#round 1: angst

[vnusoki]

⋆⑅˚₊ THE ALIEN STAGE . . .

⊹ ࣪ ˖ synopsis. sing or die. the alien stage determines your fate, but what if you lover was your opponent ?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ warnings. satoru gojo x reader. hint of suguru geto x reader. death. angst. hurt/no comfort. fluff. consists of flashbacks and recalling memories while singing. kissing. making out, and illusions to intercourse. based on the world of alien stage. death ( obviously 👩🏽‍🍳 ) not proofread

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes. wc. 1.1k this is based off of alien stage. i remember seeing a vid back in 2022 and i forgot about it. seems fate that it’s my new obsession currently. sorry if I get stuff wrong <3 might make a suguru version.. idk..

The light is blinding you, you think, as you bring a hand to block its ray’s shining from the stage lights above. The platform you stand on is slowly raising and you can finally see your stage for the first time in what seem like a few hours.

You are not glad. Anxiety is a knot in your stomach that with the seconds passing by, only tightens further. You have done this before, you tell yourself. There is no reason to be afraid but the bead of sweat tricking down your forehead is testament to the lie.

The fear of death clouds over every round you play, every song you sing, and every person you were set to face against.

Last round, you faced against Suguru Geto. His black hair and mesmerising eyes had captivated the audience the moment you emerged on stage. But you’d been better. Your singing skills soon took the crowd by storm and it was only a matter of time before you won.

You were thankful. Or that was what you would’ve liked to say as you gazed at the dead body of your friend. His eyes ever still mesmerising but the light had long left them. Or maybe it’s always been like that, you just never noticed.

This time, you face against Satoru. Your white haired, blue eyed friend. He had always garnered the attention of his crowds. It was like fate for him to always win with his attractive looks. Nonetheless the fact that his skills were great.

He sounded angelically, his voice hitting high notes and dipping for lows in just the right places. It was as if he had trained his whole life for this.

Your platform finally stills as you stand on your floating platform. The microphone stand infront of you is white, as is the floor you stand on but your dress?

It is wine red and hooks to your figure, the eyeliner anointed on your face is also red and the lipstick too.

You look to your side as the sea of spectators lights up. Satoru stands, back pin straight, blue eyes dark and looking forward. You wish he would look at you.

He wears a suit of white and you are puzzled. Whys would they make you wear a red dress but not hsv w you match with your partner. You laugh at the thought. It wouldn’t matter since you’d be dead in a few minutes.

The music starts in the background and you open your mouth, lips quivering for the first time ever. Nothing comes out and it seems your throat has closed up from horror.

You can hear Satoru’s voice all around you and this time when you look at him, he is turned towards you, blue eyes glistening in the light and he is as beautiful as ever.

You remember when you first met him. You were both young when you attended anakt garden but you would always remember the defiant look on his face as you all stood in a row presenting your voices.

He had been stubborn then, but it soon slowly withered away like a rotting apple from the harsh slaps and beatings he would get for it.

You’d thought, even with the bruise on his cheek, that he looked as pretty as ever. And even more so now as you can see the light purple bruise on his cheek again.

He looks at you, lips moving to a beat you neither recognise nor care for. He is mouthing words you do not understand, a language you have forgotten and you only see him.

Your feet are moving before you know it and you are once again reminded of your first real talk. Satoru was laying on a bed of grass, the newest injury of his, on display on his cheek for all to see. Light drops of blood litter the top of his white shirt.

You think he looks cute pouting.

You take a seat next to him. Eyes trained on the blue sky that you all know is too fake to be real.

‘‘…you mess around too much, y’know?’’

Your hand is lightly grazing his swollen cheek. You watch as a blush seeps into his skin and runs towards the tips of his ears.

‘‘yeah, yeah I do…’’

He wouldn’t ever tell you that he does it to make himself look more better in your eyes. To gain your attention and approval. Shoko has already teased him enough about his crush.

You now stand infront of Satoru and time stills for a few moments. The light is making his face shine, the beads of sweat glisten as they run down the length of his gorgeous face.

You still haven’t sung and sorry claws at him. He doesn’t want you too die, he can’t live with you dead.

‘‘why aren’t you singing? Sing!’’

He pleads with you but you can practically feel the timer slowly coming to a close, the last few seconds ticking down.

‘‘…you know I won’t.’'

Of course you won’t. You swore it to him only a day or so ago and he’d begged you not to as you lay together. You trace shapes on the length of his bare chest, watching as it rises and falls.

You try to distract yourself on what you have just done but the repetitive twitch in your legs and the liquid you can feel running down your inner thigh is evidence enough of what you have just done.

