you just need to ignore all of this until it goes away, alright? no press interviews after games anymore," she sighed as if this was basic comprehension. (your boyfriend wasn't the smartest but he also didn't need to be treated like an idiot.) "and no posting on any social medias for the time being. do you understand?"

"yeah, yeah. no talking to the grown men after games. and..."he grimaced at the thought of his next condition. " c'mon is posting on my socials that bad? i don't post about us anyways."

"at. all." and the room felt as icy as the pr woman's stare.

"yeah, no, okay i got it. no social media."

after another thirty minutes of this, with them saying basically the same stuff to you (even though you had no real social media presence anyways), you guys finally left.

"no fucking posting? what if i have to talk about a game coming up?" "i'm sure she knows how to do her job, love." you soothed your boyfriend as you got in the car the company arranged to have you two taken up with.

"yeah, well whatever. give me your hand," and who were you to say no to your boyfriend?

he took your hand and placed it on his neck, a place where you could see a few bites and hickeys if you really looked hard enough.

before you could protest he took a picture, posting it on his VERY public account with the caption...

' i love my woman ;) '

before turning off his phone completely.

"let's see them try to get ahold of me now."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ RYUSEI SHIDO, tabito karasu, EITA OTOYA, oliver aiku

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' what picture ? '

how do two chronically offline people realize their relationship is now under scrutiny by the entire world?

the simple answer is...they don't!

you've never been interested in social media the way other girls your age had been. really, you'd rather just watch a video essay on every little topic that interests you than sit and watch six second videos then scroll all day.

to say the least, fast and forever changing social media just wasn't your thing.

and your boyfriend? he hardly even used his phone. unless it was for business or you, the thing was practically shoved away somewhere he couldn't care less about.

he would rather be reading or spending time with you out on a date...which is exactly the predicament the paparazzi put you in earlier this week.

the two of you were photographed having a little picnic and reading date at a small park that was pretty far out of town, assuming no one there knew, or even cared, enough to take a picture, but alas, someone did.

you and he had spent the rest of your week in pure, relaxed bliss. he had a game on saturday, so besides him going to practice and working out, the two of you stayed inside almost all week to prepare for the rather hectic weekend.

to say the game was a nail biter would be the understatement of the century. after two additional times, it was your boyfriend who scored the winning goal.

of course, you cheered the loudest, not noticing plenty of fans eyes on you unlike how many used to just chalk you up as an ecstatic fan.

as the post game interview came for him, you decided to stay closer to the door just incase it ran short. sometimes it was a one and done for him and others the questions went on for at least fifteen minutes, it just depended on his mood.

of course, the first question was about his game winning goal, but the second one threw him and you for a loop.

" what do you have to say about the photos of you and your reported girlfriend that have come out this past week? "

"...huh? what photos?"

eventually, the two of you did see the pictures, and all you could do was laugh because...how had you two not found out about this?

and you also made the picture your phone lock screen, but he didn't have to know that.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ RIN ITOSHI, reo mikage, SAE ITOSHI, chigiri hyoma

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' but the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[ + your faves ! ]

i wrote this in about an hour, and i think it shows but i had to get it out of my brain :))

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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suiana · 2 months ago

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(yandere! sleepy bf x gn! reader) (based on the picture)

he stares at his empty apartment. nothing. it was devoid of life, not even his presence made the apartment feel less empty.

he remembers seeing you there with him just like it was yesterday. the way your soft body would mold perfectly with his... or the way that you'd kiss him so tenderly as he mumurs sweet nothings into your ear...

and now you weren't with him anymore.

he felt so empty without you that it hurt. so much so that it actually hurt him physically. his heart clenched as he grips at his hoodie, as though he was trying to tear apart his chest.

he misses you so fucking much.

sleepynfreakybae: baby

sent at 14:44

he sighs, eyes narrowing at his series of unread messages. right... you couldn't respond to him. how could he forget?

chewing on his bottom lip, the fatigued man slumps on his bed before typing away on his screen. what else could he do but relive his moments with you?

sleepynfreakybae: baby i miss you

sleepynfreakybae: can u come back?

sleepynfreakybae: i feel so empty without you

sleepynfreakybae: why did u have to leave

sleepynfreakybae: ur so cruel I can't even sleep now

...

he knws he's not going to get a reply back anytime soon. not when you're already gone. but still, a man can hope. maybe you'll makestically appear again and allow him to experience those wonderful times again-

*PING!*

YOU: 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖒 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖘...

YOU: but fr bruh wtf

YOU: i just left ur place 💀

sleepynfreakybae: so?

YOU: im literally just going home y r u acting like im dead

sleepynfreakybae: cause you are :( u left me, come back pls :(

read at 14:48

meanwhile... you could only shake your head as you stare at your clingy boyfriend's behavior. damn it, you thought he'd have fallen asleep with how he was acting just minutes before. why is he spamming you now?

but you guess that's his charm. like a clingy kitty that can't stand being away from their owner.

you let out a soft sigh before turning around and making your way back to your boyfriend's apartment. what a needy boyfriend.

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere sleepy boyfriend #yandere sleepy boyfriend x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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dduane · 1 month ago

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If you’re wondering why you’ve never seen a Totoro sequel within a streaming list or on the shelf at a video store, it’s because despite being made in 2002, Mei and the Baby Catbus (pictured directly above) has never been released for online viewing, physical commercial release, or regular theater runs. The only places where it can ever be seen are at the theaters inside Ghibli Park and the Ghibli Museum in Tokyo, but even at those venues it can’t be seen all the time, as Mei and the Baby Catbus (also sometimes known as “Mei and the Kittenbus”) is one of a number of Studio Ghibli anime short films that screen for limited periods of time. The screening rotation has no set pattern, but Ghibli Park has announced that Mei and the Baby Catbus will be coming to its theater on December 14, where it will be shown daily through January 31.

I really wish they'd release this more widely... :/

#Totoro #Totoro sequel #Mei and the Baby Catbus

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artificial-transmutations · 9 months ago

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ATArena

Alexander's phone dinged with a notification, just as he left the exam. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and he was still talking with a few other students, so, naturally, he ignored the unexpected noise. Even though Alexander was certainly a digital native, he found it rude to check his phone while in company of others. He didn't particularly enjoy his current company: He found Christopher the guy that was currently bragging about how easy the exam was slightly annoying, but that wasn't a reason not to show good manners.

Only after their ways split, Alexander unlocked his phone and saw the notification: "Your watched App, ATArena, is now available."

ATArena? Alexander didn't remember he had watched an app with that name. Still, the notification seemed genuine and lead him to the app marketplace where he could initiate the download. The description was sparse: "An epic battle with a revolutionary matchmaking algorithm that will extend into real life!"

That sounded like an AR game of some sort. Alexander had enjoyed the big Pokeman Run hype some years ago and certainly didn't mind giving this app a try.

When he opened the app for the first time, it asked him for the usual: His real name as well as his nickname. Alexander put in the same for the latter that he used everywhere: Lex_88. A short busy spinner appeared and finally, a message box greeted him:

"Welcome to ATArena, Lex_88! A suitable opponent has already been found. Connecting now..."

After he tapped "Ok", a chat interface opened:

TopShot joined the game.

TopShot: Hi.

Alexander didn't know how to react exactly. He was socially awkward, but ignoring the unknown other player would be rude. So, he just typed:

Lex_88: Hi.

Before any of them could type anything else, a popup opened:

"Battle available! Tap to play."

Alexander tapped the button and wondered what would happen now. Was this some kind of word puzzle or quiz against each other?

What opened though, was a simple depiction of three six-sided dice. When Alexander tapped them, a roll animation appeared until they settled at 14 eyes in total. Not bad!

"Lex_88 rolled: 14. TopShot rolled: 10. Lex_88 wins!"

The screen changed to a wheel of fortune now, which was already in motion. When it came to a stop, it showed a muscled arm emoji and the sparkling word "Bicep size" appeared on his screen.

Immediately, Alexander felt a weird tingling in his upper arms, accompanied by a tightness in the sleeves of his sweater. He locked his phone and scratched his arms but stopped immediately when his fingers met unexpected resistance. His upper arms seemed to have... swollen? What was happening?

Still on the university campus, Alexander made a dash for the nearest restroom and pulled off his sweater. He could hardly believe his eyes: His biceps had grown *considerably*, straining the seams of the t-shirt he wore underneath. When he moved his arms, the muscles bulged and contracted. It was a surreal feeling for sure. Was that the doing of this game?

Alexander unlocked his phone again saw a new message:

"Challenge! Record a video flexing your guns and upload it to social media!"

When he dismissed the message, he typed a message to his opponent.

Flex_88💪: Holy shit! My arms just grew!

Alexander stopped for a moment. Flex_88💪? That wasn't his nickname. Yet, when he scrolled up, it clearly appeared that way - that was the name saying "Hi." in the message before. It wasn't that far off from his usual nickname, which was... Flex_88💪. What was he even thinking about? That was just his screen name that he used almost everywhere, because of his biceps, obviously. His last message didn't make much sense, though. He added a:

Flex_88💪: I mean, they're pretty big, as always. Never mind!

It didn't feel good to brag, but there didn't seem to be a way to delete the message. But he might as well do the challenge now. It wasn't that unusual for him to post pictures and videos of his arms on social media, so, he recorded a short clip, made sure to crop out his surroundings and his face and sent the video to his LaterGram profile.

Just as he was done, TopShot had answered:

TopShot: Uhm, good for you, dude.

TopShot: Seems like you've won the last game.

Flex_88💪: Yeah, but it was pure luck. I'm sure you're gonna win the next one.

As if on cue, another "Battle available" popup opened. This time, Alexander's roll was pretty bad. The dice showed 2-5-2, bringing him to a meager 9, a bit below the expected value.

"Flex_88💪 rolled: 9. TopShot rolled: 9. Tie! Both win!"

Apparently, TopShot wasn't having a very lucky day, either. The wheel turned and showed a drop emoji. Alexander was still thinking about what could be the meaning of the drop, when the word appeared: "Libido".

Libido? So, this was an 18+ game? Still, Alexander felt hot all of a sudden. His cock was stiffing up and he realized that it had been ages since his last jerk-off. Hornyness clouded his mind, when the next popup opened:

"Challenge! Use a pick-up line on someone you fancy."

Alexander was usually way too shy to approach another guy, but in his current situation even thinking about sending someone a pick-up line seemed like a good idea. He could just send that TopShot guy one, he had the advantage that Alexander didn't know him and probably never would meet.

He thought about his options and decided that a classic would be the best choice.

Flex_88💪: You know, my arms aren't the only thing big right now ;-)

It only took a moment for the other player to respond.

SwitchHit: I know what you mean.

SwitchHit sent an image.

Alexander hesitated only a bit before he opened the image. Yep. It was a picture of a tented boxershorts, snapped from a hastily opened pair of pants. Alexander could feel his cock throb. If he wasn't in public... No, he had to restrain himself. Even though he was still horny, which really wasn't unusual for him, he took a breather and tried to fight his boner down. He had just masturbated before he left for class, it was just amazing how needy his cock could be. His phone dinged as he readjusted himself and left the bathroom.

SwitchHit: Looking forward to the next game. I mean it's just dice rolling and stupid challenges, but it's fun.

Even though Alexander agreed, something seemed off. Had SwitchHit changed his screen name? No, didn't seem that way.

"Battle available!"

Alexander immediately rolled his dice and hardly could believe his eyes: three sixes, a solid 18.

"Flex_88💪 rolled: 18. SwitchHit rolled: 15. Flex_88💪wins! Critical!"

15 was a pretty good roll, but nothing could beat Alexander's 18. He grinned as the wheel stopped on "Confidence".

"Challenge! Approach a local gym and negotiate a free trial using nothing but your charm and confidence. "

Xander grinned. Yeah, that was an awesome idea. He was originally on his way home, but finally joining a gym was long overdue. Luckily, there was one right on his way. Half an hour later, he had a full two month free trial and also a protein shaker as a gift. It had been easier than Xander had thought.

Suddenly, he remembered the game.

Flex_88💪: Hey SwitchHit, you still there?

SwitchHit: Yeah, sorry, I didn't want to message so much. Sorry!

Xander rolled his eyes. That guy needed to grow some balls. He was just about to reply, when the next battle was available. Xander really had to admit, what SwitchHit said was true: It was kind of fun!

This time, Xander rolled bad: The three dice showed a measly 8 points. Unsurprisingly, SwitchHit won.

"Flex_88💪 rolled: 8. SwitchHit rolled: 14. SwitchHit wins!"

Damn, this was the first time Xander lost. The wheel landed on a brain-emoji, and, unsurprisingly, it was labelled with "Smarts".

Xander scratched his head. What did that mean? Would he have some penalty challenge now? He would see soon enough.

"Challenge! Skip reading your usual news or books for the day. Instead, binge-watch a reality TV series."

Xander scratched his head again. Did he really want to do that?

Well, of course he wanted to! That sounded like a fun evening. Why would he read books?! He didn't even own books!

Flex_88💪: Man, those challenges are really ez. I need to watch some TV this evening, not read sum bokshit.

Xander typed the message as he arrived at his apartment. He fixed himself a quick dinner and sat down on the couch, turning on the TV.

SwitchHit: I agree. I have to read some Ovid tonight, which I find rather light literature.

Flex_88💪: Whatev you say, man. Hey, by the way, what's your name?

Flex_88💪: Mine's Xander.

SwitchHit: I don't know, I probably shouldn't share my real name on the internet.

Flex_88💪: Aw, come on. As if I could find out where you live with only your real name.

SwitchHit: ...Right. I'm called Chris.

Flex_88💪: Like Christian? Christopher?

SwitchHit: No, just Chris.

Flex_88💪: K. Hey, that pic was pretty hot back then.

They chatted a bit during the evening and exchanged some more pictures of tented pants. Xander was only half paying attention to the reality show on his screen, as one of his hands was more or less constantly in his pants. Still, it was just friendly teasing, no downright cyber-sex.

