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temmtamm · 2 years ago

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Astrophile

Sonic prime sonic x genderneutral reader

Word count: 3,360 (DAMN)

Note: If interested, please like or leave a comment. If enough people are interested, I might turn this into an actual story rather than just a one-shot.

Ah, New Yoke City.

By far, the worst city to have ever been created, even it's citizens agree.

Free speech? Not a thing.

Self expression?? What's that?

You're lucky to even take a shit in the city without a badnik watching you to make sure you don't shit in any way the leaders would consider 'Rebellious'.

It sucked. Completely.

But, hey!! It was home!

At least it was (Y/N)'s home--And (Y/N) had learned the hard way, it's better to just fall into place and shut up rather than rebel against the system or push against it. It wasn't easy to just try and take your autonomy back when the whole city was designed to keep everyone in check.

It wasn't too bad though, (Y/N) had learned to accept their position in this life and be the perfect little citizen. They'd wake up, go to work, contribute the bare minimum, then go home and if they were lucky, they might even be able to watch TV or do some hobbies without a badnik peering into their window to make sure they weren't plotting anything.

Their routine could bore themselves to tears at times, but it was much better than the alternative.

Speaking of their mundane schedule, guess what they were up to right now??

On the bright side, they didn't have to walk or drive to work--All they had to do was stand on the strange conveyor belt that replaced this cities roads--Though, now that they really dwell on it, that couldn't be good for their legs--

"Bah." (Y/N) shook their head, shaking away any of the thoughts that remained in it away, allowing them to blink back into reality. Immediately they were met with the same dull buildings, the same dull people, and the same dull scent of smog that hit their nose.

Great.

(Y/N) stole a quick glance around the city, taking notice to the familiar visuals that almost immediately clicked in their mind, as if the cities layout was programmed into their brain.

Oh, this was their stop.

Taking a step off of the conveyor belt, they quickly transitioned to the sidewalk where they were able to walk freely.

They half payed attention to their surroundings, though the other half of their attention was quickly stolen by the shitty music that played from the stores they passed.

They cringed, their nose scrunching up as the voice hit their ears. They didn't even need to listen to the lyrics to recognize it as one of Dr. Deep's many many songs.

'Be a tyrant all you please, but don't use it to subject me to the horror of your shitty song-poetry.' Was something that crossed (Y/N)'s mind, but they wouldn't dare vocalize for fear of getting killed where they stood for treason.

Like stated before, free speech was not a luxury they had.

(Y/N) let out a deep sigh, sucking it up and coping quietly with the shitty music as they made their way past the multiple stores until they came to one in particular, their work--AKA; A shitty gas station right next to an alley that smells like cat piss and over the counter drug store (Y/N) was sure didn't even sell any actual medicine.

Fiddling with the doorknobs for a bit they managed to shimmy it open, allowing for themselves to slip inside and get a look at the cash register to confirm that their coworker waited until they arrived to clock out. Lucky for them, he did.

Ah, New Yoke City.

By far, the worst city to have ever been created, even it's citizens agree.

Free speech? Not a thing.

Self expression?? What's that?

You're lucky to even take a shit in the city without a badnik watching you to make sure you don't shit in any way the leaders would consider 'Rebellious'.

It sucked. Completely.

But, hey!! It was home!

Their routine could bore themselves to tears at times, but it was much better than the alternative.

Speaking of their mundane schedule, guess what they were up to right now??

Great.

(Y/N) stole a quick glance around the city, taking notice to the familiar visuals that almost immediately clicked in their mind, as if the cities layout was programmed into their brain.

Oh, this was their stop.

Taking a step off of the conveyor belt, they quickly transitioned to the sidewalk where they were able to walk freely.

They half payed attention to their surroundings, though the other half of their attention was quickly stolen by the shitty music that played from the stores they passed.

They cringed, their nose scrunching up as the voice hit their ears. They didn't even need to listen to the lyrics to recognize it as one of Dr. Deep's many many songs.

Like stated before, free speech was not a luxury they had.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Their coworker was quick to comment, which definitely didn't help (Y/N) with their mood in the slightest, and they were sure to show that in the glare they sent him.

"Watch yourself. I'm far too tired to banter right now." (Y/N) replied, and their exhaustion from waking extra early must've seeped through their tone cause their co-worker dropped it without another word.

"Are you okay?? You look like hell." Their coworker readjusted his cap, talking to (Y/N) as he moved to click himself out meanwhile (Y/N) walked up to slip behind the counter into their station.

"We're in hell, Jim--" (Y/N) cut themselves off at the sound of a badnik moving around on the outside of the shop, recording any conversations as per usual. "I mean...Just grand. Live, laugh, love or some bullshit like that." (Y/N) groaned, rolling their eyes which earned a chuckle out of Jim. who stepped up to the counter.

"Here, it's on the house." Jim dropped a coffee by (Y/N)'s cash register, making the animal cock a brow at the item. "I knew you had a early shift today so I decided to get you one when I stopped by the Yoke's brewery." (Y/N) must've looked up at the man as if he were the reincarnation of God at that moment.

"You are a godsend, man." They said gratefully, earning a bashful grin from the man and him averting his gaze.

"It was nothin', really." Jim changed the conversation, flustered from the attention on the small act of kindness. "Any who, I'm gonna hit the road. Anything goes wrong, give me a ring." He made a 'call me' signal with his hand when stating ringing before turning on his heel and taking his leave from the shop.

(Y/N) let out a sigh, watching the retreating figure before glancing down at the coffee he gave them. A soft smile curled upon their face, relief that even though today was going to be a long and stressful one, at least they had something to help get them through it.

With that thought, they picked up the cup and took a sip out of it, only for their soft and happy features to immediately fall into a grimace.

The coffee was ice-cold.

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

Just as (Y/N) suspected, the night went by slow, almost torturously so.

Customers were sparce, and even when they did show up it was either just to use the bathroom or to look around and end up buying nothing.

The cleaning that they had to do could almost be considered a military recognized torture mechanism--And don't get them started on the constant noises the badniks outside would make. If you're gonna stalk citizens, they'd at least like it if you do it quietly.

Luckily, all that was over with now, and now they only had to worry about getting home in one piece and avoid butting heads with any of the many badniks on patrol during the night.

(Y/N) twisted the key in their hand, finishing locking up the shop before pocketing said key and stealing a glance around the city. Yep. Still as dull and depressing as ever.

A sigh escaped their lips, creating a crowd of smoke around them before they began walking away from their shop, instead heading towards the usual and only transport for people nowadays, the conveyor belt.

(Y/N) would love to say that anything interesting happened during that painstakingly slow walk, but that would be a lie. It was the same, boring and lacking any uniqueness. It was interchangeably from any other day (Y/N) had. You could seriously changed the events that transpired this day to any other and (Y/N) wouldn't have even realized.

To say that (Y/N) was exhausted of all this would be an understatement. They were emotionally drained and mentally exhausted. Everything was the same. Every person they crossed on the street was the same, every robot that stared holes into them was the same, every building, every street.

All.

The.

Same.

(Y/N) wished that just for one day, they could be blessed with something unique, something that could remind them that life is more than just doing tasks mindlessly until you drop dead. It could be anything, they weren't picky!! A fun building, a flower, a song, a...a..

...A blue hedgehog??

(Y/N) froze up, doing a double-take when an electric blue blur caught their gaze. How could it not?? It was so different and it was such a stark contrast from the dark city it was in.

The blue blur zoomed down the street at such a speed that if (Y/N) blinked, they swore they would've missed it.

(Y/N) felt their heart rate go up for the first time in forever, an emotion that they had long since forgotten filled their chest.

Excitement.

Finally, there was something special in this world, something new. They didn't want to lose this feeling, nor did they want to lose this strange anomaly. Before (Y/N) even registered what they had done, they had stepped off of the conveyor and broke out into a spring, chasing after the blue that was miles ahead of them.

"Wait!! Wait up!!" (Y/N) called out, not caring who heard them or who was watching, even though the weird looks that people shot them was not lost on them.

The blue blur--If it even was a hedgehog or any other animal for that matter--didn't respond or even ease up, instead keeping up its abnormally fast running speed, making (Y/N) work up a sweat to even keep it in their line of sight. Adrenaline pumped inside of them at the thought of losing this and suddenly they picked up a speed they hardly knew they could've. It was absolutely nothing compared to the speeds of the blur, but it was still pretty impressive for such an average animal as themselves.

Their heartbeat and labored breaths pounded harshly against their ears, it practically being the only thing they could hear. They payed it no mind, instead keeping themselves focused on keeping the blur in their sights as well as calling out to it.

"Please!! Wait up!! I just want to talk!!" The words tumbled out of their throat almost frantically, their voice cracking and strained from the running. They prayed that somehow, their words could hit the blur since it was clear that they could never catch up to such a creature.

...

And much to their surprise, the creature finally heard them.

"...(Y/N)?"

In the blink of an eye, the blur had went from being miles ahead of (Y/N) to right in front of them, almost dangerously close.

"Oh, it's actually you!! Boy, I am so glad to finally see a familiar face that isn't trying to kill me--You aren't trying to kill me, right?? Oh, it doesn't matter cause it's you!! You're here!! Do you know where any of the others are?? I--" The creature, now identifiable as both a male and a blue hedgehog, rambled on in front of (Y/N), though they blocked out half of his words, more so taking in his...well, himself.

He was nothing like (Y/N) had ever seen in another animal. His electrically bright quills contrasted most of the dull colored fur that everyone else had, he had something in his eyes that was so much different than everyone else's. He actually had emotions and life in his mannerisms and facial expressions. He didn't look like a copy or a robot like everyone else did, he was very much alive and his own person--Also, he totally had glowing shoes but (Y/N) decided not to get into that can of worms.

He was magnificent--At least, that's how (Y/N) would describe him.

"Wai...Wait?? How do you know my name??" (Y/N) blinked out of their reverie, realizing what exactly the hedgehog had said previously.

"What--Oh, no!! Not you too!!" The hedgehog's face contorted into a disappointed expression, his ears even drooping at (Y/N)'s words. "C'mon, you gotta remember me!! I'm Sonic!! So-nic!" He leaned forwards, talking with his hands as if that would help make a memory suddenly click in (Y/N)'s head.

"I'm sorry, Sonic, but I assure you I would not forget someone...of your caliber." That came out way creepier than they intended. "I think you might have me confused with someone else." They tried to smile reassuringly, but failed miserably. Their heart was beating so fast and they had no clue if it was from the run they did to get here, from being so close to someone this unique, or from fest of the gibberish Sonic was spouting. Maybe a mix of all three..

Sonic's frown deepened, his eyebrows narrowing at (Y/N). "Cmon, even this version of you has to remember me!!" Version...? "We were like unstoppable together!! We were an item, A power couple!! This has to rejoh something in that head of yours!! You used to call me a 'Star'--𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 star." Sonic threw his arms out to his sides in an animated fashion, clearly exasperated at how his attempts to get (Y/N) to remember didn't seem to be working.

"Star..? Dating?" (Y/N) could swear that that their face was on fire at this point. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recall any of that."

