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greatunironic · 1 month

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eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #rockstar au #hockey au #two great tastes that taste great together tbh #cross posted on twitter #might clean this up later + pop it on ao3

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sebscore · 1 year

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gen-z driver chaotically taking over martin’s grid walk? thank you!!

KEEPING UP WITH THE GRID

pairings: f1 team principals, drivers and ex-driver x driver!reader (im too lazy to name everyone im sorry)

warnings: swearing. christian horner. mention of a nipple tweak.

author's note: anon, you are a legend for requesting this! I'm not too proud of the writing, since I wrote this in the middle of the night and my brain doesn't function normally then. but i hope you like it anyway, darling! let me know your thoughts!!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

Y/N was mindlessly scrolling through her phone when a sudden loud voice interrupted her peaceful time. ''How are we feeling about today, Y/N?'' Martin bent his knees, so he could hold the mic up to her face as she sat on the ground.

''Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me.'' She cursed, quickly covering her mouth as she knows she isn't supposed to swear on Sky Sports. ''Uh, I'm feeling pretty good about it, I'm starting on the second row, so not too bad.'' The driver answered his question, smiling sheepishly.

''You like having alone time before a race?'' He continued, a grin on his face.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''I just happen to be alone right now, sometimes I'm chatting with my team or with some of the other drivers.''

''Martin, you look a bit tired, you want to sit down?'' She patted the space next to her, feeling bad that he was crouching down while she comfortably sat on the grass.

The former F1 driver held a look of surprise on his face. ''In all my years I've been doing this, no one has ever offered me to sit down.'' He gave the camera a glance before slowly letting himself sink to the ground.

''You know, people always wonder 'Where is Martin?' But no one ever wonders 'How is Martin?' We need to take better care of you.'' The man seemed clueless about what she was saying, but he was amused either way.

''I'm alright, all that walking takes a lot of energy.'' He responded, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead.

Y/N chuckled. ''Yeah, I mean, you've been doing this longer than I've been alive, so I understand that you're tired from all the walking.'' She never let the oppurtunity slip to make him aware of their age gap.

''Well, let's not talk age,'' he sighed, making her laugh, ''anyway, I think I might just hang around here for the entire segment.'' Martin concluded.

An idea popped into her head as she heard his words. ''Can I do it? I've always wanted to do it.''

Martin was surprised for a second time since joining the young woman. ''You mean I let you go around the grid and talk to people?''

She nodded. ''Yes, I love bothering people with my presence.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly.

The Brit looked at his cameraman, who adamantly nodded his head to the idea of letting the driver do her thing around the grid.

Martin let out a deep breath, but handed his mic and headset over. ''Just don't get me fired,'' he said, trying to sound stern, ''and don't curse!'' He quickly added.

''I won't, I promise! I'll see you later!'' She got up from the ground and put the headset on, slightly altering it so it fit her head perfectly. ''Alright, let's make some controversy.'' Y/N exclaimed, pulling the cameraman along.

She glanced around the grid, trying to find some interesting people to talk to. ''So, I just need to find a person and ask them questions about whatever I want?'' The athlete asked the cameraman, who simply nodded his head, making the camera shake as well.

''Oh, I love this program!'' She giggled into the microphone, doing a small jump out of happiness.

Y/N observed the grid, knowing her first ''guest'' needed to be a good one. ''Okay, I've found someone!'' She let the cameraman know, pointing in the direction she wanted to go.

''Alright,'' she tapped the person's shoulder, having them turn to the camera in confusion, ''the first guest on Y/N's grid walk is the team principal of Mercedes… Petronas… Benz…,'' she tried remembering the full team name, ''Whatever, his name is Susie's husband! Welcome, Susie's husband.'' She introduced Toto.

The Austrian man was incredibly entertained by the young woman's antics. ''Hello, Y/N.''

''I have to ask you- how does it feel to be married to the greatest woman alive?'' She asked him, glancing around to find the woman in question.

Toto laughed at the question, but proceeded. ''It's great, Susie is an amazing person who has done countless amazing projects and campaigns- I'm a very lucky man.'' The sincere smile on Toto's face when talking about his wife brought a smile to Y/N's face.

''That's so cute- where is she? I only came over here, because I thought she would be here.''

''Unfortunately, she's not here today,'' he told her in a sad tone, ''I know that upsets you, Y/N.'' The driver's girl crush on Susie had been an obvious thing for many years, amusing everyone involved.

Y/N pouted at his words. ''Well, yeah… that upsets me a lot actuall-''

''What is going on here?'' A British accent interrupted her interview with the team principal.

''Go away, Russell George! I don't want you on my show.'' Y/N teasingly dismissed George, slapping his arm to get him out of frame.

The Mercedes driver feigned offense, placing his hand on his heart. ''Why not? I thought we were great friends, Y/L.''

''Crikey, crikey, crikey! Don't you have shirtless pictures to post somewhere? Bye bye!'' She quickly got away from the Mercedes team, practically running at one point.

Y/N let out a big sigh into the mic. ''Martin was right, this is tiring,'' she momentarily stopped in her steps, her hand on her waist, ''OH! Look! It's Charles Lechair!'' Her tiredness from a few seconds before was long forgotten as she strided over to her Monégasque friend.

''Charles, hello, Charles!'' She put her hand on his back, guiding him to the camera. ''How are you feeling about the race today? What are the strategies? Do they know that word at Ferrari?'' She teased the red team.

''Uh, we're feeling optimistic today and yeah, I'm ready to give it my all.'' He smiled, putting up his tv-friendly facade, not wanting to trash talk his team on television.

Y/N raised her eyebrow. ''You're so cute being all positive! Keep that attitude, Perceval!'' She patted his shoulder. ''Thanks for talking to me and good luck!'' She bid him goodbye.

The young driver walked in all sorts of directions. There were many people present on the grid, yet Y/N had quite a hard time finding people to talk to. It was when she walked by the Red Bull team that she found her next victim.

''Christian! Christian Horner, hello, welcome!'' She and the team principal didn't have the best history, but she knew the viewers would enjoy the interaction as they knew said history.

''Everyone, I'm joined here today by Red Bull, uh, Orange, Racing or whatever, F1 Team's team principal, Christian Horner.'' She butchered the team name again, although it was one purpose this time.

She turned towards the man. ''Christian, I won't hold you up too long, but there is one question that our viewers have been dying to ask you and I think this is the right time to finally do it.'' Y/N build the question up.

''Yes?'' He seemed a bit nervous, attentively listening to her words.

''Can you say one nice thing about Y/N Y/L?''

The Brit visibly looked relieved at the question, thinking it would be something controversial. ''Of course, she's, uh, a very talented race car driver.'' He nervously smiled at her.

''You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen, Christian Horner thinks Y/N Y/L is the most talented driver in the history of Formula One!'' She overdramatized his response.

''You know what they say, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies even closer.'' She patted Christian's shoulder. ''Thanks for the talk, good luck and I hope you don't win.'' Y/N told him before walking off, hearing him laugh behind her.

''So far, I've talked to Toto Wolff and Christian Horner,'' she said to the camera, ''enemies to, uh, even worser enemies, I guess.''

''Guys, we're here with Yuki's boyfriend, Pierre Gasly.'' Y/N stood next to the Alpha Tauri driver, shoving the microphone in his face. He took his airpods out of his ears, already chuckling at the girl's actions.

''How are you doing?''

''I'm-''

''That's all the time we have for you, I'm sorry.'' She didn't let him finish his words and walked away from him, quickly giving him a smile so he knew she was entirely joking.

She stepped further onto the grid, continuing to look for people. ''A bunch of green outfits, not very fashionable- oh, it's Aston Martin! Let's find Sebastian!'' Y/N mixed herself with the Aston Martin team, trying to catch the German driver.

''Seb! Seb! Can I ask you a few questions?'' She eventually reached the man, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

His signature bright smile covered his face. ''Yeah, but where's Martin?''

''Me and Martin made an agreement, I get to do the grid walk and he gets to drive my car later- although, he never won any races, so that might not have been a great decision on my part.'' She told Sebastian, who seemed confused and fascinated at the same time.

''Well, I think you're doing a great job as reporter.'' He deflected her words, not wanting to get in trouble by saying anything about Brundle's lack of GP wins.

She smiled. ''Thanks, anyway… I know qualifying didn't go too well for you, but are you optimistic about the race?''

''Yeah, quali wasn't what we were hoping for,'' he sighed, ''It's gonna be difficult today, but we're gonna try our best to get as much points as we can for the championship.'' Sebastian finished his answer with an encouraging nod.

''That's great to hear! You've been- oh my god, is that your dad?'' Y/N had glanced away from Sebastian's face for one second and saw Norbert watching them, waving at her once he noticed her looking at him. ''Okay, bye Sebastian! I'm gonna talk to your dad now.''

She walked past the Aston Martin driver to approach his father. ''Can I ask you some questions? I swear it's very short.'' She didn't want to burden him for too long.

Norbert gave her a thumbs up, not minding being interviewed for a short time by her. ''It's okay.''

''Amazing! I mean, you're a legend of the paddock, Norbert! The drivers love you, the fans love you, everyone just loves you! Do you feel the love every time you attend a GP?''

Y/N had a good relationship with him as he and Sebastian would sometimes attend her karting tournaments together. Norbert had given her parents advice on how to support the young girl as best as possible. In a nutshell, the Vettel family were some of the greatest people she had ever met.

''I do feel it, it's a great feeling and everyone is so nice to me.'' He wasn't very confident in his English, so he kept it short.

Y/N smiled at him, delighted she got the chance to talk to him. ''You're always super sweet to everyone, so it's only right that we reciprocate your kindness,'' she nodded, ''okay, last question! Apart from Seb, who is the driver you're rooting for today? Is it someone you know very well? Or someone who is standing next to you and is asking you amazing questions?'' She played with a strand of her hair, pretending like she wasn't talking about herself.

He laughed at her words. ''I'm supporting you, of course!'' He exclaimed, his arm going around her shoulder.

''Oh! You're the best, Norbert! You're my favorite Vettel for a reason!'' Y/N said extra loud, knowing Sebastian would hear it that way.

''I'll leave you alone now, thank you so much and I'll see you after the race.'' She gave him a brief hug and he wished her good luck, which she thanked him for.

The cameraman had difficulties keeping up with her, used to the slower pace of Martin. Y/N noticed this and slowed down, sending him an apologetic look. ''Alright, I've talked to Seb, so I feel obligated to talk to Lewis now.'' She commented, trying to look for the 7x World Champion.

''Where is he? He shouldn't be this hard to find…'' The athlete always saw the Mercedes driver hanging around the grid, chatting with his celebrity friends or getting ready with Angela.

Y/N frowned. ''I should lore him or something…,'' she thought for a moment, ''vegan food, I have vegan food! Uh, free skydiving session! Oh my god, is that Roscoe on the track?'' She tried making him appear, but the only thing she got was weird looks from bypassers.

However, a certain blond man caught her attention instead. ''Okay, I can't find Lewis, but this person knows him very well… or used to at least.''

''Britney Spears! Can I interview you for the highly respected tv-show, Y/N's grid walk?'' She snuck up to the former Mercedes driver, catching him off guard, but he played it off. ''Sure, I'm very honored.'' His monotone voice almost made her cringe.

''First question: is it alright if I call you Britney? I don't know how you feel about the nickname.''

Nico chuckled at her. ''You can call me that, Y/N.''

''Ooooh~ I'm getting special privileges! I like it!'' She was impressed by Nico's answer, not being sure if he would go along with her humor.

''Next question! How does it feel to be a Monaco based Youtuber? Do you enjoy the influencer life?''

The former World Champion snickered at her question, not expecting her to bring up his Youtube channel. ''It feels great, I'm, uh, yeah, enjoying the influencer life.'' She could tell Nico was doing his best to come off as positive as possible.

''Nice, good for you, dude! Anyway, this was Britney, the man who beat the 7x World Champion, Lewis Hamilton, in equal machinery in 2016!'' She quoted the meme that was often made online when people talked about Rosberg.

Y/N didn't wait for Nico's reaction, a bit too scared if she was honest, and made a run for it again. ''I've talked to three German guys- wait, is Nico German? He said once that he doesn't drink beer, so I don't know if he's considered German.'' She rambled on, not even listening to the words that were leaving her own mouth.

''There's Jenson.'' She caught the Brit talking to his Sky Sports colleagues. ''You know what? I've embarrassed myself enough already, I'm not making it any worse.'' Y/N went in another direction so as to not cross paths with him.

''Too bad he doesn't drive anymore, I would have loved to give him a lucky nipple tweak.'' Martin and Jenson used to have this running gag of the older man giving him a nipple tweak for good luck before a race.

Y/N didn't see where she was going and almost tripped over someone's foot. ''Oh, shit!'' She loudly exclaimed, balancing herself so she wouldn't fall. ''Oh, fuck I can't swear- wait, shit! Ugh!'' She pulled the microphone away from her face, that way her curses wouldn't be picked up.

''This isn't live, right? Cause then I'm in trouble, I think.'' She glanced at the cameraman, who mumbled a small ''It is live.''

''THIS IS LIVE?'' Y/N gasped, looking absolutely horrified at the thought of thousands of people watching her at that moment. ''Let's find Martin then, I think I've done enough damage.''

She headed back to the place where the presenter had approached her. ''Martin! Where is Martin?'' The driver glimpsed around, but no Martin in sight. ''I have oatmeal!'' She yelled, before making eye contact with the camera. ''Old people love oatmeal, right?'' He simply chuckled, not wanting to shake the camera too much with his laughing.

''Oh, there he is!'' Y/N spotted the man and made her way over to him as fast as she could. ''I definitely didn't say anything controversial or cursed throughout the entire thing.'' She greeted him.

Martin looked relieved as she handed his microphone and headset back over to him. ''I was out of my element for a while,'' he joked, ''did you have fun, darling?''

Y/N nodded her head. ''Yes, I'm even considering changing career paths.'' She chuckled.

''That's great,'' Martin smiled, confident she made some amazing television, ''well, I think you're gonna have to go, cause I can see your, uh, coach not looking too happy.'' He pointed towards her performance coach staring daggers at her.

''Oh, fuck, yeah, bye Martin! Thank you so much!'' Y/N quickly thanked the man for letting her take over his segment and she dashed out of there, hoping her team wouldn't be too upset about her disappearing into the grid to ask everyone ridiculous questions.

''She's a special one for sure.''

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #sebastian vettel x reader #charles leclerc x reader #toto wolff x reader #pierre gasly x reader #formula 1 oc #female f1 driver #f1 x y/n #f1 imagines

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uranometrias · 23 days

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✮ꜜ : ❛ guilt's a motherfucker : spencer reid x fem! reader

pairing: spencer reid x bau! reader

summary: denial was an art, especially in a field like the one that you worked in. as a profiler, it was almost impossible for anyone to pull the wool over your eyes. you'd spent enough time with your team to know that this gift, this specific sort of perception was not something you were immune to either. meaning, no matter how much you tried to keep things a secret, someone on your team was bound to read right through you. especially spencer. 🔱 ━━ alternatively: the one where your inability to say what you want leads spencer to accept the affections of someone else.

content warnings: i think this could be considered angst . spencer reid having a crush on reader. reader being jealous of spencer getting attention from someone else. cute friendship between derek+ emily + reader. reader is the youngest on the team. set in s6, pre- jj’s departure.

────────────────────────

“You doing alright, babygirl?” Derek’s voice isn’t hard to miss, and the obvious smugness that was attached made your eyes roll. You knew from the moment that you’d leaned forward in your chair, lips pulling down into a deep pout that someone would clock you and quite quickly put two and two together. You didn’t mean to be obvious, in fact, usually you did a much better job at keeping your cool. However, there was something glaringly different today.

Spencer had gone for a new look, you remembered the day he walked in with his hair freshly cropped, shoulder-length tresses replaced with what Hotch had affectionately referred to as "boy band" hair. The rest of the team had laughed, you'd even cutely hid your own snicker behind your hand, but you couldn't deny that it fit him. It was flattering, dare you say cute as hell. In the weeks that followed though, he'd went even shorter, gone were all traces of boy band.

The look he sported now was distracting, incredibly so. He looked good, and it seemed you weren't the only that seemed to notice.

"She's eating him with her eyes." you grumble, arms crossing as Derek comes up behind you. He's got his chin pressed to your shoulder, following your line of sight, as a boisterous laugh escapes him. "It's not funny, Derek." this hiss of yours only seems to fuel his amusement as he starts to chuckle even louder.

