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octoberautumnbox · 10 months ago

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The Cute and Caring Noona from Apartment 424

CLC/Kep1er Choi Yujin & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, older girl, undisclosed age gap (nothing creepy tho), soft dom Yujin, titsucking, nursing handjob, cowgirl, creampie, breeding, overstimulation a lil bit

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: discordant waltz chapter alr planned out dw i just wanted to switch things up a lil, this was a blast to write :D

“Hey, so good to see you! Come in!”

You take off your shoes and Yujin pulls you in for a hug. The aroma of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies fills your nostrils and sends your stomach growling.

“Hi, Noona. It's great to see you again.” You back away from the hug, but Yujin keeps you within arm's length with her dainty hands on your shoulders. You admire her simple yet adorable outfit, which only compliments her bright personality.

“Take a seat, cookies are still cooling down but dinner is ready!”

She plops you down at the dining table and sets your plate and silverware. While she buzzes from cupboard to table and back, you draw your eyes from one tiny dish to the next. Kimchi, lettuce leaves, cheese cubes, the works. At the center of the table is a small grill, with a pan sitting on top and evidently expensive cuts of beef like what they go crazy for in variety shows sizzling enticingly.

You keep from drooling at the last second at the feast before you, and you manage to choke out, “Wow, are we expecting more people, Noona? This looks delicious.”

“No, just the two of us,” Yujin says cheerfully as she places your chopsticks at the right side of your plate. “Too much?”

“Way too much! You really pamper me whenever I come by. Thanks, Yujin-noona.”

She chuckles cutely while covering her mouth with a finger. “You visit too rarely for a neighbor. Come by more often and I can tone down the food, okay?”

She takes her seat next to you and squeezes your hand. Skillfully and quickly, she picks up a piece of beef from the pan, a leaf of lettuce, just the right amount of kimchi, a leaf of perilla, and finally a cube of cheese. She presents you with the expertly made wrap and brings it to your mouth, saying “Ahhh.”

~~~

She sets the plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of you as you offer her the other half of the blanket. She joins you on the couch and shuffles right up to you, placing her head on your shoulder and bringing your arm around her.

The movie starts playing and the necessary studio intro clips crescendo onto the screen. “This is one of my favorites. You'll love it too.” She snuggles more comfortably into your side and sighs a breath of relaxation. Squeeze her shoulder, tell her wordlessly that you're excited to love this movie as well.

~~~

You come to, and groggily you look around. It's of little help, as the TV shut itself off sometime ago and the lights are all out. You feel a shifting weight beside you and your face suddenly fills with a scratchy texture and the sweetest scent you've probably ever smelled in your life, no doubt a faceful of your neighbor’s hair.

“Yujin-noona, wake up. We fell asleep and the movie's over.”

You try to shake her awake gently, and it works. Yujin sits up slowly and tries checking the time on her phone. After the initial short-lived blindness, she sets it down and rubs her eyes.

“It's late. Sleep over. No buts.” Knowing you had no choice, you submit and help her help you walk and stumble yourselves up the stairs and to her bedroom.

She plugs a star-shaped night light into a low wall socket and the pair of you fall into the bed. You cuddle into her side this time and she graciously wraps you in her arms. The smell of her hair and her bedsheets fill your nostrils again with a calming fragrance.

However, in an act of dastardly betrayal, your brain for whatever reason thinks your sweet beloved neighbor Yujin-noona is… something more. As you take in more and more of her scent, and gaze up from her side to see the way her eyes are shut lighty and her lips are slightly parted as light snores slip through, your heart beats a different rhythm as if just now realizing and admiring the beauty that is Choi Yujin.

“This can’t possibly be,” you think to yourself, “she’s my neighbor and very close friend. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.” You continue to fight down your subconscious feelings from bubbling up into your conscious mind, but the fullness of your tummy and the comfiness of the way you’re in bed with her prove it a challenge.

“Something wrong? What are you thinking about?” You’re taken aback by Yujin’s sudden words. “Are you okay? Tell Yujin-noona what you need.” She rubs her eyes again and meets your gaze. In possibly the worst stroke of luck you could ever have had in this life, as she negotiates her hand back under the covers, she comes into light contact with you in the middle of you pitching a tent in your pants.

“... Oh.” is all Yujin could get out before you turn beet-red and stutter your apologies.

“Shit, Noona, I’m so sorry! I- I should go- I’m sorry.” Your mind fills with shame at how you’ve ruined such a nice and pure friendship with your lovely neighbor. You try to stumble out from under the blanket, pushing Yujin away, but once again she places her dainty hand on your shoulder.

“Stop that right now. Come here.” Her command is mild but assertive. She lifts up the blanket to welcome you back, patting the space beside her in her bed. You sheepishly rejoin her under the fluffy covers, but before you settle, she makes another set of commands.

“This is my house, so for me to be a good host, you will tell me anything and everything you need. That includes this,” she whispers breathily, palming the growing bulge in your pants, “Most. Of. All.”

You can do nothing but whimper at her unrelenting touch. It doesn’t help that she’s already fiddling with the waistband of your underwear and wrestling it out of her way. What’s worse, your position in bed with her makes it impossible for you to look anywhere but to meet her eyes, or maybe…

“Use your words, baby boy, tell Noona exactly what you need.” An evil grin forms across her mouth, painting her features with a sinister shade of lust.

“Noona… Could you please…” The words barely struggle out of your mouth, and even then you’re not saying anything of value. Yujin only chuckles more, covering her mouth with one finger, before prodding you incrementally yet ever closer to the edge.

“I can’t read minds, baby boy. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Noona, your… your top, please. Take it off.” Wide-eyed, you watch as she grabs the piece of clothing by the hem and starts pulling up. Her belly button comes into your view as she goes on tantalizingly slowly revealing more of her creamy skin to your hungry eyes.

The top then clears past her ribs, and she slows down ever so slightly, keeping you on the edge. You choose to relieve some of the pressure in your crotch yourself by stroking your dick to the unbelievably lewd sight, but Yujin has other plans.

“No, bad boy. Only Noona gets to play with that tonight.” In saying so, she lets go of her top, covering everything she showed you so far, to swat your hands away from masturbating. A deep sense of regret fills you, knowing that only you could be blamed for delaying your pleasure. However, Yujin seems satisfied that you learned your lesson and resumes her striptease.

She reaches a critical point in her teasing, bunching up all of the fabric so far right under her boobs. Her nipples poke through the thin fabric, and you fight the urge to just dive into her tits and ravage them to your heart’s desire. She relishes in the burning gaze you’re subjecting her to, as if getting off to being ogled by her neighbor and best friend. She grows a few shades redder in the face to match yours, but ultimately she pulls her top up past her breasts, freeing them and letting them bounce. With the top now only covering her neck and shoulders, she opts to tease you more:

“Like what you see?” she asks sultrily while winking at you. She cups each of her tits with her hands, presenting them to you, and tweaking her nipples to get them hard for you. Yujin takes her lower lip between her teeth, obviously growing more and more aroused at the thought of letting you take her right then and there.

You try to find some spit in your mouth to swallow, but it’s dry as a desert and you’re left breathless instead. You swear that you could just die right there and be happy with the life you’ve lived so far, and with how your noona is treating you, you just might actually pass.

“Baby boy, I’ll say again: Tell Noona exactly what you need.” Her top finally leaves her body and she shows herself off to you. Her fingers snake through her hair and you’re blessed with an unobstructed view of the most luscious tits you’ve ever seen.

“I want…” You try forcing words out of your mouth again, but Yujin makes the job (and you) so extremely hard. “I want to suck your tits.”

“Not with that attitude, mister. I am your Noona and you will speak to me with respect.” She’s got you now, her deadly scold wringing your neck and cutting off what little airflow your lungs had. You’re left with no choice; submit to her will.

“Yujin-noona, please let me suck your tits, please…” Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, anticipating the imminent pleasure of her boobs on your face. It means the world to you when she places a hand behind your head and pulls you closer.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, baby boy? Say ahhh…” You follow her command and she gently pushes her left breast into your mouth. Her skin tastes delicious, and her nipple is just the right stiffness to lick and nibble and worship.

She guides you to a more comfortable position, and you find yourself laying down while Yujin is on her side, still with her boob in your mouth, while she pulls your arm towards her right boob to fondle and grope as you please.

“Is my precious baby boy comfy?” she asks much too cutely for what she’s making you do to her. “Yesh noona, ahm conhfy…” you mutter out with your tongue still wrapped around her nipple.

“Good boy…” she moans breathily. While you’re taking your fill of her perfect body, she makes her desires known: she wants you too.

Yujin finds your cock again and strokes it through your pants. “Baby boy, do me a favor, would you?” Her request makes itself apparent with the way she’s reaching under your waistband, and you could do nothing but oblige and strip yourself as quickly as possible of both pants and underwear.

“My perfect baby boy…” Her tone is laced with venom as your musk reaches her nostrils. She places a fingertip on the slit of your cock and spreads your precum all over the head. “What I’d give to do to your cock what you’re doing to my tits right now…”

Her pace speeds up, and while you have half a mind to ask her to slow down, you know you have no right to ask her of that. Instead, you go for the next best thing.

“Yujin-noona,” you surrender, her breast falling out of your mouth and onto your cheek, “could you please let me fuck your pussy?”

She chuckles again, but more evilly this time. “Of course, my sweet baby boy, but you’re gonna have to follow my lead.”

“Anything for you, Noona.”

She places you properly down onto the bed, making sure you’re comfy, and plants a kiss on your cheek. She forces you to watch, with a hand on your cheek guiding your face, as she peels off her shorts to show you more of her skin: her smooth legs, creamy thighs, and plump ass you now have the pleasure to grope as much as she’s willing to let you. She climbs on top of and straddles you, the large wet spot on her pink-and-white striped panties nearly leaking her juices onto her thighs, before she takes your hard and throbbing cock into her hands again.

“Will you be my good baby boy, sweetheart?” She spits into her hand and rubs it all over your dick, causing you to groan in pleasure.

“Yes…” “Yes, what, hmm?”

“... Yes, noona, I’ll be your good baby boy…”

“Perfect, just what I wanted to hear.” She pulls her panties to the side and rubs the head of your cock against her soaked folds. The heat radiating from her sex spurs you on even more, the delayed gratification of slipping into her causing your breaths to heave. Yujin takes on sharp inhales and slow exhales as well each time she teases her clit with your head.

Deciding to finish teasing you, Yujin finally gives you what you’re craving. She sinks down slowly onto your cock, making sure to feel every single vein inside her. Her descent is slow and deliberate and you watch as more and more of your length slips past her pussy lips and into her tight cunt.

“Ffffuck, baby boy, you’re going to split me in half with a cock like this…”

It starts to overwhelm you: the warmth from her slick, the tightness of her cunt, the clenching of her walls against your cock as if desperate for a climax as early as this. You surely want your noona like this for much longer than just a few seconds more, but you’re in absolutely no control at all.

“Baby boy, tell me if you’re close, okay?” You nod furiously, and Yujin drops herself violently onto your crotch, pushing every last inch of your cock into her cunt. “Ah, fuck! Yes, baby boy, fuck me with this thick cock of yours!”

Grab her tiny waist, feel her smooth skin, pull her up ever so slightly. Then, pull her back down onto your dick, feeling her walls clench around you so needily again. The pair of you find a rhythm, and not long after, Yujin herself bounces up and down on your shaft like a pogo stick.

“Shit, baby boy, you feel so fucking good!” She somehow finds little adjustments that push you deeper and deeper into her cunt, and in turn you hit her good spots more and more. It gets progressively more difficult to keep from creampie-ing her right then and there, but you fight for more time to receive her love.

With every thrust into her core, Yujin falters ever so slightly. You notice between her lewd moans and grunts that she’s arching forward, slowly but surely bringing her closer and closer to you. Eventually she gives up trying to stay upright, and she falls forward only to catch herself with her elbows planting deep into the mattress on either side of your head.

“Tempting, no? Hah, hah, come on, my sweet, good baby boy, give ‘em a little suck.” Barely registering the lewd words coming out of her mouth, you take her right nipple in between your teeth. Tug respectfully, but tug hard. The sensation of your teeth on her sensitive nub drives her insane, bringing her to the heights of her pleasure, and somehow even higher still. She lets you know just how blissful she is with groans and pleas you can’t help but indulge.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me! My god, yes, please, harder,” and many more nonsense filler words spill from her mouth while you fill her cunt again and again and again. The more she rides you, the more her sweet and tight cunt leaks her juices all over her bed, causing the wet spot to make itself known to you once it grew big enough under her. At the same time, you struggle harder and harder to get your own body under control, fighting back your orgasm for just a bit more time with her like this, just a bit more.

“N- Noona, it feels so good, you feel so fucking good on my cock, Yujin-noona…” You’re completely at her mercy, and her mercy is heaven. With every bounce she makes on your cock you grow harder and hornier for her, only to be welcomed into what might be the wettest, neediest, fullest pussy in the world. You can’t get enough of her: not your cock pistoning into her cunt and poking at the entrance to her womb, not your mouth sucking and biting desperately at the flesh of her perky tits, not your hands roaming all over her body and groping every part of her you can.

“Baby boy, you’re making Noona feel so fucking good too,” she confesses hazily, and only then you notice that her eyes are falling half–shut and her straining to keep riding you. Her thighs are jiggling with her trembling core, and you figure out that she’s been spraying her girlcum all over your crotch for who knows how long now.

Her pussy only serves your cock so much better now, wetter and slicker and definitely tighter with how her pussy refuses to let you go. The feeling of her hips convulsing against you almost nearly pushes you over the edge yourself, you’re trying so hard to hold off, but she’s so cute and caring, and she’s so fucking hot…

“Noona, I- I’m so fucking close, Noona!” But Yujin is long gone, lost in her continuous orgasm, doomed to keep leaking from her cunt and mouth and riding you without her better judgment to stop. Wherever Yujin is in the confines of her mind must be drowning in pleasure to keep fucking herself on you like this.

You’re gone too, as even though you know it wouldn’t be that hard to pull her tight body off you yourself, you’re completely in love with the idea of cumming just like this. Your cock buried deep inside your friendly neighbor Choi Yujin, who fed you, hung out with you, treated you like a real brother, only to take advantage of her dazed state of mind to paint her velvet walls white with your cum, filling her to the brim with your baby-making seed, subjecting her to the motherhood of your child…

“Baby boy, do it, shoot all of it inside, sweetheart. Fill Noona up. It’s okay.” On primal instinct, you let out a low growl and grip her ass roughly. Only now do you notice how much she was moaning loudly right into your ear, tinnitus ringing a high-pitched and dizzying tone that wouldn’t stop. Your arms and legs burn with how hard and fast you’re manhandling Yujin’s body, fucking her like a wild animal that knew nothing but sex. She hasn’t stopped orgasming, you feel her slick spread more over your crotch. Her elbows finally give out and she collapses onto you, fully vulnerable to you.

“I’m Noona’s good baby boy” is your last thought before your orgasm takes over your mind. Thrust deeper than ever into her core, shoot your seed straight into her womb. Her strained voice makes one final effort to scream her earth-shattering ecstasy as each spurt of your spunk shoves itself into her, eventually forcing her cunt to leak both her and your cum out in globs. You even lose yourself in the throes of pleasure and forget that you might be hurting her; all you need to know is that her body is yours to use and breed as you like. Keep pistoning into her all the while your cock sprays your love deep into her fertile body, one spurt, two, three, five, eight, eleven, before you lose count and just focus on feeling good with your cute and caring noona.

Once the world stops spinning and calms down, you find yourself dizzy and gasping for air through a dry-as-a-desert mouth. With fatigue plaguing every part of your body, you can’t even find the strength to get into a less uncomfortable position. Your eyes try to drift lazily across the ceiling, getting your bearings, but Yujin has one last command for you.

“My sweet baby boy, you did so well for Noona. Get your rest, baby.” She places her hand on your eyes, pushing them shut. She keeps her hand there, making sure you don’t open your eyes again while you feel her lips planting kisses on your face, trailing a line from your cheek to your neck. Finally, she licks and then nibbles your lower lip lightly, rewarding you for doing such a good job.

“B-but what about the mess? And you might get preg–” “Shush now, let Noona worry about that, okay? Sweet dreams, baby boy.”