Sonic's shoulders slumped dejectedly, his facial expressions also morphing into a deafeated look. He dropped down, sitting on the sidewalk as his eyes glued themselves into the grim and disgusting concrete of the streets. "Right, of course you wouldn't remember." His tone lacked the energy it had previously, instead being as dead as everyone else's tone was in this city. (Y/N) didn't like it. It didn't suit this stranger to be as disappointed and accepting of defeat as everyone else was. Even with how little the knew of him, they could tell that he wasn't that type of person.

"Well..." (Y/N) was careful with their movements, shifting to sit down next to the blue hedgehog. "Try me. Maybe we had met each other." Despite knowing very well that the two hadn't, (Y/N) still stated that, though it did seem to help make the blue hedgehog ease up just a tad, as evident by him lifting his head up to look at them.

"Did we ever go on any dates?" (Y/N) asked, mostly out of curiosity as to the fictional relationship this man had made up rather than any need to rejog their memory.

"Oh, only the best!!" The hedgehog's energy returned almost as fast as he could run, his eyes lighting up at the memories of the twos dates. "I remember we used to race down green hills loop-de-loop all the time--I always won, by the way--OH, OH!! We sometimes did dates on Angel Island, though it was so hard with Knuckles there and all."

(Y/N) looked at the hedgehog, listening intently to his ramblings. There was far too much detail for them just to be ramblings from an insane man, and they even had (Y/N) second guessing if the two had met before--But, they know nothing about no 'Angel Island' or 'Knuckles'.

"We must've had a lot of fun together, huh??" (Y/N) kind of wished they remembered something, anything of what he was saying. They wished that they were actually from what sounded like another world, living an action packed life along Sonic's side where they would never have to feel the dread of a looping lifestyle ever again.

But, alas, they knew that it wasn't true. It was too good to be true.

"We did...I wish we can again too." Sonic's eyes flickered back to the street though it didn't take long for the hedgehog to find (Y/N)'s gaze again.

"You may not remember, but I do!! I'll make sure to jog your memory and get this place back to normal, where it isn't some creepy egg dystopia." He stood up, a confident smile gracing his lips as he did so. "Recognize this face, cause it's the face of a stars--And not just any stars, your star!!"

An amused expression crossed (Y/N)'s face as they cocked a brow but before they knew it, Sonic reached out to grab their hand, hoisting them up before dragging them with him, most likely taking them somewhere to "jog their memory".

"Wait, Wait!! Hold up!"

Thanks for reading ♥︎

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic prime #fanfic #sonic headcanons #sonic fandom #sonic the hedghog movie #sonic the hedghog fanart #sonic team #sonic prompt #sonic x #sonic x reader #oneshot #fanfiction #temmer

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appledressing · 1 year ago

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i was crying about Jessica and now I’m crying about this! what just happened !!!!!?????

Team Prime, Part One

CW: Unrequited love; pining; heavy angst.

Word Count: 5349

Other pieces: This is part of a mini-series.

AN: Not beta-read; barely proof-read. An angsty companion piece to @youvebeenlivingfictional's Jake Seresin piece (and upcoming Bradley Bradshaw piece).

When your sister, Hannah, gets engaged to her long-term boyfriend, she chooses you over your other sisters to be her maid of honor.

“Maid of horrors, more like,” you grumble, but you’re secretly touched by the trust she puts in you. She and Eric have dated since high school, and they’ve been through a lot—mostly long-distance during the years as she went to college and graduate school and as he joined the Navy. And yet here they are. Still together. Still in love. Ready to make it official-official.

“Eric’s best friend from the Navy will be the best man,” Hannah tells you. “I met him a few times. Bob Floyd. He’s nice. You’ll like him.”

Bob Floyd. Something about the name puts you in mind of a middle aged man with strong opinions about lawn maintenance and grilling meats, so when you finally meet the baby-faced Bob with his bright blue eyes and stammering flush at the engagement party, you find yourself surprised, knocked back on your heels.

-----

You were never the sort of girl who dreamt about her wedding day, but when Hannah foists much of the wedding planning onto you, you decide then and there to elope if you ever meet someone you want to marry.

The cake tasting wouldn’t be bad, but Hannah has an entire binder of ideas she gleaned from the internet. It’s difficult to enjoy the white cake with raspberry compote, for example, when you’re worried about how the pearl luster dust will hold up under the California sun.

The venue only rents out some things in-house, so you spend two entire weekends tracking down a dance floor, chairs, linens. You pick the wrong linens (white instead of cream), and you have a minor breakdown that night, crying in the shower at the stress of planning a party that isn’t even for you.

It’s a moment of weakness. At the engagement party, Bob gave you his number and mumbled shyly, “if you need help. You know, with the planning or anything.”

You hadn’t thought of it originally, but you’re tired and figure, why not reach out? He offered to help. Worst he can say is ‘no.’

He doesn’t say no. He says tell me what you need.

-----

What you need: help with the menu. Help with the seating arrangements. Help with the joint bachelor and bachelorette party.

For the menu, the two of you do a whirlwind tour of the local catering companies. Two of the three companies confuse you and Bob as the bride and groom, and you laugh to see Bob’s face turn bright red, the way he stammers to correct them.

“I apologize,” one woman tells you. “You make a really cute couple.”

Afterwards, pleasantly stuffed from peach and goat cheese crostini and tri-tip, you reach across the driver’s seat to where Bob sits to your right. You poke him lightly on his still-flushed cheek, call him really cute…which makes his face burn even hotter.

For the seating arrangements, he spends an evening at your apartment in Monterey. You split a pizza and a six-pack, and you pore over the massive guest list. You list out the people who can’t sit together—old family grudges, friendly rivalries—and you get a rough chart pulled together for Hannah’s inspection.

For the joint party—by then, you and Bob work like a well-oiled machine. You book hotel rooms in Vegas. You book tickets to shows, reservations to restaurants. You book dance lessons, since Hannah insists that everyone in the wedding party learn how to not stumble around the dance floor for the first dances. You send out itineraries, details. You collect money.

When it’s done, you sit back on your couch and heave a sigh of relief. Your head lolls back, and you turn to look at Bob.

“Team Prime strikes again,” he says with a soft smile, and you hold up a hand for a high five. It’s an inside joke between the two of you, a dumb joke about how you’re the first bridesmaid and he’s the first groomsman, the best of the best, the chosen-above-all-others. The Primes.

“Hell yeah we did,” you reply with an answering smile, and that’s when you first feel it: the pleasant little dip in your stomach at the sight of his smile, his blue eyes. The first little tremor of infatuation. Of burgeoning love.

-----

Two months pass, and after the initial press of planning, things stabilize. With Bob Floyd’s help, the wedding plans firm up, and you can breathe.

You stay in touch. You trade daily texts, checking in on each other. Sharing funny memes. Talking about movies you’ve seen, books you’ve read. Joking on the side about the main wedding party group chat.

Then the bachelor and bachelorette party in Vegas in upon you. You text Bob about your fear of flying.

Reassure me that it’s safe, you plead via text. Tell me I’m safer flying than driving.

You’re safer flying than driving.

You snort. Funny, you type back.

He doesn’t text anything in reply. Instead, he calls you.

Bob Floyd, graduate of Top Gun, walks you through the physics of flight. His soft voice, his slight drawl that comes out when he’s comfortable….he soothes you with his matter-of-fact discussion of lift and thrust, of yaw and roll. He tells you that planes are stringently designed to be safe, maintained for safety. That pilots train rigorously while any dumbass can fumble their way into a driver’s license.

He talks to you for an hour. He doesn’t quite talk you out of your fear; he doesn’t slay that dragon entirely, but he makes it smaller. Less scary.

“We’re on the same flight out tomorrow,” he points out. “We can try to switch seats and sit together.”

That first little dip in your stomach was nothing compared to the roiling now. It’s such a damned cliché, yet here you are: the maid of honor falling for the best man. Like a stupid Hallmark movie, yet you can’t stop the wide grin from splitting your face.

The next morning, you are able to switch seats after all, and for the entire short flight to Vegas, Bob holds your clammy hand in his, twists himself in his seat so that he can talk to you, low and soft, explaining each bump and lurch of the plane, making them seem like nothing scary at all.

-----

“You’re more sure on your feet than I would have expected,” you tease, and Bob gifts you a shy smile as he turns you gracefully across the dance floor.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.”

You hum in agreement, then look around the studio at the other coupled-off bridesmaids and groomsmen. After an hour-long lesson in ballroom dancing, few people other than you and Bob have grasped the steps of the easy waltz.

Two couples have given up altogether and are standing haplessly where they stopped on the dance floor. One couple is sorta doing their own thing, that awkward swaying shuffle that kids used to do at middle school dances.

Hannah and Eric are giving it an honest shot, but even from where you and Bob are, you can hear them bickering over who needs to lead, over which step is next. You glance at your own partner and see him watching them too. There’s a faint frown on his face.

“I think we’re the best dancers of the bunch,” he whispers, conspiratorial.

“I think you’re right,” you whisper back.

He turns his gaze back to you, and his returning smile makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Do you think if we show them up, they’ll kick us out of the wedding party?” he jokes.

“Oh, please,” you groan. “If there’s even a chance, I say we go for it. I’m so damned tired of earnest, late-night discussions about freesias and cake toppers.”

He laughs, and he squeezes your hand lightly as he turns you, an advanced move the instructor showed you earlier. “It can’t be that bad.”

You settle back into his hold and look at him. He’s been the most surprising part of the entire miserable wedding planning, this buddy of the groom that you’ve been paired with. Not a typical military guy at all. Bob is too sweet, too kind, too polite to be a complete dork…but even if he was, you’d still like him. He’s an easy guy to like. An easy guy to fall for.

“Nah,” you reply. “It’s not that bad at all.”

-----

The first day in Vegas is dance lessons and a nice dinner. The second day is a helicopter tour, which you politely skip, and then dinner and then dancing at a club. You and Bob had managed to book a VIP space, and you both volunteered to stay sober to help wrangle the drunks at the end of the night.

So for the first day and much of the second, you remain ignorant. You lean into all the feelings of your growing infatuation, but it doesn’t feel like your usual harmless crush. You like Bob Floyd. You really like him. There’s not a single ounce of artifice to him—he is genuinely just himself. Smart. Driven, in a quiet, steady way. Kind and funny. Despite his outwardly nerdy appearance, he seems fairly comfortable with who he is. He possesses a quiet confidence that you’ve never noticed in a man before.

You’ve dated in the past. You even had a semi-serious boyfriend, dated him for three years and talked vaguely of getting engaged, getting married. But nothing ever came of it; neither of you felt that elusive tug on the heartstrings that the other person was the one. So you broke it off amicably, and a month later, he met his would-be wife.

You remain single, and it rarely bothers you. You’re alone but not lonely, and you like your own company. You have your sisters. You have your coworkers and friends.

But in meeting Bob Floyd, you start to see the possibilities of finding someone and building a life with them…as long as that someone is…well…Bob Floyd.

For the first day and much of the second, you lean into the burgeoning fantasy. You play out how the wedding day will be. The reception. You wonder if Hannah will aim her bouquet toss at you, and if Eric will aim the garter at Bob. You wonder if there will be a moment on the dance floor, or maybe somewhere quieter. If Bob doesn’t make a move, you decide, you will.

The night at the club starts out great. The VIP area is elevated and set apart, so you can watch the dance floor but still have space to yourself. The champagne flows, then everyone switches to liquor. You and Bob are like hovering parents, easing glasses of water into people’s hands, checking in with them to make sure they are still coherent, cognizant.