"You've been mean mugging that girl since she walked in this morning." Derek rounds your desk now, obstructing your view of the betrayal taking place across the bullpen. It was a slow day, a good day. No cases, but loads of paperwork. Your desk was covered in nothing but files, some you'd started, some you'd finished. You're still cross, but you allow yourself to look up at your long time friend.

"I'm not mean mugging." you huff, blinking slow as you think over your clear fib. "There's just something in my eye." you whisper, and it's not convincing. You can tell by the way Derek's bag chuckling.

"Yeah, a green monster." he retorts quickly, and you can't deny the way it catches you off guard, as a choked laugh at your own expense escapes you. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, little bit." he hums and you droop, because of course you know that. "Why don't you just talk to the guy? Look him in the eye and tell him straight up how you're feeling?" he asks, and despite all his jokes and quips, Derek Morgan was perceptive, and he cared about you.

"That's a horrible idea." you exclaim, and your entire body jerks back, recoiling as if you'd been stung. "God, aren't you supposed to be some kind of smooth criminal?" your eyebrows quirk upward, "What type of advice is that?" you proceed, and Derek's bemused, looking down at you as he waits for you to finish your spiel.

"Just tell him straight up how you feel?" you deepen your voice to mock his, "Why don't I just run around the bullpen in underwear too, since we're doing dumb things." you huff, and your dramatics are amusing. They always have been. You'd been a member of the team going on two years, and you'd made a mark so deep it almost felt like you'd always been a part of the Unit.

You were a stark contrast to Emily and JJ, and a complete 180 from the angsty bombshell that had been Elle Greenaway. You were a wide-eyed 20-something year old that still had so much light behind your eyes, and a hope that you wouldn't shake. You had a way of making everyone laugh. You could pull anyone out of their heads, even Hotch, who Derek had caught many times fighting back small content smizes as you took the team's mind off the gore of the job.

"That's one way to get attention." he hums, and you huff again.

"Derek, you're not being helpful. If you're just here to laugh at my misery, I'm gonna start rethinking your place in my life." you hum, and you lean forward, chin resting against your palms. Derek appraises you, head tipping to the side as he offers you a charming grin.

"All I'm saying is, you've been crushing on the kid since you got here." he reminds you, and your frown deepens. "And the world wont be blind forever." he mumbles, and you know what he means. Spencer Reid to you had always been the most beautiful guy, but he'd been buried under mountains of trauma and insecurities that he had never been able to accept that. With time though, Spencer had begun to blossom, and this new haircut seemed to be a testament of this.

He was coming into himself, there was a new confidence budding in his steps, less stammers between phrases, and you didn't really have to fight for eye contact much anymore. He was still Spence, and in his words, he was far from an Alpha Male, but he could be. And he would be, you just knew it. Which meant that the more confident he became, the more women would see him the way you saw him. Damn. Derek sees the way the cogs in your mind move, and he sighs.

"Take it from someone who's been around-." you can't help but to insert with your own little quip. "What are you calling yourself a dog?" you tease, and his eyes roll, but he still grins wide.

"Listen." he stretches the word a bit, and he's looking you right in the eye. You can see sympathy swirling through the pretty pools of brown, and you believe that maybe if you were a bit older, and had met Derek first, you'd be swooning for him the way you were swooning for Spencer. You shake these thoughts of his beauty away, as you give him the space to speak freely. "I know what it's like to miss a window." he reminds you. "Rejection's a bitch." he adds.

True. It was precisely why you'd never bothered to say anything to Spencer. You got through life by pretending things were fine, by making a joke out of the hard stuff. You wouldn't be able to handle opening your heart to someone, and being told 'No'. That you weren't good enough, that you weren't what they needed. Maybe that was selfish, rejection was a part of life. It was necessary, but still. You'd rather deal with your unresolved issues alone. You saw no need to bring Spencer into conversations about your feelings for him at all.

"But guilt's a motherfucker." and Derek's words stop you short. You blink. What was worse? The sting that rejection could cause or the gaping hole that guilt would bring? The thought of getting an invite to a wedding day for a future Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Reid while you sitll held romantic feelings close to your chest made you want to vomit. Perhaps Derek had a point. At least if Spence turned you down with time the two of you could work around it, become friends again.

If you never said anything though, you'd have no right to be angry or hurt or jealous if some woman with much more confidence than you managed to swoop in and knock him off his feet Damn, you hated when Derek was right. His chuckle is what alerts you that your begrudging inner thoughts had been uttered aloud.

"What's Derek right about?" you smell the familiar scent of Prentiss' perfume before you see her face. It's subtle but comforting, and it makes you unconsciously relax in your seat. Derek's moving out of your line of sight, and you're met with the sight of Spencer still talking to the woman. She had a firm grip on a mug of coffee in one hand, her other hand leisurely tracing circles on Spencer's arms. You inhale sharply, swiveling in your seat as you turn to face Emily.

"Everything." Derek takes the swing, winking as you and Emily share a dry glance. He then subtly nods his head towards the woman crowding Spencer at the kitchenette and Emily's lips form a thin line of understanding. She turns to you, hand resting on your shoulder as she gives it a firm squeeze.

"Don't you think it's time to take a swing?" she offers, and you hate that immediately she falls into step with Derek. The duo forming a united front against you to ensure you put your big girl pants on and tell him the way you're feeling. "Here's an idea," And Emily's looking for a second to make sure Spencer is still too preoccupied to make his way over. "You've been trying to find someone to go with you to that new movie... what was it?" Emily snaps her fingers.

"Crash of the-" you cut her off with a deep sigh.

"Clash... it's Called Clash of the Titans." you mutter, and you pout. You had been trying to convince Emily, JJ, and Penelope to give the action film a shot. What could be better than watching Sam Worthington run across your scream for nearly two hours as you're transported to Ancient Greece? But, alas... the girls were far more interested in other things. In truth, they'd all agreed that they'd prefer to see something a little less packed with gore and violence.

Just for a change of pace.

You couldn't slight them for their polite rejection of your plans. The last case you'd been on had been especially taxing and nightmare inducing. "Why don't you ask him instead?" she hums, and you look over at the chatting duo, they'd really been talking for a while. There's this easygoing sort of look on Spencer's face, and the beauty across from him has turned about the same shade of red as the lipstick smeared across her full pout.

"Looks like she beat me to it." you mutter, and you think maybe God hates you, because as you let the words out, the girl is beaming even brighter, slipping something she'd written on a napkin into the palm of his hand. She offers a flirty wink before she's sashaying off, hips moving from side to side as she makes her way back to her own little cubby. "Ah well, who cares?" you try your hand at playing nonchalant. "It's not like I was in love with him or anything."

And the thing about Denial was that you'd spent so long making it your security blanket that you often forgot you were working with some of the most brilliant minds the FBI had ever produced.

Derek pats your shoulder, he's sympathetic to your plight. He was probably the only person you had been the most forthcoming with about these feelings you harbored. Emily frowns, and she offers you a side hug, chin resting on the top of your head. Their comfort makes you feel better, but the coil of feelings in your gut only seems to tighten. You wanted to be alone, you'd been perceived enough, if any of them pushed any further you may have broken into tears.

"I-I should get back to work." you mutter quietly, and they both know what you're doing. For once they resist the urge to comment, and they leave you be. Your desk was farthest away from the rest of the team. You and Hotch had agreed it was necessity. You could focus more when your back was to the rest of them. You let out a quiet sigh, fingers drumming against the table as you swallowed your emotions. You tiredly reach for an unfinished file, flipping it open.

Blurry words peer back at you, and you're shocked to realize that despite all your efforts you were still about to cry. Fuck.

You close your eyes, counting up to thirty in both english and spanish, by the time you'd finished breathing treinta under your breath, you had a new guest in front of you. Spencer stretched up for what felt like miles, his eyebrows furrowed as he stood before your desk with a look of confusion on his face. "Hey, are you alright?" he asks, and his voice always has this tenderness throughout.

"J-Just fine." and your stammer gives you away. Your voice is coated with mucus, a surefire signal that you were about a few seconds shy of having an immature meltdown. How silly of you to be this shaken up over the prospect of Spencer being with someone else. How dare you? You didn't even have the balls to admit that your playful flirting was just you overcompensating for the fact you couldn't do it foreal.

"I read somewhere that breathing exercises help you get through boring things." you motion to the file, and you've perfected your fake grin. Spencer doesn't look convinced, but he plays along.

"Oh, yeah? Where'd you read that?" he asks and you blanche.

"Uh. Just somewhere." you answer, and he's raised both his eyebrows. You recover quickly, clearing your throat. "You've replaced me, huh?" you ask, and you're playing it off like one of your jokes. Spencer looks shocked for a second, before he tips his head to the side as he looks down at you as if you were the most important thing in his world. If only.

"What do you mean?" he pries, and you motion with your head to the coffee station.

"Found another pretty girl to boost your head up, huh?" you mutter, and there's this flash. Something you can't quite catch, mostly because you're not in the mood to profile and analyze what all his facial expressions meant now. "You guys looked like you were having a good time." you add, and you hope you don't sound bitter. Jealousy or not, if Spencer was happy, you'd be happy too. You'd try.

"Yeah." he replies, and his face is turning red. "S-She was just being nice." he answers, and you hate that the first thing you notice is how he hasn't said 'No, I haven't replaced you.' You sour all the more.

"That's nice, Spence." you hum, and it's clear you've now become uninterested. So much for trying.

Still, Spencer was nothing if not selectively oblivious. You guys had been playing this game for almost a year, he wasn't going to make it easy for you to cop out and make him the bad guy. "She actually asked me to go see-" the rest of his joy-ridden words are mush in your head, and you can imagine how unamused you looked as you half-listened to him go on about how they were going out Saturday.

Yippee.

You don't mean to be rude, not really. But you couldn't bring yourself to listen to anymore. "Congratulations, Spencer." you cut him off abruptly. "But I've got to finish this, so if you could just-" and you're ushering him off as he stares at you aghast.

"What's your problem?" he pries, and you blink owlishly.

"Nothing." you insist, and you look over your shoulder. The team was not-so-subtly watching the exchange. Typical.

"I find that hard to believe." Spencer retorts, and he's got this unimpressed look on his face, like he knows something you don't. His genius has never irked you before, but right now it just makes you feel more perceived. Like he knew how you felt and was rubbing this all in your face. He couldn't possibly be that cruel though, right?

"Well that's not really my problem is it?" you snap, and Spencer's reaction is instantaneous. His scoff rings in your ears.

"Yeah, actually it is." he shoots back, and you rear back in surprise. What was that supposed to mean. "You know this is getting really old." and your strangled gasp escapes you before you can stop it.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you narrow your eyes as you set your glare on him. He's got his own challenging sort of glance on his face, almost like he's daring you to keep playing dumb. You will. If only to push him to spit out whatever was so clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue. "Go on. Please tell me, Mr. All knowing." you press and his eyes roll. You look like a perturbed toddler ready to fling yourself on the ground and scream.

"Grow up." is all he says, and it slices you clean in half. "If you're gonna play the role of the jealous little girl, at least respect me enough to not play dumb about it when you're caught." and then he's leaving you sitting at your desk, and you're gawking.

Fuck.

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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Like I Can (Part 1)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 3.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 2

(We’re kicking of Valentine’s Day a bit early❣️ Enjoy!)

“I’m all for growing the sport, but Brady buying an MLP team is ruining the integrity of the league. He may be the GOAT of football, but he has nothing on Ben John’s world-class pickleball game,” your date Max passionately states from his spot across from you at the Italian place he had recommended.

Or was his name Mac?

He’d already told you all about the CRBN paddle drama. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had already prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the topic complete with transitions and color-coded charts. He seems the type.

And he had yet to ask you a single question about yourself all evening.

You can tell he is gearing up for the next part of his rant, when your phone lights up on the table, the ringer on higher than you realized.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought I had this on silent. It’s my mom, I should probably take this,” you apologize to him, your phone already halfway raised to your ear.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Hi Mom, I’m with someone right now. Is everything ok?” You let a little worry tinge the tone of your voice.

“Seriously?” Rooster drolly rasps on the other end of the line, “Are we actually doing this?”

“Oh no! Is she alright?” You wouldn’t consider yourself actress, but you think you’re really selling the performance with the way you widen your eyes and how you make your voice go a little tighter and higher.

“Yup, seems like we’re really doing this. What’s it this time, kid? Did grandma slip on a banana peel and then get run over by a reindeer?” You can practically feel his eyes rolling as he begrudgingly goes along with you.

“Oh my goodness, that sounds serious! How would that even happen?” you ask, shaking your head in in faux shock determined to really sell the act.

“Is everything ok?” Max-Mac whispers to you from across the table.

His profile didn’t raise any red flags when you’d swiped on him. If anything, he’d seemed a bit more of the beige flag type. Your chats had been fine, he seemed fine, so why not meet up for a date?

What you didn’t realize until it was too late was that “Sports Enthusiast” actually translated to “Pickleball Fanatic”.

“Hold on, Mom,” you hear Rooster scoff as you pull the phone away from your ear. “I’m so sorry, there’s been a family emergency. It’s my grandmother. I really need to go,” you announce to Mac-Max grabbing your purse from the back of the chair. “Thank you so much for understanding. And good luck at your pickleball tournament!” you call back to him as you hustle towards the front door.

“I take it you’ve made your escape?” You can hear the humor in his voice, your antics are nothing new to him.

“Oh my god, was that seriously only thirty minutes? He wouldn’t stop talking about pickleball, Rooster. Anytime I tried to change the subject, he found a way to circle right back to it!” You tell him as you attempt to dig your keys out from where they were buried in your bag. “And then, he pulled up the leg of his jeans and said, I kid you not: ‘Don’t worry, this isn’t an ankle monitor, I’m just wearing my ankle weights.’ Who does that?”

“Just come to the Hard Deck. You should have canceled like I told you to in the first place. Bob and Coyote got back the other day, so everyone’s here. Well, almost everyone,” he says pointedly. “We’re more fun anyways. And Hangman has been harassing me about you, something about your fluke of a win?”

You’d kicked Jake’s ass the last time you played darts with him. Although in his defense, he had been pretty drunk that night and it was a less than fair game since Phoenix would distract him while Fanboy moved your darts on the board.

You wouldn’t be challenging him to a rematch anytime soon. Not unless the odds were in your favor, it was better to keep him on his toes and his ego in check.

Thankful for the princess parking you managed to snag when you first arrived, you unlock your car and toss your bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. Breathing out a sigh of relief to be done with Mac-Max once inside.

“You back in your car yet?” Rooster asked. He was such a worrier, but you can’t say it bothered you. You liked knowing he cared.

“Yeah, just got in.”

“Ok good, see you in a few. Drive safe, kid.”

Thirty minutes later Natasha was sliding a cold, frothy pint in front of you with a sympathetic look.

It wasn’t too busy at the Hard Deck yet, but it was still early in the evening. You knew it would pick up soon, and before long Penny would be ringing her bell on some rowdy unsuspecting customer.

“Ankle weights?” She asked, trying and failing to keep from laughing at your expense.

“Seriously, Rooster?” you shoot a glare in his direction, “Where’s the loyalty?”

“What? She was right there when I called you. A request that was your idea, if you remember,” he said as he walked up to you, squeezing your shoulder before sliding his arm around you in greeting. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t already tell Phoenix about all your escapades. You really know how to pick ‘em, kid.”

You’ve known Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw since before you had braces back when you were still wearing your hair in two braids. Your moms had been on the school PTA together at the time and had hit it off immediately.

He hadn’t been too happy about being forced to hang out with the kid who was couple years younger than him, especially one who was so clearly enamored with the cute older boy. While you’d outgrown that phase, for the most part, somethings stuck- like the nickname.

And over the years you’d formed your own bond outside of the forced proximity of your mothers’ friendship.

He’d taught you how to throw a punch, the different ways to pitch a baseball, and to drive a stick shift. You’d taught him how to whistle with his fingers, to play Nerts, and to tie a tie (after asking your dad to teach you).

The give and take was easy with him, you both showed up for the other.

You were there the night he drunkenly fell through the glass patio door at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party. As one of the only sober people there since he wouldn’t let you drink, or let anyone else give you alcohol for that matter, you were the one to take him to the ER. “Don’t worry, kid,” he had slurred, pressing the Washington High t-shirt that you’d found in your trunk to his face to stop the bleeding, “Looks s’worse than it feels.” And you were the one to stay with him as he was stitched up. The evidence of that night still unmistakable on his face.

He was there for you when your parents had sat you down and told you they were getting a divorce. A hurricane of angst and grief, you hadn’t left your room for anything other than school for over a week when he’d let himself in your room one afternoon. Rubbing small circles on your back as he’d let you cry for a bit, he didn’t even tease you about the stains you’d left behind on his shirt. And then he’d herded you into his crappy car and drove you to the slightly sketchy amusement park an hour away with the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant corndogs. And when he’d told you “It’s going to be ok, kid” on the ride back home, you believed him.

