#they’re just not the same. Follow your orders.

[niyafics]

: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡°  •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap1 : sweet talk frat!rich!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k (*cries*)

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: alcohol (barley), swearing, LOWKEY EMO/LONER READER(i love opposites srry), estranged relationship with parents, golden retriever x black cat dynamic, an au things r diff obviously, the frat is made up lolol and not an established relationship either , lotsa building. angst(?), daddy issues(?). only proofread by me lolllll

˳ ⋅ ⊹ abt: after a long night of serving snobs you try to get a drink and a cute, hyper, frat girl home from college bails you out. now she won’t leave you alone.

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): ty if u waited to read this, n srry if it sucks as always lolol. feel free to still use this idea btw!

ANOTHER exhausting night catering to posh assholes, and their colleagues. Some were easier to service. They screwed their face when you walked up, like you’d been interrupting a conversation, before bluntly repeating their orders, barley slow enough for you to hurriedly jot down.

They don’t thank you when you bring the food, they seldom look at you, like eye contact or a smile costs, and leave a fat tip that was probably change in their pocket.

Other times, it’s almost exactly the same. But, in place of the silence that showed they’re ‘better’, men the age of your parents, slipped a disgusting comment about your figure or an aggressively sexual invitation.

This long in the food industry, you were used to it. A forced laugh usually wards them off, and yet, it makes the evening drag. The 10 hours feels like 20. Your social battery is completely fried by the time you make it to your studio. Usually.

Certain nights, the tips stack so good, you have to reward yourself. This night in particular, you made the rest of your rent, and had fifty dollars extra to spend. Why not get a drink? It had been so long since you had alcohol warming your insides and cheeks. Since you had someone decent looking flirt with you face to face.

Your feet are throbbing after your shift, the money in your pocket keeps you motivated to get at least buzzed.

The bar you choose seems new, at least that’s what it’s listed as, nearby your place. Still cheap, but with a pathetic effort at millennial decorating. You wouldn’t see any of the richies you had to deal with at your job here, sucking their teeth at your chipped nail polish and beaten Vans. Throwing your apron in the backseat, you spray perfume to fight the smell of kitchen on you, and shake your hair free of its tie.

A chimes goes off, as you step inside, the place is almost empty. A middle aged couple play pool in a dim corner, and a few other groups or people spread out, leaving plenty room. Outdated music plays that clashes with the theme, so you get a feeling the decoration is just an effort to keep up with the times. You plop down in a stool at the bar with a grunt, sighing in relief, looking at the menu above, even though you were going to order the last drink you remember.

The bartender is a cute ginger, with freckles dotted on her face and down her arms. She glances over a few times with an apologetic smile, while an inebriated old man talks her ear off. You lift your hand to let her know to take her time, fiddling with a jar of toothpicks in front of you.

The bell echos at the front from behind you, and a rush of obnoxious conversation follows.

It was a warm summer night, and the suburban kids of the wealthy were home from school, but they usually drove through, to the overpriced clubs that suited them. You huffed an annoyed breath, taking a glance behind you. Everyone else’s head swiveled with yours. The children of the wound up business men you’d spent hours tolerating.

“This place stinks, like, actually..” One girl whispered. Two guys beside her laugh like hyenas.

“Yeah, good pick, Bueckers..” Another seethed sarcastically in disgust, with a string of chuckles following.

“Not too bad..” A tall blonde with her hair in a neat low bun pushed through and interjected. That must’ve been Bueckers. She turns to the group and gestures towards the pool table the couple had been playing at. You stared her down in her khaki shorts and pressed, short sleeve polo. Her friends dressed in similar preppy fashion. “Pool table’s cool.”

The couple of boys in outfits similar to hers groaned, moving towards it. The older couple was long gone, seemingly taking the group as a cue to leave. You were taking it as the same, still, you lingered. Your fingers dug into the leather of the back of the chair, looking at the lanky, yet toned, woman established as leader. A shorter girl, with brown hair, in an almost blinding white tennis skirt and jacket set, trailed behind, hooking her arm with Bueckers, as they walked over.

You identified her as the one that commented on the smell, she was right, but you still didn’t like her. A feeling bit at you that you pushed off as irritation, swiveling back around with a closed mouth scowl. The fiery haired bartenders’ kind green eyes met you, raising a brow.

“See someone you know?” She asked while drying a shot glass and setting it back on the rack behind the bar.

“No, thank god,” You joked, another whip of air pushing from your lips, relieving tension. “I’ll take a vodka and sprite, please.” She tilts her head knowingly, and begins to concoct it, while you reach into your pocket to pull out a twenty. Her hair whips back around with the drink and you’ve forgotten about the group. As she sets it down, a frown comes on her face at the sight of the bill. You’re raising your brow now.

“I forgot to tell you, card only, sorry…” The bartender bites her lip nervously, pointing to a sign behind her to back her up. Your shoulders slump, already knowing what your bank account looks like. A pang of disappointment stings your chest but you swallow it, and reach for your card anyways. You don’t know why. You already know it’ll decline. The sprite and vodka bubbles infront of you tauntingly.

“Put it on my tab.” A warm voice speaks up, and you feel a figure take the seat beside you, her long legs not fitting under the bar. They bump your thigh ever so slightly, as she swivels in boredom, facing you. Bueckers from earlier had came up to buy the first round. She shoots you a rosy lipped smirk, her blue eyes searching to meet yours for approval. You look down, putting the money back in your pocket instead, not feeding in. Her bottom lip purses out, brows stitching together so slightly, she probably thought you didn’t see it out the corner of your eye.

She slips a luxury brand wallet out her shorts, still looking at you when her slim fingers drag the thick black AmEx card across the granite bar, thick and shiny. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Bueckers, (Paige Bueckers, as the AmEx said) was trying to show off. Her icy orbs don’t leave you. You sip from the stirring straw as the bartender takes the card away. “Thank you.” You finally say after she leaves.

“No problem, doll face,” Her confident smirk is back as she scans over your work clothes. You’re not insecure, you fear that she’s sizing you up. That she can see the coffee stain at the bottom of your department store t-shirt, and feels oh-so sorry for you. You take a secretly angry sip. “What are you doing here all alone?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, finally lifting to meet her stare with a reserved expression. It doesn’t deter Paige, it makes her chuckle instead, and for a second you can hear a hint of nervousness.

“Okay, stupid question, sorry..” Her head turns back to the bar with a blush spreading into her round cheeks. For a second, you smile too, feeling something you can’t place, for a stranger making a corny move at you. Probably from the cocktail. You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of it.

“It’s fine, I’m just getting a drink after work..” You answer, although you usually wouldn’t. Something about the way she drank you in, her eyes pleading for approval with her metal rectangle of riches. It wasn’t hungry or cold, it was more like ‘please like me’. You exchange names, even though you already knew hers.

The server is back over, looking at Paige expectantly for her order. She gets a round of beers, turning back to you.

“Well, if you’re not too tired, you should come play me in pool,” Paige plucks up her card, and each Corona set infront of her. Two in each hand, between her fingers, then carefully swiveling around and standing. “I’ll buy you another.” She winks.

You hold her gaze and your breath until she walks away. Tipsy from the sips due to low tolerance, you slump back into the seat.

You had gone back to the pool table, even though her friends made your stomach twist. Their judgmental looks phased into the background as you and Paige played, the 3 watching, talking amongst one another. She had a talent of making it seem like you were alone.

Paige ordered another drink for you as promised, but you both barely drank again after your first, focused on the generic pool table. On the interesting stranger in-front of you.

Paige had politely demonstrated. Guiding your arms with her own, both lurched over the table, her hunched over you. She has to explain something an extra time, when her hips bump into you, and you space out. Once you get the hang of it, you’re ahead by two, determined to get the 8ball first.

Paige threw her head back once she misses a hole again for the same ball. You can’t help but explode in giggles, covering half your face with your palm. Catching you anyway, she grins at you, a twinkle in her eye as she squints.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, gorgeous.”

Her group watches you both banter, the short brunette coiling her face at you in the same way she did when the sticky stench of the bar hit her nose. You shoot an apologetic smile, awkwardly, even though you hadn’t done anything to her.

Paige ends up winning, with your head start, that you start to suspect was on purpose. Halfway expecting her to try to take you home, something heavy sets over you near the end of the night, asking if you wanted to leave with her. She was beautiful, seemed kind, and generous. Why not?

To your disappointment, and mostly curiosity, she gives the back of your hand a firm kiss instead, swapping numbers, wishing you a good night. You find yourselves turning to steal one more glance, walking to your cars, hers sleek and black with an engine the yelled as she veered away with her companions.

It started off with a simple ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. You had full intentions of brushing her off after the bar. The two of you had shared a moment, that’s all, nothing would come from someone like that and someone like you.

Paige was persistent. She woke up around 2 when you’re enjoying your last hour of freedom before work, with offers to interrupt her precious rest and take you, pick you up, bring you lunch.

“I have to come in early.”

“I have to stay late.”

“I don’t have a lunch.”

You shot her down, only because you knew she wouldn’t be moved. Secretly, you didn’t want her to know where you worked. The mystery, and push of you was better than the reality, you figured. That you were taking an involuntary gap year from your dream school, you were paying out of pocket for. Refusing to take on too much debt, you saved to return. Friends suggested asking your parents, they weren’t offering, so why ask?

Paige was restless to meet again, you could tell from her invitations sprinkled in every conversation, the past few days. Never could you figure she’d show up to your job though.

You’d been thrilled to leave your shift. It wasn’t bad, it was slow, which is somewhat worse. The dark sports car from a few days ago would have been the farthest thing from your mind, if you didn’t see one so similar to it. Parked right next to your old Honda, in the nearly empty lot.

Your steps slowed and you stared, dumbfounded. The windows were tinted an illegal amount. It’s low rumbling is flicked off and exactly who you figure pops out from inside.

“My dad loves this restaurant.” Paige smiles, like you’re casually meeting here. You nod knowingly.

“Why do you know where I work?” A groan escapes you, trying to speak sternly, your small grin betraying you. The blondes smile stays put, tucking a few of loose curls behind her ear. She waits for you to step closer, to the open car door she’s leaning on with her elbows.

“Yeah, well, my friend said he’d seen you, when he was out to eat not too long ago,” She throws a shrug like the next part is the normal thing that anyone does. “You go to work at 3…they close at 11…I just kind of….” As she spoke it out loud, the pink from a few nights ago returned to her face, heavier now.

“That’s super creepy, you know?” You tease her. If she was anyone else. Heat spreads in your cheeks, shifting the weight on your feet, to distract from it. Still, her ego isn’t bruised.

“You don’t think that,” Said with a chuckle, like she knows it for certain. You’re about to shoot a rebuttal about how she’s basically a stalker. She doesn’t stop speaking. “On your next day off. Let me take you out.” Not said in the form of a question.

“Hm…” You hum, putting your finger to your chin. “I am off tomorrow, but I’m sure you knew that too.” Teasing her again.

“Maybe I do.” She throws her shoulder up with a sly expression. You raise a brow at her that she ignores. “We could go play tennis at the club, or I know a few restaurants. Way stricter dress codes than here, though…Do you have tennis skirts? How about heels? You don’t seem like you’d wear either of those. That’s fine, we can go shopping before we go..” Paige is rambling. Your arms slump in disbelief at how fast she’s talking, having a conversation with herself, almost.

“Or even better, we could make a whole day of the shopping. Then we go to dinner. Forget it, let’s just wait and I’ll get us floor seats to th-“

“Okay, wait!” You stop her before she makes up her mind to fly you out of the state. “This is super overwhelming. I will only go on one condition.”

Paige clings to your every word, finally quiet, her face flushed slightly with embarrassment for over talking.

“It has to be something normal. Something even I can afford.” Paige makes a face at you, like what she named off were tame settings for getting to know someone. You rub your tired face, and walk over to your car, the door creaks when you open it.

“Okay, okay!” She rushes over to you, closing it back, “Something normal. I’ll pick you up, and we can do that.” You tilt your head up at her, both of you soaking each other in for a moment.

“Unless, you’re only capable of lovebombing..” You narrow your eyes at her with a smirk. Paige bursts out laughing.

“It’s not lovebombing, if it doesn’t stop, though.” grinning so hard all her teeth are showing, you don’t realize you are too.

“Right.”

You find yourself dreading Paige seeing your unkept apartment building. At around the time she usually is just waking up, she’s parked outside. Paige doesn’t see you walking up, being too busy with texting you she’s outside for the third time in five minutes.

She has no witty line prepared when you slide into the passenger seat, finally not in your work clothes, or makeup hours old. Her mouth is just gaped open like an idiot, she shuts it, when you give her a weird look.

You smelled like a bakery, in shorts and a crop top to accommodate the weather, with no clue where you were going, only that it’s across town, presumably near where she grew up.

“You look really pretty,” the corner of her lip curls up. It feels awkward, you’re still flustered hearing it. Picking at your nails nervously, while your eyes wandered up her to meet her own pair. She was in denim shorts this time, with a plain T-shirt, white and blue Jordan’s. It looked different from how she dressed at the bar with her friends, you felt less underdressed than you thought you would. “Finally get to see you outside of work.” Paige head turns to you every so often, one hand on the wheel, her elbow leaning against the armrest.

“Thank you, you look good too..” You bite your lip, gazing out the window, as she breaks at a red light. Good was just putting it lightly. Two pieces of her hair braided in the front, the rest straightened past her shoulders. Mascara coated her long lashes, and silver jewelry accented her whole body.

It was real silver and diamonds, you guessed, from the way it glimmered against the light. You stare down her arm taking up most of the rest between you. It reaches down, grabbing your hand, locking fingers automatically. Her thumb rubs the back of your palm.

It’s a park that she pulls into the lot of. A ice cream truck is a few spaces down, with families and small children waiting in line. Paige holds her finger up to you, signaling you to wait there. You don’t question it, unbuckling your seatbelt, agreeing to stay put.

You watch her jog up to the back of the line through the rear view, in front of you the vast greenery, sprinkled with jungle gyms, walking trails, and benches. The park near your apartment had grass high up to your knees, this grass looked like it was trimmed daily.

You’re suddenly anxious to get out the car. Paige comes back, this time holding a coned ice cream and some in a Styrofoam cup with a spoon. She opens your door for you, then hands you the cone.

“Thanks.” You lick a side that was melting, and Paige sticks a spoonful in her mouth beaming, with a nod.

Both of you decide to sit down, and enjoy your frozen dairy in silence for a few minutes. Then you smile and speak.

“Not a fan of cones?” You ask her, taking a long lick. She watches your mouth for a second then gently comes back to reality.

“Too messy.” Paige replies, shaking her head like she’s trying to push a thought away.

“Of course, too messy.” A smile is etched into your face the whole time, barley faltering. Paige gets a feeling you’re teasing her.

“Yeah,” She turns towards you, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench. Another scoop is shoved into her mouth before she dramatically adds. “I only get cones when my butler is here to wipe my mouth, duh.” You shove her shoulder gently, both of you erupting into tiny chuckles.

Small talk drives you crazy, but as you do it with Paige, it warms you up. You even find yourself asking questions. She talks about playing basketball as a kid, all the way to high school. Paige mentions how her dad is essentially a business mogul for a marketing company, and expects her to follow suit. She had been doing well so far, amazing grades, joining the same fraternity, like he wanted her to. Omicron Tau Sigma.

Her apprenticeship at the company her father ran with his fraternity brothers started a week ago, and she didn’t seem worried. As she put it, their less than welcoming children that she was forced to acquaint with and host, was work enough. You figured those were the friends at the bar.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, and I have my moments where I’m worse.”

“Oh I’m sure..” You mumble between laps.

“Watch it.”

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You skip out on a lot of details, telling her a bit of your childhood, that you’re taking a gap year, and aren’t close to your parents. You didn’t have a pre planned multimillion dollar future, that didn’t have to be said.

“I don’t get you.” It’s so sudden, you don’t know how to respond., and you were used to being caught off guard.

“What’s there to get?” Paige nods, like she figured something out. You stare blankly until she further explains.

“You hate people. Or maybe you just seem that way. Either way, you’re closed off,” more vanilla into her mouth, as you’re starting to bite into the waffle cone. “You live alone, no mention of friends—“

“You’re very observant.” You nod thoughtfully.

“You’re very impossible.” Paige mumbles, finishing off her cup, and tossing it in the trash beside the seat.

“I just like being alone, what’s so special about it?” You look off at someone playing with their dog. “It’s the safest place to be. Depending on yourself, the only person who is reliable.” You cringe. It sounded edgy, yet, it was the truth, and you learned it the hard way.

Paige gives her full attention. Her hand crosses on-top of yours. For the first time, she looks sad for you.

“Safe doesn’t mean lonely. And all people aren’t the same.” A quick curl of her lip, lifts and falls from her face. You think about giving her a tough time. Shutting her down. Pushing those thoughts away, you quietly think about what she said, instead. She starts to talk again.

“You can, like…come over. Only if you want…. My place is right on the water.” Paige avoids your eyes, bracing your answer, a coolness to her voice that she seemingly flipped at will.

“Perfect place to throw my remains.” You roll your eyes at her, she wraps a arm around you suddenly, pulling you in.

“Good point.” She huffs, sarcastically, with a stupid grin, resting her chin on the top of your head. You jab her playfully.

You knew exactly the neighborhood she was talking about. With all the mini mansions, and huge pillars near the front doors, turned away from a private lakeshore. You passed it a few times. Your heart thumped thinking about being inside one. One where surely someone from her family would be.

Her rounded puppy eyes, and the look of willingness to follow you everywhere, had you agreeing before you truly scaled out the situation.

The driveway is so long you figured it burns gas just to drive up it. Big to match the massive house sitting beside it. Even her house stood out amongst others, there wasn’t anything traditional or welcoming about it. It was modern and cold, like a display home you didn’t want to mess up.

Paige snaps you out of your daze with the opening of your side. She takes your hand and guides you to the solid white doors. There’s a pin-pad above the silver knob that her fingers type so fast, you’re not sure exactly which number she’s pressing.

You’re staring wide eyed all around, anxiety making your heart drum in your ears. She hasn’t noticed the clamminess in your palm yet, thoughts of pulling it away before you faced whoever was inside stormed your mind. Walking in as friends already raises questions, you could only imagine the drilling questions reserved for Paiges’ partners.

Before you can make up your mind, she’s practically dragging you inside. Paige tosses her socks and shoes, you follow after her. The dark wood is warm under your feet. Heated floors. The interior design is just as minimalist as the outside. A few family portraits, and pictures of Paige at all ages, are blown up larger than you thought they could be, nestled on walls.

One wall, of the living room you get pulled through, to get outside, holds shelves of memorabilia. Framed jackets, paddles, shirts, brooches, several pictures of people in the same colors, trophies all consistent with a theme of gold and navy blue. A golden lion, with luscious mane, in the middle of every piece. You want to slow down and look, maybe even ask questions. You decide to ask when the time is right, considering how annoyed she’d been with explaining it earlier on the bench.

The glass slides open with a whoosh of air. Of course the backyard has been tended to, with lush grass, and intricate stone arrangements around the base of trees. Vibrant flowers are planted in rows around the balcony, between two trees, near the wooden stairs leading to the pier, there’s a hammock, chairs sprawled out nearby.

Walking briskly down the steps, Paige clasps your fingers with her own, guiding you down. She sits with a soft exhale making small waves with her feet in the water. You’re still mesmerized at seeing a lake so clear. You’d never leave this pier if you were her, you tell Paige. She responds with a dry, closed mouth laugh.

“You can have it. And everything that comes with it..” She looks down into the water, or her reflection, you can’t tell. Your eyes don’t leave her, when you sit down on the worn wood. Half your foot is in, and it’s warm, so you drop the other. Her thigh is flush with yours.

“Not having fun in the castle, princess?” You kick the water lightly, sucking in the fresh air deeply. She rests her head on your shoulder, suddenly, making you perk.

“Not really.”

A snarky remark is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite it. How could having everything handed to you, make you sulk in private? You thought, looking at a few fish swimming just below your toes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t.” You reply quickly, thinking about something else instead just in case.

“Yeah, I do,” Her head lifts up to look at you. There’s a slight hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” You sigh, gently pulling the weight of her head back onto you. “It must be…hard to keep up with.” That’s the only way you can put it, to try and soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” She admits, the sun beating down on the both of you through the leaves of trees overhead. “It’s not like working 40 hours a week, and still barely making it, I know.” Your arm wraps around her.

“Your dad graduated from my dream school,” It blurts out of you like vomit. It was drumming in your mind when you saw a diploma with the signature seal to it, framed alongside the other accomplishments. The words don’t stop. “I’m struggling because, yes the pay sucks, and because I’m saving to go back.” You’re almost gritting your teeth at the confessions. Paige pulls away and you let her.