It’s so damned easy to fall into the fantasy for these last few moments. There’s a sort of fraternity among the sober people in the club or bar: the clear, alert eyes that find each other. The knowing head nod, the little shrugs as if to say, “what can you do?” as you corral and tend to your drunken charges.

You and Bob—you catch each other’s eyes as you get a fresh pitcher of water. You smile at each other in the dim club lights. He rolls his eyes once, elaborate, and you laugh.

And when he wants to talk to you, he stands close, dips his head. Puts his mouth right near your ear so he doesn’t have to shout over the bassline, and that sets a low, licking flame of desire deep in your core, his warm breath fanning over you as he gently makes fun of your sisters, the other groomsmen. You wonder what he would do if you kissed him, if you took his hand after everyone was tucked in their beds and drew him into your room. Maybe you could kiss him, you think, you could press even a soft kiss to his cheek and see how he reacts. Maybe you could—

“I told Eric I don’t want any of this,” Bob says. You turn and look at him, and he gestures broadly with his hand. At the bridal party, half-debauched and fully drunk. At the wider space of the dark, loud club.

“Sorry?”

He dips his head near your ear again. “I said, I already told Eric I don’t want a big production.”

“For what?” you ask, but you already know—your body already knows, even if your brain hasn’t quite caught up. The flickering heat of your nascent arousal is doused, and your stomach flips like you might throw up.

“For my bachelor’s party. I just want a beer and poker night. Nothing wild. My fiancée would kill me anyway, but laid-back is more my scene.”

“For your…” you start to say, and then your brain catches up. “Oh. Oh.”

And then sweet, unassuming Bob Floyd tells you all about her: the high school sweetheart, the long-distance fiancée who is finishing up grad school. The woman finally ready to set a date and make it official-official after all these years.

The woman who will be Bob Floyd’s wife someday soon.

“Congratulations,” you manage to say, and you manage to make it sound convincing, and then you manage to make it to the restroom where you clutch the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip. You manage to take deep, gulping breaths as you choke down your sudden, bitter disappointment.

-----

Bob, Eric, most of the bridal party…they don’t really know you, so it’s easy to mask how you’re feeling.

Your sisters? Hannah? They recognize your poor acting performance from the start.

They must have conferred together, and they must have elected Hannah as their spokeswoman because on the second to last morning, she comes to your room, links her arm through yours, and says, “let’s grab breakfast, just you and me.” Her voice has that artificial cheeriness to it, so you guess what’s up.

“I’m not hungry.” You tug your arm from hers, turn away from her. You walk over to the window and peek out around the curtains to see the sun about to rise, the sky a pink wash of color.

“Bullshit. You’re always hungry.” Hannah follows you into the room, and at the window, she wraps an arm around your waist, hugs you from behind. A few inches taller than you, she hooks her chin on your shoulder and gazes out the window too.

“My stomach is off,” you lie. “I think I ate a bad oyster at that buffet.”

She hums, doesn’t reply for a long moment. The two of you watch the sun break the line of the horizon, washing the cityscape in a bright yellow light.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” Hannah asks. “I know I’ve been a lot the past few months, but I’m always here for you. Always.”

You swallow thickly against the lump in your throat. “I know.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

You don’t bother to deny it. You nod.

“You love him?”

You shrug, jostle her where she’s perched on your shoulder. “I thought I did.”

Another hum, another beat of silence. “Probably wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t love him.”

“What makes you think I’m hurting?”

“You’re my little sister. I know when you’re in pain.”

You huff out a quiet breath, a near-laugh. “When did you get so damned wise?”

She chuckles, squeezes her arms comfortingly around your waist. “I was born wise.”

You sigh, lean your head against hers. “That makes one of us.”

Hannah squeezes you again, then lays a smacking kiss on your cheek before releasing you. “C’mon,” she says. “Seriously, let me take you out for breakfast. Everything seems easier on a full stomach.”

“Hannah—”

She’s a few inches taller than you, and she’s much stronger. She man-handles you away from the window, turns you around to face her.

“I’m the bride-to-be. You can’t tell me no,” she teases, but then her expression turns serious as she studies you closer.

“You know there’s someone out there just waiting for you,” she adds, somber, and she gazes at you so earnestly that tears prickle in your eyes, and before you can stop yourself, you start to cry.

-----

It’s dumb, you decide. A dumb crush.

You’ve known the man a handful of months. He was helpful, and you were stressed, so maybe the help seemed outsized. Bob Floyd is just a regular guy, you decide, and you got wrapped up in his orbit because he seemed nice and kind and helpful and funny. Which he is all of those things, but to fall in love over it?

Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

You make the decision over breakfast with Hannah. Your wise older sister. She’s right, you think: life seems a little less unbearable when your stomach is full of eggs benedict and mimosa.

The rest of the day is sightseeing before another group dinner that evening. It’s your last day and night in Vegas; you fly out in the morning. You and Bob are on the same flight home, and you think—you honestly think—that you can get through it.

It’s just a crush. It will die off soon enough.

But over the course of the day, once the group has reconvened, Bob sticks close to you. He’s always right there. He’s in your line of sight, or right at your shoulder, close enough that you can hear his quiet breathing, or when he chuckles under his breath. Close enough to smell the cleanly masculine scent of him.

You aren’t sure why he never mentioned being engaged before. You suppose it never came up naturally, even though the two of you did the bulk of the wedding planning together. There were a hundred opportunities, you guess, for him to say, “oh, I’ll have to keep this in mind for my own wedding” or “I should tell my fiancée about this.”

Over the course of the day, and now that the fact of his own engagement is out, Bob chats with you about it. You get the entire fucking story. High school sweethearts who broke up briefly when they went to college in separate states. How they reconnected over summer vacation their sophomore year. How they’ve been together ever since.

How Bob proposed once and was rejected. “It was too soon,” he tells you with a rueful shake of his head, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from pointing out that when he proposed, the two of them had been dating for years.

How Bob joined the Navy. How he kept his budget tight to save up for a better ring. How his fiancée—Jessica, her name is—finally said yes.

And now, he tells you how the engagement has stretched on and on, so much so that his parents stopped teasing him and started asking when the hell he and Jessica are going to finish the thing.

“Eric and Hannah,” he says, jerking his chin in their direction. “They were the kick in the ass we needed. Once they got engaged, we finally set a date.”

“Yeah?” Your voice comes out a rough croak, and you’re grateful for the huge sunglasses hiding your eyes from him.

“Next June. A little more than a year from now.”

You force a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

Bob nods, then grins at you. “All this planning, it was good practice for me. Now I know what to look for in a caterer and a linen-rental company.”

“I’m glad.” You try to keep your voice light, conversational, but something in your tone must clue him in that something is off. His grin fades, and he peers at you closer through his thick glasses, his blue eyes swimming behind the lenses.

“Everything okay? You seem…off.”

You force the smile back on your face, and you swallow back the shakiness in your voice. Of course Bob would notice that you aren’t yourself. Any other guy wouldn’t even register your more taciturn nature over the past few days, but Bob seems to miss very little, and he’s kind enough to care, to ask after you.

“Just tired. I never sleep well in a hotel room.”

He peers at you a moment longer, then nods, but his expression looks doubtful. “You should head back to the room early and rest,” he advises.

It’s a good idea. It would get you away from him, at least. You nod, and then you go to find Hannah, tell her you’re dipping out early and will meet back up for dinner.

-----

It’s the final dinner when you finally snap. You reach the end of your ability to sit and smile and nod your head, and your earlier bravado melts away.

Of course Bob sits beside you. Of course Hannah and Eric are the picture of true, enduring love. Of course you’re feeling sorry for yourself, positively maudlin, and then Bob—between bites of steak—tells you that Jessica can make it to the wedding after all, and not to worry because Hannah was able to find space for her at the reception.

“No need to redo those seating charts,” he chuckles, and then he tells you how excited he is for you to meet Jessica, how much he’s told her about the wedding planning, how much he’s learned, how much he can’t wait to get started on his own wedding planning.

It’s too much. Too much to take. You nod weakly at him, push your own meal around your plate with the tines of your fork. You keep your head bent, and you miss the looks people start to shoot at each other as they finally notice that the usually-chatty, usually-chipper maid of honor has gone sullen and silent.

It’s Hannah who gets up, makes a show of saying she needs to use the restroom. When you lift your head to look at her, she makes a “come along” gesture, and you stand up and follow her.

In the bathroom, she cups your face and stares at you, frowns.

“You look like shit,” she declares after a beat. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“’m fine,” you lie.

“I know you’re not. Why don’t we get out of here, huh? Get some air?”

You shake your head. “It’s the last night here. Please don’t…don’t let me ruin it.”

She laughs, then smushes your cheeks together. “You couldn’t ruin it if you tried. C’mon…you did all the shit-work for me, planning this wedding. The least I can do is get you out of here.”

You shake your head again, more emphatic. “No. Why don’t I just go? You can make up an excuse that I’m not feeling well.” You bite your lip, swallow hard against the lump in your throat. “I just can’t be around him anymore right now. I just need space to get my head right.”

“Oof, you got it bad,” she says with a sympathetic cluck of her tongue, but then she nods. “Why don’t I go grab your purse, and then I’ll make something up.”

You offer her a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

She nods again, then kisses your forehead, more motherly than sisterly. Hannah always had a maternal streak to her as the eldest sister, always was the first to tend to you and your sisters’ scraped knees and bruised hearts. She’ll be the family’s matriarch someday, you realize: the person who will hold you all together, who will gather you up for holidays and celebrations and moments of grief long after your parents are gone.

“A little distance from Bob Floyd will cure what ails you,” she jokes, and you have to agree. Tomorrow you’re supposed to fly out with Bob, and the thought of his hand in yours, his reassuring voice right by your ear…you can’t do it. You’ll snap and say something you won’t be able to take back.

That evening, in the hotel room, you call the airline and cancel your ticket. You book a rental car instead.

-----

You don’t see Bob Floyd again. The two of you are supposed to meet in the lobby the next morning to share a ride to the airport, but you wake up earlier and leave alone, bound for the rental car part of the airport.

Decided to drive back, you text Bob. Enjoy your flight and thanks for all your help!

He doesn’t text you back. He calls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his voice is deeper, edged in real concern. “You’re driving back to California? It’s eight hours or more.”

“I just wanted to clear my head.” It’s not a lie, and the reason falls easily from your lips.

“But you’ve not been sleeping well, and you were sick last night,” he points out. “Should you even be driving? Flying is safer anyway, and it’s only a two hour flight—”

You cut him off gently. You tell him that you’ve already cancelled your ticket, that an eight-hour drive is nothing. That you want a little alone time to think. That a road trip through the desert with the music blasting is sometimes just the cure for what ails.

“I promise I’m okay to drive.” You’re touched by his concern, and you realize that your bravado was false, that it isn’t just a dumb crush. Bob Floyd is a genuinely good man. Of course you fell for him.

And if it isn’t just a dumb crush, then the only way to handle it is to endure it. There’s no cure but time.

“Well, let me know when you make it home,” he finally concedes. “Team Prime looks out for its own.”