You had been there for him when his mom passed, and all during that dark period after when he was set on self-destruction after his fallout with Maverick. While he had tried to push everyone away, you were always the type to hold on tightly to the people that mattered.

And then life had sent you on different directions. First when he went to college and then when you did. Next for him the Navy, and then you with your own career, both of you always in motion. You two shared a connection the way people with a long history do, the kind where you could go months without talking but knowing the other person is always right there if you need them. Your camaraderie sustained by texts, email, and the occasional FaceTime.

A long-distance friendship for over a decade.

So when your boss had approached you about a promotion that was dependent on you relocating to the West Coast, you thanked whatever kismet in the universe had you packing for San Diego where he was permanently stationed.

The break up with your boyfriend at the time was entirely too amicable considering how long you had been together. He was nice, the sex was nice, your life together was nice. You had all but signed the paperwork for your promotion when you told him, but he didn’t see himself as a west-coaster and you couldn’t envision yourself as anything but. Whether you had stayed together all that time out of convenience or complacency, you still couldn’t say.

It was easy to fall back into the comfort of your friendship with Rooster. Although the lanky teen you had known was replaced with a mustache sporting well-built man courtesy of the Navy. One that had left you feeling confusingly flustered on more than one occasion, and forced to cycle through your mental highlight reel of embarrassing teen Rooster moments to keep from your mind from wandering.

He’d helped you find your apartment, taught you about avoiding the 15 Northbound, and showed you where the best place in town to get tacos was. The transition was made easy with him by your side as he introduced you to his team members who quickly folded you into their group as one of their own.

That was a little over a year ago. You liked this new life of yours in San Diego.

And while the dating pool of men you could swipe through was much larger, well, some things never changed.

“You don’t get it, Rooster. You’re surrounded by absurdly hot Naval eye candy all day,” you complained gesturing to Natasha, she raised her beer to you as thanks in response. “While you’re getting women throwing themselves at you because of the gold wings, I’m fighting for my life on these stupid apps where all the men on there are posing with fish. It’s brutal!”

You’d need to officially call things off with Max-Mac later, thinking to yourself how glad you were that you never gave him your real number, and instead signing up for a Google voice number. You were just not cut out for the competitive pickleball lifestyle.

“Bradshaw, why don’t you set her up? It’s not like we don’t know enough people who would be better options than these fish men,” Natasha asked, like it was the most logical thing in the world, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, Bradshaw. Tell Nat your super logical reasons for leaving your longtime friend to fend for herself.” You knew where this was heading, so you took a long swig of the beer Phoenix had brought you.

“Seriously, not this again.” His arm that was around you was removed in favor for pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up to the ceiling like it would spare him from the conversation.

“You started it, now tell her.”

“I need another damn drink if we’re going to do this,” Rooster mumbled.

“Me too,” chimed Natasha, clearly reveling in his misery.

“Make that three. I need to catch up.” You hadn’t even stuck around long enough to get a drink at the restaurant, and now you were ready to let loose a bit.

He grunts out some unintelligible thing and then stalks off to the bar shaking his head.

“I’m an upstanding citizen, I pay my taxes, I make a mean peanut butter brownie, and I always drive him around when the Bronco is in the shop for a tune up. It’s literally the least he could do,” you say to Phoenix as you watch him chat with Penny as she works to grab the fresh bottles.

“Oh, so this is thing,” Natasha says decidedly when she eyes the six beers he’s carrying back to the table, three bottles held by the neck in each of his large hands. His classic Hawaiian shirt fluttering with every step, your eyes briefly drifting down to his defined waist.

“Sure is,” you confirm, drawing out the word. Downing the rest of the beer from your pint glass before reaching for one of the new bottles Rooster was divvying out amongst your trio, “I’ve never asked him for anything-”

“That is a boldfaced lie. And you know it,” he cuts in, as he hands you a granola bar from his pocket, that he must have snagged from Penny. “You definitely asked me to set you up with Kyle Cooke from my baseball team in high school. I didn’t do it then, and I’m not doing it now,” he declared, pointing at you with an accusatory finger to further drive the statement home.

“Reasons being?” Natasha wheedled, a mischievous smirk on her face. You could tell she was eating this up, there were two things Natasha Trace loved most in this world: juicy gossip and giving Rooster a hard time.

Ever the showman, he dramatically lifts up a finger, “First of all, everyone I know is an asshole.”

“I am offended on Bob’s behalf,” you countered, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite, annoyed. Hangman might fit the description, but certainly not Bob.

“Two,” he continues on, raising a second finger, and ignoring you completely as if you hadn’t just made a very valid point, “Let’s say I set you with a friend and then you end up hating them. Then you’ll judge me for being friends with them, we’ll argue, and eventually we won’t be friends anymore. Or even worse, I set you up with someone, you hit it off and date for a while. What happens when you break up? I’m left having to pick sides and walk on eggshells around you guys about the other person.”

“God, you’re such a overthinker. That all sounds totally rational, you drama queen,” you look to Phoenix for agreement, but she’s busy typing out a text message on her phone.

“And three, it’s messy as fuck. And I don’t need to hear about your trophy of a one-night stand.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “That was one time! It wasn’t a trophy it was a gold medal.”

“Wait, what?” Confusion coloring Natasha’s features.

“One time this guy gave me one of those plastic gold medal things on a lanyard, kind of like the ones they give out at kids soccer games, after we hooked up. I mean, kicked him out right away, but I did keep the medal. It was a good confidence boost,” you shrug. It wasn’t exactly a high point moment for you.

After that encounter you’d definitely started scrutinizing every profile a bit harder before swiping right, or at least you thought you had been. In your defense, at least Max-Mac’s profile didn’t have a fish photo, but the bar was still clearly on the ground.

“I knew you when you wore those shirts with that big mouthed monkey on them. And that’s the kind of shit I don’t need to know about. I don’t wanna be involved. Not gonna happen, kid,” his declaration resolute.

“Well, that sure is something, Bradshaw,” Natasha states, giving him a curious look.

“What are y’all over here discussing so intently,” Hangman questions as he saddles up to your little group, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“We were just getting into the finer details of the kid’s dating life and how I am going to fix it by setting her up with this great guy I know,” she pronounces, looking all too pleased with herself. A truly self-satisfied grin gracing her face.

Natasha Trace was probably the most bad ass person you’ve ever met, so the idea of her setting you up with someone had you sitting up straighter on the stool you were seated on, “Really?”

“Who?” Rooster demands, frowning at her.

“Yeah, I mean Bradshaw clearly has his convictions, and I respect that. However, I’m an excellent wing-woman. Seriously, I don’t know why I haven’t thought about introducing you guys before. You two would be perfect together.”

Hangman never one to miss an opportunity to rile up Rooster is quick to jump in, “Just because you fly in a two-seater doesn’t make you a good wing-woman, Phoenix. However, now that you mention it, I have a buddy who might knock your socks off. Unless you’d rather just knock boots, I’m sure he’d be up for whatever you wanted,” he shooting you a wink. “I think I’ll toss my name in the ring here too. After all, I’m very good.”

“You want to make it a bet, Bagman?” Her accent always got a little more pronounced when she went toe to toe with him.

“What’re you thinkin’, Darlin’?” he drawls suggestively with a sharp smile. That ever-present toothpick being rolled in his mouth from side to side.

“You guys are not going to be making bets around the kid’s love life,” Rooster snaps.

“The big dogs are talking, Bradshaw,” Hangman taunts as he waves him off.

“$50 entry? The dates happen here and at the end the kid picks which date was the best. Winner takes all?” You can see the competitive gleam in her eye.

“Alright, alright. Works for me, Phoenix. I can’t wait to take your money.”

“The hell you are,” Rooster barks, still trying to regain control of the quickly spiraling situation.

Well, this had certainly taken a turn.

You find yourself reaching for your third beer of the night.

And you’re even more surprised when Hangman hollers for the rest of the team to join, and before you know it your dating life takes centerstage as the subject of the bet between the group of competitive naval aviators. Many of the others deciding to join in, never ones to shy away from a bit of rivalry.

“What do you say? You up for it?” Natasha asks, wanting to make sure you were still on board now that her original offer had taken on a life of its own.

You look over and see Rooster looking at you like you’d be crazy to get involved in their kind of chaos. You know he can already tell what your answer will be.

“Why not?” you agree cheerily as he groans into his beer.

At least you would be spared from swiping for a while. It’s what you deserve, you are an upstanding citizen after all.

Get ready for some dates! Part 2

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me bounce ideas off of you!

Edit: I’ve started a tag list for Part 2! Just let me know if you’d like to be added!

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #love is in the air tgm #like i can tgm

3K notes · View notes

natasharomanoffismywife · 1 month

Text

I'm Not Like Everybody Else (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Back to masterlist

Tag List: @mxxnmocha @madamevirgo @fl0ating @natasha-danvers @lesbian-x-blackwidow @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @summergeezburr @natashasfirefly @sighsam @nowthisisliving27 @captain-josslett @hcartbyheart @stop-drop-and-drumroll @tribblemakingalicorn @aaron-despair @becka107 @peggycarter-steverogers @rooskaya-yelena @cpt-bolter @natashadeservedmore @indiavance555 @thewidowsghost @waltermis

Word Count:825

Natasha Romanoff POV

“I’m bored Tasha… spar with me?”

“No”

“Watch a movie with me?”

“No”

“But I’m boreddd Natasha… you need to entertain me!”

“Go annoy your girlfriend Yelena, I am not moving from this spot for the rest of today. It’s my only rest day I’ve had in the last 2 weeks so please just let me do nothing in peace.” I say to my frustrated sister, having just come back from back-to-back missions I am addiment on not moving for the duration of my day off today.

“ugh Kate Bishop is busy with old man Barton today and I really can’t be bothered to be nice to him at the moment, I have to much energy for that.” Yelena groans as she slumps down onto the sofa next to me, I can’t help smirking at the little nickname she has for Clint something that I will have to repeat back to him at some point.

I go to answer Yelena but the noise of the common room door opening and an unfamiliar female voice grabs my attention, both myself and Lena turn to face the newcomer who is walking beside a smiling Steve and once my eyes meet her e/c ones I instantly am blown away by her natural beauty.

“Hey Nat, Yelena, please meet our new team member Y/N L/N. She’s come highly recommended by Hill and Fury so please make her feel welcome” Steve informs us with a smile on his face, I hear Yelena introduce herself with a nice welcome but I am not paying attention to what she is saying instead I am taken back by the blinding smile that adorns our newcomers face.

“Hey L/N nice to meet you, looks like Thor has competition for being the best-looking Avenger” I finish my sentence with a cheeky wink, my smirk falls slightly when I notice that Y/n was not blushing like most women would and judging by the little chuckle coming from the annoying blonde next to me it seems Yelena has noticed that as well.

I watch as Y/n gives me a polite smile before being ushered out of the room by a talkative Steve, I follow the girl with my eyes and once she is out of my eye line, I turn to Yelena who seems to be dying of laughter.

“Oh my god! She didn’t even say anything! Wow Nat you seem to have lost your touch” I roll my eyes at the tease before punching my sister hard in the arm, grinning victoriously I turn and walk out of the room leaving my pouting sister all alone.

That first meeting was about 3 months ago and it’s safe to say my attempts at flirting with Y/n has not gone down well, I have been using my trademark Romanoff charm and all I get is a smile and a nod not someone who giggles and fawns over me like everyone else does and I have had enough!

I stomp to Y/n’s bedroom and after knocking on the door I am greeted with a warm smile, something that instantly makes me melt into a puddle. I gaze into her e/c eyes fully aware that I am sporting a dreamy smile but I couldn’t care less, I am happy to be in the presence of this goddess.

“Are you alright Natasha? You’ve not moved since I’ve opened the door?” A look of concern etched onto Y/n’s face as she softly speaks to me, I am snapped back into reality at her voice and not thinking I just go for it.

“Why don’t you respond to my flirting? I am trying my hardest to get you like me but you aren’t giving me anything! I am giving you the Black Widow treatment most people would kill for that!” I vomit out, I cringe to myself as I am speaking but I just can’t stop myself.

“I’m not like everyone else I don’t respond to flirting; I much prefer to spend time with a person and get to know them. I don’t want the Black Widow; I want to know the real Natasha Romanoff.” Y/n softly says making me nod along with her words, how dumb am I? why didn’t I think about this.

“I’m sorry Y/n I’ve spent my whole life around people who just want the Black Widow that I didn’t think some people would want to know Natasha instead. Can we start over? Hi my name is Natasha Romanoff” I say with a soft smile, I put my hand out in front of me and I squeal internally when I feel the soft hand of Y/n slip inside it.

“Nice to meet you Natasha, my name is Y/n L/n pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Y/n softly tells me with a big smile on her face.

“Would you do me the honour of coming out to dinner with me tonight?”

“I couldn’t think of anything better Romanoff”

#i'm not like everybody else #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff

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erenthology · 1 year

Text

Underground boxer Eren

Underground boxer Eren. You’re on tour with his team. They travel in his private plane and stay in different hotels while traveling through the states. Both are around the ages 20-23. This is basically “real” by Katy evans. Happy belated birthday Eren🖤 this is a messy filler-ish post, his real birthday fic coming out soon. I’ve had to cover shifts so I haven’t had the time to proofread and post. (Adhd brain)

Tw(?)Eren has a soft spot for reader. He’s a perv. They act like a couple but reader thinks Eren is just being nice. Eren is delusional. Reader is naive. Smut, Slight dub-con. Aftercare is slightly mentioned. Obsessive, possessive Eren. He’s immature. Very touchy. Let me know if I should add to this! Not proofread so there will be mistakes. Enjoy!

“Oh, there she is” Eren turns his head in amusement mid convo but stops in his tracks when he meets your eyes

Boxer!Eren who falls obsessively in love with the new sports rehab specialist on his team. He said he didn’t want one but Armin, his manger, insisted. thank god

Boxer!Eren who immediately tells Armin to place your seat next to his on the private plane.

“Need my sports therapist today, Armin. Send her to me.” “Eren, she’s a sports REHAB specialist.”

Boxer!Eren who knockouts his opponents to impress you

Boxer!Eren looks for you in the crowd during every fight to catch your reactions

Boxer!Eren who gets mad when you talk to the other staff. You’re supposed to be there for him

Boxer!Eren who deliberately gets hit in the rink when he’s feeling deprived of attention so he’ll get you to touch him

Boxer!Eren who forces you hold his hand when walking down the lobby since guys were fucking staring at you (they’re literally staring at Eren since they’re there for him)

Boxer!Eren almost cums in his pants when you show up one day in a too short a short skirt and tank top! He tries to look you in the face when you tell him good morning but he just can’t when your tits are right in his face

Boxer!Eren who’s feeling very, very possessive and semi freaks out all day, sending death glares to anyone who dares to stare. He even tries to cover your smaller frame with his body.

Boxer!Eren makes sure you feel his hips slightly pushing into your back when he’s reaching for something above your head, eyefucking you through staff meetings, charming you with compliments throughout the day. “You look like an angel, ya know that?” Using his panty melting smile that he knows has an affects on the ladies. Right??

Boxer!Eren who sometimes does things like run his hand through your hair in public so it’ll look like you’re a couple to any passerby’s. “What’re you doing?” “Hm?” He bends forwards as if he couldn’t hear you. “Oh, you just had something in your hair” sneaky fucker

Boxer!Eren ask’s if he can have some of your water? His is literally on the side. And makes sure to brush his fingers against yours when you give him your bottle with a bright smile on your face. He wants to kiss you on the spot.

Boxer!Eren is having the worst day. You’ve been laughing with Armin for 10 minutes straight. 10 minutes. Do you like him or something? He aggressively makes it known that he’s upset and decides not to speak to either of you. Didn’t last a second.

Boxer!Eren who tries to be in your proximity at all times. jumps at every opportunity to carry your luggage, walk you to your room, joining your morning walks. The guys tease him about his changed behavior when he’s around you but he doesn’t give a fuck. He likes to imagine you’re a couple already <3

“Alright [name], let me know when you’re done. I’ll wait for you” he waves, absolutely lovestruck.

“Eren do you have time to look over this real quick?” Jean asks

“Fuck off”

Boxer!Eren who had flowers delivered to your room and only gets a pat on the shoulder and a “thank you, Eren.. you’re such a great boss to your staff” back. Are you that fucking oblivious? He just wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you til you understand you’re his. Instead he forces a smile, “I’ll buy you whatever you want, baby.” And he certainly doesn’t miss the way you instantly start playing with your hair. Oh? Did he just make you nervous?