“Damn. Dream school?….Really?” A silence sets over, you not replying. Paige gets up, standing beside you, wet feet dragging water next to you. She holds her hand out, you look up at her for a moment, her hair reflecting to look gold and white. You finally take it, her pulling you to your feet, and slowly up the steps this time around.

Once you reach the grassy yard, Paige stops dead in her tracks, like a deer, barley breathing out. Your feet start to dry in the blades of grass, by the time Paige speaks. Well, whispers.

“Shit, they’re here..” She’s mumbles under her breath. You’re about to ask who but the hearty laugh of a group of older men comes from the living room. “I forgot that was tonight..” Paige pulls the both of you to the side of the house, by the drive way, your legs barely keep up without a jog. Her fingers tap the pin to a room that’s used for coats, shoes, bags, all amounting to the cost of a small house. Theres three steps up to a black door that Paige opens so slowly, it looks like it pains her. You squeeze her wrist, stopping her.

“What?” She whispers.

“Who are we running from?” You whisper back.

Paige doesn’t respond, letting you hear the chatter of now voices young and old. Then she raises a brow at you, her only answer, twisting back towards the entrance.

“Because of me?” Your voice cracks as you ask. Paige turns around sharply, taking your face in her hands, brows furrowed in seriousness, foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Never. Because. Of you.” Her hushed, stern, tone makes a feeling you don’t recognize in your stomach, flip the desert inside it. “Okay?” This part is soft, and so is her expression. You nod slowly, as if in a trance, not wanting her mouth to move away from yours.

Having to fight back the urge to clash lips, Paige quietly steers you into the kitchen, the door closing behind you with a click.

Her slim shoulders drop, like you’re finally safe, bare sets of damp feet padding to the refrigerator. It’s roomy, and untouched, with the same dark flooring from the living room, where deep voices still laugh and discuss amongst each other loudly. The marble island sits in the middle, between the stove and fridge. A TV is installed outside of the door she digs two seltzers out of.

She gestures for you to follow her. You’re frozen still. Eyes bulging out your skull, social anxiety causing a tremble through you, at the sight of the small group crowding in. It was the other three, one guy shorter, with a mullet, the other taller, skinner than Paige, and of course, the brunette. An evil smirk stretches across her lip fillers, letting you know nothing good will come from this interaction.

It wasn’t them you’d been worried about though, it was the man towering behind Paige, his arms crossed, features scrunched in a frown, similar to Paige’s own. Mr. Bueckers, it has to be.

The way she jumps, when she swivels away from you, makes you think she’s going to drop the cans, instead, she squeezes them until they dent on the sides.

“So nice of you to join us, Paige. With company too?” He lets out a low, unimpressed, whistle.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

How do you think Sirius would have reacted of he got to know about regulus' story, like how he was working against Voldemort and all that? Would he have understood/forgiven him and trys to reconcile his relationship with him?

Hello 👋

I don't think Sirius ever really hated Regulus, even without knowing he betrayed Voldemort in the end.

I mean, we see Sirius kept Regulus' room unchanged, he didn't let Molly and the Order clean it up, it was left intact. A mausoleum to a brother he never got to bury. Hell, he kept Regulus' Voldemort shrine up in his room:

The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them. “They’re all about Voldemort,” she said. “Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters. ...”

(DH, Ch10)

Even when he talks about Regulus, Sirius speaks of his little brother as misguided, not as evil:

“Leave?” Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. “Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them ... that’s him.” Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name REGULUS BLACK. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth. “He was younger than me,” said Sirius, “and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.” “But he died,” said Harry. “Yeah,” said Sirius. “Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters.” “You’re kidding!” “Come on, Harry, haven’t you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?” said Sirius testily. “Were — were your parents Death Eaters as well?” “No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. [...] They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first.”

(OotP, Ch6)

He was a "stupid idiot" for joining the DE, he was "soft and misguided" to believe their parents — these are not the words of someone who hated his brother. Sirisus' bitterness is mostly reserved for his parents and the situation they put Regulus and him in, he has already forgiven his brother. He thinks Regulus joined the DE for being misguided, not for being evil. He never thought Regulus was evil. He blames his mother for how she kept reminding him how much better Regulus was, he doesn't blame Regulus. I think Sirius loved his brother, and that he was frustrated by Regulus' choices, but he never hated him. At least, that's what it seems like to me.

And in the same scene above we see he already knows what happened to Regulus (more or less, that is):

“Was he killed by an Auror?” Harry asked tentatively. “Oh no,” said Sirius. “No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort’s orders, more likely, I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.”

(OotP, Ch6)

Sirius found out after Regulus died that he tried to leave the DE. He didn't hear about the Horcruxes, but I'm sure Sirius is correct about the why Regulus betrayed Voldemort. I wrote about Regulus here, and explained there why I don't think Regulus ever really stopped being a blood-purist. I believe he betrayed Voldemort because he got cold feet, just like Walburga and Orion, according to Sirius. I think Regulus felt betrayed by the thought Voldemort would be willing to sacrifice pure-bloods and destroy his own soul. I mean, would you like to know the man you had sworn your life and service to is in the habit of tearing up his own soul and crucio-ing people in his service?

So, Sirius knows Regulus tried to back out after he was in too deep and was killed for it. Sirius assumes it was on Voldemort's Orders (I think this is what Voldemort told his other DE and that Sirius heard it from them while in Azkaban, but that's a headcanon. Yes, Lupin mentioned it again in HBP: "I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius’s brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember" but Sirius could've told him that). And Sirius has already forgiven him, without knowing all the details. I don't think he hates Regulus or ever truly hated him, he hates the situation he was in and blames his parents and Regulus for being stupid enough to buy their ideologies and lies — but I don't think he ever thought Regulus was evil.

The thing I love about the Black family is that you can see there was love there, it didn't help, but there was love there. Walburga loved Sirius, but it didn't stop her from being overbearing, leveling expectations on him he didn't want, calling him a disappointment to his face, and comparing him to Regulus constantly (she kept Sirius' room untouched though, muggle posters and all. I'm inclined to believe Kreacher about Sirius leaving breaking Walburga's heart. Yes, he says a moment later that she hated Sirius, but he's replying to Sirius saying his mother didn't have a heart). Sirius loved his family, but it didn't stop him from leaving (and he was better off for leaving). Love being present doesn't mean a relationship or environment isn't bad for you.

Sirius hated everything his family stood for, and yet he keeps Regulus' room intact. And yet he stays in his mother's room and doesn't let the Order clean these two rooms. And yet he acts like a pure-blood Black, it's in how he walks, how he talks, his very Animagus form, and he can't escape it. He hates his family and loves them at the same time. This can happen, and I think this is a more interesting reading than clear-cut hate. It's messy, and complicated, and interesting. Because I'm sure Sirius used to adore his parents when he was a very young child, when he thought they could do no wrong. And then he grew up, and formed his own opinions and everything came crashing down. But all the screaming matches, the bitterness, the hate and vitriol don't erase the love that used to be there.

So I think Sirius loved his brother even when he joined the DE. Sirius' kind of loyalty means that if someone he loves kills someone, he'd help them hide the body, no questions asked. So casting dark magic and becoming a DE — when his brother does it, he's being misguided because Sirius loves him; when Severus does it, he is an evil git, because Sirius hates him. While Sirius understands people can be more complicated in general, he has his biases.

Given the chance, if Regulus was alive, I think Sirius would try and reconcile with him, especially the Sirius we see post-Azkaban. If he knew Regulus actually tried to do something to help kill Voldemort and willingly died for it (even if it made Harry's life harder in retrospect) instead of just trying to back out, Sirius would've been proud of him. And, well, he has already forgiven him. Even if I don't think Regulus sacrificed himself because he changed his mind about blood-purity.

[daily-kinitopet]

Day 37

Drifting

[sttoru]

Trueform sukuna who never kisses his concubines. EXCEPT he only kisses his favorite concubine aka reader 😞🎀

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. you’re the only one deserving of lord sukuna’s.. direct affection.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!reader. fluff, suggestive at most. uhh exhibitionism ? kinda but nothing crazy sexual happens, so pda. size difference. reader gets called ‘doll.’

you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.

it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.

you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.

“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”

you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.

him.

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

[nottsangel]

EIGHTEEN. oral threesome — mattheodore

warnings — smut 18+. oral sex (m. receiving). bisexual mattheo and theo. dom!reader.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“just relax.” you whisper, dropping down to your knees in front of your best friends after a drunken night of watching movies together. their puzzled eyes widen as they closely follow your movements, anticipation coursing through their stiffened bodies. it is obvious they both want you— but you know a little more than just that.

“are we, like, really gonna do this?” mattheo questions, one brow raised as you settle onto your knees, palming their erections over their tight pants and eliciting groans from both boys. their intoxicated state fuels their desire as they gaze down at you with hungry, darkened eyes, causing you to feel a tingle in your stomach under their intense attention on you.

“shut up, please. don’t ruin the moment.” theo impatiently hisses through his teeth, his ocean-blue eyes not leaving you once, as you free both boys from their pants and boxers, the fabric pooling around their ankles. their erections spring up against their abs, slick precum glistening at the tips.

“it’s that easy to make you guys hard, huh?” you chuckle, eyeing their painfully hard cocks that are practically begging for your touch. you immediately notice that theo is slightly bigger than mattheo— but mattheo definitely makes up for it in girth.

“gonna make my boys feel so fucking good.” you murmur as you quickly wrap your lips around mattheo first while simultaneously pumping theo’s cock at a fast pace, making both of them hiss at the sudden sensation, nearly drooling at the sight in front of them.

you feel your best friends melt under your touch, their hands desperately gripping the couch as they savour each second, lost in sheer pleasure— but then you suddenly you come to a halt, letting go of theo and pulling away from mattheo’s cock with a pop.

“i want you two to kiss.” you abruptly order, causing their half-lidded eyes to quickly widen in surprise, both of them unable to speak from pure shock as you impatiently stare at them with one brow raised.

“want me to continue? then kiss.” they’re hesitant at first, but when your hands wrap around their cocks again and start to slowly jerk them off, they seem to become too clouded by the pleasure and yearning for more to even care at this point.

as expected, mattheo is the first to initiate contact, as his hand roughly slides to theo’s neck and pulls him closer, reluctantly yet eagerly pressing his lips against theo’s. theo surprisingly returns the kiss, as he slips his tongue inside mattheo’s mouth, their movements more frantic and eager with each passing second.

“mhm… that’s it.” you murmur, a satisfied smirk appearing on your face as you move on to theo, your glossed lips wrapping around his aching cock before quickly bobbing your head up and down at a fast pace, your hand rhythmically pumping mattheo at the same time.

both of them are so lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily touch one another, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that you begin to fade away in the background, merely there as a prop. your eyes remain locked on the boys as sighs and moans echo throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both.

finally, you think to yourself. watching them kiss so passionately, so intensely, fills you with satisfaction. you were well aware they had a thing for each other; it was more than obvious to you. all they needed was just a little push— and today, you finally gave that to them.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - A Messy Fight

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

On their way to face Queen, Kris and the Fun Gang run into Tasque Manager, who demands impossible standards of order. Her criticisms might feel a little too familiar to Kris...but at least the rest of the Fun Gang have their back!

YAY, it's nice to finally get another comic all finished! This one obviously had to go on hold for awhile from my wrist injury. While I'm working on recovering, things are still going to be slow for awhile (probably the rest of the year), so it may be another wait before the next scene.

Alt text for these pages under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Kris, Ralsei, Susie and Noelle walk down a long, uniform stone hallway. Eyeless porcelain gargoyles shaped like big cats stand watch from atop pillars in the hallway. As they walk, Ralsei says, “We’re getting closer to Queen’s chambers. Stay on the alert, Kris!”

Panel 2 - Kris responds with a quick “I am.” As the Fun Gang continues down the hallway, one of the porcelain gargoyles turns its head to follow them.

Panel 3 - Im a medium shot, Lancer pops up from within Susie’s hair, and waves at Kris. He says, “Hey human person, is it hard to stay alert with all that hair in your eyes?” Susie grins, and sticks out her tongue in joking agreement. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ even messier.” Unbeknownst to the Fun Gang, in the background, one of the gargoyles starts to climb down the pillar.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris as they brush their long and messy hair out of their face. “I can see just fine,” they respond.

Panel 5 - Two of the gargoyles land on the ground, the panel’s focus on their clawed paws tapping against the stones.

Page 2 Panel 1 - Noelle turns her head, one ear perked up to listen to what’s behind them. She says, “Wait. I hear something…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on the clawed paws of the gargoyles as they charge forward.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they turn at the sound, reaching for their sword.

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the Fun Gang. They suddenly find themselves surrounded on all sides by four porcelain big cats, all snarling as they circle them. Susie glares back.

Panel 5 - Susie turns back to Lancer, still poking out of her hair. She says, “Uugh, more jerks! Better hide again.” Lancer responds with a disappointed “Aw man…” but does as he’s asked.

Panel 6 - “What are these things?” Kris asks, eyeing a gargoyle circling them, and keeping one hand on their sword hilt. “They’re tasques!” replies Ralsei.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Ralsei turns expectantly, looking ahead. “That means that their *manager* must be near…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on an armored boot as it steps into the middle of the hall. 

Panel 3 - The boot belongs to Tasque Manager. She appears as an armored knight with impeccably polished plate armor, decorated with sharp V-shaped emblems. She appears human in stature, except for her head, which is the bleached skull of a big cat, and with pointed ears. She wields a flail with seven spiked spheres on the end of a collection of cords. She holds up her hand, and says, “Halt, interlopers! I will not permit you to approach the Queen!”

Panel 4 - The Fun Gang remain surrounded by the gargoyles, but Kris still looks ready to fight. Susie sneers at Tasque Manager, and says, “Since when do we need *your* permission?” She responds, “I maintain *order* and *cleanliness* in this dwelling.”

Panel 5 - Straight on shot of Tasque Manager’s face, emphasizing her symmetry and sense of order. “Do you truly think you are worthy…of Queen’s presence in your disorderly state?”

Page 4

Panel 1 - Full shot of the Fun Gang just staring back. They all look pretty haggard, unkempt and gross in their own ways.

Panel 2 - Same shot as previous, although now Noelle tilts her head to the side. “Um…yes?” she offers quietly.

Ralsei helpfully gestures to Kris beside him. “Certainly! Kris even bathed just two weeks ago.”

Panel 3 - Tasque Manager is not having it, and yells back at the group: “LIES!! I can see the *filth* all over you, human! I can smell your STENCH!”

Panel 4 - She continues, “You’re unfit for these halls…you belong in the wastes that you reek of!” The insults are especially focused on Kris.

Panel 5 - Kris shuts their eyes, remembering something from their past…

Panel 6 - A series of flashback images, to when Kris was just a little kid, living as an orphan on the streets. They try to sneak around the back of a food stand in the market, looking for something to eat, when they’re spotted by an empire soldier in armor.

The soldier yanks them up roughly by the shirt and yells in their face: “What’re you doing around here, you filthy urchin?! This is a *nice* place!”

The soldier then throws Kris down into the gutter, splashing street water all over them. “Go stink up a gutter where you belong!” the soldier screams. 

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris opens their eyes again, grimacing. This is clearly an unpleasant memory for them.

Panel 2 - They pull out their sword, and point it towards Tasque Manager. “Maybe my stench will give your dull and tasteless halls some character,” they say.

Panel 3 - Extreme close up on Tasque Manager’s unnaturally sharp teeth. “Human…”

Panel 4 - “I’ll flay your filthy skin from your bones!” she shrieks, and pulls the flail tight in front of her, ready to fight.

Panel 5 - Ralsei immediately teleports out of the range of battle with a burst of flame and smoke. Kris and the beasts eye the gargoyles as they begin to close in on them.

Panel 6 - “Susie! Noelle!” Kris begins the fight by giving them the ACT command. 

Panel 7 - Closeup on Noelle as she opens her mouth and uses her icy breath attack, aiming at one of the gargoyles.

Pavel 8 - However, the gargoyle runs just out of range of the incoming frost, and sprints towards Susie’s unprotected right side.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup as the gargoyle leaps onto Susie and sinks its large teeth into her side, latching on like a lamprey eel. 

Panel 2 - Susie roars in pain and anger at the gargoyle, even as another one coming in from her left bites down into an empty space on her chest.

Panel 3 - Wide shot as the beasts struggle to shake off the gargoyles, but they’re too hard to reach. One more bites into Noelle’s flank, while the last circles, looking for another opening. In the foreground, Kris faces Tasque Manager in one on one combat.

Panel 4 - Kris, being less skilled at swordfighting, only manages to block incoming hits from the flail. All the while, Tasque Manager yells at them: “You humans are so *irrational! Unorderly!*” 

Panel 5 - Tasque Manager flings the flail at Kris’s face as she continues: “Wretched, chaotic creatures…it’s horrid how the gods and demons here desire your souls!”

Panel 6 - Kris remains face to face with Tasque Manager, the flail partially wrapped around their sword…way too close to their face. Still, they are curious about her statement. “Horrid? Never come across a human soul pure enough for you?” they ask.

Page 7

Panel 1 - Tasque Manager leans in to grab the flail, as Kris struggles to keep appropriate space between them. “Never. There is no such thing as a pure human soul,” she replies. 

Panel 2 - Noelle runs in a circle with the gargoyle still attached to her flank. Behind her, Susie lashes her tail angrily, trying to shake off the two biting into her own hide.

Panel 3 - In a fit of desperation, Susie finally rolls onto her side, trying to crush the gargoyle against the stone floor. A sound like breaking glass is heard.

Panel 4 - When she raises up again, the gargoyle is now in shattered porcelain pieces on the floor, although it did leave a nasty wound behind.

Panel 5 - Noelle turns her head, noticing the shattered remains. “Oh, Susie! They break like stone!”

Panel 6 - Susie also takes note of the shattered gargoyle, and gets an idea.

Panel 7 - Thinking fast, she goes and snaps her jaws around the gargoyle on Noelle’s flank, and tears it free.

Panel 8 - Still with one more gargoyle hanging from her neck, she swings her head around in a wide arc and tosses the gargoyle in her jaws at the far wall.

Page 8

Panel 1 - The gargoyle hits a pillar by the far wall, and shatters like porcelain.

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager is momentarily drawn away from Kris as she notices her shattered minions’ remains cluttering up the pristine floor. She shakes with rage. “You’re all making…”

Panel 3 - “SUCH A HORRIBLE MESS!” she screams, and rears back to attack Kris with her flail again.

Panels 4-5 - Kris is momentarily struck by another memory, and they wince in anticipation.

Panel 6 - In a flashback scene. Kris has somehow knocked over a cart full of fruits, and they lay scattered across the cobblestones, broken and smashed. An angry vendor stands nearby. 

Meanwhile, another empire soldier is already there, and grabs Kris by the hair. “LOOK AT THIS MESS YOU’VE MADE!” he screams, shaking Kris. 

Panel 7 - Tasque Manager charges forward, the flail coming in fast at Kris…

Panel 8 - And hits home, striking the, in the head, above their eye. Blood bursts from the head wound.

Page 9

Panel 1 - “KRIS!!” Closeup on Ralsei as he yells in alarm, his eyes wide.

Panel 2 - Kris staggers backward, shaking, and pressing their left hand to their temple.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Kris pulls their hand away, and finds it covered in blood.

Panel 4 -  Meanwhile, Susie rolls onto her chest again, crushing the gargoyle on her neck against the floor. It crunches into pieces like the others.

Panel 5 - In the background, Susie gets up and brushes the remaining shards off her neck. In the foreground, Noelle stomps the remaining gargoyle into pieces with her hooves.

Panel 6 - Kris turns and looks up at Tasque Manager. She raises her flail to strike once again. 

Panel 7 - Despite the fact that Kris is bleeding considerably from the head wound, they smile with realization, and charge in towards Tasque Manager. “The best part about human messes…”

Panel 8 - Tasque Manager takes a wide swing with her flail, but Kris swiftly ducks under it, and slides in close to her. 

Page 10

Panel 1 - Kris finishes, “Is that you can *always* make them worse!” Kris leaps up in front of Tasque Manager, and smears the blood on their hand across her polished breastplate. 

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager pulls back and shrieks in horror at the bloody stain on her armor, both arms raised.

Panel 3 - Kris pulls back, their head still bleeding, and points decisively at Tasque Manager. Noelle and Susie are standing ready behind them, and they give the [FIGHT] command.

Panel 4 - Tasque Manager tries in vain to wipe the blood off her armor, temporarily distracted…

Panel 5 - Which is enough time for Susie to come in from above and snap her jaws around Tasque Manager. She screams, and drops her flail.