Eventually, Xander had finished the season and went to bed. SwitchHit - Chris - had called it a night an hour ago, but he still had to finish the last episodes. Good thing he didn't draw the book shit. That would've taken a week, not an evening.

When Xander woke up the next morning, the next battle was already waiting for him. He rolled the dice as he crawled out of bed, again rolling abyssal. Only six eyes were visible on his dice.

"Flex_88💪 rolled: 6. SwitchHit rolled: 10. SwitchHit wins!"

This time, the wheel landed on "Personality". Weird. That was a pretty vague category.

"Challenge! Show someone their place."

Xander raised his eyebrows. What a weird challenge. Anyway, time to for groceries!"

Xander drove over to the store in his old and cheap car. However, when he arrived, another visitor to the gym took the parking spot directly in front of the entrance. What an asshole!

Xander parked and got out of his car, quickly approaching the unsuspecting guy that just stole *his* spot.

"Hey, asshole! What do you think you're doing?!"

The man, a young guy with glasses and a bit on the nerdy side, looked up, surprised.

"What's your problem?"

"I'm the problem. Your problem. You just took my parking spot."

"Your spot? Don't be ridiculous."

Xander's hands balled into fists. That guy was really annoying!

"That was my spot, asshole. If you don't get your ass moving, I'll *make* you move."

"Alright, alright, chill down. Geez."

The other guy got in his car and parked in another spot. Xander nodded satisfied. He had shown him. Oh. Right, the challenge.

Entering the building (without moving his car), Xander checked his phone and sent SwitchHit a message:

Tank: Man, people are crazy today. Some asshole took my parking spot and I had to show him.

SwitchHit: Sorry to hear that.

SwitchHit: Did you change your screen name?

Tank: Nope. It's Tank, as it has always been. Because I'm a fricking TANK!

SwitchHit: Yeah. That makes sense.

"Battle available!"

Xander was collecting stuff from the shelves when he rolled the dice in-between. He rolled a solid 14, but Chris beat him by one point.

"Tank rolled: 14. SwitchHit rolled: 15. SwitchHit wins!"

Xander cursed loudly, making a few heads turn in the shop. The wheel turned and finally landed on a heart shape. "Empathy" it read. Another one of those fuzzy words.

"Challenge! Cut ties that hold you back!"

Xander scratched his head. What was that supposed to mean? He really wanted to win this game, so what did he have to do now?

As he thought about this, another message popped up, this time from the chat group with his closest circle of friends, who were planning their next meet-up. If Xander thought about it, he was really annoyed by those guys. They were all nerds and losers who always had shit ideas like board games and stuff. Without a second thought, Xander replied to the group.

Tank: I'm not coming. Those gatherings are a waste of time. Get lost, losers!

With that, he left the group and blocked the numbers of his so called friends. He had better things to do.

"Battle available!"

Like that, for example. Chris, who went by the silly nickname of CuddleBug, was at least a horny bastard like Xander himself. With a tap, he rolled the dice.

"Tank rolled: 12. CuddleBug rolled: 10. Tank wins!"

Oh yeah! The roll wasn't even so great, yet still he won. Xander smiled even broader when the wheel landed on a muscular torso, labelled simply: "Muscles."

In an instant, Xander felt his whole body swell up. No wonder. Axel basically *lived* in the gym. As he looked down, the fabric of his shirt had turned almost transparent with the sudden expansion of his muscles. It wasn't just his torso, of course. Axel didn't skip leg day, so his quads and hamstrings grew to impressive size, too. His shoulders were getting broad and wide, as well, to the point where he had difficulties reaching his back.

"Challenge! Show your gainz, buy a muscle shirt!"

Axel could have slapped his forehead. Why didn't he think of that himself - and sooner? He needed to share that thought.

Tank: Hey Chris, what ya tink? I should get a muscle shirt, huh?

Tank sent an image.

CuddleBug: Omg, yes. That will look awesome. I wish I had muscles like that.

Axel grinned. Right. No wonder that Chris agreed, Axel's muscles were a sight to behold. Good thing he was already in a store. He quickly bought a few muscle shirts, enough to replace his usual wardrobe. After paying for his purchase, Axel put on the new shirt right on the parking lot before squeezing himself into his car.

"Battle available!"

The game was pretty fast-paced. Axel tapped to roll the dice and was pumping his fist, when one after another, all three dice ended up showing a six.

"Tank rolled: 18. CuddleBug rolled: 4. Tank wins! Critical!"

"Ha! Yes!" Axel cheered and the wheel spun until it showed "Dominance".

A surge of excitement and satisfaction rushed through Axel's veins. He felt *good* all of a sudden. And *powerful*.

"Challenge! Assert your dominance! Challenge a gym bro today!"

Axel grinned. Yeah, that was exactly his thing. He needed to get to the gym anyway. That free membership was hard earned. Also, Chri- Kit seemed to like his gains. Time to make some more.

It was still early afternoon, and the gym wasn't packed with visitors yet, when Axel arrived. There were a few regulars, as always. A short dude with a moustache that looked like a wannabe porn star and a big dude with a neckbeard were currently occupying the bench press, while a girl in her 40s did lat pulls.

Confidently and arrogantly, Axel readjusted his half-hard cock and approached the big guy.

"Yo, man. You're pretty buff. But I bet I can still take you easily. Wann wrestle?"

The large dude looked at Axel for a moment. Axel could see a vein on his neck throb.

"You little shit. You think you're better than me, huh? Fine, let's do this."

In the pocket of his gym shorts, Axel could feel his phone vibrate.

"Ha. Lead the way, I'm gonna wipe the floor with you."

As he followed the big guy to the mats, Axel checked his phone.

"Battle available!"

Great! Before he kicked some ass, he could play some more! While walking, he rolled the dice and scored a 15!

"Tank rolled: 15. CuddleBug rolled: 9. Tank wins!"

He didn't have time to watch the wheel this time, so he didn't notice that it landed on "Stamina." He also didn't see the challenge, which simply read: "Kick some ass!"

The big guy was already waiting for him on the mats, but Axel felt incredibly cocky. This was gonna be easy!

"No rules, no limits, no mercy." Axel said and the other guy nodded.

"That's the way it's gonna be. No mercy, punk."

"Bring it, tubby."

The big guy was the first to charge and he was surprisingly fast for his size. However, his speed and strength were no match for Axel's new found muscles. Even though they wrestled for a few minutes, Axel found himself not even tiring much. Finally, he was able to flip his opponent around and lock him on the ground. He tried to struggle, but Axel held his arms and legs firmly in place.

"Give up, man. You can't win."

The big guy tried to wiggle out of Axel's grip, but to no avail. He could struggle and shout as much as he wanted, but Axel was the one on top.

Finally, the guy gave up and admitted defeat.

"Ha! Loser!" Axel cheered and got up. He had a full boner now, both from the sweaty wrestling as well as from the display of dominance, but he didn't hide it. Instead, he headed to the showers and let Kit know of his triumph on the way.

XxBeastxX: I just *dominated* some fuckin weakass in the gym. Wrestled him down and he was crying and everything.

Kit answered right away.

CuddleBug: You're awesome.

CuddleBug: I wish I could have been in this place.

XxBeastxX: Ha. Course I am.

XxBeastxX: Huh? Whatya mean?

CuddleBug: Nothing. Never mind.

Axel was about to answer, but yet another "Battle available!" message popped up.

This game was seriously addictive! Axel rolled the dice and had a 10, which was decidedly less than what Kit had.

"XxBeastxX rolled: 10. CuddleBug rolled: 11. CuddleBug wins!"

"Damn." Axel said, but the wheel landed on "Generosity." He was almost glad he lost. Otherwise, the challenge would probably have been something like "Donate to the homeless" or some shit. What did the homeless ever do for him?

Instead, the challenge was:

"Challenge! Sell something of sentimental value!"

Huh. Well, Axel didn't really have anything he would consider "sentimental". His old PS2 that he got from his uncle for his 10th birthday was a bit sentimental, but other than that... Oh! His old car would probably qualify.

Axel thought about it. On the one hand, his old car was a piece of shit, and he shouldn't care much about it, but on the other hand... It would be a shame if he would have to say goodbye to his baby. Would it? No, not really. It was a pain to squeeze into it anyway. And if he played his cards right, he would even get some good money for it.

The decision was easy, and after showering, Axel drove to the nearest car dealer. It was a hard bargain, but in the end, he managed to persuade the guy to buy his car. It wasn't a high price, but it was more than what the piece of crap was really worth.

Just as he finished the contract, his phone dinged. It was rude, of course, but he didn't give a flying shit about that and checked his phone. It was from Kit, of course.

TwinkyKit: I just donated some money to the homeless. That felt good!

Axel snorted. Of course, how pathetic.

XxBeastxX: Good. Maybe now they won't be so fucking lazy anymore and work a little.

"Battle available!"

It seemed like the game always interrupted their chats. Well, anyway. He quickly rolled the dice, while the car dealer waited patiently to return his attention to him again. The dice turned out lower than Kit's again and after reading the wheel result and the challenge, Axel looked back up to the car dealer. For a split second, the "Money" challenge was still visible on the screen: "Challenge! Buy a muscle car! You know you want it!"

Damn right he did. Jax had always wanted to have a muscle car. He just never had the money. Bullshit. He never had the balls to take on some debt to buy one.

The car dealer was more than willing to help Jax chose and set up the necessary credit paperwork. He didn't even read this shit and selected a car immediately. A shiny, silver beast with a huge engine. It was a bit pricy, but it was worth it, at least to Jax. After he received the keys, he messaged Kit.

XxBeastxX: While you were busy giving money to some crackheads, I got myself something new. Check this out!

XxBeastxX sent an image.

The first image was the car of course. The second was a dick pic, for good measures. Jax didn't really care that he was still at the car dealer when he lowered his pants for a moment to snap the pic.

TwinkyKit: OMG. You're such a stud.

XxBeastxX: Thanks, Twinky.

XxBeastxX: By the way, show some respect!

He drove back home, feeling great.

At home, the next battle was already available. Jax grinned and rolled the dice. He could hardly believe what he saw: 3 single eyes. He rolled a fucking 3.

"XxBeastxX rolled: 3. TwinkyKit rolled: 3. Tie! Both lose! Critical!"

What a pathetic roll, for both of them!

The wheel landed on "Impulse Control". This was getting interesting. It was true, Jax was notoriously bad at controlling himself. He just bought a new car, on a whim. So whatever challenge was coming his way shouldn't be too hard.

"Challenge! Get that tat!"

Jax didn't think much about it. Sure, why not. He would probably regret it, but that was something future Jax would have to deal with. He started his shiny new car again and drove to a nearby tattoo studio.

When the artist asked what kind of design he wanted, he only thought for a second, before deciding: "A dragon, obviously!"

As the artist started working, he massaged his dick with his other hand, earning him a condescending look from the artist. He couldn't help it though. Kit... Kitty would surely love his new tat.

When he sent a pic later, he was proven right:

TwinkyKit: OMG! That's hot.

TwinkyKit: I wish I had one, too.

TwinkyKit: I mean: Sir.

Jax smiled and was about to type a reply, when another "Battle available!"-message distracted him.

He quickly rolled the dice and grinned at the result: 15! That beat Kittys sorry little ass for sure, and he was right. Kitty had a mere 7 points to show. This time, the wheel landed on "Aggressiveness."

If possible, Jax felt even more powerful and manly. The challenge read "Start a bar fight!" and that was exactly what Jax wanted to do this evening. Well, that or fuck some ass, but really, a good bar fight was probably even better tonight.

He quickly messaged Kitty.

Ass_Crusher🍆: Talk to you tomorrow. Gonna kick some ass now. Think of me when you jerk off tonight, boy!

Kitty responded almost instantly, with a picture of his uncut dick.

TwinkyKit: I will, Sir! Have fun.

Jax drove to the nearest gay bar, a shady joint called "Diesel". The music was loud, and the lights were dim. Jax didn't mind the atmosphere, though, instead, he went straight to the bar and ordered a double shot. He downed the drink and ordered a second. Just as the bartender placed the glass in front of him, he grabbed it and threw the liquor right into the bartender's face.

"The fuck?! What are you doing?!"

"What do you think, asshole?" Jax answered, his voice dangerously calm.

"You can't do this!"

"Yeah, I can. And you're going to shut the fuck up."

With those words, Jax slammed his fist in the bartender's face, who immediately fell to the ground. There had been really no reason for him to punch the bartender, but it had the intended effect: From one moment to the other, there was a barfight in full swing.

Of course, everyone tried to overwhelm Jax, but he fought back with vigor and stamina. Several black eyes and a broken nose on his enemies later, the patrons and the bar's bouncer managed to throw Jax out, but still, Jax had a great time, kicking ass and punching dudes. Before someone could call the cops, Jax went home, happy and content.

When Jax woke up the next morning, he almost didn't notice any bruises anymore. Instead, he grabbed his phone while he was doing his morning piss and checked ATArena. Yep, there was another battle available. Time to see if Kitty was already up.

He rolled the dice and only a minute later, Kitty's results came in. Easy win. Jax had rolled only a ten, but Kitty didn't beat him with his pathetic five. However, Jax laughed out loudly, as he saw the wheel's result: Dick size.

"Challenge! Show your assets!"

*That*, Jax could do. He watched as the cock in his hand grew longer and fatter by the second, instantly forgetting that it had once been smaller. No, Jax always had a big, fat and juicy cock, the biggest, actually. With a few last strokes, Jax sent a pic of his cock, the tip glistening wet.

Ass_Crusher🍆: Check that out. That's what a real cock looks like.

Ass_Crusher🍆 sent an image.

Jax sent several more images of his magnificent rod, both naked and wearing tight underwear. As if there was another kind. For Jax, all underwear was tight.

Finally, Kitty responded.

CrushersToyBoy: Fuck. You're so hot, Sir.

CrushersToyBoy sent an image.

Jax smirked. Kitty's own cock was tiny, especially compared to Jax' equipment. It didn't matter much, though. Kitty didn't need it, he needed to have his ass crushed.