You smile in spite of your crushing self-pity. “Team Prime. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

You end the call, and you situate yourself in your rental car. Challenging situations always make you want to flee, but you were right too: a road trip is a good time to think, to turn over your muddle thoughts and sort them out. To clear the head, ease the heart.

You pull out into the Nevada sunshine and turn towards home: the sun rising at your back in the east, and maybe the possibility of finding love, as Hannah said, to the west.

*****

Bob frowns when you cut that call, and for the entire plane ride home (the seat beside him still empty; there were no standbys), he mulls it over.

You had been so gregarious, so funny and sweet in the months since he’s met you. Despite the overwhelming pressure of the wedding planning, you were level-headed. Managed to joke about it all. When he stepped in to help, you thanked him profusely, called him a life-saver, called him your hero.

It was easy to let it get to his head, a little. People rarely noticed Lieutenant Robert Floyd, and it made him feel good to be seen by such a sweetly cheerful woman.

Something happened in Vegas, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. It’s like a switch was thrown. The chipper demeanor disappeared, but it wasn’t like you were sullen or angry. You seemed pained, almost, on the verge of tears a few times that he noticed. You tried to pretend you were okay, and that made it sadder, more perplexing. Whatever you were going through, you were trying to power through it, hide it.

He tried to draw you out by talking about his own impending wedding, talking about Jessica…but after a while, something about that line of conversation made his stomach dip and twist unpleasantly.

He had been looking forward to the flight home. That got to his head too, the way you clung to his hand the entire flight to Vegas, the way you needed him to get through it. The shaky exhale you gave when the plane finally touched down. The shaky, embarrassed laugh, then the half-hug in your seats, the two of you twisted towards each other, as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders and thanked him profusely.

He likes being needed, he finds. Not in an extreme way, or an unhealthy codependent way. He just likes being needed by someone once in a while, for little things like that—sketching out a seating chart, being a bulwark against a fear of flying. Jessica never seems to need him, and it—

Bob pushes the thought out of his head. He won’t compare the two of you. He won’t.

The entire flight home, he mulls you over. The drive back to base too. He calls Jessica to hear her voice and he gives her the abridged version of the Vegas trip. He runs errands: restocks his refrigerator, does laundry, presses his uniform shirts and pants. He goes for a jog, then hits the gym on base, lifts until his arms burn.

He goes home and showers, and then he settles in front of the TV. He dozes off and wakes in the middle of the night with a start, his heart hammering in his chest and the taste of pennies in his mouth.

He has no idea what’s wrong until he checks his phone, notes the time…and notes that you haven’t called or texted.

Bob scrubs his face with his hands. He makes his way to the bathroom, splashes himself with water. He studies his own reflection, and even with his glasses off, he can see the worry writ all over his expression.

Maybe she got tired and pulled off for the night, he thinks. Or maybe she just forgot to let me know she’s home.

That’s what he imagines when he moves to his bed and tries to fall back asleep—he imagines you home in your own apartment, the cozy little space that is so perfectly you. He imagines you returning the rental car, showering off the road dust, then turning in for a long, well-earned sleep.

When he finally drifts off, his dreams are unsettling, and he wakes early, coated in a thin sheen of sweat despite the AC running at top capacity.

“Something’s wrong,” he mutters aloud to the empty bedroom. He can feel it in his gut. Something is off, and just as he makes up his mind to call you, to check in on you, even if it’s rude and even if he wakes you up, his phone lights up with an incoming call.

From Eric.

Eric, his best friend, his oldest friend. Eric, who rarely calls and who prefers to text. Eric, who only calls—especially at four-thirty in the morning—when there’s bad news.

Eric, the most unflappable man that Bob has ever known, openly, obviously trying to hide the tears in his voice. In the background, Bob can hear a woman crying—Hannah—as Eric relays the news: the only other member of Team Prime, the best of the best like him, was struck in a head-on collision by a speeding driver.

That you were life-flighted to the nearest trauma center, but that the prospects for your survival are so bleak that the attending surgeon told your father over the phone to not entertain much hope. That the doctor asked if you had a religion, if there was perhaps a priest or pastor or rabbi…someone who might come and offer final blessing, last rites, whatever.

“We’re trying to get everyone here,” Eric says. “Dude, what do I…I mean, what can I even do? If a doctor says…fuck, Bob, I don’t know what to do—”

Bob says the only thing he can think of, an echo of what he texted to you all those months ago.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, and he keeps his voice level despite the emotion—shock, sorrow, burgeoning guilt—coursing through him like electricity. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #bobby series #part 1 #team prime series #wedding party #engagement fic #mutual crushes

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lewisvinga · 5 months ago

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my special girls | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; one of the greatest days in lewis’ life, his 104th win and the birth of his daughter.

warnings; mentions of pregnancy/labor, probs labor inaccuracies

word count; 1.4k

all works taglist; @goldenmclaren @namgification @c-losur3 @minkyungseokie @lavisenri @ollieshifts

note; i need to see more lewis fics after 104th🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️BUT ALZKLALSSM 104TH THATS MY GOATTTT THATS WHY HE’S THE GOATT😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The Mercedes garage was tense, more tense than usual. The final laps of the British Grand Prix made everyone nervous and anxious. Lewis was just laps away from his 104th win.

Both George, who unfortunately had to retire due to issues with his car, and Carmen stood by a very anxious 9-month pregnant Y/n Hamilton. Although Lewis advised his wife to stay home due to how far along she was in her pregnancy despite it being his home race, she refused.

Carmen held onto her hand, their eyes focused on the screen as the final lap began. Although she was also upset with what happened to George, the couple couldn’t help but feel happy for the 7x world champion.

Time seemed to pass by slowly as Lewis drove around the final corners. Y/n didn’t notice anything happening around her, her focus completely on the screen.

‘Lewis Hamilton wins the 2024 British Grand Prix.’

Those 8 words the married couple longed to hear were finally being said. Y/n carefully but quickly jumped up from her seat, cheering loudly as her husband passed the checked flag. With one hand around her pregnant stomach and the other being thrown in the air while crying, she didn’t even notice the faint cramping in her abdomen.

The team rushed to meet up with Lewis, Carmen staying behind to help Y/n who slowly waddled behind the rushing team. She couldn’t hold back her tears as she watched her husband hugging his father in tears.

She stayed with the Spanish girl, not wanting to be within the grand crowd for safety reasons. Her vision was cloudy from tears. There were black smudges around her eyes as she carefully wiped her eyes to not mess up her cheeks.

Through her teary eyes, she could see the deep brown eyes she fell in love with years ago right in front of her.

Lewis carefully wrapped his arms around her, keeping a hand on her stomach. “My loves.” He whispered, pressing a kiss against her plump lips. “You both okay?

Y/n reaches up to carefully wipe the stray tears on his cheek. “Worrying about me after winning?” She teases through tears. “We’re fine and we’re so proud of you.” She cradled his face in her hands.

Only she knew how much Lewis had truly struggled after that day in 2021. She knew the mental anguish he went through whenever a race went poorly, so desperate to prove to others he was still as good as he was in his prime. She knew how hurt he had been with what was happening with Mercedes, wanting to spend his last season with the German team in a good way.

It seemed everything he had been through was worth it when Y/n revealed she was pregnant. Suddenly, everything didn’t matter. He just wanted to be there for his wife and child.

9 months later, he was washed over with a large wave of emotions as he passed the checkered flag knowing his pregnant wife was in the crowd.

“Gotta make sure my girls are okay,” Lewis mumbled, resting his head in the crook of her neck. Her long nails gently scratched his scalp. She hummed as she felt him press a kiss on her shoulder. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Y/n whispered back as he lifted his head from her hold. She gestured toward where the reporter was waiting for a quick post-race interview before the podium. “Go, my love, we’ll be waiting for you after you’re all done.”

With one last kiss, Lewis left her to do his post-race interview. She left with Carmen to slowly waddle walk back to the garage. She didn’t feel quite comfortable being part of the crowd during the podium celebration so she opted to watch from the TV in the garage.

They had barely made it back when Y/n suddenly felt another sharp pain in her abdomen. She felt a small puddle of liquid by her feet. Carmen and her look down at the puddle before making eye contact.

“The baby?” The Spanish girl questioned, trailing off when the pregnant woman nodded.

“Is coming.”

Lewis’s mother, Carmen, had kept a close eye on her daughter-in-law the entire day. She noticed the panicked look on both of the girls’ faces and rushed over to them. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Her water broke.” The Spanish girl explained, keeping her hand interlocked with the laboring woman.

“Don’t tell Lewis yet. I want him to enjoy this day.” Y/n said in between deep breaths. Before either woman could protest, she added, “Do not test me right now. The contractions aren’t bad yet and I don’t want to go to the hospital until there are a few minutes in between.”

“Let’s take you to his driver's room then, dear.” The elder Carmen says, taking her daughter-in-law in her arms and helping her. The younger Carmen followed behind due to the two becoming quite close.

Time had passed and Lewis was finishing up all his media duties. He wanted nothing more than to be in the embrace of his wife on such a special day. His eyebrows furrowed up when he couldn’t find her in the garage. He looked around confused until he saw Carmen appear out of his motor room looking distressed as she spoke with George who was waiting outside.

“What's going on?” Lewis asked confused, feeling a surge of worry running through his veins.

“Y/n, her water broke earlier and we wanted to get you but she refused! Your mom only let her refuse because her contractions weren’t too bad yet,” The Spanish girl explained to Y/n’s worried husband. “But they’re getting closer now so I came to get you and-“

Lewis didn’t let her finish before rushing into his motorhome. He spotted Y/n leaning against the wall with his mother supporting her by her arm. “My love, why’d you wait this long?” He softly says, quietly thanking his mother before taking her place with his wife.

“Wanted you to enjoy this day and your win-“

“But you’re pregnant and in labor. This is far more important and urgent.”

“So does that mean we can go to the hospital now?”

Lewis sighed, shaking his head as a smile crept up on his lips. He turned to his mom before grabbing Y/n’s bag, “I’ll take her now. I’ll keep you updated.”

His mother simply nodded and gave her son a kiss on his cheek. She gives Y/n an encouraging smile before whispering, “If your daughter is anything like my son, it’ll be a fast delivery.”

Y/n chuckled at her words before waving goodbye to her. Lewis sighed as he easily scooped her up in his arms. Fortunately, George had called an ambulance which was waiting by the entrance of the paddock just in time.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Although winning after so long at home was so special to Lewis, he knew nothing could beat what he currently felt as he cradled the tiny baby in his arms.

Hours before he held the golden trophy signifying he won his 104th race. Now, he’s holding one of the most important girls in his life.

Just like her father, little Ophelia came out fast. Y/n was only in the hospital for an hour or so before it was time for her to push. Tears hadn’t stopped flowing from their faces from the moment Lewis won to even after Ophelia’s birth.

“What a day.” Y/n sleepily chuckled, waking up from a nap that had been knocked out for a while. Lewis turned around with a sleeping Ophelia still in his arms. “You win a race and you get a daughter who is identical to you even if I carried her for 9 months?”

“How are you feeling?” He asked his wife who scooted over to the side, signaling for him to sit next to her.

“Tired. Happy, but tired.” She immediately melted into his side.

She gently runs her finger over Ophelia’s cheek. The newborn was still in deep sleep, clearly exhausted after being born just a few hours earlier.

