#what do you mean it's been 2 years already

[saikenakoego]

Last one before I try doing it with another character (and before i force myself to get back to work on art and stuff lol)

With the usual lady herself. The scourge of the undead and the paranormal alike. Hunter of monsters. Breaker of bones (and hearts). EATER OF RARE HAMBURGERS.

The unwilling vampire, Sammy!

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv This gal! vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

This one is really long, so I'll be dividing them by sections like the original!

Appearance

1. What is your favorite physical trait that you possess?

SM: If I could, I'd be feeling flustered right now. But since I can, I'll just say something at random.

SM: ...

SM: Hair.

2. What would you wear if they told you you had to gussy up?

SM: ...

SM: I AM gussied up.

3. Is there anything about your appearance that you would change if possible?

SM:

SM: Hope that answers your question.

4. Do you have a favorite material that you like to wear?

SM: Denim or leather. Easy to wash, hardy enough. Hides bloodstains.

5. What's your opinion on scars?

SM: I miss them.

6. How much do you take interest in trends?

SM: More than I'd like to. Apex predators have to stay at the top of the game.

SM: Oh, you mean fashion trends? About the same. Even if I don't feel anything, I want to look my best when I put the bloodsuckers back in their graves.

7. Is there someone you try to look similar to?

SM: Myself. From about 2 years ago.

8. Do you have a physical trait that you're known for?

SM: Take a guess.

9. What do you smell like?

SM: Wouldn't you like to know. Good enough, is what I'll say.

10. If you could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

SM: Sunglasses. Or a new jacket. Anything that can help keep me cool.

11. Is your favorite color a color you wear often?

SM: Yeah.

12. Have you gone through major stylistic or physical changes?

SM: I guess you could say somethin' like that.

13. What is something you would refuse to wear?

SM: Anything degrading.

14. Is there a style you're afraid you can't pull off?

SM: Average.

15. Would you wear something someone else picked for you?

SM: Silver picked this outfit for me. It's easy to move in and looks good, so I don't mind.

16. Is your appearance more telling or deceiving?

SM: What a way to ask about it. Hopefully the first one.

17. What are your thoughts on wearing costumes?

SM: It's been tainted for me, the whole "human pretending to be a monster" thing. But if it's for innocent fun, I try not to mind.

18. Do you have a favorite outfit?

SM: I feel like I already answered this.

19. If you had to get a tattoo, what would it be?

SM: Crucifix. Practical reasons.

Objects

1. Is there an item you don't like to live without?

SM: Crucifixes. Have to keep them upside down, though.

2. What gift would you give to someone you didn't like, but felt obligated to?

SM: Something as cheap as generic as possible. A card or something.

3. What object is likely to catch your attention?

SM: The answer is inside you. Literally.

4. Is there an item you liked that you can't get back?

SM: Don't think so. None that I recall.

5. Would you ever try to haggle?

SM: Depends. For what?

6. Is there something you're proud to own?

SM: I can't feel pride anymore. But I used to brag a lot about my cd collection.

7. Do you ever spend more time than you have?

SM: I have all the time in the world. But I do spend more time than I should...

8. What would it take for you to give up an item you like?

SM: A stake, or cash. Depends.

9. Do you prefer to give or receive gifts?

SM: As long as they're useful, receive.

10. Is there a type of object you don't like?

SM: Anything that can cause bodily harm. And I don't mean to myself.

11. What might an acquaintance think is a good gift for you?

SM: Burger.

12. Do you personify objects?

SM: No, but I know someone who does.

13. What do you most enjoy shopping for?

SM: Nothing in particular.

14. Is there an item you're embarrassed to own or want?

SM: Again, I can't feel embarrassment anymore.

15. Would you prefer something bought or made personally?

SM: Something that functions.

16. Are you willing to ask for things?

SM: Who isn't?

17. What is most important to you when shopping?

SM: Keeping an eye on the budget. Unlike some people I know.

Food and Drink

1. What flavor would you say your personality is?

SM: Bitter.

2. Would you prefer baking, cooking or mixing drinks?

SM: Cooking. No one seems to get it right for me.

3. Is there a food or drink you're unwilling to try?

SM: Their... "specialty".

4. How big is your appetite?

SM: One appetite too big.

5. Do you consider eating fun?

SM: These questions make me angry.

6. Would you consider eating something you didn't like just to appease someone?

SM: No.

7. Is there food that has made you sick?

SM: Not anymore.

8. What is your favorite food group?

SM: Food has groups?

SM: ...Why?

9. Do you like to try new foods?

SM: I sure hope I did.

10. What is a childhood meal you cherish?

SM: ...Burger.

11. Are you food-motivated?

SM: ...

SM: Really?

12. Which meal time is your favorite?

SM: The final kind.

13. How much do you care about wasting food?

SM: Very. My mother raised me well.

14. Do you prefer restaurant or home-cooked food?

SM: Restaurant. For the time being.

15. What food or drink do you consider a treat?

SM: Burger...

16. Is there a food texture you don't like?

SM: Liquid, viscous and slightly oily.

17. What kind of drinks do you prefer?

SM: Water.

Weather and Nature

1. What would you do if you were suddenly caught in the rain?

SM: Find a place with a roof.

2. Have you ever had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

SM: If I have, I can't recall.

3. What season would you say you're most similar to?

SM: ...What?

4. Is there a natural phenomenon that scares you?

SM: I don't feel fear. But for sake of the question, I'd rather not be involved with any right now.

5. Have you ever had an animal phase?

SM: Don't think so.

6. Do you enjoy sky-gazing?

SM: I don't mind it when Johnny asks me to join him. That's about it.

7. Do you have a good sense of direction?

SM: Yeah. Par for the course.

8. What type of environment do you like best?

SM: Not too hot, not too cold.

9. Are you good with animals?

SM: Animals tend to run away from me. Don't blame 'em.

10. How would you react to snow?

SM: Just 'cuz Vegas is in a desert doesn't mean it doesn't snow. The place is literally called Nevada, por dios.

11. What part of nature do you most resonate with?

SM: The supernatural has no place within the natural world.

12. Could you survive on your own in the wilderness for a week or more?

SM: Depends on the place. Probably.

13. What element best represents you?

SM: Darkness.

14. Do you prefer hot or cold weather?

SM: Cold. Reasonably cold.

15. Is there a creature that scares you?

SM: No.

16. What celestial body interests you the most?

SM: The sun.

17. Are you good with plants?

SM: About as good as anyone.

18. How willing would you be to nap outside?

SM: Unwilling.

19. What animal would you say best represents you?

SM: A mosquito.

Community and Relationships

1. Do you prefer company or solitude when sick?

SM: I don't get sick.

SM: ...

SM: But Silver being a pest during... that, wasn't so bad.

2. What is your favorite kind of social event?

SM: None.

3. How comfortable would you be with singing and dancing in front of everyone?

SM: I would not care. Though it would be better if I got something out of it.

4. Are you upfront about your feelings?

SM: If I had any.

5. Who would you seek first if you needed medical help?

SM: Nobody. For their sake.

6. How willing would you be to go to a party with people you don't know?

SM: If it leads to something useful, willing. Otherwise, rather not.

7. Who are you most honest with?

SM: Silver.

8. How likely is it for you to initiate a friendship?

SM: Unlikely.

9. Where is your comfort place?

SM: ...Home.

10. Is there a habit you've learned from someone else?

SM: Less learned and more forcefully conditioned into me.

11. Do you think you have people who would worry about you if you got injured?

SM: Yeah. Somehow.

12. How would you react to being put in a position of leadership?

SM: I don't like it.

13. Would you be good at providing medical assistance?

SM: Would a starving bear be good at it? Carajo.

14. Who would you say knows you best?

SM: Silver. Maybe a little too much.

15. Is there a person you would turn to for backup in a fight?

SM: The boys. Either of them, for different reasons.

16. Who would you most like to sign your cast if you got one?

SM: If I were able to get a cast? Everyone, probably.

17. How well do you work with others?

SM: Well enough.

18. What is your favorite form of affection?

SM: Minding your business.

19. Do you enjoy celebrating holidays?

SM: I really don't care.

20. What would it take for you to get into a fight?

SM: Not much.

Mind, Body and Soul

1. What is a habit you have that others might find cute?

SM: I don't think anyone would ever find me cute.

2. Are there any particular sounds you're fond of?

SM: Heartbeats.

3. Are you more prone to fight or flight?

SM: Fight.

4. Do you believe in myths and fairytales?

SM: Do you?

5. What words could tear you down?

SM: None.

6. How well do you act under pressure?

SM: Pressure isn't something I'm familiar with.

7. Are you good at practicing self-care?

SM: That's not a luxury I can afford.

8. What do you find most comforting?

SM: Not comforting, but I'd rather be left alone.

9. Do you have any allergies?

SM: No.

10. Are you a light, medium or heavy sleeper?

SM: I don't need sleep.

11. Do you have a strong willpower?

SM: Given how everyone around me remains safe and ignorant, I'd say yes.

12. Are you more likely to give advice or take it?

SM: Johnny seems to ask me for advice often, and I can't understand why.

13. How do you relax?

SM: I don't.

14. Is there a secret you long to hear?

SM: The method to end this madness.

15. Do you have a sleep routine?

SM: I used to.

16. Would you feel confident in a fight?

SM: Why would you be in a fight otherwise?

17. Are you more energized in the morning, afternoon or at night?

SM: Night. Self explanatory.

18. How often do you have nightmares?

SM: ...Often.

19. Are there scents you dislike?

SM: Blood.

20. Is there a fear you'd like to learn to overcome?

SM: I fear nothing.

21. If you had to act in a play, what role do you think you'd perform best?

SM: Background character. A tree or something.

22. Do you have a high pain tolerance?

SM: Pain is a quality of the living.

Hobbies and Activities

1. What kind of games do you most enjoy playing?

SM: Silver introduced me to Castlevania. Good game.

2. Do you have a secret hobby?

SM: Its a secret.

3. What talent do you wish you had?

SM: The talent to end this quickly.

4. Is there an activity you used to enjoy that you now dislike?

SM: ...Hard to decide.

5. Which do you prioritize more, work or hobbies?

SM: Work.

6. Do you work better with creative or technical endeavors?

SM: Direct endeavors.

7. What is a talent you're proud of?

SM: The talent to brutalize all these parasites.

8. Are you more outdoorsy or indoorsy?

SM: ...

SM: "Indoorsy".

9. What is a topic you'd be exited to talk about?

SM: Again. Can't feel excitement.

10. Is there a skill that you don't know you're bad at?

SM: I-- What?

11. Do you have any injury story?

SM: Fine. Since you're so insistent. Let's see, I've been stabbed and maimed multiple times. I've had my limbs torn one by one. I've been cut in half. Decapitated. Had my bones broken. One time I had to gouge my own eyes out. Had my tongue pulled off. My neck broken. I've been ripped apart, and one other time I was eviscerated. Then I got flayed. Had my skull caved in, my mandible displaced. And lately I had my brains blown out with my own friend's gun.

SM: Oh, and this one time a creep bit me and drank my blood. But really, it didn't hurt. Happy now?

12. What kind of music do you enjoy?

SM: I used to like pop. But lately, I've been subjected to hours of rock music by Silver.

SM: It's not so bad. The guttural screams keep my... mind off things.

13. Have you ever made something for yourself or someone else?

SM: I used to cook often.

14. What is your opinion on cheating in games?

SM: A necessary evil sometimes.

15. How good are you at following through on projects?

SM: VERY good.

16. What's an activity that reminds you of someone else?

SM: That's... I don't wanna answer that.

17. Do you prefer music or silence?

SM: Its complicated.

18. What is something you wouldn't wanna talk about?

SM: I don't want to talk about it.

🌸My Super Long Hopefully Fun Character Ask Game:

👕Appearance

What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess?

What would your character wear if they were told they had to gussy up?

Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible?

Does your character have a favorite material they like to wear?

What are your character's opinion on scars?

How much interest does your character take in trends?

Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Does your character have a physical trait that they're known for?

What does your character smell like?

If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

Is your character's favorite color a color they wear often?

Has your character gone through major stylistic or physical changes?

What is something your character would refuse to wear?

Is there a style your character is afraid they can’t pull off?

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

Is your character's appearance more telling or deceiving?

What are your character's thoughts on wearing costumes?

Does your character have a favorite outfit?

If your character had to get a tattoo what would it be?

📦Objects

Is there an item your character doesn't like to leave without?

What gift would your character give to someone they didn't like but felt obligated to?

What type of object is likely to catch your character's attention?

Is there an item your character liked that they can’t get back? 

Would your character ever try to haggle?

What is something your character is proud to own?

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

What would it take for your character to give up an item they really like?

Does your character prefer to give or receive gifts?

Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

What might an acquaintance think is a good gift for your character?

Does your character personify objects?

What does your character most enjoy shopping for?

Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

Would your character prefer something bought or made personally?

Is your character willing to ask for things?

What is most important to your character when shopping?