You stand no chance against her; your fatigue takes over your body and the calmness of the air lulls you into a sense of serenity. As the final nail in the coffin, Yujin refuses to get off of you despite your best attempts at pulling out and pushing her off. Without even realizing it, you fall deep asleep amidst her comforting weight, tender kisses, and soft coos.

~~~

a/n: i went into this fic blind actually. only when I was about half done did I think to check if yujin was actually good at cooking at all but turns out shes not :/

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kep1er smut #clc cmut #choi yujin smut #fic box

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aspirationalpeony · 11 months ago

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Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

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

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #as an FYI: this is my longest fic yet and may be easiest to read on AO3 :)

935 notes · View notes

millyh23 · 2 months ago

Text

Seams of Ambition

Word count: 11.7k

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Katie McCabe’s birthday had arrived, and the Arsenal locker room was buzzing with excitement. The air was filled with the anticipation of celebrating the team’s most fiery and fun-loving player. Everyone had prepared thoughtful gifts—trinkets and items they knew Katie would appreciate. Y/N, the newest and youngest transfer, sat quietly in her corner, feeling a little out of place. She hadn’t been at the club long enough to know exactly what Katie liked outside of football, and she’d been struggling for days to figure out the perfect gift.

Being a naturally quiet and private person, Y/N hadn’t shared much about herself with the team. Sure, she was talented on the pitch and had impressed during training, but outside of football, she was a mystery. Little did they know, Y/N had a secret that no one at Arsenal had uncovered yet.

After practice, everyone gathered in the lounge area, where a small celebration was set up for Katie’s birthday. There was cake, drinks, and laughter echoing through the room. Katie sat in the middle, grinning from ear to ear as she opened gifts from her teammates, each one bringing more joy than the last.

When it was finally Y/N’s turn, she nervously handed Katie a sleek black gift box wrapped with a minimalist bow. She hadn’t overthought it, but the pressure of being new made her wonder if she should’ve gone with something more personal.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Katie said with her usual warm smile, clearly trying to make her feel welcome. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Y/N simply nodded, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than necessary.

Katie untied the ribbon and flipped open the box, her eyes widening as she pulled out an oversized black hoodie with striking white embroidery on the front. It was a design unlike anything she’d ever seen before—cool, edgy, and impeccably detailed.

“Holy sh—this is incredible,” Katie gasped, holding the hoodie up to get a better look. “This is from Immortal!”

The entire room suddenly fell silent. Everyone stared at the piece of clothing in Katie’s hands, their jaws dropping. Immortal was one of the hottest streetwear brands in the world, known for its limited releases and jaw-dropping prices. A single hoodie from them could easily set someone back several thousand pounds.

“Wait, you got her Immortal?” Leah Williamson asked, blinking in disbelief. “How on earth did you manage that?”

Y/N shrugged casually, a small smirk playing on her lips. “I didn’t really know what to get, so I just gave her one of my pieces.”

“One of your pieces?” Vivianne Miedema echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Y/N glanced around at her teammates, realizing they still didn’t get it. “Yeah… It’s my brand.”

The silence that followed was almost comical. Everyone stared at her, eyes wide as they processed what she’d just said.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Beth Mead burst out laughing, unable to believe it. “You’re telling me you own Immortal? The brand that celebrities can’t even get their hands on?”

Y/N nodded, completely unfazed by their shock. “Yeah. I started it when I was 16. It just kinda blew up from there.”

The room erupted in disbelief, with everyone talking over each other in excitement. Leah and Viv looked at each other, trying to wrap their heads around the fact that their new teammate was not only a football prodigy but also the brains behind one of the most exclusive fashion labels in the world.

“No way,” Katie said, standing up to properly admire the hoodie. “This is insane, Y/N. How did you even manage to keep this a secret?”

Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “I don’t really talk about it much. It’s just something I do on the side.”

“On the side?!” Alessia Russo exclaimed. “This is huge! Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Y/N shrugged again. “Didn’t think it was important. We’re all here to play football, right?”

The team stared at her like she had two heads, but in true Arsenal fashion, the surprise quickly turned into admiration. They bombarded her with questions, demanding to know how she managed to juggle running a global brand while playing professional football.

“Wait, so when’s the next drop?” Katie asked, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve gotta get in on this before it sells out.”

Y/N grinned. “I’ll hook you up. Don’t worry.”

“Well, I feel like my gift’s completely outclassed now,” Leah joked, shaking her head. “Who knew we had a secret fashion mogul in our squad?”

As the laughter continued, Y/N couldn’t help but feel more at ease. It had been a risky move, revealing her secret, but seeing the team’s positive reaction made her feel like she’d finally found her place among them.

“Alright, alright, no more questions about my brand,” Y/N said, standing up. “This is Katie’s day. Let’s focus on celebrating her.”

Katie slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “Nah, this is your day too, mate. You just became the coolest person in this room.”

Y/N chuckled, her usual reserved nature melting away under the warmth of her new teammates’ acceptance. “Thanks, Katie. Happy birthday.”

And as the celebration continued, with everyone gushing over the hoodie and planning to beg Y/N for more gear, she couldn’t help but smile. Being at Arsenal was already feeling like home—and now, she wasn’t just the new transfer. She was Y/N, the player who had taken the football world and the fashion world by storm.

As the laughter and birthday festivities continued, Y/N found herself enjoying the team’s company more than ever. She hadn’t planned on revealing her secret, but now that it was out, the weight of keeping it hidden was lifted. Plus, seeing how excited the team was about her brand made her feel more connected with them.

As the chatter continued, a thought struck her, and she leaned back on the couch, watching the girls animatedly talk about Immortal.

“You know…” Y/N began, her voice casual but catching the attention of a few of her teammates. “I’ve been planning an ad campaign for the next drop.”

The room quieted down slightly as the girls turned to look at her with interest. Leah raised an eyebrow, catching on to where this was going. “Oh yeah?”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Yeah. I was thinking it could be cool to have a few footballers involved—people who actually know how to move in the clothes, not just stand around looking pretty.”

Katie perked up immediately, a grin spreading across her face. “You saying we’re not pretty, Y/N?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Nah, Katie, you’re gorgeous, don’t worry. But I mean—imagine some of you modeling the new collection, showing off how it looks in action. You know, like moving around, doing some tricks, making it feel real.”

Leah crossed her arms, already intrigued. “You want us to model for you?”

“Yeah, why not?” Y/N shrugged like it was no big deal, but her excitement was obvious. “You’re all familiar with the brand now. And I’ve seen how some of you dress outside of training. You’d fit right in with the vibe I’m going for.”

The room erupted again with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“You’re serious?” Katie asked, her eyes practically sparkling at the idea. “You want us to be in an ad for Immortal? That’s massive!”

Y/N nodded. “Dead serious. I’ve been looking for people who’d bring the energy I want, and who better than you lot?”

Leah, who always had an eye for fashion herself, looked intrigued. “What would it involve?”

“Just a photoshoot and a short video campaign,” Y/N explained. “Something to show how the clothes hold up under movement, some lifestyle shots too. We’d keep it casual, nothing over the top. You’d just be doing what you do best—being yourselves.”

Katie, still holding her new hoodie, grinned like a kid at Christmas. “Alright, I’m in. I want first dibs on the new gear, though.”

Beth laughed from the other side of the room. “You better give us all free clothes after this, Y/N!”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N replied, chuckling. “You’ll all get your pick.”

Leah leaned forward, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “Count me in too. This sounds epic.”

Beth, Viv, and Alessia quickly chimed in with their agreement, clearly excited at the prospect of modeling for Y/N’s brand. The idea of blending their love for football with street fashion was something none of them had expected but now couldn’t wait to be a part of.

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of pride and belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Alright, then. Let’s do it.”

Katie clapped her hands together, grinning widely. “I’m already thinking about my poses.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile. “Just make sure you look good in the clothes and don’t steal the spotlight.”

“Oh please, Y/N, you know I was born for the spotlight,” Katie teased, tossing the hoodie over her shoulder with dramatic flair.

The rest of the team laughed, and Y/N felt the warmth of camaraderie wash over her. It was no longer just about fitting in at Arsenal—she was building real friendships, and now, they were about to share another part of her life.

A few days later, Y/N arranged for the photoshoot at a sleek warehouse-style studio in London. The setting was perfect—industrial, modern, and in line with the edgy aesthetic of Immortal. The girls arrived excited, dressed in their fresh new pieces from Y/N’s upcoming collection. Oversized hoodies, cropped jackets, joggers, and bold accessories—they looked every bit the part of a streetwear campaign.

Y/N watched as her teammates took to the camera like pros. Leah was effortlessly cool, flashing her trademark smirk, while Katie went full energy mode, making the photographer laugh with her playful poses. Viv and Alessia leaned into the more laid-back vibe, while Beth threw in a few trick shots with a football to show off the functionality of the clothes.

“This is insane,” Leah said during a break, grinning at Y/N. “I feel like a proper model.”

“You look like one too,” Y/N teased, nudging her. “You lot are killing it.”

Katie swaggered over, spinning a football on her finger. “When this ad drops, we’re going to break the internet. Arsenal, fashion, and football—what more could people want?”

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling with pride. “You’re right. This is going to be huge.”

As the shoot wrapped up, and the girls exchanged jokes and compliments, Y/N realized how much things had changed since her arrival. She had come to Arsenal as just a new player, a young transfer, but now she was a part of something bigger. Her brand, her football career, and her friendships were all coming together in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

“Alright,” Y/N said as the girls gathered their things, still buzzing from the shoot. “Next time you see yourselves on a billboard wearing Immortal, just remember—it’s all because of me.”

Katie laughed, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “You might’ve started this, Y/N, but we’re definitely the ones who are going to sell it.”

Y/N grinned. “Fair enough. Just don’t forget where the free clothes come from.”

The team laughed, and as they headed out of the studio, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Arsenal wasn’t just her team anymore—it was her family. And now, they were part of her brand’s story too.

As the team left the studio, buzzing with excitement from the shoot, Y/N couldn't help but feel a rush of contentment. The photoshoot had gone better than she’d imagined, and seeing her teammates so effortlessly embody the essence of her brand filled her with pride. They had no idea how much their support meant to her, and now, she was even more excited for the future of Immortal.

A few days passed, and the buzz around the shoot continued to grow among the team. Katie, of course, couldn’t stop bragging about the fact that she was now not just a footballer but a “fashion icon” too, as she dramatically put it. She had practically worn the Immortal hoodie everywhere since the shoot.

During a team breakfast one morning, as the girls sat around the cafeteria table, Leah was scrolling through her phone and grinning at something.

“Oi, Y/N,” Leah called, catching Y/N’s attention as she bit into a piece of toast. “Did you see this yet?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

Leah held up her phone, revealing an early sneak peek of the campaign images that had been sent out to the Immortal email subscribers. Katie, Leah, Viv, Beth, and Alessia were all featured in different shots, looking effortlessly cool in Y/N’s designs.

“You look badass,” Leah said with a grin, pointing at her own image. “Look at me. I’m a model now.”

The girls leaned over to see the images, gathering around Leah’s phone with excited murmurs.

“Wait, is this live already?” Katie asked, her eyes wide. “I thought we’d have more time before this hit the internet!”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nah, those are just preview shots. The real launch is next week. But I had to give the subscribers something to hype them up.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” Alessia said, still staring at the photos. “We look incredible. You’re about to break the fashion world, Y/N.”

Beth chimed in, smirking. “And the football world too, when they realize we’re basically models now.”

The team erupted in laughter, and Katie playfully tossed her napkin at Beth. “As long as I’m the face of the brand, we’re good.”

“Oh, is that right?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’ve already taken over enough with that hoodie, Katie.”

Katie gave her a cheeky grin, tugging at the hoodie she still hadn’t taken off. “What can I say? It’s comfy.”

“Comfy and expensive,” Viv added with a smirk. “Y/N, you’re going to ruin us all with how much we’re going to want from your next collection.”

Y/N laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you all hooked up.”

The conversation flowed easily, with the girls still buzzing about the campaign and their newfound status as fashion models. It wasn’t long before Jonas Eidevall, Arsenal’s manager, strolled into the cafeteria. His usual no-nonsense expression softened when he saw the team gathered together, laughing and chatting.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, grabbing a cup of coffee.

“Morning, coach,” they all chorused, but Katie wasn’t about to miss her chance to share the news.

“Coach, you have to check this out,” she said, turning her phone screen toward Jonas, showing him the preview images from the shoot. “We’re officially fashion models now.”

Jonas gave them an amused look, sipping his coffee. “Fashion models, huh? Is this why I keep seeing those hoodies around? You’re all part of Y/N’s brand now?”

Y/N tried to downplay it, shrugging with a small smile. “It was just a fun campaign.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “I didn’t realize we had a fashion mogul in our ranks. Should I be worried that you’ll all switch careers?”

The team laughed, and Y/N shook her head. “Don’t worry, coach. Football comes first.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jonas said with a chuckle. “But I’ll say, it’s impressive what you’ve done with the brand, Y/N. It takes a lot of work to balance something like that with a professional football career.”

Y/N felt a wave of pride wash over her at the compliment. It wasn’t every day that she received recognition for her work outside of football, and hearing it from her manager made it all the more meaningful.

“Thanks, coach,” she replied, feeling her teammates' supportive gazes on her.

As Jonas walked away to take his coffee elsewhere, Katie turned to Y/N with a proud smile. “Look at you, getting compliments from the boss. You’re killing it, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, trying to brush off the attention. “It’s just a side thing.”

“Oh, please,” Leah teased, “stop being so humble. This is massive, and you know it.”

The girls continued their conversation, hyping up Y/N more than she could handle, when suddenly a notification buzzed on her phone. She glanced down and her eyes widened slightly.

“The preview just went live,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my god!” Beth practically squealed. “Everyone’s gonna see this now.”

Seconds later, a flood of comments and messages started coming in from her brand’s social media. Fans were going wild, especially since Immortal had teased the involvement of Arsenal players in the campaign. Photos of Katie, Leah, and the others were already making rounds online, and the excitement was palpable.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold as her teammates excitedly checked their phones, reacting to the flood of comments. She couldn’t help but smile at the whirlwind of excitement around her. This campaign was going to be bigger than she’d anticipated, and she was glad she had her teammates by her side for the ride.

Katie, of course, was the loudest, shouting to anyone who would listen. “I’m famous! Look at me, Arsenal’s number one model!”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, leaning over to Katie. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Katie slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into a side hug. “And you love it. Admit it, Y/N, this campaign wouldn’t be half as cool without me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late for that!” Katie shouted, making the whole team laugh again.

As the team celebrated their newfound fame in the fashion world, Y/N realized just how far she’d come in such a short time. Not only had she found her place at Arsenal, but she had also shared a part of herself with her new teammates—a part that she hadn’t even been sure they’d care about. And now, they were fully on board, embracing her passion with the same energy they brought to the pitch every day.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she wasn’t just the new girl anymore. She was truly part of the Arsenal family.

The next morning, Y/N walked into the Arsenal training center with her usual laid-back swagger. She was already feeling the weight of her phone vibrating in her pocket, notifications flooding in from her brand’s social media. It was a lot to take in, but she was buzzing with excitement. The campaign had taken off like wildfire, and she couldn’t have asked for a better response from fans or her teammates.

As she strolled into the cafeteria, she found most of the team gathered around the breakfast table, laughing and chatting. Katie was, as usual, at the center of it all, gesticulating wildly as she told some story Y/N didn’t catch the beginning of. Alessia and Leah were both giggling beside her, while Beth and Viv watched with amused smiles.

“Y/N! The star of the show!” Leah called out when she saw her, waving her over to their table.

“Oi, come sit,” Katie added, patting the empty chair beside her. “You missed the best part of my story.”

Y/N smirked and slid into the seat, playfully bumping her shoulder against Katie’s. “I’m sure it was riveting.”

Katie rolled her eyes but grinned. “You’re lucky you missed it; I’ll save the details for later.”

As Y/N grabbed some breakfast, she casually brought up something she had been mulling over all night. “So, I was thinking about the next step for Immortal.”

The table went quiet with interest, and everyone’s eyes were on her.

“I want to drop an exclusive line in collaboration with one of you,” Y/N said, nonchalantly sipping her coffee. “Something custom, something that really fits your vibe.”

Instantly, the table erupted into chaos.

Leah, Alessia, Beth, and Katie all started talking over each other, vying for Y/N’s attention.

“Obviously, it should be me,” Leah said, leaning forward, her tone teasing but with a competitive edge. “I’ve got the perfect aesthetic. Sporty and clean, you know? It’s what your brand needs.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Katie interrupted, her voice loud and confident as usual. “You’ve got to do it with me. Think about it—bold, unapologetic, fearless. I’m literally the face of this brand already.”

Beth chimed in, her smile mischievous. “I’d bring a bit of chill energy, you know? Something for the laid-back fans, the ones who want comfort without compromising style.”

“And I’m telling you,” Alessia cut in, pointing to herself, “a collaboration with me would be killer. I’ve got that girl-next-door thing going on. People would eat it up.”