Panel 6 - In a wider shot, Kris and Noelle look on as Noelle violently shakes her head with Tasque Manager in her jaws, like a dog shaking a chew toy. Pieces of her armor fly out as she’s tossed back and forth.

Page 11

Panel 1 - Finished with her attack, Susie spits out Tasque Manager, now a complete disassembled mess of armor and bone. Her pieces scatter across the stone floor.

Panel 2 - Noelle opens her mouth wide, and uses her frost breath again…

Panel 3 - …And her icy breath freezes the scattered pieces to the floor, leaving no chance of an easy reforming. Kris watches as the cat skull head skids free of the rest of the mess…

Panel 4 - And slides to a stop by their feet. Although broken up and frozen, Tasque Manager’s severed head can still speak, albeit weakly. “So disordered…scattered…filthy…”

Panel 5 - Low angle shot at the skull glares up at Kris with contempt. Kris has won, but she still has last insults to get in: “No wonder…you were discarded…”

Panel 6 - Kris closes their eyes again, another flashback coming back…

Panel 7 - Another series of flashback images to a younger, orphan Kris. They’re hiding in a pile of trash behind some boxes, shivering, terrified of encountering another soldier. Someone else can be seen approaching.

“Hey…” Kris looks up from their hiding position at the sound of a calmer voice. They see a hand being extended to them.

The hand belongs to a younger Asriel, reaching down to help them up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Page 12 Panel 1 - Back in the present, Ralsei approaches Kris again, putting a reassuring hand on their shoulder. He smiles down at them. “Well done, Kris! We’re that much closer to Queen now.”

Panel 2 - Higher shot as the Fun Gang begins to regroup ans start back down the hall again. Susie leans back towards the frozen and broken Tasque Manager with a taunt: “Good luck cleaning *that* up, you stupid snob!”

Panel 3 - Lancer pops back out of Susie’s hair, one hand raised to his head to look around. “Did we win?” he asks.

“Obviously!” Susie replies with a grin.

Panel 4 - Lancer turns to Kris, who is walking at the head of the party. “Wow! I guess you really *can* see through that string bean hair!” Kris is still injured and messy, but doesn’t seem to mind. “Well enough.”

Panel 5 - A shot from behind the Fun Gang as they continue down the dark hall, heading towards the Queen. Behind them lies a giant mess of shattered porcelain, frozen armor pieces and broken bones. “You know…” Kris says, “I think I will let it grow wild and ugly for the foreseeable future.”

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter one

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a small town somewhere in beautiful greece, early morning coffee runs, and the cute boy that you keep running into. (4.8k)

warnings: sort of shy!reader, a bit of swearing, lando being both smooth and a little awkward

a/n: series masterlist coming soon :)

“That guy is totally checking you out.” 

You reluctantly drag your attention away from the truly addicting pasta you’d ordered to meet your friend’s gaze across the table, slightly suspicious, but also a little curious as to what she’s talking about.

Samira is grinning knowingly at you already, mischievously, like she’s got a tasty bit of information you don’t know about. Probably not tastier than the food in front of you, but your interest is piqued nonetheless. 

“What guy?” You sigh, giving into your curiosity quite easily. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you, then tilts her head to the side discreetly, and you follow her gaze towards—

Oh. That guy. 

You saw him on your way to your seat at first, a group of four guys sitting a few tables away in the same patio area of the restaurant, drawing your attention even before you’d sat down. Artfully messy brown curls swept up out of his face, thick dark brows framing bright eyes crinkled with laughter at something his friend had said, you’d felt yourself growing conscious of the man’s existence with just one glance. 

And then his gaze had flicked to your friends passing his table, but more importantly, your own gaze, and you’d nearly stumbled on your own feet.

Your cheeks had grown hot at the intensity of his stare following your path to your seat, not to mention the embarrassment that had flooded your veins at the thought of nearly eating shit in front of this very attractive stranger. 

Had you grown the nerve to look back at him at the time, you would’ve seen his lips quirk into a goofy grin, as well as all the shoving he’d gotten from his friends as they’d caught wind of his unabashed staring. 

Now you’re almost done with your meal, and you could swear you’ve felt him looking at you plenty more times. Not that it mattered at all, because your eyes have been firmly glued to your food and your friends only. 

Okay, so you might’ve hastened a few covert glances over in his direction too, but he’s been chatting away to his friends every time, so maybe you’re just making nothing into something. 

“Don’t even try to hide it, you’ve been making eyes at him too, girl,” Your other friend, Maren, pipes up, elbowing you in the arm playfully. The last of your girls, Camille, nods her agreement, smiling gleefully. “He’s hot.”  

Right, so perhaps not as covert as you’d thought. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” You reply, spearing another piece of pasta through your fork. You’re kicked under the table at that moment, hard enough to warrant the whine that escapes your mouth. “What?” Now you're met with three pointed glares your way. “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s cute.” 

“Go talk to him!” 

“Go flirt with him!” 

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim. Your voice comes out louder than you intend and you duck your head quickly, worried you’d disturbed the peace of the quiet area. “He’s probably got a girlfriend already or something.” 

“If he does, she better dump his ass because he's been giving you fuck me eyes all damn night.” 

“No, he has not,” You hiss, which only gets you yet another look from them. You’re starting to get tired of all these looks, actually. “Has he? I mean—are they? Fuck me eyes?” 

“Oh yeah, he—” 

Camille clears her throat, cutting Samira off. “No, they’re not,” She assures you, placing a hand over yours. “He’s been smiling every time he looks over.”

“Maybe he’s looking at one of you guys?” 

“He’s definitely been looking at you.” 

You bite your lip, nose scrunching skeptically. You haven’t really been the subject of any guy’s attention before, let alone one as handsome as this one. You’ve learned it’s better not to get your hopes up when it comes to certain situations. This seems like one of them. “Are you sure?” 

“If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your share of the villa rental.” 

“Can I get that in writing, or…?” 

Before any of them can come up with a smart remark, a plate is placed into the center of the table, on which is a large square of baklava, light and flaky with that sweet, sugary filling spilling out the sides of the piece that almost makes your mouth water. You’d seen it in the dessert section of the menu earlier, but had decided against ordering it in favor of trying an appetizer instead. 

“Oh, excuse me? We didn’t order this,” Maren speaks up, looking up at the waiter. 

He does a half turn, sweeping an arm in a vague direction. “It is from the gentleman in the blue shirt.” 

You follow his gaze, and fuck, your heart skips a beat in your chest, because it’s him. It’s the same guy you’ve been drawn to all night, and he’s actually looking right back at you this time. His hand comes up in a wave, then back down to his side almost immediately, like he’s worried about it seeming too eager, before settling with a reserved nod. All the while, he’s still got that smile gracing his face that makes your stomach flip flop. 

“He sent over a dessert?!?! I am so keeping that money, girl,” Camille hums, picking up her fork to dig in while Samira and Maren voice their agreement. 

You, on the other hand, well…you’re not sure what to think. You appreciate the gesture, but you're also confused. Why did he send something over? What did he want? 

It doesn't occur to you that he’s truly taken an interest in you until you're huddled outside with your friends talking next steps of the night. Whether you want to keep exploring this new place, or call it a day and go home. You’re firmly on the latter’s side because you're tired. But you’ll go along with whatever is decided. 

The guy and his friends have coincidentally left the restaurant at the same time as you did, judging by the sudden commotion that erupts behind you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your gaze lands on him yet again, only this time, you actually lock eyes with him. Something jolts through you, something electric up your spine like a tiny shock. Something you’ve never felt before. You shove the foreign feeling deep down, no matter how much you’d like to explore it. 

He looks away, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to quell the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you avert your wandering eyes too, before anyone else notices. Evidently you’re a little too slow, because all three of your friends catch on instantly. 

“Go talk to him already.” Camille says matter-of-factly. 

“No, I—what do I even say?” 

“Maybe hello would be a good start?” 

You press your lips together, unimpressed, and you get a snicker in return, something about how you're not asking for his hand in marriage, you’re just trying to make conversation. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s that you’re not exactly sure how to approach it. You’ve already convinced yourself of the worst, but to possibly have it play out in real life is a tangible fear of yours, and always has been. 

One of your girls (you’re willing to bet more money it’s Maren) gives you a not so gentle shove towards him, as does one of his friends over in his group. Now you’ve got no choice. You meet each other in the middle, just looking at each other for a few moments. It’s awkward and you have half a mind to turn and go, but then he speaks. 

“Hey,” He says. 

“Hi,” You reply shyly, shifting on your feet nervously. He shoves both hands into his pockets. He looks a bit nervous too, which does a significant wonder to calm you. “Thank you for the baklava. It was delicious.” 

“Yeah, of course. Glad you guys liked it. Figured you can’t go wrong with a classic.” He bobs his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears in a shrug before dropping back down. “I’m Lando, by the way.” 

Lando. It’s not a name you’re expecting, but it suits him well. 

He sticks his hand out almost instinctively, like he’s been conditioned to do so. Maybe he has, considering the aura of professionality it gives off when you do shake his hand. 

His palm is smooth and warm against yours, long fingers curling around your hand like the sincere smile that curls his lips as you tell him your name in return. Dimples bracket his mouth on both sides. 

The handshake almost lasts a little too long for two people who’ve just met literally a few moments ago, as does the way his eyes linger upon yours. 

Even in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamps above you, you can see him much better up close. His sunkissed skin does little to hide the flushed pink on his cheeks that travels down to his chest, disappearing under the generously unbuttoned blue linen. You feel exposed under his intense gaze, looking back at those mesmerizing eyes. Blue, green, gray—maybe a mix of all three, you’re not sure, but you can’t help but want to figure it out. 

Then you remember that you don’t know this guy at all, and it brings you back to reality. 

“Lando, like…the guy from Star Wars?” You ask. It breaks the invisible tether between the two of you and he smiles, laughs a little bit too. 

He shrugs casually. “Not according to my mum and dad, but I do get that a lot.” 

“You must get tired of hearing it from people then.”

His head tilts to one side, smile going endearingly lopsided. “Depends on the person. Like, I didn’t mind when you said it just now.” You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just smile, and he takes your reaction in stride, moving on. “Are you guys from around here, or…” 

“No, actually, we’re—um, we’re just here on holiday.”

“Oh, same! Yeah, we’ve been here a few days now, it’s been great. Is this your first time in Greece?” He asks, smile turning warm. You nod. “Have you checked out the local market yet?”

“Can’t say we have yet, no. We just got in the day before last, so…still figuring out our footing first. But I’ll keep it in mind, thank you!” 

Lando inhales sharply, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, y’know, if you want, maybe we could—” 

“Oi, Lando! Let’s go, mate!” 

He glances back over at his friends, one of whom is waving for him to return to his group rather wildly, before turning back to you. Whatever he was about to say is lost now, because he shrugs loosely. “Guess that’s my cue,” He sighs. Then his gaze softens, smile turning a little hopeful. “Will I see you around again? Small town and all.” 

“Uh…I dunno. Maybe, if it’s meant to be.” You have to try with all your might not to take the statement back, even though you really, really want to. 

If it’s meant to be—who the fuck says that? Like fate has anything to do with this miraculous interest Lando seems to have taken in you. If you were him, you’d find your words quite off putting. Instead, he smirks, crooked and cute. 

“Meant to be,” He repeats, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah alright, I’ll take my chances. Have a good night.” 

You bid him a soft goodnight, barely able to stifle the giggle that spills from your mouth when he nearly trips over the cobblestones on his way back to his friends. He’s awkward, you think, but still confident. It’s cute. 

Lando stays rooted in your mind the rest of the night, all the way up until you’re lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take hold of you. It’s weird to think this much about a guy you’ve just met, a guy who you’ve only had one conversation with and have left things up to chance in terms of seeing him again. 

-------

You’re the first one awake this morning, roused from your sleep by bright sunlight pouring through the window, even through the curtains. Contemplation of going back to sleep crosses your mind, but it’s no use. You’re up now, so you might as well make the most of your early morning. 

You love your friends dearly, but some alone time sounds like heaven right about now. There’s a coffee spot not far from where you’re staying that you remember seeing on your way in that seems like a perfect match to your solo walk, so you head there. You’ll be a nice friend and bring coffee home for when they eventually wake up too. 

After dropping them a text letting them know you’ve gone out, you set off. The walk back into town is short but serene, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives, and a reminder of why you’d all decided to vacation in this particular region of Greece in the first place. 

Someone calls out something that sounds like your name before you can step into the shop and you pause, casting a glance around to see if your ears might be playing tricks on you. You’ve only been here a few days, and the only other person who knows you other than your friends is…Lando. 

You squint a little harder to see through the glare of the sun, and lo and behold, there he is, hands linked behind his head. The grin that lifts your face is almost embarrassing, or would’ve been had Lando not been so eager upon seeing you wave at him. 

He’s clad in athletic shorts and a cutoff tee that shows off muscles you’re trying your very hardest not to stare at as he makes his way closer, curls tucked away in a baseball cap pulled low on his head. Headphones dangle from around his neck, and he’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily very clearly once he’s stopped in front of you. 

“Hey, good morning! I thought that was you,” He breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “Early riser too, I take it?” 

“Honestly, not usually! The sun decided I would be today, though, so…here I am.” 

“Here you are. Guess it was meant to be then, huh?” He chuckles, reaching up to flip his cap backwards. If you thought he was tan the night you met, he’s even tanner in the sun, bronze skin stretching over sinewy muscle that flexes as he sweeps a hand through his hair before tugging it back down in one smooth motion. “Doing a coffee run?” 

“Yeah, I’m the only one of us awake at this hour so I figured I’d bring them back a little something.” 

“You’re a saint. I’d let my mates suffer if it were me,” Lando snorts. 

You shrug. “Guess that’s the difference between the two of us.” 

“Yeah?” He hums, looking amused. “What else is different between you and me?” 

“Well, first of all, I would never be on a run at eight in the morning. Is someone punishing you, or is this a self-inflicted torture type thing?” 

That gets another laugh out of him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Gotta keep in shape or my trainer might try to kill me with workouts instead.” 

“You’re an athlete?” You pry, intrigued. He looks the part, you think. Lean but not skinny, strong but not massively built. A runner, maybe? 

Lando freezes a split second, rocks from foot to foot, scratching at his nose. “Kind of, yeah.” 

“What’s your sport?” 

“Uh…golf. It’s more like a hobby than anything else.” 

“Golf,” You repeat, an amused smile poking at the edges of your mouth. “Can’t say I know a thing about it.” 

“Oh, it’s definitely something else, for sure. Super intense stuff, really grueling.” His words say one thing, but he’s grinning like he’s pulling your leg, lip pulled between his teeth in that same way as last night, nose scrunching adorably as he bobs his head quickly to further sell it. 

“Sure, if you say so. But d’you think your trainer would get mad if you cut your super intense training short to grab a cup of coffee with a friend?” 

You’re almost expecting him to say no, but Lando perks up instead, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Not at all. Shall we?” 

Over coffee, you find that Lando is an excellent conversationalist—funny and a good listener, an even better storyteller. He asks about you without seeming pushy or prying, and because of that you feel yourself relaxing a bit in his presence. Opening yourself up to the possibility of a good thing with him, no matter how short or fleeting it may be, whether it’s friendship or something more. 

A few weeks of summer in a place you've never been with a boy you don’t know is the time to be a little bolder. Chances are you’ll never see Lando again after this trip, so why not loosen up just a little bit? 

It’s only when more people start to trickle into the shop and you start to notice Lando’s eyes shifting over your shoulder more that you realize you’ve been here with him for a while now. And judging by the dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of your friends on your phone when you go to check it for the first time since you’d left, you’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you’d be. 

You know them well enough to know that they’re not above calling the local police to send out a search party for you if you don’t find your way back soon. 

“Friends wondering where you are?” 

You nod, sending a quick message that you are indeed alive and not kidnapped like they feared, before tucking your phone away again. “Guess I better get them their coffees for sure now, or else they might not let me back in the house.” 

“Lemme buy it for them,” He offers sincerely, offering you a lopsided grin. You shake your head rapidly at the suggestion, but he continues, “I’m the reason you’ve been gone so long, the least I can do is buy them drinks. Call it an apology for making them worry, yeah?” 

“You really don’t have to, Lando.” 

“I know. I want to,” He insists, looking truly genuine. First dessert last night, now coffee today. You have half a mind to push back a little more, but you get the feeling Lando is as persistent as he is handsome, so you taking a firm stance on something like this seems like a moot point. Giving in, you nod, and he mirrors it, looking proud. 

He lets you take the lead in reciting your friends’ orders once you’ve made your way back over to the front counter, stepping forward with a hand to the small of your back to pay for the drinks before you have any bright ideas to pull one over on him and pay for them yourself. 

The barista smiles politely, pen hovering above a cardboard cup. “And a name for that?” 

Lando casts a furtive glance around the area before leaning in and saying his name quietly, as if he’s worried he’ll run into someone who he doesn’t want to see. You notice, but don’t really pay it any mind. You understand far too well not wanting to talk to someone you're unprepared for. 

Soon enough Lando’s got the drinks in hand and you’re back outside, and he’s smiling again. You’ve noticed he does that a lot when he looks at you. You’re sure you’re the same way with him. 

“My mates and I, we’re planning on having a little barbeque at our villa tomorrow night. You should come,” Lando says encouragingly, tilting his head to the side. When your brows raise in surprise, he hastily adds, “And your friends too, obviously. We’d love the company.” 

“Ah! Um, I dunno. Wouldn’t wanna crash your thing.” 

“You wouldn't be. Seriously, come hang out. We’re fun, I promise!” 

“I just—I forget if we’ve got plans, that’s all.” You’re not lying when you say it, you truly forget if you’re free tomorrow night. Most of it stems from your awful memory, but a small part of it attributes to how your brain kind of stops working properly around Lando. 

“Right, well, you figure that out, and if you find you’ve got a free evening,” He balances the drinks deftly in one hand, the other fishing his phone out of his shorts pocket and swiping at the screen briefly before holding it out to you, “text me, let me know.” 

You’re not sure where you find the boldness to tap your phone number into his contacts, but you do it with confidence, saving it under your name and a smiley face. 

“Cute.” Lando smirks, chuckling as he sends a simple hi so you've got his number too. “Now, I believe these are yours, and…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? If it’s meant to be.” 

You smile at the mirroring of last night’s words from him as you situate the cardboard tray in your own arms. “Maybe.” 

The smile hasn’t left your face even by the time you arrive back home, because you’ve been thinking about Lando the whole way. For a stranger you’ve met only yesterday, he’s sure been occupying a lot of space in your mind. You aren’t entirely sure how to feel about it. 

You’re already prepared for the berating you’re about to get as you close the front door behind you carefully, making your way to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

You look up to see all three of your friends sitting around the kitchen table, and none of them look particularly happy. You smile innocently, holding up the cardboard tray of drinks up as a peace offering. “Coffee?” 

“It better come with an explanation.” 

Nodding vigorously, you dole out each drink to your friends. “It does, I swear. I didn’t just disappear, I ran into—” 

“Hold the fuck on. Why does this say Lando? Why is that man’s name on my cup—” 

“Oh my god, you did not get coffee with him without telling us!” 

“You bitch!” 

That’s how you end up telling them the whole story—running into him in town, talking for ages, and that brings you to your next point. 

“We don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, do we?” 

“There’s the vineyard tour in the afternoon, but that should end around five. Why?” 

“Lando invited us to a barbecue at his villa,” You say quickly. That gets their attention immediately, all of their eyes widening in the same shocked looks. None of them answer your question though. “Is that…something we’d be interested in?” 

Samira is the first to snap out of it, mouth curving into a playful smirk. “Invited us, or invited you?” 

“Definitely just her.” 

“Whatever! Do we wanna go or not?” You grumble, doing your best to fight the grin threatening to overtake your face. The thought of him wanting to spend time with you brings you a teensy bit of satisfaction. 

“Of course we’re going!” 

After they’re done poking fun at you, you’re able to take a moment to top out a quick message to Lando. That barbecue invite still up for grabs? 

You're not expecting an immediate answer, but your phone dings with a text back before you even set it down. 

Lando: Of course. Plans fell through? 

You: seems like you’ve really made an impression on my friends 

Lando: Not sure whether to be scared or flattered…

You: your guess is as good as mine! we’ll find out tomorrow :)

Lando: Brb gotta go call my lawyer and update my will 

“You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?” 

You look up from your phone to see Camille leaning in the doorway to your room, a soft, knowing smile on her face. “Yeah, he—uh, he says he’s looking forward to meeting you guys again.” She comes to sit beside you, looking like she wants to talk about something. You set it aside, head tilting in a silent question. 

“Do you think you’ll stay in contact with Lando after we leave?” 

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest.”