🍽️Food and Drink

What flavor would your character say their personality is?

Would your character prefer baking, cooking or mixing drinks?

Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try?

How big is your character's appetite?

Does your character consider eating fun?

Would your character eat or drink something they didn't like to appease someone?

Is there food that has made your character sick?

What is your character's favorite food group?

Does your character like to try new foods?

What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

Is your character food motivated?

Which mealtime is your character's favorite?

How much does your character care about wasting food?

Does your character prefer restaurant food or home cooked food?

What food or drink does your character consider a treat?

Is there a food texture your character doesn't like?

What kind of drinks does your character prefer?

🌤️Weather and Nature

What would your character do if they were suddenly caught in the rain?

Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

What season would your character say they're most similar to?

Is there a natural phenomenon that scares your character?

Has your character ever had an animal phase?

Would your character enjoy sky gazing?

Does your character have a good sense of direction?

What type of environment does your character like best?

Is your character good with animals?

How would your character react to snow?

What part of nature would your character most resonate with?

Could your character survive in the wilderness on their own for a week or more?

What element best represents your character?

Does your character prefer hot or cold weather?

Is there a creature that scares your character?

What celestial body would interest your character the most?

Is your character good with plants?

How willing would your character be to nap outside?

What animal would your character say best represents them?

🤝Community and Relationships

Does your character prefer company or solitude when sick?

What is your character's favorite kind of social event?

How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Is your character upfront about their feelings?

Who would your character first seek if they needed medical help?

How willing would your character be to go to a party with people they don't know?

Who is your character most honest with?

How likely is it for your character to initiate a friendship?

Where is your character's comfort place?

Is there a habit your character has that they learned from someone else?

Does your character have people they think would worry about them if they got injured?

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

Would your character be good at providing medical assistance?

Who would your character say knows them best?

Is there a person your character would turn to for backup in a fight?

Who would your character most want to sign their cast if they got one?

How well does your character work with others?

What is your character's favorite form of affection?

Does your character enjoy celebrating holidays?

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

💓Mind, Body and Soul

What is a habit your character has that others might find cute?

Are there particular sounds your character is fond of?

Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

Does your character believe in myths and fairy tales?

What words could tear your character down?

How well does your character act under pressure?

Is your character good at practicing self-care?

What scents does your character find comforting?

Does your character have any allergies?

Is your character a light, medium or heavy sleeper?

Does your character have strong willpower?

Is your character more likely to give advice or seek it?

How does your character relax?

Is there a secret thing your character longs to hear?

Does your character have a sleep routine?

Would your character feel confident in a fight?

Is your character more energized in the morning, afternoon or at night?

How often does your character have nightmares?

Are there scents your character dislikes?

Is there a fear your character wants to learn to overcome?

If your character had to act in a play what role would they think they’d best perform?

Does your character have a high pain tolerance?

🎲 Hobbies and Activities

What kind of games does your character most enjoy playing?

Does your character have a secret hobby?

What is a talent your character wishes they had?

Is there an activity your character used to enjoy that they now dislike?

Which does your character try to prioritize more, work or hobbies?

Does your character work better with creative or technical endeavors?

What is a talent that your character is proud of?

Is your character more outdoorsy or indoorsy?

What is a topic your character would be excited to talk about? 

Is there a skill your character doesn’t know they’re bad at?

Does your character have any injury stories?

What kind of music does your character enjoy?

Has your character ever made something for themselves or someone else?

What is your character’s opinion on cheating in games?

How good is your character at following through on projects?

What’s an activity that reminds your character of someone else?

Does your character prefer music or silence?

What is a topic your character wouldn't want to talk about?

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look. 

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer. 

You still did it, though. Both times. 

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something. 

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag. 

God you’re literally already about to break. 

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. 

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea. 

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on… 

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi. 

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude. 

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect. 

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him. 

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets. 

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities. 

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul. 

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen. 

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg  Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it? 

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious. 

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers. 

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service… 

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth: 

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake @flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia

Sorry if I'm unable to tag you. Did my best to include everyone who commented and asked!

[bbsmuts]

Anything For The Team ft. Jeon Somi

A/N: I'm writing this to fill in the gap between Mistaken Identity and the upcoming Field Trip finale, which will likely be a couple of months. It was a suggestion by @xiaoondc in light of Somi's appearance at the Tottenham Hotspurs meet & greet. I personally am in favor of the team because my man Son Heung-min plays for them. So consider this a filler smut for the long waiting period. I was originally meaning for this to be a quickie, like 2-2.5k, but I got a little carried away.

Unfortunately all my readers will have to suspend reality a little bit for two reasons. A, because Premiere League games happen in England, and Somi lives in Korea. B, because she'd likely get arrested for what she does in this one. So let's ignore that little snag and those pesky laws and read on. In addition to that, some parts of this were written without a whole ton of thought behind them, since this was never intended to be a long and drawn-out process.

This one will be a little more detailed and a little more accurate than After-match Entertainment, since I actually know how football works (soccer for all you dirty Americans), so I can actually write more of the game into it. Cheers.

And yes, there will more than likely be a part 2 with the Somi x NBA thing.

-상훈

Length: 6.61k

Possible TW: Spanking, choking, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, degradation

Tags: Flashing warning (but literally), gangbang, spanking, choking, hair pulling, slapping, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, spitroasting, DP, degradation

BRRRRRT

Somi's alarm jolted her out of her sleep instantly, the loud tone sending her heart rate through the roof as it always did when she was awoken from sleep suddenly.

"Whatsit..." She mumbled, picking up her phone and looking at it disdainfully. "Come on, it's too early to get up..."

The alarm note read "Don't forget the game, dumbass" and she immediately flew out of bed, suddenly more energized. There was a Tottenham Hotspurs vs. Aston Villa game happening that she had tickets to, and she didn't want to be late.

After speedily getting dressed and doing the quick essentials of her makeup, she went out to the kitchen to grab something to eat before she left. After bolting down her halfassed breakfast she hopped in her car and left, excited to see the Spurs playing in person.

–––

She arrived at the stadium a few miles dow the road later and had to stop and take in the size of the place; it had to be at least 150 feet tall and probably 400 feet long, a truly massive building.

She had her ticket scanned and headed up to her seat, which was located in a private box in the grandstands. She didn't like being in the crowd because she had sensitive ears and all the screaming made her head spin. So she preferred to be by herself. There was still a good fifteen minutes before the game started, and in about ten the players would be lining up on the pitch.

She talked a little to her best friend Eunbin, who unfortunately hadn't been able to make it, before the players were lined up on the pitch and she had to leave the call to see the action. Five minutes before the game, the team captains were to come to the sidelines for the coin flip to decide who got the kick off. As Son Heung-min, who she'd had a crush on for all of her teenage years and still thought was extremely hot, came jogging over to where the referee was, she couldn't help but mentally note the sculpted facial features, the lean and fit body beneath the tight jersey.

"Damn, he's so fine," she murmured to herself, imagination already jumping to filthy thoughts of what she'd let him do to her. Hell, for that guy? She'd do anything. Her mind showed her images of him choking her until she couldn't breathe, spanking her ass until it's red, pulling her hair, fucking her so nice and deep, ohh god yes...

The coin flip was completed and Tottenham got the kick off, so Son and Richarlison were the two who ran to the center of the field, waiting for the ref's whistle to start. The rest of the players took their positions around the pitch and waited as well; after a moment, in which the fans kept up their deafening roar, the whistle was blown and the game began.

Richarlison passed it to Son, who made a move forward past Barkley of Aston Villa, who'd tried to block him. Swiftly and expertly, he weaved and dodged his way between all the Aston Villa defenders and made an appreciable shot at the goal, but it was caught by Martinez, the goalkeeper. The Spurs fans let out a terrible groan, but it did nothing to dissuade the vigor of the team's players. Ignoring the missed goal, they waited for Martinez to throw it back into play.

—————————————————————————————————— A/N: Now, there's a reason I'm not a sports journalist, trying to write out what's usually a mostly uneventful 90 minutes isn't something I want to do here. Xiaoondc and I have planned to make that 90 minutes far more interesting, but for time's sake I'm going to skip around in the game so we're not all here reading a play-by-play of an imaginary game. So for the moment, let's say that it's the 77th minute, and Tottenham are tied with Aston Villa at 2-2. ——————————————————————————————————

It was beginning to look, to Somi, as if the Hotspurs might not win this one. Son, Johnson, and Solanke had been making some spectacular attempts, Son having scored twice, but Martinez's keeping was superb today. Likewise, Aston Villa's forwards had been putting forth a valiant effort against Vicario, but he had held strong and only conceded two goals.

There were only thirteen minutes left in the game, which meant someone needed to score for Tottenham. The trouble was, they were starting to lose focus and Aston Villa was taking advantage of that. If only there were something she could do about it, Somi thought.

And then, it clicked.

There was something she could do. It was risky, risky as hell, but in her mind entirely worth it. After all, she was in a private booth which would, logically, only be visible to people on the field, and...the entire other half of the stadium. The thought, depraved as it was, send shivers running through her and made her pussy wet. But amidst her thought, she saw Son get the ball and make a run down the outer left corner, and the Aston Villa defenders were closing on him...

The want to do it overtook her and with a deep breath, she mustered up her courage and pulled her shirt up, exposing the naked breasts of Jeon Somi to about 20,000 people.

Her mind, having been silent, was not screaming at her to cover herself up, sending the humiliation chemicals to her amygdala. But in the humiliation and risk, she found a thrill that suddenly had her practically panting with lust. With bated breath she waited, her own shirt covering her eyes, and she heard the Aston Villa fans across the pitch groan and then cheer. Confused, she lowered her shirt to watch the replay of whatever happened on the big screen on the other side. The eyes of Nedeljković, an Aston Villa defender who'd been about to steal the ball from Son, slid up to what was obviously her box and he slowed hugely, letting Son through with the ball with an expression of rapturous lust. Son made a great shot, but it was again blocked by Martinez, hence the cheers. Somi looked down at Nedeljković, whose teammates were throwing their hands up in real time, not knowing what he'd seen.

Confidence in her tactic increasing in light of her small victory, she retreated from the window and waited. She'd distracted Nedeljković for the second Son needed to get through, and if he could put the ball into the goal past Martinez, that would almost certainly guarantee the Spurs' win. Approaching the 82nd minute, both teams seemed to be getting more desperate. They started to get rougher, more agitated, and Villa came close to scoring twice. But then Somi's moment arrived, and Richarlison got the ball and sent it down the outside right. Taking another, deeper breath, she slid her pants and panties down her legs and propped herself up on the handrail guarding the window, sticking her ass out towards the crowd. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the defenders were too focused on keeping him out to look up at her (for all intents and purposes let's say she's in a private box near their end of the field), but she saw Richarlison give a split-second glance at her, and whether it was due to her or not, he suddenly ran faster, and making it past the defenders, slammed his foot into the ball and sent it speeding towards the goal's unprotected left side.

But Martinez was too quick. He sprang to the side and swung his right foot into the ball to counter. It soared across the pitch to the waiting feet of a Tottenham midfielder, who was immediately swarmed by opponents and teammates.

Somi quickly stripped, tossing her clothes aside. Approaching the window again, she was acutely aware of phones being turned to her, fingers pointing, eyes drinking in her naked body through the glass, making her blush even harder.

What the hell am I thinking? She thought, heart pounding as she stood naked before the eyes of thousands. What if I get caught? What if they put me on the news?

But she couldn't lie to herself. If she was to be honest, she knew that she wanted to be caught, she wanted to have everyone know Somi as the slut who flashed tens of thousands of people just to help her team win. And most of all, she wanted Son to see her and know it was her.

The 89th minute. Richarlison came into possession again and took it down the same way as last time, but something was different. Son was running parallel to him up the middle-left side, and Somi knew what was about to happen. In a last ditch-effort, she swung her legs over the rail, propped herself up on it, and spread her legs wide, pushing her feet against the walls on either side for balance.

Somewhere amidst the immediate shame and embarrassment she felt, she registered the sound of the entire opposite side of the pitch collectively gasping and saying "woah". Looking down, she saw the Villa defenders get distracted by the sound and throw questioning glances around, until they spotted her. Mouths dropping open in shock, the lost their concentration and let Richarlison through. It worked! she thought, but instead of shooting for the goal, he sent it to the center, chipping it up over the heads of the starstruck Villa defenders. Son, perfectly positioned, jumped into the air, leaned back, and kicked the ball directly into the top-right corner of the goal, and landed the flip on his feet.

The stadium exploded, the yells of the players entirely drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and the ref's whistle blew three times to signify the end of the match. Son, yelling "YES!" with the rest of his teammates, was borne onto their shoulders. Jumping up and down with elation while the Villa players shook their heads and beat the air with their fists, they made their way over to the sideline, where they all hugged each other and beat Son on the back.