Y/N watched the chaos unfold, trying to stifle her laughter as her teammates pitched themselves one after the other. They were all so animated, throwing out ideas and trying to convince her why they’d be the perfect collaborator.

Katie, of course, was the loudest, almost standing up in her seat as she went on about how much influence she’d bring to the brand. “Come on, Y/N, you know I’m the obvious choice. Imagine it—McCabe x Immortal. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Y/N chuckled, looking around at the group. “You guys are really making this hard.”

Before she could say anything else, Kyra wandered into the cafeteria, grabbing a banana from the counter. She hadn’t been part of the pitch battle yet and seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Leah leaned over toward Y/N, lowering her voice with a smirk. “You know if you pick Katie, we’ll never hear the end of it, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly, knowing Leah was probably right. But as she watched Kyra casually walking past the table, her mind sparked with an idea.

“Hey, Kyra,” Y/N called out, causing her to stop mid-step.

Kyra raised an eyebrow, looking a little confused but amused. “Yeah?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, a smirk tugging at her lips. “How do you feel about doing a custom line with Immortal?”

The room went dead silent. All eyes snapped to Kyra, whose expression morphed from confusion to surprise in an instant.

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself. “You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got a unique style. I think we could come up with something sick together. What do you think?”

Kyra blinked a few times, then broke into a grin. “Hell yeah! I’d love to!”

The rest of the table stared in stunned silence, and the moment the reality sank in, Katie’s jaw dropped.

“What?” Katie spluttered, glaring at Y/N like she’d been betrayed. “You picked Kyra? What about me? We’ve been best mates for years! I’m the obvious choice!”

Leah snorted, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter, while Beth and Alessia exchanged amused looks.

Y/N gave Katie a calm smile, trying not to laugh at how genuinely offended she seemed. “It’s not like I won’t do something with you eventually, Katie. I just thought Kyra’s vibe would be perfect for this particular line. Plus, she hasn’t been hounding me about it like someone has.”

Katie crossed her arms, pouting in her seat. “You’re breaking my heart, Y/N. I thought we had something special.”

Y/N snickered, leaning over to nudge her playfully. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ll get your moment.”

But Katie wasn’t letting it go. She turned to Kyra, narrowing her eyes. “You better not screw this up, Kyra.”

Kyra, now fully caught up in the moment, just grinned at Katie. “Don’t worry, McCabe. I’ll do the brand justice.”

Katie muttered something under her breath, still pouting as the rest of the table laughed at her over-the-top reaction. Leah and Alessia were practically crying from laughter, while Beth was already planning how she could poke fun at Katie later.

“You’re so jealous, Katie,” Leah teased, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s actually hilarious.”

“I’m not jealous,” Katie shot back, though the fire in her eyes told a different story. “I’m just saying it should’ve been me. You’ll regret this, Y/N.”

Y/N raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, maybe next time. But for now, it’s Kyra’s turn.”

Kyra beamed, sitting down beside Y/N and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re gonna kill this collab.”

Katie huffed dramatically, but there was a playful glint in her eye now. “Fine, whatever. But if you make a second collab without me, we’re done.”

“Deal,” Y/N said with a grin, enjoying every second of Katie’s theatrics.

The rest of breakfast was filled with teasing banter, and despite Katie’s initial jealousy, she couldn’t stay mad for long. The excitement over the potential collaboration with Kyra soon took over the conversation, and by the end of the meal, even Katie was throwing in ideas for what Kyra’s line could look like.

But as they left the table, Y/N couldn’t resist leaning over to Katie and whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got something special planned for you. Just wait.”

Katie’s pout disappeared, replaced with a sly smile. “You better, Y/N.”

As the team headed off to training, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement for what was to come. The collab with Kyra was going to be epic, but she also knew Katie wouldn’t let her forget that her time in the spotlight was still coming.

The collaboration with Kyra had been a massive success, with Immortal’s custom line selling out within hours of its release. The bold, daring designs had been a perfect reflection of Kyra’s personality, and the fans had loved it. But, as promised, Y/N hadn’t forgotten about Katie. In fact, ever since Katie’s dramatic reaction at breakfast, Y/N had been brainstorming ideas for what their collaboration would look like.

She wanted it to be something special, something that reflected not just Katie’s style but her fiery personality and leadership on the pitch. And, after weeks of planning, the perfect concept had come to mind: Fearless.

Now, it was time to pitch the idea to Katie.

Y/N found her sitting in the locker room after a particularly grueling training session. Katie was sprawled out on one of the benches, half-drinking from a water bottle while chatting with Leah, who was equally wiped out. The sight made Y/N smile—Katie looked so relaxed compared to her usual high-energy self.

“Katie, you got a minute?” Y/N asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Katie glanced up, her face lighting up instantly. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this. What do you have for me?”

Leah nudged Katie with a smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it. Can’t wait to see what Y/N comes up with this time.”

With a wink, Leah left the room, leaving Y/N and Katie alone. Y/N walked over, sitting beside Katie on the bench and pulling out a folder filled with sketches and mood boards.

“Alright,” Y/N started, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what our collab should look like. I want it to be something bold, something that screams Katie McCabe. You’re fearless, both on and off the pitch, and I want this line to reflect that.”

Katie’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she sat up straighter. “Go on…”

Y/N opened the folder, revealing the first set of designs. The theme was striking—sharp, clean lines with edgy details like ripped denim, leather accents, and bold color schemes. The central piece was a black leather jacket with “Fearless” embroidered on the back in fiery red letters, alongside an abstract design that looked like flames.

“I’m calling it the Fearless collection,” Y/N explained. “It’s inspired by your personality. The kind of confidence and boldness you have when you step onto the pitch. I want people to feel unstoppable when they wear this.”

Katie’s jaw dropped as she flipped through the designs, her hands running over the sketches like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Y/N… this is unreal,” Katie muttered, clearly in awe. “This is exactly what I wanted, but better. The jacket, the color palette—it’s so me.”

Y/N smirked. “I know, right? I thought it’d be perfect. We’ll also have custom cleats, streetwear pieces, and accessories. All of it ties into that fearless energy you bring every day.”

Katie was quiet for a moment, still taking it all in, but Y/N could tell she was thrilled. Finally, she looked up, her usual cocky grin returning.

“You nailed it,” Katie said, standing up and pulling Y/N into a hug. “This is gonna be epic. The fans are going to lose their minds.”

Y/N hugged her back, laughing at how excited Katie was. “I’m glad you love it. Now, I just need you to model a few pieces for the promo shoot.”

Katie pulled back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You mean I get to show off? Count me in.”

A few days later, the team gathered in the studio for the Fearless collection shoot. Katie was buzzing with energy, strutting around the set in the pieces from her collection. She was wearing the signature leather jacket, paired with ripped black jeans and boots that screamed “badass.”

The other players were there, too, watching the shoot unfold. Leah, Alessia, Kyra, and Beth were all leaning against the wall, throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment as Katie posed for the camera.

“You’re loving this way too much, McCabe,” Leah called out, laughing when Katie dramatically flipped her jacket’s collar.

Katie shot her a look. “Jealous, Williamson? Don’t worry, maybe Y/N will let you model in the next shoot.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the amusement on her face.

Y/N, standing behind the camera with the photographer, couldn’t help but smile. Katie was completely in her element, commanding attention with every pose. The theme of the collection suited her perfectly, and it showed in how effortlessly she wore each piece.

As the shoot continued, Y/N found herself feeling proud. This collaboration wasn’t just about making clothes—it was about showcasing the side of Katie that everyone admired. She was strong, fearless, and unapologetically herself, and now, her personality was immortalized in fashion.

“Alright, Katie, that’s a wrap,” the photographer said after the final shot.

Katie strutted over to Y/N, grinning like she’d just won a match. “That was amazing. You’re a genius, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, giving her a playful shove. “I told you I’d make it worth the wait.”

“You definitely did,” Katie agreed, glancing at the jacket she was wearing. “I can’t wait to see people walking around in this.”

As the rest of the team gathered around to check out the final shots, Y/N caught sight of Katie watching her. There was a rare softness in her expression, and she stepped closer, her voice quieter now.

“Hey,” Katie said, bumping Y/N’s shoulder. “Thanks for this. I know I was a pain about it, but you really nailed it.”

Y/N grinned, bumping her back. “You’re welcome. But I wouldn’t call you a pain. More like… passionate.”

Katie laughed, shaking her head. “Whatever you say.”

She slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, and as they walked back toward the rest of the team, Y/N felt a sense of contentment. The Fearless collection was going to be a massive success, but more than that, it had brought her and Katie even closer.

And as they joined their teammates, with everyone buzzing about the new line, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

The match against Chelsea was a high-stakes one, a clash between two of the best teams in the league. It was fast-paced, with tackles flying in and tension building as the clock ticked down. The atmosphere was electric—fans roaring, adrenaline running through every player’s veins, and Y/N right in the thick of it. She’d been in brilliant form all season, and this game was no different.

Y/N had always prided herself on her speed, agility, and ability to weave through defenses effortlessly. She’d just danced past two defenders when she spotted a gap in the Chelsea backline. With the ball at her feet, she charged forward, eyes locked on the goal.

And then it happened.

In the blink of an eye, as Y/N was about to take her shot, a Chelsea defender came in with a hard, mistimed tackle. Y/N felt the impact before she even realized what had happened. The crack in her knee echoed in her ears as she collapsed to the ground, clutching her leg in agony.

Time seemed to slow. The roar of the crowd dimmed, replaced by a ringing in her ears. All she could feel was the searing pain shooting through her knee, every nerve on fire. Her heart raced, panic settling in as she tried to move, but her leg wouldn’t respond.

"Y/N! Oh my God, Y/N!" Katie's voice was the first she registered, followed by the concerned faces of her teammates rushing over.

Y/N's breath came in short, shallow gasps as she lay on the grass, her vision blurring from the pain. The medics were on her within seconds, their hands gently prodding her leg, but she already knew. Something was terribly wrong.

“Katie…” Y/N whispered through gritted teeth, tears filling her eyes as the reality began to sink in. “I can’t move my leg.”

Katie knelt beside her, her face pale as she reached for Y/N’s hand. “Don’t say that. It’ll be fine. The medics will fix you up, yeah?”

Y/N tried to nod, but the pain was too much. She could barely focus as the medics worked around her, their concerned expressions doing little to comfort her.

The stretcher arrived quickly, and as they carefully lifted her onto it, Y/N’s heart ached more than her leg. The crowd’s cheers faded into background noise, and she could only focus on the tears that slipped down Katie’s face as she walked beside her, holding her hand tightly.

“Stay with me, okay?” Katie whispered, her voice shaking. “You’re gonna be okay, Y/N. You have to be.”

Y/N wanted to believe her. She wanted to hold on to that hope, but something deep inside her told her otherwise. The way her leg had twisted, the way her knee had buckled—it felt catastrophic.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, the painkillers numbing her enough to dull the physical pain, but nothing could touch the growing dread in her chest.

Hours passed before the team doctor finally approached her after the MRI. Y/N sat in the sterile hospital bed, Katie at her side, fingers still intertwined.

The doctor sighed, his expression grim. “Y/N, I’m afraid the damage is extensive. You’ve torn your ACL, MCL, and PCL, along with significant damage to the meniscus. The recovery time… well, it’s going to be long. And even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to return to professional football.”

Y/N’s world shattered with those words.

She stared at the doctor, unable to speak, the weight of the diagnosis pressing down on her like a physical force. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was replay the moment over and over in her mind—her foot planted, the crack in her knee, the way she had fallen. How could it all end like this?

Beside her, Katie stiffened, her grip on Y/N’s hand tightening. “No… no, there has to be something else. Surgery? Rehab? Y/N can’t just—she can’t just stop playing.”

The doctor’s sympathetic gaze shifted to Katie. “There will be surgeries, multiple, but the extent of the damage… it’s unlikely she’ll return to her previous level of play. I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s chest constricted, her pulse hammering in her ears. She’d dreamed of playing at the highest level since she was a kid, sacrificed everything for it. And now, it was being ripped away from her in a single moment.

Katie looked at her, her own eyes red and puffy, tears threatening to spill. “Y/N…”

“I…” Y/N swallowed, her voice hoarse. “I don’t know what to do.”

Katie pulled her into a tight hug, burying her face in Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

But Y/N couldn’t bring herself to believe that. Football was all she’d ever known, all she’d ever wanted. Without it… who was she?

Days passed in a blur of surgeries, hospital visits, and endless hours of rehab. Y/N’s teammates visited often, bringing flowers and cards, but nothing could lift the crushing weight in her chest. The reality of her situation hung over her like a dark cloud.

Katie was with her every step of the way, never leaving her side, but Y/N could feel the strain it was putting on both of them. There were moments where Y/N would catch Katie watching her with a sadness in her eyes, as if she didn’t know how to fix the situation.

And the truth was, no one could fix it.

Months into her rehab, sitting in the gym, watching her teammates train from the sidelines, Y/N felt the full force of her loss. Watching them run drills, laughing, and playing the game she loved, it hit her all over again. She would never step foot on the pitch as a player again.

As she sat there, her leg in a brace, Katie came up behind her and gently wrapped her arms around Y/N's shoulders, resting her chin on Y/N's head.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Katie whispered softly.

Y/N blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Proud of what? That I can barely bend my knee?”

“No,” Katie said, squeezing her tighter. “For getting through this. For staying strong when everything felt impossible.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, leaning back into Katie’s embrace. “I don’t feel strong, Katie. I feel… lost.”

Katie kissed the top of her head. “You’re not lost. You’ll find your way, and I’ll be right there with you, whatever that looks like.”

And for the first time since the injury, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could still find a way forward—even if it wasn’t the path she had envisioned.

The weeks following Y/N’s injury were some of the hardest days of her life. Rehab was grueling—slow and painful, both physically and emotionally. Every day was a reminder of what she had lost, and even with Katie constantly by her side, it felt like an endless uphill battle.

Y/N spent most of her days in a daze, going through the motions of physical therapy, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt detached, like she was watching her own life from a distance. Football had been everything to her, and without it, she didn’t know who she was anymore.

Katie could see the toll it was taking. Y/N wasn’t herself. She was quieter, more withdrawn, her once fiery personality dulled by the weight of everything she was going through. Katie hated seeing her like this, and she knew she had to do something to help pull her best friend out of the darkness.

One evening, after another long and silent day of rehab, Katie sat beside Y/N on the couch, watching as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. She noticed Y/N was lingering on some photos from her clothing line—the one she had kept secret for so long.

Katie nudged her gently. “You know, your clothing line is pretty incredible,” she said, keeping her tone light.

Y/N barely looked up, shrugging. “It’s just a side thing, Katie. It doesn’t really matter now.”

Katie’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t matter? Y/N, it’s a huge deal. Do you know how many people would kill to be able to create something like that? And you did it while playing football at the highest level. That’s insane.”

Y/N let out a sigh, still not meeting Katie’s eyes. “Yeah, but football was always the priority. The clothing thing was just a distraction.”

Katie sat up straighter, her voice firm but gentle. “Maybe it started as a distraction, but it’s more than that now. You built something that people love, Y/N. People respect your work. And now, you’ve got all this time… Maybe this is your chance to really focus on it.”

Y/N finally looked up, her eyes heavy with doubt. “You think I can just switch from football to… fashion? Like it’s that easy?”

Katie smiled softly, placing a hand on Y/N’s knee. “I think you’ve got talent in both. And I think you need something to pour yourself into right now. You love fashion, Y/N. Every time you talk about your brand, you light up. It’s the only time recently I’ve seen you excited about anything.”

Y/N frowned, her mind racing. The clothing line had always been a passion project, something she did on the side, never something she imagined focusing on full-time. But Katie’s words stuck with her. Could this really be her new path?

“I don’t know…” Y/N muttered, her uncertainty palpable.

Katie gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to know everything right now. But just… try. Start designing again. Get involved in your brand like you used to. You’re still Y/N—the girl who built something incredible out of nothing. You’re more than just football, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Y/N stared down at her hands, the weight of Katie’s words slowly sinking in. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to think about her clothing line seriously. The injury had consumed her every thought, every worry, and she’d pushed everything else to the side.

But maybe… maybe Katie was right.

The next day, Katie took matters into her own hands. She surprised Y/N with a visit to the small design studio where Y/N used to work on her brand. Y/N hadn’t been there in months, too caught up in football and then her injury to even think about it.

As they walked in, Y/N hesitated, glancing around at the racks of clothes, the sketches pinned to the walls, the mood boards she’d abandoned in the chaos of her life.

Katie nudged her forward. “Come on, Y/N. This place used to be your sanctuary.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she stepped inside. Memories flooded back—late nights designing, the excitement of launching new collections, the thrill of seeing people wear her clothes. There was a spark inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Katie grinned, watching Y/N’s eyes light up as she walked around the studio. “You still love this, don’t you?”

Y/N nodded slowly, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Yeah… I do.”

“Then do something about it,” Katie urged. “Start designing again. Release something new. You’ve got the time now, Y/N. And you’ve got the talent.”