Lewis couldn’t help but admire the two. June 7th was undoubtedly one of the happiest days of his life. He’s won many times before. He’s won trophies and world championships. Winning at home after 3 years was something special. But winning in life with his wife by his side and his daughter in his arms was something unexplainable.

He leaned down to press a kiss on Ophelia’s forehead before pressing a kiss against Y/n’s lips. “Don’t know what I’d do without you two. My special girls.”

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton scenarios #lewis hamilton imagine

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 1 year ago

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From the Heart of a Nebula - Masterlist

Hi! Welcome to the rewrite of my transformers fic, 'From the Heart of a Nebula'. This story has been developing for as long as I can remember and I'm so happy that I'm finally writing it for you guys, so I hope you love it just as much as I do! It's a bit long winded, so I'll try to make it worth the read! Enjoy!

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains have always been subjected to legend, but the girls only knew of the creatures that supposedly lurked there, not anything about a cave that took you to another world, especially one that added aliens to the mix.

Tags: Optimus Prime x oc/reader - Ratchet x oc (side character) - Team Prime × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack

Warnings: Violence, swearing, graphic descriptions of injuries, major character death, descriptions of death, mild descriptions/mentions of torture, heavy descriptions of war themes, identity crisis, imposter syndrome, depressive themes, mentions of panic/anxiety attacks (anything else I will add)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Soon available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Go back to Transformers Masterlist

From the Heart of a Nebula

Chapters will generally be posted every Saturday between 5-10pm (UK time)

Purple text - release dates

Green text - Posted

Extras:

Behind the scenes notes (may or may not post)

Headcanons - Optimus x oc (to be written)

Headcanons - Ratchet x oc (to be written)

Playlist (coming soon!)

From the Heart of a Nebula - Soundtrack Playlist

Transformers Prime

Part 0 - A Trip to the Past :

Prologue:

Part I - The one time she couldn't walk away

Part II - Lost among the stars

Part 1 - Knock Knock! It's The Government :

Chapter I -

Chapter II -

Chapter III -

Chapter IV -

Chapter V -

(To be continued...)

Enjoy! <3

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tatoda · 1 year ago

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Guitar Pick 2 || college!conrad x fem reader

masterlist

request

part 1

summary: conrad brings you to cousins, everyone knows about your relationship except belly, who has a huge crush on conrad

pairing: college!conrad x fem!reader

warnings: angst, ends with fluff, jealous belly, steven being a good best friend

wc: 2.2k

here’s part 2 :)i changed it up from the request! i hope y’all enjoy im writing some more pieces for y’all !! i ended up not putting smut i hope you understand.

It’s been almost 10 months with conrad. After he asked you out at college, you both instantly hit it off. You learned all about his life and how he grew up in a home with his mom having cancer and her passing away last year and his dad cheating on her. But soon enough after he was a quiet guy he thought it was time to start opening up. He learned about your family and how they always didn’t believe in you so you proved them wrong. He has never been happier.

You met steven and jeremiah one night they came to visit you and conrad. And you instantly hit it off with them, especially steven. He became one of your closest friends when you hung out with him, conrad, and jeremiah. It was a fully platonic friendship. He was there for you and you were there for him. Conrad enjoyed that you got along with them so well. You 4 hung out as much as possible and they loved you and were happy conrad finally found someone that made him happy.

Conrad invited you to his beach house for the first time. He always talked about it and offered for you to come, but you didn’t wanna intrude. You finally said yes to visiting, one problem. Isabel, or as he calls her Belly, had a huge crush on conrad. Since they were kids. He never liked her back, never thought of her that way, but everyone knew that she was in love with him. And here he was bringing you to the one place she was at. One condition, conrad and you both decided to act as friends at cousins so he could break the news easily to her. So your mission was to act as just friends as possible.

“sorry about the whole belly situation.” conrad’s hand rested on your thigh his fingers tapping against your skin

“no, no. it’s okay i understand, you don’t want to hurt her.” you turned your head and smiled at him

“i promise i’ll tell her.” that was the last thing he said before pulling into the driveway behind steven’s car

You didn’t know what to expect. You felt as if he grew up with her his whole life that there had to be some sort of feelings he felt for her. To be honest you didn’t know what to think

When you both got to the front door of the house he looked back at you once more before entering. This was gonna be something for sure.

“hello!” conrad yelled throughout the house

“connie” laurel— who you have seen in pictures— walks around the corner from the kitchen and pulls him into a hug before turning to you “and you must be y/n! i’m so glad conrad found a friend at Brown.” she smiled at you “he keeps to himself too much.”

“laurel.” he let out a warning tone before footsteps from upstairs banged against the floor

“y/n!” steven yelled and ran down the stairs pulling you into a hug and then resting his arm over your shoulder “mom this is who i was telling you about.” it then hit her who you really were

“oh my you’re conrad’s-“ she was cut off by belly coming around the corner

“hey conrad.” she was pretty, so much prettier in person. it made you insecure to see how perfect she was and you weren’t, he looked like he belonged with her. steven felt you shift under his arm

“i’ll show you the guest bedroom.” you didn’t say anything but followed him upstairs and saw belly get on her tippy toes to hug your boyfriend

“is that y/n?” belly questioned stepping back and you lost sight of them only hearing them now

“yeah, yeah. steven and jere thought it was a good idea to invite her because she’s been really good friends with us.

“are she and steven a thing?” you looked at steven and he almost burst out laughing but put a hand over his mouth

“fuck no,” he responded laughing and you entered the guest bedroom

“i’m sorry about him,” he admitted as you put your stuff on the bed

“it’s for the best, i guess.” you softly smiled at him “i might just take a nap until dinner, it was a long drive.”

“are you sure? we were going to go surfing?”

“no i’ll just sleep.” he nodded before leaving the room and your insecurities and sadness stayed with you

Conrad checked on you before going surfing to see you sleeping and he didn’t want to bother you. So here he was sitting on his surfboard with jere and steven.

“was she okay?” he questioned

“you’re seriously asking that?” steven laughed

“man, you know she’s not okay. i know that and i haven’t even seen her.” jeremiah splashed water around and conrad looked down at a bracelet you made him on your 3 month anniversary

“dude how would you feel, put it into perspective. if she told you, you had to act as her friend around someone who was her childhood— put that in your head— a childhood friend who was a guy and had a crush on her and she told you just to be friends around him. how would you feel?” steven looked at him as conrad messed with the bracelet before looking up at his best friend

“i’m so shitty.”

“glad that got into your small brain.” steven scoffed. “she’s the best thing that’s happened to you since your mom's death, she has made all of us happy but you especially. don’t lose that con. because what i saw in the guest bedroom was an insecure girl scared her boyfriend was going to leave her.”

You walked downstairs softly hoping belly wasn’t down there. You didn’t know if you could handle trying to act in front of her. Walking into the kitchen Laurel was measuring stuff for dinner. She looked up and smiled

“hi, y/n. the boys are surfing you’re welcome to stay and help me or watch tv. whatever you want.”

“I’d love to help you if that's okay?” laurel seemed surprised no one has ever helped her with dinner

“i’d love that. could you chop the lettuce?” she pointed to it on the cutting board

“of course, let me wash my hands.” you washed your hands and sat down at the bar starting to cut the lettuce

“don’t worry, belly went out to meet up with some girls from last year's deb ball to the boardwalk, she shouldn’t be back for the next few hours.” laurel looked down at her phone, “life 360 says she’s there right now, you can relax.” your shoulders slumped down

“i’m sorry laurel, i just don’t know what to do. belly is in love with him and it’s just a lot.”

“steven told me that he’s making you act as friends?” you nodded

“i just agreed with him, i didn’t want to upset him. and i always wanted to visit here, he told me many stories of your families and susannah.” sadness reached her eyes when you said that name

“i’m glad you came. she would love you.” she moved some ingredients to the side leaning against the counter, “steven told me about you, i just didn’t know you were you when you walked in. he told me how he has never seen conrad like this before, the smiling and the happiness. his mom's death really affected him, it affected all of us but he had the worst.”

“yeah, he’s really great. i can see when his shield is up, the car ride here he was nervous. he doesn’t wanna hurt belly.”

“she will get over it, her and jeremiah are meant for each other. susannah has known from the start.” the back door opened and the guys walked in with towels, conrad looked amazing and you always melted when he didn’t have a shirt on “hey boys, dinner will be ready in like 2 hours, belly’s out with friends.” she said that last part looking at conrad and you turned to continue chopping the lettuce

“thanks, mom, love you!” steven yelled walking up the stairs and jere followed which left one body lingering

“i’m going to go grab something from my bedroom.” laurel made an escape. conrad leaned down into you and kissed your head, which he knew you loved

“just one night, okay baby?” you looked up and him and nodded “i’m really sorry.” the heat of his breath fanned your face

“is okay,” you whispered leaning up to kiss him and he grabbed the side of your face kissing you deeper before moving his head back

“i’m gonna tell her tonight, okay?” laurel came back down the stairs winking at you

“conrad go get ready for dinner.”

“yes ma’am.” he kissed you once more and took off upstairs

Dinner went okay. There wasn’t much talking going around the table. You sat next to conrad and belly was across from him. When you looked down at your plate you could feel her eyes on you and then on conrad. Steven talked most of dinner about his new job at the county club which everyone listened.

“so y/n, you have a boyfriend back home?” belly’s question made your head pop up and you put your fork down nervously

“um, no. really not much time for that stuff with class happening.” you shifted and conrad moved his hand to rest on your thigh

“well it seems you have enough time to hang out with three guys,” she said back

“belly.” laurel said making belly sit back

“no, no. she’s right.” you smiled at the girl “my last relationship was rough, so i took a break from dating. he wasn’t the best and ruined a lot of things for me.” you truthfully said and conrad’s hand rubbed you softly knowing your past relationship

“oh, well i’m sorry.” belly looked around the table at everyone looking at her

“y/n actually plays almost every instrument!” steven put his glass down he took a sip of trying to change the subject

Dinner didn’t go on long after that. Everyone helped clean up everything and put things up before dessert. You were in the guest bedroom grabbing a sweatshirt and the door opened slightly as you see your boyfriend step through the door and walked towards you

“hey,” he stood in front of you and put his hands on your arms “you okay?” you nodded but didn’t say anything “it’s going to be okay.” he brought you closer and wrapped his arms around you kissing your forehead “look at me.” you lifted your head looking into his eyes “i love you.”

“i love you too.” he leaned down and kissed you softly but that didn’t last when a gasp came from the doorway and both of your heads looked to see belly standing there

“belly-“ conrad started to say but she cut him off

“um, dessert is ready.” she then hurried off

“i-“ he looked from you to the door then dropped his hands and took off after her making your heart drop

Of course, he would choose her. She’s the one that grew up with him his whole life. The one he got the see grown into a beautiful girl, prettier than you. She had a crush on him and was in love with him. There was no point, you felt like you were just a distraction at college, waiting for her.

You didn’t see where they went, and you didn’t go to the table for dessert. You took a walk down to the beach and down the shore before sitting down hugging your legs to your chest. As some tears went down your cheek. You didn’t want to be a second option.

You sat there for about 30 minutes before a body sat down next to you. And you knew it wasn’t your boyfriend but your best friend.