Boxer!Eren who’s finally had enough and books you into a two bedroom suit with him. “incase he needs to rehabilitate at night.”

Boxer!Eren who fantasizes the whole time about you to sucking him off to help him ease from all the stress. Or better yet bury his head in between your thighs. He just can’t stand being so close to you knowing you’re barely in any clothing, you know? …What do you wear to bed anyway? He needs to know.

Boxer!Eren who then knocks on your hotel door that night and ask’s if he can sleep with you :(

Boxer!Eren who said he just wants to cuddle but slowly pushes his knee between your thighs, rutting his hips into yours while holding you. “Wha-what’re you doing?” “[name] you feel so good,” inhaling your scent. “please just..just let me?” he pants, lips brushing your neck. Delighted with happiness when you nod.

Boxer!Eren who turns you onto your stomach, splays his larger hand on your back, slowly dry humping and tugging on your hair. The sight of you helplessly under him almost makes him cum on the spot

Boxer!Eren put you onto his lap mid-make out. pushing his hand into your panties with gentle touches. “Feels good? He ask’s when you moan into his kisses. “Yeah? you want my fingers in you?” The sight of you disheveled makes him go crazy. Harshly repeating the word “mine” again, and again against your lips.

Boxer!Eren who finally gets you on your knees in front of him, looking like you’re ready to do anything he pleases. Not a thought to play around with..

Boxer!Eren who’s been groping and touching all night. He’s currently sucking on your tits while jerking himself off against your entrance. “never been this hard before, please baby, lemme put it in. need you” he kisses until you give in

Boxer!Eren who whispered sweet nothings but literally folds you in half as he presses into you. He just can’t help himself. The sounds of his balls slapping against your skin and a mixture of your strangled noises fill up the room. He moves inside you, over you, into you. “fuck, fuck yes, like that, baby. You’re so good for me.”

Boxer!Eren who thanks you with a kiss on the forehead and whispers how good you’ve been for him. Then cradles you to sleep in his arms.

Boxer!Eren is delighted when he wakes up with your soft but pressed against his morning wood. Nuzzling his face into your neck. He smiles to himself. Knowing he’ll visit your room every night. You’re his to take care of from now on.

Xoxo

#I’m definitely gonna add to this+redo and edit #but here ya go!#I love Eren incase anyone was questioning it #attack on titan eren #eren yeager #snk eren #just in the clouds for eren #clouds for eren #eren smut #eren #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren jaeger smut

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wonijinjin · 5 months

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my human charger

author’s note: this is part of the 200 followers event

synopsis: when cheol gets tired he needs his charger to connect with him.

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, humour/crack | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: none

“mingyu i am open! toss it to me!” cheol screamed as mingyu had the basketball in his hands, standing in the corner of the court, trying to dodge his opponent from the other team. “scoups, catch!” the tall man shouted as he threw the red ball in the direction of his teammate, him catching it in his large hand with ease. some of the boys were playing basketball on the court of the park since the weather was nice and they wanted to let off some of the steam that had been building up in many of them with the upcoming new music releases. they loved playing different sports, and you had seen your boyfriend cheol do many of them with the others, but it was your first time actually witnessing the brilliance of his skills in a game of basketball.

now, you were not the best at ball games, especially since you had no sense of direction at all, resulting in you getting hit in the face by the round object many times while the others tried to teach you. this is why you chose to be a spectator most of the time, getting fed up with trying endless times, accepting that you were definitely not made to be an athlete unlike some of the group’s members. “let’s take a break, alright?” hoshi said after scoring yet another point in the game, all of the men looking extra exhausted by running around for such a long time. you watched as cheol jogged down to the side, and went up to him. “you did so well dear!” you claimed while giving him a chaste kiss as a reward for his hard work. “i honestly don’t understand how you manage to hold that big thing in only one hand, you caught it so smoothly!” you wondered, amazed. he stayed silent for a moment, grabbing your hand and lacing it with his, comparing their sizes. “now this is why i can catch it, love.” he giggled “my hand is way bigger than yours.” he continued explaining like it wasn’t obvious; his hands were always huge, you loved how yours fit into his when walking around the city, or how when he cupped your cheeks you could feel more at ease, his long thumb stroking the apple of them lightly before kissing you softly. you laughed at him, grinning. “i love your hands.” he kissed yours, still laced with his fingers. “i know darling.” he chuckled, breaking the bond and starting to fan himself, sweaty from the game. “you are still sweating like crazy even though you are on break. this game is intense, huh?” you joked, seeing how he almost got embarrassed for a minute, but his witty mind was faster. “yes, i am exhausted. i need to recharge my energy.” he stated while spreading his arms to trap you in a hug; it was common for him to cling to you when feeling tired, and this day was not an exception. “seungcheol if you hug me i swear to god i will go home! i’m feeling hot aswell already, don’t need your body heat and sweat!” you whined, trying to run away. “i will cry.” he said causally, and you knew he would actually do it out of spite, however you couldn’t help but giggle. “is that meant to be a threat?” you smirked. “cheol you are not scary, you literally pout like a sulky puppy.” you wheezed, giving in to his embrace anyways, hugging him tightly and staying like that for a while, craving the touch just as much as he did.

#wonijinjin #caratsland #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #fluff #scoups #seventeen scoups #seventeen seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol x reader #seung

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mockerycrow · 3 months

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KARMA (Soap x Fem!HockeyPlayer!Reader)

soap masterlist

summary; you’re a hockey player, but you’re also johnny’s girlfriend. johnny comes to a realization after watching you get into a fight. 1.2k words!

authors note; this is not exactly what i envisioned, but it’s what i wrote. enjoy :-)

[WARNINGS: reader is implied to be a buff woman, violence, light blood and gore, suggestive content at the end.]

You and Johnny first met at a pub whilst he was on leave. He saw you from across the bar counter, looking up at a TV mounted above the bartender and sipping on something he doesn’t care to remember. What he does remember is you.

God, Johnny never believed falling in love at first sight and he still doesn’t, but holy hell did you stir something within him. Sitting there, back straight with your eyes glued to the TV, fidgeting with something circular, perhaps a coin, between your fingers. The way your bicep is bulging from the tight circumference of the short t-shirt sleeve…

Johnny wasn’t sure what exactly prompted him to talk to you, he definitely already came to the conclusion that you were likely going to just turn him away but holy shit, he’s damned if he left without trying to strike a conversation. Johnny ends up tilting his head, downing the rest of his drink for confidence before slipping into the seat next to you.

That day, Johnny learned that you were a pro hockey player for the professional women’s hockey team back in North America. Honestly, Johnny was surprised but more so by the sport and not the fact that you played one. You told him you were visiting someone here in Scotland, a friend—helping them move while your contract was being figured out. The more you talked, the more Johnny assured himself that it was absolutely a requirement to know you on some level.

Your voice captured his attention, your smile made his stomach tighten and bloom with warmth—even if he couldn’t convince you to go on a date with him, Johnny honestly would be just fine with being only friends. As long as he has a female hockey player in his contacts list, he’d be alright. You find out Johnny likes a bit of hockey himself, mostly paying attention to the international ice hockey federation. After learning that, to Johnny, he could see the way your eyes lit up.

Yes, you did agree to a date with this grinning man. Maybe quite a few dates.

Johnny found himself on his phone way more often whilst waiting with his team to be deployed. Constantly texting you, calling you, the whole nine yards. It earned him some glances and teasing from Ghost and Gaz, even his Captain—but he could tell his boys were happy for him. Johnny seemed more relaxed, laid back instead of his pent up self.

A couple months into the relationship, Johnny was finally able to file for vacation related leave. He was excited—secretly so was Price, as Johnny doesn’t really file for leave often—and you were ecstatic. It took a second to figure out arrangements, at the end of the day you insisted for Johnny to stay with you. Why stay in a hotel room when your spare bedroom is free? He was so reluctant, but you were so insistent with it.

“I have a practice game in a few hours,” You informed Johnny as you opened your refrigerator, taking out two cold water bottles stuffed somewhere in the door. You let the refrigerator door close by itself, and you tossed one of the bottles to Johnny. “Was thinkin’ you could come and watch?”

Johnny grinned, his lip curling ever so slightly where it exposes his top gum near his canine. “I would love to watch ye practice!” Johnny was enthusiastic with it; he’s being truthful, he’s been wanting to watch you in person. Johnny spent a couple nights binge watching the recorded games you played in on YouTube, which honestly was a slight mistake. You are a good player, great actually—but it always stirs something deep in his gut. Something about you bodying another player, even if it warrants a penalty… Gets him hot and sweaty, honestly.

That’s how Johnny found himself sitting in a seat right by the glass, a few feet away from your team’s bench. Tension filled his veins, making his shoulders rise to ears watching you, your team, and the practice enemy team skate around on the ice. The sounds of shouts, sticks slamming against each other as well as the ice, the collisions are harsh. Johnny’s been watching you for a while, keeping his eyes on that jersey of yours and he’s been noticing you’ve been slamming into this other woman.

Before bringing him to practice, you gave him a rundown of your team's roster, as well as the opposite teams. You overall had good things to say about nearly everyone, a smile on your face as you point to different people’s faces on the league’s website. Johnny watched the way your face contorted when you got to this one woman, though. He understands most beef stays on the ice, but the way you spoke about her? Johnny could tell there was something that remained on and off ice. You told him she’s “female Tom Wilson” which made him wince a bit.

So, when he witnessed you collide with that woman for the third time in one practice match, he wasn’t too shocked to see your gloves fly off. “Holy–” Johnny swears, standing up from his seat. His hands shoot to his head, holding it as he hears shouts and whistles blowing. Your hand is crumpled in the woman’s jersey, both your helmet and hers missing. Johnny’s heart is pounding in his chest, his arms feeling heavy as both you and the woman slam into the glass right in front of him.

He reaches forward and bangs on the glass, his eyes widening as he watches your fist make contact with her face square in the middle. Johnny winces as he nearly swears that he could hear her nose crunching under the weight of your fist through the glass. He’s not surprised when drops of blood splatter against the glass, but he still yells your name nonetheless. Part of Johnny is worried, knowing you’re against the woman who usually starts and wins fights, but.. You seem to be holding your own just fine.

Your fist pulls back and makes contact with her face over and over, blood smearing and snarls until a couple of your teammates pull you away from her by your arms. Johnny’s eyes are glued to you as your teammates skate you backwards from the woman, following the curve of the arena. The woman is on her hands and knees on the ice, a couple of her own teammates checking on her. Johnny just barely glanced at how there’s a dripping puddle of blood forming underneath her face because he can’t stop looking at you.

A feral snarky look on your face, your nose bleeding and bashed, blood dripping from your nose to your teeth, from your lower lip onto your jersey. Your left eyebrow is torn open and so is your upper lip. There’s blood splattered across your knuckles, which are surely broken open and bruised themselves.

Johnny hits the glass, his heart pounding but it skips an entire beat when you make eye contact. His breath stutters in his chest and Johnny’s cursing himself under his breath because his job must have caused wires to cross in his brain.

You look so.. Fucking hell. Johnny feels himself chubbing up in his jeans, a hot shot of arousal shooting down his spine. Your ferality is making his head spin and he shouldn’t be as turned on as he is from the way you spit a mixture of blood and spit onto the ice, being skated away and into the locker room, followed by your team’s medic and an angry coach.

Johnny presses his forehead against his palms, trying to calm his racing heart, his lewd mind, and his cock.

🏷️; @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @lieutenantlashfaz @fiveshotsofjager @queen-leviathan @eedwardss @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @live-love-be-unique @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp

click here to be added to my tag list! if you are here but not tagged, it’s your settings. tagged and you don’t want to be/mistakenly tagged? let me know! no hard feelings.

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disneyprincemuke · 5 months

Text

could've been * fem!driver au

where logan decided to make a move on her after her confession instead of ignoring his feelings and eventually getting over it

notes: I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST OF THE LOGAN X FEMDRIVER I'M SORRY THEY HAVE CONSUMED MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT

this is a one-off fic im sorry i'll be back to regularly scheduled fem!driver content huhuhuhu

(series masterlist)

-> bahrain, 2023

a knock makes her look up from her phone before the door is pushed open. "logan," she smiles widely, scrambling to get up her beanbag seat as she jumps over to him. "you managed to get away from alex without him asking where you're going?"

"barely," logan answers tiredly. "he's taking on that big brother role very seriously."

she laughs before reaching out to close the door behind him. "you look so pretty," logan grins, arms wrapping around her as she approaches him. "purple is your colour."

"blue has always been yours," she smiles up at him, grabbing the material of his race suit as she pulls him into her, "but do you know where i prefer your race suits?"

logan hums in response, tilting his head as he willingly leans into her. "on the ground," she whispers before their lips meet.

lost in their kiss, they don't even hear the doorknob to her driver's room open. there, oscar and sebastian stand with scowls on their faces as they're greeted by the sight.

"you've got to be more discreet if you don't want anybody finding out about your relationship," oscar scowls, walking into the room as he sips on his water bottle.

"hater," she mutters with a roll of her eyes, pulling away from logan. "god forbid i kiss my boyfriend in the comfort of my own driver's room?"

"we wouldn't be here asking you guys to cut it out if james hadn't asked us to confirm again your involvement with one another as we walked here," sebastian sighs, shaking his head. he looks at his driver, hands on his hips as he shoots her a disapproving look. "you've got to be more careful."

"okay, i'm sorry," she sighs, shrugging her shoulders.

"i don't get it," oscar frowns. "people are clearly okay with you guys being mega best friends or something. why not just tell everyone you're dating?"

"it was already a struggle for me to get into f1. imagine what people would say if they find out i'm shagging another driver?"

"ew, i don't need that picture in my head," oscar sighs, taking a seat on her beanbag. he looks at logan with a scowl. "what are you even doing in her driver's room? don't you have a team to be with?"

logan shrugs with a giddy smile. he leans on the table. "i'm on lunch break. nobody's gonna question me coming to see her - i've been doing that since we were in f4. everyone knows that."

"yeah, but they're not stupid," oscar rolls his eyes, "you guys have been more touchy since f2."

"okay, enough with the debate. we'll be more careful and private," she says, hands in the air to cut the conversation short. "we're new to the sport, anyway. i guess we've really got to watch it if even james is asking."

logan shrugs. "fine, we'll be more careful."

sebastian claps after a moment of silence, before pointing at the door. "alright, gentleman. we've got a team meeting in like 5 minutes," he sighs. "i'm afraid i'll have to chase you away so i can be alone with my driver."

"aw, no goodbye kiss?" logan frowns, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her as sebastian forces him out of the room.

"no."

"not even a small one?" she teases, pouting her bottom lip out at sebastian as he successfully pushes logan out of the room.

sebastian sighs, closing the door as logan looks in to wave goodbye to her. "kid. you can handle being away from your boyfriend for like 30 minutes."

she smiles, shaking her head. "i know. i was just playing around."

"how you guys manage to hide your relationship for almost 2 years acting the way you do," sebastian mutters, "will always be a mystery to me."

"you'd be surprised how much people buy into the lie that we're just best friends because oscar is always with us," she smiles. "i guess it's kinda absurd to date someone you fight on the track with every other weekend."

sebastian raises an eyebrow. "you've never fought about that? really?"

she presses her lips together, deep in thought. "surprisingly, no. we're actually very good at drawing a line between us and whatever happens when we're in the car."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts

#vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #female driver #f1 female driver #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver

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linkspooky · 2 months

Text

So I was genuinely surprised last week when we were finally shown Megumi's mental state inside Sukuna and he was predictably at his lowest point ever, and instead of sympathy from the fans most of the responses on twitter I saw were people mocking him.

Which I am going to assume comes from a misunderstanding as his character. You see Megumi doesn't fit into the role of the black haired supporting protagonist / rival well. He's not Sasuke, he's not Uryu Ishida, he's not Yuno but he's not meant to be a rival or even a typical shonen character who's progress is only measured by a series of power ups. Megumi is perhaps one of the most subtly written characters in the manga, and perhaps he's hard to sympathize with because he doesn't fit into easy to udnerstand shonen tropes. Which is why I will try to explain his arc below and why Jujutsu Kaisen does it like no other manga currently running.

1. Meet Potential Man

Let me introduce you to the worst meme on twitter.

Megumi's inability to live up to his potential to reach his full power as a sorcerer is probably his biggest flaw, one that is rightfully called out by the narrative again and again, but apparently an intentionally written character flaw is bad writing.

It's covered in Gojo's "Swing for the fences" speech.