Y/N stared at the blank sketchpad on the table, her fingers itching to pick up a pencil. She hadn’t designed anything since before the injury, hadn’t let herself even think about fashion. But now, standing here, in the space she’d created, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Katie leaned against the table, her arms crossed, watching Y/N closely. “You could do an exclusive line or something. Work with one of the girls, make it special. Hell, you’ve already got half the team wearing your clothes, so you know they’re fans.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a bit of the weight lift off her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

Katie’s smile widened. “There’s the Y/N I know. The girl who takes risks, who’s not afraid to go after what she wants.”

Y/N glanced at Katie, her heart warming at the sight of her best friend’s unwavering support. “What would I do without you?”

Katie shrugged, teasing. “Probably wallow in self-pity and eat all the ice cream in London.”

Y/N laughed, the sound a little lighter than it had been in weeks. She picked up the pencil, the feel of it familiar and comforting in her hand. Maybe this was what she needed—a new direction, a new purpose.

And she had Katie by her side, pushing her forward, believing in her even when she didn’t believe in herself.

With a deep breath, Y/N sat down at the table, flipping open the sketchpad. Her mind buzzed with ideas, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt excited about the future.

Katie moved to stand behind her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got this, Y/N. I know you do.”

Y/N smiled up at her, feeling the warmth of Katie’s words wrap around her like a safety net. “Thanks, Katie. For everything.”

“Always,” Katie replied softly, her eyes full of affection. “Now, show me what you’re working on. I might just have to be your first customer.”

Months after Y/N had rediscovered her passion for fashion, her clothing brand had taken off in ways she never imagined. With Katie’s constant encouragement and the support of her teammates, Y/N was back to designing full-time, pouring her heart and soul into every piece. She had launched a new collection, which had been met with rave reviews, and her reputation in the fashion world had only grown.

Then came the call that would change everything.

Arsenal’s board reached out to Y/N with an offer she never expected: they wanted her brand to collaborate with the club to design next season’s kit. It was an opportunity most designers could only dream of—a chance to combine her love for football with her passion for fashion, and to leave a lasting legacy with the club she’d once played for.

When she first got the call, Y/N was speechless, her mind racing with possibilities. Arsenal was her home, even though she could no longer play. This was her chance to stay connected with the sport and the team in a new way, while showcasing her brand on one of the biggest stages in football.

Katie was the first person Y/N told, of course. She nearly tackled Y/N in excitement when she heard the news.

“No way! You’re going to design the next Arsenal kit? That’s massive!” Katie exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she paced around their living room. “Do you know how many designers would kill for this opportunity?”

Y/N grinned, still processing the magnitude of it all. “Yeah, it’s pretty surreal.”

Katie stopped pacing and grabbed Y/N by the shoulders. “You’re going to crush this, Y/N. I know it.”

With Arsenal’s backing and a tight deadline, Y/N threw herself into the project. She wanted the kit to reflect not just the club’s heritage, but also the culture and creativity her brand had become known for. She spent weeks sketching, designing, and meeting with the Arsenal team to perfect the kit. It had to be bold, yet timeless. A symbol of strength, unity, and the passion of the fans and players alike.

Finally, the day came to unveil the design to the team.

Arsenal had arranged a private meeting for Y/N to reveal the kit to the players and staff before the official release. As she stood in front of the group, holding her breath, Katie sat at the front of the crowd, her grin encouraging Y/N from across the room.

Y/N cleared her throat, nerves buzzing through her body. “Alright, so… this is it,” she began, gesturing to the sleek cover over the mannequins that stood in the center of the room. “I wanted this kit to represent Arsenal’s legacy but also bring in something new, something fresh. A mix of tradition and the future.”

With a swift pull, Y/N uncovered the kits. The room went silent for a beat, and then a collective gasp of awe rippled through the crowd.

The home kit was stunning: a deep, rich red with subtle geometric patterns woven into the fabric, representing the architectural lines of the Emirates Stadium. The sleeves and collar featured sleek, modern white accents, while the famous Arsenal crest was outlined in gold, giving it a touch of elegance. It was bold yet classic, a perfect blend of Y/N’s fashion-forward designs and Arsenal’s storied history.

The away kit was a statement in itself—a striking black with intricate detailing of North London streets subtly mapped into the fabric. The fluorescent accents in Arsenal’s gold and red lit up the design, adding flair without losing the focus on its sophistication.

The third kit was more daring, with abstract patterns that paid homage to the diverse cultures and streetwear influences that inspired Y/N’s brand. It was an explosion of color—vibrant and fearless, just like Arsenal’s fighting spirit.

The players erupted in excitement.

“Mate, that’s unreal!” Leah Williamson shouted, her eyes wide with admiration as she stepped closer to the mannequins, running her fingers over the fabric. “This is next level, Y/N.”

Alessia Russo nodded in agreement. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s fresh, but it still feels like Arsenal. You nailed it.”

The entire room buzzed with energy, players exchanging excited glances and murmuring about how amazing it would feel to step out on the pitch in Y/N’s designs.

Katie, of course, was practically vibrating with pride. “I told you! I told you, you were going to kill it!” she shouted, beaming at Y/N.

The team’s excitement filled Y/N with a deep sense of pride, and for the first time since her injury, she felt like she had a place again. She might not be playing on the pitch, but her contribution would live on in a way she’d never imagined.

The collaboration was set to be one of the biggest talking points of the upcoming season, with fans eagerly awaiting the official release. But behind the scenes, the players couldn’t contain their excitement about the kits they’d soon be wearing.

After the reveal, Jonas Eidevall approached Y/N with a genuine smile. “You’ve done something special here, Y/N. This isn’t just a kit—it’s a part of Arsenal now.”

Y/N blushed, overwhelmed by the response. “Thanks, Jonas. It means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Katie bounded over and threw her arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “We need a party to celebrate this, right?” she asked, winking at the group.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “It’s just a kit, Katie.”

“No, it’s not just a kit,” Leah interjected, grinning. “It’s the best kit Arsenal’s ever had, and you’re the genius behind it.”

Y/N smiled as the room erupted into applause, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging. She hadn’t lost everything after all. This was her purpose now. Her legacy, not just in football, but in a way that allowed her creativity to shine through.

And through it all, she had Katie by her side, pushing her to be more, reminding her of who she really was—even when Y/N had forgotten herself.

After the success of her Arsenal kit collaboration, Y/N had been riding a wave of inspiration. Her brand had grown exponentially, with new collections flying off the shelves, and her next big project was something she’d always dreamed of: an upscale luxury party wear line. Sleek, elegant, and designed for people who wanted to make a statement—this collection was her chance to branch out beyond streetwear and athletic fashion into something more high-end.

The timing couldn’t have been better. With the FIFA Best Awards coming up, several of Y/N’s Arsenal teammates were nominated, and they were all buzzing with excitement. Katie had been going on for weeks about what to wear, while Alessia, Leah, and the rest of the girls teased her relentlessly.

Y/N, of course, had an idea.

“What if I dressed you all for the awards?” she casually suggested one day during lunch at the training ground, her eyes glinting mischievously as she looked around the table.

The entire room went quiet for a moment as her words sunk in.

“What do you mean?” Alessia asked, wide-eyed.

“I mean, I’m working on a new line. Upscale, luxury party wear,” Y/N explained, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “I could design custom outfits for each of you to wear on the red carpet. Trust me, you’ll look incredible.”

The girls stared at her in stunned silence for a few seconds before Katie practically jumped out of her seat.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Katie asked, her eyes lighting up. “Y/N, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Leah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Luxury party wear, huh? I didn’t know you were venturing into that.”

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. And what better way to debut it than by having you lot wear it to the FIFA Best Awards?”

Katie shot out of her chair, throwing her arms around Y/N. “This is brilliant! I’m going to look so good, I’ll steal the show.”

Alessia grinned. “You mean we will steal the show.”

The excitement spread quickly as all the girls clamored for details, eager to hear what Y/N had in mind for their looks. Over the next few days, she met with each of them individually to discuss their style preferences, and soon the designs were underway.

A week before the awards, Y/N had the final fittings ready. She had converted part of her flat into a makeshift studio, where she could work on the dresses and suits and ensure they fit perfectly.

Katie was the first to try on her outfit, and she looked absolutely stunning. Y/N had designed her a sleek, black velvet jumpsuit with a deep V neckline and gold chain detailing at the waist. It was edgy, classy, and had just the right amount of boldness to match Katie’s personality.

“I feel like a bloody movie star,” Katie said, grinning as she looked at herself in the mirror. She turned to Y/N, giving her a playful wink. “You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N.”

“You haven’t even seen the others yet,” Y/N teased, adjusting one of the chains on Katie’s outfit. “Trust me, you’re all going to look incredible.”

Alessia’s dress was a soft champagne-colored satin gown with a high slit, delicate straps, and a low, open back. It was elegant and sophisticated, fitting her calm, graceful demeanor. She twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric flowing around her as she beamed at Y/N.

“This is gorgeous,” Alessia whispered, almost in awe. “I never thought I’d wear something like this.”

“You pull it off better than anyone,” Y/N replied, smiling as she watched Alessia’s reaction. “You’re going to turn heads for sure.”

Leah’s outfit was a tailored white suit with silver embellishments on the blazer. It was sharp, powerful, and oozed confidence—just like the woman wearing it. Leah glanced at herself in the mirror, the corners of her mouth curling into a pleased smirk.

“I like it. Strong, but not too much,” Leah said, turning to face Y/N. “How did you know this was exactly what I wanted?”

Y/N shrugged. “I pay attention. You’re a natural in it.”

One by one, the rest of the girls came in for their fittings, each one stunned by the craftsmanship and attention to detail in their custom looks. The excitement in the room was palpable as the FIFA Best Awards drew closer, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as she watched her teammates react to the pieces she had created.

The night of the awards arrived, and Y/N’s designs were finally revealed to the world.

As the team arrived at the red carpet, photographers’ flashes lit up the night, capturing every moment. Katie strutted confidently, her black velvet jumpsuit catching the light with every step. Leah walked beside her, radiating power in her white suit, while Alessia’s satin gown shimmered under the camera flashes.

The media went wild, and the questions started pouring in.

“Who are you wearing?” one reporter asked Katie.

Katie grinned, pointing to Y/N who stood at the back of the group, dressed in her own chic black ensemble. “It’s all Y/N’s brand. She designed everything.”

Y/N couldn’t help but blush as the attention shifted to her. “I just wanted them to feel as confident and amazing as they are,” she said, trying to stay humble as the cameras focused on her.

The girls laughed and pulled her into the spotlight, posing with her for the cameras. They were all glowing, not just from the glamour of the night but from the bond they shared and the confidence that Y/N’s designs had given them.

As the night continued and they mingled with other players and celebrities, people kept stopping them to ask about their outfits, praising Y/N’s designs and her talent.

“You really knocked it out of the park,” Katie whispered to Y/N at one point, her arm slung around her best friend’s shoulders. “Everyone’s talking about your line. This is going to blow up.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Thanks, Katie. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Katie grinned. “Yeah, but don’t forget—I looked the best tonight.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, McCabe.”

As the night went on, Y/N realized that her journey was far from over. The success of her brand was only just beginning, and with her friends by her side, she felt unstoppable. Fashion, football, friendship—she had it all, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take her next.

The FIFA Best Awards night had barely wrapped up, but the buzz surrounding Y/N’s luxury party wear collection hadn’t died down. Social media was flooded with photos of the Arsenal girls in their custom outfits, and fans were clamoring for more. Y/N was overwhelmed with messages—praise for her designs, inquiries from fashion insiders, and countless new followers. Her brand had already made a name for itself in the streetwear scene, but this was something else entirely. This was a whole new level.

A few days after the awards, Y/N received an unexpected message. A famous fashion designer, someone she had admired from afar for years, had reached out.

"Would love to meet. I have an exciting opportunity for you. Let me know when you're free. — Adrien Duval."

Adrien Duval was one of the biggest names in high fashion. Known for pushing boundaries and creating art through clothing, his shows were the talk of every major fashion week. Y/N had grown up admiring his work, and now, here he was, reaching out to her.

Excitement coursed through her as she replied, setting up a meeting at a high-end café in central London. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but Y/N kept it cool as she arrived at the café, trying to hide the fact that she was, in fact, completely starstruck.

When she walked in, she immediately spotted Adrien sitting at a table near the window, sipping on an espresso. He looked exactly as she’d imagined—tall, impeccably dressed, with an aura of effortless style and authority. When he saw her, he stood up and offered a warm smile.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure,” Adrien greeted, shaking her hand. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Y/N replied, trying not to let her nerves show as they sat down. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this. You’re… well, you're an icon.”

Adrien chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re too kind. But I have to say, I’ve been keeping an eye on your work. Your collection at the FIFA Best Awards—it was spectacular. The perfect combination of boldness and elegance. You’ve got something special, Y/N.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck, but she nodded. “Thank you. I’m just trying to push the boundaries a little.”

“And you’re doing it brilliantly,” Adrien replied, his tone sincere. He leaned in slightly, his expression more serious now. “I’ve come to you with an opportunity. London Fashion Week is approaching, and I think your brand would be a perfect fit. I’d like to offer you the chance to host your own show.”

Y/N blinked, not quite sure if she’d heard him right. “You’re serious?”

Adrien nodded. “I don’t say this lightly. Your work is fresh, innovative, and it's time for the world to see that on the biggest stage. Your brand is already turning heads, but a show at London Fashion Week could catapult you to another level.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, trying to process what he was saying. A fashion show at London Fashion Week. The pinnacle of high fashion, where the most elite designers showcased their collections. It was an opportunity she had always dreamed about, but never imagined would come so soon.

“What do you think?” Adrien asked, watching her reaction closely.

“I… wow, I don’t even know what to say,” Y/N admitted, still in a bit of shock. “It’s an incredible offer. I’d love to do it.”

Adrien smiled, clearly pleased with her response. “Excellent. I had a feeling you’d be up for the challenge. The logistics can be worked out later, but I wanted to make sure I extended the invitation personally. You’re going to do great things, Y/N, and I want to be a part of it.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur of excitement and planning. Adrien explained the process, how the show would work, and what Y/N would need to prepare in the coming months. He offered advice, tips, and even suggested a few big-name models who could potentially walk in her show.

By the time Y/N left the café, her mind was racing. London Fashion Week. She could hardly believe it. The opportunity felt surreal, but she knew she was ready. Her passion for fashion, the endless nights of designing, and her dedication to her brand had all led to this moment. Now, it was her chance to take it to the next level.

As she walked down the street, her phone buzzed with a message from Katie.

Katie: "Heard you had a meeting. What’s up?"

Y/N couldn’t help but grin as she typed back her response.

Y/N: "Just got asked to do a show at London Fashion Week."

Katie: "SHUT UP. Are you serious?!"

Y/N: "Dead serious."

There was a pause, and then her phone rang. Y/N answered with a laugh. “You couldn’t just text?”

Katie’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “London Fashion Week? Y/N, that’s massive! I knew you were killing it, but this is next level. We’re all coming to that show, no question.”

Y/N smiled, her heart warm at the support from her best friend. “Thanks, Katie. I’m still wrapping my head around it, but yeah, it’s happening.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Katie said, her tone softer now. “You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard.”

Y/N felt a lump in her throat at Katie’s words. “Thanks, McCabe. You’ve been there every step of the way.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Katie promised. “You better make me something killer to wear to the show.”

Y/N laughed. “You know I’ve got you covered.”

As she hung up, Y/N looked out at the city around her, her heart swelling with gratitude and excitement. The journey had only just begun, but she knew, with Katie and the rest of the team by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t achieve.

London Fashion Week, here she came.

The night of London Fashion Week had arrived, and the buzz surrounding Y/N’s debut show was electric. Backstage, the energy was palpable—models getting last-minute touch-ups, stylists tweaking outfits, and assistants running around to make sure everything was perfect. Y/N stood off to the side, watching the chaos unfold, her heart pounding in her chest. She had spent months designing this collection, pouring her soul into each piece, and now, it was finally about to be shown to the world.

But something else weighed heavy on her mind.

For so long, football had been her identity. It was the only thing she knew growing up, the only thing she ever dreamed about. But after her career-ending injury, it was as if a part of her had died. She’d been searching for a way to fill that void, and while her clothing line had given her something to focus on, she had never fully accepted that she could truly leave football behind. It was still there, haunting her in the background, a reminder of what could have been.

Katie and a few of her Arsenal teammates were sitting front row, all dressed in pieces from her collection, cheering her on. They’d been her biggest supporters through everything, but Katie had always been the one to push her, to remind her that there was life beyond football. Tonight felt like a culmination of all the hard work, the sleepless nights, the creative struggles—but more than that, it felt like a chance to finally let go.

The lights in the venue dimmed, and the music began to pulse through the speakers. It was time. Y/N took a deep breath, nodding to her team, and the first model stepped out onto the runway.

As each look made its way down the catwalk, Y/N felt a strange mix of emotions. Pride, relief, excitement—but also a sense of closure. The crowd was in awe, their eyes glued to the collection she had crafted with her own hands. Every piece told a story, not just of her as a designer but of her journey—her pain, her growth, her evolution.

Katie caught her eye from the front row, giving her a thumbs up and mouthing, “You’re killing it.” Y/N smiled, feeling her heart swell with gratitude. This was her new purpose, her new path.