His eyes traveled up the grandstands to her box. She blushed furiously and nearly fell off her perch as she saw his gaze linger on her body before he smiled and nodded a silent thanks to her. Ready to swoon, she got off the rail and got dressed again, silently jubilant that her tactic had worked and, more importantly, Son had noticed her. And looked at her. While she was naked.

The mere thought was enough to make her exultation die down and replace it with pure lust. Undoubtedly there would be a lot of posts about what she'd just done, and a lot of speculation about whether or not it was her. A hot media debate that wouldn't die down for a long time.

Leaving the stadium, she was almost immediately spotted and pointed out by reporters. She realized she'd forgotten to put her mask back on, but she wasn't opposed to an interview.

The nearest one approached her with a cameraman.

"Miss Jeon, would you be so kind as to spare us a moment of your time?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Somi nodded. "Sure. And please, just call me Somi."

"Alright Miss Somi, who are you here to support today?" The mic was held up to her mouth once more.

"Tottenham."

"How do you feel about the game's results?"

"I'm quite happy with how the game ended, and I'm proud of my team for their incredible win."

"Miss Somi, there have been speculations that you were involved in something that has now gone viral, recognize this?"

Somi's cheeks blazed red as the reporter held up her phone, showing a blurred-out video of Somi's own body being flashed to the crowd.

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"Some attenders of the game have been saying online that it was you who was in the video, are they correct?" The reporter's eyes bored into hers.

"I'm a very avid supporter of the Spurs, but suggesting I was involved in any public indecency is quite ludicrous."

She didn't directly deny it, either.

"So it wasn't you?"

"I was simply passionately supporting my team, any rumors of my involvement in public nudity are pure conjecture."

Her avoidance of a definitive answer definitely did not go unnoticed by the reporter, whose eyes narrowed before she concluded the short interview.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Somi."

Grinning to herself, Somi fished her mask out of her pocket and slipped it on before heading back to her car, feeling immense satisfaction in today's events.

...

Late that afternoon, her phone started ringing and she picked it up to see an unknown number calling. The Caller ID was someone named Ange Postecoglou.

"Hello?" She said, accepting the call.

"Good evening, this is Ange Postecoglou, team manager of the Tottenham Hotspurs. To whom am I speaking?"

"Jeon Somi," Somi said, ear-to-ear grin returning to her face. "How can I help you?"

"You're by yourself, I presume?"

"Yes, what is it?"

He lowered his voice. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Somi didn't even need to ask what he was talking about.

"Yes, it was." Her smile widened.

"Well, I'd like to offer you my sincerest thanks for your...erm...assistance today. If not for you, I fear we would have lost."

"Ah, well," Somi said, sitting down on her bed and dangling her feet over the edge, "I just did what I could for my team."

"We'd like to offer you an exclusive opportunity to meet the team."

Somi paused the swinging of her feet, surprised and immediately overtaken with excitement.

"Really?!" She half-shouted, then blushed at her own reaction. "I mean, really?"

"Really." She could hear the amusement in his tone. "They'd like to, uh...thank you personally."

His double meaning was not missed.

"When and where do I go?"

"A black limousine will be outside the Lotte World Mall at 6:30 pm sharp."

"Thanks, I'll be there."

After hanging up, she reverse checked the number and everything checked out, so, nerves jingling with anticipation, she waited the remaining hour and then got ready.

Having more time to prep herself for an outing this time, she selected her favorite and most revealing lacy black bra with matching panties. A short, ruffled black miniskirt and a skimpy red long sleeve crop top were her choices for outerwear.

(Yes, I know the outfit's not the same.)

Adding something a little hotter to her already done makeup from earlier and adding a subtle hint of her sexiest perfume, she gave herself the final touches to make herself as alluring as possible. And so, having prepared, she set out for the mall, which wasn't a far drive. She arrived at 6:27, parked her car near the mall, and waited outside it.

Only a minute later, a black limo with tinted windows and silver lining on them pulled up next to the curb, driver's side facing the sidewalk.

"Miss Somi?" The driver rolled down the window.

"That's me."

"Hop in."

She opened the back door of the limo and got in, immediately surprised by the quality of the interior. Beige leather seats, soft carpet padding, a massive moonroof spanning the entire ceiling of the car, several drink dispensers opposite the seats, a wine rack in the same place, and LED strip lights lining the entire thing. It was one of the nicest limos she'd ever been in, and after sitting down and giving the window separating her and the driver two taps to get him going, she quickly made use of the large bottle of whiskey sitting opposite her. Couldn't hurt to be a little tipsy meeting them.

A few minutes later the limo pulled to a stop in front of a massive building that she could only assume was the Spur's training facility. The driver disembarked and opened her door for her, then led her in through the front doors of the facility, then through a few hallways and a set of double doors. The doors led her back outside to a football pitch, where six of the eleven players who'd participated in the game were lined up on the opposite side. Son, Richarlison, Solanke, Johnson, Moore, and Lankshear, Son in the lead.

The driver left them and Somi, heart pounding with excitement and lust, approached the eleven.

"Mannaseo bangapseumnida, Somi-ssi." Son said, bowing respectfully.

Somi returned the bow. "Machangajilo, oppa."

Inwardly, as she greeted all the others, she found it a little ironic to be addressing each other so politely when they were most likely going to be fucking her senseless momentarily. Their eyes roved over her body, which was barely concealed by her outfit and left almost nothing to the imagination. They seemed hesitant, unsure of her allowance. She reached up to the hem of her crop top and stripped it off, revealing the scanty, lacy bra underneath. Immediately they seemed to become more confident, now that she'd shown them that she had no reservations. They closed in on her, hands feeling up her torso and sliding under her skirt. She bit her lip as their hands explored her body, feeling her arousal increase. She was quickly surrounded, various hands tugging at her skirt until it slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet.

"Mm, like what you see, boys?"

The only response she got was a powerful slap to her ass, which made her moan. Her slick was practically spilling down her thighs, a situation that did not go unnoticed by the team. Various filthy utterances filled her ears, the hands now roughly fingering her pussy making her gasp, pant and moan like she was in heat.

"Fuck, I want it so bad..." She bucked her hips into the hands, feeling her bra being unclasped and her breasts being freed. Hands slid over them as well, squeezing and pinching her nipples. She sank to her knees, grasping and feeling up the rock-hard cocks in their shorts. They wasted no time in ridding themselves of the shorts, revealing 6 throbbing shafts waiting to be sucked dry.

Somi eagerly jammed the first one into her mouth, bobbing her head back and forth passionately. She raised her hands to jerk off two more as more spanks rained down on her ass from behind her. Each slap send a thrill of pleasure-pain through her, and she relished in the sensation as much as she could while going down Solanke. He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and pulled her head into his crotch. Pumping his hips into her face, driving his cock deeper into her throat, he made her gag and choke on the saliva she inhaled.

"Yes!" She cried as he let her take a breath, pussy throbbing with need. "Fuck my mouth harder daddy!"

He thrust back into her mouth, her eyes rolling back as her throat was bulged. She moaned the fingers getting more daring with each passing second. Her breath hitched at the sensation of three fingers being pushed into her tunnel, her g-spot being ferociously fingered. Pleasure flooded her nerve endings, and her moans increased in volume, in desperation. The thrusts to her face got harder, faster, and she knew he was about to cum.

When a thumb pressed against her clit and circled roughly, she lost it.

Her orgasmic scream was muffled by the thick meat in her throat and Solanke's groan as he shot ropes of cum down her throat. She struggled to draw in oxygen past both blockages, and he pulled out to allow her to breathe.

She gasped in a breath and panted, letting herself fall back to the support of her arms. A large wet spot on the grass made it muddy where she sat, and before long they pulled her onto her knees.

"Please," she murmured as more fingers delved into her hypersensitive slit, the brutal thrusts putting her on edge again. "Please, I want your cocks so bad...please, daddy..."

A pair of powerful arms lifted her into the air, and from a glance over her shoulder she gathered that those powerful arms belonged to none other than Son Heung-min, who'd shed his shirt and shorts. The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, making her eyes and mouth widen in pure shock and pleasure at the sheer size.

"Please, daddy," she moaned, feeling her hands being cuffed behind her back, "please fuck me! Fuck me so hard I scream and cum on your fucking monster, make me squirt for you, please!"

At this point Somi was shut up by the tip of Lankshear's pressing against her lips, which she opened obediently. Simultaneously, both of them pushed their hips forward, a lot of inches being pushed into both sides of her. She cried out into it, pussy being blissfully stretched out. She felt every inch, every centimeter, every throbbing vein and ridge.

And then they started moving from either side, the sound of skin slapping into skin echoing around the pitch. Her muffled moans, their groans, and the lewd schlicks of both his cock pumping in and out of her slick hole and the other four stroking themselves to the sight.

She closed her eyes and bobbed her head in time with his thrusts, trying to distract herself from or stave off the impending orgasm, but it was pointless. The way the veins on Son's shaft grated against her g-spot felt too good. Her moans turned to cries, which turned quickly to shrieks as the waves of pleasure tore through her, obliterating her mind momentarily. Lankshear pulled out momentarily to allow her to release the wail of pleasure that had built up in her lungs. Eyes rolling back, the sensation wracked her body and she squirted hard, drenching the group and Son's thighs with cum. She couldn't signal to Lankshear that she wanted his cock back in her mouth, so she rolled her eyes back, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue to entice him. He took advantage of her tongue being out to achieve deeper penetration in her throat, meanwhile Son kept determinedly pumping away at her pussy. She could tell both of them were nearing orgasm; the telltale moans and "fuck yeah"s didn't do much to hide it.

Lankshear gave out with a groan and buried himself in her throat, choking her and spewing his cum deep down her gullet, delivering a hard slap to her face that only got her going more.

Free from the member bulging her throat, Somi could now fully vocalize the pure bliss she was feeling. Son pulled her upright so they were facing each other, and she felt the steel-solid cords of muscle flexing to hold her up.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes right there daddy!" She cried. "Oh my god, yes, right there, you're so big, I'm gonna cum again! You're fucking me so deep, I love it, yes!"

What took her by surprise was Bissouma coming up behind her and taking advantage of her ass cheeks being spread.

"God, that's so deep!" She groaned, three quarters of the big dick in her ass in one stroke.

Son took one hand off her ass and slapped it, earning a yelp from her and more natural lubricant down below. Both fucked her harder and faster, spanking her more, pushing her closer to her third orgasm.

"Yes, yes, yes, more, please!" He took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and pinching with his teeth, and she threw her head back, humping into his thrusts desperately. "Ohh fuck yes daddy, please pound me harder, it feels so fucking good, yes! I'm cumming!"

"Jenjang, nado keuraeyo!" Son groaned, keeping up his pace. (Fuck, me too!)

He slammed her down onto his cock while jerking his hips up into her, reaching new depths inside her and firmly pushing into her cervix and causing her third orgasm.

"FUCK!" She saw stars as the pure sensation making fireworks explode in her brain. The orgasm ripped through her body like a gunshot, her nerves on fire with pleasure as she rode it out. She then registered their hot cum spurting into her womb and bowels, the surges of warmth triggering a fourth, mind-shattering orgasm. An overstimulated, moaning sob left her, tears welling in her eyes from the intensity of the feeling. Son gave her supple cheeks one more spank before putting her down none too gently.

She lay still on the ground, chest heaving, covered in sweat. The mud she'd created smudged on her ass and back, having turned cool in the absence of her body heat. Her brain had checked out; there was no comprehensible thought running through it at all.

They allowed her a couple of minutes of recovery time, and when she noticed them approaching she sat up, biting her lip with half lidded eyes. She got on all fours and wiggled her ass, smirking up at them.

"Ready for round two...daddies?"

...

She left the compound with her holes fucked wide open, cum leaking out of every single one, and a fair amount still on her face. She'd decided to keep it there a little while for some selfies.

"I trust you had fun?" Her driver asked once she got back in the limo.

"I did. Back to the mall, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

After the quick drive back to the mall and the selfies she had wanted to take, she thanked the chauffeur and stepped inside the mall to wash off her face. Deciding to go for a little walk over the Jamsil Bridge in the cool night air, she started the entirely deserted footpath.

She was about two third of the way through the bridge when a group of men - very muscular men, Somi noted - entered the footpath from the opposite side. As they drew nearer, she recognized one of them. Then two, then three. Then all five of them.

"No way..." she muttered, stopping dead in her tracks as she recognized five of the Aston Villa players, Nedeljković in the lead. And none of them looked happy to see her.

"Well, well, well..." Nedeljković said, tone low and menacing. "Look what we have here."

"If it isn't Jeon Somi," said Torres, voice laced with anger, gesturing for the other three to surround her from the back. "The passionate Tottenham supporter."

"And dressed like she's heading to her night shift at the local whorehouse." One of the voices behind her said.

She took a step back from Nedeljković, a feeling of fear rearing its head inside her. Surely they wouldn't beat her up? A five on one? With cars watching?

But the cars weren't watching. The cars were on the uppermost section of the bridge, and the six of them were directly beneath, completely out of sight. The fear intensified.