Gojo notices Megumi bunt in the baseball game and decides to confront him about it later. He highlights that while bunting is alright in baseball, and it's good to sacrifice yourself so your teammates can advance in a team sport that being a sorcerer is a solo sport. No matter what Megumi is going to reach a point where he's forced to fight alone, and instead of trying to push himself to be as strong as he can be he intentionally limits himself to cooperate with the sorcerers around him.

Basically, the opposite of Gojo who literally cannot fight with other sorcerers because he won't be able to fight at full strength as they just get in the way.

It's not just that Megumi can't use the ten shadows to its full potential, something pointed out by Sukuna, and then later again by Gojo, it's also that he always prioritizes either the group or someone else above himself when trying to decide how to act. Megumi is a semi-decent strategist so this is not necessarily a bad thing, but because of Megumi's tendency to care more about trying to live up to other people's expectations towards him, and what other people need of him rather than his own needs he doesn't have the attitude necessary for sorcery, especially since the strongest sorcerers don't take others into account at all and act like living calamities.

Megumi doesn't look at himself, he looks at the people around him. He judges himself based on what the people around him want from him, not what he wants. This is going to be a continual theme in his arc.

Sukuna is a living calamity, the definition of the attitude a strong sorcerer has, Gojo Satoru wields sorcerery only for himself, and is a sorcerer because he finds exorcising curses and using his god given talents to be fun for him.

Megumi's reason for fighting, his self worth, are all much, much less than the strongest characters in this series which is why he continually fails to live up to his potential. It's not because Gege is not good at writing or Megumi is a disappointing character, but rather he's been written as someone with tremendous potential under the pressure to live up to that potential but who continually fails to do so. Megumi's low self-esteem, low self-worth, and lack of self-identity explains both his failure to progress as a sorcerer something that requires selfishness and self-identity to reach greater heights in, but also his tendency to pick the suicide option with Mahoraga because Megumi genuinely believes compared to the others even just his classmates his life is simply worth less.

So potential man, is an intentionally written character flaw already called out in canon. The more interesting question is why does Megumi fail to live up to his potential.

2. Meet The Original Potential Man

So, I said that Megumi is not like a lot of characters in Shonen Jump but that doesn't mean he's entirely unique. To help explain Megumi's inability to live up to his potential I thought it would be helpful to compare him to a character he's clearly inspired by.

Killua Zoldyck, is the deuteragonist of a manga called hunter x hunter. You may have heard of it, Gege certainly has. Killua is born into a family of assassins who all have supernatural powers. The assassins inflict incredibly harsh training on their children from birth in order to raise them into assassins because their potential as assassins is all that matters. They also start with a "Z".

Killua is apparently the most talented Zen'in... I mean Zoldyck of this generation, though he's still young so he's weaker than his father and brother he's expected to easily surpass them one. Which is why Killua's family has already decided for him that he's going to be the next one to take over the family, Killua's opinion doesn't matter. Illumi and Silva are both setting him up for success by forcing their "help" upon him. Several other members of the family even point out that Killua probably doesn't have the attitude to be the head of the family, but what does it matter when he's got such great talent?

Killua is a complicated victim. He's a victim of many things, familial abuse is the most obvious one because the Zoldyck have a nasty habit of torturing their children, but the less obvious one is grooming. Not in a sexual sense, but rather the adults in Killua's life have decided to use their authority over him to manipulate him into becoming what they want him to be - the next head of the family.

What's insidious about this is the Zoldyck's don't just torture or beat Killua into submission, they will use any tool in their arsenal, familial love, emotional blackmail, threats, all to undermine Killua's agency and choices in order to make him not only do what they want to do but make him think he has to grow into the person they want him to.

Grooming not in a sexual sense, but definitely in a psychological sense, an adult using their authority as an adult over a child and their maturity to manipulate that child into becoming what they want them to be instead of letting that child grow naturally. When it's used in a sexual sense it's when an adult establishes a connection with a minor, and then uses that connection in the long-term to manipulate them into having a relationship and lower the child's inhibition. Think of that, but without the sexual part - an adult using their relationship with a child often in a long-term manipulation to lower the child's inhibitions and make them more malleable and raise them to do what you want them to do.

Killua has not been sexually groomed, but he has been groomed by both his parents and his brother to make him more suggestible to becoming the family head which is something he explicitly does not want to do. Not only did Killua's family only raise him for the purpose of becoming an assassin and taking over the family one day (raising him as a child into an adult, his emotional maturity, his health and well being are all secondary priorities to what Killua can do for his family) they also manipulate him into thinking he has no choice other than being an assassin.

Killua is a kid put through extremely harsh training from a young age, to do a horrible job that is being an assassin that doesn't let him make normal friends or have a normal life. On top of the physical abuse he's already endured, whenever he expresses a desire to do something else in his life, his parents send Illumi to emotionally manipulate him into thinking that not only is he a natural born killer, and therefore a bad person who deserves all the abuse he's been put through, to further convince him that his only path forward is to be an assassin.

Killua is a character who has a lot of power, but little agency. Agency, in fiction is the ability a character has to take action and make decisions for themselves. Despite Killua starting as a more powerful and more savvy character than Gon, he has little agency and is often very passive. He doesn't act, he reacts. Even running away from his family is a reaction. We don't really see what he wants in life, we just know that he looked at his family and went "NOT THAT". However, his entire identity is still formed in response to his family's abuse. Even when he gets farther away from them, Killua doesn't really do what he wants, he does what Gon wants, and follows around Gon.

However, it's very understandable why Killua doesn't act with a lot of agency, when Killua does try to make decisions his family always shows up to undermine him and make another attempt to emotionally manipulate him into doing what they want. It's not always Illumi showing up to spook him. Silva pretends to be a loving dad for five minutes and has a heart to heart conversation with his son, and lets his son go adventuring with his friends but that too is a manipulation. He only did so to make sure Killua would eventually come back, by giving Killua more positive memories that would make it harder to make the decision to leave the family.

With the extent that Killua's family goes to sabotage any decision he makes, it's no wonder Killua is so passive and afraid to make his own decisions. It's almost like a character flaw he's gotta work on.

Now here's where I'm going to blow your minds. Megumi is an incredibly similar character to Killua, they are both the victims of longterm grooming however people don't like to acknowledge Megumi's victimhood. That's because in Killua's case, his abuser looks and acts like this.

Killua's abuser Illumi is a creepy guy who looks like the girl from the grudge, telling him he's not allowed to make friends and giving off such rancid vibes that he's obviously a bad guy. Whereas, Megumi's groomer this this guy.

Gojo Satoru who is one of the most popular characters in the series, and who also gives speeches about how he wants to let children be able to live out their youths, which is why it's hard for the fandom to see that he has taken advantage of Megumi and stolen his youth away from him pretty much the same way that Silva / Illumi has for Killua.

Megumi, like Killua has no choice in who he wants to be when he grows up, or what kind of person he wants to grow into. Megumi, like Killua has been groomed for a young age and forced into an incredibly dangerous and life threatening job that he does not want to do, that denies him the chance of a normal life, and that does not really allow him to make many friends. Megumi is railroaded onto this path, not by his choice, but by Toji's choice, and later Gojo's choice... because he has potential. Megumi like Killua cannot leave his family and stop being a sorcerer, otherwise his little sister who is the only family member he cares about will be hurt.

Gojo doesn't show up with an evil aura looking like the grudge girl and telling Megumi that he doesn't have the right to make friends, and that he's inherently evil and a puppet that only exists to kill people though so it's harder to tell that Megumi is a victim of the same kind of grooming that has hurt Killua so thoroughly.

This is what I mean when I say a lot of Megumi's characterization flies over your head because his victimization is written really subtly. Gojo does the same thing that Illumi / Silva does to Killua, he may seem like a stand up guy compared to those two but Megumi has about as much choice about what he can do with his life that Killua has.

Not all grooming is Illumi showing up with his spooky eyes to intimidate and coerce Killua into submission. Silva shows up to give Killua the first fatherly talk he had in his life, and lets him go from the mansion.... not because he realized he was wrong for restricting Killua's life choices and giving him no choice but to become heir.

No, it was a ploy to guilt trip him into coming back because he knew if he held Killua there by force he'd just run away the next chance he got. Fear and intimidation wasn't working at keeping Killua in line, so they switched to love instead.

Gojo can encourage Megumi to make friends, let him hang out and spend time with Itadori, even honor his wish to save Itadori and in the end still be manipulating him into becoming a sorcerer and not letting Megumi choose what he wants to do with his life. Gojo just prefers the carrot to the stick.

This is something the databooks confirm, that Gojo hunts prospects like Yuta, Yuji and Megumi not out of the goodness of his heart, but because they are talented students he can recruit to his cause with the added bonus that by appearing as their savior, they "owe" him.

Megumi is also a character lacking in agency, he is someone who's had no agency his entire life and what little agency he did have was stolen away from him by the adults in his life.

Let's analyze Megumi's situation for a second. As soon as Megumama dies, Toji gives up on the idea of fatherhood entirely, and decides to sell his son, literally, like in the sense of human trafficking to be raised by the highly abusive Zen'in Clan.

However, before the deal could be completed his father died in the middle of a mission. Megumi apparently saw his father so little that he didn't recognize him on coming face to face with him years alter, which says a lot about what kind of role Toji played in Megumi's life before he was outright abandoned.

Not only does Megumi believe his father just left him to run away with his new wife (Megumi's stepmother and the mother of Tsumiki) but now he and Tsumiki had to live together in a household without supervision for an indeterminate amount of time and watch their money slowly run out.

When it looks like they're about to start starving, Gojo Satoru shows up to save the day.... or not.

Gojo seems like he's offering Megumi a choice, but it's a loaded one. There's no choice in this scenario where Megumi gets to be a normal kid. The option of calling social services so this orphaned child does not starve doesn't occur to him.

Megumi's options are a) go to the Zen'in Clan and be a sorcerer where Tsumiki will be abused, or b) be a sorcerer under me where Tsumiki will be safe. The unspoken part is that if Megumi rejects his offer not only will he just let the Zen'in Take him, he'll also probably just let Megumi starve. Megumi the uh six or so year old child at this point has to sign away the rest of his life as a sorcerer, and work in order to earn money to eat.

No adult is taking care of Megumi, no one is raising him, even the food and shelter Megumi is given comes with a price tag that he has to pay back by being a Jujutsu Sorcerer and attending Jujutsu High as a teenager. Gojo even kind of subtly uses Tsumiki as a hostage to get Megumi to join with his agenda, because his offer isn't really much better than the Zen'ins but he needs Megumi on his side because he needs to raise kids to be future allies to his political agenda.

At the tender age of six Megumi signed his life away to be a sorcerer and he hasn't looked back since. Considering his severe behavioral problems getting into fights constantly at school, I think it's safe to say Megumi is about as reluctant to be a sorcerer as Killua is an assassin.

Honestly, if Megumi had phrased it like this:

"I'm so tired of being a sorcerer, I just want to be a kid."

Megumi would have a lot more fans, and Gojo would have a lot of explaining to do, but I think the brilliance of Megumi's grooming is that it's not really as blatant as Killua's. Megumi doesn't talk out loud about how he wants to be a normal kid, he's just angry at the whole world, and prone to fits of violence because he's mentall unwell.

Another way in which he parallels Killua, by the way.

Megumi does not talk about his lost childhood out loud. Instead of knowing his thoughts on the matter, instead we are shown his behavior, the effects of having his childhood taken away from him and how unstable it makes him and left to ponder as the audience what Megumi himself thinks of this.

The same way that Illumi steals all of Killua's agency away, robbing him of the chance to be anything other than what the Zoldycks want him to be, so to does Gojo. It's just instead of Gojo using the stick, he uses the carrot. He is Megumi's benefactor, he's the savior, for whose help Megumi owes him, sort of like repaying a loan with interest.

Gojo tries to shape Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0. Or maybe a second Geto. That's more likely as it's Geto defection which inspires Gojo to go looking for him after neglecting to do anything about Megumi until a year after finding out about his existence. Gojo says that Megumi is going to have to work hard or else he'll be left behind, just days after Geto had left him behind. Megumi is helped by Gojo, he is protected from the clans by Gojo, he has been taken on missions alongside Gojo his entire life, Maki even refers to Megumi as a treasure that was raised carefully by him.

Gojo invests a lot of time and effort into Megumi and because of that Megumi is expected to "perform." However, he doesn't.

That's the thing, Megumi is supposed to be either Gojo or Geto 2.0 but he just can't be. THe reason why again is Agency. If Killua is limited because of his inability to decide for himself, then so to is Megumi b/c Nen and Cursed Technique Development both depend on things like imagination, ego and self-image to raise them up to their full potential.

However, Gojo has shot himself in the foot with regards to Megumi. Becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer requires a strong identity, but Gojo by sabotaging Megumi's agency and ability to decide for himself every step of the way has robbed Megumi of the chance to form that strong identity.

Megumi, just like Killua has no sense of self and instead both judges himself according to others, how he meets their expectations, how he measures up to them - he also glorifies others while constantly putting himself down.

Megumi doesn't give speeches about how Yuji is like pure light, but he also refuses to let Yuji out of his sight post Shibuya, and even says it'd be better to be killed by Sukuna alongside Yuji if Sukuna does take over.

In the Chimera Ant Arc Killua defines all of his self-worth around being useful to Gon, and beats himself up for not being able to measure up to him - because Killua has no sense of self his selfhood has always been undermined by his family who wanted to make him more suggestible to what they wanted.

Megumi is flippant with his own life and very willing to lay down his life for another's sake, because Megumi has very little agency in his life and has been taught by both Gojo and his circumstances that he himself and what he wants does not matter. Megumi doesn't fight fate, and fight for what he wants because he's already been shot in the kneecaps by both Toji's abandonment, and Gojo Satoru, and he's having a difficult time just trying to stand with bullets in his knees.

Maybe, the reason Megumi is so willing to risk his life to summon Mahoraga and sacrifice himself if he thinks it will help his allies is because Megumi has been forced into a job where he's gonig to be expected to sacrifice his life for the greater good since the tender age of six years old and therefore everything in life has conspired to tell him his life is worth less than others.

Yuji isn't the first person in story to think of himself as a cog, that's Megumi. He doesn't even need Shibuya to beat him down to accept the cog mindset, Megumi is already there at the beginning of the story.

I think a lot of misunderstanding of Megumi's character comes from the fact that his grooming is more subtle and insidious, and not as blatant as Killua's, and also that it's done by a character well-liked by the fandom. However, if Megumi has all the same symptoms of Killua then it's logical to deduce that they share the same trauma

Even Megumi's summoning of Mahoraga has a tie to Killua.

There's a pattern of KIllua running away from stronger opponent that's established in HXH that's eventually revealed to be because of a needle that Illumi inserted directly into Killua's brain to mind control him to run if he faced someone that was too much of a threat.

Obviously, that's just continuing the metaphor of the fact that Killua isn't able to believe in himself to face people who are stronger, because Illumi has been constantly putting him down his entire life.

Isn't this essentially what Megumi does as well?

When Megumi is faced with an opponent that's too strong or a hopeless situation, instead of running like Killua he summons Mahoraga. He does this because he doesn't believe in his ability to surpass his limits and fight, because he doesn't believe in himself or his own potential.

When is actually able to think more freely and picture a version of himself who can surpass his limits and who can do these things - these are the moments he is shown to grow.

Megumi however, for the most part isn't free. He can't think of himself as free and he can't free himself, because not only does he still have no choice about what he wants to do with his life (even if he becomes the msot powerful sorcerer in the world Gojo won't let him quit, he's gotta pay off those student loans), but he's also internalized the idea that he's not free. Not only has Gojo raised him to be a cog, Megumi has also accepted the fact that he is a cog and what he wants does not matter - the most he can do is hope that his actions will protect the people he loves and give them a little bit of happiness.

Megumi doesn't need a needle in his brain to control him and make him run away from fights and more obedient, because Megumi has already done all of that to himself with the toxic and self-harming ideas he's internalized.

Megumi and Killua having given up on themselves, try to make others happy, the same people they put on pedestals in order to make themselves feel even worse in comparison.

However, from this point Megumi and Killuas arcs go in opposite directions. You see after the Chimera Ant Arc when Killua hits his lowest point and his codependent friendship with Gon is exposed for what it is, Killua returns home in order to try and rescue his sister Alluka who is probably the reason he ran away in the first place.

Alluka and Tsumiki are both at the start of the story taken away from Killua and Megumi respectively, and with them the only genuine familial affection they ever enjoyed in their lives is taken too.

However, Alluka and Tsumiki are inversions. Alluka finds her freedom and agency, and Killua is able to reform his connection with his sister by accepting both pats of her, Alluka and Nanika. Afterwards the two of them finally leave their family home together and go off on a journey together.