“he’s looking for you.” steven didn’t the same sitting position as you “belly’s pissed but you’re nothing compared to her, y/n.” you shook your head

“he ran after her,” you muttered into your arms

“to tell her that you were dating and didn’t want to hurt her.”

“i don’t know steven.” you looked at him

“i’ve never seen him the way he is with you. he’s happy, y/n. he talks about you 24/7 we have to ask him to shut up.” you softy laughed “he loves you. we have never seen him love anyone like you. he constantly texts me to ask me about you so he doesn’t seem a bother to you. he constantly tells us about the story of you guys meeting at the guitar store because he thinks if he didn’t find you after, he would be lost in his life. i have not seen a smile on him since susannah died, you brought it back.” you smiled down at the sand and steven’s phone went off with his ringtone for conrad

“i’ll answer.” you gestured towards the phone and he handed it to you and you swiped to answer

“steven, did you find her? fuck i’ve been looking everywhere man.” his voice cracked and you knew he was on the verge of tears “i need to find her-“

“conrad.” you stopped him and he let out s breath of relief

“y/n, baby. i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

“no, it’s not. i’m sorry, okay? i told her everything and she’s mad but i don’t care. i needed to be honest.” you heard a door close on his end “you left your phone here, you scared me when i came back to tell you, you weren’t here.”

“i needed some air, steven found me, i’m safe.” you smiled at steven “conrad i love you okay?” he chuckled

“i love you more, now please come home so we can have dessert.” you laughed

“on my way handsome.”

#the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher #tsitp #prime video #the summer i turned pretty season 2 #conrad fisher one shot #conrad fisher x fem!reader #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher smut #conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x you #tsitp team conrad #team conrad

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bones4thecats · 4 months ago

Note

Tfp Ultra Magnus x pregnant Fembot reader, both are conjux, when the chapter arrives where Predaking breaks Magnus's hand, the reader rescues him, but ends up in a fight with Predaking, but he began to see her as his Queen, and wanted to take her away.

TFP! Ultra Magnus' S/O vs Predaking

Character: Ultra Magnus (Transformers Prime) Requester: @zinnia1506 A/N: There is no mention of the Reader being 'pregnant' (carrying), but you can imagine it being true. I just couldn't link it very well ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of war, fighting, complete body harm (hand being crushed-no gore tho), and maybe some underlying yandere behavior from Predaking ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ultra Magnus ═══════════════════════════╝

🎖️ Ultra Magnus did not like to show his emotions. They were in a war for crying out loud! But when it came to you, his longtime friend and current sparkmate, he couldn't help but let you see behind his mask

🎖️ It wasn't much of a change, but you got to see how some things got to him, like the loss of your home planet and you went on your own on his ship before settling with Team Prime on Earth

🎖️ As you spent days and then weeks on the muddy planet, you grew close with the humans your Cybertronian allies were close. Though, you were closest with the human named Miko Nakadai, she reminded you of yourself before the war

🎖️ Speaking of the war, it was hard to know that the Decepticons had boosted up their power with a Predacon, how they got a hold of a fragment of their CNA you have no clue

🎖️ Anyways. Because of how low the energon sources were getting for you all, your team had gone out and begun to hoist them back to your base, and while the others went back to the base, you stayed with Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus inside the mine

🎖️ And that was a big mistake

🎖️ You had seen the Predacon launch himself at your friend and sparkmate, and while Magnus grabbed you and helped you get away from where the Cybertronian-beast landed, you readied your weapon, a long spear, and began to fight alongside them

🎖️ The fear you had as the mechs all clashed and knocked one another aside as, like humans say, dolls, was something immense. And it only got worse when the 'Con managed to get the two of them practically wasted by using the surrounding rocks to his advantage

🎖️ As Predaking landed on Magnus' servo, your face went blank with shock. How dare he.

🎖️ While Predaking scoffed at the pain he caused Ultra Magnus by crushing his servo into pieces, he began his small walk towards the Forge of Solus Prime

"And here I was just beginning to tolerate you." You heard Wheeljack say as he laid down in pain.

"It's been an honor serving alongside you, soldier." Ultra Magnus answered.

🎖️ As Predaking lifted the Forge, you began to stand, lodging your spear's blade into the cave's walls before loosening your rarely-used seeker wings before taking a deep breath to calm yourself down

🎖️ The sound of the Forge being torn into two parts making your anger surge more, especially after Predaking threatened your sparkmate

"Prepare to perish." Lifting his clawed servo, Predaking was launched aside as you threw your spear, a large rock being attached to it.

"Magnus, Wheeljack! Stand and get out of here! I'll hold this guy off." You said, transforming into your alt-mode, a McDonnell Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle, and began to fire your AIM-9M Sidewinders at the larger Cybertronian.

"Y/N. We're not leaving you alone with him!" Wheeljack yelled as he tried to stand.

"Oh for spark's sake! Go!" You growled, flying at the Predacon and de-transforming to kick him in the face, knocking him into more rubble deeper in the cave system.

🎖️ Hearing Optimus' voice ring through the cavern made you relax slightly before turning back to your opponent as he stood from the rocks and looked at you with wide optics and a small smile growing on his face

"What are you smiling about, 'Con?" You asked, an expression of determination and annoyance on your own face.

"You're strong... stronger than the others... you must be... you must be mine." Predaking said, standing up proudly as he said this.

🎖️ Your optics widened as you began to tremble, remembering hearing those words once from a certain Warlord before the war even began, leaving your home as a floating ball of scrap metal

"Y/N, hurry!" Optimus yelled, snapping you out of your trance.

🎖️ Transforming again, you flew after your leader, who was carrying both Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack on his shoulders. And as you exited the cave, you blasted the rocks above the entrance, hopefully slowing the Predacon down more

»–•–«

🎖️ Sitting in front of Optimus while Ultra Magnus' servo was being operated on by Ratchet, you shivered, which made your leader look at you with a saddened expression

"I know..." He started. "You remembered that day with Megatron, Y/N."

"I just- I can't hear those words the same. Him saying it was enough for my spark to bear! But now, now I have that beast's words being mixed with his..." You said, holding your helm in your servos as you cried.

"Y/N, look at me."

🎖️ Looking up from your servos, you felt Optimus wipe your lubricant that fell from your optics with his own servo. He then looked at you and smiled gently, opening his arms in a gesture for a hug

🎖️ You hugged him as he hushed you and allowed you to weep as much as you wished, emotions were normal, so it was only normal for you to express them so openly

"Don't worry, Ultra Magnus will make a fine recovery. I'm sure of it." The Prime said.

"Thank you," you sniffed, "Optimus. Thank you."

"It is no problem. Now, I recommend you take some time to recharge. After all, fighting such an opponent must take some energy out of you. I shall awake you when Ultra Magnus also awakens, alright?"

"Yes."

🎖️ Optimus smiled as you walked off to recharge, most likely in your alt-mode in a nearby bunker. You really were scared though, weren't you? He was going to need to tell the others of the issue sometime. But for you, you needed to let this information finally calm down in your processor

#Transformers #Transformers Prime #TFP #TFP Autobots #TFP Team Prime #Transformers x Reader #Transformers Prime x Reader #TFP x Reader #TFP Autobots x Reader #TFP Team Prime x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #F! Reader #Cybertronian! Reader #Autobot! Reader #TFP Ultra Magnus #TFP Ultra Magnus x Reader

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andwordsarefutiledevicess · 5 months ago

Text

press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon.

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom.

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals.

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl.

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations.

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer.

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room.

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again.

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body.

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl.

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?).

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss.

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you.

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

#art donaldson x reader #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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g1rld1ary · 12 days ago

Text

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

568 notes · View notes

sleep-0-deprived · 14 days ago

Note

Hello Dimitri!

I really love your works - especially your yandere oc's and jjk content!- I was wondering if I can put in a request for a poly yandere of Geto and Gojo with a bottom male reader? I want to know how this relationship works when they were in their teens and now that their adults (Geto still choose to be a cult leader, also he does not die. My poor heart cannot handle the heartbreak of Geto dying and leaving Gojo and reader behind ). You can make it sfw or nsfw which either one you like! :)

Ps. Sorry for the long request, it is my first time requesting (0///0)

Two psychos is better than one right?~! (Yandere Geto suguru x male reader x yandere Satoru Gojo) ❀˖°

WC:. 5.7k

Tags: fluff-smut, threesome, spit roasting, poly satosugu, trio friendship, friends to enemies to lovers blowjobs, p in a sex, male on male oral, handjobs, ass eating, anal creampies, Yandere themes, dark content x male reader, dub con, non con, manipulation, drugging, Gojo just gaslighting reader

About: satoru and suguru become friends with male reader ending up in an obsession leading to Geto leaving, even after you split ways with him, he stays watching you from afar despite their separate paths they stay holding their obsession leading to trapping you.

A/N: this is a bit of a longer fic compared to others I’ve I’ve wrote, I put all my effort into this one! After some long writers block I’ve made it back around into writing again <33

Before the Riko incident you became a transfer at jujutsu high, you weren’t really strong nor weak, you were the prime balance of an average guy who just wanted to be in the middle- as long as you helped others then that was fine by you, being well known seemed overrated anyway.

You never thought you’d get between the infamous duo, they were tight knit after all, they were all any jujustu student aspired to be and after all you were just a boy looking to make it through the academy without any complications

If you would’ve known the outcome of transferring to this school you would’ve stayed far away, how did you even enter their lives? You were put on their team as a balance, you were put there to be guided and who was better to guid you than you once upper class men Satoru?

You were put on their missions, it started simple, the three of you going against curses together but you noticed very quickly that your friendship meant more to them than what met the eye. The friendship you thought of as normal or even just knowing them out of same interests turned dark far to fast.

What stool out at you the most was during a mission when you were saving a civilian from a low level curse, after a hour the fight was over and you were clean from any wounds, the man just ran up to you muffling his words between tears grabbing your hands.

“thank you—I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t show up!”

The man hugged you and the next thing you knew you tilted your head and suguru was already pulling him off of you pushing the man away harshly throwing him to a wall of a near by store.

“What do you think you’re doing suguru?!”

You quickly ran forward to him pulling him away from the civilian leaving the man running off terrified, your hands reaching up to his uniform shaking him back and forth while yelling at him. All Geto seems to do is stare blankly like he didn’t care what you did in the slightest.

“He touched you [name], nobody should get up close and personal, unless it’s me or Satoru”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You two aren’t my damn keepers, we are friends Suguru- just friends!”

You look at him offended with your lips pressing in a thin line shoving him back and letting him go, walking off pushing past a confused Gojo leaving him tilting his head looking back at Geto with a ‘what did you do?’ Face.

The next few days to pass you avoided Geto like the plague, only being around Gojo when he wasn’t near Suguru.

Sitting in a café during the weekend with Gojo lifting your drink, the feeling was off and you weren’t the biggest fan of how Gojo kept staring over at you but your dad was pushing you to be more like other boys your age, that’s how you ended up calling Gojo on the water day morning after the incident with Geto.

“You don’t have to avoid him Y’know [name]?”

Gojo breaks the silent looking at you with his eyes rolled forwards under his glasses watching your every move when you take a bite of whatever pastries you made him buy you.