"What do you say boys?" Nedeljković asked.

She sensed the three behind her closing in as the two in front did the same; panicking, she turned around and tried to push through them, but their arms shot out and held her back. Nedeljković took her by the hair, bicep flexing with the force with which he was holding on, and pulled her head back to look at him.

"We're going to make you pay for what you did, Somi."

"Please," Somi whispered, not even attempting to escape for fear of further abuse. "Don't hurt me...

"Hurt you?" The entire group laughed, and he took her arms and pinned them to the fence wall she was backed against. "God, she's so naive. We're not gonna hurt you, you dumb bitch. Pretty little thing like you, we're gonna pay you back for what you did another way..."

Her eyes widened at the implication and her cheeks flushed red.

"No, please don't!" She struggled a little bit, to which he put a hand around her neck and pushed lightly. "Please...have mercy..."

Despite how scared she was of them, she couldn't deny that the position he had her in was making her very aroused. Being helpless like this, it turned her on to the point where she was literally trembling, cheeks flushed red and pussy wet again.

"Look at this, lads!" He said, grip tightening on her neck. "We haven't even done anything and this slut is already panting like a bitch in heat!"

His hand left her neck and trailed its way down her body, caressing her breasts, down her abs, and up her skirt, pushing a couple of fingers into her past the panties.

"Mmm~" She purred, biting her lip at the sensation and the fact that she was completely helpless to whatever he wanted to do.

"Yeah, you like that, you little whore?"

"Yes~" She bucked her hips into his fingers, gasping, her eyebrows arching upwards as he roughly palmed her clit and rubbed her g-spot. "Oh fuck - oh my god yes - just like that~"

He slapped her face hard, making her gasp again, and kept fingering her.

"When I ask you a question, you address me properly, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" She rolled her hips into his hand desperately, already on edge from his skilled touch. "Oh, please, sir, keep going, make me cum!"

She moaned desperately, needily, begging for release, but his fingers disappeared at the last second.

"No, please!" She squeezed around pure air, whimpering at the absence of the fingers.

"Shut up." Another slap landed on her face. "I said we're giving you some payback, not rewarding you."

He turned her around, and she felt leather cuffs being secured into place on her wrists behind her back. The next second, three fingers had been shoved into her pussy again, making her cry out.

"Fuck, that's it...ooh yess sir please keep going, just like that..."

"Shut the fuck up and take it." He smacked her ass.

"Yes, sir," she gasped, wiggling it as his fingers moved in and out of her.

"Oh my god yes, I'm cumming, fuck!"

But he pulled the fingers out at the last second, denying her the orgasm again.

"Fuck you!" She cried in frustration, an involuntary whine leaving her mouth again.

Quick as lightning, he darted around to where her face was and roughly grabbed her by the jaw, making her look at him.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Nothing!" She immediately became small and submissive again, made nervous by his aggression. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it."

He sat down on the ledge and pulled her over his lap, lifting her skirt up over the swell of her hips.

"Now, you're going to learn what happens to bad little whores when they misbehave and talk back their owners.

He bent her over his knee and put his right leg over the backs of her knees, effectively trapping her, and started viciously spanking her over her panties, which did nothing to protect her ass from the relentless assault.

"Ow! Fuck! Sir, please, it hurts!"

"Of course it does, you dumbass whore!"

Tears sprang to her eyes at the continued abuse of her pinkened cheeks, and she struggled a bit, which only earned her harder smacks.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"You better be fucking sorry!" He continued, heedless of her words.

And yet, in the pain of his powerful spanks, she felt her arousal spike. She arched her back into it, suddenly craving more punishment, more humiliation. She was totally, hopelessly turned on by the position she found herself in.

"Harder!" She begged. "Please, sir, punish me harder!"

"You hearing this slut?" He muttered to the rest of the team. "Begging for more punishment. Just a masochistic little pain slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Her own submission driving her crazy with lust, she kept arching her back, wiggling her hips. He increased the force of the spanks, making her moan louder, and when he added the fingers back, she fell apart.

She barely recognized the voice that screamed out of her throat; it sounded most unlike her: high-pitched, desperate, needy. And in her body, among the orgasmic eruption inside, she recognized another feeling: Hunger. She wanted them, she wanted them a lot.

"P-please," she whimpered, her entire body hot and shaking, "please give me your dick, s-sir..."

"You hear that, lads? She wants our dicks."

"Please, sir," she almost whispered, eyes half-lidded, "I want it so bad..."

He positioned himself behind her and pushed into her, groaning at the tightness. He ripped off her panties, reached forward, and pushed them into her mouth; she could taste her own arousal and it only made her hornier.

"Fuck me...fuck me hard, sir, I need it..."

Fast, hard, brutal strokes were what she got in return. The sheer force of each thrust pushed her forward and made her ass and breasts jiggle. Though muffled by her panty gag, her cries could easily be heard by all.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, just like that, fuck me just like that sir! Ohh god it's so good, so deep inside me!"

He stopped momentarily, laid down under her so she was on top, and then resumed. A second cock pressed against her asshole and entered, making her double over, not expecting the sudden penetration. One of Nedeljković's hands reached up and grasped her throat and she bit her lip in arousal.

"Now, tell me Somi, are you ever going to do something like that to fuck up our game again?"

She shook her head, earning her a slap, which intensified her lust.

"Say it properly."

"No, sir," she moaned, "I won't, sir..."

"Good girl." She shivered. "You kept us from winning by doing that."

"Well, maybe if you'd – ohh fuck~...played better, you wouldn't have lost." She was playing with fire and she knew it, but it was worth seeing the surprised and angry look on his face. His hand closed on her face, pulling it close to his.

"You better watch what you say to me, slut."

"Get better at football."

He slapped her, grabbed her hips and started slamming his into them. Her moans turned to screams, her entire lower region being overridden by the sharp increase in pleasure.

"F-fuck, that's t-too much!" She cried, involuntarily bucking her hips, her body betraying her words. "S-so good!"

He ignored her and , keeping the impacts in time with his thrusts.

"Care to take that back?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it!" She was going to cum again and she knew it, and there was nothing she could or wanted to do about it. She reveled in the harsh treatment, in the submission they required from her, that she so willingly gave. The throbbing in her asshole intensified, and another torrent of warmth shortly followed a groan, leaving Nedeljković as the last one in the game.

"Do you wanna cum?"

"Yes, sir, please, make me squirt for you!"

"If that's the best you can do then I don't think you want to cum. You'll have to beg me."

He slid himself out from under her and stood, his cock resting on her face as she knelt and looked up at him.

"Please, sir, please let me cum, I want to cum so bad! I want to squirt on your big dick, I need you to fuck me and make me cum again, please~"

"Oh, you need me to? Well, if you insist..."

He pushed her down onto all fours and knelt behind her, slapping her ass before entering her again in a single, well-lubricated stroke.

"Oh god yes," she groaned, feeling him push down on her head, ensuring she was under his control. "So fucking big..."

"Keep your pretty head down, Somi," he growled in her ear, his voice making her shiver with arousal.

"Yes, sir," she moaned breathlessly, trying to buck up into him to impale herself deeper. Her shouts and his grunts reverberated around the footpath, and she did nothing to stop them. Dimly, she recognized the feeling of the cuffs being taken off her, and she pushed herself up with trembling arms.

"Oh yes, fuck my little pussy harder!" He reached around, pressed his index and middle fingers to her clit, and rubbed hard, sharply spiking her pleasure. "Ngghh fuck yes! So deep, yes, yes, please don't stop! I'm cumming!"

His fist closed on her hair again, the vicelike grip unyielding. It took only a few moments before she herself closed like a vice on his cock, and she gave a wild yell as a stream of cum sprayed out of her. He grunted, breathing out heavily in an almost-groan as his own cum spurted deep into her.

"Oh god...oh fuck..." She breathed like she'd been running for miles, and her arms folded under the weight of her own upper body.

"God damn..." Nedeljković commented, getting dressed again, "Much as I hate this bitch's guts, she is a good fuck. Cuff her to the fence."

Wait, what?! She was woken from her stupor by the feeling of two strong hands lifting her up and dragging her to the fence, directly into the view of traffic. The leather cuffs clicked into place, leaving her sitting on the concrete with her arms above her head, and she was too weak to resist.

The three who hadn't fucked her stepped forward, finally unleashing their loads on her. Thick shots of cum streaked her thighs, abs, breasts, and face, the last few landing in her obediently open mouth. The three quickly got dressed and her brain was immediately awake as hell when they started walking away.

"Wait! I'm still here!"

"Yeah, we know." Nedeljković called over his shoulder. "I wonder how long it'll be before someone finds you?"

"Let me go! Please!"

They ignored her pleas and she settled back down, resigning herself to it. A flash of white caught her eyes, and she looked up just in time to see a phone being stowed back away before the car drove past.

"Great," she muttered to herself, feeling her face grow hot. "Guess it's gonna be a long night."

...

A/N: Yeah, I did just leave her there for all the traffic and walkers to see. Thanks for reading!

[rindreamery]

itoshi rin doesn't like thinking about growing old. but one question from you has him thinking about his future, and he’s not sure if he hates the idea of growing old anymore. as long as it's with you.

featuring. itoshi rin x reader, fluff, fears of growing old

word count. 1061

all it took was one question— “where do you think we’ll be ten years from now?” — to send itoshi rin spiraling.

the idea of growing old isn’t something that rin thinks of often. after all, he’s still a young man with his whole life ahead of him. his parents aren’t pressuring him to think about his future-beyond just yet, and all he really needs to worry about is his career. and, to be fair, it’s also not really something he wants to dwell on either— not when growing old comes with the insinuation that he won’t be like this forever. he doesn’t want to think of the day when his body can no longer function the way it does now, and the day he has to find purpose outside of soccer.

but, your question has rin thinking about you in his future; settling down, growing old, and the uncertainty of it all.

he likes what he has with you now, and he's sure that your relationship classifies as "settling down" at this point. but you're still young right now, and things change when you become older. and with change comes uncertainty. the weird and uncomfortable feeling that comes with uncertainty has never been rin's favorite.

he just doesn’t like the thought of no longer having energy to take you out on, albeit spontaneous, 2 a.m runs to the convenience store. that would mean that he would no longer be able to watch you consume an unhealthy amount of ramen and coffee (with a small and lovesick smile on his face), only to wake up later (next to him) with regrets and a bloated face. but you wake up happy, nonetheless, and that makes him happy.

rin doesn’t want to fall into a dull cycle of normalcy while growing old with you.

it's not that he doubts his love for you when he thinks of this— he loves you more than his actual understanding of what love is. but growing old with you comes with the pressure to constantly “get it right,” to keep you satisfied and by his side, and he wonders whether the life he’s building for you two will be sustainable and fulfilling. will you still want to be with him ten years down the line?

growing old, rin concludes, is scary.

(when you had mindlessly asked the question, you hadn’t anticipated for him to think so deeply about it. and yet, he has that faraway, distant look in his eyes that you’ve learned to recognize as him being deep in thought. a part of you feels guilty for wanting to giggle at the look on his face; he’s cute when he’s lost in thought. the way his brows knit ever so slightly, the way his lips go back to its natural pout, and the feeling of his hands tightening on your waist—)

“you’re thinking too much right now,” your voice finally breaks him out of his spiral, and his grip loosens immediately. there's a sheepish look that flashes on his face as his focus is drawn back to you, and you’re already staring at him with your soft and welcoming eyes. he can feel your arms draping over his shoulders, and he brings his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you in. “you don’t need to think so hard about the question, silly.”

he huffs at your words, displeased at being called silly. “you asked a serious question.”

“okay, true,” you hum in understanding. “you wanna hear my answer first, then?”

he pretends to think for a second, and he gives you a subtle nod before he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck. a content sigh escapes you as he fully leans into you, and you run your fingers through his hair as you think about your answer.

it’s not that you’ve never considered the future before— you’ve thought about it more times than you could count on your fingers. but having rin so close, with his arms wrapped around you, makes you feel more sure in your thoughts. you’ve always felt that the future with him was less of a mystery and more of a promise of what's to come.

it makes you wonder if he feels the same.

you pull back from his embrace (just barely) so that you could look him in the eye as you speak, and the frown on his lips return at the feeling of being stripped of your warmth. his eyes are still serious, and there’s a touch of uncertainty in them. almost as if he’s not sure if he wants to hear what you have to say.

you can’t blame him. neither of you have so-openly talked about the future with one another.

“well i think…” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “in ten years, i’ll still be with you. you’ll still be tagging along with me to those 2 a.m. trips to the convenience store, because you won’t be able to resist teasing me about my late-night cravings. but maybe i’ll be eating healthier snacks—” you pause, listening to him scoff at your last sentence. it earns him a nudge in response, and his lips twitch up ever so slightly.