If you do think about it, you haven’t even known Lando for more than a day. You’ve only just met him yesterday, seen him twice, one of which was completely spur of the moment. So what if that spur of the moment encounter was the most connected you’ve felt to someone in a long time? 

You don’t know him, and chances are, he’s not looking for anything serious. You don’t even know if you’re looking for anything serious. 

“It’s okay if you want to.” 

“I shouldn’t want to,” You say. It feels like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. You look to Camille for an answer, but she just pats your hand. “Right? I’m never gonna see him again, so I shouldn’t get attached.” 

“You don’t know that for sure, do you?” 

“I guess not. It feels scary, though. Opening yourself up to something when you don't know what’ll happen.” 

Camille hums, a placating, even comforting sound to soothe your worries. She’s always been pretty good at getting you to see the brighter side in things. “There’s fun in that too. Being spontaneous, surprising yourself. You never know, Lando could be just the thing you need, the one you didn’t know you were looking for. And if not, you don’t have to see him again. A win-win, I’d say.” 

She leaves you alone to your thoughts after that, left to ponder what exactly it is you want. It might be stupid and entirely over-optimistic of you, but Lando has already pulled you in. You’re not sure what it is about him. He makes you want more, want to know more. 

Whatever happens will happen, and if things don’t work out…well, Camille is right. You never have to see Lando again. 

His name flashes across your screen later in the night, right before you’re about to go to sleep. You’ve been texting back and forth all day, but this one is different. He’s video calling you right now. 

You stare at his name for longer than you should, finger hovering over the answer button a few beats before pressing it. His face pops into view once the call connects. Like you, he’s sitting in bed, leaned up against the headboard, cozied up in a soft looking jumper. He looks like he’s moments away from drifting off, but he called you, so he must want to talk. 

“Hi,” You say softly. 

“Hey, you.” He smiles, warm and sleepy and all squinty in a way that makes you want to crawl through the screen and tuck him into bed with a kiss to his forehead. “You must be tired.” 

“Eh, I’m alright. Why?” 

“‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.” 

You let out a wildly unappealing snort of laughter at his poor attempt at a pick up line. “That’s terrible! Oh my god, that was awful, Lando, seriously.” 

“No?” His smile grows giddy, shoulders shaking with his chuckles. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it? Got you laughing though.” 

Conversation falls into the same easy nature as this morning, like you’ve known him for ages. He makes you laugh until your ribs hurt, smile until your cheeks feel the same. It still amazes you just how comfortable you feel around him, as someone who usually takes a while to warm up to people. 

Maybe you should take it as a sign. 

A jumble of muffle voices offscreen some time later makes Lando squint. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t hang up. ” He lets the phone drop onto the bed, checking once to make sure you’re still there before disappearing from sight. 

You hear his footsteps fade, then more voices you can’t quite make out. Someone laughs off in the distance, and then he’s back, resituating himself with the remnants of an amused grin on his lips. 

“Everything okay?” 

“My mates are yelling at me to turn off the light, so I’d better go,” He sighs goodnaturedly, lips turning down into a frown. Then he yawns widely, and you realize how late it’s gotten since you’ve picked up his call. Losing track of time when you’re talking to Lando seems to be a recurring theme. “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow.” 

Your breath catches a little in your chest, both at his words and the way he’s looking at you through the screen as he says it, nothing but genuine. “Me too.” 

You’re starting to think this whole try not to get attached thing is going to be much harder than you thought. 

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[hoe4hotchner]

Bakery owner reader x loyal customer hotch

Something with the team finding out about reader and seeing hotch all happy and smiling and whipped for her.

Later them finding out they’re actually dating and penny freaking out 😭😭

Love, Freshly Baked | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bakery owner!reader

CW: Nothing but tooth rotting fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Forgive me for having this drafted for ages!!! But here it is, and it's super duper cute!!!

           The smell of fresh pastries and brewing coffee filled the small bakery every morning, a cozy retreat nestled on a quiet corner of the bustling city. You had been running the shop for a couple of years now, getting to know every regular by name, but there was one customer who had quickly become your favorite.

           Aaron Hotchner.

           He’d been coming in almost every morning for months, ordering the same thing - a black coffee and a croissant - but it wasn’t just the simplicity of his order that caught your attention. It was the way he always seemed so calm and composed, even when the stress of his job was written all over his face. You weren’t sure what he did - all you knew was he had to wear a suit for the job - but you could tell it wore on him. Still, every time he walked through the door, his shoulders relaxed just a little, and a small smile would tug at his lips when he saw you.

           What you didn’t know was that Hotch’s team had noticed this change in him. It started small - an extra cup of coffee in the morning, a slightly brighter demeanor after breakfast - but it wasn’t long before the rest of the BAU picked up on it.

           “Anyone else notice how… happy Hotch has been lately?” Emily asked one morning as they gathered around their desks, waiting for the next case.

           Morgan leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “You’re right. I haven’t seen Hotch smile this much in… well, ever.”

           "Maybe he’s just found a new way to deal with stress. Meditation, perhaps?” Spencer didn't look up from the book he was reading as he answered.

           Penelope scoffed, twirling a bright pink pen in her hand. “Please, Reid. Hotch isn’t meditating. Something - or rather someone - has got him smiling.”           

           The rest of the team exchanged looks, curiosity piqued.

           A few days later, their suspicions were confirmed.

           It was a slow day at the office, so Hotch decided to take a longer-than-usual lunch break. What he didn’t realize was that his team had quietly followed him to the bakery, determined to find out what - or who - was behind their boss’s newfound cheerfulness.

           “Look,” Penelope whispered excitedly from across the street, pointing toward the bakery window. “He’s smiling! He’s actually smiling!”

           Sure enough, through the glass, they could see Hotch leaning against the counter, his face lit up in a way they’d never seen before. And then there was you, standing behind the counter with that same soft smile you always gave him.

           “Oh my god,” JJ whispered, her eyes wide. “Is that the bakery he always talks about?”

           “Looks like it,” Derek said, grinning. “And it looks like our boy is whipped.”

           Inside the bakery, Hotch had no idea he was being watched. He was too focused on you - on the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your latest recipe, the way your hands moved with such care as you worked on rolling out the dough. Every morning spent in your presence was like a small respite from the chaos of his job, and he found himself craving that peace more and more as time went by.

           You handed him his coffee, and for a moment, your fingers brushed his. The simple contact sent a warmth through him that no amount of caffeine ever could.

           “You know, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying the warmth that always made his mornings a little brighter, “you’re going to start running out of excuses to come here if you keep this up.”

           Hotch chuckled, a rare sound that you loved hearing. “I’ll think of something.”

           As he turned to leave, he glanced back one more time, catching your eye and giving you a smile that was just for you.

           Meanwhile, across the street, Penelope was practically bouncing with excitement. “You guys! He’s totally into her! Did you see that smile? We have to find out more.”

           A week later, the team got more than they bargained for.

           It was a Friday afternoon, and Hotch had just returned to the office after lunch. He was in a good mood, his smile lingering longer than usual. That’s when Penelope burst into the room, holding up her phone like it was a trophy.

           “Guys, you are not going to believe this!” she exclaimed, her voice high with excitement.

           The team gathered around, eyes wide as Penelope pulled up a photo she’d found online. It was you and Hotch, taken outside the bakery on a sunny day. He had his arm around your waist, and you were looking up at him with a smile that could melt hearts.

           “They’re dating!” Penelope practically squealed. “Hotch is dating the owner of the bakery!”

           The rest of the team was equally stunned.

           “Okay, now it all makes sense,” Emily said, grinning. “The extra coffee, the smiling, the mysterious bakery trips.”

           Morgan shook his head, chuckling. “Never thought I’d see the day when Hotch would be this smitten again. It’s nice to see him happy.”

           Penelope, however, was still in full freak-out mode. “Oh my god, we have to do something! Maybe throw them a surprise party or - wait, no, that’s too much. But we have to celebrate this somehow!”

           As they brainstormed, Hotch walked back into the bullpen, completely unaware of the chaos his relationship had caused among his team. But when he saw the knowing smiles on their faces, he paused.

           “What’s going on?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

           Penelope couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We know about the bakery, Hotch! And about her!” she blurted out, practically glowing with excitement.

           For a moment, Hotch was silent, his eyes scanning the room before he finally let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should’ve known you’d find out eventually.”

           The team erupted into laughter, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner didn’t mind being the center of attention - because, after all, it was all for a love that made him happier than he’d ever been.

[annoyinglilbro]

Prince who starts invalidating himself and going to royal events as a princess to please his family, knight who corners him later, not following any orders nor letting him come unless he admits he's a boy. (After all, the knight's job is to protect the prince)

Prince being pushed into an abandoned corridor and glaring at the knight.

“What is your problem?!”

“What’s yours? What is all this? Where are your button ups, your trousers? Why are you parading around in corsets and lace?”

Prince who scoffs and crosses his arms. He looks away from the knight and forces his eyes on some random tapestry on the wall.

“Father is done entertaining me. They let wear my hair short and wear my brothers clothes for years. But now I’m an adult, it’s time to stop playing pretend and be the princess the kingdom needs. They’re giving me some time to let my hair grow, and then I’ll be presented with suitors. Each from our ally kingdoms, and I will choose one to marry.”

Knight who shakes his head. It can’t be true. He has been at the prince’s side since they were kids, he’d know if he was protecting a girl. Even with the corset and light flowing fabrics, that’s a boy. That’s his boy.

The same boy who would wrestle with him in his room, and get scolded for stealing extra bread from the kitchen. There was never a princess, always a prince. And he was a damn good one. Whatever is happening here is hurting him, and as his knight it’s his job to make it right.

That’s why he doesn’t hesitate when he takes the sword to the dress. When he chops away at the skirt and watches the way it tears.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Reminding you who you are! This isn’t you, you’re not a princess. You’re not some dainty girl who needs protecting, who falls in line and does whatever she’s told. Where’s your fire? Where are you? You’re an imposter standing infront of me. My prince would never-“

“Oh please! I was never your prince. You’re being ridiculous.” Prince that tried to push past the knight, only to be slammed backwards into the wall once again. “Stop that!”

“I don’t follow orders from any princess. Only my prince can command me.” As he pushes his hands under the torn fabric, feeling for that spot between his legs that he knows oh too well. His fingers quickly find the bundle of nerves that they’ve called his cock on many occasions.

“Oh fuck…”

“How can you say you’re a girl, hmm? When you get so worked up from having your cock played with. Silly boy, so confused. I’ll remind you, don’t worry.”

Pulling his head back by his hair and kissing all the spots he knows drives his boy crazy. Nobody knows the prince better than him. Teeth piercing into flesh, breathing uneven, and eyes glazed over with lust. Even in a dress, he can still see the boy buried underneath. Beautiful, breath taking, in need of rescue.

Prince’s hands cling to the knight, just as they have many nights before. It isn’t fair, the prince can only feel cold armor, while his knight is spoiled in the warmth of his cunt. Fingers rubbing and prodding, sliding through slick and pressing him further and further.

“Please please I have to cum please.”

Fingers that pinch at the small bud, making the prince moan and writhe.

“Who’s asking to cum?”

“Ah…fuck.. your princess is telling you. M..make me cum.”

Knight that clicks his tongue and stops the movement of his fingers.

“I only take orders from my prince.” His hand leaves his hair and instead wraps around the prince’s throat, both glaring at the other with no real hatred to fuel them. “Dress up is fun. But it’s time to stop playing around, little prince. My sweet boy. I know you’re in there. Come back to me and I’ll make you cum until you so many times you lose track.”

Prince letting out a shakey breath. He doesn’t want to disappoint his father, but it’s so hard. So hard pretending to be something he’s not and maybe that’s why he can’t stop the sob that leaves him as he falls forward and wraps his arms lovingly around his knight.

“Please…please? Get me out of here. Take me back to my- to our chambers and have me. Take me. Please, I need you.”

Knight who pauses, his arms falling to his sides.

“Who’s asking me?”

“Your Prince.”

Knight who wraps his arms around the trembling boy, kissing the top of his head before he picks him up.

“Anything you want, my darling prince.”

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt. 

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

[pitchsidestories]

look at us now II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | part two I word count: 2689

summary: former lovers reunite at Arsenal.

author's note: hi, our first Renée Slegers fanfic, let us know your thoughts on it. As always this is purely fiction, enjoy. 🤍❤️

image sources

 “So, you hired another assistant coach without telling me?”, Renée asked incredulously, well aware that except for her, the room was full of very important looking men.

One of them nodded sternly: “You needed another one. We made the decision for you.”

Renée closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to protest. She was Arsenals new head coach after all.

With forced calmness, she asked: “Who is it?”

“You know her already.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She opened her mouth in order to ask what that was about to mean when you finally made your appearance. You had waited all morning in anticipation to surprise your former teammate with your presence.

“Hello Renée.”, you greeted her as you walked into the room.

Recognition flashed across her face, followed by genuine excitement. She got up from her chair, beaming: “You!”

Before you knew what was happening, she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a way too tight hug.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t strangle me, please! That would be sad first last workday at the Arsenal.”, you laughed.

“You’re so stupid! I missed you so much.”, Renée giggled but finally let go of you.

For a second, you stood there and took each other in and it almost felt like nothing had changed since you played together in Sweden.

“I missed you too but now every player and staff member are staring at us which is kind of awkward.”, you admitted, nodding towards the door where the first pairs of eyes tried to figure out who the newest addition to the team was.

“They’re just curious about you. Let me introduce you.”, Renée suggested, leading you out of the conference room.

You followed patiently.

“Renée, who’s that girl you almost couldn’t let go of?”, Beth asked, blinking innocently at you.

“That’s y/n. She’s the new assistant coach and we used to play together for Linköpings.”, Renée explained. You didn’t miss the slight hint of pride in her voice.

Your eyes found another Swede between the players.

“Actually, I played with Stina too.”, you added.

The striker smiled at you: “Good to see you again.”

“You too. And I can’t wait to get to know each of you.”, you said towards the crowd.

Renée turned to you: “You will love them.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Suddenly, your hand was in Renées as she dragged with her towards the football pitches. You could still feel the eyes of your new players on you as you followed Renée.

The eyes of Stina's teammates were expectantly drawn to her once the two of you had left the room.

An edgy laugh escaped the blonde’s lips: “What? Why are you all looking at me now?”

“Tell us!”, Beth commanded grinning.

The Swedish striker began to play nervously with her blonde hair: “Well what do you want to know?”

“About our new staff member and Renée of course!”, Leah replied thrilled.

Using the same excited tone as her, Beth added: “Obviously.”

“Not if she was a good baller or had a good sense and understanding of the game.”, Stinas eyes flashed in amusement.

“Actually.”, threw Kim in who was unlike the rest of the players indeed interested in that side of you.

The England captain clicked her tongue disapprovingly: “No, Kim.”

“We want the tea, Stina.”, Alessia told her.

She paused dramatically, during which everyone held their breath tensely, before admitting:” Yeah, they used to date.”

“When they were players or did, they continue to date once she became the head coach?”, Leah asked the forward curiously.

Stina cleared her throat and answered in a serious voice: “They ended it once Renée retired and took the coaching job in Rosengård.”

After this revelation the room fell silent for a second before Beth concluded with a heavy sigh:” Oh, that’s sad.”

“They seemed okay with it.”, the Swedish striker remarked.

Meanwhile Renée and you were walking along the training pitches, it was a cold day, but the golden afternoon sun warmed your faces. It was where you heard yourself say: “I’m glad that you don’t seem to mind that I took the job, Renée. Considering how things have ended between us in Malmö.”

“We mutually agreed to end this relationship.”, the Arsenal head coach remembered, while the smile disappeared from her face.

“True, it was the best solution at that time.”, you nodded.

Slowly, as the sunlight disappeared, the warmth returned to Renee's dark eyes, confessing:” I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Same. Nothing more.”, you agreed.

“That’s good.”, she observed.

At the end of your tour, you wished her goodbye:” So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”, Renée waved at you, her gaze following you until you were gone.

With a heavy heart the Dutch woman reminisced about all the wins and losses you had shared together in Sweden until her career ending injury put an end to it. Like a disco ball, Renée had put the shards that had caused the separation into each other to turn the pain into something bright.

She was content with her work, so love life wasn't a big issue until you came back into her life and made her wonder if maybe she should expect more from life.

The next day, you entered the training ground in a cheerful mood. “Good morning, Stina!”, you greeted your former teammate warmly.

“Morning.”, Stina beamed brightly back at you.

There was no time for small talk as Kelly Smith approached you: “Y/n?”

“Yes?”, you asked surprised. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe that you were working with her. Not only was she a legendary player for England but also for the whole of womens football.

She still smiled politely at you: “I think Renée is looking for you.”

You nodded once: “I’m coming.”

Renée was already on the pitch, one foot on a ball and her arms folded over her chest as she waited for the players to arrive.

You caught her eye from the other side of the field and smiled at her.

For a split second, Renée lost her balance on the ball, stumbling forward but catching herself quickly.

It all went by so fast, you had no time to worry about her.

“You’re good?”, you called out to her, teasing.

You had the feeling that somewhere behind you, Kelly was holding back laughter.

Renées cheeks had turned a slightly darker colour: “Yeah, of course.”

“Kelly said you wanted to see me?”, you said as you finally crossed the pitch.

“I do.”

You leaned forward, whispering: “I saw the dinner invitation in the locker room.”

The corners of Renées mouth quirked up: “Good. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Will Kelly and the boys join us too?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Somehow your brain stopped working in that exact moment. You weren’t prepared for you and her. You had been thinking of nice little staff dinner where you had the opportunity to get to know everyone better. Being alone with Renée made your heart race a little.

Hesitantly, you accepted the invitation: “Alright… I guess I’ll go back to work.”

“Okay.”, Renée nodded.

Luckily, the players entered the pitch at that moment.

Beth who had caught the end of your conversation, stared at Renée with hopeful eyes: “Is that a date?”

“No.”, the head coach replied matter-of-factly.

Victoria elbowed Beth in the side: “Stop seeing things, Beffy.”

“I don’t”, the winger protested.

Kim rolled her eyes: “Yes, you do. You’re delusional.”

“You will see.”, Beth said full of confidence before Renée sent them to warm up.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself in a tiny but charming restaurant that night.

“The dinner is so delicious, Renée.”, you said, taking a sip of your wine.

She smiled at you almost shyly: “Glad you like it.”

“Next time we should bring the whole team and staff here.”

Her face turned a bit more serious: “Yes, we should. But first I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“About something specific?”

“No, just to catch up.”, Renée explained whose cheeks were slightly reddish in colour, you weren’t sure whether it was the wine or her nervousness. 

Instead of looking into her curious dark chocolate brown eyes, you stared at the wine glass in front of you as you confessing: ”I left Sweden because I needed a change.”

“A change?”, she repeated your words in a sincerely interested tone.

For a moment, you paused while the waitress lit the candle in the centre of the table, the flickering light made the conversation even more intimate: “To heal from heartbreak. What about you? What did I miss?”

“Not much. I tried to focus on football after leaving Rosengård.“, the football coach admitted casually. Whilst Renée undid her low hair bun so that her dark brown hair fell in waves over her shoulders.

With an amused smile on your lips, you remarked in disbelief:” That doesn’t sound like the fun Renée I knew from Linköping.”

Memories of her with a big cigar in her mouth and a ridiculous hat after winning the Swedish league came to your mind.

“Hey, I’m still fun.”, protested the Dutch woman, pointing her fork at you.

You cleared your throat and replied more seriously:” Yes, the players seem to think that too.”

“I take that as a compliment.”, she responded happily.

“You should, they’re really great to work with so far.”, you acknowledged.

Her radiant grin was infectious:” I think they like you too.”

“Only Beth is a bit annoying with..”, you began, thinking about the huge interest the English striker had in your private lives.

Renée waved your worries off:” Yes, I know. But that’s just how she’s, she only has good intentions.”

“I guess that’s true. I mean would be crazy if you still would have -.. , right?”, you started to ramble.  

She lifted an eyebrow at you: “Would have what?”

“Feelings after a mutual breakup.”, you finished your previous sentence flustered.

The brunette spoke your name gently.

“Yes?”, you glanced at her expectantly.

Fiercely and passionately, Renée continued: “Of course I do. I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t have feelings for you anymore, I broke up with you because I suddenly was your coach, and it was wrong to date a player.”

Afterwards, there was a dramatic silence at the table. “Well, I’m not a player anymore.”, you said matter-of-factly.

“I’m aware of that.”, she answered with a wistful smile.

Slightly sheepishly, you asked her:” Was that why you wanted a dinner with me alone first?”

“To see if we could get back together? No. I wanted to know how you’re, what you’ve been up to?”, the football coach tried to be professional again.

“Now you know.”