Ass_Crusher🍆: I know, babe. I know. You know what I'll do with it now?

"Battle available!"

God dammit. This was getting annoying.

Jax quickly rolled the dice, scoring the top available score! 18 points! But apparently, Kitty was just as lucky, rolling an 18, too.

"Ass_Crusher🍆 rolled: 18. CrushersToyBoy rolled: 18. Tie! Both win! Critical!"

Jax didn't even need to read the attribute to feel it. It was "Libido, again." His already mostly hard cock surged up, becoming a firm steel pipe in his pre-cum soaked underwear. There were no pants on earth that could hide his constant arousal - on some days, even a firm pair of jeans left nothing to imagination and showed a wet patch where his cock was constantly leaking pre. He was a walking and breathing sex machine and Rex knew it. His name was fitting, too. He was a fucking king among men. And today he was going to breed the fuckable ass of that twink.

Ass_Crusher🍆: Get ready, boy. I'm cumming over and I'm gonna split open that ass of yours.

Rex closed the game and deleted it. There was no point in wasting his time with some stupid mobile game. He got back into his car and revved the engine. Oh yeah. Time to get some ass!

What a great game! I know I wouldn't mind playing if ATArena popped up on my phone, would you?

#male transformation #dumbing down #muscle transformation #mental transformation #corruption

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imfoive · 21 days ago

Text

2:14

Bang Chan x Reader (fem.) Genre: Established Relationship au!, Fluff Warnings: suggestive, somewhat proofread WC: 719 A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head all day! Inspired by my 6 billion alarms lmao Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

DRABBLE ──────────────────────────

It started out as a reminder.

A Valentine’s Day message.

The time felt romantic, the words even more.

It started as an alarm that was forgotten.

The first time Chan set it, he was kicking his legs in the air, giddy at the mere thought of the idea the following day.

Texting Y/N a simple message.

Words he hadn’t uttered yet, planning to do so on Valentine’s Day.

And the next day, when the alarm rang at 2:14, he grinned widely, his fingers flying across the screen. Typing out those letters. Words he would say to her in person later to watch her reaction in real-time. Words he would repeat throughout the night as he wined and dined her, special plans on this special day for his special person.

“I love you.”

Then the following day it rang again, waking Chan from a blissful slumber. They had spent all night, all morning tangled in each other’s limbs from their eventful Valentine’s Day the evening prior. And as Y/N prepared for the day in the bathroom, he stared at the ringing tune, his heart still full from their eventful celebration. He had realized he had forgotten to set it as just a one-time thing. Yet couldn’t resist as he reached over, his fingers began to type, sending a message. Watching her own phone screen come to life with the notification of a message from him just next to.

He grinned once more, wide. Just imagining her face as she opened the message. Reading three words he had repeated as he seared kisses onto her.

Of course watching her reaction was rewarding. Her smile bloomed as she fell back onto the mattress, playfully tackling him. Responding to his message.

And then it became a cherished routine.

Every afternoon at 2:14, the familiar tune of this one alarm jolted him into thoughts of her. Chan would reach for his phone, fingers ready to type the words he longed to whisper into her ears.

His friends would stare at him, wondering why he had such a specific alarm, such a specific task he had to do every single day. This new, peculiar thing that would soon turn into a habit.

He’d simply smile and shake his head, sending the message before returning to his work, awaiting Y/N’s response that never failed to brighten his day.

And he did receive a response.

He always received a response.

Watching his screen light up a few minutes later with those heartfelt words returned.

When he would huff and puff, rubbing at his face after an argument he had with her one morning over something he didn’t even remember anymore, his alarm would remind him that it wasn’t that deep. That it was something stupid they had gotten all worked up over, such a trivial thing that shouldn’t ruin their days. He would sigh, glancing at the lockscreen of their picture together, smiles and dimples, before guilt ate away at him.

His fingers danced over the screen.

“I love you”

And soon enough, her response would bring warmth back to his heart.

Chan would return home, and immediately go into Y/N’s arms, the two of them apologizing for whatever had made them bitter towards each other only hours ago. Melting into each other.

Then the messages evolved.

From simple, “I love yous” to “I love you, I’m sorry.”

“I love you. Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I love you. Doctors appointment today, I’ll pick you up.”

“I love you. Baby’s the size of a peach pit now.”

At 2:14, his phone would buzz again, and knowing smiles would pass between his friends as he sighed, feeling the weight of his busy life. From the strenuous task he didn’t realize he was drowning in, he’d glance at the snapshot of the new picture on his lockscreen. His lips would thin into a sweet smile as he stared at the screen, at the love of his life, his daughter cradled in between their grasps, twinkling eyes staring into the camera.

And suddenly Chan felt extra fluttery. Those feelings he felt the first time he set the alarm, the first time he sent the message, surged back with its familiarity.

His fingers typed.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ end.

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mysunshinetemptress · 5 months ago

Text

Unseen, Unwanted, Indifferent

Leah Williamson x McCabe!reader

Warnings: Pure angst

Read part 1&2 here-You see me Wanted,Unwanted

The makeup wipe snagged on a stray eyelash, leaving a black streak against your cheek. Frustration bubbled up, mirroring the turmoil in your stomach. Leah's birthday party was in two hours, and doubt gnawed at you like a hungry rat.

The vintage Thiery Henry jersey framed in corner of your room, the one you didn't even debate on gifting to Leah, suddenly felt childish, a relic from a past life before Leah. A life where "pretty enough" wasn't a constant mantra echoing in your head.

What if she didn't like it," "What if she wanted you to buy her a fancy necklace...a ring...a bracelet, not a jersey that had been hanging up in your bedroom since you were seven." You shook your head "She'll love it her Mam said so."

You forced a smile, the reflection in the mirror unconvincing. Leah's Mam might have said it, but sometimes moms sugarcoated things, especially when it came to their precious daughters. You gnawed on your lip, the familiar metallic tang a grounding presence.

The jersey, a faded crimson with the legendary "14" emblazoned on the back, held memories. Memories of childhood afternoons spent glued to the TV, mesmerized by Henry's lightning-fast runs and audacious goals. It wasn't just a jersey; it was a symbol of a passion you shared with Leah, a connection forged over the love for a team, and the idolisation of the same player.

Taking a deep breath. Maybe it wasn't a diamond necklace, but it was genuine. You weren't some sugar daddy showering Leah with trinkets, you were her girlfriend, someone who understood the pure joy of a perfectly placed volley.

Suddenly, a different fear pricked at you. What if you weren't good enough to attend her party as her girlfriend, you were quite and happy to fade into the back with your small circle, Leah was a social butterfly, someone who didn't mind attention and fed off it well, were you good enough for her.

You rang out your hands shaking your head, of course, you were you had to be she wouldn't be dating you this long if she didn't think you were good enough for her, pretty enough for her, right?

"She loves me, she said so herself," you whispered to yourself as you looked at yourself in the mirror again before turning to the clock.

The pep talk you delivered yourself wasn't entirely convincing. You grabbed the frame, the crimson a little duller under the harsh light, and held it against your chest. It felt reassuringly familiar, the worn fabric whispering stories of epic matches and shared cheers.

Grabbing your phone, you scrolled through Leah's social media. Pictures of her beaming next to the girls, all perfectly styled and radiating confidence, filled the screen. Each one felt like a tiny jab of doubt. But then, tucked between selfies with the Arsenal, Lioness and Milton Keynes friends, was a picture of you two, arms linked, celebrating a goal during a recent match. Leah's smile was genuine, her eyes crinkled with laughter, focused solely on you.

"She loves you," you breathed, a mantra against the storm brewing inside.

Taking a deep breath, you messaged Leah. "On my way! Can't wait to celebrate with you." A heart emoji followed a small gesture that felt significant right now.

Arriving into the private room the music thumps loudly in your ears as you search for someone you might know, your sister or Leah preferably.

The door swung shut behind you, plunging you into a cacophony of pulsing music and excited chatter. Strobe lights cast the room in a dizzying array of colors, momentarily obscuring the faces in the crowd. The vintage jersey felt heavy against your chest, a symbol of your anxieties more than a birthday gift.

A knot formed in your stomach as you scanned the room. Faces blurred together – a sea of unfamiliar laughter and flashing smiles. Panic clawed at your throat. Where was Leah? Where was anyone you recognized?

Just as despair threatened to engulf you, a familiar figure emerged from the throng. Your sister, clad in a brightly colored dress that clashed spectacularly with the club's dim lighting, spotted you and waved enthusiastically, a beacon in the sea of strangers. Relief washed over you as you hurried towards her, the pounding music muted by the whoosh of returning confidence.

"Hey you!" Katie greeted you with a hug, her voice barely audible over the music. "There you are! I was starting to think you got lost."

"Almost did," you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. You cast a glance around the room again, searching for Leah amongst the dancing bodies. "Have you seen Leah?"

"She's over by the food table," your sister pointed towards the opposite corner of the room. "Looks like she's being swarmed by admirers." She gave you a knowing wink.

A pang of insecurity flickered within you. Images of Leah's social media feed flashed in your mind – the dazzling smiles, the effortless coolness of her friends. Would you be overshadowed by the crowd? Were you good enough for her world?

Taking a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders. You weren't here to compete. You were here for Leah, for the shared passion that transcended the glitz and the noise. With a newfound determination, you thanked your sister and weaved your way through the throng of dancing bodies, the pulsating music thrumming in your chest, a rhythm that echoed the beat of your own heart.

Katie nudged you "Come on, I've actually got a surprise for you." You looked at her brows pushed together in confusion. Surprise. What surprise ? it wasn't your birthday.

You smiled as you arrived in front of Leah, butterflies erupting as she turned to look at you her own smile seeming to grow ten times bigger, suddenly every doubt you'd had throughout the night had disappeared and was replaced by swells of butterflies lots and lots of butterflies.

Leah moved pulling you into a tight hug "I was starting to think you might never show." You shook your head "I wouldn't miss it for anything." Leah squeezed your hand looking down at the frame before looking at Katie as the Irish girl cleared her throat.

"Before Y/n gives you her present, I thought I would give you mine." Katie paused as Leah felt her heart sink, squeezing your hand to gain your attention you turned still smiling only for it to falter at the look on the older girl's face "Y/n..I...I'm so sorry." You titled your head slightly confusion written across your face as Katie began to speak again.

"I never thought you would go through with it mate, but the fact you have made Y/n fall so hard for you is impressive, what's even more impressive is the fact you've strung her along for this long., so without further a do, here the 100 pounds for holding up your end of the deal, and here's an extra 50 just for keeping it going for so long, fair play."

You flicked your head between Leah and Katie trying to figure out what was going on.

The air hung heavy with betrayal. The pulsating music seemed to mock you, a cruel soundtrack to your shattering world. Leah's hand, moments ago warm and welcoming, felt clammy and distant in yours. You fought the urge to yank it free, the familiar crimson of the jersey a burning reminder of your misplaced trust.

A million questions swirled in your mind, threatening to drown you. But all that escaped your lips was a choked whisper, "Leah?"

Her gaze wouldn't meet yours. Shame, or maybe something more sinister, flickered across her face before she mumbled an apology, its sincerity lost in the deafening silence that had descended upon the small group.

"What's going on, what is she talking about." Leah wouldn't look at you so you looked at Katie "Katie." Katie let out a laugh at the look on your face "Wow Le you really got her good, she looks so heartbroken."

The world tilted on its axis. The laughter you heard morphed into a distorted jeer, the music into a relentless cacophony. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, mirroring the frantic beat of a trapped bird.

Leah's silence was an accusation in itself. The warmth of her hug just moments ago felt like a cruel mirage. You clutched the jersey tighter, a shield against the icy tendrils of betrayal that snaked their way through you.

Finally, forcing your voice past the lump in your throat, you rasped, "Leah, please... tell me it's not true." You yearned for her to deny it, to laugh it off as some elaborate, misguided prank. But the hollowness in her eyes confirmed your worst fears.

Shame burned hot on your cheeks. How could you have been so blind? The self-doubt that had gnawed at you all night morphed into a monstrous realisation – you hadn't been paranoid, you'd just been too trusting.

Anger, hot and fierce, bubbled up within you. Katie's smug laughter grated on your nerves. "A bet, You were a bet." The words tumbled out, laced with laughter and a humour that surprised you.

Katie's words hung in the air, a cruel punchline to a terrible joke. A hundred pounds. A bet. You weren't Leah's girlfriend. You were a pawn in some twisted game. The vintage jersey, a symbol of shared passion moments ago, now felt heavy with the weight of a lie.

Heat flooded your cheeks, a burning tide of humiliation. You wanted to curl up into a ball, to cry to disappear from Leah, Katie, and the entire room that seemed to be closing in on you. But there was no hole to swallow you up. All you could manage was a choked laugh, a pathetic sound that echoed your shattered heart.

Leah, her face now pale, stammered something, an apology maybe, but it was lost in the roaring storm of emotions within you. You didn't need to hear it. You saw the truth reflected in her eyes – a truth far uglier than any betrayal. Pity, perhaps. Regret, at most. But no love.

“I mean come on pal hardly you actually thought that.” Katie smiled at you "Why would she choose you, for crying out loud she didn't even know who you were till you came off your loan, that's how how unseen you are."

You straighten your back, the framed jersey suddenly feeling foreign in your hands. Mustering all your strength, you meet Katie's gaze, your voice surprisingly steady. "A hundred pounds? That's all I was worth to you, Leah?"

Leah flinches, her eyes welling up. You wait for a denial, an explanation, anything. But there's nothing. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the throbbing music that seems to mock your pain.

The familiar metallic tang of blood filled your mouth as you bit down on your lip. You needed to escape. The pulsating music, the flashing lights, the throng of oblivious dancers, it all felt suffocating. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

With a strength born of desperation, you shove the frame into Leah's hands muttering a small happy birthday before pushing past her, ignoring her outstretched hand, ignoring Katie's voice calling after you. Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you weaved through the crowd, the thumping music a dull counterpoint to the storm raging inside.