If Alluka finds her personhood, Tsumiki remains a plot device. She never awakens from her coma, she's possessed instead and then murdered.

Now, here is where I point out how unfair the audience is being to Megumi. If you're a hunter x hunter fan remember all the character development that Killua gained by reforging his relationship with Alluka, how much confidence it gave him to connect to the one person who's even unconditionally loved him as a family member.

Now imagine that Alluka is brutally butchered right in front of him, and Killua has a first person point of view, because somehow in this scenario Illumi used a needle to mind control him into killing Alluka.

Do you really think Killua would be able to stand after that?

Sukuna is really just the last in line of a long line of people who've stolen Megumi's agency away from him, in order to benefit themselves. Sukuna even saw the same "potential" in Megumi that Gojo did.

Sukuna physically posessing Megumi's body, is just what both the Zen'in Clan, and Gojo Satoru have been trying to do to him in the most literal way possible. Gojo wants to remake Megumi into Gojo Satoru 2.0 with no regards to who Megumi is as a person, what Megumi's wants and needs are. No he just wants to raise someone as strong as him and pass the burden of protecting society onto Megumi, this starving orphan Gojo decided to exploit.

People have always used Megumi as a puppet for their own agenda, Naobito wanted to make him the head of the Zen'in Clan because he had the technique, Gojo wanted him to become the next strongest sorcerer / Gojo Satoru and also to replace the elders with Gojo's political agenda. They all want Megumi's "potential" for themselves to use to their own ends. Sukuna just takes what Gojo did one step further by literally stealing Megumi's body away from him and using him as a literal puppet instead of a metaphorical one. Gojo took Megumi's childhood by making him work as a sorcerer, Sukuna kills the physical embodiment of Megumi's childhood innocence by murdering Tsumiki, the only thing Megumi had in his life besides being a sorcerer, his only family, the only person he grew up with in his childhood years, the only person who loved him for who he was.

Megumi coped with what Gojo did to him the same way Killua did, by building himself around his use to others, and by building his identity around protecting others but now that's all gone. Tsumiki is gone, Megumi is trying to kill his friends, and he's already butchered Gojo Satoru.

Yet the fans are surprised that Megumi doesn't immediately get back on his feet.

However, and this my slightly optimistic ending to the post. Perhaps, Megumi is going the complete opposite of Killua, because what Megumi needed to learn was not to grow strong and confident enough to protect his sister but to learn to fight for himself.

At this point Megumi has nothing else left. It's sink of swim. He either develops a strong enough identity to regain control of his body and push Sukuna out, or he loses and the anti-Sukuna team will just have to resort to killing Megumi along with Sukuna.

Even in that case.

Megumi not being saved by Yuji is a good thing.

Because a victim who gets rescued by a hero still has no agency.

Megumi told Yuji that he needs to start by "saving me."

However, it might just be the opposite. Before Megumi can save anyone else, before he can become a protector, he has to find his own power and save himself. He has to both accept thathe's someone worthy of salvation, and at the same time he can't just passively accept the hand that Yuji's offered to him he has to actively be the one to break free of Sukuna and save himself.

Megumi can't become the strongest sorcerer by becoming the next Gojo Satoru or being what Gojo or Sukuna wants him to be. THe only way Megumi can become the strongest, is by being himself.

#jjk meta #hxh meta #megumi fushiguro #killua zoldyck #gojo satoru #illumi zoldyck #ryomen sukuna #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers

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lnfours · 1 month

Note

* ✰. — make a friendship bracelet

maybe “invisible string” in like a soulmate au or something like that? i feel like that could be so so cute

oh. my. god. im a sucker for a soulmate au.

join the 11k celebration!

they say that when you find your soulmate, they’re outlined in a thin, gold line. something that everyone looks forward to after their 18th birthday, some even setting out on new adventures just to find the one they’re supposed to be with forever.

your friends had all found theirs, making it official and tying the knot because that’s what you’re supposed to do. it had made you wonder if somehow, someway, you were left out of this world everyone got to be apart of. all these years on this planet and not a single person with a gold line around them.

some say you can’t go looking for them, that your soulmate has to come to you. but at this point, you had lost all hope. you had stopped waiting years back, accepting your fate that you would just be alone forever.

you were rushing on the paddock, already running a little behind because of the traffic at the gate. today was your first day in the booth with sky sports, a moment you had been working hard for since joining their internship program. and now was finally your chance and it was looking like you weren’t going to make a very great first impression.

you weren’t paying attention, looking down at the time on your phone when your body collided with another hard one. it sent the coffee you had been carrying down the front of you, your shriek catching his ears.

“oh fuck, i’m so sorry.”

“oh for fucks sake,” you mumbled, looking down at your top that was clearly ruined. once white linen now stained taupe.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, i didn’t see…” he trailed off.

you picked your head up from your shirt, locking eyes with his. you were face to face with lando norris, the rookie driver for mclaren. his first season in formula one.

and a thin, gold line surrounding the man in front of you.

“you see it too?” he asked.

you nodded, “yeah,”

he looked over your facial features, excitement ringing in his bones as he had finally found his soulmate. and it was the most beautiful girl had ever seen in his life.

“we might have some spare team shirts,” he pointed his thumb to the hospitality area behind him, “if you wanna..”

you shook your head, “it’s alright, i think my boss might question why i’m in papaya colors.”

he smiled, looking down at the badge that hung around your neck. he noticed your name and the sky sports logo underneath.

“can i at least walk you? let them know why you’re late and smell like coffee?”

you laughed softly, nodding your head, “yeah, i’d like that.”

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schemmentis · 1 month

Text

Like I Can

Pt. 2 / Pt. 3

Warnings: Angst, I guess?

Word Count: 2.1k

You met Melissa on what she calls her ‘worst night.’ Just finding out her husband had been cheating on her for God knew how long. In emotional overload and perusing her favorite bar for someone to get back at him with. Even though deep down she knew evening the score so to speak wouldn't really make her feel better.

Regardless, it was what she was doing. She'd enlisted you as her wing woman after you'd chatted awhile at the bar while her eyes roamed over the rest of the establishment. She promised she'd snag you a guy too before she left with whomever she decided was worth her night. You'd quietly informed her you weren't looking for any men. She'd only grinned and told you she'd snag you a woman then.

Melissa had kept to her promise. A burly guy that had an arm around her waist by the time she was introducing you to a woman. She slipped you a napkin with her number on it. A glance at it in your hand with a quickly scribbled note to call her and hang up after two rings a few times if your date turned…well, the words she'd used had you stuffing the napkin into your pocket quickly.

You had only smiled and told her to have fun. You hoped she had someone else's number if her date did anything she didn't want that evening. For your part, you spent a drink or two with the woman she'd found you but didn't go home with her. Though she did give you her number too.

When you got home you saved Melissa's number. You threw away your date’s. You really hadn't been interested in a one night stand. It just wasn't your kind of thing. Melissa had a certain charm though, and you needed to make sure she was alright. You left a text with your name and asked her to text you the next morning just to make sure she was okay.

The text you woke up to had plenty of emojis to tell you just how her night went. You were glad she was safe, and even more glad she didn't give you details past the little emojis. You didn't really need the mental image. Though you couldn't help your mind briefly picturing just Melissa in a suggestive flash of day dream that you quickly blinked away.

Without planning on it, from then you and Melissa became good friends. You texted most days about whatever was going on. You had to talk her down plenty of times when Joe pissed her off in the first few months as she tried to, in her words, ‘make it work’. You learned plenty of Italian swearing and unique insults that you're certain only Melissa could have come up with.

She ended up on your doorstep late one night. Disheveled in a way that was so unlike Melissa. Someone who planned her outfits meticulously and took pride in her appearance. Her eyes were red and swollen as she told you she and Joe were getting divorced. You pulled her into your living room with no hesitation.

You might have met Melissa on her worst night but by now you knew her quite well. It broke your heart for her to hear about the divorce. You knew despite how much she'd been hurt by Joe and did what she could to make him feel the same in return; she did love him.

The thing about Melissa was she didn't love halfway. She loved the Eagles like they were the only sports team that existed and if you asked she'd tell you they were the only ones that mattered anyhow. She loved the kids she taught like each one was her very own. She loved her family ferociously even when they annoyed her. Including her sister that she claimed to hate.

You never said it to her but you're pretty sure Melissa wasn't capable of hating anything. This thought only reinforced the night you'd held her while she wept on your couch. Her hands clutching your shirt in an iron grip to keep you close. Empty promises about making Joe regret ever meeting her and cursing him in every way she knew how. Because even with everything that had happened between them she loved him.

You were there for her however you could be, as much as you could be. You helped her move Joe’s things out of the house once they'd decided she'd keep it. You went shopping with her when she decided she needed to redecorate the entire house. You spent a weekend painting the living room and bedroom. When you asked if she wanted to do anything with the kitchen she'd asked if you were crazy.

It wasn't until a week later you realized the only places in her house that had been redone were shared spaces. You knew how Melissa loved to cook. You'd had your share of the too large portions she had a habit of making and gave you parts of. Joe probably never had much to do with the kitchen.

You do your best to keep her from making hasty decisions. Ones made in the heat of her emotions. Like the evening you'd both been drinking and she said she was gonna go to Joe's apartment and wreck his car with her baseball bat. She’d made it as far as standing in her living room, bat in hand and barefoot in pajamas. You at least got her to laugh when you said you didn't have the money to bail her out when she got arrested.

You have less convincing arguments when she goes searching for one night stands. She convinces you to be her wing woman again. Her good luck charm she called you. You only entertained this once or twice. It was surprisingly difficult for you to see her this way. Even though it was how you met.

You felt something deep and cutting in your stomach every time you went with her. Every time you watched her flirting with men. Every time she would wiggle her fingers at you in a wave goodbye with a wink and smile over her shoulder as she left the bar with a different man.

The last time you'd gone with her you'd ended up drinking until you passed out at home. Melissa had used your extra key to get in to wake you when you never answered her. Convinced you'd gone home with someone else, just like she thought you had every other time. You'd gotten a lecture about making her think you were murdered over the breakfast she made in your small kitchen.

The next time she tried to get you to go with her; you claimed you weren't handling alcohol so well lately. She'd taken the excuse exactly once. It was difficult each week to come up with a new one that she would buy enough to let go. You managed for a while though.

By the time she met Gary, you'd figured it out. What that stab of pain whenever you watched her flirt or leave for a night with her different dates. You hadn't even noticed it had happened. You never planned on it. Melissa was your closest friend, all you had ever been worried about was being there for her. Apparently somewhere in the process, your heart got a mind of its own and fell for her too.

Somehow, the aching stab with Gary is worse. Now instead of different men's names each week you can never remember, it's Gary's. Instead of begging her to remember you really didn't need the details of her sex life, she's telling you about date nights and sweet conversations. Whenever she tells you about what she did while you were apart you don't have to ask who she went with. It's Gary.

You meet him. Of course you do. Melissa likes him enough that she's seeing him regularly. The first real relationship she's built since Joe. Other than you. You remind yourself you don't count in that way.

Gary is…nice. He's different than the guys you've seen Melissa take home in one night stands. Both in looks and personality. From what little you knew of those men's personalities, anyway. But he makes Melissa laugh, a beautiful laugh you've always smiled to hear. Even if she's gripping his arm while she laughs.

Gary is nice. You'd be okay with him if it weren't for the way every time you see him the knife in your chest twists. For the way every time he calls Melissa his girl or compliments her it turns. You'd even forgive the pause and look when Melissa had corrected him when he asked if you had a boyfriend.

Melissa notices. Your distaste for him. She knows you as well as you know her. She calls you on it after the first time you meet him.

“Ya don't like him.” She said, not asked.

You had shrugged and bought your time by pointing out you didn't really know him to know whether you liked him or not.

The longer she's with him, though, the more she sees how much you don't like him. You try to hide it, of course. You know how much she likes him and you're not going to be petty and dig at one of the first things that's made her so happy since you met her. You do what you can to focus on being happy for her.

At the end of the day, Melissa’s happiness is all you really want. You're okay with the knife dug into your chest, really. If it keeps her this happy.

You don't know if it's her knowing how you feel about Gary, or no longer wanting to put the two of you in the same place, but she introduces you to Barbara. The infamous Barbara Howard that Melissa called her best friend and work wife. You'd heard plenty of her. Even a drunken comment that if Barb wasn't already married and Melissa swung that way she'd make her a Schemmenti. You think she was joking. Mostly.

As you get to know Barbara, you think to yourself she already is a Schemmenti. With the years she and Melissa have known each other and been such good friends, it isn't surprising she knows all the Schemmenti lore. Though, she seems surprised to find that you do too. In the beginning, often you recognize the story she's telling you from when Melissa had and you interject with the ending.

Slowly, you and Barbara form your own friendship. Sometimes, Melissa is entirely absent from your get-togethers. Usually for dates with Gary. If Barbara notes your mood is more sullen those evenings, she does you the grace of not mentioning it.

You realize after a few months that you've seen more of Barbara than you have of Melissa. Most of what you know she's been doing lately is through Barb and not from the red head directly. The knife in your chest pulses around the wound it's made. You miss her. Yet you can't bring yourself to reach out to her yourself. You can't decide which feels worse. Missing Melissa or feeling the stabbing push deeper into you when you do see her.

You do something you never thought you would. You make Barb your wing woman. Like Melissa once did you. She's perfectly willing and you push away the thought of how many times she'd done the same for Melissa. She makes you promise to call her in the morning before you leave with the woman you meet. You actually go home with her. You let yourself forget everything but the drinks you've had and the woman in front of you.

You call Barbara in the morning. Well, late morning. You'd slept a bit too much with the hangover you're now severely feeling. You barely have time to say hello before Barbara is apologizing.

“Sorry for what, Barb?”

“I told Melissa.”

You hesitate. You don't love Melissa knowing you had a one night stand but you don't see why that's a reason for the woman to be apologizing to you.

“Well. She'd have probably found out anyway.” You finally say.

“No,” Barbara says. “I told her I couldn't get a hold of you. She's probably on her way there now.”

“Shit,” You curse. Barbara doesn't even chide you for your language.

Your front door opens so fast it bangs against the wall. You turn to see Melissa standing in your living room with her arms crossing over her chest once she sees you stood in the kitchen.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #like i can

180 notes · View notes

sooniebby · 11 months

Note

A dream i had has been haunting me so here i am.

A jock any sport my dream wasnt specific just a popular jock is the reader and he is just so popular and everyone loves him and of course everyone assumes since his this big jock his the dom in the relationship between him and his boyfriend when in fact his the complete opposite.

The boyfriend can be in the band or a part of the cheer team again it depends on the sport and my dreams never clarify, He hears one of these conversations and has a brilliant idea that he was gonna put the reader in his place and everyone is gonna know that place.

Kinks you can go wild with, But praise and a little the reader getting dumb on whoever you choose the nerd to be cock but the rest you can do what you please 🤭🤭

ఌ 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 2.5k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › none

Kinks › praise, voyeurism, semi-public sex, use of pussy/feminine terms

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

“Isn’t that (Name)’s boyfriend?”

“Mickey?”

“I thought his name was Mikey?”

“Nah man, it’s Mickey!”

Marcus sighed. He hated having to practice for the marching band when the football team was practicing as well. The players didn’t know how to whisper. He was really wondering if he should give them a look that he could hear them.

He wasn’t sure why the football coach allowed them to practice with them here but he was sure it was because the teacher for band was a sexy man. Marcus could tell the coach, Coach Pattinson, loved to stare at his band teacher’s ass.

But he couldn’t lie. Mister Yang had a nice ass.

More importantly though, Marcus could sometimes see his boyfriend playing. But it was mainly rare. (Name) played soccer so obviously he couldn’t play while the football team occupied the field.

Today was that day the soccer team practiced somewhere else.

He was getting a bit agitated at this point. The heavy drum strapped to his chest and the sun beaming down at him. God, he wanted to just walk home. But he did like his band mates. He didn’t want them to hate him for any reason so he’d put it with it.

But that didn’t mean he’d do it without complaints.

“Marc! Pay attention.” One of his band mates whispered, poking him with a drum stick. Marcus quickly put his focus on Mr. Yang as he continued to drone on and on about timing and making sure to be energetic during performances.

Marcus tried to pay more attention, even though he had already heard this speech once before. Expect the two players whispering (?) about him started up once more.

“I wonder what (Name) sees in him.” Thing 1 said.

“What do you mean? Mickey is a cute ass guy. Especially his ass…” Thing 2 muttered.

“Mikey… And yeah I guess. It’s kinda flat to me. Mr. Yang has a much fatter ass than him.”