“I do.”, Renée confirmed, playing with the idea to order some dessert for both of you as it was a speciality of this restaurant.

Much to her disappointment though, you stood up:” Thank you for the dinner, it was a nice catching up.”

“Yes, I agree.”, the brunette waved at the waitress, signalling that she was ready to pay for the two of you.

The first game of the year and also the first game in your new job was against Crystal Palace a few days later. To your delight, the girls played great, winning the game 5:0 and building their confidence in this first game.

“Great win, girls.”, you clapped your hands as the referee blew the final whistle.

Renée appeared on your side.

“That’s exactly what we wanted to see.”, she agreed.

“Oh yes, well done everyone.”, you smiled and handed out water bottles to the players. They high-fived you, done but happy while Renée said a few words to the players.

Happily you watched as the players rightfully celebrated their win until an elbow to your side made you look up.

Renée was grinning at you: “Good job from you too.”

“From me? I didn’t do much yet.”, you said, feeling heat rise into your cheeks.

“You did everything I expect from my assistant coach. Arsenal made the right decision, we’re a good team.”, Renée said softly.

You nodded, smiling gently at her: “Yes, we are.”

“Come on, let the girls celebrate.”, Renée said, nodding in the direction of the sidelines so your players could have the pitch to themselves.

You didn’t follow immediately. Instead, you pointed to a few reporters that stood on the side, waiting for their first interviews. “The media already calls for you.”

“On my way.”, Renée winked and disappeared into the direction of the cameras.

Just when you were wondering when exactly she became so comfortable giving interviews, Leah stepped into your field of vision.

“Leah? Shouldn’t you celebrate with your teammates?”, you asked jokingly.

She shrugged with a smile: “I was about to. It’s not everyday that you score a goal as a defender.”

“I know. That’s why you need to enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”, you laughed.

Leah pushed you gently towards the rest of the team: “Celebrate with us!”

There was no way you could decline now, so you agreed and followed along: “Alright.”

A few minutes of jumping and hugging several players later, Renée found you on the pitch again.

Her eyes glowed with amusement: “Did they manage to get you to celebrate with them?”

“I couldn’t say no to that.”, you admitted

“Of course not.”, Renée laughed.

“See?”

She winked at you: “Enjoy your first win.”

You toasted to her with a random water bottle that somehow had ended up in your hand: “To many more wins.”

“Yes, please.”, she laughed.

“Y/n! Come with us!”, Beth interrupted your conversation and waved you over.

“Where are we going?”, you asked.

“It’s a surprise.”, Mariona replied instead of Beth, smiling excitedly.

It was already night when you got home and when you saw Renée's number light up on your mobile phone, you held your breath for a moment, although you didn't know exactly why.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”, she apologized quietly as you answered her call.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips: “No, I was still awake, the Arsenal players can stay in pubs forever let me tell you that.

“Oh, I know, they did that to me too once.”, the Dutch woman remembered fondly.

“Kim and I left at the same time.” Teasingly you added:” So did you call me because you have come up with a masterplan against Chelsea or is it something else?”

“It’s something else. There’s something I need to talk about with you”, Renée admitted.

Your heart began to race: “Sure.”

“I kind of miss what we had back when.”, the head coach confessed.

The moment she said that you caught yourself reminiscing about memories of the past “Me too. We had some good parties with the team back then too.”

“Y/n.. I meant us. You and me.”, Renée clarified.

You felt the hope rise in you: “Do you think we could start again?”

“I don’t know, would you even like that? Or would you rather want to keep it professional.”, she began to nervously ramble.

You had heard yourself thinking out loud: “Pretty sure both can work this time.”

“Yes, but I want to know what you want.”

“I want to be with you. Renée, you’re an idiot, why are you standing outside in the cold?!”, you whispered into the phone, your eyes wandering off to the window where you noticed her in flesh and blood under the golden glow of the streetlamp light.

“In case that you say yes. What did you expect me to do? Go back to bed?”, Renée questioned with a warm laugh.  

Soon you got up to go to the front door: “Wait, I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks.”, she replied relived.

“You look like you’re freezing, come inside.”, you observed while you let her inside.

The brunette thanked you once more, kissing you, her icy lips melting on yours as the door closed behind the two of you.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Since you’re writing for Poppy Playtime again, may I request a sequel to the Janitor who is still at Playtime Co? The toys aren’t sure if they’re a ghost or just really good at hiding.

Oh I remember that one! Glad you do too ^^

Here's the first part for anyone curious

.........

Catnap

You were a survivor of the Hour of Joy...or so he thought.

A lone janitor? Working and listening to music throughout the slaughter?

It sounded impossible.

But after all the toys dragged the corpses down below to be eaten, you were still cleaning their blood off the steps 10 years later, somehow not feeling as terrified as any normal person would be.

Despite his best efforts, Catnap could never capture you.

Just when he's finally ready to pounce or thinks he has you cornered--you vanish before his very eyes, almost as if you were a ghost.

Yet you wear a gas mask through the clouds of red smoke, so...you must need it.

Therefore you must be a human who was really good at finding hiding spots he wasn't aware of.

But you can't hide forever.

Your luck will surely run out soon...right?

Dogday

The Playhouse had turned into a torture chamber for nonviolent toys and anyone who went against the Prototype's will according to Catnap.

That being said...why would you enter this place willingly? Why would you keep doing your job despite the horrors those two have orchestrated?

Surely one of them would've caught you by now...

But from within his cell, he catches glimpses of you cleaning the blood off the playstructures, or removing the corpse of a feral Mini Critter from his sight.

He tries calling out to you, but you never seem to hear him...

Maybe all the trauma and blood loss is making him hallucinate?

Or maybe it's the red smoke. Who knows?

He's not so sure anymore, and he doesn't count on you being able to help him.

Pianosaurus

Cleaning his enclosure was no small feat.

Sure, he wasn't a massive Bigger Body, but his hunger was about as great as theirs.

And he only sees you, the janitor, as a snack leaving themselves wide open.

His piano teeth have been malfunctioning, causing a tune to go off every once in a while.

That gives you an advantage, as it allows you to figure out where he is in proximity to you--even in total darkness.

After the Hour of Joy, Pianosaurus returns to his enclosure, finding you cleaning somebody's carcass so calmly.

Yet when he charges....you suddenly vanish, and he rams headfirst into a wall.

Since then, he hasn't been able to find you anywhere. But under Harley's orders, he stays put in that same place for years.

He can wait. He's a patient hunter.

Unfortunately for him, he'd never find you--yet you were there to witness his demise at the hands of Doey when another employee fell into his enclosure.

While you pitied him, it was best that his suffering ended.

Doey

He didn't partake in the killings (at least none that he could recall), but he's shocked to find you alive, cleaning blood off of a machine he was inspecting.

But how did a janitor get this far down into the facility without proper clearance?

"Hey, buddy! Are you......huh??? Where did you go????" In the blink of an eye, you're gone.

He hears footsteps, but doesn't find you when he tries following their sound.

Did you go down some secret path he wasn't aware of?

He keeps catching glimpses of you in No Man's land, as well as in the caverns around Safe Haven.

Despite his best efforts, he could never quite catch up to you, even with his doughy abilities and dozens of shortcuts.

But somehow, throughout the years, you've been finding Mini Critters and Huggies/Kissies to bring to him, and they all claim that you've spoken to them and cleaned their wounds.

Yet for some reason...you either couldn't or wouldn't visit Safe Haven yourself.

He understands why, but...he just wanted to thank you for helping innocent toys find safety here.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Hope you're okay :D

First your writeing it's so good and i love it, and this is mu first time asking you for a request :)

So idk if you aleady did this, i don't remember reading it but i wanted to know how do you think Damian would react when he finally meet his brothers partner?

When JASON borough you home, Damian wasn’t certain whether he was seeing the same perpetually annoying Jason, especially when he watched him look at you as though you were the only one in the room.

It was something completely new, for as long as Damian could remember Jason was a man who held great resentment and anger within himself, which often resulted in making him prone to rash decisions and act out on his self destructive tendencies. So seeing him smile with you, laugh with you, joke with you was a side to him that only Dick had told him stories about.

Damian wasn’t fond of trusting anyone outside of his own family, but he’d be stupid to not see that you were an extremely positive influence on Jason, and soon found himself hoping that his brother wouldn’t be the one to fuck this up via self sabotage. However he didn’t have to fear that being the case when he saw the way Jason seemed more at peace by your side then he ever did in his entire life, his shoulders were no longer hunched and the furrow in his brow was less prominent, his jaw was no longer clenched and is more relaxed.

It was as though Damian was looking at a completely different person and he couldn’t help but find himself being thankful to you for having such unwavering patience with Jason and secretly hopes that you continue to do so for the nearby future. Damian could clearly see that you helped Jason through the moments that he wouldn’t dare bring up to his own family and while that hurt, he’s glad that Jason wasn’t alone with his thoughts anymore and was able to carve out a future with you.

‘They’re good for you Todd.’ Damian said once you were out of earshot.

‘I’ve known that since the moment they didn’t shy away from my scars and brokenness.’ Jason told his little brother.

‘You’re not broken.’ Damian corrected as he saw the look upon Jason’s face as he looks at you play with Titus, ‘ you’re healing.’

When TIM brought you home Damian didn’t know that he even got a partner, he didn’t bother to think that Tim was capable of engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone, given how co-dependant he was with that stupid laptop of his.

Damian understood that Tim and himself didn’t have the best of relationship, it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly ideal for two people who were meant to be considered ‘siblings’, but Damian didn’t want him to be mistreated by anyone regardless.

So when he began to take notice how you took care of Tim without it being overbearing or controlling in the slightest, you made sure he ate properly and took adequate rest whilst letting him uphold his responsibilities. You trusted Tim to take care of himself when you knew you were out of your element and he trusted you to keep ahold of his heart no matter what, and Damian could see that in the way you would boast about Tim as though he was gods gift to humanity; Which to you he very much was with a side order of sarcastic wit.

You reminded Tim that he was more then what he could give to other people, a lesson that Damian truly believed Tim needed to learn and if he learnt that through your relationship then that was good enough for him.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of being in a relationship.’ Damian told Tim and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Thanks Damian, much appreciated.’ He said sarcastically.

‘You didn’t let me finished Drake,’ Damian told him before continuing, ‘however I’m…glad that you found someone who makes you sees your worth.’

Tim smiled softly. ‘Thanks Damian.’

When DICK brought you home, Damian was quick to follow you throughout your visit to the manor in hopes of getting a good gauge of your character, he valued Dick as his brother and wasn’t just about let him date anyone he decided to pick up from the side of the street one day on a whim.

Damian wasn’t exactly trusting towards you at first -despite the many stories Dick had told him about you- genuinely thinking that by next week Dick would’ve dumped you and bring home another one of his short lived romances, and seeing as how commitment wasn’t exactly a thing Dick was well known for. So he wasn’t expecting much to come out of your visit but when he saw just how happy Dick was with you, holding your hand, practically glued to your side and just acting like an human version of a puppy dog whenever he was with you it was almost sickening; well it was but you get the point.

Not once did Damian see Dick’s adoring eyes wander from you, he was completely entranced by anything and everything you said as though it was gospel. You both were the epitome of lovesick and Damian didn’t know whether he should be happy that it seems as though Dick found someone whom he could be genuine with and no be judged, or be grossed out by how much pda you do.

It was a tossup between the two but Damian found himself gaining some form of respect for you throughout the day and soon would in your corner for most of your playful disagreements.

‘Oh come on Damian, you’ve barely known my partner for a day and now all of a sudden your pally pally?’ Dick whines as Damian stood by your side.

‘So? It’s obvious they’re the one in charge of this relationship.’ Damian replied and you could’ve busted out laughing at Dick’s expression afterwards.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 12.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The minute you, Koji, and Satoru step out of the mall, a small group of five reporters are hounding you guys. It comes as a surprise—a very unpleasant and unexpected surprise. You’ve never been involved in things like this, you’re still not used to it. You never will be. Your steps falter, leaning back and placing a protective hand on Koji’s back to steer him further into your body. 

“Mr. Gojo! Is this your family?”

“Mr. Gojo, what do you have to say about the people who suspect you of keeping it all a secret?”

“Mr. Gojo, were you ashamed or embarrassed?”

“Y/N L/N, how does it feel to have Satoru Gojo as the father to your son?”

The questions are relentless, each one sharper than the last, and the flashing cameras blind you for a moment. Your heart races as you tighten your grip on Koji’s shoulder, your protective instincts flaring. Koji looks up at you with wide, frightened eyes, his small hands clutching at your coat. Satoru steps forward instinctively, his towering frame blocking you and Koji from the onslaught. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced with a rare seriousness, his jaw clenched and his voice low. “Back off,” he warns, holding up a hand to shield his face. “You’re scaring my son.” 

The reporters barely falter, emboldened by Satoru’s reaction. “Is that confirmation then? He is your son?” one of them presses, leaning closer with their camera.  

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his tone now icy. “I said, back off.” He moves with precision, steering you and Koji toward the parking lot. 

Koji clings to your side, his face buried in your coat as he mutters, “Mama, I don’t like this.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmur soothingly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “Just keep walking, okay?” 

“Y/N,” Satoru says firmly, his hand brushing your elbow before grabbing onto it with a firm gentleness. “Stay close to me.” 

You quickly pick your son up, holding him tightly to your chest and keeping his small face hidden in your neck. The crowd doesn’t let up, following you to the edge of the parking lot. They’re throwing more questions your way now, their voices rising as if to compete with each other. 

“Y/N, do you think Satoru will take responsibility as a father?”  

“Will there be a public statement?”  

“Koji, do you know your dad is famous?” It’s one thing to ask his son a question, but it’s entirely another thing when that same reporter hounds just a bit too close to you, causing your footsteps to stumble a bit backward in order to not get hit by the obvious camera. 

At that, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, eyes and face flitting with anger, but they don’t even express half of it. He spins on his heel, his height and presence instantly silencing the crowd. His gaze is sharp and unyielding. “You’re done,” he snaps, shoving the camera back, the reporter tripping over his own two feet and falling on his ass. “No more questions. No more photos. If I see any of you near my family again, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” 

The authority in his voice makes even the most persistent reporters step back, the one who just fell cradling his camera that now has a broken lens. He waits for a beat to ensure they’ve gotten the message before turning back to you and Koji. 

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice softer now as he reaches for you two. You don’t resist when he takes your hand, holding on firmly as if grounding you. His other is on the small of your back. The three of you walk in silence to the car, leaving the paparazzi behind. He guides you into the passenger seat before strapping Koji in his car seat in the back. Walking around the car to get into the driver’s side, closing the door with an exasperated huff. After a few still seconds, you finally exhale, slumping back in your seat. Satoru glances at you from the corner of his eye, then at the rearview mirror to make sure Koji is okay. Luckily his car’s windows are almost completely blacked out. His expression is unreadable. “You okay?” 

You nod slowly, fingers dancing along your thighs. “I’m fine. Just… not used to this.” 

Satoru’s lips press into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to be. I’ll handle it.”  

This outing was supposed to be a simple one—a wholesome one. Satoru insisted on taking Koji out, but Koji insisted you come with them. After debating, you decided what’s the worst that could happen? This, apparently. Satoru reaches behind him to place a couple of things he bought for Koji behind his seat. You told him that since it was so close to Christmas, you didn’t see the need to buy things for Koji. His response: “So? I want to spoil him every chance I get.” You understand, in a sense. But you still need to have a proper talk with Satoru about keeping his money and riches to a minimum when it comes to Koji. The last thing you want is for your son to get used to something that you wouldn’t be able to maintain yourself. 

“You okay, Koji?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He receives a feeble nod from his son, patting his little foot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this to happen.” Satoru’s tone is laced with guilt as he turns to face forward again. Koji’s wide eyes dart between you and Satoru. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I promise.”

Koji looks up at him hesitantly before mumbling, “I don’t like the flashing lights, Papa. They’re scary.”

Your heart clenches at his words, peering back and holding out your hand. He takes it and you rub his little knuckles with your thumb. “I know, sweetie. It’s over now. You’re safe with us.”

Satoru exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll do better,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere quieter. Somewhere they can’t find us.” You glance at him, catching the rare vulnerability in his expression. Despite your frustrations with the situation—and with him—you can tell he means it. His guilt is genuine, and that softens your own edges just a little. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops himself, his jaw tightening. He shifts in his seat, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. He turns the key and starts the engine, beginning to drive off.

The rest of the car ride is subdued, the weight of the earlier encounter and the unspoken tension settling over the three of you. Koji eventually drifts off, his small frame relaxing against you, and you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. You know you have a lot of conversations to do with Satoru that aren’t over—some haven’t even started. There’s so much left unsaid, so much you need to sort out—for Koji’s sake and for your own. But for now, you focus on the steady rhythm of Koji’s humming to the song playing and the faint hum of the car engine, holding onto the fragile sense of calm that has settled, however temporary it may be.

This is the first time Gojo’s getting a good look at your interior decorations. Koji’s watching TV and you’re watching Satoru trying his best not to judge. Outwardly, at least. The decorations you’ve put up are a little uncoordinated, he can tell some are quite old. There are a few things with stains from presumably the previous year, like your tablecloth. The only item he thinks is new is the pinecone-y candle lit in the middle of the kitchen counter. At least something in here is pretty, he looks at you. Never mind, you’re already here. 

“Well…” Satoru starts, and you cut him off as soon as he does.

“I know, you don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Then what was I going to say?”

“You were going to judge and put in your unwanted two cents.”

He scoffs with rolled eyes and a frown, arms crossing as he watches you go over to the sink to wash what was left in there from this morning. “Unwanted?” Satoru repeats, his tone is dramatic as he leans against the counter. “I think my two cents are worth at least a dollar, thank you very much.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Then keep your dollar to yourself. We’re not taking handouts.”

His lips quirk into a thinner line, and he straightens up, walking over to stand beside you. “Handouts? Who said anything about that? I was just going to say…” He pauses, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “This place has character.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you rinse a plate. “Is that your polite way of saying it’s outdated?”

“No,” he shrugs, though he gives himself away with a sigh. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not terrible. I kind of like it. It feels... real.”

You glance at him again, this time surprised by the sincerity in his voice. His eyes are scanning the room, and for once, they’re not filled with the usual analytical glint. Instead, there’s something softer, something almost nostalgic. “It’s not much,” you admit, drying your hands on a towel. “But it’s home. It’s all I can manage right now.”

Satoru turns to you, his expression shifting as he studies your face. “You’re doing a good job,” he says quietly. “Better than good, actually. Koji’s happy. That’s what matters.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’re so used to his playful jabs and over-the-top confidence that this genuine side of him feels… different. Why is he being so nice today? Does he feel bad about what happened earlier and he’s trying to kiss your ass? Yeah, must be that.  “Thanks,” you mutter quietly, meeting his gaze.

He casually lifts his shoulders up and down, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

The moment lingers, the two of you standing in the small kitchen with the faint sound of cartoons playing in the background. It’s the closest you’ve felt to being on the same page in a long time. And though you don’t say it out loud, you’re grateful for it. That feeling only lasts a second before you remember just how different things are. Clearing your throat, you peek over to make sure Koji is engrossed in his show before speaking to Satoru. “Look, we have to talk.”

He nods, silently gesturing for you to continue. 

“I understand you want to give Koji everything you can because you have that luxury, but I don’t want him to grow up like that, okay? He can have gifts, but you’ve been buying him at least ten new things every time you see him, Satoru. He’s starting to ask me now for toys and books and I don’t have that money right now to spend leisurely. So please, just…keep the gift-giving to a minimum. Christmas is already coming up.”

Satoru listens, his arms crossed and head tilted slightly, a contemplative look replacing his usual playful expression. When you finish, he exhales softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it,” he says after a moment. “I do. I don’t mean to overdo it; I just...I don’t know, I feel like I missed out on so much already. Giving him things feels like a way to make up for that.”

You soften at his admission, but you hold firm. “I understand that, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t give him anything. It’s just… he needs to learn that he can’t always have everything he wants. He has to understand boundaries, Satoru. Life isn’t always going to hand him the world on a silver platter.”

Satoru ponders for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I also want you to understand that he’s a kid, my kid. If I want to buy him things, I’m going to do that. I don’t need to run that by you and ask for your permission, Y/N. You’ve already made enough decisions for me.”

The little remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you. How could it? He’s right, you know that. But does he really need to bring that up right now when you’re trying to handle things like a mature adult and parent? You’re trying to make things better right now, not take his snide comments to face. Your jaw tightens, but you take a calming breath, trying to keep your composure. “I’m not trying to control what you do for him, Satoru. I’m just asking you to think about how it impacts him—and me. I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout when he doesn’t understand why I can’t give him the same things you can.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the tension between you two growing heavier. “And whose fault is that?” he asks, his voice lower now. “You’re the one who kept him from me. I would’ve been there, Y/N. I could’ve helped you.”