“i also think,” you continue, “that we’ll find new things to enjoy together. new places to visit, new experiences to have. and maybe we won’t be the same as we are now—” you shrug lightly, “but that’s okay. i want to grow older with you, and i’m not scared of it. i’ll enjoy it because it's with you.”

for a second, you think you may have said too much— maybe scared him off with prospect of growing old together. but his firm grip that keeps you in his arms is comforting, and you realize that he's right there with you; on the same page.

there's a long silence as rin takes in everything you have to say. neither of you say anything for a while, as if afraid to disturb the delicate moment. it's just you, him, and the slowly shrinking distance between the two of you.

“and i think,” rin breaks the silence after mulling over his words (he knows he's not the best at saying what he means), and he leans in until his lips are barely ghosting over yours. “you’re gonna be stuck with me for longer than ten years.”

note. i have a psych exam but i wanted to dissociate so i rush-wrote this instead 👩‍🦯 also not proofread, written at 3am

© rindreamery, 2024

[neverthatsirius-jo]

[present jo note: read this last night with my notes app open so i could go annotating hope u don’t mind i wrote a lot :p]

if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms

wooo, just as im in my romcom watching era. perfect 🥳🫶

James was nothing to fawn over.

?! ?! ?! ?!?!2€/ ?!;@/€:@

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

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold,"

YOU WERENT FUCKING LYING THIS IS SO ROM COM GAAAAAH

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?"

this made me giggle teehEe

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

i would murder him. my face would be so red

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

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

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

ilovethemilovethemilovethem

thinking of u :P <3

GODDDD WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE JAMES POTTER NOT BEING REAL

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

giggling and crying all at the same time

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

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

😔😭🥳✨💗👹 i cant

11k WORDS? WERE BEING FED FOLKS. i feel like a squirrel with her supply of nuts for the winter HAHSH WHAT AM I SAYING SOMEONE SHUT ME UP (preferably james potter and with a kiss thanks)

summary: loved this, gia. it was very rom-com, very cutesy 💗🫶✨

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

wc: 11,151

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

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

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

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both men laughed at your plight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, nothing good lasts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then sleep with me."

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

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thought you hated her, mate."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As if you read my pieces."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

thinking of u :P <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. That could not be worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I guess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about him?"

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

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, it was actually Remus.

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

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

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was happening?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mariacallous]

I think where I'm at is that I'm refusing to let myself get worked up or spiral into doomerism and despair. Please note that I'm not saying that grieving or being upset is bad or that you can't or shouldn't do it.

For a number of reasons:

-It's not helpful or good for me just personally. It's pouring salt and acid into the wound and keeping it fresh and raw.

-It's tiring and unhelpful. It doesn't lead to anything good. Unless you're going to take an irreversible step prior to January 20th, the focus should be on what's best for you, what you can do, how you can get through it.

-It's what they want. And by "they" I mean both Trump supporters and also everyone who profits and feeds off of your despair and dooming and engagement. They want you scared and upset and panicking because you're a weaker opponent, which is better for them. They want you dooming and spiralling and freaking out because if you're constantly keyed up and irritable, you can't focus, you can't plan, you can't be effective. They want you turned on and in all the time, giving them engagement and reactions and validation.

We've got a lot of shit already coming our way, and it's still 2 months until he and his team are in office. We're not going to make it those two months, much less 2 years or a full term, if we continue the way things have been.

I am still deeply upset, and I get hit with intense feelings of hopelessness and difficulty, but I have to pull myself through them. Because to do otherwise is adding to the defeat for myself.

We need to focus on what needs to happen to make change, get us through, help us find things to celebrate or focus on. Now more than ever.

[planetpedri]

this is gonna make me sob into my pillow but #2 angst thingy with pedri 😣😣😣😣😣😣😣😣

Peace — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Breaking up after a a three year long relationship had hurt you tremendously, but when Pedri had texted you that he got injured and wanted you to come to the hospital… well you couldn’t say no.

Word count: 1.47k+

Disclaimer/s: Based off the prompt ‘Hold me, please?’ , angst to comfort / fluff.

A/N: hi im on an angst kick don’t expect much happiness coming out of bea’s blog.

You reread and reread Pedri’s text. Over and over and.. you get the gist. You couldn’t help the pity that built in your heart, but you also couldn’t help the anger that arose along with it.

It had only been a week, for God’s sake. You’d broken up a week ago and the wound was still fresh. Angry thoughts clouded your mind the whole drive to the hospital, all the way up the elevator, to the door, but the second it opened and your eyes landed on the man you had folded.

Every rage filled feeling disappeared, replaced by the overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hold back, cautiously poking your head through the door. “Uh, can I come in?”

At one side of the bed was Pedri’s mother, only furthering to the awkwardness of it all. Seeing your ex and his mother a week after you’d broken up was not something you imagined happening, yet, here you were.

María stood, her eyes darting between her son and the woman she’d grown to adore so dearly. She had to fight the smirk threatening her lips when she saw the tension in her son’s shoulders depleting.

“I’m going to the cafeteria to find your father.” She says, patting Pedri’s head, “it’s nice to see you again.” She offers you a kind smile before rushing out of the room.

“You too..” You begin, but she was already long gone. Left alone in the depressing hospital room, you find your gaze drifting to his leg. “Jesus..” You mumble.

Pedri doesn’t say anything, simply letting out a quiet hum of acknowledgment. He watches you carefully as you make your way to the side of his bed.

“I don’t.. I don’t really know what to, uhm—“ You were grasping at straws for something to say. Nothing came to mind, causing a flush to spread across your cheeks along with a nervous laugh.

The tan man couldn’t help the way his eyes softened and the small, barely noticeable smile of his lips. He’d missed you. Everything about you, he had missed. The breakup of course, was his fault. He been so stressed with football that he’d taken it out on you, saying things he didn’t mean but couldn’t take back.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He speaks, wearily. He wanted so badly for you to just look at him, he didn’t blame you for avoiding it, though.

“I feel like I probably should, I mean.. this is..” You were once again, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry, this sucks.” Pathetic. That was pathetic.

Pedri was unfortunately, very injury prone. You’d been in this position many times, but this was different. You couldn’t rush to his side, you couldn’t shower him in apologetic kisses, you couldn’t do the things you used to. And those were the only ways you knew how to comfort him.

Your legs brushed against the hospital bedsheets, when you remember. “Oh! Shit, I almost forgot, I set them down outside the door because I wasn’t sure if they would be appropriate right now.. Wait, I’ll be right back.” And just like that, you were gone, leaving Pedri completely and utterly confused.

When you returned, you had a blanket and, what you’d called the ‘designated hospital hoodie’ in your hands. He recognized them instantly. Your favorite hoodie of his, and the blanket you’d used specifically on the nights he’d stay over and the two of you would fall asleep on the couch.

“I figured it would get cold in here, it always does.” You gingerly hand him the items, freezing when his fingers brushed against yours.

Pedri froze as well, his eyes snapping up to you. “Sorry, uhm, thank you. Seriously.”

“It’s no problem.” You cough, “so! How are you? How bad is it?”

Shaking his head with a tired sigh, Pedri winced as he scoots over on the bed, his jaw clenching as he does. “Joder. [fuck] ” He hisses in Spanish, taking a second to speak again, “you can.. sit down y’know?”

Hesitantly sitting onto the uncomfortable mattress, your eyebrows furrow, “you shouldn’t be moving so much.” You scold, easily slipping back into your old concerned girlfriend mode. “How many times do I have to remind you there are plenty of chairs I can sit on?”

“And how many times do I have to remind you, that I prefer you closer?” He rebutted, the both of you pausing when you realize you weren’t allowed to do this back and forth anything.

But, you shrug the feeling off. Despite how things had ended, you loved Pedri. You cared for him. He was hurting, and you were not about to make him hurt any more by opening up the wounds that were still fresh.

“Well, your comfort is a bit more important than your wants.” You crack a small grin, “how did surgery go?”

Pedri huffs through a painful exhale. “I don’t want to talk about medical shit anymore. I’ve had to deal with my families badgering all day…” He hesitates before continuing, “I know this is overstepping, but could you just.. lay down? You don’t have—“

“I’d lay down if you weren’t hogging all the pillows.” You tease, “move your big head.” Shifting around to a sitting position beside him, you wiggle around till the thin blankets were out from under you and on top of you.

He laughs, the sound sweet and welcoming to your ears. You turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes directly for the first time since you stepped into the room. “This is only mildly weird.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, taking the blanket you’d brought and spreading it out over the two of you. “Another boundary crossing question…?”

“I don’t see why not.” You swallow, not knowing what was about to come out of your ex’s mouth.

“Hold me?” He asks with the saddest eyes, “please?”

Listen, you were no fool. You knew your actions would have consequences. This simple act was going to either lead to your heart breaking even more, or potentially causing you to go against your morals and allow forgiveness.

You couldn’t get yourself to speak, instead, you lift your arm to wrap around the back of his neck and your hand came up to rest on his head. Pedri automatically relaxes against your shoulder, letting out a long breath of relief.

You stay like that for a while, your fingers threading through his soft hair while the other hand occupied on his cheek, it’s fingers rubbing smoothly back and forth along his cheekbone. It had always been the way you calmed him down when he was upset. The familiarity tugged at your heart strings and in that moment you didn’t care how badly this was going to hurt you, you only cared it would make him feel better.

Plus, he always told you how much peace he felt when he was in your arms, and thats all you wanted him to feel in the moment.

“Pedri?” You quietly beckon him to look at you, which he does. His eyes fluttered open and a small hum leaves his lips. “You know I can’t stay..”

He tries to hide his disappointment, but you knew him too well. “I understand. Sorry, I shouldn’t have even asked you to come, I know I hurt you.”

“Hurt is one way to put it.” You quirk an eyebrow, hiding the genuine words behind a teasing grin.

His eyes flicker around your face, noticing every crack in your expression. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said. I can do better, I will.”

“That’s not enough. The things you said.. Pedri, I can’t just forget them.” Exasperated and ready for the conversation to end, you tap his head. “Just lay back down.”

Pedri shakes his head, “no, we need to talk—I need to talk about this! I don’t want you to forget, just hold me accountable and give me another chance.” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “Please, cariño.”

That stupid, stupid, stupid pet name. The only one you ever really loved when it left his lips.

“Can we talk about this when you’re not suffering from an injury? Like, what, two months? When your head is clear, and i’ve had time to get over what you said.. you call me. Then, we can talk about it.” You push his head back onto your shoulder and rest yours against his hair.

“Okay. Two months?” Pedri’s hand that had wrapped around your waist, dips under your shirt, rubbing slow circles. “I can do that.”

Pressing a short kiss to his hair, you hum. “I’ll leave when your mom comes back. Don’t text me or contact me till those two months are up, got it?”

Pedri groaned, “nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any pedri posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !

[hiddenlongingsfanfic]

Fresh Out of Luck (Lucky Boys 2)

“So…uh Hood? Are you okay?” 

Danny could feel the flood of fond exasperation that swept through the man across from him and he finally let his muscles loosen. 

The man may have been stand-up enough to pull him from electrified waters but that didn’t always mean much.  The fact that he seemed closer to laughter than anger after a pretty intense, if short-lived, fight was definitely a point in his favor. 

Maybe now that they’d sized each other up Danny could just slink out of this guys haunt without any further problems. 

I mean, he had a lot of problems actually, but this could be one less. 

Maybe? 

Possibly? 

As he struggled to regain his footing Danny felt the other man's full attention settle back on him. 

Absolutely everything throbbed on his body as he got back up. 

The fall and the electric shock would have been enough for him to retreat to his core even a year ago. He was tougher now, more used to pain. So he was up and on his feet even though it was nearly the last thing he wanted to do. If the ground had been just a little softer or the man across from him had been just a little less scary Danny would have stayed face-planted right where he was.  As it was, one of his feet dragged behind him a little as he started to stumble away. 

Ow. 

Ow. 

Ow! 

Behind him the man cleared his throat pointedly and Danny turned his head just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m fine O; but we’ll need some sort of medical assistance for our…visitor.” 

Danny didn’t even try to hold back the rumbling bass of the growl that erupted from his chest. 

Like hell. 

The other man. 

Hood? 

Raised an eyebrow at him and after a breath of thought seemed to purposefully push a little hesitant reassurance towards him. 

Danny’s nostrils flared wide and on the exhale he pushed out a wisp of frosty air. 

Which hadn’t happened before when Hood had sent emotions his way. 

This was the first time it seemed intentional though. 

As though he’d put some effort into it rather than an instinctual response. 

Which, if this was the man’s first time meeting another ghost-adjacent person, was pretty impressive. 

More than just a very, pretty face whatever he was. 

But Danny had learned his lesson about being led around by pretty people who were able to beat the shit out of him without breaking a sweat. 

Danny relaxed his grip on his solid form and felt the dim shadows of the sewers recede just a little bit more as his skin started to glow. His legs merged together into his tail and he let himself start to float into the air with, if not ease, at least long practice. 