The final look came out, and the applause was deafening. Y/N could barely hear herself think as the models lined up for the final walk. She stepped out onto the runway with them, feeling the weight of the moment hit her. The crowd stood up, giving her a standing ovation, but all Y/N could focus on was the sense of peace settling over her.

She walked the length of the runway, giving a small wave to the audience, but when she reached the end, she found Katie’s eyes again. There was a knowing look in them, as if Katie understood exactly what Y/N was feeling. And in that moment, Y/N knew.

She could finally let go.

As the applause faded and the lights dimmed, Y/N stood there, taking it all in. Football had been her first love, and losing it had broken her in ways she never thought possible. But standing on that runway, basking in the glow of her success as a designer, she realized she didn’t need football anymore. She had found something else, something that allowed her to express herself in ways she never could on the pitch.

Backstage, as the models and crew celebrated the success of the show, Y/N found a quiet corner to sit down. She needed a moment to breathe, to process what had just happened. Katie found her shortly after, sliding into the seat next to her, nudging her playfully.

“You did it,” Katie said, her voice full of pride. “That was incredible.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back against the wall. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“It’s only the beginning,” Katie reminded her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But I think you know that.”

Y/N nodded, exhaling deeply. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m ready to move on.”

Katie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Y/N looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of her words. “For the longest time, I was holding on to this idea that I couldn’t be anything without football. But tonight… I felt like I found something that fills that part of me. I think I can finally accept that it’s okay to let football go.”

Katie squeezed her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve come so far. And look at what you’ve built. It’s incredible.”

Y/N smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “Thank you, Katie. For everything. I don’t think I could’ve gotten here without you.”

Katie grinned, pulling her into a side hug. “You’ve always had it in you, mate. I just gave you a little push.”

Y/N laughed, but there were tears in her eyes as she hugged Katie back. For the first time since her injury, she didn’t feel like she had lost anything. She had gained something new—a purpose, a passion, and a future.

And now, she was ready to embrace it fully.

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

The End

#offside story #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso soccer #leah williamson

187 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 11 months ago

Text

Call In The Cavalry [Levi Ackerman]

an: this is an entire rework of an old story for a different character/fandom. I felt like it fit Captain Levi and I enjoyed writing for him for the very first time. This is my first time writing in this fandom so be kind.

pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader

warning: modern AU, military man Levi, phone sex, female masturbation, male masturbation, use of toys, bit of dirty talk, maybe a little OOC for Levi but I tried...

Masterlist

How perfectly infuriating, you couldn't quite get there.

You know, that blooming ache that resides so deep in your gut that it can only be reached by those with the most skilful of fingers or… well, the less said about the other possibilities the better, especially when you missed your partner more and more with each day that elapsed.

The gnawing need for sweet release mocked you, dancing out of reach of your dainty digits and even the incessant buzz of your vibrator wasn’t enough to see you fall off the cliff edge. Tension crowded the muscles in your abdomen and thighs, a continual pull behind your navel but always ebbing away at the last second. It was clear your mind was choosing to remind you of the absence of a certain someone and you cursed your brain for being so mean.

Finally, you kicked the sheets that were wrapped around your knees from the way you had thrashed around in experimentation. Frustration bubbled in your chest, and your head thumped wildly against the pillows.

It had only been a week–one miserable week–since he had left. In fact, he was due home tomorrow morning. A thought popped into your mind… perhaps he was already home? Glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table, the neon numbers illuminated that it was nearly midnight.

Your hand wrapped around your phone, the screen waking from its slumber and you worried your bottom lip with the edge of your teeth. Even if he wasn’t quite home, would he be awake for a call? A familiar smirk cut through the shadows and worries in your mind’s eye, the very slow and knowing smile that could curl your toes at the mere sight of it.

With your heart hammering against your ribs, you ran the flat of your palm between your thighs to dig the heel into the bundle of nerves that needed him more than ever. It was enough for you to tap the call button, bringing the phone to your ear to listen to the agonising ring.

Long had you known that dating a military man would come with its fair share of sacrifices and this one was by far the worst. You hated when he was sent out on missions that took him away from you. Some times it was only a day or two but others could see him away for months at a time and that was hell on earth. The highs were euphoric but the lows were crushing. Thankfully there were far more highs than lows.

Your stomach flipped over with every ring, the buzz of anxiety teasing your needy anticipation into a frenzy. He might be asleep, might not see the call… so many possibilities.

“Can’t sleep, darling girl?”

Levi’s quiet drawl sent an immediate shiver down the length of your spine, a lowly moan passed your lips by way of response and there was a sudden hitch of breath on the other end.

It took you a moment to collect yourself and speak, all the while Levi waited with apparently endless patience. “I-I miss you, Levi.”

Quickly, you hit the speaker button and gently placed the phone on the pillow, right next to your head. There was a coil of embarrassment to follow, knowing that you’d become so desperate to get off that you couldn’t even wait the few hours until you were reunited with your lover. What must he think of you?

There was a beat of silence, you almost checked to see if he had hung up on you but finally, he spoke again and it was worth the wait to hear the heated curiosity in his usually unaffected tone.

“Hm, is that so? You could have text me to tell me that. Was it my voice you missed, or perhaps… could it be something else?”

Arousal pooled from the entrance of your slowly clenching cunt, hips forced down into the mattress whilst your fingers painted through the wetness. How badly you wished those fingers to be his, to feel how he would spread your sticky lips apart to draw lazy patterns atop your delicate pearl.

“Miss your hands. Mouth. I-I miss everything,” you admitted with a whimper that only elicited a faint chuckle. You didn’t miss the sound of rustling sheets, knowing that he was in bed but not knowing whether it was his own or where he had spent the last week on his mission.

As a higher-ranking Captain, Levi had the luxury of his own one-bed apartment on the base and you were grateful for that fact. It had made things between the two of you much easier when you didn’t have to worry about being discovered in compromising situations by his comrades. Memories of the rare mornings you had spent wrapped in each other’s arms assailed you–whispered words of affection mingled with wandering hands that gave way to new discoveries and endless hours of bliss.

Whilst you were caught wandering down a hazy, rose-tinted memory lane, Levi was losing his mind. He couldn’t get past the broken way you sounded as you told him everything you missed, the needy inflection that was apparent and unabashed on your part. It had barely been an hour since he had slung his pack into his room and flopped atop his bed, but here he was considering throwing on the nearest pants he could locate and running to your apartment.

Instead, he scrubbed a palm down his face and eyed the traitorous erection lifting the elastic of his underwear. Images of you flickered in his brain like a bad home movie and he settled on a still of you laying in bed, legs spread with your pretty little fingers stuffed inside the very heart of you. He stroked over his clothed bulge and hissed, that was his duty, not yours.

“And what would my hands be feeling if I were there right now, sweetheart? Tell me, are you wearing the cute little bunny pyjamas you begged me to buy for you?”

You bit your lip, teeth sinking deep into your plush skin and your toes curled into the sheets before you lifted your knees and rutted your backside against the mattress.

“Nuh-uh, just a white camisole–s’too hot,” you breathed, listening for his reaction and delighting in the strained groan that fell onto your ears.

“Oh, naughty girl, not even panties? Are you wet for me, would my fingers come away sticky and clear-coated if I were you touch between your beautiful thighs?”

You followed his words as if they were instructions, imagining it was the pads of his fingers that brushed your glistening folds and smeared the sticky essence over the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

“Yes. Oh, Levi–fuck–I’m drenched. Need you inside me.”

His head fell back on his pillow at your admission, taking out his leaking cock to languidly pump from base to tip as he listened to your words and wished to be with you. Levi didn’t want you to know how needy you were making him, he had a certain reputation to maintain and he couldn’t let you know so readily that he was just as close to whimpering as you were doing right this second. Besides, this was about you and he would get you off at any cost and worry about himself later.

“My poor sweetheart, I know you want me there to stretch you out like you deserve. Here’s what you’ll do instead…” he stated, watching as precum spilt from his angry slit and coated his shaft. “Have you got that little bullet vibrator you’re so fond of there?”

“Mhm.” You weren’t sure you had ever heard him speak so lewdly before and it was possibly the most intoxicating experience to date. His voice was as low and commanding as it ever was but there was a desperate longing underlying which made you feel empowered despite being completely at his mercy.

Fuck, you were killing him.

“Okay, I want you to put it in your mouth and suck on it like it’s one of my fingers, yeah? You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your fingers shook as you lifted the small bullet vibrator into your wet mouth, tongue swirling around it in earnest to please. The smooth surface was no decoy for Levi’s finger but you reminded yourself of the times he had forced his digits into your mouth to keep you quiet and it quieted the reality of the device between your lips. Those memories heated your blood until it was close to boiling over.

“Lift that little top, let me feel those beautiful breasts. Be gentle, baby, no pinching. I can tell you’re impatient but just relax into it,” he coaxed softly.

Dainty fingers massaged the swell of your breasts, thumbs rolling over your taut nipples again and again in the exact way Levi would if he were here, and that reminder brought a howl of frustration to your lips.

The tired Captain massaged his aching balls in time with your muffled ministrations on your breasts, every one of your shaky inhales tightened his stomach and drew his sac higher until it was near unbearable.

“That’s it, doing so good. I think it’s more than time to work that bullet on your sweet little button, I bet it is so needy right now. Press it softly on your bud, darling, let the delicious pressure and vibrations build for me.”

“Levi!” You wailed in a pitiful display of your current state. “Shit–s’good, but it’s not enough. I… I need more!” You cried your frustration, and he could practically taste the salt of your tears on his tongue.

He fisted his throbbing cock, pumping so fast and tightly that it neared pain. The angry purple tip stared back at him and he knew that the only way to be truly satiated would be to find release with you, not alone as he was.

“Oh, baby, I know. How many fingers do you think you can take, hm? Two?”

Your every nerve ending was on fire. You were a struck match that was quickly burning down to nothing but ash and soot. Your soaked fingers reached for your entrance, the walls fluttered as you breached inside on a high keen.

Levi panted along with you and you knew that he was fucking his fist, that he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to portray and you smiled at knowing you were the sole reason he was losing his composure.

Your two fingers twisted, flexing into your cunt and stretched the velvet walls apart, all whilst you slowly applied more pressure to your clit. The tension was there once more, similar to how it had felt earlier but there was hope this time. It was the same but it was different, your unfocused brain trying to decipher what was the change when you already knew it was him. Even miles apart, Levi could bring you the much-needed release when you couldn’t.

Where was his mettle? His courage and valour? All of it was AWOL as he admitted silently that you sounded fucking hot, so completely vulnerable with the eagerness to cum. Moaning long and loud, chants of his name falling from your lips all whilst he continued to fuck his fist and tried to pretend it was your tight cunt.

“That’s it, lemme hear you.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, the sound of his slick hand pumping up and down his thick cock heightened your imagination and allowed you to believe he really was here with you.

“Fuck–you’re gripping me so well,” he whined, feeding your painted delusions with a shudder evident in his voice. “Nearly there. Now crook those fingers, call me over with those fingers and lemme hear you fall apart.”

You exploded like a firework, sparks crackled behind your eyes the second you connected with your front wall and the mass of sensitive tissue engorged from your actions. The combination of the vibrator on your clit, your fingers stroking just right and the imagery that Levi fed you, was more than enough for your orgasm to finally–finally–hit.

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as your body curled in on itself. You listened mournfully to the grunt on the other end of the phone and wished desperately that he was here so you could see his release if only to admire his features twisted into bliss before smoothing out into relaxation.

Levi was a mess; hot sticky seed had erupted from his cock like a force of nature. It covered his still-tight fist, splashed on his thighs and splattered his quivering abdomen. His muscles contracted from the severity of his orgasm, and he couldn’t clamp down on his reaction–how embarrassing. Amazing, but embarrassing all the same.

“Oh God, sweetheart. That was–that was amazing.”

You sniffled in response, feeling a little overwhelmed in the aftermath of your orgasm. Mostly from the relief of finally getting there, but also because you were sad that your boyfriend wasn’t here to cuddle you close and sweet talk you through the overwhelming sensations.

The line suddenly disconnected with a quick beep beep, and you grabbed the phone even though your fingers were still smeared in your essence.

A text popped up while you stared at the screen, a soft smile spreading over your face and you rolled over and pressed your now beaming face into the pillows.

“I’m on my way over. Unlock the door for me.”

#delirious writes #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman smut #aot smut #attack on titan #snk smut

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sorapricots · 2 months ago

Text

Comfort in Your Arms

Summary: Nanami has been awake for his work for three days straight without a single break, so when he finally does all he wants to do is to crawl into your arms.

Pair: Nanami Kento x Sorcerer!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning: Nanami or the plot might not really match the canon timeline in JJK since it’s been awhile since I actually watch/read JJK.

A/N: A personal request from my friend irl lol. I need this brain juice to warm up my head for writing papers in college.

W.C: 1,2k

Sometimes being a person with a double job as sorcerer and an office worker has its perks. One of them will be having a double income. But on the other hand, being a sorcerer and an office worker is like a double edged sword because it also means you have so little time to rest your body and mind.

Nanami is one of the prime examples of a person with a double job as sorcerer and office worker. Yes, he might have enough income to live a comfortable life for you and for him, but he has to trade that comfortable life with endless working hours that always drains his body to the point of exhaustion.

Today has been marked as the third day of Nanami working in his office. He can feel fatigue start to creep slowly to his body due to lack of sleep and irregular eating habits he has for the past three days. His eyes are droopy and gloomy while his skin starts to turn pale. But all he can do is let out a soft sigh and push himself to continue doing his job a bit more as he grabs the last stack of documents that start to pile up on his desk due to him taking a two day break the day before to finish a mission that was gifted from the higher ups to him.

Your voice asking him to let you take over his mission echoing in the back of his mind as his mindless fingers start to type on the keyboard while his eyes blankly stare at the screen in front of him. He let out a grunt as he blinked the tiredness away with coming home to you in his mind.

After what feels like eternity, Nanami finally closed the last document map on his desk and put it on top of the already finished documents pile. A rough sigh rolled out from his throat as he put a towel on top of his face while he let his body relax just for a little bit. He can feel his head throbbing in pain before he pushes himself to start getting ready to come home to you.

Nanami’s movements are slow but messy as he loosen up the tie that is wrapped around his neck. His tired eyes scanned around the empty and dark office as he realized he is once again becoming the last person in the office. With another tired sigh the blonde hair man finally left the office.

The trip back home is pretty uneventful for Nanami as it’s already late. Only occasionally the man stopped to slay some small curses here and there but other than that he didn’t find anything interesting.

A grunt escapes Nanami's lips as he finally returns home. His hand carefully opened the front door to which his eyes immediately landed on your weapon on the entrance that is still dirty with the remnants of the curses that you slayed that day. Nanami quickly makes mental notes to clean your weapon later once he gets enough rest.

Excitement of meeting you buzzing through his veins as he carefully takes off his shoes and puts aside his bags. His hands skillfully peel off his clothes leaving him only in his boxer as he put the rest of his clothes in the laundry room. Quietly he walked to your shared room. His eyebrows narrowed a little bit as he realized there’s dim light emitting from your shared room through the crack from under the door.

Nanami carefully opens the door letting it creak slowly, softly announcing his presence to you. Your eyes slowly move up from the book you read and meet his brown tired eyes. A smile flourished on your lips as you silently put a bookmark on the book you read just now.

“Welcome home.” You greeted him with a whisper as you quickly moved closer to him. Nanami gives you a silent nod as he walks towards the bathroom with you following behind.

“Go back to bed, My love. I will clean up real quick.” His voice is hoarse due to how barely he uses it. You let out a soft hum as you peek your head inside the bathroom. Your eyes stare at Nanami’s well built naked figure full of adoration.

“You don’t want to eat something?” Quietly you ask as your man steps into the shower. Nanami only shook his head softly for his answer. You let out a soft ‘okay’ before you walk back to the bed and continue to read your book while you wait for your lover to come lay down with you.

The shower finally stops and the room goes quiet. You heightened your hearing as your eyes are still glued to the book in your hands. And suddenly the bathroom doors slide open as Nanami’s body wash reaches your nose. Nanami stares at you quietly as you observe him. His skin is already less pale than when he just came back and there’s a glint of light in his brown eyes now. You smile softly as Nanami walks towards the bed and crawls to you.

You lift your arms mindlessly letting the man crawl into your arms and lay down on your chest as he circles his strong thick arms around your waist. A heavy sigh of relief escapes Nanami’s throat as he starts to feel his body relaxing from your body warmth. You let out a breathy chuckle as you put the bookmarks in your book and toss the book away.

Your hands carefully caress Nanami’s bare back before you start massaging all of his muscle knots. Groans keep coming out from Nanami’s lips as your hands skillfully ease the muscle pain he has from overworking. You switch from massaging his back to rubbing it softly every once in a while.