Reaching the doorway, you stumbled out into the cool night air, the sudden quiet a physical blow. Gasping for breath, you leaned against the wall. What were you meant to do now.

Inside Amanda came pushing through the Arsenal girls before reaching her daughter “Where is she off to then we are about to do the cake.” Leah turned to look at her mum cheeks blotchy and tears in her eyes “Mum….i.”

The words poured out of Leah's mouth like a waterfall as she explained the horrible bet to Amanda, who began to feel nauseous at the thought of her daughter being so cruel, to you, the girl who was so scared to meet them, you who felt to unimportant to sit in the living room with them you would prefer to hold up the doorway, her daughter had just broken the heart of the most genuine kind girl she had met, in the most horrible way possible.

"I'm sorry you did what." Leah's eyes dropped to the ground unable to look at her mother's disappointed face. "I.....Leah of all the things and to Y/n.....Y/n she god Leah she was it she was your one....she's the one we all wanted the one we were all gunning for how.....how could you be so cruel and to Y/n I'm so disappointed, I actually can't even look at you." Leah turned “Mum…I.” But Amanda was gone.

The cool night air slapped you awake, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the club. Tears welled up again, blurring the neon glow of the street signs. A hundred pounds. A bet. The words echoed in your head, a relentless drumbeat drowning out everything else.

Suddenly, a hand touched your shoulder. You flinched, expecting Leah, but it was your sister, Katie, a worried frown etched on her face. "Y/n, wait!"

You glared at her, the anger a hot coal in your chest. "Don't even try it, Katie."

"Look, I know this is messed up," she began, but you cut her off.

"Messed up? That's an understatement." Your voice trembled, but you held her gaze. "How could Leah do this? How could you?"

Katie sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It was stupid, a stupid bet. I never thought she'd actually go through with it."

You scoffed. "Right, because Leah is Miss Perfect, incapable of making bad choices." The sarcasm dripped from your voice.

"She is a good person, Y/n," Katie insisted, but the conviction was lacking.

You shook your head, the betrayal cutting deep. "No, she's not. Not if she can treat someone like a pawn in some sick game."

"You're supposed to be my sister, I thought when I finally got to Arsenal you might love me as much as the others, that we could be actual sisters." Katie looked at your face full of regret "I do love you Y/n." You shook your head "No you don't, if you loved me you wouldn't have ever done this to me, you would never do this to Ella, or Lauryn would you?."

Katie reached out, but you flinched away. "Don't touch me."

Katie felt the guilt begin to eat away at her "Let me at least bring you home." You shook your head stepping away from her a single tear running down your cheek "No need I already called Mam."

Katie's eyebrows pushed together in confusion "Mam's at home." You smiled sadly at her "No she's not she flew out last night, i thought it was time she meet my girlfriend."

Katie felt nauseous as she began to realise just how far this sick joke had gone, you really fell in love.

“You really love her.” Katie said surprised, you nodded as tears began to roll down your cheeks “She is the first person that saw me, in the chaos of our lives she saw me, She wanted me for the first time in my life I was wanted, picked by someone who wasn’t my parents or my siblings because the felt bad, or so I thought turns out she’s indifferent, I’m nothing to her but 100 pounds.” Katie went to step forward again but turned at the sound of your Mam shouting. “Leave her alone right now Katie McCabe or so help me god.”

“Mam.” Your Mother shook her head “I don’t want to hear a word from you do you understand.” Katie shut her mouth nodding as she dropped her head.

You threw yourself into her arms, the dam breaking as you sobbed into her shoulder. The betrayal, the humiliation, the pain – it all came pouring out in a torrent of tears.

Your mom held you tight, her voice a soothing balm. "It's okay, love. Let it all out."

Katie watched from a distance, the weight of her guilt crushing her. The prank that started as a harmless joke had spiralled into a devastating betrayal. She had hurt you, her own sister, and she knew she might never be able to make things right.

Your mother held you for what felt like hours, whispering reassurances as you choked out sobs. The city lights blurred through the veil of your tears, each flicker reflecting a shard of your shattered heart. Finally, your cries subsided into hiccups, leaving behind a raw ache and a dull throbbing in your head.

Pulling back, your mother cupped your tear-streaked face, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "Why they did this, sweetheart, is because they're cruel and shallow. But their actions don't define your worth. You, Y/n, are strong, kind, and deserving of real love. Don't you ever forget that."

Her words, laced with love and unwavering belief, were a soothing balm to your wounded spirit. You leaned into her touch, finding solace in the familiar warmth. Taking a shaky breath, you wiped at your eyes. "I just...don't understand. Why would Leah do this?"

Your mother sighed, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. "Sometimes, people make terrible choices, honey. But Leah will have to live with the consequences of her actions, just like Katie."

You head straight for your room when you get home, ignoring the buzzing of your phone you mutter a quick goodnight to your Mam before shutting your door and crawling under the covers, before beginning to cry again.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless. You should've known. The self-doubt that had gnawed at you all night wasn't paranoia, it was your intuition screaming unheard. A hundred pounds. A bet. You weren't Leah's girlfriend, you were a punchline in a cruel joke.

Anger, hot and fierce, flared within you, momentarily pushing back the tide of sadness. You grabbed your phone, the need to confront Leah burning in your gut. But what was there to say? The silence at the club spoke volumes.

Your thumb hovered over Leah's name, then hovered some more. Finally, with a deep breath, you deleted her contact. A small act of defiance in a night that felt like a complete and utter defeat.

Exhaustion settled over you like a heavy blanket. You curled into a ball, the hollowness in your chest a constant ache. Sleep, when it came, was a restless affair, filled with fragmented memories of flashing lights, pulsating music, and Leah's cold, emotionless eyes.

You awake the next morning to your Mam at your bedroom door saying there was a woman at the door who wanted to talk to you.

You let out a huff tearing off the covers before heading to the kitchen. You stop dead at the sight of Amanda sitting in your kitchen having a cough before your bottom lip starts to wobble.

Amanda jumps up from her seat before wrapping her arms tightly around you "Oh darling I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." You shake your head "I'm sorry too Amanda, I'm so sorry I wasn't good enough for her."

Amanda pulls back, cupping your face gently. "Sweetheart, you are more than good enough. Leah's actions are a reflection of her own shallowness, not your worth. You have a kind heart, a brilliant mind, and a passion that shines brighter than any trophy."

Her words sink in, a flicker of warmth battling the lingering chill of betrayal. You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "Thanks,Amanda."

"Can I get you some tea, love?" she asks, her voice laced with concern.

You nod gratefully, sinking into a chair at the table. As Amanda bustles around the kitchen, you steal a glance at the woman who, until yesterday, was your girlfriend's mother. The sight of her fills you with a mix of emotions – anger, sadness, and a flicker of curiosity.

Amanda returns, placing a steaming mug in front of you. You mutter out a small thank you before clearing your throat "How is she?." Amanda's face softens "Y/n we don't have to..." You shake your head "Please."

She hesitates, her brow furrowed. "She's a mess, to be honest. She told me everything last night, and I was… well, let's just say I'm not happy with her. Not one bit."

Relief washes over you, a small comfort amidst the wreckage of your heart. "What did she say?"

Amanda takes a sip of her tea, her gaze distant. "She said it was a stupid bet, that she never meant to hurt you. But frankly, intentions don't matter much when the result is this much pain."

"A hundred pounds. That's all I was worth to her?" Your words come out in a chocked sob.

Amanda reaches across the table, squeezing your hand. "Honey, you are priceless. Don't you ever let anyone tell you differently.

Later that day, your phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. You open it cautiously, your breath catching in your throat when you see the name: Leah.

The messages are all the same, short and to the point: "Y/n, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

You stare at the screen, a war raging within you. Part of you wants to unleash a torrent of anger, to make her understand the depth of your pain. But another part, a smaller, wounded part, aches for her.

The next few days are a blur. Ignoring your teammates who all seemed to know about the bet, you couldn't help but question if they had been part of it too in opening up and getting to know you, including you in things. Your mam becomes your rock, offering endless cups of tea, movie marathons, and fiercely supportive silences.

You're asleep on the couch when you begin to hear shouting, you sit up rubbing your eyes before going to stand before moving more quickly as you here your Mam let out a shout for someone to leave

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you bolted towards the front door. The shouting was unmistakeable - your Mum's voice laced with anger, and another, muffled voice pleading its case. Bursting into the hallway, you skidded to a stop, taking in the scene before you.

There, on the doorstep, stood Leah. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her hair a mess, a stark contrast to the composed figure she usually presented. Your Mam, arms crossed and face thunderous, stood blocking the doorway. Amanda stood behind Leah tugging on her arm trying to get her out of your driveway.

"Absolutely not, Leah!" your Mam boomed, her voice echoing in the small hallway. "You had your chance, and you blew it in the most horrendous way."

Leah flinched, tears welling up in her eyes again. "I know, Mrs. McCabe, I know. I was awful, and I deeply regret it. But please, just let me talk to Y/n. I need to apologise properly."

Leah's words die in her throat at the sight of you standing behind your Mam so small, so sad, so broken "Y/n" Your Mam turns immediately and Amanda's hands seem to grip Leah's arm tighter as she goes to step into your house.

You step back as Leah steps forward again "You haven't answered any of my texts...I..." You can't help but laugh internally at Leah's lack of words, but it also feels even more crushing than the night of her birthday party, that's all she can say, that you haven't answered her texts.

The cynical part of you snorts. You clench your fists, the anger threatening to bubble over. But before you can unleash it, your Mam speaks, her voice firm but laced with a hint of sadness.

"Leah, honey, I understand you're sorry. But actions speak louder than words, and yours spoke volumes. Y/n needs time to heal. She trusted you, and you betrayed that trust in a cruel way."

Leah hangs her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know, Mrs. McCabe. I was an idiot. A terrible person. But please, believe me when I say I never meant to hurt Y/n like this. It started as a stupid bet...a dare, really. But it spiraled, and I…"

"And you let it go on," your Mam finishes, her voice colder now. "You let it go on for who knows how long, playing with Y/n's affections. That's not a mistake, Leah. That's a conscious choice."

The truth hangs heavy in the air, a suffocating weight. Leah opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. You see a flicker of something in her eyes – regret, maybe, or perhaps just a glimpse of the pain you're feeling mirrored back at you.

Amanda looks at you sadly as she tugs Leah's arm "Come on Le." Leah pulled her arm out of her mum's grip "I love you." You felt your heart sink as your eyes welled up with more tears, shaking your head you stepped out from behind your own mam, "No you don't." Leah shook her head "I do." you stepped forward this time within arm's length.

Leah doesn't hesitate to step closer before putting her hands on your waist and pulling you in, you don't fit it, you can't this is all you've wanted since her birthday so you sink into you wrap your arms around her as she rests her head on your shoulder.

Your voice, laced with a quiet strength that surprised even yourself, cut through the tension. "Love isn't a word you throw around after breaking someone's heart, Leah. Love is about respect, about trust, about building something real together. You built a house of cards on lies, and now you're surprised it crumbled?"

Tears streamed down Leah's face, her voice trembling. "Y/n, please. I know I messed up. I was stupid, and I let pride get the better of me. But the time we spent together, the way you made me laugh, the way you understood my passion for the game... that was real. I never meant for it to go this far."

You scoffed, a humorless sound. "Convenient, isn't it? To pick and choose what parts were real and what were just a game. Because let's be honest, Leah, that's all I ever was to you, wasn't I? A pawn in your little bet."

Leah flinched, but you pressed on, your voice gaining momentum. "Maybe you never meant to 'hurt' me, but you did. You shattered my trust, made me question everything I thought we had. And for what? A hundred pounds and a cheap thrill?"

Silence descended once more, heavy and suffocating. You pulled back seeing the flicker of shame in Leah's eyes, but it did little to ease the ache in your heart.

Leah's lips trembled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I... I care about you, Y/n. I really do."

"Care isn't enough, Leah," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging within. "You had a chance at something real, something special. You threw it away for a hundred pounds and a cheap laugh. How can I ever trust you again?"

Leah opened her mouth to protest, but your mother's hand on her shoulder silenced her. Amanda gave you a sympathetic smile before ushering a defeated Leah towards the car. As they drove away, you retreated back into the house, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily upon you.

You stood there for a long time, the weight of the encounter settling on you. The betrayal still stung, before you could turn to your mam and begin to cry into her shoulder once more you felt another hand on your shoulder turning, you didn't hesitate before throwing yourself into Mary's arms.

The tears came again, a torrent of hurt and confusion released into Mary's embrace. Mary held you tight, whispering soothing words that did little to penetrate the fog of pain.

"It's okay to cry, love," she murmured. "Let it all out."

You clung to her, the familiar scent of her lavender shampoo grounding you amidst the emotional chaos. The image of Leah's tearful face lingered, her declaration of love a discordant note in the symphony of your heartbreak.

Pulling back slightly, you wiped your glistening cheeks. "Do you think she really cares?"

Mary sighed, a deep breath that spoke volumes. "Honey, sometimes people say things in the heat of the moment, especially when they're trying to win someone back. True remorse takes time and action, not just empty words."

Her words were a balm, a dose of reality amidst the swirling emotions. You hadn't expected Leah's sudden appearance, nor the raw vulnerability she displayed. Part of you ached for the connection you thought you shared, the spark you felt whenever you were together. But the other, more sensible part, echoed your mother's sentiment. Actions spoke louder than words, and Leah's actions had spoken volumes.

You don't return to Arsenal, instead, you attend a meeting with your agent, Jonas and the board at Arsenal, you inform them of your wishes to be transferred this summer and when asked why you tell them everything, from the unwelcoming atmosphere your teammates have had from the start to a stupid bet that destroyed two relationships you really thought you had made since joining.

The air in the sterile conference room was thick with tension. Jonas, your agent, sat beside you, his jaw clenched tight. Across the table, the Arsenal board – a group of stern-faced men in expensive suits – listened intently to your story. You spoke with a quiet strength, your voice betraying a tremor of lingering hurt as you recounted the events of the past week.