There it is—the resentment bubbling to the surface again.

You set the dish towel down a little too firmly on the counter, turning fully to face him. “I know, okay? I know I screwed up by keeping him from you, but I can’t go back and change that. I’m doing the best I can now, and I need you to meet me halfway here, Satoru.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, he sighs and looks away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ll try,” he mutters, though his tone is tinged with bitter reluctance. “I’ll try to dial it back. But I’m not making any promises.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the best you’ll get from him right now. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the tension still thick but beginning to ease. The faint sound of Koji giggling at the TV filters into the kitchen, a reminder of what really matters. “I just want what’s best for him,” you say quietly, your voice softer now.

Satoru looks at you again, his expression hard to read. “So do I,” he replies, his tone matching yours.

And for a brief moment, it feels like you’re on the same side again. It reminds you that the only thing you two have in common is your son’s happiness and well-being and that Koji is the only reason you have this strained and awkward connection. Co-parenting. You don’t know how some couples did or are currently doing it. Even little conversations like ‘How’s your day?’ feel so forced with him, but you know it’s what comes with the job. What comes with hiding your kid and being tossed into the realm of co-parenting. You don’t have to like him, he doesn’t have to like you. You two are only in this for Koji—and that’s it.

So, why do you feel a small stab to your stomach when an annoyingly familiar name pops up on his screen with an incoming phone call? The picture of them kissing feels like it’s laughing right in your face, fingers curling into your palms as you coerce yourself to look away and pretend you’re busy with something else. Satoru keeps his voice hushed, like he’s trying to ensure you or Koji don’t listen. Only for a moment, you think: he’s acting like he has something to hide. And he shouldn’t. You two haven’t been together in years. But the fact that it seems like he’s trying to lessen whatever blow his relationship has on you, like he thinks—knows you’re not that happy with it, that makes you annoyed. Does he assume he still has the same effect on you? Does he think you still hold some secret feelings towards him?

Is he still as arrogant and conceited as he was before?

Maybe he believes that you’re still hung up on him. Yeah, must be. Because why else would he be apologizing to you after he hung up the phone with her, giving you that sympathetic gleam in his eyes that you recognize all too well. The same look he would give you after he knew he did something you didn’t like or didn’t approve of, and you would reprimand him for it. “I’m sorry, but I have to go soon.”

You nod, biting your tongue to hold back a snarky remark like why are you apologizing? I don’t care. “Just say bye to Koji.”

He nods, putting his phone in his pocket. Lips lying like he’s debating how to bring something up. “Before I go, I was thinking something. Since Christmas is coming up, I…I want to spend it with him, with you guys. If it’s okay, I’d like to come over then. We can cook and open presents together, I’ll bring what I bought for Koji that day.” His tone is cautious, almost like he’s unsure if the idea is good himself, but he pushed through somehow. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. Spend Christmas together? Like some picture-perfect family? It almost feels laughable, considering the complicated mess the two of you have found yourselves in. But when you glance at Koji in the other room, blissfully unaware of the tangled web of adult emotions, your resolve softens. “Christmas?” you repeat, just to confirm you heard him right.

Satoru shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly…simple between us. But I thought it’d be nice for Koji. You know, give him something to look forward to. A memory he can hold on to.”

There it is again—that maddening mix of arrogance and sincerity that only Satoru Gojo can pull off. You hate that he’s making sense. You hate even more that a part of you wants to say yes. Not for his sake, of course, but for Koji’s. “I don’t know,” you start warily, crossing your arms. “I don’t want him to get confused, Satoru. He’s young, but he’s not stupid. If we start doing things like this, he might think…” You trail off, not wanting to put it into words.

Satoru’s expression softens, and for a moment, you see the man you once loved—the one who could convince you of anything with just a look. “He won’t think anything, Y/N. He’ll just be happy. That’s all I want for him.” He hesitates before adding, “That’s all I want for us.”

You swallow hard, caught between the weight of the past and the fragile threads of the present. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quieter now.

His lips twitch into a small smile, relieved. “That’s all I ask.” He doesn’t press further, doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he steps into the living room, kneeling to Koji’s level to say his goodbyes. You watch from the kitchen, arms still crossed, heart still conflicted. The sound of Koji’s chuckles and his own goodbye fills the space as Satoru ruffles his hair, promising to come back soon. When he straightens up and heads for the door, he glances back at you one last time, his gaze lingering in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Think about it,” he repeats softly before stepping out into the cold. 

And just like that, the house feels a little emptier, a little quieter. You sigh, leaning against the counter as Koji returns to his cartoons, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

Christmas. Together. You’re not sure if it’s a recipe for disaster or something else entirely. But, it’s for Koji. It would be his first Christmas with his father whom he looks up to like he’s some kind of superhero. A super rich superhero. It would be wrong of you to deny him of that—them both of that. And like Satoru said, you’ve already made enough decisions for him. 

With a deep breath, you walk on over and sit next to your son on the floor, arm around his shoulders. “Koji?”

“Yes, Mama?” Koji hums back, eyes still fixated on the bright screen.

“I have a question for you.”

At this, he turns his head and looks at you, tilting it in a childish curiosity. “What?” 

You bring him closer to your side. “Christmas is coming up, are you excited?” He nods enthusiastically. You smile and continue. “So, would you like Papa to come over on Christmas? He’ll play games with you and—”

“Yes!” he shouts, scooting closer to your face as he expresses his excitement with vigor. “I want Papa to come! I want Papa to come!”

You laugh softly, though the knot in your chest tightens. Koji’s innocent enthusiasm is infectious, and his wide grin makes it hard to feel anything but love for your son. “Okay, okay,” you say, ruffling his hair gently. “I’ll let Papa know you want him here.”

Koji bounces up and down, clapping his hands together. “Yay! Can we make cookies? And put out milk for Santa? And open presents together?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pulling him into a warm hug, and kissing the top of his white nest of hair. “We’ll do all of that.” As you hold him, your heart aches a little. Koji doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation, nor should he. To him, Christmas is just about family and joy and all the things that make the world seem big and bright. But to you, it’s a delicate balancing act—a chance to give Koji the kind of Christmas he deserves while keeping your own emotions in check. The last thing you want to do is start an argument on that special day and ruin it for your son. Just pretend, that’s all. For Koji. For Koji.

Later that evening, after Koji is fast asleep and tucked in bed, you pick up your phone and hesitate for a moment before sending Satoru a quick message:

Y/N:

He wants you here. Don’t make me regret this.

You put the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering what the holidays will bring. For Koji’s sake, you hope it’s nothing but joy. For your own sake, you’re not so sure. A few more days. The buildup, anxiety, anticipation, it’s all killing you slowly. On one hand, you don’t want to see Satoru and pretend you’re all a happy family. But on the other, you know Koji wants him and the same goes for Satoru. You’ve taken away enough opportunities. You’ve wedged a big enough gap between this already small family and if you make it larger, you fear you’ll screw things up for good. It’s the holiday season, it’s not time to sit around and mope about your shitty life. It’s not the time to compare yourself to others and it’s most certainly not the time to brew in jealousy about the fact that Satoru was spending his past Christmases with another woman.  

Shut that off, immediately. 

What it is time for is to be happy you’ve lived to see another year, and happy your son has had a great year. And finally, it’s time to start thinking more about other people’s feelings. Including Satoru’s. 

But, you’ve been doing that this entire time. Haven’t you?

Koji’s last day of school was Friday, now starting his break. “Thank you, Sana. I know the longer hours are a little annoying, but I’ll raise the pay by a dollar.”

“No need, Ms. Y/N,” the younger woman waves you off with a smile, in the middle of coloring with Koji. Her blue-dyed hair pulled up into a lazy bun. “I love Koji, I’ll watch him anytime you need me.”

Your smile turns sympathetic, letting out a small sigh and rubbing her shoulder. “You’re so sweet, thank you so much. You’re a big help around here.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She hugs you back and locks the door after you leave. The morning air feels nice to breathe in, not as cold as it was yesterday. You remind yourself to get a little gift for her. Maybe a gift basket? Or a gift card? Or more money, she’s a college student. 

Walking to work that morning is the same as always. Waiting for the same crosswalk to turn green, passing by the usual bakery and donut shop, seeing that same old man doing his own morning walk. It all feels mundane—normal. Something that feels very much needed, more often than it would have last month. You’re still not entirely used to how much things have been integrated into your life, for the better or worse. Either way, it’s your life now. Time to embrace that in some way. 

Walking into the cafe, you see a few of your co-workers readying and tidying up the place. Giving them a brief ‘good morning’ and nod, you head to the back to place your purse and coat down. It’s a quiet morning today, which is a little odd because usually, you would hear Hana’s fingers typing away on the keyboard to the computer. Or she would greet you hello. Turning your head, you see her; sitting at one of the chairs and completely engrossed in whoever she’s texting on her phone. She has a small, giddy smile on her face, letting out a quiet huff of laughter at what the other person said. “Hey?”

She snaps her head up, locking her phone and standing up. “Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You raise a brow and chuckle, walking over and nodding your head in the direction of the phone in her hand. “Who’s that?”

“Oh…” her cheeks grow slightly pink, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy manner. “Um…no one. Just a guy.”

“A cute guy?” You wiggle your eyebrows, and she responds by elbowing you. 

“Not like that, Y/N. I barely know him.”

“For now.”

“He’s just a regular.” Hana plays it off, but the growing smile on her face juxtaposes her feigned nonchalance. 

You grin, leaning against the counter as you cross your arms. “A regular,” you repeat, emphasizing the words with air quotes. “But give it a week, and I bet I’ll be hearing wedding bells.”  

Hana rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto her face. “It’s nothing like that. We’ve only been talking for a few days.”  

“And yet here you are, all smiley and distracted at work,” you point out with a playful laugh. “Come on, spill. What’s his name? What does he do?”  

Hana hesitates for a moment before sighing, as though resigning herself to your curiosity. “His name is Naoya. Naoya Zenin,” she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “I think he has something to do with business? Or real estate? He hasn’t said much about his job yet.”  

“Naoya Zenin,” you repeat, testing the name on your tongue. “Have I ever seen him?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s only just recently started coming in because of something like ‘he saw a pretty girl at the cashier and couldn’t resist’.”

You huff. “Sounds like a smoother talker already.”

“Y/N!” Hana protests, swatting at your arm. “He’s not like that! He’s… actually really nice. Sweet, even.”  

You laugh, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m going to need updates. Daily updates. I live vicariously through you when it comes to your love life, you know that.”  

She groans, but there’s a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep it between us.”  

“Scout’s honor,” you say with a smile, though you’re already mentally filing this away to tease her about later. “This top secret of yours about your little boy toy will stay between you and I only, no outsiders.”  

Hana nods, but the little smile on her face remains as she pockets her phone and joins you at the counter. Something tells you this Naoya guy might be worth hearing about after all. You think for a moment that it’s a little strange you haven’t ever seen or served him, but he obviously must’ve been in after you leave; sometime in the afternoon. 

You’re curious, rightfully so. Hana hasn’t talked about a guy since the last man, which was about a year ago. You’re glad to see her out on the market again, opening herself up. She and this Naoya guy have only been talking for a few days, but she obviously has taken a quick interest in him. You could only hope he’s feeling the same, and not messing with her feelings. It’s the protective friend in you speaking. 

Time flies before you know it, ringing up customers and making their beloved—but occasionally off coffee drinks. The small tune of the music playing on the speakers quells your mind, giving you something to hum to every now and then. The steady hum of the espresso machine, the clinking of mugs, and the soft murmur of conversations blend into the background, creating a comforting cadence. Customer after customer comes through, each order oddly more specific than the last. The overly tedious ones make you concerned sometimes. There are a few ordinary ones, of course. 

“An oat milk latte, but can you add three pumps of hazelnut, and one pump of caramel, and make it extra hot? Oh, and no foam, please.”  

You resist the urge to sigh, offering a polite smile instead. “Of course, coming right up.”  

Hana, stationed beside you, exchanges an amused glance. “How do they come up with these combinations?” she whispers as she froths milk for a cappuccino.  

“Beats me,” you reply, carefully measuring out the hazelnut syrup. “But hey, keeps us employed, right?”  

The lively beat playing over the speakers catches your attention, and you continue to hum along absentmindedly as you finish up the drink. Moments like these make the chaos of the morning rush feel a little more manageable—a small comfort amidst the constant motion.  

By the time noon rolls around, the rush has died down, leaving the café bathed in a peaceful lull. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries from the display case. You glance at Hana, who’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone during the quiet moment.  

“You doing okay over there?” you ask, wiping down the counter.  

She looks up, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah, just checking my messages.”  

“From Naoya?” you tease, and her blush tells you all you need to know.  

As she laughs and shakes her head, the door chime rings, signaling a new customer. You straighten up, slipping back into your friendly barista persona as you greet the newcomer.  

“Welcome! What can I get started for you today?”

It’s a woman, nicely dressed and a bit older. There are some graying hairs at the front, but she holds her aged wrinkles well. Smiling at you with red-stained lips, lifting her sunglasses up to rest them on her head. “Hello, how are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good,” she hums, eyes wandering up to the menu. “This is my first time here, may I ask what you recommend?”

You nod. “Our cookie butter latte is highly recommended, along with our raspberry matcha and horchata latte.”

The woman’s red lips curl into a thoughtful smile as she considers your suggestions. “Cookie butter latte? That does sound intriguing,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. “Is it too sweet?”

“It’s a bit on the sweeter side, but we can adjust it if you prefer something less sugary,” you offer.

“Hmm… I think I’ll try it as is,” she decides, returning her gaze to you. “A small one, please. Oh, and can you make it extra hot?”

“Of course.” You punch in her order and give her the total.

As she hands over a crisp bill, she glances around the café, taking in the cozy décor and warm atmosphere. “This place is lovely,” she remarks. “Do you enjoy working here?”

You smile, sliding her change across the counter. “I do. It’s a nice little escape from everything else. And the regulars make it fun.”

“I can imagine,” she says, her voice carrying a certain kindness. “It seems like the perfect place for a little pick-me-up.”

You chuckle softly, grabbing a cup to start up her order. “Of course.”

She watches you make her drink, which is normal for you since many other customers do that too. Either to ensure you’re doing everything right, or that you’re not messing up their order. Or simply they just want to know how to make that drink at home. This woman continues the conversation with you, however. “I love your necklace, it’s very beautiful.”

You glance down at the gold moon, peering back up at her with a thankful nod. “Oh, thank you. I got it as a gift from a co-worker last year.”

“It’s lovely.” She responds, keeping her holy smile on her face. You return the favor before finishing up her drink. Securing the lid on top and sliding a cover on the middle before turning back to her, and handing the drink over. 

“Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

The woman takes the cup, but instead of leaving, she lingers, her eyes scanning the café again before settling on you. “You’re very efficient,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “And polite. Not everyone has that kind of composure while juggling multiple tasks.”  

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, slightly caught off guard. Compliments like that aren’t exactly rare, but there’s something in her tone that feels... deliberate. 

She sets the cup down on the counter, her red lips curving into a subtle smile. “Forgive me if this seems forward, but are you happy working here?”  

The question startles you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. It feels a little invading, but you’re not the type to be outwardly rude to a customer. Unless provoked; but even then, you hold your composure well. “I... I like it. The people are nice, and it’s steady work.”  

“I see,” she says, nodding slowly. “You seem like someone who could do more, though. Someone with potential.”  

You blink, not sure whether to take her words as a compliment or a critique. “Well, I try my best,” you say, keeping your tone neutral., lips pursing awkwardly. 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the counter toward you. “If you’re ever looking for a change, my company is always in need of someone capable. We’re hiring for a personal secretary position right now.”  

Your eyes flicker down to the card, where her name and title are printed in elegant gold lettering. Beneath that, the name of a foreign, but well-known corporation—one you’d only ever dreamt of working for.  

Evelyn Carlisle. 

Founder & CEO of:

Carlisle & Harlow. 

Carlisle & Harlow is a luxury lifestyle and real estate industry that specializes in high-end properties, exclusive concierge services, and premium lifestyle management for elite clientele. It has a reputation for catering to the wealthy, ensuring that every detail of its clients’ lives is managed to perfection.

You hesitate, staring at the card. Eyes wide, lips parting and closing in surprise and confusion. It feels like a golden ticket has just been thrust in your face. And for what reason? You have absolutely no idea. “I—I don’t know…”  

“It’s just a thought,” she says smoothly, picking up her latte again. “You’re under no obligation, but I think you’d do wonderfully. If you’re interested, give me a call.”  

Before you can respond, she offers you another one of those warm, knowing smiles and turns toward the door. The second her back is to you, she’s on her phone, texting something. “Have a good day, dear.”  

You stand there for a moment, holding the card in your hand, unsure of what to think. The logo on the card gleams in the café’s warm light, and your mind races with possibilities—and doubts. Could this really be an opportunity, or is it too good to be true? How did this just happen so…suddenly? If her business wasn’t so well known, you would’ve assumed you were being scammed and thrown the card away as soon as she left. But, it feels like an opportunity, nonetheless. 

A bright opportunity that screams money. 

A part of you is still very much hesitant about what just happened, but the desperate part of you is telling your brain to make that phone call as soon as you have the chance. Just think about it, if all of this is authentic, you would have a good-paying job. No more rushing back and forth between two, no more sleep deprivation (hopefully), and you would be a bit more stable. Maybe if you save up enough, you could buy a new place. 

Okay, thinking too far ahead. 

You pocket the card, smiling to yourself. For once, it feels like a small beam of light is being cast your way. Like you’re being chosen. It turns your stomach in delight and excitement. 

But, you can’t stop the lingering, pressing question. 

Why did that feel a little…organized?

“And this here, we have our newest version of RavenX.” 

Yamato nods in astonishment, watching the mechanical crow tilt its head, the red circle in its eye prominent as the crow blinks. Its purple wings demonstrate a high altitude while the screen in front of him and his son shows the view of what the crow is seeing. Satoru stands cross-armed next to his father, silently praising the meticulously engineered drone. 

Mei Mei steps forward, her tone confident and composed as she gestures toward the screen showcasing the RavenX drone's perspective. “The RavenX is designed for both surveillance and tactical operations. Enhanced AI ensures decision-making capabilities in real-time, and the thermal imaging allows it to identify targets even in low-visibility conditions.”  

She turns to Yamato with a faint smirk. “It can operate autonomously for up to 48 hours without recharge and has a flight speed that outpaces any similar product on the market. Its compact size makes it nearly undetectable by radar.”  

Yamato’s lips curl into a subtle smile as he leans closer to examine the live feed on the screen. “Impressive,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. “And you’ve managed to keep the design sleek. Functionality without sacrificing form.”  

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his usual business-y tone replaced with one of genuine curiosity. “What about security? How resistant is it to hacking or signal jamming?”  

Mei Mei casts him a sidelong glance, clearly prepared for the question. “The RavenX operates on an encrypted frequency that’s nearly impossible to intercept. Even if someone managed to breach it, the drone has an auto-lockout protocol. It will wipe its data and return to base immediately.”  

Yamato raises a brow, clearly impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei keeps her poised smile, her confidence unmistakable. “Why thank you, Mr. Gojo. The RavenX isn’t just a surveillance drone—but it’s a masterpiece of precision engineering. With a flight range of over 500 miles and an adaptive AI capable of learning terrain in real-time, it ensures maximum efficiency in hostile or unpredictable environments.”  

Yamato leans forward slightly, adjusting his glasses, his expression one of genuine intrigue. “Interesting. And the resolution on this feed?”  

“4K with thermal imaging,” Mei Mei replies, tapping the screen to zoom in on a distant object. The clarity is undeniable. “It’s designed to thrive in low-visibility conditions. Perfect for search and rescue, military applications, or even high-security industrial work. The AI is coded for rapid response to potential threats—watch this.”  

She waves to one of her team members, who approaches the drone with a metal rod. As soon as the drone’s sensors pick up the movement, it lets out a synthetic caw and gracefully maneuvers upward, evading the perceived threat.  

Satoru raises his brows, shifting his weight. “Not bad,” he murmurs, clearly impressed but keeping his tone casual.  

Mei Mei tilts her head, catching his eye. “Not bad? That’s high praise coming from the Satoru Gojo. I’ll take it.” Mei Mei clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We’ve also designed it to respond to its owner’s call. Like this.” She whistles and quickly, the crow swoops down, landing on her outstretched arm as if it were an actual animal. Mei Mei’s grin deepens as the RavenX perches gracefully on her arm, its wings retracting with a faint mechanical hum. She lightly taps the drone’s head, and its eyes blink, the red circle fading into a neutral glow. "Fully programmable for voice commands," she explains, "and adaptable to any user profile. It recognizes not just my call but also pre-set vocal patterns. This makes it irreplaceable for high-security operations or personal defense."