“He’s just so damn possesive Toru- it’s like he thinks I’m his property..it’s just weird”

Gojo just gives a shrug, of course he would. Always sticking up and vouching for Geto like he was some sort of fan boy. What did you really expect? Gojo knew Geto before you, they had an uncanny close relationship and knowing all you know now looking back on it that’s the reason Suguru didn’t mind sharing you with Satoru.

“I think you’re overreacting, he was probably just worried about you, I’m sure he did in in good intentions”

“Yeah, whatever you say Toru”

You shove down a few more bites while Gojo takes a sip of his tea, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched but you always feel that way. Gojo kept trying to bring the topic back to Geto, trying to persuade you two to make up and apologize but you were just creeped out with his actions.

“Come on? He’s our friend [name] you don’t wanna be the one to put a wedge in our trio right?”

Gojo did his best to speak sweetly to you. Trying to convince you, and if that didn’t work then he’d just whine and make you feel bad til you felt like you just had to forgive Suguru. You didn’t wanna be the reason your friend ship fell apart with them right?…

The next day was a Sunday and Gojo had practically done everything but force you to meet up with Geto. Gojo had used the fact he and Geto were on a mission looking after a girl as the perfect opportunity to finally get you three together.

You hear your phone ringing whilst you lay sprawled out in bed, it’s a Sunday morning after all, it’s the last day of your week to sleep in until next weekend.

“Hello Toru..why’re you calling me so early?..”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come and hangout at the beach today? Me and Geto are gonna be watching after this girl for our mission and I really-really want you there [nicknaamee]”

You just let out a small sigh and groggily open your eyes up begrudgingly mumbling back out to Satoru when you hear his whiny voice on the other end of the phone pleading and going high pitch on the nickname he gave you”

“Fine I’ll come but don’t let him act creepy Toru”

After that day at the beach things fell right back in line, you and Suguru had made up, and Gojo was happy, after all his best friends had made up.

Then it went and happened, some assassin had killed who they were protecting- or so Satoru told you. You weren’t there the day it had happened, you were on another mission with your upperclassman Nanami. Suguru wasn’t the same after that point, he hardly talked to you or Gojo- he would just silently space out staring at you.

Then summer hit and when he had came back he wasn’t the same at all, he was cold and distant and snapped at you over the slightest things. If you spent more time with Satoru than him then he’d give you the cold shoulder until you apologized despite your lack of knowing what you did wrong.

“I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this Suguru?”

You walked along side Gojo after school one day following after Geto, your eyes were wide and your lips pressed firm.

“Hey! Where are you goin?!”

Gojo ran faster than you walking forward more when Suguru stops and turns facing Gojo, their argument starts leaving you chiming in every few seconds standing next to Satoru, by the end of their fight Suguru just turns forward to walk away.

“Suguru wait! What the hell are you doing?”

You stand in utter disbelief for what was happening right in front of you— this couldn’t be happening? Your friendship was splitting up right before you and suguru, the boy that was eerily close around you was leaving you now.

You didn’t think you were going to be that affected over the loss but it left you confused on how you felt.

The days following that incident the team had drifted apart but you and Gojo had a newfound closeness but you couldn’t shake the feeling of always being watched, it felt like all eyes were on you even when you were walking through your dorm, that must just be the paranoia that comes with being a jujustu sorcerer right?

By the time you had graduated from Jujustu high, Gojo was already number one, you were happy for him of course as any friend would be. Eventually by the ripe age of twenty you take up a teaching job at jujustu high after a long time of Satoru pestering you to take the job with him.

“If I take the job will you just shut up Toru?”

“Of course I will! I promise [nickname]”

You eventually get tasked over the same team as Gojo, which you found strange. Not that Gojo didn’t totally pull strings to make them place you two together. The teams you were mentoring were names Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi, the boy that Gojo had been watching after ever since he fought with his father- you think he’s the son of that assassin that killed Riko.

The Jujustu world became hectic, not that it was new but it became crazier than usual especially after finding out that Yuji boy had ate one of the king of curses fingers— how was he even alive after that?

Over the years of being a Jujustu sorcerer you had seen and dealt with many things and you couldn’t deny you never thought you’d see Suguru again, not after what he did to his parents- you had just assumed he was gone for good. For some odd reason Gojo never seemed too concerned it felt as though he knew something you never did.

You remember earlier in the day hearing Satoru asking you to take the subway with him later after classes had ended, something about this new place he wanted to take you too and knowing Gojo and his Expensive tastes you had just expected another luxury restaurant so imagine the confusion on your face when you see a old Japanese style parlor.

You walk right in behind Gojo, following confused seeing the dark colored interior and dim lights, non sorcerers walking out of the place wearing matching robes.

“What is this place Toru?”

“It’s just a parlor ran by an old friend”

The way he hummed those words with a smirk made you feel uneasy, this place felt cultic, the purple walls and candles lit around the halls leading towards a pair of Japanese styled double doors, Satoru opens them ushering you inside. Your senses feel different in this room, it smells sweet and all you can do is feel fuzzy inside, were you being laced?

When you come to again you open your eyes half way seeing two figures hovering above you. Softness is all you can seem to feel right now, you’re laying on something soft, maybe a pillow? It’s fluffy and all you wanna do is close your eyes and succumb again, your body is weak and you only muster up enough strength to open your eyes when you feel a hand undoing your pants.

Your eyes roll around a little in their sockets before focusing in on the two figures, they look like yin and yang- one has white hair, it’s Gojo…is that—

“Suguru?”

His name sounds pathetic when you slur your words looking up at him letting out a little whine seeing his robes, where has he been and why was he dressed like a messiah. What was happening? All those thoughts are postponed when you feel hands pulling your cock out of your boxers.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you [name], god you know how hard it is to not be able to touch you? To not hear my name from your mouth? It’s torture sweetheart”

“Awe suguru! You told me the cameras I put in his apartment were close enough?”

Satoru and Geto conversation while kneeling before your body, one of them on either side of you with Suguru’s hand on your cock playing with the soft flesh and teasing it. Your body felt too many things to let your mind properly think.

“You’re alive?”

Those words come out shakily with your body shuddering feeling the warm palm of his hand under the base of your cock pulling a few strokes while Satoru leans down more sliding your shirt up your body, lifting your arms up and discarding it while you lay on your back in the parlor. Your eyes seeing candles lit around the room next to a picture of Geto— this was a cult.

“Of course I’m alive? Why wouldn’t i be [name]?…you know me and Satoru will never leave you”

“Look at him Suguru, he’s so loopy, I told you that gas was too strong~”

Your cock pulses in his hand with your nipples erect from the cool air, your body heating up and your cock starting to leak precum.

“What’re you two doing?”

The words fall weakly while you lay on the pillows with your eyes circling in on Geto the whole time he touches your cock, your eyes rolling over to Gojo when he coos words to you talking you through it while your hands tremble pulling at the pillows.

“What we’ve wanted to do since day one [name]”

Suguru hums, leaning in more stroking your cock a little faster and moving his way between your thighs before craning his neck backwards whispering out something to Gojo. Gojo groans and pouts, taking his hands off your body and getting up walking off and out of the room leaving you and Suguru alone.

When Gojo comes back he’s holding a bottle of strawberry flavored Lube, Geto let’s go of your now hard cock and turns you over on your stomach, Gojo tossing Suguru the lube while he squirts the lube all up and down your crack, sitting the lube aside and squishing your cheeks together over and over making the lube smear around in between your cheeks.

“All I can think about is how you’ll taste, I hope Satoru don’t get mad I eat you up first”

Geto leans down kissing your arch and holding your hips sliding them down to your ass cheeks and slowly pulling them apart while grinning up at Gojo, watching the white haired man undoing his slacks and pulling out his cock, Gojo slaps his tip to your lips still soft.

“Toru please-“

“C’mon, suck it hard f’me?”

Before you can respond Geto has his faced buried between your cheeks eating you out like your his last meal, his tongue sliding up and down your crack and back down to your rim.

When your lips part to gasp, Gojo takes that as his chance to shove his cock down your throat making your lips wrap around him gagging and tearing up laying on your stomach with Satoru’s hand reaching down to grab a handful of your locks making you tilt your head back and look up at him.

“How’s it taste [name]?”

You can’t seem to muster a word, feeling Geto’s tongue going flat against your rim and pressing its way inside you while he reaches one hand under you to grab back ahold of your cock, Suguru starts stroking you in time with his tongue while aiming your cock down towards the pillows in jerking motions like he was milking you.

Gojo and Geto share gleaming looks, they were on cloud nine finally getting the intimacy from you they had longed after for years. Gojo thrusts his hips forward slowly making your cheeks bulge with every motion, his cock now fully hardened in your mouth hitting the back of your throat making vibrations around his base when you wail out.

“Poor baby is all delirious isn’t he Satoru?”

Geto smile against your flesh, pressing sloppy wet kisses to your rim rolling his own eyes back at the taste of strawberry and you on his tongue leaving a satisfaction in his stomach with his cock hard under his robes being pressed to his hip.

Gojo keeps stroking your hair before starting to lift your head by your hair and bob your mouth up and down on his cock making you deep throat him to the point your face was buried in his white pubes.

“Sugu—tworu ple~”

Your words come out choppy around his cock. You speak with your mouth full feeling your throat hurting and the hot tears in your eyes streaming down your cheeks being used by the two men unable to put up a fight due to the drugs in your system keeping you weak between the men.

The feeling of Geto’s tongue swirling around your insides makes your head go fuzzy again, you just wanna close your eyes but you can’t because yours are locked on Gojo’s bright blue ones, have they always been as blue as they are now? The look of pleasure on his faces makes knots build in your stomach knowing you’re the cause for his half closed eyes.

“Oh you’re so close aren’t you? Don’t even gotta answer I can tell [name]”

Geto can tell by the way your rim greedily puckers around his tongue and the amounts of precum oozing from your tip that you’re on the verge of your orgasm. His hand keeps working you between your thighs leaving your legs trembling laying on your stomach when a wave of heat floods your whole body making you moan around Gojo’s cock.

Your tip starts to swell angrily under Geto’s thumb, when his tongue laps your prostate it pushes you past your breaking point making you lose it, cumming all over the pillows, staining the purple fabrics with an off white stain making Gojo look down at you with his signature smirk.

“Mhmf— he’s a fuckin squirter Satoru”

“Suguru you should just feel how he’s gagging on me right now-“

They talk about you like you aren’t there, using you for their own pleasures you feel Geto pulling his face from your cheeks with one last lick pulling his tongue out of you leaving your s/c ass all sticky from a mix of spit and lube.

Geto starts lifting up his robes pulling them up over his head throwing them to the side with a smile, wearing black boxer briefs with a prominent bulge inside them with a dark patch of black hair trailing down his abdomen giving Satoru little to the imagination.

Suguru slides his fingers under his boxer waist band pulling them down his thighs allowing his cock to spring forward and press to his stomach.

“I would ask if you’re ready [name] but you probably shouldn’t speak with your mouth full~”

His voice is cold and mocking not giving a damn about Satoru face fucking you like a fleshlight. Suguru pulls your slick cheeks apart again thrusting his cock up and down your crack getting himself lubed up with the mixed substances.

Gojo reached his thumb down tracing over your full cheeks, watching how your throat bulges more and more the deeper he pushes himself inside your mouth fucking your eyes to reverse watching how they looked away from him and into the back of your head with a teary face that could arouse any man.