Satoru kisses you again, this time slow and passionately and he lingers too long for the taste of his sadness and fear not to be tasted by you on his tongue.

‘‘…promise me you’ll sing.’’

You don’t reply, instead running your hand through the back of his hair, you bring his face once again closer to yours, bare chests touching. His hands are roaming everywhere, from the expanse of your thighs to sweeter and more intimate areas.

Satoru opens his eyes but the memory has ended too soon. The music has stopped and your feverish look, the pure bliss and love in your eyes is gone.

You stand for a few moments, swaying on your feet and he hears your final words fall off your red lips.

‘‘…you know I can’t promise you that…’’

You fall to the ground, red dress pooling around you like blood. A thin trail escapes your mouth and falls down your chin.

He looks down to his attire and now Satoru knows why they put him in a white suit instead of a red one. He sees the blood splattered from you on his blazer and he thinks he’s going to vomit.

But vomiting won’t bring you back and he watches as guards he didn’t know were there, come and drag you away. He watches the red, bloody trial you leave behind and he wishes he wore red.

© VNUSOKI 24 do not copy, repost or plagiarise my work !

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo fluff #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo #alien stage #alien stage au #alien stage round 1

[best-fanfic-trope]

ROUND 1

(It's a little late but...) ROUND 1 IS HERE!!

The polls will go up soon, but here are the matchups! Since there are 24 matchups this round, they will be staggered, probably in the three groups. From there, the winners will be battle the winner next to them until each "bracket" has a winner, and then the finals will be a three-way battle. There could also be a losers bracket if anyone is interested lol.

We also had several submissions that included examples of fics depicting their favorite tropes, which you can find at this link! Feel free to tag me with any propaganda for your favorite tropes or send it through my asks!

Anyways, onto the brackets! (They are below the read more!)

Bracket 1

Enemies to Lovers vs. “I didn’t know I was gay until I met you”

Crack vs. Body swap

Idiots to Lovers vs. Angst and fluff

Mutual pining vs. Time Travel

Mafia AU vs. Chatfic

Hurt no comfort vs. Friends to enemies to lovers

(Temporary) Amnesia AU vs. Modern AU

Sickfic vs. Touch Starved

Bracket 2

Fake Dating vs. Redemption arc

Rivals to lovers vs. Turned into a child

Crossover vs. Fantasy AU

Soulmate AU vs. Pure angst

Hanahaki disease vs. 5 + 1

Identity Porn vs. Explicit consent

Domestic AU vs. Sold to one direction

Fix it fic vs. There Was Only One Bed

Bracket 3

Hurt/ Comfort vs. Best friends to lovers

Married Before Dating vs. Nobody dies AU

Secret relationship vs. High school AU

The Beach Episode vs. College AU

Slowburn vs. Roommates AU

Coffee shop AU vs. (Not actually) unrequited love

Found Family vs. Fluff

Time Loop vs. Whump

#bracket related #round 1 #fic tropes #enemies to lovers #fluff #angst #soulmates #fake dating #hanahaki #modern au

[purrgilpawkins]

Slime + Ink

Summary: Jack realized pretty early on that Mac always needed something. Whether it be something to distract him or something he needed to help finish his projects. (Or 5 times Jack is there to give Mac something he needs and 1 time he isn’t.)

Pairings: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver

Part of the Comfortember 2020 series Prompt: Fidgeting / Jacket

Warnings: n/a

AO3 Link in Replies

Twenty-three hours into this surveillance mission, Mac had run out of paper clips and, unfortunately for Jack, found a pen and immediately started clicking it.

Jack was a very patient person (even if he liked others to think he wasn’t), you gotta be in order to be a truly professional sniper. That being said, he snapped after about three minutes.

“Mac, I am this close to smackin’ you upside the head.”

Mac stopped at Jack’s statement and glared at him before flipping the pen in his hand…and biting the tip. Jack sighed, glad he was no longer hearing the clicking (even if Mac’s pen chewing is still a little noisy).

They sat in (mostly) silence for the next few minutes, Jack trying to do his job and Mac still eating his pen. That didn’t last too long either, seeing as the pen Mac was chewing on burst and filled his mouth ink. Jack looked at him in amusement as Mac sputtered, reaching for one of the water bottles in the cup holders.

“Jesus, kid. I know you’re bored outta your mind but do you really need to poison yourself?”

Mac opened the door to the car and spat out his watery-ink mixture and closed the door. He glanced at Jack and wiped his mouth, which was still black. “Sorry. Guess I’m going a little stir crazy.”

“No shit.”