“You really need to take it easy on your working life, dearest.” your voice is soft as he melts under your touch. He let out a hum while he snuggled his face deeper to your chest.

“It’s just because I have to take that two day mission from the higher ups.” Nanami’s voice is muffled by your skin. You rolled your eyes before you softly clicked your tongue.

“Let me help you by taking over some of your mission then. I don’t want you to tire yourself up like this.” Your voice drips with worries as your hands move to his head. Softly scratching his scalp earning a grunt from the bulky tired man.

“There’s no need to do that, my love. Just sit still and be pretty is already enough for me.” You frown as you open your mouth about to retort back when Nanami pulls you to a kiss. A hum escapes from your lips as you melt under his kiss.

“I know you are a strong sorcerer too. But I just want you to be comfortable with what you have right now. And if that means I have to work harder, I don’t mind, baby. Your comfort is my top priority.” His words are soft and full of love as he puts his forehead against yours. You let out a whine as you pull your lover to a hug. Nanami let out a chuckle while he tightened his arms around your hips.

“I love you, Kento.” you declare it with such a passion Nanami can’t help but chuckle.

“I love you too, my sweetheart.” he answered before he pulled you to a passionate kiss.

#kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami x you

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bokutosbabe · 10 days ago

Note

Wow, your idea with the top artists is so cool!! Mine was Chappell Roan!<3

obsessed with this.

if your top artist was chappell roan, i'd pair you with...

tabito karasu

જ⁀♡⊹｡° let's not even try

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event !

♡ content — tabito karasu x gn! reader, gn! reader, unrequited love, situationship, on and off relationship, mention of slight nsfw?

♡ synopsis — tabito karasu loved doing couple things with you, but he won't be with you

The small café buzzes quietly around you—the sound of steam from the espresso machine, the soft chatter of other customers, the clink of mugs. You sit in a corner booth, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you stare into the dark liquid. It's more bitter than you'd like, but you can't bring yourself to drink it.

This isn't your usual scene with Karasu. You’ve had plenty of nights together, where alcohol was the unspoken bridge that brought you back into each other’s arms.

The pattern was clear: meet at a bar, the alcohol loosens everything up, and before you know it, you’re tangled in his sheets, trying to hold onto something that was always slipping away. But today—today was different.

You asked to meet him here. To a café. No alcohol, no late-night sex to blur the edges of reality. Just you, him, and the bitter coffee between you both.

Karasu enters the café, scanning the room for you before his eyes land on your booth. You see the familiar flash of surprise in his eyes, then the dull recognition of what's happening.

He makes his way over, sliding into the booth across from you, still dressed in the clothes that scream “I’m always on the move,” but there’s something softer about his presence in this quiet, unfamiliar setting.

“You actually wanted to meet in a place like this?” he asks with a smirk, lowering himself into the seat, his gaze flicking over to the untouched cup in front of you. He leans back, arms crossed, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yeah,” you reply, tapping your fingers against the cup. “I needed a change. I wanted to talk, Karasu.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, looking amused, but there’s a wariness in his eyes. "Talk? Is this... serious? Because the last few times we talked, it just ended with you—" He stops himself, biting the inside of his cheek. "Never mind."

You look at him, your gaze steady, maybe even a little tired. "I’m tired, Karasu. We do the same shit that never seems to go anywhere."

His eyes narrow slightly, the mask of casual indifference slipping for a moment. He takes a breath, trying to find the words. “So what is this, then? You want to break it off?”

You feel the weight of the question in the air. His voice is guarded, careful, as though he’s bracing for something. You shake your head slowly, your fingers tapping once again against the cup.

“No,” you say quietly, “I’m just... I’m just tired of pretending it’s not what it is. Every time we meet, every time we sleep together, it’s like... I don't know. maybe I’m the one who’s fooling myself.” You let out a slow breath, letting the silence fill the gap between you two. “I should’ve stopped this a long time ago, but... I can’t, Karasu. I still love you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stares at you, his gaze distant. The usual calm, collected Karasu—the one who never seemed to care about anything or anyone—is gone. He looks almost... vulnerable.

“I know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “I know, but you can’t keep putting your heart into something like this. Someone like me." He says it so matter-o-factly that, for a second, your brain also thought it made sense.

You smile bitterly, picking up your coffee and taking a small sip, wincing at how cold it now is. "That's the thing. It wouldn’t hurt if I didn’t love you."

Karasu blinks, his expression faltering just enough for you to see the crack in his carefully built walls. He leans forward slightly, his voice low but tinged with something like regret. "What do you want from me? You know I can’t give you what you want. Not like this."

“I’m not asking you for anything,” you reply, staring into your cup again. "I just wanted you to know that. That it would be fine if I didn’t love you. But I do, and it makes this...so much harder."

The words hang in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you both is thick, like something unspoken that neither of you is willing to face. The weight of everything that’s unsaid and undone sits between you, and despite the warmth of the café, it feels cold. You glance up to find Karasu looking at you, his jaw tense, his eyes unreadable.

“I never meant for it to be like this,” he finally says, though his voice is more resigned than apologetic. "But it is. I’m not the guy who does the ‘forever’ thing, and I never will be. You know that."

You nod slowly, a little part of you breaking at the admission. You always knew it deep down, but hearing him say it—hearing the seriousness in his words—makes it hurt in a way you didn’t expect.

"So, what now?" You ask quietly, your gaze lifting to meet his.

"I guess we go back to pretending," Karasu says with a slight chuckle, though there’s no humor in it. "I’ll walk away, and we’ll pretend it didn’t matter. Like we always do."

Your chest aches, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything more. Instead, you sit in the quiet, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders. The bitter brew of the coffee, the silence between you two—everything feels like it’s fading away, and no matter how much you want it to change, you know it won’t.

Maybe you’ll always love him. But he’ll never be the one who loves you back the way you need.

And that’s the hardest part.

karasu wanting love but not being able to give it is my personal hc i fear

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy answers asks :)#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #airy posts #karasu x reader #karasu tabito #tabito karasu #tabito karasu x reader #tabito x reader #bllk karasu #bllk tabito karasu #blue lock karasu #blue lock tabito karasu

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neon-kazoo · 4 months ago

Text

For the Greater Good

(Hero POV)

I walked into the warehouse alone. No weapons, no mask, no backup.

Every rise of my feet felt like a climb up a mountain, every fall feeling like a step off a cliff. I could have sworn I didn’t take a single breath as I walked into the wide open space, crates and barrels scattered around in a typical warehouse fashion. The lights that remained on buzzed from the corner of what appeared to be a break room and from various machinery peppered by the garage-like doors.

I didn’t know exactly where I was going, just that I was supposed to be here, at this exact time.

I arrived on the block two hours early, and spent every last second before 2 o’clock alternating between pacing and curling up into a ball and rocking myself on the empty sidewalk. I finally stepped into what I estimated to be the middle of the space, virtually incapable of taking another step. My muscles quaked and I considered if I should just give in to the exhaustion and lie right here until someone came and got me. My pride suggested I stay upright, so I settled for a comprise of leaning heavily against the nearest weighted crate. I crossed my arms in what should have been a nonchalant appearance, but it was really just to keep my hands from shaking by my sides.

I took a few deep breaths and checked my watch.

2:02

God, I wanted to laugh. If there was any humor left in this situation I would have. I tried to keep my mind blank, waiting. But as the minutes ticked on, my determination waned.

I couldn’t leave.

Wouldn’t.

Lightheadedness swam through my brain, and I relented and lowered myself to the floor as black creeped in around my vision. I laid flat on the concrete ground, kicking my feet up onto the slats of the crate I was previously leaning against. The lights above me were dim, but I still closed my eyes in aversion to the brightness. I needed dark, calm. I needed to be anywhere else but here.

I checked my watch again, then pillowed my hands behind my head. Tears welled up in my eyes against my will.

2:05

Screw pride. Pride went out the window a long, long time ago.

I let the thin little salty rivers run freely down the sides of my face to pool uncomfortably at my ears. I was surrendering to my enemies, why not surrender to the tears too?

An eternity passed before footsteps finally echoed around the building. I didn’t bother to get up, not even to move. I didn’t bother to stop crying either, in fact the tears may have only gotten stronger as I stayed rooted in place.

“Sorry for the delay, we had to make sure you weren’t followed,” a voice announced itself. I didn’t turn towards it.

“You doing alright down there?” It asked, sounding infuriatingly genuine.

“Perfect. Never better,” I choked. There was no hiding the crack in my voice now.

“Shit dude, I didn’t think this would get to you that bad.”

What did you think was gonna happen? I was just gonna skip to your door with a couple of flowers and some handcuffs all gift wrapped for you with a wide ass smile on my face?

“Do you…need a minute?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

A minute or two passed before I gathered what was left of my composure. The tears stopped flowing and my head stopped swimming. I removed one boot after the other from the ledge they rested on and started the slow journey back to my feet.

“Ready?” The voice I finally matched with a sight asked. Henchman.

I sniffed, wiping my nose on my sleeve before nodding solemnly. This was by far the most courteous capture I’ve ever had the pleasure of falling victim to, hilarious given the circumstances.

“I’m gonna pat you down,” he warned, and I nodded my acknowledgment. Gentle hands brushed my body and found nothing, as promised. A light touch gripped my arm and pushed towards a path between the crates.

“Let’s go.”

We walked in silence for a while, I was too close to the emotional edge to break it. Henchman had no such reservations though.

“I could tell the guys the extra time was from a fight,” he suggested lightheartedly.

I merely shook my head.

“Yeah you’re right, probably a bad idea.”

Despite myself, a small smile crept past my lips. His words brought the only comfort I’d felt all day.

With every step I could feel my clarity returning.

I was going to be fine.

We walked out a side door and outside into the gravel, where it appeared a caravan awaited. I might have been flattered if I didn’t feel so damn helpless.

“One Hero, clean as promised,” I was presented to the arc of people gathered in various states of masked.

“You were supposed to secure them, Henchman,” Villain looked me up and down, then shot at annoyed look at the man at my side.

Henchman did not reply, only looking from me to the crowd closing in around us, then back to me and returning to Villain knowingly. So I definitely looked as bad as I felt; it was nice to know my face was making its debut red-blotched and tear stained no doubt with the edition of heavy bags under the eyes.

Villain simply shook his head, then stepped forward to grab me.

“Wait,” called another voice, and I struggled to identify its origin until a blue and gray clad person stepped forward. “How do we know it’s them?”

He stared at me in blatant disbelief, and I found the energy to be a little offended.

Like anyone else would do this. Like I would take the risk to let them.

Various people exchanged looks, and I struggled to believe that no one had actually thought this part through. Several looks pinned me down expectantly, and I also found the power to be a little bit annoyed.

Of course their lack of foresight would become my responsibility.

Nonetheless, my eyes roamed the crowd, before pinning down an unsuspecting figure in a suit with red chrome outlines. I pointed to them, before pulling down the collar of my shirt to reveal a thick pink scar stretching horizontally about an inch below my collarbone. Chrome stepped closer through the crowd to see, then nodded his approval. Villain stepped forward to grab me once more, but he was stopped by someone decked out in forest green.

“Your hand,” they indicated, and I brought up my arm to reveal the back of my right hand and yanked down my sleeve so they could trace the jagged scar carved down to middle of my forearm.

“That enough? Are y’all convinced?” I spun around, pinning several people right back with their own gazes. I seemed nothing like the person on the warehouse floor.

No, with every passing second, I was feeling more and more like a hero.

I guess they were in fact convinced, because I was finally escorted into an SUV and placed in the middle of a bench seat sandwiched between Villain and a larger man I barely recognized. The whole process was pretty ego-inflating honestly.

Unfortunately, Villain did finally get his wish of restraining me after the car had rolled to a stop and I was transferred into a building via an underground garage.

I didn’t think.

Couldn’t.

My fate was in the hands of my enemies, and I had just handed it over.

#hero #hero/villain snippet #heroes and villains #hero/villain #villain #writing #surrender #hero surrenders #who needs an ending #personally #i just stop

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darth-mortem · 10 months ago

Text

This is a LAST chapter of my COD fic "At the Crossroads of the Worlds" translated by @g8se.

Task force "141" was sent to clean up a secret laboratory, the research of which was financed by states recognized as sponsors of terrorism. The soldiers broke into a bunker located in the Caucasus Mountains on the Russian-Georgian border. At first, everything went according to plan, but after the fighters split up, Ghost came across a strange room, the door of which locked automatically the moment he was inside. Without knowing it, Simon Riley had set off an experiment that had been brewing here for years, and now he would have to be very strong to finally return home.

First chapter | Second chapter | Third chapter | Fourth chapter | Fifth chapter

Chapter 6 of 6. 1430 words

Past character death, fix-it, angst, action, secret lab, experiment, parallel worlds

August 15, 2030. Georgian-Russian border. Caucasus Mountains. Coordinates classified. Experiment status: completed. Time adjustments successful. The object has completed a reverse transportation. Time status: five minutes after successful equipment launch. Object status: vital signs within normal range. Reality LW414/2030.

He was gradually coming to his senses. The body felt heavy, and Ghost couldn't even open his eyes. It was as if cotton had been stuffed in his ears, and sounds were muffled and distant. He heard an unknown buzzing, noise, and... a voice. A voice that repeated his name over and over again.

“Simon!” The captain finally heard. “Simon, ye hear me? What happened? Where's yer gear? Simon, please, open yer eyes!

It was difficult, almost unbearable, but Ghost managed to comply and... saw Johnny. It was definitely him, because Captain MacTavish from another world didn't have a scar on his chin, and the scar over his eye was old, not fresh. Struggling to coordinate his movements, Ghost raised his hand and touched Soap's face to make sure it was really him, and then...

Memories crashed onto Captain Riley like a concrete building under the force of a powerful explosion. Barely managing to prop himself up, he fell to the floor again, his body convulsing.

“Si!” Johnny looked at him with alarm, then leaned in and embraced him, pulling him close. “Christ almighty, Si, hang in there!”

Ghost didn't hear any of it. Memories of these seven years of his life were flooding into his mind, his brain unable to handle it. He was seized by convulsions, blood trickling from his nose, and he didn't even feel Johnny - his Johnny - pulling the mask off him.

...Ghost sat on the edge of the sergeant bed and looked at his face. Johnny had just come to after that terrible mission, which ended at the underground station and nearly cost him his life. He had a concussion and a brain injury, half of his body was wrapped in bandages because Makarov’s bullet had hit his collarbone very badly, but he was alive, and the damned Russian was dead.

“Si...” Johnny rasped, and it was his first word after a three-day coma. “I ‘ave something tae tell ye.”

Riley leaned to him, peered into his eyes, then touched his lips so delicately, as if they were a tender and fragile work of art.

“Johnny,” Ghost barely whispered, “God, if you hadn't put your helmet on...”

Soap embraced him with his uninjured arm and told the story that Ghost didn't believe back then, but believed now, after experiencing another world, seeing another MacTavish, and kissing another Riley.

“I coudnae sleep,” Johnny whispered softly, not letting go of Simon, “in the mornin', before ye all woke up, I went out to smoke and calm down, and... two men approached me. One looked exactly like me, but older. He had a scar over his eye, like this.”

Soap traced his finger over his own face, and Ghost squeezed his hand, then lifted it to his lips, removed his mask, and kissed him.

“The second one was...” Johnny paused, clearly unsure how to explain. “Back then I thought he was like ye, but he was much smaller, ‘n’ wore a balaclava instead of a mask. They told me tae take care o’ ye, ‘n’ also to put on a helmet. And you know... for some reason, I believed them. I did as they said, ‘n’ here I am… Alive. If I hadn't worn the helmet...”

“That's enough,” Simon held Johnny tightly, not wanting to hear more, not even wanting to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't worn the helmet. “Enough. Whoever they were, I'm grateful to them for saving your life.”

“Wait,” Soap gripped Ghost's shoulder, looking into his eyes, studying his face that he rarely saw, “they also said I should pass their thanks on tae ye, but for what exactly - ye'll understand later... D’ye know them? Does it make any sense tae ye?”

“No,” Riley shook his head, “but if you, idiot, only put on the helmet after they told you to, I, as I've already said, am very grateful to them.”

“I love you too,” Johnny smiled and stroked Simon's cheek.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Always stoic, unwavering, and icy Riley shuddered, pressing his sergeant, who miraculously survived, to his chest. Soap held onto him, softly nuzzling his neck, stroking his back, and simply enjoying the warmth and how Ghost's long fingers ran through hair of his funny mohawk.

“Johnny,” Simon breathed out, leaning back to look the sergeant in the eyes, “I didn't dare to ask you before, but now, after you almost died in my arms... Will you marry me?”

MacTavish widened his eyes, which suddenly began to sting and burn unbearably. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and then he wrapped his arms around Simon's neck, holding him tightly, and whispered softly in his ear:

“Yes.”

A smile of happiness and love appeared on Ghost's lips. Holding Johnny with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out two simple silver rings. Taking one of them, he put it on Soap's finger.

“It says ‘Bravo 7-1’ here,” he whispered, examining the ring.

“Yes,” Ghost nodded and opened his palm, showing the other ring. “And this one says ‘Bravo 0-7’.”

Johnny smiled again, then took the ring from Simon's hand and put it on his finger...

Captain Riley softened in MacTavish's arms, and he held him tightly, cradling his head.

“Simon,” Johnny said in a trembling voice, “God, what happened tae ye...”

“I'm fine,” Ghost whispered, leaning back, wiping the blood and sweat from his face with his sleeve, and putting on his mask. “Everything's fine now.”