“I need-air tworu~”

Your drool running down your chin with your cock half limp between your thighs from how Geto jerked you off leaving you already feeling empty. Suguru reaches his hands up and grips your hips tightly nudging his cockhead against your rim watching while it stretches wide in a sad attempt to fit him, his cock feels like it’s tearing you in half.

“Fuck!~ hurts Suguru—“

You gasp when Satoru pulls his cock from your mouth leaving you fishing the purple pillows clenching up around Geto while he lazily pushes in, he doesn’t pay mind to it hurting you, he rubs small circles on your hips before bottoming himself all the way inside you with your rim leaving a little blood in with the lube from being stretched so much you tore.

“Shh, now you know you can take it can’t you [nickname]”

Gojo drops your head letting it fall forward with your teary face in the purple pillows, your lips all swollen and your throat feeling like razors doing nothing but keeping you from screaming anymore. Your voice is weak and all you can do is hold the pillows and let out little squeals around Suguru.

“Suguru- pleasee—“

You get shut up again by Satoru’s cock, he doesn’t tap his tip to your lips like last time, he forced his whole cock back down your drool filled throat making a slobbery mess running down your face while you reach one hand back trying to push Suguru’s hands off your hips.

“Don’t even try it [name] you know better, god you’re still as feisty as the last time I seen you”

Suguru reached one hand forward holding both your wrists tightly leaving promising red marks while he slowly thrusts his hips forward pushing your face more into Satoru’s groin when Suguru starts to fuck you from behind holding you and binding you with his hands keeping you all defenseless but at this point with the way his cock is sliding against your inner walls you can’t even properly think.

“There you go [nickname] you’re so good at this aren’t you? I think he was made for two cocks Suguru”

Gojo’s blindfold hanging around his neck with his large hand around the back of your head holding it in place while he rocks his hips forward making his veins start prodding against the roof of your mouth more showing you he was close.

“Hmfh!~ Toruu”

You whine wanting to reach your hand down and start touching your cock, you needed to come so bad but you couldn’t do anything but depend on them to make sure you got off. Suguru’s cock pressed against your prostate milking your insides with his base stretching your channel to fit his cock like he was trying to mold you.

“Does our boy wanna come that bad?”

Geto asks you with a fake confused tone fucking you a little harder holding your hands behind your back with one hand using the other to reach down and lift your left thigh up forcing his cock inside you at a deeper angle making you feel every vein and curve to his cock.

“Mh hmm-!”

You’re so far gone you can’t bother to care about every messed up thing these men are doing to you, all your mind can process is ‘needa come’ your back arches and you start trying to bob your head under Satoru’s hand trying to earn good graces from him when you look up at him with your wide eyes batting your lashes back and forth like a doll.

“Oh what’s this? I think he’s starting to be a good boy Satoru, you think we should let him come?”

Suguru asks Satoru with a smug smile holding your thigh tight fucking your insides raw with your rim all puffy and wrapped around his cock split open wide now accepting him with ease with the room in the parlor filling up with lewd squelches from the mix of lube and his spit making wet sounds when his hips hit your ass cheeks.

Plap-plap-plap, the sounds silently echo throughout the room while you just stare up at Gojo with a full mouth before feeling his load shoot down your throat spilling all over the back of your throat and running down the roof of your mouth leaving the pungent taste on your lips.

“I think we should let him come Suguru- he’s been actin nice hasn’t he?”

“I think you’re right Toru~ good boys deserve rewards after all”

Geto let’s your arms go reaching back down between your thighs starting to jerk your cock like he did before, fucking you rougher with his chubby cock head pulsing and twitching on your prostate putting a strong pressure in your stomach threatening to break over at any moment.

Satoru’s cock slips out of your mouth letting you finally breath and gasp for air while Gojo stares down at your face stroking his soft cock hard again and aiming it at your fucked out face watching you get pounded from behind by Geto.

“Close- just a little more- suguru pleasee~!”

You start letting out whiny moans and sounds you never new your voice could make when his thumb runs right across your slit, staring up at Gojo the whole time with your teary face ruined and covered in tears and drool with your hair messy from Gojo’s pulling. Geto keeps going bucking his hips forward harshly rutting himself into you going deep as he can pressing his balls to your backside feeling your rim spasming ready to orgasm around him.

When Suguru flicks his wrist holding the base of your cock it sends you over the edge arching your back under him clenching around his cock and holding onto the purple fabric beneath you, orgasming so hard your ears start ringing making everything in the room feel surreal when you come in Geto’s hand.

“There he goes Suguru- oh that’s such a beautiful face you’re making [nickname]”

Your come floods over Suguru’s thumb and spilling onto the pillows under you making you wail and cry at the nearly dry orgasm being pulled from your cock having you stiffening up under the two men with your nose scrunched in a over stimulated pleasure.

“I’m getting close [name], gonna flood these insides”

When Gojo hears those words he starts stroking his cock faster at your face watching his two best fiends fucking eachother with you laying all out of it and fuzzy from the drugs having you limp under Geto when he lets your thigh down to mount you more fucking your motionless body making you feel how his cock nudged you on its own before his flood gates break.

“O-oh hng~ suguru-“

The words come out high pitched and louder than the last when his come floods your anal cavity, the warmth surrounds your prostate in a hot sensation leaving you feeling all bloated and full from his seed, your hole instinctively starts to clench and unclench around him milking the rest of his load out of him while Gojo lets out a groan watching the whole scene play out before him.

“Here it comes [nickname]”

Those words were the only warning that Gojo gave you before his orgasm shoots across your face all over your nose and lips running down your chin, mixing in with your spit and tears leaving you completely ruined from the two men, with two loads in your tummy and another on your face leaving you spent.

“I can’t take no more Toru~ Suguru I can’t-“

“But you gotta [nickname] ! I haven’t even got to feel your hole yet~”

Gojo lets out a whine while Geto lets go of your cock and pulls out of your ass, using his thumb to push any come that oozes from your hole back inside you while he rotates with Gojo letting Satoru get right behind you swapping places, god! At this rate it was gonna be a real long night.

“Toru- I can’t take it”

You droop your head down feeling his hands flipping you over back into your back on the pillows feeling your come stained pillow fabric pressed to your skin making you cringe, Satoru lifts up one of your legs placing it up on his shoulder nudging your sore rim with his cock while Suguru adjusts himself now facing at your head pressing his cock against your come stained lips.

“Don’t lie, we know you can take it [nickname], you were made to take it baby”

“He’s right baby, we know you can handle it”

They don’t take your weak response as an answer, Gojo slowly pushes his cock into your already stretched hole, sliding in easily from Geto’s come and lube. Your chest aiming up at the air arching splayed on your back with your cock red and soft unable to harden from being milked to many times by the men.

Suguru pushes his cock pash your lips delving it into your wet cavern. Your throat bulges again from your now full mouth, your whole body aches and hurts but all you can do is lay still and take it. Gojo gives you no time to rest before he lifts your other leg up in the air holding you in a mating press while jackhammering into you.

“Fuck Suguru, you’re right his hole feels so fucking good”

Geto hums in response shuddering a little when your canines graze over a sensitive vein on the underside of his cock making him reach his hand down choking your throat a little bit as a warning making your fission blur from the lack of oxygen and the way Gojo was fucking you, reaching more spots than Suguru if that was even possible.

“Ah- careful with your teeth baby, don’t chew on it. Suck it”

Your thighs start trembling pressed to your chest with Gojo dipping his face down and burying his face into your pecks like a madman, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. His hips roll forwards lifting and reaching down to pull your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with your moans being gagged by Suguru’s cock.

“T’muush~ too stuffed Suguru~”

You roll your eyes back into your head looking up at Geto above you with your nose pressed to his balls from the angle he was fucking your mouth at leaving Satoru’s cum all smeared across your face like a sticky mess. Your cock half limp and tender against your inner thigh while it rests on your stomach leaking a little puddle.

“You sucked Satoru off fine, I think you can handle me too [name], now don’t start acting defiant again on us”

The way Geto spoke to you made you whine sadly unable to fight either of them, the drug still in your system and the way they were trying to consume your body whole left you mute sucking on his cock while Gojo pressed his chest up against yours making your toes curl up when he thrusts forward and nails your sweet spot head on.

“Don’t be so mean to him Suguru, he’s just about used up S’ all”

Satoru coos out to Suguru while he makes the pillows dip under the shared weight of him on top of you, Geto’s come swirling around your insides and trickling down your thighs around the base of Gojo’s cock while Gojo bites down on your nipple again only pulling his mouth off of your flesh to speak.

“I’m getting close [name], do’ you want it down your throat or face?”

Geto asks looking down at you feeling his balls drawing up against your cheek signaling he was close to his peak. Gojo on the other hand didn’t care about Suguru’s orgasm, he was too busy trying to chase his own inside your stomach. Your rim starts burning and stinging from being used and gaping around a cock for so long leaving you in painful pleasure.

“On m’ face~”

You whimper out quietly just not wanting to have to taste another load or feel more come inside your stomach. Reaching one hand down whining when you start to touch your cock, it felt like touching a stiff rod, your hand slowly moved up and down it crying to have to pull another orgasm but you needed to come so bad.

“You can’t do that [nickname] you gotta come from me or Suguru, so no touchin yourself”

Before you can respond or complain Satoru has his free hand slipping off your hip and down onto your cock, quickly swatting your hand away from it. His strokes aren’t gentle like yours were, his are fast and unorganized like his thrusts are. Gojo takes his mouth off your nipple and shoves his face in your neck while Suguru keeps fucking your mouth, his thrusts slow down pulling out of your mouth with his cock jumping on its own.

“There we go [name] see what you do to us?”

Your ass feels sore and red from hips slapping against them over and over but before you can complain a hot load shoots all over your face spilling into your eyelashes and into your mouth making you taste his come, he tasted sweeter than Gojo, his semen more thick and less opaque than Satoru’s.

“I’m getting close Sa-Toruu~”

Your voice cracks from a sore face fucked throat, your lips are all sticky and cracked in the corners from opening your mouth too wide, your lips part and ho agape making an ‘O’ shape when Gojo bites at the crook of your neck licking over the red marks he’s leaving on your S/c skin.

Your abdomen starts feeling hotter and more tense making you sweat underneath Satoru when his cock teases your insides making your legs feel like jello up in the air with your knees bent over his shoulders. By the way Gojo was tensing up and the muscles of his shoulders stiffened beneath your finger nails you could tell he was about to come.

“Me too- you’re just milking it out of me [nickname]”

His hand works harder and faster against your cock making you groan starting to orgasm shaking and crying with hardly any semen able to spill from you. Your tip starts leaking barely any pre come, you begin orgasming dry making Geto smile above you happy to know they had milked your body dry, Suguru reaches his hand down stroking your cheek while Gojo plows you between your thighs making the room spin through your eyes.

Soon the feeling of warmth in your gut hits you again letting you know Satoru had just found his release inside you, his semen seeping out of you overflowing your hole leaving the thin strings of his come running down your thighs and staining the pillows beneath the two of you.

“Toruu.. I’m soo sore-“

You whisper out under him reaching one hand up to his neck and grabbing his hair with your other hand still on his shoulder. Rolling your eyes forwards looking up at Suguru with your insides flooded and your face ruined- god you can’t handle these two insane men- They’re something else!

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