From the initial awkwardness with your teammates to the cruel betrayal orchestrated by Leah and Katie, you held back nothing. You even explained how the constant feeling of being an outsider, someone tolerated but not truly welcomed, had chipped away at your confidence.

When you finished, a heavy silence descended upon the room. One of the board members, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, finally broke it. "This is a serious allegation, Ms. L/N. Do you have any proof of this 'bet' you speak of?"

You shook your head. "No, sir. It was a private conversation. But the way Leah and Katie acted, the way they looked at me… it all adds up."

Another board member, a woman with a sharp bob and piercing blue eyes, leaned forward. "And you believe this… bet… is the reason behind the strained relationship with your teammates?"

"It could be a part of it," you admitted. "Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't. But the overall feeling was… unwelcome."

Jonas cleared his throat. "Look, Ms. L/N has a very successful record on the pitch. But a player also needs to feel comfortable off it. This situation clearly isn't working for her."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the board members. The man with the beard steepled his fingers. "We understand your concerns, Ms. L/N and Mr. Hernandez. However, a transfer is a significant decision. We need to explore all options."

The next few minutes were a blur of discussions – potential solutions, alternative clubs, and the financial implications of a transfer. Finally, the woman with the bob spoke up.

"Here's what we can do. We'll launch a discreet investigation into these allegations. If your claims are substantiated, we'll take appropriate disciplinary action against those involved. Additionally, we'll work with the coaching staff to ensure a more inclusive environment for all players."

You exchanged a surprised glance with Jonas. This was more than you expected.

"As for the transfer," she continued, "we understand your desire for a fresh start. We're willing to consider loan offers from reputable clubs, provided they meet our financial requirements."

Relief washed over you. A loan deal wouldn't be ideal, but it would give you a chance to escape the toxic environment at Arsenal and prove yourself elsewhere. You looked at Jonas, silently seeking his advice.

He gave you a quick nod. "That sounds like a fair compromise."

A tense negotiation ensued, with Jonas expertly navigating the complexities of transfer fees and loan agreements. Finally, a deal was struck. You would be loaned to a top-tier Spanish club for the upcoming season, with an option to buy included in the contract.

As you shook hands with the board members, a sense of closure washed over you. This wasn't the fairytale ending you'd envisioned when you signed for Arsenal, but it was a new chapter. A chance to rewrite your story, a chance to rise above the betrayal and prove your worth on the world stage.

You disappear after the meeting, your house is empty you aren't in London or in Dublin, turning down the opportunity to play for Ireland, instead you hide out in Manchester at Mary's, attending solo training as well as Mary's solo training, you don't answer your phone to anyone on the Arsenal squad, Ireland squad, Katie or Leah's no collar id.

When the transfer/loan list is made public your phone blows up once again, you don't answer it until Katie's name flashes up on your screen, you hadn't spoken in weeks but you also knew this was important.

"You're leaving, you're leaving Arsenal, you're leaving." you sigh heading out to sit on the back step "I am." Katie stops for a second before you hear her voice crack "Y/n, I never wanted this, I never wanted you to leave." You shake your head "What did you think was going to happen, that I was going to sit back once again, I've been hurt enough, I have done everything for everyone even if it hurt me and this time I decided not to, I need to stop putting everyone else happiness, their comfortability over my own, I'm done."

There's a small pause before Katie speaks again "Y/n...I never meant for this to happen the way it did, you have to know that." You brush your hands through your hair "I don't, I didn't I'll say the same thing i told you the night of Leah's birthday, you wouldn't do what you did to me to Ella or Lauryn, or any of our other siblings, so I still don't know what I must have done for you to do it to me, what I must have done for you to hate me so much that you thought this would be funny." Katie tried again "Y/n." your bottom lip quivered "I'm tired Katie, so so tired of feeling like this, I don't want to feel like this anymore, I want to be happy, can you just let me go on this loan and let me be happy?" Katie could hear the hurt in your voice and she thought back to every time you finally spoke up and yet still pushed aside for something else, someone else. "Ok." you nod "Where are you going to go." you wiped your tears off your cheek. "I don't know yet, I just need to get out of England." Katie let out a small Oh "You're leaving the league." You smiled softly "If I'm going to give myself the best chance, I need to."

"I'm proud of ya." you laugh slightly "For what." Katie stops "I...I..." You smile softly wiping the stray tear "It's ok, I think I've finally made my peace with that, with this."

Shame burned in Katie's gut. She thought the prank would be harmless, a way to lighten the mood, had backfired spectacularly. You weren't Ella or Lauryn, or any of her other siblings, the ones who could shrug things off. You were Y/n, the quiet observer, the one who carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Seeing your vulnerability, the raw pain in your voice as you spoke of wanting happiness, chipped away at the last vestiges of Katie's justification. The truth, stark and ugly, stared back at her. It hadn't been a prank, it had been a cruel act fueled by a childish need to be funny, a way to lash out at the feeling of you constantly wanting to follow her around, do everything she wanted to do, now she realised you did it for comfort, you idolised her so much you wanted to do everything she did like Lauryn had done, so why had it irked her so much that you did the same.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the ragged sniffles escaping your nose. "I need you to do me a favour, you at least owe me that." Katie nodded franticly before nearly bursting your eardrum accepting "Anything." You wipe your cheeks again cursing internally at how emotional you were.

"When I leave, Leah can't know until I'm gone, she...she can't know until then 'cause I'm not ready to talk to her, please Katie promise me this." Katie agrees, You are right it is the least she can do. "I promise, just go smash it yeah." You let out a small laugh "I'll try."

Arsenal's Y/n McCabe joins FC Bayern Munich.

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 month ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 14

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Darling, I appreciate your faith in me," Bucky said, his voice low as he stepped closer, eyes searching yours. "But…I still want to live."

You didn’t flinch. "I’m serious."

He paused, letting the weight of your words settle. "Just because I told you about Steve doesn’t mean I’m going to stab him in the back."

His gaze dropped for a moment, conflicted. Steve was more than just a mentor—he was the older brother Bucky had always wanted, someone he had looked up to for years. Shawn was never that. Steve had been there when he needed guidance, someone to show him the ropes. But now… now everything felt twisted.

"I didn’t know before this election," Bucky continued, his jaw clenched. "I’ve learned things that should’ve been obvious to me. And now, you probably see me as a coward for turning a blind eye all this time."

He swallowed hard. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay silent forever."

Your brow furrowed as the room fell into silence. Bucky reached out, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, his touch both grounding and electrifying. "There’s a time for everything. Please, believe in me."

His voice held a plea you hadn’t heard before, and suddenly, you remembered what the priest once said: Timing. It all felt too coincidental. You could see the puzzle coming together in your mind, but the picture was far from complete.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, realization hitting you like a wave. “He picked you because he knew you wouldn’t say no to him. You’d follow his lead without question.”

Bucky’s face hardened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, a mix of frustration and guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to respond.

“And our divorce?” you added, the words sharper than intended. “It was all part of the plan. To tarnish your image, while he hides his own cracks."

Bucky took a step closer, the tension between you two thick enough to cut. His voice was steady but soft. "For now, please stay quiet about what you’ve found. This could ruin both of us. Or do you want Edgar and Brock to win instead?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. "This is so fucked up. There’s only two candidates."

Bucky's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Hey… we’re not that bad."

"Don’t campaign in front of me," you said, narrowing your eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The tension between you was undeniable, the heat rising in the small space as you tried to keep things civil.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, but he didn’t push any further. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was fighting some inner battle to keep his distance. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away, letting the moment pass.

That night, sleep was impossible. Nate slept peacefully beside you, his small body curled into yours for warmth. But your mind raced, replaying every conversation, every hidden piece of the puzzle that had yet to be uncovered. You needed help, someone with answers. But who?

Then, it hit you. The perfect person. Someone who could get you the information you needed, though asking them for help would open old wounds.

He’s going to hate me for this, you thought, your chest tightening at the idea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Ian stood near the check-in counter at the airport, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited in line. Just as he was about to move forward, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—Greg.

"Follow me," Greg's voice said on the other end, no further explanation given.

Ian's brow furrowed slightly, but he complied, stepping out of the line and trailing Greg down a series of quiet corridors. They finally reached a private room, and Ian’s eyes immediately found you sitting there, alone.

He glanced around the room as if expecting someone else. "I’m by myself," you assured him, noticing his brief scan of the area.

Ian folded his arms, his tone cool as he tilted his head slightly. "What honor do I get to have this meeting?"

You met his gaze, trying to keep steady, though the weight of the situation made your heart race. "I know you hate me," you said softly, not beating around the bush.

"More like at your soon-to-be husband," Ian shot back, his gaze flickering with barely concealed disdain.

You straightened in your seat, squaring your shoulders. "Whatever the Barnes family has done, I won’t defend them," you said, a quiet resolve in your voice.

Ian narrowed his eyes, reading the tension in your body. "You must be desperate to come to me."

A small, nervous laugh escaped your lips as you looked down at your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. "I am."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, the lines of old memories creeping in. This felt too much like the past when you both used to dig into dangerous territory. "Just tell me what this is about. I’ve got a flight to catch."

You took a steadying breath, locking eyes with him. "Do you remember the article I wrote? Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability?"

He nodded, curiosity flickering behind his otherwise guarded expression.

"I think I’ve found someone involved in that conspiracy." Your voice was low, every word heavy with the truth you'd been holding back.

Ian’s face hardened, eyes searching yours. "Who?" he asked, his tone more serious now.

You hesitated for just a second. "It’s Steve."

Ian's eyes widened, and for a moment, the tension between you both disappeared. "Whoa…"

You nodded grimly. "We need to watch out for him. I’m starting to see how deep his connections run. There are scandals tied to him—things you wouldn't expect."

Ian crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. "Is this about his sons?"

You flinched slightly, your heart skipping a beat. He couldn’t know about Nate. You prayed he didn’t. "What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

"My friend was writing a piece on Steve’s twin sons. They’re apparently bullies at their school, leaders of a gang. But before the article could go to print, the entire office lost power. Threats were made, just like when we published Deals in the Dark."

Your stomach tightened. It made sense now why you always felt uneasy around Steve's sons. You wanted to feel shocked, but it only confirmed what you’d been sensing all along.

Ian smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "This is getting interesting. I’ll dig deeper, see what I can find."

He turned to leave, but you stood, calling after him, "Ian."

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Be careful," you said, your voice soft, almost pleading.

Ian gave a small, crooked smile and nodded. He took a last look at you, he felt that, this might be the last time he'd see you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Back at Bucky’s apartment, Nate sat on the couch, holding his phone up for a FaceTime call. Hazel's face appeared on the screen, still in Paris, her voice warm and comforting despite the distance.

“I miss you, Mommy,” Nate said softly, his eyes wide with longing.

“I miss you too, baby,” Hazel replied with a tender smile, her expression softening as she spoke to her son.

After a moment, Hazel’s tone shifted. “Baby, can you give the phone to your uncle for a sec?”

Nate nodded, handing the phone to Bucky. “Here.”

Bucky took the phone, glancing briefly at Nate before turning his focus to Hazel. “When are you coming back?” he asked, a bit more urgency in his voice than he intended.

“Not until the election is over,” Hazel replied matter-of-factly.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Seriously?”

“It’s for the best,” Hazel added with a sigh, her gaze flickering briefly before she continued, “Please watch over him while I’m gone.”

Before Bucky could respond, the FaceTime call ended, the screen going dark. He stared at the blank phone for a moment, lost in thought.

He knew Hazel had her reasons for staying away, but it still didn’t sit right with him. Nate needed his mom, and even though he was doing his best, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that things were spiraling beyond his control. Watching over Nate wasn’t the issue—it was everything else that came with it.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Across town, Steve Rogers stood in a dimly lit room, facing a massive window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The city lights glowed faintly outside, reflecting off the glass as he stared into the distance, his hands resting in his pockets. His phone buzzed on the nearby table. He glanced at it, seeing the text message he’d ignored for hours: When are you coming back?

Unread. No reply.

Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the window, his mind running over the countless decisions he had made in the last few months. The weight of the campaign, his connections, and now…this.

Knock, knock.

A sharp sound broke through the silence. His eyes flickered towards the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice low.

The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside, her expression as serious as always. “We’ve got another notification,” she said, her eyes locking with his as she handed him a folder.

Steve sighed, feeling the tension crawl up his spine. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about the twins,” Natasha explained, her tone clipped and efficient. “We tracked the IP address involved.” She handed him the information.

Steve took the folder, scanning the contents briefly before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I should’ve known,” he muttered with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the line to connect, he leaned against the window, the cold glass pressing against his back. When the call picked up, his voice was calm but determined.

“Can we meet?”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky arrived at the golf course as soon as he received Steve’s call. The air was crisp, and the sun was barely cutting through the clouds, casting a muted light over the manicured greens. As Bucky approached, Steve was already mid-swing, the soft thwack of the golf club meeting the ball echoed in the quiet morning.

Steve didn’t turn around, eyes following the ball as it soared across the field. “Bucky, you know why I want to be President, right?” His tone was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, his expression unreadable as he stood a few feet away, watching Steve with his hands in his pockets.

“We’re this close to winning,” Steve said, setting up for another swing, his movements precise, controlled. He took the shot, the ball cutting clean through the air. “One mistake could ruin us. Our rivals will use any kind of ammo to tear down our image.” His voice lowered with emphasis, a hint of menace lingering in his words.

Bucky stayed silent, but his mind was working. He knew Steve had meticulously planned every step, had considered every angle. Steve’s obsession with maintaining a perfect image wasn’t new. He had a way of knowing when someone so much as whispered behind his back.

Even the online comments rarely escaped his notice. Bucky suspected Stark Technology had something to do with that. Howard Stark, Steve’s long-time friend and the campaign’s biggest sponsor, had deep resources. It wasn’t hard to believe that some of those resources were being used to monitor any potential threats.

Just as Bucky was deep in thought, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Natasha. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. His hand clenched around the paper as he saw the name: Ian.