Leaning onto Johnny's shoulders, Simon managed to stand up, and then they slowly walked away from the experimental room and the laboratory. Ghost saw other soldiers leading captured scientists out of the facility; he saw the destruction, bullet holes, and explosions' aftermath, and dead guards. He walked, holding onto Johnny, and couldn’t not think of how his friends from another world defeated their enemies. Presumably, they managed to clear their names and return to service. They stuck together, didn't forget about safety, and lived to see the day when a similar secret laboratory appeared in their world. And then... well, Ghost would never know the details, as he would never see his friends again. All he could do was hope that they were okay and that his younger double finally dared to confess his feelings to his own MacTavish.

“Johnny,” Simon called out as they left the sixth level of the bunker and paused on the fifth one to catch their breath, “remember how you were talking about two guys who told you to put on the helmet?”

“Sure,” Soap looked at Ghost and gently stroked his cheek, slipping his fingers under his mask. “Why are ye bringing this up so suddenly?”

“Did they have rings?” Riley kept asking. “Please, love, try to remember, it's very important!”

MacTavish frowned, not understanding what was happening, but genuinely trying to recall. He was silent for a minute, then his face brightened, and he looked Ghost in the eyes.

“The one in the balaclava had gloves on,” he said, “but the other one, who looked like me, did ‘ave a ring. It was a simple, silver one, like... like ours.”

Soap's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Ghost, who smiled under his mask and hugged his beloved tightly, burying his face in his funny tuft. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he blinked to hold them back, because soldiers from 141 were running around them, under the joint command of Captain Riley, Major Price, and Captain MacTavish.

“Simon, love, what's going on?” Johnny asked. “Please, talk tae me, ‘cause ye're scaring me!”

“Everything's fine,” Riley lowered his head, looking into MacTavish's clear blue eyes, and a happy smile appeared on his lips under the mask again. “Don't worry, my dear. Something did happen to me in that room, but everything's fine now. I'll tell you, just please, let's get out of this shithole first.”

“Aye, sure,” Johnny peered into Simon's eyes through the slits in his mask, reassured that everything was okay, and smiled as well. “Let's get oot of ‘ere, ‘cause it feels crappy and smells like shit.”

Ghost chuckled quietly, again placing his hand on Soap's shoulder - not because he couldn't walk on his own, but because he wanted to feel him. Johnny wrapped his arm around his waist, and they walked up the stairs - towards the light, towards life, towards the future where they would undoubtedly live to retire and grow old together in a cozy house somewhere on the Scottish coast. Where everything would be wonderful, because they both deserved it.

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arcturusreads · 2 years ago

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hold me closer

pairing: lucy carlyle x anthony lockwood word count: 1265 words request: yes/no prompt/summary: Lockwood couldn't heal Lucy's wounds from her life before Lockwood & Co. but he was going to do everything he could now to make sure that she felt safe and happy in her new home. Because you look after those you love. a/n: crossposted on my ao3 account: saiwriteswords

“Luce?” Lockwood tentatively called her name as he walked up the stairs to her attic room. “Do you mind if I come up?”

His ears strained to hear a muffled grunt from her before he carried on making his way to her room.

“Luce,” he stopped when he saw Lucy curled up in in ball on her bed. Her eyes were shut tight, and concern ran through Lockwood’s body. He placed the tray of food down on her dresser and sat next to her on the bed. His hand began to stroke her hair, like a reflex. Neurons firing, wanting to comfort her before his brain was able to compute what was happening.

The crease on her forehead faded away as Lucy shuffled herself closer to him. She took a deep breath of Lockwood’s woodsy scent and wished she could bury herself in it.

“Is everything okay? I came up with some food for you, you barely touched dinner tonight.”

Lucy just shook her head, not wanting to talk or open her eyes. She just wanted Lockwood to stay there with her. It was taking all her self-restraint not to hold onto his shirt to make sure he wouldn’t move.

“Luce, you’re worrying me a bit. Is everything alright?” Anxiety laced Lockwood’s voice and it was enough to get Lucy to look up at him.

“I just- there’s this buzzing in my ears Lockwood and I can’t get it to go away.” Her voice broke, “I feel like I’m going to go crazy.”

Lockwood felt an ache in his chest, he could tell how much Lucy was suffering and he knew this wasn’t the first time it had happened. They’d had a tough case last night and it had been overwhelming for her. He should have kept a closer eye, should have made sure that she was okay.

He went to stand up, but Lucy caught the sleeve of his shirt, halting him. “Please, don’t go.” Her voice was quieter than what he was used to. None of the usual strength or authority in her request.

“I’m just going to grab that glass of water for you,” he nodded his head towards the tray he’d put down. “And then I’m going to be right back, I promise.”

Lucy kept biting her lip for a moment before finally nodding and letting his sleeve go. Lockwood moved with all of his usual grace he had when he was fighting with his rapier, before helping Lucy sit up and take a sip of water.

“Wait a second,” he stopped her before she could lay back down.

“Lockwood, please. I just want to curl up again, I don’t have the strength for this right now.”

If Lockwood could, he would wrap Lucy up for everything that was hurting her in this world. Everything that caused her the smallest amount of sadness and pain. Every time he saw her in any kind of discomfort, it was like a clamp formed around his chest and the only thing that would loosen its vice was finding a way to fix things for her. But that wasn’t always possible. There were things about Lucy’s past that he didn’t know about, that she wasn’t quite comfortable to share with him but he saw her sometimes space out when someone would mention her family or her life before coming to Lockwood & Co. and there was nothing he could do to change what she had been through. No way that he was able to take away years of pain from her. So, he worked on making her life here with him and George as happy as possible but that was easier said than done for an agent.

“Two seconds, Luce. I promise, just give me two seconds.”

Lucy didn’t have it in her to even argue with him. The sound of her own voice had begun to grate on her ears when it was mixed with all the buzzing. It wasn’t often that she would let Lockwood get his own way, at least not without some kind of fight but today was his lucky day it seemed. So, Lucy just nodded, closing her eyes again in the hopes that somehow that might dull the sound that wouldn’t leave her alone.

She felt the mattress dip beside her and thought that Lockwood had just sat down again but she could feel him shift around. Curiosity got the better of her and Lucy opened her eyes to see Lockwood leaning against her headboard with his legs on the bed.

“Come on,” he eventually said when Lucy just furrowed her brow. Any cockiness and certainty he usually spoke with was gone. Instead, he was shy and unsure and Lockwood wasn’t quite able to meet her gaze. When Lucy didn’t move, Lockwood shifted slightly and finally looked at her face.

“Just come here, Luce. Lean back against me.” He held out a hand for her and when Lucy just stared and didn’t make a move, Lockwood wanted to die of embarrassment. What did he think he was doing? Who did he think he was? Anthony Lockwood, prize idiot.

Lucy finally took his hand and shuffled herself over to him, sat between his legs with her chest resting against his back but Lockwood knew that she wasn’t relaxed. This was the most physical contact they’d ever had. There were the sleepy heads on shoulders in the library, hands clasped together as they ran when they were on a job, his hand brushing against her back as he moved past her in the kitchen. All subconscious movements, contact that came naturally to them, that they never thought twice about. But this was different, this was purposeful and that was a line that neither of them had crossed.

“I’ve got you,” Lockwood wrapped his arms around her waist and Lucy’s hand automatically drifted to cover his. And slowly she felt herself relax against him. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased and she shut her eyes again.

“Any better?” The whisper made a shiver run through her body and she slowly nodded.

“A little, the buzzing though-“ whilst it had eased, and hadn’t completely disappeared.

Lockwood began to gently hum a lullaby he remembered him mum used to sing to him when he was having a nightmare. The song had always managed to lull him back into a deep sleep, forgetting about whatever was chasing him in the dark and he hoped that maybe it could do the same for Lucy. Even if it only gave her two minutes of relief for the incessant noise that she couldn’t get away from. He just hoped he wouldn’t make it worse.

Lucy could feel his chest vibrate as he continued to hum, and as she focussed on every note, she was able to stop paying attention to the humming as it began to quieten down. When the lullaby eventually came to an end she frowned. She wasn’t ready for it to end yet, she wasn’t ready to leave the embrace that Lockwood had her in. Just a few minutes more. That was all.

“Lockwood, can you sing that again please?” She asked in a quiet voice. She couldn’t see the smile on Lockwood’s face when she uttered those words. It was gentle and warm and everything that she made him feel.

“Of course, Luce.” He wrapped his arms around her just that little bit tighter and began the lullaby all over again. And he didn’t care how many times he would have to repeat it, as long as Lucy Carlyle felt safe with him.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #locklyle #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle

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southelroydrive · 2 years ago

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the sun and the moon. (p.2)

p.1 pairing: Robin Buckley x F!Reader (from Robin's POV) word count: 1k warnings: none

“stop moving!” she laughs, the sound reminiscent of angels singing from the heavens above. her delicate fingers wrapped around my wrist, brows furrowing in concentration.

a sheepish smile spreads across my lips, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “sorry…” i mumble, eyes scanning over her face as she works intently. her gentle touch sending electricity through my body as the needle pricked my skin.

“don’t worry, i’m almost done” her voice is gentle, her words enveloping me in her warm embrace.

finally, her fingers slipped from my wrist. leaning back with a satisfied smile on her face, she admired her handiwork. i followed her gaze, looking down at my forearm where the image stood proudly on my skin.

she hummed, resting her arm next to my own. my heart swelled at the sight before me. on both our forearms stood the sun and the moon. the fine lines decorating our skin, exquisite on their own but together of indescribable beauty. her fingertips traced the lines of her arm and i dare to look up at her face.

her eyes reflected the same brightness as the sun and my heart burned at the same intensity. her gaze meets mine, our eyes locked in a sweet moment of serenity and peace, a wordless understanding. no matter where we were, she was my sun and i was her moon. so close, yet so far but we’d always cross paths again.

or at least that’s what i told myself. but as time slowly passed, seeing her again became less and less likely. we had reached a fork in the road, our dreams and aspirations leading us to stray far apart. there wasn’t a day that went by that i didn’t think of her, that missed her radiance on a rainy day or her warm embrace when the world turned cold.

but here i was, two years later. hours away from Hawkins, the town i once loathed. mindlessly pacing down aisles of movie rentals, searching for that sliver of nostalgia only one movie could bring. a small sigh of relief escapes me as my eyes land on the familiar title. i reach out to grab it before my hand meet another’s.

before i can pull my hand away, spewing apologies from my mouth, the hand grasps my wrist, tugging at the sleeve of my sweater.

“robin?”

her. her voice is small, almost hesitant, like she’s convinced herself she’s wrong. when my eyes meet hers, all doubt is erased. her gaze flickers between my face and the moon still stood proudly on my skin, a reflection of my adoration for her. a bright smile spreads across her lips, her radiance permeating my mind once more, as if it had never left.

“hi…” i mentally kick myself for not saying more. i had dreamed of this moment for so long but now, as she stood in front of me, my voice failed me.

“hi…” she repeated, almost whispering the words. her grip loosens on my wrist before pulling away completely and it takes every ounce of control in my body not to grab her hand and lace it with mine. she clears her throat, standing upright before glancing at the shelf.

“is it still one of your favourites?” she noticed my confusion at her question, taking the movie off the shelf and holding it out to me. “children of paradise, i mean”

i wave my hands dismissively “no, no- i mean yes, it is but i mean no as in you take it- i’d uh, i’d prefer for you to have it” the words tumble out of my mouth, my brain barely processing what I’m saying as that familiar buzz of nervousness swirls around in my stomach. it would only ever happen with her. i tried to move on, see other girls but none of them made my heart pound against my chest the way she did.

a small giggle escapes her throat, making my legs weak. the sound like the sweetest music ever heard. “well, if you insist…” she holds the movie to her chest, looking down at the floor as she shuffles on her feet.

“right, uhm” i look down at my feet, fiddling with my rings. the urge to say something, anything to her just to make the interaction last longer overcame me, mouth opening to start speaking.

“so-“

“would you-“

we both glance back up at each other, laughing softly as our voices overlap. i gesture my hand towards her, offering to let her finish speaking first.

i don’t miss the dusting of pink coating her cheek as she looks away again. “would you like to watch it with me? just like we used to?” her voice is hopeful, her eyes meeting mine once more. there’s something riddled in her voice that i can’t quite pinpoint but any form of doubt is overshadowed by the wide, pleading eyes she looks up at me with.

i nod without a second thought, knowing i probably looked stupid with the bright grin spreading across my face that made my cheeks hurt. but it was all worth it when her smile replicated mine.

“great! uhm, are you free later?”

“yeah, yeah. is 7 okay?”

“mhm hm! here, I’ll write down my address for you”

soon, all arrangements were set and it was time for us to stray paths once more. this time, with the promise of seeing each other again that day. and as that girl stood in front of me, that radiant smile that seemed etched into her lips, i knew that it would always be her. no matter how much time passes, how far we may be, i will love her just like the sun and the moon.

#robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin stranger things #robin buckley fluff #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic

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themaladaptivewriter12 · 10 months ago

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Title: Valentine's Promise

Might add a part two, a sm*t, haven't decided

Pairings: Cater Diamond x Twisted Wonderland Male OC (Mirai Yuhara)

Summary:

“Mirai?” Cater whispered. “Huh?” Mirai answered, reluctant to take his eyes off the city. “Jasper.” Mirai’s head snapped away from the scenery for a second to see Cater holding a small red velvet box. Mirai froze, his heart stopping, his blood feeling as if ice was shot through his veins. He didn’t know what to do, but to sit there like a deer in headlights.

Notes:

cw: Nothing but fluff.

This was a little thing I wanted to post for Valentine's, albeit 3 days late, and it kinda delves into a little bit of the "after story" I've been conjuring up for Mimi and Cater. Hope you enjoy!

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

Cater sighed once more before stretching his arms above his head, grunting softly as his back popped in multiple places, the tension from slouching over his desk all day lessening. Today felt like the worst, time felt as if it had been slowed with how excited Cater was, but now that it was finally over, and that excitement hadn’t waned a bit. From the moment he had woken up, Cater had been so giddy that he couldn’t focus. He had messed up during his debriefing, ran into the vending machines because he was on his phone, and he accidentally misspelled their client’s name on their webpage. #Unprofessional.

The moment the last meeting of the day was adjourned, Cater sighed with relief, slouching in his chair. This month so far has been super busy with the amount of clients who wanted their advertisements up today, potential clients whose appointments were scheduled all throughout the week with notes that needed to be looked over, and various websites to be updated. They definitely weren’t out of the woods yet, but that was the life of someone who worked in the Social Media and Marketing Department.

But today was special, and it had the entire building buzzing. Pink, red, and white hearts decorated the office, the women of the office wore their pretty pinks and luscious reds, pretty bouquets and boxes of chocolates dotted the desks, the guys wore their best dress shirts, and the older men adorned their themed ties hand picked by their wives that morning. Today was Valentine's Day and Cater knew this one was going to be special.

Cater made his way to his desk from their roundtable when an arm wrapped its way around his shoulders, startling him.

“So,” the voice said.

Cater whipped his head around and was met with a mop of brown hair and brown eyes. It was Lucas, of course it was Lucas. The twenty-five year old was Cater’s senior by a year, and terribly nosey.

“So?” Cater asked.

“Penelope, she’s pretty cute right?”

“Not this again,” Cater sighed, moving out of his grasp to walk a bit faster.

“Oh, c’mon dude,” Lucas sighed, rushing after him, “You two would make a great couple!”

“And I keep telling you I’m seeing someone.”

“You mean his fake girlfriend,” Fabian joked, matching their stride.

Fabian, a twenty-two year old blonde with a knack for unintentionally offending people with his words. Cater wouldn’t lie, he didn’t like the guy when Fabian first came to their department, but after they got to know each other, and eventually sat in the same quad, he learned that Fabian wasn’t a bad person, just a little hard with his words.

“Mimi is not fake,” Cater huffed, moving to clean up his desk.

“C’mon dude, you can’t blame me,” Fabian reasoned, from his side of their shared desk, “Every time I mention your girlfriend you get all defensive, and the last time I asked for a picture, you wouldn’t show me.”

“Maybe she’s shy?” Brain offered from his desk.

Brian was the best behaved out of their quad. He hated confrontation, and tended to keep to himself, but when the time arose, the twenty-four year old would stick his neck out for anyone without a second thought.

“Or imaginary,” Fabian muttered.

Cater rolled his eyes, making for his hasty retreat, when suddenly his phone vibrated and like his life depended on it, Cater snatched his phone from his desk, unlocking the device. Fabian and Lucas rushed over to try and peek at the message, which Cater promptly pulled out of sight.

“He’s practically been glued to his phone the whole day,” a soft voice chided. “I knew he loved the thing, but today was something else entirely.”

“Sup, Tif,” Lucas greeted, looking up from his attempt to get a glimpse of Cater’s phone.

“Hey guys,” Tiffany smiled.

Tiffany, better known as Tif throughout the building, was part of the Marketing Department. The twenty-five year old and her team often worked with Cater and his quad, like today.

“Hey, Tif,” Cater smiled.

“Going home so soon?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah,” Cater sighed with a dopey smile, “I got plans and I don’t wanna be late.”

“Plans?” a sweet feminine asked, “That’s nice to hear.”

“Penelope,” Lucas cheered, “How was work?”

“It was an easy day,” Penelope smiled, playing with the petals to a bouquet of flowers.

Penelope, the office sweetheart and most eligible bachelorette, was the floor’s secretary. Cater couldn’t remember a time when Lucas wasn’t trying to set him up with the twenty-five year old, or a time the guys of the building treated her like a princess. Don’t get him wrong, Cater liked Penelope, but just not like that.

“Oh, nice flowers. Who’s the sender?” Fabian asked.

“My mom,” Penelope laughed awkwardly, “She always sends them on Valentine's Day.”

“That’s cute,” Tiffany smiled.

“Aw,” a deeper feminine voice sighed, “I wish my mom did that.”

“Hey, Brooke,” Brian smiled, “how was accounting?”

Brooke was head of accounting, and like a mother figure to the younger workers on the floor. Anytime you needed something, Mama Brooke was on the case, the twenty-nine year old taking her title with stride.

“Same as always,” Brooke said dismissively. “What I wanna know is what was so important that you couldn’t pay attention during today’s roundtable, Cater?”

Cater laughed awkwardly, “Sorry, Brooke. I’ll admit, I was a bit distracted today.”