Hood’s eyes widened a little at the transformation but didn’t budge an inch.  Instead, he let his head fall back a little against the wall deliberately making himself look more relaxed and less threatening. Danny may not be able to speak because of the muzzle but his derisive snort spoke volumes. Hood held his hands up in silent surrender. 

“Okay. Fine. No hospital or anything. But we can help you with the muzzle at least. See about getting that off your face.” 

Danny snorted again and this time he let himself float back up towards a thin sliver of night sky that he could see. It wouldn’t be wide enough for his shoulders but the plastic would fit through easily enough through the small gap. 

The man’s voice was fading but he could still feel the surge of worried aggravation when he said. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” 

Whoever O was hadn’t had any sort of audible reaction to what Hood had said so they probably had cameras along with the other equipment that the man was packing. So at least two people in this strange new world had already seen his face and what the GIW had done to him. 

It took a little bit of wriggling, and the painful stretch of the plastic muzzle compressing on his face but Danny managed to slide back onto the streets. 

Camera’s didn’t tend to work too well around him but the tech from this world might be different. 

So with another shuddering effort Danny managed to make himself go invisible and intangible. 

From what he had seen while he was falling from the crumbling portal he had landed in a sizable city. 

The stars were all wrong and he couldn’t quite grasp where he was in relation to where he had been. 

Did this Earth even have the same number of continents? 

Countries? 

Not that it really mattered. 

There was no going back to the life (HA!) that he had had before. 

Wherever he had landed, it looked rough. 

A lot of the streetlights had been smashed, leaving deep pools of darkness that Danny purposefully skirted around.

Even if the only thing that was still visible was the muzzle he didn’t need anybody trying to grab onto his face. 

He flitted through the back alleys ignoring the deals for both drugs and bodies that were going on around him. 

Everything looked as consensual as it could be and he didn’t see any kids involved. 

Frankly, at that point he considered it none of his business. 

He was also just tired. 

Most of the buildings looked like they were occupied; with the occasional spot of warm flickering light from a television. But any city of even moderate size was going to have abandoned buildings. It took him a little while but Danny finally found what looked like an abandoned apartment building. Most of the windows had been smashed and the front door was hanging off of a single hinge at an angle that suggested it had been pushed inwards forcefully. 

Danny cautiously floated up a couple of stories and peered in through a few windows.   He could see the occasional sleeping bag and the small stashes of supplies that some of the city's homeless had left there but between the police tape and the blood stains Danny figured something violent had happened here. 

Violent enough to keep all but the most desperate of people out of the building. 

Perfect. 

The building was steeped in death and when Danny put a cautious hand on the bricks he could feel the treacle creep of the ectoplasm that inundated the porous surfaces. 

He carefully maneuvered the muzzle through the shattered remnants of wood from a boarded off window. 

The rest of his body slipped through the boards with no issue. 

The apartment had never been anything glamorous. 

Wall to wall carpeting in a shade that may have been beige but now had a noxious undertone of green from the mold and the water damage. The wallpaper had once had fat yellow roses peppering the wall in inconsistent rows, mismatched now where the sun had faded the once bright colors.  

Danny took in a deep breath of decay, it felt just like home. 

Danny let himself relax back into visibility as he scanned the room in front of him. 

There were water stains creeping up the drywall, heaviest around the window and in the corners leaving the once cheerful wallpaper peeling up and bubbling. 

He let himself spin around for a moment taking it all in. 

Not a single piece of rubble was anything even close to white in color. 

No medical equipment. 

No weapons, ecto or otherwise. 

Danny let out a low rumble of pleasure. 

Perfection. 

He’d go out and scavenge some blankets. 

See if he couldn’t cobble together some sort of generator. 

He had never been the brains of the family, but he was no lightweight when it came to cannibalizing what someone else had already built. 

Danny dragged the remains of a moth-eaten comforter into the darkest corner of the living room and let himself fully curl up onto it with a heavy sigh. Thin lines of ectoplasm started slowly leaking up out of the floor and made a beeline for his chest. When he finally dropped off to sleep Danny felt better than he had in years. 

When Red Hood slipped onto a rooftop across the road the stranger didn’t even twitch.

Pulling a small pair of binoculars out of one pouch, he also pocketed a small handheld device that was connected to the tracking device he had managed to slip into the folds of the black rubber hazmat suit the other man was wearing.

Whatever he was, and however he turned invisible the tracker had worked fine.

Wherever Jason might have been expecting this strange visitor of Gotham to go it certainly wasn’t here.

Crime Alley was one thing.

This building though was even more decrepit than the usual.

There’d been a mass murder at some point in the early aughts.

Nothing too noteworthy.

For Gotham anyways.

A drug deal gone wrong, amped up with some of the fear toxin that the Scarecrow specialized in.

Red Hood had managed to keep most of the homeless clear of the old apartment building just in case.

He’d funded several halfway houses in the Narrows and tried to keep everyone at least marginally housed and fed.

One thing about his little empire, Jason had no end of odd jobs that he was able to offer to anyone that needed some help to get back on their feet. He’d been deep in the weeds of getting a rehab facility set up for the last several months. Getting funding hadn’t been the biggest problem; if Bruce was good for nothing else he was at least usually willing to throw money at a problem.

He had also given all of his children a thorough education in business and whatever else they were interested in.

Finding good, i.e. non-villainous, counselors was proving to be tough though.

Nearly everyone with a higher education in Gotham seemed to be on a watchlist of some sort.

Anyone with common sense and a Masters degree tended to abandon the smog-filled skies as soon as they were able to graduate.

Hood didn’t feel like he was being particularly picky either.

He sincerely didn’t care about any sort of non-violent criminal history and even then it definitely depended on the circumstances.

A spouse beater wasn’t going to get into the Narrows to profit off of his little growing empire.

A girl that had killed her rapist on the other hand.

Well.

Some people got exactly what they deserved in death.

No matter what Batman thought.

Tossing his hair out of his face Jason finally knelt down to take in what he was seeing.

Oracle was quiet too.

He’d turned on the recording when he’d slipped into the sewers and hadn’t felt the need to turn it off since.

He had heard the gasp of outrage that had slipped out when she had seen the other man’s face.

Whoever had done that to him; it was malicious.

Torture on a human rights level, even if he wasn’t technically human, wasn’t going to be tolerated by any Bat or Bird.

“We’re going to need to figure out who did that to him.”

O’s voice was grim and Jason gave a grunt of agreement.

Tilting his head, Jason watched the throbbing glow of the Lazarus water as it seeped into the man’s chest.

He wasn’t going to lie, at least not to himself, that was spooky as shit.

“I’m not familiar with whatever tech or magic this guy’s got going on but I’d say he’s probably ingesting the Lazarus water to help with his injuries.”

Jason kept quiet.

Oracle was only marginally talking to him.

She was typing quickly; looking for commonalities.

Clues as to what the hell was going on with their newest visitor.

Jason’s voice was the barest whisper but he knew that the microphone would pick it up.

“How is he even collecting it? I’ve never seen the waters in this quantity in Gotham and he seems to be pulling it out of thin air.”

“I’m not picking up any sort of machinery or tech. The only metal I’m picking up is localized around his face. You tussled with him. Notice anything noteworthy?”

Jason bit his lip to hold back a bark of laughter.

Tussled.

Like they were kids on a playground.

Like the guy in front of him hadn’t managed to literally rip his helmet off of him in pieces.

At least Dick had finally managed to convince him to remove the bomb that he had stored in it for a while.

That would have been an interesting way to go out.

“You’ve been unusually quiet even for you. What are you thinking?”

“That he sets off the Pit.”

Oracle’s gasp was bitten off but Jason still heard it.

He ignored it though and plowed on.

“Not. Not in the same way that I’m used to.”

Less blinding rage and more. Jason wasn’t sure if he could explain it to anyone.

They knew about the rage that seemed to envelope him.

It didn’t always have a trigger; just came out of fucking nowhere to ruin his goddamn day.

Sometimes though.

Sometimes it was worse.

The scrape of metal on concrete seemed to be a pretty consistent one.

Green flooded his vision and he could feel that seemingly endless well of rage start to rise in his chest.

If he was in the manor or the cave he always tried to keep well away from everyone.

Jason didn’t know what he would do to himself if he somehow managed to hurt Alfie.

That strange feeling of fear mixed with curiosity had seeped through him like a warm mist.

A hiss from a frightened animal not a roar of intimidation.

Not a hint of malicious intent; even after that frankly epic blow to his mask.

The Pit had risen to meet it, enraged and tinted with his own fear, and then had paused.

Writhing in his chest like a physical being.

Like a heart attack made of magic.

And then.

A feeling he had never felt before.

A deep rumbling purr of recognition.

All of this in the span of moments while he had watched the other man try to catch his breath.

All of it a silent undertone that felt like an alien language that he had never heard before but that made perfect sense.

“I can’t explain it. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

“Can you make a comparison? It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just, I’m trying to understand what you’re saying.”

Jason went silent for another long moment.

His eyes were still fixed intently on the other man.

Who definitely wasn’t breathing.

That fact didn’t seem to bother the stranger at all as he twisted into a deeper curl.

His entire body was molding to the shape of the used to be 90° walls and the man was about 70% cube.

Jason bit his lip hard enough that he could taste the faint tang of imminent blood.

What could he compare this feeling to?

He stumbled over his words for a moment, wetting his lips.

“It’s not…not quite the same. You remember the first time Martian Manhunter telepathically communicated with you?”

“Yes?”

“How it wasn’t just words.”

“Yes. There were undertones of his emotions too.”

“Right. That’s kind of what this was like. No words. Just emotions. Communicative emotions. He knew what he was doing and had some control over it.” “

So you felt his emotions but they weren’t just pressing into you the way the Martian’s sometimes do. He was using it as a form of communication that he had control over.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Jason nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if Oracle could actually see him through her cameras.

“I think he could understand what I was saying.”

The man’s sarcastically cocked eyebrows had also heavily implied that he understood what Jason was saying perfectly.

And that he was unimpressed.  

“He just couldn’t verbally respond to you because of that horrible muzzle.”

“Well that and I think I really pissed him off when I grabbed him.”

“No.”

Oracle’s voice is only a little dry.

“A person who doesn’t enjoy being snuck up on and grabbed from behind by a total stranger. Call Ripley. I can’t believe it.”

This time Jason snorted softly. He had always loved those Ripley’s Believe it or Not books.

It wasn’t Shakespeare by any means but he had always laughed a little bit at the sight of the monkey and fish body’s that had been put together to make a ‘real mermaid’.

The tv show was fun too.

In the right light the tv host, (Dean something?) had even looked a little bit like Superman.

Nowhere near enough jawline, but the resemblance was there.

Jason huffed the white patch of hair that hung over his forehead out of his eyes as he came to a decision.

“Listen. The tracker obviously worked. I’m just going to leave our guest a little present and then leave him alone. He hasn’t hurt anybody and he definitely could have knocked my whole block off if he had wanted to.”

“Okay, Hood. I’ll pass this along to everyone.”

As though B hadn’t probably been metaphorically champing at the bit and listening to the entire conversation.

The man was busy; but meta’s put his back up for some reason and he had been a little (psychopathically over-protective) of Jason ever since his miraculous return.

The man had also been trying.

Trying so hard to make up for his past mistakes with Jason and his other children.

A part of that was that he had basically ceded control of the Narrows to Red Hood.

Gotham at large may have been the Bat’s territory but all of his children had started to break it into pieces for themselves.

Nightwing was in Bludhaven, but Bruce’s adoption ‘problem’ was rampant enough that the others had managed to create their own sectors within Gotham.

Batman’s grip on the city hadn’t loosened as he aged but he had started to place his trust in his proteges.

That trust did not extend to keeping his nose out of everybody’s business but at least he had learned to occasionally keep his mouth shut.

Danny’s eyes were a little bleary when he opened them up as the sun slowly crept towards his dark little corner.

It took him a second to focus on the object that someone had placed in front of him.

He could feel the muted presence of the other ghost at the edge of his senses.

Long gone; but apparently fully capable of sneaking up on a (more dead than usual) Halfa in his sleep.

The bolt cutters looked to have been coated in rubber and were a matte black that looked expensive. There was a little note placed jauntily on top of the tool; the paper folded in half so it would stand upright.

THIS IS GOING TO HURT LIKE A BITCH. HOPE IT HELPS. RH

The handwriting was blocky but dark with good quality ink that hadn’t smeared or blotched even with the obvious haste that the note had been written.

Danny let his tail flick out and gently tip the note over so that he could look the tool over with more care.

Even with the rubber it was definitely going to set off that satanic little metal plate that was on his tongue.

The man was right. It was going to hurt like a bitch.

He blamed his exhaustion for why he hadn’t gone out and stolen something like this for himself though.

His brain had been too foggy and his body too damaged to try and figure out how to do anything except find somewhere to go to ground that he would be able to pull the plasma out of.

He felt healthier than he had in a long time after his impromptu nap/meal.

It was still going to be dangerous to do this.