“True true… I mean look it at… I wonder what it looks like when he jumps…”

Thing 1 whispered. The only time he ever whispered. “Perv.”

“You started it!” Thing 2 shouted, earning a glare from Coach Pattinson. Thing 1 & 2 quickly quieted down.

“But for real, who do you think tops?” Thing 2 muttered.

“(Name)… obviously. The dude is bigger and taller than Mikey. How could Mikey top him?!”

“(Name) is only 5’10 at the most. He’s not that tall. And he’s hardly that muscular. It’s mainly his legs.”

“Says you, Mister 6’4!” Thing 1 punched Thing 2 on the arm, earning a wince. “(Name) has an ass that could rival Mr. Yang, though.”

“Didn’t he play baseball?”

“He plays both sports. Such a cool guy. I’m not sure how he doesn’t go crazy.” Thing 1 looked as if he had a crush on (Name). Marcus didn’t like that, he could feel himself tighten his grip on his drumsticks.

“Maybe he knows how to manage himself… unlike someone…”

“Say that to my face you beanstalk!”

“Alright boys, break time is over!!” Coach Pattinson yelled. “Back to the field!!” He blew his whistle before glancing over to see Mister Yang’s ass once more.

Yeah, he wasn’t hiding it.

Marcus thought hard about what Thing 1 & 2 talked about. Damn, did he not give off top vibes like the thought? Shit—what could he do to show it off?

Well it wasn’t that he really cared what those little shits said but he didn’t like that his looks somehow determined his sexual position.

Oh. Marcus smirked to himself.

He could always make it known that he is the dom in the relationship… and he knew just the way to do it.

“Dude… the fuck are you smiling about?”

Marcus glanced over to his band mate, Olivia. “Nothing important.”

Olivia didn’t look convinced but she turned her attention back to Mr. Yang. Marcus couldn’t wait to test out his plan.

ꕥ

It was the next day and Marcus didn’t have band practice today. But (Name) was at soccer practice. He hardly joined him because he mainly wanted to go straight home after school. Any minute he stayed longer at this cursed school was a damage to his mental health.

(Name) was sitting down on the bench, drinking water when he spotted his boyfriend. He waved, a large grin on his lips. If he was an animal, many would say he would be a golden retriever. So happy to be with people.

“Marc! Something happened?”

“I can’t just see my boyfriend?” Marcus grinned, his blonde locs pulled into a ponytail. He wore a ridiculously large jacket with a red tee with black pants. (Name) always wondered why Marcus always complained about being hot when he chose to wear such clothing during summer.

(Name) simply hummed and pursed his lips, closing his eyes. He titled his head up earning a laugh from Marcus. Marcus would usually just give him a light kiss. He wasn’t one for PDA.

But this time, he grabbed (Name)’s chin and held him in place as he kissed him. (Name)’s eyes widen as Marcus immediately bit his lip, causing him to automatically part them. The innocent kiss (Name) wanted was quickly turned into a full on make out with tongue.

(Name) whimpered into the kiss, wondering if any of his teammates were looking at him. Marcus pulled away from the kiss—a small trail of saliva connecting their lips—as he glanced back to see if anyone saw that. It seemed at least a few did—with the embarrassed looks on a few of the boys face.

The coach didn’t seem to have saw it though by the fact she was paying attention to another player. Good. He just wanted the other players to see.

“What…?” (Name) muttered. He didn’t hate it. No he loved it but he would’ve loved a warning first.

“Trying something new. Like it?” Marcus said, wiping away a stray line of drool on (Name)’s chin.

“I like whatever you do. But I thought you didn’t like public stuff.”

“I still don’t.” Marcus simply said and sat down on the bench.

(Name) didn’t understand Marcus sometimes.

Marcus fanned at himself, starting to complain about the sun cooking him alive.

“I’m lucky I can’t get any darker ‘cause what the fuck, man…” he complained.

“Take your jacket off.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll mess up my style. I had this whole outfit planned and everything. I mean, look at my shoes—it matches the jacket!”

It did.

(Name) simply laughed. “Alright. Enjoy the sun, Mikey.” He said as he got up to return back to practice.

“Ay! It’s because of you those other jocks are calling me Mikey or Mickey! I’m not a mouse!”

“Sorry! I didn’t think anyone else would call you that!”

Marcus simply huffed. He mainly couldn’t wait until he could enact his plan. The kiss was simply to just get it started for later.

Ah he couldn’t wait.

ꕥ

(Name) knew Marcus liked to try new things. Y’know, only live once and all that jazz. But he didn’t know that he’d be into something so… scandalous?

So risky.

“Isn’t this nice?”

(Name) simply huffed, not able to say anything due to the cock in his mouth. They were behind the bleachers—not too far from door that leads to the locker room. When (Name)’s coach called for a thirty minute break, Marcus saw that as his cue to go ahead with his plan.

He had pulled (Name) to the back of the bleachers were no one could see them and forced him to his knees. But the spot they were in was hardly hidden. Someone could just walk up to the locker room door and get a clear view of them.

(Name) was kneeling down on the balls of his feet, forced to keep his balance this way. It wasn’t a good position to try and suck dick at, especially when Marcus was only 5’7 to his 5’10. (Name) wasn’t immediately at face with his cock.

He had to bend a little. Suffice to say, he was uncomfortable sucking dick right now. But he loved Marcus telling him what to do so who was he to stop him.

“Did I tell you that some guys said that you were topping me?” Marcus laughed.

(Name) hummed, pulling away from his cock. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Maybe.” Marcus tapped two fingers on (Name)’s lips. (Name) eagerly took them into his mouth—sucking them to lather it up. His cock twitched in his gym shorts as he thought about someone seeing him in this position.

Kneeling down in front of someone physically weaker than him.

“So I thought… maybe I should prove them wrong, y’know? But then it hit me… if they think like that—than everyone else must think like that.”

(Name) wasn’t sure if he believed that. No one could be that weird to care about his sex life.

Marcus hummed as he forced his fingers down deeper (Name)’s throat, enjoying the panicked choke he got from his boyfriend. He dragged them out of (Name)’s mouth. (Name) took a few shuttered breaths as Marcus motioned for him to lay down.

“Pants off.”

(Name) slipped off his pants and boxers as he moved to lay down on the grass. It felt dirty to do so but he didn’t care at the moment. Marcus hummed, deep in thought before he tapped (Name)’s waist.

“Doggy.”

(Name) flushed. He always felt embarrassed during doggy. Marcus always got full view of his ass at this position. It also didn’t help that doggy was the quickest way for Marcus’ cock to reach his prostate.

With a little hesitation, (Name) moved into the doggy position. Just as he was about to try and not think about the fact someone could see him in such position, Marcus slapped his ass.

“Hey, you forgot your move.”

(Name) blushed in full embarrassment as he leaned down more so his ass was in the air and shyly shook his ass. He hated doing it. The first time he ever did it was by accident. He didn’t think Marcus would’ve wanted him to do it everything for doggy.

Marcus had said it reminded him of a cat getting ready to pounce. It was the only time (Name) was ever said to resemble a cat.

“Good boy.” Marcus shoved in his two fingers, gaining a scream from (Name). “Hey, do you want them to hear you?”

(Name) shook his head.

“Your pussy says otherwise. It tightened as soon as I mentioned it.” Marcus laughed, dragging his fingers against (Name)’s wet walls before grazing his prostate.

Marcus loved to call (Name)’s features with feminine terms. Boobs, tits, pussy, cunt. You name it. He didn’t use it all the time. Sometimes he was nice to called them pecs or asshole.

(Name) liked both. But there was something different about his ass being called a pussy. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“I’m surprised they haven’t wondered where you are…. Do you often use these breaks to jerk off? Play with your clit?” He grinned, enjoying the whimper he earned.

(Name) shook his head, gripping at the dirt beneath him. His hole clenched down on Marcus’ fingers. He had never done that but he did usually use the break time to sit in the locker room with the air conditioner.

Marcus pressed against his prostate, teasing it as (Name)’s ass twitched upwards. He loved it whenever (Name) tried to chase the relief. His ass was a sight to see as it bounced at every sudden movement he made.

Maybe Thing 1 was right about his ass… it could rival Mr. Yang’s…

“You think you’re ready?” Marcus asked, continuing his grazes against (Name)’s prostate.

(Name) simply whined, too dumbed out to say anything. He honestly didn’t trust himself to open his mouth without moaning anyway.

Marcus took that as a yes as he slipped out his fingers and grabbed his cock. It was a good size, six inches. But the best part about it was how thick it was. Imagine a soda can.

He slowly pushed inside, moving one hand to grip (Name)’s waist. It took everything in (Name)’s body to not cry out. He bit his lip harshly—digging his fingers into the dirt.

Marcus was antagonistically slow. Dragging his cock in and out of (Name)’s hole. He wouldn’t go fully in—set to just tease his prostate before pulling out. (Name) was going to die if he continued this way.

“You always take me so well. But that’s just cuz you were made for me.” Marcus muttered, pushing down (Name)’s shirt to press soft kisses on his back. His back is sweating, from playing or sex? Marcus hoped it was sex.

(Name) huffed as he began to thrust backwards, hoping that Marcus’ cock will reach in deeper. Marcus simply laughed to himself as he stopped his thrusting—allowing (Name) to continue his lackluster performance.

“Mikey…”

“Yes, baby?”

“C’mon… we don’t have all day… please…”

(Name) was right. They had thirty minutes. It could’ve been thirty minutes already for all they knew. If he didn’t want to play soccer with a raging boner—he needed to cum now.

Marcus frowned. He hoped he could drag this out longer but knew it wasn’t fair to (Name).

“I’ll get you off. We’ll worry about me when your practice is finished,” Marcus said, grasping (Name)’s waist and holding him still as he began to thrust harshly inside of him.

He purposefully aimed for his prostate, enjoying the panicked hiccups (Name) accidentally slipped out. (Name) was struggling to keep his voice down. He could hear his coach saying they had a minute left.

Could he really cum in under a minute?!

Marcus was going to make sure he did though. He didn’t let up with his constant thrusts, reaching down to jerk (Name)’s leaking clock as well.

It doesn’t take too long for (Name) to cum. Before he could scream, Marcus quickly shoved (Name)’s own shirt into his mouth. It muffled it a little but he could still hear someone ask if they heard something.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Marcus pulls out despite his cock twitching for his own release and pulled his boxers and pants on. (Name) stayed on the ground, trying to catch his breathe before slowly moving to put on his pants.

(Name) looked numbed. He certainly looked as if he could fall asleep any minute. Marcus helped him to his feet (with a little struggle but he would never admit that).

“Go back to practice. I’ll be waiting for you,” Marcus said, patting (Name)’s ass. (Name) glared at him before limping away to his teammates.

If anyone asked why he was limping, he’d just say he hurt his leg while playing earlier. Though he was sure a few of his teammates didn’t believe that.

And unlucky for him, it was the few who loved to tell everyone what they knew. At least Marcus plan worked. Everyone was going to know who was truly the top in the relationship.

After practice, when almost everyone had already left, (Name) was changing into his clothes after taking a shower when Marcus walked into the locker room.

A small smirk on his lips.

“It’s time to worry about me.”

A limp walk wasn’t going to be the only thing (Name) went home with. A nice creampie would accompany it~

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

My comeback! Marcus is so fun to write, I hope you guys like him!! If you guys want, I can do a little fic of how he started dating you 🤭 lemme know!

Tag list: @mello-life69 @the-ultimate-librarian @nakedtoasterr @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo

Number 1 fan: @elegantcecile

#bottom male reader #x male reader #oc x reader #original character

980 notes · View notes

livinghostly · 6 months

Text

back to it — tooru oikawa x reader

a/n: woah hey guys !!! 2 years late heres an oikawa drabble wk: 1.5k reader bumps into competition at a volleyball meet. fluff. oikawa being a brat

the karasuno boys volleyball team pressed through the entrance doors to the unfamiliar high school, eyes gleaming with curiosity as they observed their new environment. the halls were stuffed with parents and friends waiting to support their players, sporting the jerseys of different schools. the line for the concession stand wrapped around the corner.

hinata was a few paces ahead, his head on a swivel as he passed all the players– much taller than him. his eyes gravitated to a particularly tall first-year, he was so fixated on looking behind him to realize he was running directly into someone.

“what–? oh my god! i am so sorry! i’m sorry, please forgive me! i wasn’t paying attention,” hinata stumbled backward and fell into a respectful bow, his anxiety swelling in his stomach as he clenched his eyes shut.

you looked over your shoulder at him, barely registering that he’d run into you by the time he’d finished his ramblings. you couldn’t help but laugh at his overreaction, brushing it off with a shrug and turning to face him.

he shot his head up at the sound of your light giggles, somehow more relieved, as well as mortified. he was paling with fear, taking a small step back and running into the chest of his captain, who laid a solid hand on his shoulder. hinata felt helpless, jaw agape as he made himself smaller and smaller between you and daichi.

he recognized the colors on your jersey, white with deep green lettering that matched the shade of your shorts. there was a volleyball tucked beneath your left arm and your fingers were taped together. hinata peeked behind you, where the rest of your team congregated at the water fountain to refill their bottles. there were duffel bags and knee pads scattered on the floor.

“you’re– you’re the iron wall!” hinata pointed with a shaking finger.

“hinata! it’s rude to point,” daichi removed his clasp on the redhead’s shoulder to slap away hinata’s hand. “y/n, i am so sorry about him. he’s one of our first years, he gets overwhelmed pretty easily.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s alright. it’s good to see you, daichi.”

daichi moved hinata to the side so he wasn’t between you anymore, but the first-year still observed with wide eyes. you shook hands and, unfortunately for daichi, he couldn’t hide the way his cheeks flushed.

kageyama narrowed his eyes as you continued talking to his captain. there was something eerily familiar about you, something wrong. maybe it was because most volleyball players he met ended up being competition, but your friendliness threw him off. and he certainly didn’t like the way daichi was enamored with you. “daichi knows her?”

leaning into his teammate, sugawara answered, “they went to middle school together, or something, i think. she’s captain of the girls volleyball team and took them to nationals last year.”

but why were you so familiar to him?

despite how genuine you were, there was a cunning glint in your eye, subtle to his teammates and their lackluster observational skills. from behind him, he could practically hear tanaka and nishinoya reel their tongues back in after catching flies.

“you went to nationals!?” hinata interjected with an admiring gasp. his eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of the competition.

“sure did,” you winked at him. he could melt right into his shoes.

daichi laughed heartily. “oh, yeah. it’s incredible to watch her play. don’t let her trick you, though. her mind games on the court are pure evil.”

“c’mon, daichi! don’t give it away, it’s more fun when they find out on their own.”

if it wasn’t for the buzz of conversation filling the hallway, you would have heard him coming– the fe, fi, fo, fum of his 6’0” stature. he was parading himself through the hallway in his freshly steamed volleyball uniform, so far unscathed from his morning practice. if only you could see him behind you, a narrowed expression of concentration and mischief, his eyes on the prize.

suddenly, it seemed as if the karasuno boys had spotted a ghost. fear struck daichi’s eyes and his words died in his throat, and your face contorted in confusion.

“y/n! it’s lovely to see you here.”

oh, there he is.

oikawa had sauntered up behind you, towering over your figure with a smug grin. he was as ecstatic as ever, eyes squinted with the generous smile that took over his face. it was a regular habit of his to mask his disdain with glee, one of the many things that made him unsettling to be around.

you did your best to contain your excitement but lost the fight against the corners of your lips curling upward. he was insufferable. your stomach turned and you straightened up, relaxing your expression as you turned to face the seijoh player. from behind you, daichi let out a noise that resembled uncertainty, but wasn’t strong enough to use his voice.

“oikawa,” you greeted with a thin smile.

“how was your first game? i heard it was pretty quick.”

“hardly a warm-up,” you corrected. even if the karasuno boys couldn’t spot the mischievous gleam in your eyes, it was clear you were ready to match his energy. it sent a chill down sugawara’s spine. “pretty easy to win when your girl's volleyball team only serves as your fan club.”

tadashi gasped as if the comment was meant to slice him, and was quickly glared into silence by his peer. the team couldn’t help but stay silent as they watched the showdown, the strife in you and oikawa’s eyes met in the middle like a clash of lightning, both of you trying your hardest to win the battle.

oikawa’s smile faltered for a millisecond, and your ego swelled as you waited for a rebuttal. “you’re lucky to hold down the fort as the sole surviving third year on the team. has it gotten to you yet? reining in all those underclassmen by yourself?” he leaned closer, down to your level, and his voice dropped. “they have pretty big shoes to fill if you’re gonna make it again.”