“I get it, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Brooke smirked, “you just got distracted by some really nice pictures from your girl.”

Cater flushed to the tips of his ears,” I-It’s not like t-that!”

Brooke laughed, “So, does anyone have any plans for tonight? My husband and I are going to that really fancy restaurant on 5th street.”

“Me and my hubby are gonna go see a movie,” Cecelia said excitedly.

“Me and my girlfriend are gonna stay in and make dinner,” Fabian said.

“Jesse and I are gonna go to a drive-in movie,” Brian smiled.

“That’s cute,” Cecelia whined, “We should've done that instead.”

As the group spoke of their evening plans, Cater’s phone vibrated again, and he was on it like a moth to a flame.

“Mimi’s here,” Cater gasped, suddenly rushing to get his things.

“Mimi?” Cecilia asked.

“His fake girlfriend,” Fabian teased from his seat across from Lucas.

“Whatever,” Cater laughed with a scoff, putting the last of his things in his bag.

“It’s okay man, we’ve all been dumped before,” Fabian said, “You don’t have to keep up this charade any longer.”

Cater rolled his eyes, getting the last of his things.

“Leave him alone, guys.” Brooke huffed, “Cater, I’m sure your girlfriend is very nice.”

“Thanks Mama Brooke. See ya,” Cater called, practically running to get to the elevators.

“Oh, I gotta see this,” Fabian said, rushing to follow Cater.

“I’m coming too,” Lucas exclaimed, shooting from his seat.

The group followed closely behind Cater as he weaved his way through the desks, quads, and cubicles, trying not to lose that head of bright orange hair in the crowds of people making their ways home.

The Cater and his unappointed followers passed by one of the quads when a pair of gold eyes spotted them. “Where are you guys going?”

“Hey, Maddox,” Lucus shouted, “You’re gonna finally see Cater’s girlfriend!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Cater rolled his eyes affectionately. Maddox was one of the seniors of the department at thirty-six years old, he was one of the guys who trained Cater when he first joined, and became a big brother of sorts. Whenever Cater needed something, whatever it might be, Maddox had his back.

All of them shoved their way into the elevator, pressing the button to the ground floor. The ride from the eighth floor was a long one, and every time they stopped on a floor, they got curious looks as there wasn’t a lick of room for anymore people.

Once they stopped at the third floor, Keith gave them all weird looks, as he was trying to use the elevator as well.

“Keith,” Cecelia waved, “we’re gonna see Cater’s girlfriend.”

Keith worked in IT, the twenty-six year old always hanging on the eighth floor when he wasn’t supposed to.

“Ima take the stairs and meet you guys down there,” Keith said, before he rushed to the opposite side of the room to the stairwell.

“Guys,” Cater whined as the doors shut once more.

Downstairs, Mirai stood awkwardly next to a gaggle of women. He felt so out of place standing next to all of them in their cutesy skirts and frilly dresses, even their hair was curled and or pressed. And how could he forget their polished nails on dainty hands that held their teddy bears, roses, and chocolates.

Then there, sticking out like a sore thumb, he was, a man all dolled up with a bouquet of flowers of his own. Mirai couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy at their flawless beauty. Why couldn’t he look that pretty like them with their soft skin and long eyelashes? Maybe he should have worn a skirt instead?

Mirai sighed, shaking his head to somehow shake the thought away. He was fine, this was fine. He dressed up too in his suit and black and red rose pattern mesh button up. He had spent hours trying to perfect his eyeliner, and once he did, he chose pink eyeshadow that went perfectly with his flushed cheeks and pink lipgloss. He knew it did, because he had called Crewel before he left and he said so.

Instead of a teddy bear, well, he did actually get a teddy bear, but it was with the soap set that came with bath bombs, face masks, lotions and oils, which was at Cater’s apartment, sitting on the living room coffee table. And as for chocolates, Cater hated sweets, so he improvised with dark chili chocolates for him to try and if that failed, Mirai got a fruit and cheese platter, which was also sitting in Cater’s apartment, chilling in his refrigerator of course. Fiddling with the petals of his bouquet of roses, wondering if it all was too much.

And on a side note, Mirai really thought he would be late with how much of a hassle it was to get into the building itself. The guy at the gate gave him a hard time, and it wasn’t until Cater’s father had to explain that he was with him did the man let him in. After that, Mirai and Mr. Diamond had split ways in the lobby, the older man having something important to take care of, leaving Mirai in the lobby, which led him to his current problem. The woman at the front desk.

The woman gave him such a hard time for a while, questioning how he got past security, why he was there, and who for. Mirai argued with her for a good while, telling her that he was picking his lover up, just like everyone else and that yes, his visitor’s pass was valid. Mirai didn’t understand, all of the misses were here, so why couldn't he be? Mr. Diamond said it was okay, so what was so bad about him being here?

She had finally stopped when one of the women stepped in, asking her why she was so adamant on trying to get Mirai to leave. And now said front desk woman, with the name tag that read “Mara,” was giving him the stank eye as she tapped away on her desktop computer. Mirai just hopped Cater or Mr. Diamond came back soon.

“So what do you and your boy have planned?” the woman from earlier asked.

Mirai startled a bit, not expecting her to ask him that, or anything for that matter, “I-I, h-how did you-”

“Oh please, Honey, no man makes himself look that pretty for a woman unless one of them swings the other way,” the woman laughed. “Also, I may not be the straightest woman here.”

“O-Oh,” Mirai chuckled nervously, “I tried my best. Uh, do you think it’s too much?”

“Not at all, hon, you look stunning,” she smiled. “You make me feel like I should have stepped up my game this morning, but then again, my Georgiana doesn’t like that shmancy stuff.”

“Don’t, don’t sell yourself short. To be honest, I was a little jealous at how pretty you guys were compared to me.”

“Please, you’re the best dressed out of everyone here.”

“Thanks,” Mirai muttered, flushing a pretty pink.

“You’re welcome,” the woman smiled, “I’m Xola by the way.”

“Mirai.”

A chime sounded through the lobby and immediately everyone perked up at the sound, their eyes honing in on elevators.

“Good luck,” Xola smiled.

“Back atcha,” Mirail nodded.

The elevator doors opened and Cater scanned the lobby, looking for the familiar blonde wolf cut and silver prosthetic. It didn’t take long for Cater to spot a constellation of freckles on rosy cheeks and eyes as bright as the stars.

“Mimi,” Cater gasped, running across the lobby.

“Cater,” Mirai shouted, matching Cater’s enthusiasm as he met the strawberry blonde halfway, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck.

Cater pulled back just enough to smash his lips into Mirai’s in a deep kiss, his hand reaching up the cradle the back of Mirai’s head, his fingers musing through his gelled tresses. Mirai sighed against Cater’s lips, his eyes closing in bliss. If his hands weren’t so full, Mirai knew his hands would be bunched up in Cater’s blazer by now.

Cater finally pulled back after he had enough, the biggest grin on his face. “Hey Babydoll,” Cater muttered affectionately, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Mirai chuckled. “Sorry I wasn’t able to come down for your Birthday. I could only get three days off.”

“I don’t care about that. You’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

“It does though,” Mirai whined, “ It was your twenty-fourth Birthday.”

“And you can make it up to me by coming to see me for your twenty-third. Now, Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Mirai smiled, wriggling out of Cater’s grasp to hand his gifts.

“Mimi,” Cater gushed, “thank you, baby. And don’t worry, yours are in the car.”

“It’s okay,” Mirai smiled, “I can wait.”

Cater looked at the bouquet and smiled fondly, “Ya’know, after all those years of painting the roses red, I’ve come to appreciate a fine red rose. I can tell these are good quality.”

Mirai chuckled, “Same here. I couldn’t just get any old rose, it just didn’t sit right. I felt as if Riddle would pop out of nowhere and collar me or something.”

The two of them fell into a fit of laughter at the image they conjured in their heads.

“That’s Mimi?!” Lucas shouted, prompting an end to Mirai’s and Cater’s little moment, “You told me Mimi was a girl!”

“No I didn’t,” Cater said with a sardonic smile, “I said I was seeing someone and you assumed.”

“But his name is Mimi!”

“Yep. Short for Mirai.”

“Dude,” Lucas whined.

“Ignoring him,” Brooke said, pushing her way to the front of the group, “I think some introductions are in order.”

Cater took the time to introduce his colleagues to Mirai and vice versa. Mirai found the group to be very lively, and even with their different personalities, they somehow fit together perfectly.

“You two have seriously been together since high school?!” Cecelia gushed, “That’s so cute! I wish me and my hubby were high school sweethearts.”

“I’m not sure if it counts, Cater mused, “we met during my third year, and by my fourth, I was doing my internships, and he was entering his Sophomore year.”

“It counts,” Brain nodded.

“Wait, how old was he when you two met?!” Tiffany asked.

“He was seventeen then,” Cater laughed.

“Oh.”

“I’m so proud of you, Cater,” Maddox cried, “my boy is becoming a man.”

“Maddy,” Cater whined, “stop it.”

Mirai chuckled at their antics.

“So how come I’m just learning you have a high school sweetheart?” Fabian asked.

“I told you I was seeing someone for a while,” Cater laughed. “You're the one who decided that I had an imaginary girlfriend.”

“As I said earlier, you wouldn’t show me pictures.”

“And since when did I have to?”

The two began to bicker when a thick accented voice spoke up, “So this is the fabled lover of Cater Diamond.”

Cater laughed awkwardly, looking up at Georgiana, “I didn’t know word got out that far.”

“You two make a great couple.”

“Thx.”

“If only you’d told me it was Cater, I'd have given you some dirt on these guys, Mirai, no questions asked,” Xola laughed.

“Don’t you dare,” Keith shouted.

Cater’s colleagues began to converse amongst themselves, when Mirai checked the time. It was almost four-thirty, their dinner reservations were at five.

“Catie,” Mirai muttered, pulling at Cater’s sleeve, “We have to get going.”

Cater gasped. “Oopsies, sorry guys, but we gotta go if we wanna make our reservation. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye Cater, have fun,” Tiffany called.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Brooke shouted.

They made their way to Cater’s car, and Cater, ever the gentleman, opened Mirai’s door first, making sure he was seated, before shutting the door, and making his way to the driver's seat.

“Here you go, Baby,” Cater muttered, kissing Mirai on his temple, as he handed Mirai a bouquet of pink and purple hydrangeas, a teddy bear and a box of chocolates.

“They’re so pretty,” Mirai gushed, “Cater.”

“Of course, you only deserve the best.”

“And you got me lilies,” Mirai whispered, voice growing a little emotional, “Cater.”

Cater kissed Mirai on the head once more, “Don’t cry, Baby.”

“I’m not. I’m okay.”

Cater smiled softly, starting the car, and as he pulled out of his parking spot, the two of them spotted Mr. Diamond pulled out of his parking spot. Mirai waved with a big smile, his smile getting even bigger, if that was even possible, as Mr. Diamond waved back.

“Have a good night, Mirai, Cater,” Mr. Diamond called from his open window, as he drove up to their car.

“You gonna go see mom?” Cater asked.

“Of course.”

“Good luck,” Cater called. “And give these to them for me?”

Mr. Diamond nodded, taking the flowers before diving off the lot.

“Let’s get going, shall we?”

The ride to the restaurant wasn’t a long one and after Cater switched his blazer for a red one and gave his keys to the Valet, they made it just in time. The restaurant was beautiful, decked out for the holiday with rose petals decorating the tables, white ribbons covered the chairs, and pink hearts decorated the windows. And you’d think it would look tacky, but it didn’t, somehow the restaurant made it work, the look giving it a romantic, classy feel.

The dining room was packed with couples, each and everyone of them dressed to the nines. Mirai wondered how Cater even scored seats in a place like this.

“Good evening, Sir,” the hostess smiled, “May I have a name for your reservation?”

“Diamond,” Cater supplied.

After a second, the Hostess smiled, “Ah, here we are. Diamond, table for two. Alright, follow me if you please.”

Dinner went off without a hitch. Their table was on the indoor balcony that overlooked the rest of the restaurant and the city below through their floor to ceiling windows. They were served three courses starting with drinks and appetizers, which consisted of honey glazed prosciutto wrapped asparagus paired with a raspberry or cheese fondue sauce and for their drinks, sparkling cider since they had to drive home.

For their next course, Cater had a brown butter steak and mashed potatoes, and for Mirai, a plate of their finest fettuccine chicken and broccoli alfredo. Over dinner, the two of them talked about anyone and anything. Mirai filled in how things were with living with Crewel and Grim, and how university was going. He talked about the last time he met up with Ace and Deuce and how they even went to visit Riddle and Trey. Mirai told Cater anything he thought was interesting.

And Cater told him things in return. Cater talked about his department, his floor and everything they went on in the office. He talked about his sisters and his mother, he talked about his upcoming collaboration with Vil, and his hopeful future one with Idia and Kalim.

Once dessert was served, things slowed down. The sun had long set, the food had settled in their bellies and with the looks Cater started giving Mirai over his glass of sparkling as he watched the blonde devour a piece of red velvet cheesecake, Mirai was ready to head out.

“Ready, Babydoll?” Cater muttered with lidded eyes.

Mirai swallowed, feeling the telltale heat of a flush beginning to prickle at his cheeks, as he started back at Cater. The strawberry blonde smirked, putting down his glass to rest his cheek on his fist.

Mirai cleared his throat, but his words still came out hoarse, “Y-Yeah.”

They paid, took the last piece of cake to go and made their way to the front of the building where the valet arrived with their car, and as they waited, Cater made sure to get as many pictures as he could.

“Can we stop by somewhere before we go home?” Cater asked after a while of driving.

Mirai looked from his window to Cater, he couldn’t read the strawberry blonde’s expression, his face blank, eyes on the road.

“Sure. I don’t mind,” Mirai muttered finally, looking back at the city flying by.

Cater drove around for some time and after a while, Mirai realized they were in the outskirts of the city, the amount of skyscrapers getting smaller, the amount of cars dwindling.

“Where are we going?” Mirai asked, looking out the windows.

“Surprise,” Cater smiled.

It wasn’t long after that they made their way to a scenic spot that overlooked the city. Here, they could see the stars in the sky, there were no bright lights outshining the galaxies above.

“Come sit,” Cater beckoned, crawling over the center console to sit in the back seat of his red convertible.

“Cater,” Mirai giggled, crawling after Cater.

Once he was back there, Cater wrapped the two of them in a blanket and pushed the button the dropped down the top.

“Why are we here?” Mirai asked, “What's going on?”

“Because it’s nice, and I can get some totally awesome pics for my Magaicam.”

Mirai shook his head, he guessed some things would never change. Cater snapped a bunch of pictures as Mirai stared at the cityscape below.

“Mimi?” Cater called.

“Yes?”

“Cake?”

“I just had some. You tryna get me fat?”

“Well I do like feeding you,” Cater smirked. “Open?”

Mirai smiled, taking the fork into his mouth. The cake was sweet, creamy, and think, just what he liked in a good cheesecake. Eventually Mirai’s eyes wandered back to the city. Even from here, the city looked full of life. The red taillights dotted the roads, the white and gold lights from the buildings twinkled like stars, and above, the lights the warded off incoming planes pulsed like the city's heartbeat. Mirai agreed, this was nice.

“Mirai?” Cater whispered.

“Huh?” Mirai answered, reluctant to take his eyes off the city.

“Jasper.”

Mirai’s head snapped away from the scenery for a second to see Cater holding a small red velvet box. Mirai froze, his heart stopping, his blood feeling as if ice was shot through his veins. He didn’t know what to do, but to sit there like a deer in headlights.

“Ca-Cater?” Mirai whispered, shakily.

“I-It-It’s not, it’s not what you think,” Cater stammered, face going cherry red. “Will you open it?”

Mirai shakily took the box from Cater’s hands, gently pulling the top up to reveal two simple gold bands with little flowers engraved on the outside, and in the center most flower, was one lone white rhinestone. On the inside of the rings were their names, Cater Diamond on one, and Mirai Jasper Yuhara on the other.

Mirai's lip quivered as he tried his best to take the ring out of the box, but he didn’t think he could without dropping it. “I can’t,” Mirai gasped a breath as he eyes filled with tears.

“Here, let me,” Cater whispered, taking Mirai’s ring to loop a matching gold chain through it.

Mirai watched curiously as Cater did so, wondering what the gold chain was for.

“I know you’re supposed to wear these on your left hand,” Cater muttered, before reaching around the blonde to clasp it around his neck, “but I wanted it so that when the time comes, you would be able to fit it on your right.”

Only then did Mirai’s eyes finally shed their tears, “Cater.”

“They’re promise rings, oh, well, you probably already knew that-wait did you? I-I-, this, this isn’t a proposal, well, not that kind of proposal. I wanted that one to be even more special, like #TheProposal, but I also wanted this one to be special, but not too special that it would outshine that one, and I-,” Cater stopped for a second, before laughing through his tears, “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

Mirai chuckled, voice muffled due to his emotions, “I-I-It’s, I understand you fully.”

“I-I’m so nervous,” Cater breathed, eyes misty, “I’ve never thought I’d be doing something like this. My life has never been stable, ya’know? I’ve moved around more times than I could count, gained and lost so many people who were close to me, and after a while, I stopped caring. I just knew everyone would disappear one day, so why try? If they were all gonna forget Cater one day, why not give them Cay-Cay instead?”

Cater took a breath before continuing, “But that was before I met you. You made me want something stable, something permanent. You made me want to be me, to be Cater. And I want you.”

Mirai hiccuped at Cater words, and as Cater reached for his hands, Mirai sobbed, gripping them tightly.

“I can’t express how much I want this to be the real deal, but I can wait. I want you to finish school, I want you to find a place for yourself here in Twisted Wonderland. And then after all of that, we can think about actually tying the knot,” Cater chuckled.

“I’d like that,” Mirai smiled, voice quivering.

“We can take our time, we can be young and dumb. We can make our mistakes, and find our place and who we are.”

“And then when we marry, we can get that house with the guest room, and the huge backyard?” Mirai asked.

“Yep, the one with the guest room for the guys, and the two car garage for our fancy cars.”

“With our dogs, and space to throw parties the whole street would envy?”

“And let’s not forget the giant walk in closet.”

The two of them fell into a fit of joyous laughter, the world and all of their worries seeming a world away.

“Here,” Mirai eventually said, holding out the other band to Cater.

“You do it,” Cater smiled.

Mirai took his time and carefully slipped the gold band onto Cater's left hand. “There. Perfect.”

“Yeah, perfect,” Cater sighed, but he wasn’t looking at the ring on his finger. Mirai looked up and realized what he was implying, his face flushing.

“I love you, Mirai,” Cater said, voice full of unbridled emotion.

“I love you, too, Cater,” Mirai choked out.

Cater pulled Mirai in for a sweet kiss, like he was trying to convey his feelings with his body and soul. Mirai kissed him back, the same feeling of love and devotion. Cater pulled back seconds later, pressing his head to Mirai’s. Even if the kiss wasn’t a long one, it conveyed everything they wanted it to.

“So, selfies?” Cater asked.

“Yeah, selfies,” Mirai laughed.

Cater snapped as many pictures as he could between showering Mirai with love and affection, littering his face and anywhere he could get his lips on with kisses. Mirai felt as if he was floating. Yes this was only the beginning, and yes they did have a long way to go, but Mirai was fine with that, because had a promise to keep, and there’s no place he’d rather be, he was content with just simply basking in their shared happiness and adoration.

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