Steve took another swing, his voice calm but laced with tension. “This lackey of Edgar and Brock is persistent.”

Bucky folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, his jaw tightening. “I’ve made sure to shut him down.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his club. “But you’re still too soft.” He walked towards Bucky, each step deliberate, his gaze unflinching. Reaching him, Steve lifted the golf club he’d been holding, pointing it at Bucky with a steady hand.

“I’ve cheated death a couple of times to get here,” Steve said quietly, the weight of his words settling between them. His eyes were cold, calculating. “I’ve sacrificed so much. I won’t let anything stop me.”

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delicrieux · 2 months ago

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…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. the fireworks festival.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing, character death (off screen, dw) wc. 6.3k author’s note. gege deserves to be charged for war crimes for what he's done, but besides that, thank u for reading once again. i really loved writing this story and agonizing about what it would be like to be with our dear satoru. he is, without doubt, a character that deserved so much better. but anyway, thank you again!!!! c u at the end of this xx

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

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CHAPTER 14: you know where to find me & i know where to look

you will not lie and tell yourself that being away from gojo isn’t strange and off-putting, even if you would like to. it’s different when either of you are on a mission, because, theoretically, now you know he’s just on the other side of the wall and you have chosen to not curl up beside him. you have slept alone for a long time, and it had never been an issue until now – there’s no one to be too warm against, no one to hog the sheets, no one to chew on your hair dreaming of something sweet.

the stockholm syndrome really got you, huh?

still, you sleep well. there’s enough space and you awake refreshed, with no limbs tingly or numb, but a bit lonely. the room is too big, and even if the view behind the curtain is nice enough to snap a picture, it’s not as charming without gojo pointing and saying, “heh, look, a bit more rain and it’s gonna be a landslide,” and you, naturally, nodding along, because he must be right.

you dress and douse yourself in a heavy, heavy cloud of the perfume he got you. gojo insisted on this one because he liked the way it smelled, and you are feeling better today and are willing to hear out another heartfelt apology. you are very nice and very merciful and deserve the very best for your endless efforts to steer this relationship into something at least vaguely harmonious.

maybe you can reconcile during a tasty breakfast with a cappuccino syruped with caramel and the foam resembling a cat. yes, you have put the pieces together – normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself a great strategist, but surprisingly, last night you had ran this situation through your head over and over and over again till every possible scenario and an equally possible outcome was engraved into the squiggly lines of your brain. you have never been more prepared for anything in your entirely life.

“i’ve learned my lesson,” are the very first words you hear when you open the door, met with a head hung low and an unhappy gojo satoru.

alright, this you did not anticipate. he looks a bit miserable. gojo always hated the silent treatment or the ignore policy the most, even when he was harassing you for his personal entertainment, but you didn’t think eight hours apart would make him like this. suppose he might not have slept at all; suppose you did leave on a sour note, a small good night and a strained smile he tried to mimic but failed, waiting till you shut the door before heading to his room.

you wonder how long he’s been antsy behind your door, waiting like a lost pet. you decide to assume he just got here instead of thinking of the more likely scenario that he sensed your cursed energy spike once you rolled out of bed and was at attention ever since.

“that’s nice,” you tell him. a soft kiss to his cheek seals the deal for both of you, and an ache you didn’t realize you were suffering from lifts seeing him instantly brighten.

“you smell nice,” he leans in, happily nosing the side of your neck, “and look nice. super nice. hello.”

“hi, good morning.”

“yes,” a toothy smile, and your fingers twining with his, “great, even, actually. didja miss me?”

you will not lie to yourself, but you will lie to him. you shake your head, as though disappointed by such an unfair and silly line of questioning, “it’s barely been a night. i was relieved, if anything.”

he wrinkles his nose, a look that borders on not so playful if taking in the arctic gleam of his eyes, “not funny,” the comedy will have to wait, it seems, he’s serious, “no jokes about that. or separation. ever. you and i are conjoined twins from now on. we could be permanently glues together by my infinity. now that’s an idea.”

a bit too frankensteinian for you, so you have to pass, “let’s leave the morally questionable experiments to shoko, please.”

“if you insist,”

well, now that the apology is out of the way and the awkwardness is cleared, you are prepared for a feast that he will pay for, “let’s go down to eat?”

if it weren’t for the slight downward twitch of the corners of his lips, you might’ve been fooled that all is fine and dandy. apparently, it is not. hesitation, from him, only comes when he’s preparing for something major and likely emotionally taxing. this, on an empty stomach, will not do, but drawing it out isn’t an option, either.

he squeezes your hand before you can come up with an excuse to avoid breakfast or this conversation, as this isn’t going at all like you have pedantically strung together. another squeeze, and you decide to never plan anything ever again, “…can we order room service instead?” he inquires, and you relax a little, glad you won’t have to have this conversation mid-hallway where any other guest could sneak up, “i, uh,” he won’t meet your eyes, “i’d like to talk a bit. first. if that’s okay?”

your insides are twisting into knots – not from the present anxiety but from the honesty in his quiet voice.

“sure,” you settle.

he nods and takes the lead, hand a little sweaty, face a little flustered – all very out of character, but very sweet. you let him drag you the whole of the next door down and you’re graciously let into the spotless, untouched space he had spent the night in. the curtains are open, the bed is pristine, and gojo is never this clean so it can only mean he hasn’t used it. you glance at him with a wordless question but he’s still avoiding your gaze.

has he really agonized over this the whole night? you have, too, a bit, but seemingly not nearly enough. maybe it’s his first time having a fight with someone; maybe it’s his first time being in the wrong and knowing that he is and actually doing something about it. too many maybes. you think he might be just as confused as you.

once the door is shut, he breathes out. perks up, finally, once you’re safely secured in his perimeter. he gestures toward the expanse of the bed, face morphing back into a rather placid expression that betrays nothing but an odd edge that doesn’t manage to leave his eyes entirely.

“after you,” he announces chivalrously. no ulterior motives there.

“uh-huh,” you sound, toeing the slippers off and climbing in. you scoot back till you’re pressed against the pillows, leaving ample space for him to join. he chooses a spot by your thigh, warmth pickling against your skin, and you really do forgive him, you decide, and you would probably forgive him again even he pulled the same stunt at this very moment. no, that is terrible, how has this idiot managed to ensnare you so completely?

once he’s fidgeted enough, he moves onto his next agenda, “the menu,” he pulls out a booklet from the drawer, placing it on your bent knees like a little gift. this all feels vaguely rehearsed, “pick what you want.”

that was always the intention, but you see that he’s trying very hard to work up the courage to something he wants to say, so maybe some good old fashioned enthusiasm from you will help him relax, “alright,” a hum for added measure, “hmmm…. mhmmm…. ooh, pancakes sound nice. like, maybe a mountain of them.”

“yeah?” his chin finds its usual spot on your shoulder, “pick between the triple and a tower.”

the picture showing off the pancake tower does look very impressive, not to mention delicious. however, you aren’t entirely certain you would finish one, as the heading reads over one meter!, which is simply ridiculous. thankfully, you have a man with a black hole for a stomach right next to you, “i’d like a tower.”

“sure, whatever you want.”

“and a cappuccino,” you’re not skimming out on that, even if it’s unlikely the barista will make you cat-shaped foam. maybe you can press gojo to bully them into doing it, but pressing gojo into anything at this moment would likely lead to another disaster, “with a double shot. possibly triple. how many shots do they do?”

“think one’s plenty enough,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. they appear bit chapped, but nothing you can’t fix, “…can i get a kiss?”

…so much for wanting to talk. this is already familiar. he’s trying to change the subject.

“for good behavior?” you venture coyly, peeling your gaze away from the breakfast details to gauge his expression.

it makes him smile, small and wicked, “yup. best behavior, actually. i said sorry, it counts. right? say yes.”

“mmm,” you manage, thinking up another scheme. you would like to keep this on track. it’s likely he won’t dare to say it again and the implication of it will hang between the two of you until another fight, and another, and it’ll keep stacking up and up and likely higher than the famed pancake tower. his pupils grow larger the longer he waits for your permission. a small sigh, and your nails scratch at the nape, “maybe let’s eat first?”

his gaze flickers for a second, and then he gives you a kind, patient smile, “alright,” because he meant it when he said whatever you want.

“so nice of you,” you praise. his grin shifts. you recognize i – it’s the one he dons when he’s winning.

a quick call to reception, gojo’s back to holding your hand again, softly as not to crowd you. his fingers really are much longer than yours, and he measures them idly, more than used to the sight but still somehow mesmerized by it.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” he starts, voice even, though low, “the rest i don’t really care about, but you,” he tugs on your finger, “you just, doesn’t…” he trails off, confidence shaken by something invisible.

“i don’t like fighting with you either,” you share, hoping it will ease him. it seems to work, but only a little, “it sucks.”

“yeah,” he huffs, “super major sucks,” he draws closer and the mattress shifts. he finds home beside you, head once again nestled into your shoulder, like it’s the safest place on planet earth.

gojo always seeks refuge in physical affection. it’s a way he can express himself without using words. suppose you can pull him into your embrace and calm him like that; suppose he’ll feel a bit braver without your eyes so deeply focused on him, even if there’s always a chance he’ll take the easy way out and refuse to speak at all.

but that’s not what happens, “i just wanted to find a spot where we could watch the stars together.”

“oh,” you utter, unsure what to make of this yet. you are glad he has finally told you, but that still doesn’t explain why he was acting, dare you say, nervous before the argument. there has to be more. there always is, but you will never pry, because it’s painful enough for him already.

“didn’t work out the way i had hoped it would, though,” and now he sounds genuinely sad. a horrible feeling surfaces in you, “but we can still watch them tonight. if you want.”

“i do,” you assure him, “but you have to talk about what’s bothering you. i can’t read your mind.”

“thank god you can’t,” a hollow chuckle follows, “it’s a secret anyway. none of your beeswax.”

impossible, like always, but you wouldn’t really have it any other way. you card your fingers through his hair and he relaxes further, warm breath tickling the side of your neck. a small sigh, this time from him. now that he’s said all that he has wanted to say – which still doesn’t really explain anything, but is more than enough – he can pretend to be an overgrown cat and bask in your affectionate gestures.

it’s going to be okay. you hope he doesn’t see your little smile. lucky.

“is this supposed to be a white tiger?” you inquire, holding up a glass phone charm for his inspection. another pale, blue-eyed thing that has caught your fancy. soon, your dorm room will also include a private zoo of all the cute plushies and ornaments you’ve managed to collect with gojo’s money.

“doesn’t have any stripes,” he hums, twisting and turning the vaguely animal-shaped object in his palm. dusk falls on his shoulders, tinting the edges of his hair a soft lilac, “maybe a polar bear?”

suppose it doesn’t really matter, since all charms displayed at this stall look the same, and it surely has nothing to do with the talent of the man that made them. he gazes over them proudly, each sat in a small leather box with a lavish seat, ready to be taken home and hung by the mirror or looped around a cellphone. the monkey ones could maybe resemble monkeys if you squinted and took a lot of creative liberties, and the rest are just shapes with four legs and a snout. oddly cute, in an incompetent, unexplainable way.

“you wanna…?” gojo raises a brow, shades blocking the double-check he no doubt sends you. you nod vigorously.

he has learned his lesson from last time and carries a concerning amount of cash in his wallet. your tiger-bear is placed in its box and then wrapped in a little bow before being hidden in a colorful plastic bag that eventually makes its way to you. you bow in thank you.

the matsuri continues. the winding streets are blocked from traffic yet crowd with too many patrons; gojo pinches your sleeve and tugs when a particularly large wave of people try to separate you. even when they manage, and you’re momentarily disoriented from the sounds and smells and sights, he always manages to spot you first. maybe he just knows where to look.

gojo has changed from his usual garbs into a baby blue yukata. blue really is his color, and he looks so infuriatingly handsome that you have to glare at a sizable amount of people to let them know he is not available to be admired now, or ever, really. you have contemplated buying him a kabuki mask, but even then, his height and broad shoulders – not to mention that unshakable gait and all-over enticing confidence! – would somehow reveal him, and people would still stare or try to grab his attention. perhaps the mystery of the mask would be even more alluring. your hairs stand on end at the thought.

“m?” gojo, never one to miss anything and still latched onto your sleeve, tilts his head, “are you hungry? i sensed murderous intent.”

you hide your lips behind your fan – an expensive trinket gojo insisted to get you since it would match your baby pink yukata. yes, you have come in matching bubble gum ice cream flavors. when your head moves even slightly, the hairpins clink. the sound is light and satisfying, or so he said. you can’t hear it over the noise.

“no, not really,” you say, though the dango stand does look delicious, and the twinkling lights are inviting. your displeased eyes do not leave the group of high school girls donning their flowery yukata and giggling into their kakigori bowls. it is truly a blessing you have been born with a useless amount of cursed energy, because you would definitely use it for evil.

maybe gojo knows, and he graciously steps forward, blocking your sight from the rest of the people. another tug, and you snap into motion.

around you, lanterns sway, alight and warm; they cast low over the sidewalks and shine bright against the cobblestone walkways. in the corners of your vision, the glow swirls into endless rainbow-colored ribbons.

“how good are you at shooting?” he asks.

all dolled up and pretty, you can only clap your lashes few times at the absurd question, “really well, why?”

“like, a bow or a gun?”

“does it matter? both require concentration and precision,” you explain, “still, are we planning a heist or something? i don’t have any cursed tools on me,” and while the prospect of danger and adventure is enticing, you really are having fun just being here with him and would rather stay.

“nah, just a bit of friendly competition,” he grins, glasses drooping just enough to catch the mischievous twinkle in his eye, “wanna go against the strongest? you’ll be the only one to that lived to tell the tale.”

wanna do this, wanna do that? want food, a plushie, something absurdly expensive? if you asked for the moon, you wonder if he’d try to retrieve it. perhaps calculate if a missing edge wouldn’t spin the planet out of orbit and bring it back to you as a souvenir.

“i’d like a soda,” you say.