If he hadn’t been able to feel the flood of emotions from the other man Danny might have hesitated.

Humans lied.

They lied all of the time.

The man could have coated the cutters with something nasty.

But it didn’t feel like something the man would do, somehow.

Danny reached a trembling hand out to the cutters and reluctantly pulled them closer. They were sturdy. Heavy-duty and hopefully capable of cutting the sutures and metal bars that wound through his face.

He took several deep breaths as he thought about how he was going to manage this.

The bars that went through his lips were close enough to each other that Danny was able to get two of them at a time between the blades of the clipper and he pushed down hard.

There was a moment of triumph when he felt the click of metal separating before his face lit up again with electricity and he writhed on the filthy carpet for several long moments waiting for the metal plate to stop shocking him.

It was lasting a lot longer than he was used to though.

It was hard to think through the pain and it took Danny several long seconds to realize that there was probably some sort of a failsafe on the tech that meant that if he managed to break any of the connections it wasn’t going to stop shocking him.

His whimpers were muffled as the remaining bars still kept his lips fused together and his hands clenched hard into the carpet and missed the handles of the clippers a couple of times before he was able to bring it up in fits and starts to clip the next two bars.  

Thankfully they split as easily as the first two but Danny was starting to smell burning flesh and acrid smoke tickled his nose as the tech fought against his attempt at freedom.

Two more to go.

Then he could hopefully pull the metal plate out of his mouth and the staples would be cake after all of this.

Horrible.

Bitter.

Poisonous cake.

The last two gave way at the same time as Danny lost consciousness. The plate sputtered out with a sullen click and Danny let himself slump down onto the floor and let the darkness take him.

At least there was enough ectoplasm to keep him going in this city even if he wasn’t conscious enough to reach for it.

Batman let his muscles slowly unclench as he watched the boy through his binoculars.

He hadn’t known if he was going to be able to stand by and just watch for much longer.

The glowing Lazarus water had started to slip back out of the carpet as soon as the meta had collapsed back into it.

The Narrows and Crime Alley were Red Hoods; but Batman was never going to leave his boy behind again and if this new boy, young man perhaps, was going to be a denizen of Gotham he deserved every bit as much of his protection as the rest of the population.

More than that, he needed to contact the League.

 Whatever sort of monsters, human or otherwise, had done this were going to pay for this if he had any say in the matter.

Batman’s lips tightened a little bit before he swung away on a grapple gun’s wire.

He was the goddamn Batman.

He had quite a bit of a say. 

[haruka-vii]

Help request to Rayman and retrogaming fans

Unfortunately, as much as I’m making efforts in solving my long-term unemployment situation there are things out of my control and I reached a point I really, really, need help.

Besides my grandma’s recent passing, there’s been a collection of unlucky events happening to me and my family in a small time interval. Both our dish washing machine and my Nintendo Switch Lite need to be repaired. The console stopped turning on regardless what I do and it’s out of warranty already. The console’s fixing, alone, can be up to 103€ according to the Iberian Nintendo support page).

But the worst case was our car’s “death”. Days after my grandma’s funeral, the car burnt its electronic system to the point of replacing that system being more expensive than the current value of the car of the same model without problems, meaning we were forced to replace the whole vehicle to a different model. The car is essential for our quotidian lives even for simple things such as doing groceries and buying food and cat litter for our seven small felines that we own. The latter unpredictable expense is very costly and adds a bigger layer of problems on my family’s end about financial management given that my mother is also jobless and there’s the bed replacement (done in January 2024) funds I want to also return to her whenever I manage.

2025 is going to be a difficult year for me and I already recently had to shrink down my Crash Bandicoot collection to a single item for a start but it’s still not enough. Now I had to make a very difficult decision of selecting personal items from my private Rayman collection and make them available to anyone in the Rayman and retrogaming fan community to be able to purchase in case they show interest in any particular object.

Please note the following details:

Products that are shown alongside with other product or more in the same photograph square means that those items are only sold as a pack/batch and not separately. I can clarify which ones by DM if you aren’t sure through the photographs.

I ship to most countries in the world, and always with tracking code so we’re both able to know its whereabouts. I won’t accept other types of shipping due to safety reasons.

The shipping address and other sensitive information will be exclusively used to ship the parcel.

Prices will be always discussed by DM, as well shipping costs as these vary depending on the destination country and parcel weight.

PayPal only for payments. While I prefer EUR currency I can also accept GBP and USD.

I’m conscious of how a good portion of the list contains particularly rare and valuable collectibles.

Some items prices are negotiable, especially if someone is interested in acquiring at least 3 different items or more that combined make up a significant total.

All items work 100%, including the Playstation accessories.

The Rayman memory card will be formatted if it gets a new onwer.

MS-DOS era games require emulation techniques to work on modern computers and there are community projects like Rayman Control Panel that help with that.

All games are complete in the box and between very good condition to like new.

The Rayman memory card is in good overall state.

The statues are like new and will be packed carefully to avoid transportation damage.

I can consider including the matching Switch videogame to the pack if I get a fair offer.

I reserve the right to not accept a sale for reasons not mentioned here.

List of items available in the photos:

Rayman Gold [PC/MS-DOS] (Rare, Original Big Boxed United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman For Ever [PC/MS-DOS] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition, it even includes a Ubisoft catalogue with unique Rayman drawings)

Quick CD-ROM Demo Nº2 - Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc [PC/Windows]

Rayman M [PC/Windows] (United Kingdom Edition, still factory sealed!)

Rayman Rush [Sony PlayStation] + DualShock Controller [Sony PlayStation]

Rayman 2: The Great Escape [PC/Windows] (Very rare, Original Big Boxed United States of America Edition; I only saw maybe not more than 2 copies like this for sale online in over 15 years)

Rayman 100 Niveaux Inédits [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman Designer [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman 1 [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed European Edition)

Rayman Gold [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc [PC/Windows] (The manual is translated in Portuguese but the games are in multilanguage)

Rayman 2: The Great Escape Sony Playstation Memory Card (Guillemot brand, uncommon item)

Rayman Raving Rabbids [PC/Windows] (Original United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman Raving Rabbids Activity Centre [PC/Windows] (Original United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman 2: The Great Escape [Sony Playstation] (Original France and Germany Edition)

Full collection of 4 medium-sized PVC statues of Mario+Rabbids: Kingdom Battle characters

Other alternative ways to help me that don’t involve buying my Rayman items:

Ko-Fi donations (https://ko-fi.com/haruka_vii)

Currently opened with the goal I’ve referred earlier of collecting enough funds of the bed replacement expenses to return to my mother combined with the needed funds to be able to send my Nintendo Switch Lite for repair.

Art commissions

I can open a limited number of slots and draw single or groups of characters in a single digital or traditional drawing. Details can be discussed through DM!

Reblogging and sharing

If you know anyone who could be potentially interested in getting anything please share them, it’s also a help!

I don’t like to ask help but it’s been a rough timeline for me. Thank you for reading in advance, any help is greatly appreciated while I don’t manage to find a job. 🙏

[geekgirles]

I've seen people say things about Amalia not being queen material because she was always far from her kingdom, and I can't help but think they're taking everything at face value. Like they assume that just because the plot takes place while Amalia is usually away on an adventure, that's all there is to it and her circumstances, when in reality nothing is further from the truth.

First of all, back in season 1 the show didn't exactly shy away from confirming Amalia essentially spent her early life confined in the Sadida Kingdom and most likely never stepped foot outside of it until she decided to run away. Hence why she failed to understand the chamberlain wouldn't be able to pay for her expenses when she was in Bonta.

And why did she run away in the first place? That's right. Because her family insisted she remained cooped up in the palace ever since the queen's death. And considering Queen Sheran Sharm died when Amalia was little, that all means she had spent 13 years "trapped" in her kingdom as early as season 1.

Now, I don't think we have an exact date for the Brotherhood's adventures, how long they lasted. But I'm gonna go with my gut and say each journey they took place in the span of several months to a year, tops.

That would mean the first time Amalia left home she wasn't away for that long, anyway.

Not to mention, after dealing with Nox and before Eva herself ran away to get Pinpin back in season 2, it was established the Brotherhood of the Tofu spent several weeks, maybe a month or two, in the Sadida Kingdom. With Yugo and Adamaï helping Amalia with her duties because she was swamped with them, to the point she somewhat reverted back to her brattier days (which is not excusable, but it does show that, at 13-14 at the least, Amalia was already in charge of many administrative duties and responsibilities and under a lot of stress).

In fact, the only reason she didn't stay in her kingdom for the entirety of the season, besides her wanderlust, is the fact that trouble kept popping up. Originally, they only left to get Eva back after she ran away in search of Pinpin, and once they returned from that, the only reason they left the kingdom again was because of Qilby's appearance and his lies deceiving them into helping retrieve his Dofus by painting it as a humanitarian mission for the sake of the Eliatropes.

And before you point out Amalia was supposed to stay in her kingdom that time around but chose to run away again, let's not forget how, technically speaking, she didn't sneak away at all, shall we?

In season 2, the roles had been reversed. Amalia thought she was sneaking away again, but not only was Eva in the know and totally in favour of it (as opposed to her reluctance from season 1), but so was King Sheran Sharm. Remember? He went as far as to have Renate and Canar prepare plenty of provisions for her. Meaning, that time around, Amalia had her father's approval, which implies she didn't actually do anything wrong.

And again, their adventures kept them away from several months up to a year, but not much longer. In fact, the only time it was confirmed they spent a year away was during the post-season 2 manga, and that was an accident because they didn't account for time flowing differently in Emrub.

Now, let's add the time of the OVAs. The special episodes are stated to take place 6 years after season 2, with Flopin and Élely being little kids but not babies or toddlers anymore; Yugo stuck in his childish body despite being, what, 19(?); and Amalia being old enough to marry—given she is 22 in seasons 3 and 4, that would make her roughly 20-21 years old.

Six years had gone by between the second season and the OVAs, and if we add the year away from the manga, that means that Amalia dutifully spent 5 years in her kingdom, carrying out her royal duties and most likely only leaving for a few days at a time at most in order to visit her friends for important occasions like their birthdays. Though this is speculation on my part based on the events of the manga. Days she got to spend away because she probably had her father's permission to, as he wholeheartedly approved of her friendship with the Brotherhood of the Tofu. Meaning, once again, that Amalia wasn't doing anything wrong.

Then the OVAs came, and she had to leave for Frigost, and this time indefinitely since she was to marry Count Harebourg, therefore becoming his Countess and needing to remain by his side in his realm. And, again, because that was a marriage of convenience for the sake of her kingdom, she wasn't just allowed to leave but expected to. But even when it was revealed Count Harebourg planned to either exploit Yugo and the Eliatrope Dofus or the Sadida forests to benefit Frigost and the wedding didn't come to pass, it wasn't like Amalia stayed around to sightsee either.

As soon as they freed Joris, Atcham, and Kerubim and got some exposition on Tristepin from Rubi, realising she had the means to save her kingdom by having Pinpin help, the group split up in two and they turned back around towards the Sadida Kingdom. And all that in just a few days, a week or two at most.

Then comes season 3, taking place a year, year and a half, after the OVAs, with Amalia now 22 and confining herself to the palace more than ever because she's watching as her father withers away each passing day and she's trying to avoid Armand and Aurora since all they seem to care about is getting her hitched and out of their hair.

To be honest, I'm not sure how long they're supposed to have spent in Oropo's dimension and Inglorium, since it feels like only a few days, but then Armand reveals in season 4 that he had only been king for a few weeks and the timeline gets kinda wacky. Because... Amalia just returned the day prior? And she spent the whole time by their father's grave?? What, did he leave her be to the point of risking malnourishment and dehydration for several days??? It just doesn't make sense.

Anyway, confusing timeline aside, what does this tell us? Simple, it tells us that Amalia was only away from home for about 2-3 years, which isn't all that different from when our parents send us to study abroad in real life. Which, at the same time, means that out of 22 years of her life, she remained 19 in her kingdom, performing her duties. And that's even without taking into account the fact that 90% of season 4 took place in the Sadida Kingdom, or the four months between Yugo and Amalia's wedding and the events of The Great Wave, where Amalia (and Yugo) stayed in her kingdom, ruling it.

Unlike Armand, Amalia might have been more interested in adventure than power and politics, and she might not have had the same kind of training as he did as heir apparent, but she is in now way, shape, or form incompetent or unprepared when it comes to ruling her people. Now try to tell me she was always away or that she is irresponsible. I dare you.

[bcacstuff]

Have you heard anything about Sassenach not being able to do business in UK? Don't think that's correct.

It seems, there's an Anon leaving messages in my inbox which, I just found out, are quotes from another blogger. I actually don't like that as I think the blogger herself is responsible for what she posts. But I make this exception, as this is a weird one

I wont post the whole quotes here, but the statement was more or less that Ashley is an employee at SS and she and SH's team can not operate in the UK, because the company is registered in the UK

Of course, as you already thought that is not correct. How could they've done the popup store at the Kimpton in Edinburgh? There were even 4 employees (yes 4; 3 women, 1 guy) there all day, and boss Alex hanging around as well. Was that all just pro bono? Did they get a bottle of SS at the end? smh... of course not.