“h-hey!” hinata cut in. you and oikawa snapped your head in his direction, suddenly remembering he was there. “at least y/n has been to nationals! how can you call yourself the great king if you haven’t even gotten that far?”

there was a beat of silence. the redhead only met you minutes ago, hardly knew anything about you, but he would be damned if he let oikawa win. a smile slowly crept up your face, all the while oikawa was frozen in horror– possibly embarrassment if he’d ever admit to it.

you threw your head back in a bark of laughter, hugging the ball tighter against your side and resting a hand over your chest. it was hard to contain, and went on too long for oikawa’s liking. his ears were red, and he snapped out of his shock and faced you again with his nose scrunched.

“you know, i don’t call myself the great king!” oikawa cried, crossing his arms as he straightened up– ever so dignified.

it was the same tone he used when iwaizumi called him out, kageyama recognized it from the countless arguments he witnessed in middle school. oikawa’s pride had been swept away by hinata’s comment. despite how insignificant he found the first year, he knew was right.

the tension in the air has completely dissolved, instead the air filled with a playful breeze as you bickered back and forth. it left the karasuno team dumbfounded and awkward, caught in between it all.

“oh, but you revel in it, don’t you?” you said, almost in a purr as you grinned, narrowing your eyes and leaning closer to him.

oikawa stared you down, only lasting a few seconds until he whipped his head in the opposite direction in a poor attempt to hide his blush. you shook your head with a faint giggle yet again, relief washing over your body. it was silly to say you won the interaction, but you couldn’t help but revel in the satisfaction of getting him to react like that.

but now, like every other time, you had to be the one to clean it up.

you dropped the volleyball on the bench beside you and wrapped a hand around his bicep. his shoulders relaxed, and you turned to the crows. “sorry about that, guys! i gotta go, but i’ll see you after you win!”

“y/n! can you stop saying things like that?” oikawa huffed, his voice barely above a whisper as the two of you began to walk away. you cackled, and he slipped his hand into your own despite the steam coming off of him.

the karasuno team was left dumbfounded as they processed the events that unfolded in front of them. all but kageyama, who hummed with acknowledgment as the pieces started to click together. he slipped away to the nearby vending machine with the other first-years that had reeled in their shock (ie; tsukishima and tadashi) while leaving the upperclassmen to mend daichi’s morale. i won’t lie, man. that was a tough watch, said asahi.

as you rounded the corner you were greeted by iwaizumi at the end of the hall, his anger warping the air around him like a bonfire.

“oikawa! what the hell do you think you’re doing? stop messing around with your girlfriend and get your ass back in here!”

“why is everyone so mean today?” the setter whined.

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru fluff #reader x oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa fic #reader x oikawa #oikawa fluff #hq x reader #spleen writes #tooru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader

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daydreamgoddess14 · 9 months

Text

Red Card

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

It's the first time in 135 years that the Premier League has allowed a female referee to official a match... Remaining neutral is absolutely key. Plenty of fluff and smut and flirting 😏

The anticipation was at a whole different level. For the first time in history, a woman would referee a Premier League football game. The FA had played a blinder from a marketing perspective - a local girl from Richmond itself - refereeing a Richmond vs. Man City match - the top two finishing teams of the previous season. Sky Sports, BT Sport, Match of the Day, ESPN… every single football broadcaster or news outlet was on site. It couldn’t get any more high profile. It had been all anyone had talked about for weeks on end. Roy was sick of hearing about it, talking about it, and reading about it.

“New Trent?”

“What do you think about a woma-”

“Reffing the next match? It’s about fucking time. Should have been done years ago. The league might be saying all the right things and making a big deal out of it, but it’s only disguising the fact that they haven’t bothered utilising female referees until now.”

“And what do you think of the referee chosen for the match?”

“Did I offer you a fucking follow up, New Trent? She’s a fantastic ref, and has a great eye. I’ve seen her run some lower league matches and it’s high time she had a role in the Prem.” He looked around for his next victim, “You with the… bald spot?”

“And will you be saying the same thing if she books one of the lads next week or a decision doesn’t go your way?”

“Course I fucking will. I don’t suddenly change my opinion of any of the other refs? We’ve all got jobs to do and roles to play. I don’t think we can ask for anything more than for any of the referees to be fair and equal. I don’t give a shit who we’re on about, that applies to all of them.” He looks around for any other burning questions, “Right, fuck off then you lot. I’m done for the day.” He rose from the desk and left the bustle of the press conference. In the office, Beard and Nate were looking over plans for the next week while the team milled around the gym and treatment rooms.

“Tough presser?” Beard asked.

“No more than fucking usual. All anyone is talking about is the new-”

“Female ref? The news is everywhere. As if the match wasn’t high profile enough as it is.” Nate filled in, a bundle of nervous energy.

“Yeah, well we’ll be fine. Just gotta make sure the boys keep their heads down. The new ref isn’t their problem, they don’t need to even be thinking about that.”

“But they will, because that’s all they’re hearing about. We haven’t had this much press coverage for ages, the match sold out months ago. They may not have to think about her, but the whole situation does impact their whole build up to the game.” Beard declared.

“Right, get ‘em in here.” Roy grimaced. Nate dashed off to assemble the team. “Alright lads?” There were a few murmurs and replies. “I know there’s a lot of noise around this one - some of it is to do with us and the City game, some of it is none of our business. I suggest you steer clear of the news for a few fucking days. There’s no need to watch it at all. No Twatter or whatever you fucking use. Just stay off that shit for the rest of the week, yeah? Any news you need, you hear from us. I want to keep the positivity we’ve got for the new ref, so if you’re asked about it by the paps on the car park, be fucking nice. Otherwise, you don’t watch or listen to all of the fucking fuss about the weekend, alright?”

“Coach.” Isaac nodded in agreement, the other players followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening, the stadium packed to the rafters. You hovered at the side of the pitch with the other officials, warming up until it was time for the meet and greet of the team managers. The two managers were like fucking titans of football royalty. You were about to meet Pep Guardiola for god sake. And if you even think for one second about meeting Roy Kent, you might just pee your pants. Pep is great, wonderful - the boss! But you grew up not twenty minutes down the road, so Roy is firstly, the literal definition of local hero, and secondly, the big crush of your early 20s. You spent many Euro Championships and World Cups in the pub singing his chant and ogling his legs. Fortunately when the Premier League and media ask about your neutrality, they don’t ask whether you’ve experienced sexual fantasies about any of the players or managers. At least you’d only be admitting that about one person and not, like, a whole team. And you would never admit it publicly. The home crowd roars as the Richmond team is announced, you make your way to the space between the two dugouts ready to greet the players. They all shake your hand as they pass you, with a few nods of encouragement and words of support. The same applies to the Man City team, you’re determined not to be starstruck in front of Pep Guardiola so you shake his hand with a big smile and wish his team luck. You turn to Roy Kent and his large hang engulfs yours. You whack on your big smile and offer the same affirmation as you did to Pep. On the pitch, you speak momentarily with the two captains and blow your whistle for go time.

The trouble with Premier League football is just that, it's Premier League. Top flight. The best of the best. Keeping pace with these players was a job in itself, being in the action without impacting it or getting in the way was another, and being the all seeing, all knowing one was… yet another. Your mind (and body) are pulled from goalpost to goalpost, and it's really no surprise that the referee is often blamed for poor decisions. It's impossible to see every single thing that happens on the pitch. You're making good decisions so far, nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly before halftime, one of the Richmond defenders nearly dislocates his shoulder, going in hard on Haaland. It feels cruel to punish him, but it's part of the job, so you have to award Man City the free kick. From the other side of the pitch, you can hear Roy Kent over the sound of 60,000 people screaming the same thing. Haaland scores, of course. You hang back while the teams leave the pitch at halftime, but he's waiting for you in the tunnel.

"The fuck did you give a free kick for?!"

"You shouldn't be collaring me out here, but to answer your question, the tackle was too much."

"Bullshit, it was a fair tackle and McAdoo would have hurt himself more than Haaland."

"Bullshit. Haaland has got about 5 inches and half a stone on McAdoo."

"5 inches is fucking nothing." He smirks.

"Really?” You arch an eyebrow at him, “did you seriously choose today to make a dick joke?" Utter disbelief is written all over your face, you shake your head and leave him cursing himself in the tunnel. Halftime was supposed to be a moment to catch your breath, not waste it on fighting with Roy Kent. You knew better than to get into it with managers. They saw the action from the sidelines and only had so much impact and influence. They took their lack of control out on officials all the time, it was supposed to be your job to stay calm and walk away, not engage. You ignore him on your way back to the pitch, he's just inside the exit of the tunnel and he could be there to apologise but he could very much be there to shout at you some more. The second half is just as eventful, Richmond are pushing hard for at least an equaliser, and Man City are loath to let them get it. When Obisanya has a shot on goal, which goes wide, City are pleading for a goal kick, but it's not. You award the corner, and Rojas sweeps a beautiful pass into Tartt, who sends the ball straight into the corner of the net. City scores again shortly afterwards, and you have to keep your head to make sure no one is deliberately trying to cause injury to anyone else. When Tartt goes down just outside the area, you request VAR footage to aid your decision before calling for a free kick. He scores, but it's an immediate offside and Roy Kent looks like he might explode. When play resumes, Colin Hughes gets a goal straight away. The game ends in a 2-2 draw, but the fans and teams both seem appeased.

~~~~~

By the time the press conferences are over, Roy's had more than enough. He (respectfully) disagreed with your first free kick decision, but praised your other choices and overall declared you "No better or worse than the other pricks." The stadium is starting to clear, and the Man City bus has just left. Richmond players make plans to get food at Ola’s. When Roy sees two of the officials only just leaving, he sends the others ahead and makes his way down to the away team and visitors facilities.

“I hope you’re here to apologise.” She states dryly as he approaches.

“Yeah,” he looks bashful, “the dick joke was a dick move. Sorry.” She looks so serious, he’s not sure the apology is accepted until he spies a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Was pretty funny. In alternative circumstances.”

“Noted. Congratulations anyway, noise from the press has all been good so far.”

“Nice to know my performance will be scrutinised forever while every mediocre male referee gets a pass for another week.”

“I’m sure your performance will only improve.” He inwardly groaned. She was going to laugh in his face. A dick joke and then godawful flirting? It was only what he deserved.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass that direct quote on to The Sun.”

“They’ll have a fucking field day. Richmond manager does shit job at flirting with the only female ref in the league? They’ll probably go and interview the poor woman I called my girlfriend when we were in year 6.”

“Flirting?”

“No,” he scoffed, “no, course not. I didn’t mean that. Just a joke.” You cocked your head at him,

“Should we start again? Hi, you must be Roy Kent, I’m the first female referee in a Premier League game in 31 years. Well, actually it’s more like 135 years but the FA are trying to make themselves look marginally better.”

“Nice to meet you. Great job on the match, I respectfully, completely, disagree with that fucking free kick in the first half but other than that… no complaints.” He steps closer, you’re showered and changed but he can still smell the fresh grass mingling with the citrus and spice of the products you use. The combination is incredible - like summer and sunshine.

“I wouldn’t give a shit if you did have any complaints. Looking after your feelings isn’t in my job description.” You take in his height, broad shoulders and dark eyes and the long dormant crush rises to the surface immediately. You hadn’t taken much notice since you stopped having posters on your walls all those years ago, you’d only caught a few of his appearances as a pundit. He’s gorgeous, despite his surly appearance there’s an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Like he’s having fun with whatever this tension is that bubbles between you. And when he does smile at your commitment to fairness, it takes your breath away.

“Good to know the FA can rely on you staying neutral then.” He says quietly. Anticipation crackles in the air and fizzes in your stomach. You match his playfulness in your response, and step into his personal space,

“I don’t think there’s anything here that could sway me to any team in particular.” You smile, “not yet, anyway.” He waits until you’ve definitely left the room before he lets go of the breath he’s been holding.

~~~~~

You’re dragged out by your friends to celebrate that night, even though your legs ache like you’ve done a 10km run. It wasn’t so much the running, you specifically trained for that, it’s the constant change in direction and the intensity of having your attention focused on so many things at once. If the FA thought they could throw you under a bus by giving you such a high profile game, you’re pleased you proved them wrong. The bar is crowded and noisy and you’ve already spotted a couple of the Richmond players - it was bound to happen in a relatively small town if they couldn’t be bothered to go right into the city. You’re at the bar ordering when you feel a hand on your hip and someone standing very closely behind you, a hand raises above you holding a credit card, and gestures to the barman. You’re about to lose your shit when you hear his voice rumble behind you,

“I’ve got these, mate.” He steps to your side when the person next to you moves, but his hand lingers, “I hope buying you a drink doesn’t make you question your bias?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid you’d have to work much harder than that.” He looks even better than he did a few hours ago, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Your drink is put on the bar next to you and you lick your lips before taking a sip. Neither of you has broken eye contact. You hear your name from a few feet away at the edge of the dance floor.

“Excuse me,” you raise your glass to him, “thank you for the drink.”

“Bruv, is that the ref from today?” Isaac steps up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah that’s her.”

“She’s fit. You gonna ask her out?”

“Dunno Isaac, bit fucking old for that shit now.”

“Nah man, I just seen the way she looked at you-” he shakes Roy’s shoulder, “ooooh! Get it boy!” Roy rolls his eyes and smirks, watching you get dragged to the dance floor. He knows he must be old because he’s only been standing pitchside for the match and wouldn’t be caught dancing. You’ve run your legs off and then still managed to get them into that sequined mini skirt and up dancing. You can feel his eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, if you turn around you know you won’t be able to stop staring. At least with your back to him, you can ignore him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place. With all the running and training you do, you’re conscious of your strong thighs and hips but sometimes, just sometimes, they make you feel powerful. Eventually, you have to duck out of the dancing - mimicking a timeout to your friends. Roy is exactly where you left him at the bar and the alcohol makes you bold. You squeeze back in next to him and take a sip of his drink, yours is long finished.

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods and finishes most of his drink, offering the last of it to you. Outside, word has gotten out that half a football team is at the bar and everyone is out for a glimpse of Jamie Tartt. You push past the photographers with Roy’s hand at the small of your back and into a nearby taxi.

~~~~~

“Please tell me there aren’t any fucking rules about this,” Roy mumbles somewhere in the valley between your breasts.

“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t really care right now.” You gasp, breathless as he leaves a mark on your soft skin.

“No? No danger of a red card?” You laugh and it’s musical and magical and neither of you have had this much fun in ages.

“No red cards for Roy Kent. Probably makes a fucking change.”

“Oi, cheeky. I never got that many.” He’s moved down again, unzipped your skirt and thrown it behind him somewhere.

“Fucking liar. They literally use you as an example of trouble players. Oh, fuck-” he bites your thigh.

“A good example or bad example?” His tongue sweeps over your clit and you nearly rocket off the bed until he hooks his arms over your thighs and pulls you back down to him.

“Oh god, bad example,” You feel him hum against you as he works you to your peak,

“Shame, I’m a changed man.”

“Uhuh, ok,” you whisper, unable to think or speak any more coherently.

“How's your neutrality holding up?” Your hands tangle in his hair,

“Fuckkk, sooo good.”

“I’ll have to fucking try harder then,” he chuckles. You’re about to beg for mercy when he pushes two fingers into you and curls them to just the right angle that has you seeing stars. When he comes back up to kiss you, you rock your hips against his and he helps roll you both over, sitting up so he can still kiss you. His kisses are rough and needy, making you grind down against him. When you nip his neck, he pulls gently at your loose hair, whimpering and god, you’d do anything, anything to have him make that sound again. It only makes you rock harder against him, desperate to feel him inside you. When he finally pushes into you, your body clenches. You rise and fall onto him over and over, grateful for those powerful thighs he can’t keep his hands off. When he brings a hand between you both and circles your clit, you drop your head into the crook of his neck and bite down to stifle your moan. You feel his hips stutter under you as you both come, making you drop your own rhythm. You collapse in a tangle of limbs and sheets against him.

“If you ask me again if you’ve swayed me yet, I’ll bite you.”

“You’ve already fucking done that,” he laughs. “Still need to try harder?”

“Hmm, there’s no harm in trying again. You might win me over.”

“And over and over?” He kisses you again, so slowly it’s intoxicating.

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of his phone ringing. He tears himself away from where he’s curled behind you, the length of his legs against yours, his chest against your back and his arms around you.

“Yeah,” his voice is low and rough with sleep and it’s enough to have you roll over and press your body back into his. You can’t hear the other person, but he hangs up quickly and opens a link they’ve sent. It’s a picture on Twitter of the two of you leaving the bar together with his hand on your lower back with the headline “RED CARD FOR KENT?”

“Told you you were fucking trouble.” You laugh.

FIN

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