“let’s get you a cola,” he switches directions so quickly you almost collide into an equally mushy couple enjoying their date.

only you and gojo are not a couple, and this is not a date, and each time he recalls an insignificant detail about you and goes out of his way to do something small for you only because he wants to do it, it becomes harder and harder to remember the fact. pretending is awful, and it burns strangely acidic in the back of your throat. but it’s so warm, too, and you want to cling to his arm and press your cheek against his yukata. hide there, in his sleeve, like he always does in the crook of your neck.

gojo wouldn’t mind. once he gets you your tasty drink, you paint a kiss mark on his cheekbone with your lips. it’s faint and pink, glossy against the rose that steadily rises onto his face, and he doesn’t wipe it off, only smiles sheepishly.

eventually, you make it to the shooting range. it’s a large stall decorated with sea creatures and varying shades of purple and blue. you’re handed a large water gun and told to hold till the targets – large jellyfish – fall over, officially earning you a point. depending on the amount of points one receives, one might win a prize, or so the man in a pirate costume explained.

“ready?” gojo asks, fixing his glasses. you’re not sure how serious you should take this. your pride may be on the line, but this game is likely extremely rigged. he’s already the strongest, and whatever he’d receive from the pirate would ultimately make it into your hold without you having to steal or resort to anything desperate, like politely asking.

still, you are a sorcerer. if a friend and colleague is requesting, you must put on a brave front. it is the morally righteous thing to do, after all.

you put your hand on your hip and nod.

the game begins. three seconds into it you realize that the water stream is much too weak for you to successfully take down a significant number in the modest time allocated for this quest. still, you keep going, and several jellyfish fall by your skillful hand and steadfast accuracy.

no matter the physical differences or innate abilities, there should not be a lead in this competition, and if there were to be one, it would be you and your clear head compared to gojo’s impatience and petulant whining. as a matter of fact, he is not whining, nor is he sulking in defeat or trying to sabotage your chances.

he is barely containing his cackle over tightly pressed lips and quivering shoulders, his grip on the plastic so tight the bright red grip cracks a little.

the jellyfish stood in his path to victory keep falling one by one so quickly you take a second glance to ensure he’s not using an actual gun to knock them over. cursed energy permeates in the air like static after a storm, and you sigh, lowering your water gun before the timer’s up.

he's cheating. somehow you didn’t expect this, even if it was obvious from the start. should you scold him and be disappointed, thus ruining the fun for everyone out of principle?

you feel like he’s been through enough. even a fake argument would leave him discontent, and you even more so. besides, you doubt either of you would have won even the most useless trinket if you played fair and square. this you judge from the absolutely aghast expression of the stall’s owner, who might snap his neck at any moment if he keeps swinging it from jellyfish to gojo and back.

the bells chime. the game ends. with trembling hands, the pirate picks up the stuffed animal gojo pointed at and hands it over.

“there you go,” gojo thrusts the penguin in your arms, and you take it, all fluff and cold seams, “for you.”

“okay,” you concede, cradling the stupid looking bird. it's cute.

you do not miss the owner checking gojo's gun for a malfunction. he does not miss the sly look you send his way before departing.

“where to next?” you can't wait. you have had fizzy drinks, munched on so many yakitori skewers you've lost count, watched a truly horrendous standup comedian and stayed till the end of the performance out of pity, and exchanged three handmade charms for a total of two plushies. your penguin will be named yukihira because that was the name of gojo's pet koi fish.

pet, as in it was in the pond, and gojo liked looking at it the most, hence he named it. there were no pets allowed in the gojo household, or any fun, for that matter. you didn't understand, not entirely, but you wanted to. a lackluster childhood burdened with responsibility so vast and complex it's hardly comprehensible. he wouldn't elaborate further, simply bury his face into the bend of your neck and kiss until the memory had finally, and perfectly, faded from your mind, and you could breathe just a bit easier.

“to sit,” gojo says, indicating the lone bench beneath the awning across the stall, “exhausted. gotta recharge for the next conquest.”

“how dramatic,” you comment, but take his extended arm and accompany him.

together, you remain unbothered, a tiny island amidst a current of shifting yukata, cork shoes, and the occasional colorful sandal. fireflies wink around, chasing each other like sparklers.

gojo fishes out his phone and clicks his tongue, reading the message you know is there. most likely another important thing to deal with. you wish he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again, but that sounds ridiculous even to you.

“what's up?” you lean your shoulder on his. the penguin sits on your lap, quietly reflecting your somber gaze. it's round, black eyes are welcoming, so you poke its nose.

“nothing,” he decides, waving the thought away, “it can wait, probably.”

you make a face, “that doesn't sound very assuring.”

“unlike some, i have a healthy respect for privacy,” he grins, not taking his eyes off the device even when his tone softens considerably, “i won't interrogate you if you don't want me to. so the same goes for me.”

you snort. that's a lie if you've ever heard one, because he has never shied away of reading your messages along with you or providing helpful responses. still, you won't push. you trust him. if he says it's nothing, it means it's nothing.

a short silence settles. the air feels balmy, and a phantom wind circles you. one of the lanterns has blown out, and a little trail of smoke floats to the sky.

“huh,” you blink, the information suddenly resurfacing in your brain, “the sister event is next week.”

“ugh,” he shoves his phone back into his pocket only so he could rub the disgust off of his face, “don't remind me.”

you grin, “heh, how come? we can just send you alone. we'll win anyway.”

“always gotta do all the work,” he groans, then leans his head back, fixing you with a knowing look from the corner of his eye, “aren't you going to hold my hand?”

“want me to?”

his throat bobs, the simple question alone making his breath stumble as if he was walking down a dark alley, and hearing your voice had given him goosebumps. his voice is steady when he answers, “yeah.”

with one arm securing your precious yukihara, you reach over and take his hand. his larger fingers slide over yours, catching.

“so spoiled,” you tease. he lifts your hand to press his lips to your skin. now it's your heart's turn to waver. his eyes are crinkled happily, the crescent of his smile lighting up in the growing shadows. there's something playful hiding there, too, something secretive that he wouldn't share until he was sure you'd like it, and that patience of his, newfound and endearing, spreads like sweet nectar down your throat and bubbles a giggle.

“yep,” he agrees, so delighted his nose scrunches adorably.

you could stay like this forever, watching and enjoying the thrum and beat of a summer festival. the atmosphere, the laughter and tittering, the low chatter as people find their way from one thing to another. live in this moment, like a firefly caught in a glass jar.

at one point, gojo's cheek rests on your head, and you soak in the warmth. perhaps this is his favorite part. the glow of the lanterns is just the right side of orange and highlights the angles and divots of his face, while his other hand stays coiled around yours, and his thumb rubs small, soothing patterns into your knuckles.

“let's sit it out.”

“hm?”

“the sister exchange event. haibara-kun, nanami-kun, and suguru can participate for us,” you tell him, “we could hide in the clinic with shoko.”

he pulls back from his position, but only so he could survey you properly. his stare is less calculating than it is contemplative. behind his glasses, his eyes are burning quietly. at times, there's something almost solemn glazing over his expression, softening the sharp lines and allowing his features to relax. it makes him seem so much more mature and so unlike himself that you never know how to react.

“can't,” he says with a small sigh, finally coming to stand. he pulls on your hand and you scramble, grappling to keep yukihara from falling along with all of your things, “yaga would definitely beat my ass if i ever tried pulling something. but that doesn't mean i don't want to,” his smile widens, “thank you for the offer, though.”

“wow, a sincere and gracious rejection. thanks, satoru.”

“anytime,” he winks. you flick his forehead.

no pouting this time, though, no furrowed brows or crossed arms. instead, he bites his lower lip and seems to be wrestling with himself not to jump you. he is behaving extremely well by comparison, his touches never bordering on anything even remotely inappropriate for a public settling.

you appreciate the consideration. even despite the crowded space, he is focused solely on you, his finger grazing along your palm, tickling your wrist. if you smile any wider, your cheeks will start hurting. and if he continues looking at you like that over the rim of his sunglasses, your heart will start hurting instead.

“should we head to ashinoko?” you ask, keeping yukihara close, “or will there be too many people there?”

“probably, but it doesn't matter,” he reassures, “we'll find a spot. worst case scenario i'll let you sit on me. my shoulders, to be exact.”

how would you explain the sudden rush of blood to your head? “that won't be necessary...”

“why not? can't get much of a better view. and you get to play with my hair, too,” he tacks on, “or maybe i could hold your legs and give your-”

you take back everything you thought of good behavior and growth as a person, he is nothing but a lewd pest wanting to embarrass you in the middle of a romantic setting, the absolute traitor, and you have half a mind to stomp him to death right then and there. all the private tutors in the world couldn't teach him manners, and no stifling house rules could condition him out of his shit eating grin.

he is terrible, and you like him still, more and more each day. even now, when he looks on the verge of laughing, so pleased to have flustered you, while you try and fail not to panic.

“kidding,” he assures, “mostly. i would, if you asked.”

“satoru, pl-”

“wouldn't even question it.”

“sa-”

“got a list of places i could put my mouth. just say the word.”

you've lost. completely and irrecoverably. your shoulders slump, too tired to continue picking the pieces of your shattered dignity, “yes, yes, i get it. please stop talking.”

he shrugs, unbearably nonchalant considering he basically propositioned to make you cum between fireworks displays, “if you insist.”

unruffled by any objections, like he'd simply whisk you away to somewhere secluded should you demand him to, and it would be so easy. like he's itching for a chance, a sign, a simple smile. like he'd drop to his knees if you only said yes. you're almost appalled by his shamelessness, yet that, unfortunately, is part of his charm as well.

still, what a tease. you wish yukihara wouldn't have to hear such things. your dear penguin doesn't deserve to experience such trauma so early into your care. you are so very sorry.

“then...” you steer the topic back to where it's mostly harmless, not counting his smug look that would haunt you till the end of days, “let's go?”

“okie-dokie.”

you fall back into the crowd and lose all traces of rhythm. children push past you, twittering and shrieking, with their chaperones stumbling after them and rapidly bowing apologies left and right. the ground is smooth beneath your feet, stone flattened in ages by carts and soles alike. the two of you branch off and enter a lesser known forest path to avoid the onslaught of people rushing to see the performance at the hakone shrine before the fireworks.

the change in scenery is instantaneous. the suffocating density of bodies disappears, as well as the oppressive humidity. it's darker without the fairy lights and lampposts, the cicadas overlapping everything else. the air smells like fern, cut grass, and wet tree bark, oddly fresh and cool closer to the lake.

gojo stores his sunglasses into a discreet inner pocket. his eyes glint under a stretch of tree shadow, emitting a faint bluish glow, not bright enough to lighten his features yet remaining ever present. ever so beautiful. the woods seem to sigh around you, branches fluttering nervously above as he leans in, almost a specter.

“what's wrong?” your question brushes against the fringes of his hair.

“you're looking at me funny.”

“i am? sorry.”

“like you have so much you want to say.”

“oh,” you blink, then stare down at your shoes. a fallen maple leaf rustles when you step on it, giving a dry crunch, “not really.”

“yeah, well,” he scratches his cheek, “me too, kinda.”

a soft smile, this time, something private and indulging.

for a while you don't speak, not because you can't think of anything to say, but rather can't choose the right words. none of them seem enough, too sweet or too plain. the small trek through the damp forest path leaves your shoes a bit muddy and the hems of your yukata covered in dry flakes and pine needles, most having already blown away.

you hear it first – the deep, thunderous sounds of drums coming from the direction of the shrine. then, ways down the twisting tree line, you spot dancing lights. closer and closer, and the sounds become powerful enough to shake you, vibrating through the ground up to your legs. you hold on just a bit tighter, and gojo returns the gesture firmly.

he is quiet. his head is bowed, gaze focused ahead and somewhere else at the same time, like he's thinking about other things, which, knowing him, can be anything. he leads you off the path and you follow, passing between the foliage and low hanging branches. the weather grows colder. you're approaching the shore.

finally, the landscape clears. a thin border of black pines separates water from earth. wisteria vines drape over the whole scene like curtains on windows, billowing gently. the noise of the show is still loud and beats to the drum of your heart, each thud somehow too close and too obvious. from here, you can see the massive red torii gate stood in the shallows.

the water sloshes by your feet, and the sandy soil squishes pleasantly. far and wide, there are others waiting, too, all finding their own spots amongst the reeds and gravel. a few lanterns float in the moonlit surface of lake ashinoko, bright and orange, like the ones in the market district, and you watch, captivated, as their reflections spill over the shifting water. the chimes wind up to a symphony. it's beautiful.

gojo tilts his head to you, and his lips move, but you can't hear what he's saying.