Yamato watches the display with a mixture of intrigue and admiration. “Quite remarkable of you and your team,” he states, walking forward to eye the drone better. “How does it differentiate between allies and potential threats? Is the AI pre-programmed, or does it learn through interaction?”  

Mei Mei nods, her expression one of quiet pride. “The AI starts with a baseline program, but it continuously evolves through machine learning. It identifies allies by biometrics, such as voice and facial recognition. And in cases where immediate action is required, it calculates probabilities based on behavior patterns. For instance—"  

She steps closer to Satoru, her smile taking on a sly edge. “Care to test it, Mr. Gojo?”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “You want me to scare your fancy bird?”  

Mei Mei chuckles. “If you think you can.”  

Satoru steps forward, his presence commanding as always, and makes a sudden, exaggerated swipe toward the drone. In an instant, the RavenX lets out a sharp synthetic caw and takes flight, circling above them with its crimson eye scanning. Mei Mei whistles again, and the drone lands back on her arm, unbothered and perfectly still.  

“Responsive and calm under pressure,” she states, stroking the metallic head. “Exactly what you’d want in the field. Or at home, for that matter.”  

Yamato smiles faintly, exchanging a glance with Satoru. “What do you think, Satoru?”  

Satoru tilts his head, his head tilting in thought. “I think it has personality. Not bad, Mei Mei. Not bad at all.”  

“High praise,” Mei Mei quips, lowering the drone to its docking station. “But don’t just take my word for it. Schedule the live demonstration, and I’ll prove that the RavenX is not just another toy—it’s the future.”  

“Seems like it’ll bring in great revenue for Corvid Dynamics,” Satoru hums, the faintest flicker of amusement in his tone. He’s testing her, poking at the edges of her confidence.  

Mei Mei’s lips curve into a slow, calculating smile, her gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. “Oh, Mr. Gojo,” she drawls, her voice smooth but laced with something darker. “If there’s one thing you should’ve learned by now, it’s that I always get my payday. No matter the cost.”  

Her words hang heavy in the air, a subtle challenge, as if daring him to uncover just how far she’d go.

Satoru’s brows knit slightly, facing her cockiness with his own growing peculiarity and slight indignation. Yamato’s eyes gleam with interest, and he nods. “We’ll be in touch.”  

As Mei Mei leaves the room, Yamato leans back, hands in his pockets, his gaze lingering on the drone. “I like her,” he says with a casual chuckle. “But I like the bird more.” 

“You do realize she’s been attempting to sell us the same product for years now, right?” Satoru replies, giving his father a look. “Not much has changed except for her persistence and lack of connections with other investors. She’s desperate.” 

Yamato's eyes remain fixed on the docking station where the multiple of the RavenX rest, their red eyes dimmed. He hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Desperation doesn’t always mean a bad deal, Satoru. Sometimes it means someone is willing to give more than they take.”  

Satoru scoffs lightly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Or it means we’re being pitched a polished-up version of the same old tech because she can’t get anyone else to bite.” His tone is sharp, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his gaze as he glances back at the drone.  

“You underestimate her,” Yamato replies evenly, turning to face his son. “Mei Mei might not have the connections now, but her ingenuity is undeniable. Persistence like hers doesn’t come without talent.”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his frown faint. “So what’s the play? You want to throw her a bone? Out of pity?”  

Yamato chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I want to see how far she’s willing to go to prove herself. Desperation has a way of bringing out either brilliance or recklessness. Either one can be valuable… if handled correctly.”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture relaxing but his mind clearly working. “You think she’s banking everything on this deal?”  

“Possibly,” Yamato replies. “And if that’s the case, it’s an opportunity for us to gain leverage. Let her prove the RavenX’s worth. If she succeeds, we gain a strong partner. If she doesn’t, we gain insight into her limitations.”  

Satoru scoffs. “So we’re dangling the carrot. Making her sweat a little?”  

Yamato’s expression hardens slightly, his tone measured. “We don’t play games, Satoru. We make calculated investments. Mei Mei is smart, but she needs to prove she can be consistent. We don’t just invest in technology—we invest in people.”  

“She’s a money-hungry woman who has proven to throw her own family under the bus.” Satoru huffs, face scrunching in disgust. “Why would we want to do business with that?”

Yamato gives his son a long, measured look, his expression sharpening slightly. “And what makes you think she’s any different from any other businessperson out there? Everyone has a past, Satoru. You can’t throw someone out because of a few bad decisions or some family drama. You need to look at the bigger picture. Her motivations, her drive. If she’s willing to risk it all for this, we need to understand why—and if it’s worth it for us.”

Satoru’s eyes flash with irritation, but he keeps his tone steady. “And what if it’s not? What if she’s just too volatile? We don’t need someone who’s going to blow up in our faces when things get rough. Besides, we need to be careful of who we trust and partner with. Anyone of these people could be the leaker. What if she’s the reason my family has been put in danger?”

“It’s not your family if you’re not married.” Yamato simply utters, turning to walk out the building. 

Satoru tenses his jaw, following his father out into the cold December air; each wearing long black coats. “Don’t. We’re talking about my son and his mother, it doesn’t matter if we’re not married. They’re still valuable to me.”

Yamato stops in his tracks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and his gaze lingers on Satoru, weighing his words carefully. “I know they’re valuable to you. But you have to separate your emotions from business, Satoru. This isn’t about family drama. This is about leverage, trust, and the bigger game. You can’t afford to let personal stakes cloud your judgment when there’s so much on the line.

Satoru’s hands ball into fists, his frustration evident. “And what about loyalty? What about looking out for the people who matter to us? You can’t pretend it’s all just numbers and strategy when lives are at risk.”

Yamato turns his body fully, looking at his son with an intensity that’s both fatherly and businesslike. “You’ve got to protect what’s yours, yes. But you have to know when to fight and when to step back. Mei Mei is a risk, but so is anyone else. We make calculated moves, not emotional ones.”

Satoru exhales sharply, his breath mixing with the cold air. “Calculated moves...You keep saying that like it makes everything easier. But what if she’s too dangerous? What if this deal blows up in our faces?”

He sighs. “Listen, okay? You’re right,” Yamato says, his voice quiet but firm. “Koji and that woman are valuable. But there’s a difference between protecting them and letting fear cloud your judgment. If we start making decisions based on fear of the unknown, we risk losing everything.” His gaze hardens slightly, the unspoken weight of responsibility hanging in the air. “We need to think strategically. If Mei Mei’s involved in this leak, we’ll find out. But we can’t let that stop us from moving forward.”

Satoru clenches his fists, frustration building as the cold air bites at his skin. “Her name is Y/N. And I don’t want to be blindsided, Dad. I don’t want to end up paying for a mistake I didn’t see coming.”

“I know,” Yamato replies. “And that’s why we don’t rush into anything. We take the time to assess, to understand what’s really at stake here. If she’s the leaker, then we’ll handle it. If she’s not… then we make sure she’s a valuable asset to this company, and we don’t let her get too comfortable. At the end of the day, our real issue is with the mastermind behind all this, who wanted it out for us—you—in the first place.” Yamato’s face hardens, his voice low but firm. “And this is a chance you take in this world. It’s not all clean and easy, Satoru. But in the end, it’s about understanding the person you’re dealing with. You don’t just protect your assets—you protect the people who can help you build something greater.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tight as he processes his father’s words. The snow starts to fall lightly around them, a silent reminder of the cold world they’re navigating. 

“I’m not letting anyone—especially someone like Mei Mei—jeopardize Koji,” Satoru finally says, his voice more resolute now, though there’s a layer of uncertainty still lingering. “I can play the game, but I’m not playing with fire just because someone’s trying to get their foot in the door.”

Yamato watches him for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before nodding slowly. “I know. But sometimes, Satoru, you’ve got to light the fire to control it. You don’t have to trust Mei Mei right away—but you’ll need to see her for who she truly is before you make your final move.”

The two of them continue walking in silence, the sound of their footsteps crunching in the snow a steady rhythm. In the distance, the city skyline looms, full of promises, dangers, and opportunities that will inevitably pull them further into the storm. The black Escalade waiting for them in the distance. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I won’t sacrifice my own for the sake of business. Unlike you.”

Satoru speaks with finality, walking ahead of his father and getting into the backseat as the driver opens the door for them. Yamato, watching his son’s back, feels a twinge of guilt at the truth behind his son’s honesty. But he hides that behind his usual serious expression, shaking away his guiltiness with frustration. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The two men don’t even make it three steps back into the first floor of the office before Himari is bounding up to her boyfriend. Arms instantly wrapping around his neck and she shamelessly latches her lips onto his. Yamato, along with a few other working employees look away, his father not bothering to hide his displeased sound. Satoru, caught off guard, pulls away, hands to her shoulders. “Himari, what are you doing?”

“Oh, what? Now you don’t want me to kiss you in front of people?” The bitterness in her voice doesn’t go undetected, sparing Yamato a glance before batting her lashes up at Satoru. “I was waiting for you, I didn’t know you went out.”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“And because you’re still keeping secrets from me.”

He really doesn’t want to argue with her right now, especially here. Instead, he sighs, grabbing hold of her hand and leading her to the elevator. “Please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m working.”

Himari’s expression hardens as the elevator doors close, turning to Satoru. “Oh, ‘a scene’? Is that what you think it is? You’re my boyfriend—mine. If I want to kiss you, I’ll do that.”

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, exhaling in frustration as the elevator ascends. The tension between them is palpable, and he knows that Himari’s possessiveness is starting to bleed into every aspect of their relationship. He’s never been one for confrontation with her, but he can feel the cracks starting to form, the weight of the secrets, and the pressure of expectations pulling at him. “Look, Himari,” he starts, his voice low but firm. “You’re right, you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t mind being affectionate with you. But not like that—especially not in front of my team and father. I don’t need the office to think we’re some kind of soap opera.”

Himari crosses her arms over her chest, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’m not the one making this difficult, Satoru. You’re the one hiding things from me, playing these little games. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m by your side, but you’re always pushing me away. And for what, her?” She dramatically scoffs at the idea of you. 

Satoru focuses on the rising numbers of the floors, willing himself to handle this calmly. “We’re not talking about her right now, Himari.”

“But you’re thinking of her.”

They get to the right floor and Satoru quickly steps out, making his way to his office. Himari is right on his tail, clinging to his arm. 

Satoru pulls the door open to his office, his movements stiff as he enters, trying to shake off the tension from the elevator. Himari follows closely behind, the weight of her presence already grating on his nerves. The office is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the large windows. 

He sets his briefcase down on the desk, his mind still swirling with the earlier conversation with his father. Mei Mei’s drones, the possible business partnership—everything feels like it’s spinning out of his control. But with Himari here, focusing on her, is the last thing he wants to do. She steps in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding me now?” Her voice is sharp, tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not avoiding you, Himari. I’m just trying to focus on work.” His words are clipped, and tired. 

Her gaze softens, but there's still a touch of bitterness lingering. "Work, huh?" she repeats. "Or is it her? Are you really telling me there's nothing going on with you two? She was at your house the other day, acting as if she lived there." 

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay calm. “She doesn’t live there, Himari. And I don’t have time for this right now. I’m dealing with a lot. I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart.” His tone is low, strained. 

Himari’s expression falters for a second, the usual arrogance in her stance dimming just slightly. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I want you to be open with me. I want to trust you.” Her voice softens. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not hiding anything, Himari. But there are things I need to handle before I can talk about us. I need you to trust me on that.”

She looks at him for a long beat, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she steps closer, her fingers brushing against his chest. “I want to trust you, Satoru. But you’re making it hard.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the sharp edge replaced with a quiet vulnerability. 

He’s silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of her words presses down on him, but he knows that there’s too much at stake right now. With everything that’s going on—this new possible business deal, the leaks, the company’s future, his son, and you—he can’t afford to focus on this relationship as much as he might want to. 

“I’m doing the best I can,” he says quietly, voice almost too soft for her to hear. “But you need to understand, Himari… it’s not just about us. There are bigger things happening right now.”

She stares at him, eyes searching his face, as if trying to decode every emotion there. “Promise me something, then. Just give me that little bit of reassurance.” Her hands find home on his cheeks, tilting his face down toward hers. “Nothing is going on between you and her. You’re still mine, right?”

Satoru hesitates, feeling the heat of her hands on his cheeks, the pressure of her gaze locking him in place. Her words hang in the air, a demand wrapped in uncertainty, and for a moment, he’s unsure of how to respond. He wants to reassure her, wants to calm the storm brewing in her eyes, but the truth is far more complicated than a simple promise. There’s only one answer he must give her. He swallows, his thoughts swirling. “Himari, you know I’m not good with promises,” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “But I can tell you this: there’s nothing between me and her.” He forces his gaze to meet hers, trying to convey the sincerity in his words, even though the uncertainty weighs on him. “I’m still here. And I’m still yours.”

Her eyes soften, but the tension doesn’t fully lift. She searches his face for any sign of hesitation, any clue that might betray him. For a long moment, they stand there, her hands still cradling his face, as if willing him to prove himself. As if the longer they stay like this, his words might actually feel more like the truth than a bandaid. Finally, she nods, though there’s a flicker of doubt in her gaze. “I want to believe you, Satoru. I really do.”

“You really didn’t have to buy us presents.” You mutter, opening the door to your visitor. Still making sure to keep your volume to a low since Koji is sleeping in his room. 

Suguru smiles warmly, stepping in and shaking off the snow before placing two presents under the tree. One for your son, and one for you. “It’s okay, Y/N. I wanted to.”

It’s pretty late at night, but Suguru had told you he had a pretty busy week up ahead and this was really the only time he could drop off his presents for you and Koji. You showered and ate a quick dinner before he came. Muscles sore and feet tired from standing all day, but you still find it in you to show your gratitude. “I appreciate it, really.” Closing and locking the door behind you, you sigh. “I feel bad, I haven’t gotten anyone a gift besides Koji. I’ll buy you something with my next paycheck.”

Suguru chuckles softly, his eyes warm with understanding. "You don’t have to worry about that, Y/N. I don’t expect anything in return." He gestures to the presents under the tree. "This is just a small token of appreciation, nothing more. It’s Christmas, everyone deserves a gift."

You feel a faint blush creeping up your neck at his words. The sincerity in his tone makes you feel both grateful and a little guilty. It’s hard to accept his kindness sometimes, especially when you feel like you’re not able to give back as much. “Well, thank you again,” you say quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

Suguru gives you a reassuring smile. "It’s no trouble at all. I’m just happy to see you and Koji doing well." He glances toward the hallway where Koji’s room is. "How’s he been? Sleeping well?"

You nod, walking over to the couch and sitting down with a sigh. "Yeah, he’s been good. He hasn’t been napping during the day lately, so I guess he’s just getting more tired at night. Which is good, I suppose. More time to rest for me too." You run a hand through your hair, glancing at the tree in the corner. "I just wish I had more time to relax… but you know how it is."

Suguru sits down beside you, his posture relaxed. "I know exactly how it is," he says with a knowing look. "But you’re doing the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask for." He pauses, then adds softly, "And I’ll always be here to help when you need it."

You give him a small, thankful smile, the weight of the day finally beginning to lift a little. "Thanks, Suguru. I really mean it."

He nods, his smile warm but gentle. "Of course. You’re not alone in this."

As you sit there, the quiet comfort of his presence fills the room. You know that no matter how much you try to do on your own, Suguru will always be there, offering support when you need it most. He’s always been like that. You remember times when you and Satoru would fight and Suguru would help comfort you. It’s something you had come to rely on, and while it’s not always easy to accept help, you’re starting to understand that sometimes, it’s okay to lean on the people who care about you. That relationship between you two still feels strained, though—weird. 

“So…” you start, wanting to fill the empty silence with something. “How was your day today?”

Suguru tilts his head slightly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he answers. “Busy, as usual. Lots of meetings, a bit of paperwork, and some follow-ups. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s nice to finally have a bit of a breather now.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this more than I probably should’ve. Being able to just sit down and talk without worrying about the next thing on my to-do list.”

You smile a little, appreciating his honesty. “Sounds like you’ve earned the break, then.” You stretch slightly, feeling the strain in your muscles from standing all day. “I get that feeling too sometimes, when everything feels like it’s moving too fast and I can’t catch my breath.”

Suguru nods in understanding, his gaze gentle. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard to slow down when there’s so much going on. But you do a good job of juggling everything. I admire that about you.” His voice is low, and there’s a sincerity in it that makes your chest tighten a little, a smile hiding on your lips. 

You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I try my best… but it’s not always easy. Some days, I feel like I’m failing at everything.”

Suguru reaches over, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re not failing, Y/N. Trust me. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s more than enough. I see how hard you work, how much you care for Koji. You’re doing a great job, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. You take a deep breath, trying to push away the doubts that have been lingering in your mind. “I appreciate it, Suguru. I really needed to hear that.”

He gives you a soft smile, the kind that says everything without needing words. “Anytime.”

You make eye contact with him, feeling a blizzard of strange emotions pile down onto you. The smile he adorns causes your own to come out of hiding, and before you know it, he’s softly chuckling. Looking back down at his feet. The sound of his laugh causes your heart to beat just a little faster. Clearing your throat. “You can take your coat off. I have some leftover wine.” In your head, you’re confused as to why you suddenly made that suggestion; mentally face-palming. “Unless you drove here, then never mind.”

“I won’t get drunk off some wine,” he shakes his head, standing and stripping himself of his coat to reveal a cotton white shirt. “Lead the way.”

With a small, but amused huff, you get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen. Reaching up to open the cabinet you don’t request very often. The hem of your shirt rises slightly, revealing a teasing hint of your lower stomach. Suguru forces his eyes to stay on your hands, biting the inside of his cheek. 

You pull out the bottle of wine, twisting the cap off and setting it down next to two glasses on the counter. As you pour, you feel the weight of Suguru’s gaze on you, though you don’t look at him directly. The air in the kitchen feels different now, charged in a way that makes the space seem smaller, and more intimate. “You didn’t have to bring me a gift, but I’m glad you did,” you say, trying to break the tension with casual words. You pour the wine, handing him a glass first. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

Suguru takes the glass with a smile, the faintest trace of something unreadable in his eyes. “I told you I didn’t bring it to get anything in return. It’s just a little something to show I care.”

His tone is steady, but there’s a subtle undercurrent that makes your heart race. You try to mask your unease with a small grin as you take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth settle into you. “I appreciate that. I really do.” 

You move to lean against the counter, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the silence that hangs between you two. Suguru stands a bit closer than you’re used to, the space between you two too small now. His eyes flicker to your lips for a second before he quickly looks away, but the faint moment lingers in the air, thick with unspoken words. You let the wine sit on your tongue a bit longer, trying to steady your thoughts. Something has shifted—maybe it’s the closeness, or maybe it’s just the quiet understanding between the two of you. But you’re keenly aware of how his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes everything feel heightened.

“How have things been with you and Satoru?”

Holding back a grimace, you take another sip. “I mean, as good as it can be, you know?”

Suguru nods, his expression softening as he leans against the counter, his arms crossed. “I get it. Relationships are complicated, especially when you’re balancing so much already.”

You exhale a quiet sigh, setting the glass down a little too firmly. “Yeah. There’s always something, isn’t there? Between work, Koji, and everything…it’s hard. Stressful and overwhelming.”

Suguru watches you take your sip, frowning slightly in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t imagine being in your position. But it’s one day at a time, you’ll get through this. It’s easier said than done, but you could do it. You have help now. Satoru, Shoko, me.”

When you look at him, you feel yourself once again slipping into a tranquil state. Mirroring his kind facial expressions with one of your own. His words feel like a soothing balm, it feels like you’re being heard—being listened to in who knows how long? There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind that warns you of the invisible line. Playfully, you nudge his arm. “Okay, preacher.”

He scoffs softly, nudging you back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You push him again, he follows suit. It’s a small, spirited moment that makes you feel light. That soon comes to an end when your glass, half-full of red wine, spills not only onto the counter but onto his shirt—leaving the pristine canvas with a circle splotch of deep maroon. You gasp. “Shit! I–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the stain on his shirt. “It’s fine, Y/N. Really. It’s just a shirt.” He steps back a little, his hands raised in mock surrender as he waves off your apology, setting down his glass. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse.”