Even more, do you think OL would ever have been created in the UK if this statement was true? I mean Starz is a US company, right? So is Sony, RDM & Maril working for the US company Tall ship Productions, Lionsgate is a Canadian Entertainment Corporation. I could go on about the crew, set builders they hired (JGS anyone), The members from the Canadian First Nation, Cesar Domboy, a French Actor working for a US company in Scotland..... 😂

Anyway, as you thought BS. It requires a work permit for the employee, or the correct visa.

We can also ask Google and Deloitte will provide a 21 page document, which you can read here when you're interested. The short answer however is:

Can an overseas company operate in the UK? You only need to register an overseas company when it has some degree of physical presence in the UK, such as a place of business or branch, where it carries on business. You must file the documents to register a UK establishment with us within one month of the opening of the UK establishment.

Well I think that's an answer to your question.

(and btw. they did register LATHA ÙR LTD in January 2023 in the UK and end of October this year the unaudited Financial Statements were filed. They show £2 as current assents)

[tomorrowsgardennc]

it's (a little overdue but still) time to...

✨️ plant garlic ✨️

good news is with garlic's extremely long growing season, there is a lot of buffer to when you can plant your garlic. october through december, actually - as long as it's a few weeks before your first frost. BUT, a long buffer also means a lot to do to prep for it and a longer time to keep them happy. so let's break down how to keep garlic fed for the next few months.

🧄 step 1: compost

because of garlic's long growing period, it makes them heavy feeders of nutrients. along this growing journey will be many steps to giving them fresh nutrients, but step one is making sure they get a small but steady supply as they grow. wherever you plan to plant the garlic, top it off with a small compost lasagna. since this is an established bed (my oldest bed, actually) i kept my compost lasagna ratio a little on the lightsr weight side-of-things. very thin layer of tree mulch on top of the old soil, kinda mixed in even. then a layer of green (i took the sweet potato vines as i harvested the potatoes in the bed next to this one) and waited about 2 weeks to let them de-moisturize and also because of health reasons but whatever. on top of that, i added a mix of green and brown grass cuttings, some fallen leaves thrown in there too. this was the thickest layer at about 3 inches. the penultimate layer is about 2ish inches of a mix of old soil and peat moss. after planting the bulbs, i added the thinnest layer of leaf mulch, but this is not necessary. the only reason i added this last layer is because we have been going through a prolonged drought, so i wanted a layer that will keep that soil moist as long as possible.

🧄 step 2: fertilizer soup

now for me, fertilizer soup is a diluted fish emulsion solution. that's it, mostly because i am lazy and also because it's the most common method. @gardening-guy is trying out a banana peel fertilizer soup when they started their garlic (oli got the bulbs from my shop, so tbh only difference so far is the fertilizer soup recipe. and oli started a month ago. not a competition.) oli's garlic has already started to pop up, so that means the fertilizer soup did it's job - penetrate the tough outer skin the garlic bulbs got when curing and gave them a burst of energy to get things growing. let me know if you use a different fertilizer soup recipe. as long as it's high in potassium, you'll be good to go. oh, and make sure it soaks for 24 hours. that cured skin is pretty thick.

🧄 step 3: companion planting

while garlic is a heavy feeder, that doesn't mean they're introverts. a lot of websites will tell you garlic deters pests from other plants, but legit for real right now go out to your garden and tell me if you smell garlic once it's planted. you don't, and the bugs sure don't. so ignore that part and plant winter vegetables alongside your garlic that wants nitrogen AND grows above the soil line. garlic wants all the potassium, and you don't want to disturb the garlic bulbs under the soil line. winter vegetables you can harvest by cutting are the best. i have pink celery that i am btoh harvesting and letting go to seed in one bed, so no disturbance there. this bed i seeded with all the viola seeds i have hoarded over the years alongside beets i am letting go to seed. beets are NOT the best companions if you are going to harvest, but since i am using them as seeders then it is fine. i haven't figured out what the companion plant will be in the third garlic bed, but other choices are lettuce, cabbages, collards, broccoli, kale... anything leafy, really.

ok, remember when i said make sure the companions are ones where you can harvest above the soil line?? it's because once you do so, those roots left behind will decompose and give the garlic another slow feeding of potassium! the plant gobbled up all the nitrogen, and because their roots are relatively thin they are quick to compost and add potassium back into the soil. crazy, eh??

🧄 final step: waiting

and honestly... this is the hardest step. especially for me, the world's most impatient farmer. but the good news is that while you wait there are two more key points of when to refeed your garlic:

between bits of heavy frost - typically around end of january or february - water the garlic with a ton of that fertilizer soup recipe you used before. the bulbing hasn't started yet, but this will keep those roots growing despite the soil temperature. and if you are more up north than me, add a thick layer of mulch or straw to help keep that soil temperature from going too far past freezing.

the last time you'll want to feed your garlic will be the end of winter. this is when the garlic bulbs really begin to bulbate... bulbge? bulb out?? none of that sounds right... either waaaaay. to get the biggest bulbs possible, you want to give them the highest dosage if potassium possible - and that's in the form of ✨️potash✨️ which... turns out to be just a fancy word for wood ash. burn some wood in a fireplace or firepit, burn your unpaid medical bills, burn your student loan reminders, burn anything that is paper or wood. don't mix with anything else, and REALLY DO NOT use the leftover charcoal from a grill. this potash needs to be as pure to potassium as possible. so no burning your yaoi/yuri mangas to hide from your partner, either.

and before you know it... those 3/4lb of garlic bulbs you started with turn into 5lbs of garlic. we shall meet again next year around april or may to discuss ✨️ the curing of garlic for long-term storage ✨️ until then, happy winter!

[necromancer-snail]

Copied your questions from the comments to answer! General disclaimer that this is specific to me and my disabilities! Other people may not have the same struggles or may have different ways of handling it. Any other disabled people are encouraged to add or correct 🫶

Do compression socks ever get itchy?

I haven't used compression socks before so unfortunately I can't help there! I assume they do, I don't see why not.

Are tensor bandages finicky?

Definitely. They fold and wrinkle just like clothes, and depending on how long your joints are bent(like if it's on your knee and you're sitting a long time) can sometimes get temporarily warped into that shape. It just makes moving the joint a little more difficult because the bandage will resist it. I also sometimes wrap really tight at first because for me personally it feels the best (except on my knee), but you have to loosen it(which generally means fully rewrapping it) after a while or it quickly becomes uncomfortable and can do more harm than good.

Do Ibuprofen and Tylenol work as much as they're hyped up to?

Ibuprofen and Tylenol for me maybe aren't phenomenal but definitely do help! On an average pain day(a 3-4 on the pain scale) it can usually lower my pain to a 1 or a 0. On a high pain day(6-8) it lowers to my average. Unfortunately it takes an hour or two to kick in, and I usually only get about 2-3 hours of relief before it starts to wear off. I also take 600mg of Ibuprofen(the usual dose for adults is 200mg or 400mg. My doctor specifically told me 600mg up to 4 times a day. I usually end up only going to 2 or 3).

Gripes & pet peeves

Aids/meds gripes & pet peeves:

I covered bandage pet peeves already, but my cane! My cane specifically has an annoying process to adjust the height, and due to its options I have to adjust it every time I put on/take off some shoes. The options are JUST far enough apart and I am JUST the wrong height that it gets perfectly too tall/short depending on what shoes I'm wearing (unfortunately my most comfortable pair is one of these shoes). Also, you build a resistance to meds over time, and there are specific side effects that come with long term use. I am near-constantly in pain and therefore have to be careful with when I choose to take meds for it. Having to keep track of meds is also annoying! Especially when I'm on a bunch. I was on 6 different prescriptions at a time once, all of which had different times and/or requirements to take them. Once daily, twice daily, once in the morning, on an empty stomach, with food... Thankfully I'm usually on max 3 prescriptions at a time

Societal gripes:

People will touch/grab mobility aids without asking, ESPECIALLY for wheelchair users. I've only used a wheelchair once or twice(with a friend who had one available as I don't own one), but people will push you frequently. They will roll you down the sidewalk or up a hill without so much as a hello. People have kicked my cane out of the way. For a lot of disabled people, our mobility aids are viewed as an extension of ourselves; they are our autonomy. It's incredibly violating to have them disrespected like that. A lot of the world isn't made for disabled people. There's a lot of stairs, a surprising amount of buildings don't have working elevators, a lot of cabinets and such require bending/kneeling, benches are getting removed from public spaces like parks, there are really thin doorways, etc etc. I began to have chronic pain at 13 years old, and have been fake claimed and not taken seriously since. When you're young and disabled in a way that isn't visible(scars, limb/facial difference, proportional, etc), people are inclined to believe you are lying/faking it. Even if they do believe you are disabled, they often think you're playing it up. This is especially true for ambulatory mobility aid users, because they believe if you don't ALWAYS need your mobility aid, you don't EVER need it. Also annoying: people recommending the same 5 pain relief options. Chances are, I've tried it! I am working with a doctor to find a diagnosis and effective treatment, you don't need to recommend me yoga.

Unexpected advantages

Honestly the one I can think of rn is just how useful my cane is. If I'm tired or in pain, it's usually within reach and I can use it to hook or hit things like a light switch, my water bottle, small/light objects, etc etc. Other than that I have once or twice used my disabilities as an excuse to not do something. Not often‼️‼️ And I do feel at least a little guilty about it. But sometimes it's nice if people won't accept "I don't want to" or "I'm tired" as a valid reason 🤷

Mundane tasks

There's a lot of things that become more difficult, but I think most useful for you is bending/kneeling(and therefore cabinets/drawers, dropping things, turning on my heater, sometimes just the act of sitting). For me, I also have a lot of joint pain in my fingers. I have lost the ability to braid and I often can't hold a pencil for long periods of time. I draw with my finger on my phone :)) So generally while you're writing just be conscious of actions and what it takes for the body to follow through on those.

Physical drawbacks

A lot of the times disabled people overwork themselves easier and take longer to recover. As an example, my able bodied relatives who helped me move are already feeling better, meanwhile I am going to have a lot of extra pain for probably the next week. Because I was moving, I was obviously using my legs and my back a lot, and it makes it incredibly difficult to get comfortable at any time. While an able bodied person might be a little sore, they can generally sit, lay down, or stand with minimal pain as long as they aren't straining themselves further. Just laying down hurts no matter what position I'm in, and even when I haven't strained myself I usually have to sleep with 3-5 pillows to properly support my back. When I strain myself, I usually have to find very specific angles for each part of my body to be at, and have to shove pillows, plushies, or blankets under or around limbs to keep myself as pain free as possible.

Mental drawbacks

Obviously being in pain a lot causes a lot of negative feelings. A lot of disabled people are depressed. It's incredibly isolating, knowing that a lot of people around you cannot relate to you and being either fake claimed or shunned for your disability. Even when you make friends, they're easy to lose. I've lost plenty due to my frequent cancelling of plans or not messaging/calling back because I sleep so much. The friends that I have kept have had to learn to live with the fact that we don't see each other often, or that they have to make the effort to come see me or have to ensure their plans aren't taxing for me. I've also had a lot of internalized ableism. I've convinced myself that I'm exaggerating, that other people deal with pain so why can't I deal with mine? I've avoided making plans because I don't think it's worth the hassle to have to cancel, even if it wouldn't be hard.

Okay I think I'm out of things to say!! I can elaborate on most of these things if you need! I've been in a lot of disabled communities, so I have a decent amount of knowledge on a lot of issues, especially social ones :))

Making an AU where Edwin has incomplete paraplegia and chronic pain, pls lmk if you have any details that would make my writing 4 it better!!!🙏🙏🙏

[puhpandas]

as someone who isnt super excited for sotm for certain reasons I am really glad that like. it's clear that since ruin theyve been setting up for carnival and sotm IS carnival. so now that carnival is finally coming out, afterwards theyll be moving on to other plotlines since the main villain stuff is sorted out

I'm just rlly happy to finally see a clear direction for how the story is gonna be playing out with like "okay these games were leading up to this so after this will be open possibilites" instead of like. absolutely no info about each upcoming game and being left guessing before it releases and just having to wait and see what's in it and if anything you're looking forward to will be in it

it feels like they have a plan and a solid direction for what they're trying to do and after carnival releases thatll be all that buildup coming to fruition. & we already know from the Scott interview that theres another release 'beyond sotm' that's 'super exciting' so maybe thatll be focusing on another big currently untouched (which is basically all of them) plotline, or even the big campaign game that dawko has been calling security breach 2

[dailykeiji]

it is now DAILYKEIJI DAY!!!!!!!! happy DAILYKEIJI DAY to all of my beloved followers 🎉🎉🎉 i love u

[mildcicada]