“what?” you call, ticking a waiting ear in his direction.

the boom cuts through everything, the flash of gold drowning out his face, and you realize way too late what's happening. the crackle continues, and the air trembles, releasing another burst of fireworks. the light leaves fractals dancing over him, each one landing just so, as if aimed, cascading over his eyelashes.

he repeats the words, and something about his expression makes your heart stutter: longing and apprehension quickly replaced with shyness, almost endearing as he watches you expectantly. the sky glitters around, awash in blues and greens and whites, brilliant enough to blind. you can't look away from him.

he says it again, and again, and again, and you can't read the shape of his mouth because you're too afraid of what you will find there. the drums, the cheers, the changing lights, the words airy against your lips. he kisses you. you understand the phrase now, or you hope that you do, so you tell it back, quietly, so he couldn't hear you either:

“i like you.”

your hand finds purchase on the fabric at his chest. it's tight, and his grip is strong, cradling you with such care you can't help but shiver. each kiss is like that, little sips of air, barely enough to sustain either of you, and then he holds you and you let him, boneless, allowing yourself melt into the sure, enveloping warmth.

the light is dying, and you're dizzy. yukihara sits as a witness between your pounding hearts.

eventually, the display fades away into starlight. you want to say it again, but neither of you are brave enough to do it.

gojo: just waved nanamin and haibara bye bye on their mission 4:56pm

gojo: can’t believe you all left me w ijichi ( ⩌'︿'⩌) 4:57pm

you: where’s shoko? 4:57pm

gojo: clinic like a loser i dont wanna go down there lol might catch smth 4:59pm

gojo: when are u coming back 5:00pm

you: i just got here (˶˃⤙˂˶) but probably in a few hours, i won’t stay overnight 5:01pm

gojo: yeah u wont the hell 5:02pm

gojo: my girl gotta get back to me asap ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧waiting impatinetlyyyyyyy 5:03pm

you: omg lol just bumped into some salaryman and he almost knocked me over. i think he was frightened of my poorly concealed weapon and apologized heh 5:05pm

gojo: where is he? give him ur phone i wanna talk 5:05pm

you: he left already, it’s ok 5:05pm

gojo: teleporting rn 5:06pm

you: ? you can’t do long distances stupid 5:06pm

gojo: yeah and he better be grateful that i cant 5:07pm

gojo: r u done yet want u home 5:41pm

gojo: hello? no ‘yes my gorgeous blue eyed king'? rude 5:42pm

gojo: ok it has been an hour im gonna be serious, did you meet another boy or something? cant wait to murder him 6:33pm

gojo: dont tell me you got kidnapped. i will purple the planet 7:01pm

gojo: 10 mins until i start ripping at the seams and go psycho and rip the roof off the entire city. call me rn, and then, when youre done, i'm stealing you away for a month 7:15pm

gojo: ok in a bad mood now 7:46pm

gojo: we’re talking cthulu levels of bad 8:00pm

gojo: would it be dramatic if i were to jump over a cliff 8:10pm

gojo: hi this is principal yaga gojo has jumped to his death please text back and list everything you love and find sexy about him 8:12pm

gojo: ok ur freaking me the fuck out im coming to get u u can cry abt it later and yaga can scream and shit all he wants grade 3s shouldn’t take this long 8:25pm

gojo: gonna text u till you respond, u know that, right? 2:00am

MISSION REPORT: 15.08.2009

LEAD ASSIGNED OFFICIAL: YAGA MASAMICHI, 1ST GRADE

SORCERER: KAWAKAMI Y/N, 1ST GRADE

PROBLEM DESCRIPTIONS: 3RD CLASS CURSE CONFIRMED DISPELLING PROCESS (UNKNOWN – FIRST RESPONSE TEAMS)

REPORT REGARDING JOB ACCOMPLISHED: KAWAKAMI LOCATED CURSE SITE (CHICHIBU STATION UNDERGROUND) – SCAN FOR TARGET, CRITICAL INJURY; CURSED INHERITANCE-TYPE SPECIAL GRADE – ATTEMPT AT SEALING PROCESS FAILED, DISEASED APPENDAGES, LIMBS & 80% NECROTISED FLESH - UNKNOWN ANGULATION - TIME OF DEATH, 15.08.2009. 5.13PM.

CURSE CONFIRMED DESTROYED: 15.08.2009, 9.59PM, GOJO SATORU.

DEATH REPORTED: 15.08.2009, 11.03PM, GOJO SATORU. BODY RETRIEVED: 12.15AM, MEDICAL TEAM. FINAL EXAMINATION: 2:02AM, IEIRI SHOKO.

ACCELERATED FUNERAL CEREMONY IN EFFECT AS NEXT OF KIN; NONE.

JOB SOLVED: GOJO SATORU.

MISSION REPORT SUBMITTED: NANAMI KENTO, 18.08.2009.

CLOSED.

author's note:

1) so sorry it was planned from the start 2) i do wonder how long satoru would have really sat there in the ground levels of a train station when the fight was over. he did for an hour, but if he had the time, he would likely have spent more time saying goodbye 3) now u know why the cover image of the masterlist is the specific one where gojo wakes up w tears from a dream he had about his school days

before you lynch me, the technique of our dear reader really was in her lastname - kawakami. i'm a big fan of junji ito, and since there's already a ref in jjk of his manga (uzumaki), i though "huh, it would be sooo cool if the mc had a power like tomie!!!" so i wrote this. i wrote a lot of versions, some were a bit scary, so i scrapped them. tomie kawakami's power is essentially being able to clone and heal herself from a single strand of dna, along with a bunch of disturbing stuff, but that's one of the main components of her power.

so here, i present to you an endless amount of endings (2): a) reader has really died, getou has defected, more nice trauma b) reader has not died and returns at any point after the report is submitted, as per her cool powers. getou still defects im sorry some things are doomed by the narrative

either way, u can't get over something like this. megumi? satoru? suguru? shoko? they could never heal from this, no matter if reader came back or not xx

next time i promise to write something where no one dies and there is a happy ending. but for now, that's all, folks! i love u even tho u probably hate me. that's ok. i, too, am gracious and merciful.

tags (couldn't tag in bold!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @alygator77 , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l , @your-sleeparalysisdem0n , @satoryaa , @cccandynecklaces , @stuffeddeer , @cherriee-ee , @ducky1232

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vscabarca · 4 months ago

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hii could you write about gavi where he falls for the social media manager (owner) of the barcelona insta page and she likes to post a lot about gavi where she kinda crushes on him and he notices and messages the barca acc abt it and asks for her main account since he is interested and likes to see what she looks like after seeing her he immediately falls for her

social media manager - pablo gavi

summary: gavi wants to know who‘s the new admin of the official Fc Barcelona Instagram account after the admin lowkey crushes over him. here is p2!

genre: fluff

a/n: sorry anon for waiting so long…😔 hope you like it still!!

———

„Our social media manager is all over our golden boy here!“ Out of all people, it just had to be Ferran saying that. Even though Gavi wasn’t the youngest in the team anymore, they still treated him like their little brother. Besides aggressive hugs, soft kicks to his butt and playful banter against him, Gavi was more and more teased for his frequent appearance on the official Instagram page of the club.

Nobody really knew who managed the account, the players only knew Sarah took the pictures but didn’t edit or post them.

„Stop, it’s not that serious, I‘m just the fan favorite.“ Gavi countered, knowing how to handle their stupid jokes and did no longer erupt into the angry bird he was known for.

But lately it gnawed on him. It was true, he appeared more and more on their Instagram page after the club announced a change in their social media department, and it almost seemed like there were new faces behind it.

15 october

fcbarcelona: Gavi shoots Spain to the 2024 Euros!🥳 felicitationes Gavi and sefutbol!!

14 february

fcbarcelona: besitos for people who celebrate valentines day!💓💌🎀 ps Gavi i‘m single… xoxo-admin

13 may

fcbarcelona: happy gavi in practice? = happy admin😁⚽️

23 may

fcbarcelona: 1-10 how do you like Gavi‘s new haircut? I’d give him a 11🤭

21 june

fcbarcelona: when Gavi hears you haven’t bought a match ticket for the pre-season tour yet… (don’t worry Gavito I bought one😇) xoxo-admin

27 july

fcbarcelona: Gavi is ready for pre-season in the US, are you?😍 Get your tickets here! www.fcbarcelonatickets.com

The posts these past half year earned much more publicity due to your unhinged and funny captions. People loved this side, a more humerous and silly atmosphere than your rivals.

You were not even twenty, stumbling across this job by chance as you scrolled through various job descriptions.

You always loved the football club, so this was your opportunity to start a career in that sport.

Did you have a little crush on Barça‘s number six? Yes, but to defend yourself, as said before, people loved it. It also felt great knowing no one knew who was behind the account, only your friends and co-workers knew.

It was a sunny day in Barcelona, you were about to work on some posts for the US Tour when Sarah stumbled inside your office.

„You won’t believe this.“ She beamed, shaking her head in disbelief. You noticed her phone in her hands with Instagram open on her screen.

„What, did Messi finally reply to your DM‘s?“ You joked, knowing Sarah was obsessed with the Argentine and used every opportunity to text him.

„No then I wouldn’t walk in so casually, but someone did text me… about you.“ You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at her last words, not understanding why anyone would text your work colleague about you.

„Huh? What do you mean? Why would they text you about me?“ You questioned while Sarah just sat there with a grin on her face.

„Because he wants to know who runs the FC Barcelona Instagram account.“

Huh? You were even more confused now. Why would anyone want to know who posted these hilarious and often badly edited photos?

„Who?“

„Gavi.“

You almost had an heart attack hearing his name.

„Pablo Gavi texted you about me? Omg is he angry with what I‘ve been posting? Or doesn’t he like how-”

Sarah interrupted your stream of words, telling you to relax while she laughed at your reaction.

„Quite the opposite! Let me show you.“ She scooted closer, handing over her phone.

pablogavi

Hi sarah, its gavi from the team😁 I was wondering who’s behind all these funny posts about me on our page on Instagram? Could you tell me who makes these posts? thanks!

„Oh my god, you didn’t tell him it’s me, right?“ You were blushing once you read his message, feeling extremely embarrassed about the whole situation.

„Of course I did, I gave him your private Instagram.“ Sarah said as if it was the most normal thing to do.

Your eyes went wide, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth once you realized Gavi knew who has been thirsting over him these last months.

Before you could scold her and go crazy, Sarah excused herself, saying her break was long over.

„Oops, well Y/n my break is over. See you soon and have fun with Gavi!“ She winked.

„You‘re dead I swear!“ You shouted after her with a laugh, still not believing she did what she did. Now you were even too scared to look at your phone until work was over.

———

Gavi sent that message right before a morning session, hoping he‘d get an answer once Flick would release them for lunch. Logically, it had to be a girl. Of course it could also be a guy, which would be no problem at all, but imagining it being a girl around his age made everything more exciting.

What would he even do once he knew who you were? He couldn’t just follow your with his normal account, he basically had to do it with his private one. These thoughts got quickly out of his head once he was hit by a football. His friends made fun of him for being absent and he even felt embarrassed, even though none of them knew what he was thinking about.

After practice, waiting for everyone to leave the locker room, Gavi looked at his DM‘s seeing Sarah had already answered him.

He immediately clicked on the @, seeing your private account pop up.

He could only see your profile picture, but he felt like he was hit by cupids arrow immediately after he looked at you.

You looked beautiful, hair flowing freely and a cute smile covering your face as you took the selfie.

Just when Gavi thought he was alone for once, Pedri realized he forgot his phone and went back to the locker room. He had never seen his friend so scared, Gavi even dropped his phone to the ground. After Pedri first laughed at his reaction, he picked the phone up for his friend, only to see a cute girl across his phone screen.

„Who is this?!“ Pedri said teasingly. He knew Gavi wasn’t keen on talking about girls with his friends, that’s something he‘d rather kept to himself.

„Swear on god to not tell Fermin or Ferran, otherwise the whole team knows within ten minutes.“ Gavi scolded, pointing his finger at him. He knew there was no point in hiding it from Pedri, maybe he could help him out.

Pedri innocently put his hands up, saying he wouldn’t tell anyone.

„She’s Barça‘s Instagram admin. I thought the posts about me were funny but I wanted to know who the person was behind. Sarah gave me her @, and that’s her who you’re looking at.“ Gavi explained simply, waiting for an answer.

„She’s pretty.“ Pedri only said, agreeing with Gavi.

„She is. What should I do?“

„What do you wanna do?“ His friend countered. He wanted to know what Gavi‘s intentions were before he said something.

„Well at first I was just curious who the person is, but now I think I have a crush on her after looking at that picture.“ Pedri next to him snorted at first, but once he realized he was serious, he said what every friend would say.

„Text her. Tell her you think her posts are funny, then ask her out.“

„Isn’t that a bit weak to just text her? Aren’t girls more impressed when the guy comes up to her in person?“ Gavi asked. He had a point, but you would like anything he does if we’re honest…

„I mean she does work here too… you can always go to her office and talk to her.“ Pedri suggested, even though he was surprised that Gavi would even do such a thing for a girl.

The following day after afternoon practice, Gavi still thought about you and decided to come by your office, hoping you’d still be here.

He softly knocked at the door, peeking inside to see you look up from your laptop. Surprised was an understatement, you were shocked to say the least.

„You must be Y/n right?“ Gavi asked, stepping inside a bit before you invited him over to you.

„Yeah! Come in, can I help you with something?“ You said, trying to be as professional as possible even though you were trembling on the inside once Gavi stood in front of you.

„You’re Barça‘s social media admin right?“ He said with a small smile on his face.

„I am, Sarah told me you‘ve been looking for me. I‘m sorry if I offended you in any way-” You were cut off by Gavi, telling you he loved your posts.

„No, no don’t worry, me and my friends love them, we always have a good laugh.“ Gavi assured you, taking a seat on the stool opposite your desk.

„Then I‘m glad. Don’t worry I‘m not crazy or anything but the people like my work. Not that you think I‘m some kind of weird fan girl.“ He had to laugh at your words, his head falling back while you joined in laughing.

„No, I get it, it’s good for Barça‘s marketing.“ He joined in with the jokes, creating a great atmosphere between you two.

„Was there a specific reason you wanted to know who the admin was?“ You asked genuinely curious after you just shared a good laugh.

„Well, my friends and I always joked about your posts about me and I was just wondering who was behind it. And once Sarah gave me your personal Instagram account I realized you are a very pretty girl, so I decided to pay you a visit.“ Gavi‘s cheeks grew red at his little confession, but he soon was more confident once he saw how flustered you got.

„That’s very sweet of you, thank you.“ You answered with a smile, having to break the eye contact out of nerves. The guy half of Spain adored just called you pretty. Huh?!

„And I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime? Maybe eat dinner or something like that.“ Gavi asked, fidgeting with his shirt. You immediately started beaming, feeling your cheeks heat up.

„I‘d love to go out with you, yes.“ You said, smiling softly as you saw him grin too.

„Great, I‘ll text you. Is Friday at seven good? I can pick you up.“ He got up from his seat, making you get up too.

„That’s perfect, see you on Friday.“ You accompanied him to the door, leaning on the doorframe seeing him turn around to give you a gentle hug.

„See you on Friday hermosa.“

#fc barcelona #pablo gavi #football one shot #pablo gavi x reader #football x reader #gavi x reader #gavi one shot #gavi #barça

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