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, quickly grabbing a dish towel to dab at the stain, though you know it won’t help much at this point. "I’m so clumsy. I didn’t mean to—"

“Hey, hey.” Suguru cuts you off with a laugh, gently placing a hand on your wrist to stop you from dabbing at the stain. “It’s alright. Really. Just... relax.” He pauses for a moment before adding with a joking grin, “Though I might need a new shirt, I’ll survive.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second, you see that familiar warmth in his gaze, the kind that always made you feel safe. The kind that, in another life, might’ve made you believe in something more between the two of you. But just as quickly, you pull yourself back, reminding yourself of the boundaries you’ve set. The ones that have to stay intact. “I’ll grab a new shirt for you,” you murmur, still embarrassed but trying to laugh it off. You turn toward your bedroom, your heart racing a little faster than before.

Suguru doesn’t stop you, though you hear him muttering something about "next time, at least aim for the carpet," as you walk away. The air between you both feels thick with something unspoken. You open your drawer for a fresh shirt, sifting out the biggest one you know you have. A simple black short sleeve you could only hope will suffice. Walking back out to the kitchen, you frown. “That was an accident, Suguru. Really.” 

“I know,” he nods, meeting your frantic worries with his own set of serenity. “Thank you for the shirt.” 

His hands move quicker than you had expected, your pupils blowing wide and holding back a startled noise. You gulp hard, forcing your eyes to focus on a random spot on your kitchen wall. However, you can’t help them wandering every so often as he unbuttons the now red-stained shirt. Your throat almost dries at the peek of his collarbone. Again, looking away. Don’t, that’s not right. 

But if it’s not right, why does it feel like the opposite? Why is it suddenly making you nervous—flustered? You even jolt a bit at his calming voice interjecting the silence. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean it.”

You can only offer a weak nod, not trusting your voice to give away your inner turmoil and confusion. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest as Suguru drops his shirt onto the counter. His movements are unhurried, and calm, as if he doesn’t notice the storm brewing inside you.

Or maybe he does.

Holding your hands together awkwardly, peeking back over to see if he’s done. You almost wish you hadn’t. His perfect chest greets you hello. Abs practically beckoning to be felt up on and his tan nipples make you shake away an intrusive thought. 

What are you thinking? This is Suguru for crying out loud!

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been particularly…achy lately. You haven’t gotten some in quite a long time and this is literally the first time you’re seeing a man’s naked chest in front of you since Satoru. Since his best friend. God, you’re so weak. 

You hold out the clean shirt for him. “Thanks,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing against yours as he slips the black tee on. You wish he hadn’t. It was the largest thing you had in your place, but still too small for Suguru. So it fits more tight, more cropped, cutting off just after his belly button—just before his v-line. 

You look down, pretending to busy yourself with wiping the already spotless countertop. Anything to avoid the way your pulse quickens under his steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized,” he smoothly waves you off with a comforting smile, walking over to the hamper you pointed out and dropping the dirty shirt in. Walking back over to the kitchen, he notices the fact that you seem to be looking anywhere but him. 

And when he sees the pretty blush that you hide on your cheeks, his insides stir like a washing machine. Clearing his throat apologetically, hands rubbing in a fidgety manner. He turns his head to the side. “Sorry.”

“No,” you protest, a little too quickly. “…it’s okay, I…I didn’t mind.”

The silence that follows feels so loud. You both don’t know what to say, if there is anything to say in the first place. You’ve just seen him half-naked. Thinking about that, actually processing it, it makes you feel hot. It should be nothing, yet you’re acting like a hormonal teenager.

But, he looked so…good.

You peek over at him from the corner of your eye, distinguishing him doing the exact same thing you are. You two look away at the same time, staring at the sink in front of you guys. Maybe the silence is better than speaking. It stretches out, heavy and palpable. It’s not awkward, but it’s loaded with something that neither of you can name. You catch yourself sneaking a glance at Suguru again, only to find that he’s doing it too—his gaze drifting away when it meets yours. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “You, uh... you’re comfortable, right?” you manage, focusing on something, anything other than the tension you feel growing between you two.

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately, and when he does, it’s with a small smile that seems more like a reassurance to himself than anything else. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still not looking directly at him. The words feel like they hang in the air a bit longer than they should. This is just a friend helping you out, you remind yourself. This is just Suguru. But the more you try to convince yourself, the less you’re sure you believe it. The heat in your neck refuses to fade, and you feel restless, a sense of yearning you can’t quite place crawling up your spine.

Suguru clears his throat again, a bit sheepishly this time. “Hey, uh… would it be alright if I stayed a little longer? I promise I won’t make it weird. I know we’re both probably feeling… well, something right now, but I don’t want to just leave like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, not sure if it’s the wine or just him standing so close to you that’s making your head spin. You don’t know how to respond. You want to say something to ease the growing discomfort between you, but it’s like every word feels loaded now, heavy with implications. The space between you feels too small, even though you know it shouldn’t. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. The vulnerability in his gaze is unmistakable. Suguru is there—as much as you are—and whatever this thing is, it’s lingering in the air between you, waiting to either break or blossom.

“I—” You stop yourself, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t mind. If you want to stay, I… I’d like the company.” The words come out quieter than you intended, but they’re honest. Suguru’s face softens, a little surprised but clearly relieved. He takes a step closer, just a tiny one, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure?”

You nod, your breath shallow as your eyes lock. For a moment, time slows. Everything around you seems to fade away except the two of you, the tension, the way your bodies are just a little too close, the way you can feel the weight of everything unspoken between you. His hand brushes yours again, his fingers lingering just for a second longer than necessary before it pulls away. However, it's enough to send a spark of electricity through you, making your heart race all over again.

“Yeah,” you say again, softer this time. “I’m sure.”

And just like that, the moment extends out, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. You both know it, you both feel it, but neither of you is sure how to move forward. 

It’s nothing, you both think. Just friends.

a/n: happy early new yearrr!! should i do a new year drabble too? hmmm....

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[pprodsuga]

i’m serious about you

summary: gojo realizes just how much he likes you when you go on your first date

note: feeling a bit soft for gojo rn so pls enjoy this little scenario…it’s 2am and i just wanna write something before i go to bed <3 gojo is probably a little ooc but this is my blog so!!!

i’m a lil rusty when ur comes to writing fics but i hope u enjoy!

warnings: fluff fluff fluff + she/her pronouns

masterlist :)

“I’m surprised this place is open so late.”

You mutter absentmindedly as you look at the pastries behind the glass, face at a respectable distance while Gojo stands beside you. He leans down to see what you see, his own eye catching the chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf.

“Nanami told me about it a while ago,” he explains. “Says he likes to come here when he can’t sleep since they’re open so late.”

“Do you like this bakery?”

Gojo watches as you pick and choose which pastries you want to try. The girl behind the counter lifts her gaze to him, eyes widening before averting her gaze to the small box in her hands.

“Haven’t tried it, actually,” Gojo says. He rubs the back of his neck when you turn around. “I, uh, wanted to wait. To try it with you, I mean.”

He sees your mouth morph into a shy smile and he can’t help but return it. Gojo turns and orders a beverage from the cashier, watching as her fingers fumble with the buttons before she relays the bill.

You’re about to pull out your wallet when Gojo reacts quicker than you can comprehend. You watch as he gives his credit card to the cashier without batting an eyelash. He laughs when you huff and grumble about being able to pay for the pastries since he paid for dinner, but he bumps his hips with yours and tells you it‘s on him.

You look so perfect under the awful fluorescent lights in your best dress and hair let down. He’s not used to seeing you like this; so carefree without your worries tucked away in that pretty little head of yours.

Gojo used to think he’d make it through life without relying on anyone and that he couldn’t count on other people for his own source of happiness and companionship. But he can’t deny there’s something about you that tugs at his heart strings a bit too aggressively.

This feeling follows him to the morning prior, when he asked you to accompany him to dinner. Gojo had guessed that you liked him more than you let on but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. This new sensation in the pit of his stomach travels with him tonight, especially when he takes a step back to fully absorb the way you look in his jacket. It dwarfs your shorter stature yet Gojo thinks it was made for you to wear.

The girl behind the counter turns around to finish the order, leaving the two of you to your wits for the time being. Gojo senses that this—casual dating or otherwise—isn’t something you do often. He silently thanks Shoko for drilling him about you (likes, dislikes, who you are as a person aside from the so-called friend group you two belong in) because he sees your finger tapping against the side of your leg and decides to make a move.

“I really like spending time with you,” Gojo starts. “I could do this again and again if you let me.”

“Really?” you ask, sounding something akin to disbelief. Your dress follows your movements as you turn around but all Gojo can focus on is the way your cheeks begin to blush. How cute.

He takes a step forward, nodding. “Believe it or not, I really enjoy spending all of my money on cute girls.”

“Is that so?“ you ask with an uptick in your voice. “Wonder if I’m the cutest, then.”

Gojo knows you’re joking by the way you’re smiling at him, but he wants to set the record straight.

“You are,” he says, “because you’re the only one.”

A soft sound distracts the two of you and he looks past your shoulder to see the cashier has set his beverage on the counter. Gojo thanks her and grabs the cup when he notices notices she’s written her phone number on the back of the surface. His stomach drops when he sees your eyes linger on the penmanship.

He panics.

“I must be special.”

Your voice lacks the humor from moments prior, eyes glazing over the written numbers while Gojo pathetically stands like he’s a frozen statue. He doesn’t know why he cares what you think of him nor why he wants to disprove the theory that he can’t settle down because of an innate need to flirt with everything that breathes. He watches you swallow and avert your gaze to the exit sign when he nods furiously.

“Yeah, you are.”

Gojo throws the beverage in the trash can beside him and cups your jaw in both of his hands to pull you into a tender kiss in the middle of a poorly lit bakery with two other patrons. He thinks your lips taste like coconut and sugar, so soft that he could keep his mouth on you forever and never complain.

He must be doing something right because you’re kissing him back.

You pull away first and he laughs at your flustered state, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips before you can escape him. He pays no mind to the girl who walks into the back room.

“I’ll spend however long it takes to make you understand that I’m serious about you,” Gojo promises.

“You better send Nanami a thank you card.” You grab the box of pastries. “Taking me here was a good start.”

Yeah, he thinks. She’s the one.

[taure-annie]

Gasoline

→ premise: Paige’s first team dinner as an official WNBA rookie has ended well - but now, in the back of an Uber, it's just the two of you and the energy between you feels different. (WNBA!AU)

→ word count: 2.3K

The team thins out slowly, one by one, as players and coaches drift from the comforting heat of the restaurant entrance to into Ubers, their mindless conversations fading with each utterance of ‘bye’ and ‘see you at practice’. 

It’s damp and biting, with a faint mist hovering, leaving you shivering even in your thick jacket. Your fingers feel stiff from the chill, fumbling as you toggle through ride-share apps, willing one driver—just one—to brave the thick, traffic-choked streets for the pick-up.

Bri glances over, her body bouncing slightly as her teeth chatter, breath fogging in the air. “You still looking?” she asks, taking quick peeks at her phone - her ride is a cosy 5 minutes away. 

You sigh, clutching your phone tightly against the creeping numbness. “Yeah - I’m gonna be standing here for fucking forever. You think I’m playing, but I swear this is the last time I’m coming out to this side of town.”

Bri snickers, pulling her coat tight. “Should’ve just ordered whe—” She breaks off, glancing over your shoulder with a glint in her eye. “Why don’t you share a ride with the rook - aren't you’re both on the same side of town?”

You turn, catching sight of Paige - the rook in question - standing just a few paces away, head bent over her own screen, her face bathed in soft light. She glances up at the sound of her new nickname, her eyes meeting yours briefly, and you turn back to Bri, ready to wave it off. “Nah, I’ll just wai-”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Paige cuts in. She steps closer, creating a circle between you, her and Bri. “You live around Ross Way right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding, “but it’s a bit of a drive, they’re gonna charge you crazy. It’d be too much.”

Paige shrugs, undeterred. She’s closer now. “It’s fine - better than waiting all night.” 

“Listen to the rook,” Bri pipes up, her elbow nudging you as she speaks. “She’s got wisdom.” 

You throw her quick look, but the protest within you dies when your Uber app still reads ‘Still finding a rider’. Would it be that bad to share a ride? 

“Enter your address,” Paige hands you her phone and your fingers shakily type your address. 

“Thanks,” you say, handing her phone back. 

Eventually, Bri is gone. Her body warm in the back of her ride as she speeds off home and then it’s just you and Paige, waiting out the longest 7 minutes known to man. 

Her hands are nestled in her trouser pockets, and she rocks on the balls of her feet. Despite her every breath being magnified with tufts of mist, her jacket hangs at the crook of her elbow. 

“You’re not cold?” 

She’s momentarily torn away from her unending gaze into packed streets and passes you a quick smile. “Nah - all the rounds you bought are keeping me warm enough.” 

“You’re welcome,” You say, your mind briefly going into the eventual conversation you’d have with your accountant justifying the reckless spending with the words ‘team bonding’. 

Soon enough, your - well, Paige's, Uber appears, rolling to a stop with its engine humming softly. Paige gestures for you to get in first, and the comforting warmth of the car rushes over you as you slide into the back seat - you silently thank Bri at this point. The door clicks shut, sealing you into the dimly lit space, and you’re only just settling in when Paige follows, close enough that she brushes against you in the tight space. Her faint perfume mingles with the scent of leather seats and the lingering trace of your own. 

You’re the first to crack the almost awkward silence, feeling pushed to do solely because you’d hijacked her ride home and it’d be nothing less than rude for you to pull out your airpods. “So, how’d you find your first team dinner?” 

She looks up from her phone screen. “It was good,” she pauses thinking for a moment before a corner of her lip goes up. “Do you guys usually go that hard though?” 

You scoff and shake your head, “it’s literally because it’s your first dinner - we wanted to give you a good welcome onto the team.” Your head tilts back onto the headrest, feeling the almost sickly rush of alcohol wash over you. “Everyone’s too old and tired to do this every time.” 

“Ah, I see,” she’s nodding with mock gravity. “Well, I appreciate it. Coach was near enough on the floor. That fucking killed me.”

“Met too,” You laugh, pulling out your phone, the cold glow lighting up your face. “I nearly died at that too. I think Bri posted it on her close friends…” You scroll through your feed, fingers stumbling over the screen as you swipe, searching.

You feel the seat shift as Paige leans in, close enough that you catch a faint trace of her perfume, something woody and expensive. Her shoulder brushes yours, and for some reason, the small point of contact is almost electric. It’s then that you’re suddenly all too aware of how small the back of the uber is, and maybe it’s the remnants of Tequila still flowing through you, but you realise just how close she is. It’s not the same kind of closeness as when you’re talking to someone like Bri or AJ. No, it’s different and what makes it so different is that you’re actually taking notice of the soft brush of her breath settling on your cheek as she glances over at your screen.

Your skin lights up in goosebumps. 

The scrolling slows, your fingers hovering just above the keypad, attempting to conjure Bri’s instagram handle, but they falter as you - no, both, because there’s no way she doesn’t see her name bolded two times in your search bar. You'd typed it in wrong the first time (which explains entry 1), fumbling over the letters before quickly googling the correct spelling, but now it's right there, staring back at you.

You can feel the smirk when she speaks, “I didn’t know you were a fan too.” 

“Fan? I was just doing research-” 

Your still speaking when your phone is out of her hands and into her longer ones. She humming in mock agreement as she clicks on her profile, bringing the page of pictures you’d looked through up on your screen. For what it was worth, you had been doing research, nothing nefarious but in the face of said person noticing their name in your search bar, it was less than believable. It’s embarrassing really - it wouldn’t have been crazy if you had  just followed her. 

“There” She presses the follow button, “You can now officially keep tabs on me.” her voice is soft, playful, but with an edge that makes you feel pinned. 

When she passes your phone back, the graze of her fingertips feel unjustifiably electric. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first in the team to not follow me back yet,” she says, the brief flicker of resigned annoyance betrays her ‘this-doesn’t-bother-me-at-all’ attitude. “So,” she says, her tone dropping to something a bit more curious, “what do the others really think of me? You know, the team.”

You glance at her, surprised by the sudden question, but her eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, waiting for an honest answer.

“They think you’re good. There’s respect there and we’re happy to have you on the team.”

She  watches you closely, and for a moment, it’s like she’s evaluating you, sizing you up. Then she leans back with a smirk, eyes still on you.

“You don’t wanna tell me what you really think, do you?” she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

There’s a shift in the air, and your heartbeat picks up, but you swallow, glancing at her and keeping your stare just as steady. “No, I think you’re good … You’re the first draft pick for a reason.”

She tilts her head, the playful expression not fading, but there’s a weight to her gaze now. Something sharp, something that leaves you feeling exposed and caught up in the current between you two. 

You’re caught in the silence that follows, the kind that presses in on you, thick and unnerving. It’s the kind of silence that reporters use - just a gap, a beat too long, forcing you to fill it, to offer up something more, even when you don’t want to. Paige’s eyes never leave you, and the tension feels like it’s building with each passing second. It scares you. 

Her lips curl into a barely-there smile, almost mocking, but her stare remains intense , just daring you to break.

But she breaks first. You’re not new to the silent tactic. 

“So…?” she prompts, her voice deliberate. “Just be honest. I’m not gonna start crying.” 

You feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the air.

“I think… I think there’s a lot of hype around you, that’s all.” Your words come out slow, careful and just as deliberate as her, “I mean, you’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t necessarily think it can hold when you’re really out there on the court.”

“That’s what you think? That I’m just a product of hype?”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s trying to pull more out of you, like she’s testing how far you’ll go. You glance at her, feeling both intrigued and nothing less than disarmed. You curse the alcohol. 

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, keeping your tone casual, “being the ‘golden girl’ can’t be all it’s cracked up to be. College basketball isn’t the same as being in the ‘W’.”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead letting the silence hang between you two, the weight of your words sinking in. The car’s hum and the city noises outside seem to fade, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in this quiet tension.

“I guess we’ll see,” She says.

If you were asked to describe life at this moment, you’d say that you were continuously all too aware of everything and anything. And it’s all because of her. 

“I don’t mind proving things,” she continues. 

The car pulls up to a stoplight, and for a split second, the moment feels suspended in time with her words hanging in the small space between you both. You can’t help but think it feels like a promise - or maybe a dare. Not about the court, but about something more that you don’t want to pinpoint. 

“That’s good,” you’ve broken the staring contest of sorts, now looking out the window as the car pulls off again, taking you one mile extra to escaping whatever this was. 

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, but this time, her gaze is fixed, unwavering, almost daring you to do something—anything. Her lips twitch, like she’s caught between amusement and something else, something that sends a thrill through you.

For the first time, you let your own eyes fall to her lips, and that’s all it takes. You don’t even think; you just lean in, slow and steady, as if testing the waters.

Her breath hitches, her hand subtly shifting closer, and in the next instant, she meets you halfway. There’s no hesitation. It’s a kiss that comes out of nowhere, full of fire and heat, but still tentative, still testing. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades.

The kiss deepens as she brushes lightly against your cheek, pulling you just a little closer. You feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her lips, and for a moment, everything is just her. It’s different from anything you expected - it’s intense and she’s in charge, and you’re following her like you’d never produced a single thought. 

Just as quickly as it started, you pull away, breathless, your lips tingling. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re unsure whether you want to be closer to her or further away. The air between you is thick, electrified with the aftermath of the kiss, and all you can hear is the sound of your breathing mingling in the small space.

“Fuck - sorry, just ignore what the fuck that was.”

But before you can pull completely away, Paige’s hand is on your jaw, holding you in place as she leans in again, this time with a quiet intensity that catches you off guard. Her lips meet yours again, more deliberate this time. And when she nips at your bottom lip, you gasp, before letting her completely take you over as her tongue glides across yours. 

She’s pulling you into her and only her and you’re letting her.

“Don’t apologise,” she murmurs, against your mouth. 

Her hands take over, one holding you in place and the other at your knee, inching up closer and closer with what felt like each intoxicating breath. 

The car’s headlights cut through the darkness as it pulls up to the curb, the engine slowing to a stop in front of a modern, apartment building surrounded by tall, shadowed trees. You blink, slowly but surely coming back to yourself, but you’re still lodged in her all encompassing touch willing yourself to pull away. 

For a moment, the air between you is heavy, the night outside the car feeling distant, almost unreal. 

“I’m guessing this your …” You start, your eyes darting to the building. 

“Apartment,” She finishes, breaking the stare and now it feels like she’s also back down to earth. 

She’s on her phone, the Uber app recognisable as she fiddles with the interface. 

“Guess that’s our stop,” Paige says.

“Our?” 

She nods, “Yeah, ours” 

There’s no uncertainty in her voice, no hesitation. Just the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips as she taps away on her phone.

Before you can respond, the sound of the app’s notification cuts through the silence. Paige cancels the rest of the ride with a casual swipe of her finger. And you don’t protest. 

***

A/N

Club Classics ... well, that was fun. I wonder what happens next 🤭🤭

And do any of you diva's listen to Mk.Gee?