Jack sighed once more before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of tissues that he handed to Mac. The ink-stained blond took it and wiped at the ink he just painted his hand with.

“Sorry. For blowin’ up at ya. We’ve been here for a day, I’m tired, and our intel must’ve been wrong cause the guy didn’t even show up!” Jack sighed yet again as Mac dabbed at his mouth, “How mad you think Patty’ll be if we left?”

“Probably pissed,” Mac said before attempting to remove the ink from his tongue.

“Yeah, well,” Jack sighed (yes, again) and dropped his head onto the steering wheel before quickly bringing it back up with a look of determination on his face, “She’ll just have to send somebody else out here to waste their time.”

Jack started the car and took off while Mac protested with a tissue in his mouth.

—

Jack saw that look in Mac’s eye. The one he got when he was about to run off and start making something out of random junk. And that was exactly what he did.

Mac ran out the back door of the restaurant and Jack followed him, not surprised to see the younger man digging around in one of the dumpsters.

“If you’re that hungry, they got fresh food inside the place, hoss.”

Mac ignored Jack and continued rummaging in the dumpster, throwing things back just as much as he was keeping them. He looked to his partner and Jack got the idea just before Mac started tossing him some of the things he’d dug out.

“You mind telling me what your plan here is?”

“Would you listen if I told you?”

Jack shook his head, “Probably not, no.”

Mac gave Jack a look and carried on with excavating. He stopped for a moment and jumped out to the next dumpster before he started his digging again.

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“I need something to, uh, to inflate. Kinda like a balloon but it doesn’t have to be exactly like it. Just, something to blow air into and tie off at the end.”

“Right, yeah. I know how a balloon functions.”

Mac ignored Jack’s snark and the older agent turned to search for the requested item in the restaurant itself when an idea struck him.

“Would a condom work?”

Mac paused, “Yeah, that’d work.”

Jack moved the junk to his other hand and reached into his back pocket and pulled out the aforementioned condom, handing it to Mac. Mac looked at the condom and then at Jack. “Why…?”

Jack smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Mac shook his head, “Never mind. Don’t need to know.”

—

Mac still had a few more weeks of recovery ahead of him. The PT was going well and the burns on his hands seemed like they wouldn't scar too bad, if at all.

Despite all the progress he’d made, it was still a struggle to move his hands. And for Mac, that was torture.

Bending his fingers too quickly was painful and some objects were rough against his still healing skin. It all made Mac upset and Jack saw just how upsetting it was.

They were sitting on Mac’s couch, Jack pretending to watch a movie while he sneakily eyed Mac as the man in question got lost in his own head. His fingers seemed to twitch even more now that they were hurting and Jack knew Mac would do anything for some kind of distraction.

So, the delta reached into his pocket and pulled out a mesh stress ball. He’d put it in there while at the store, completely forgetting about it, and ended up stealing it; he’d picked it up in the first place with the intent of giving it to Mac at some point anyway.

Jack reached over for Mac’s hand and gently turned it over to place the ball in his palm. Mac gave him a tired look but started squeezing the ball. He continued squeezing after several moments and once Jack realized he’d done good, he turned back to the movie, glancing at Mac occasionally, seeing him still slowly squishing the ball.

Not even thirty minutes go by before a faint pop! sounded from the general area of Mac and something warm and slimy smacked Jack in the face. Jack looked over to his partner and saw a trail of green slime inching down his face from his hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and a now deflated stress ball in his hands.

“Mac.”

“Sorry.”

—

Jack popped out of cover, getting three shots off before the guys on the other side of the warehouse got a few shots off themselves and he fell back behind the box he and Mac were using for protection.

“Anytime now, Mac!”

“Working on it!” Mac was very clearly working on it. Jack wasn’t sure the exact details of what “it” was but he was promised something explosive and that was all he needed.

The firefight continued as Mac took his time building his makeshift bomb. He looked up at hearing the click of Jack’s now empty gun. That was the last clip too.

“Mac!”

“Just another second!”

The goons were still firing their weapons from their places scattered about the “abandoned” building but they were likely to realize soon that the dudes who interrupted their illegal activities had stopped firing back.

“Okay, okay. Done!” Mac said as a bullet ricocheted past his head. He reached behind him to the matchbook he planned to use to light. “Oh, dammit.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

Mac picked up the matchbook, soaking wet after it had managed to land in a small puddle of water, now completely useless. The pair looked at each other and Jack was a little worried at the slight fear in Mac’s eyes. The bullet storm from the baddies had all but ended and then Jack remembered.

He frantically went for one of his inner jacket pockets and pulled out several loose matches, quickly handing them to Mac. A look of surprise replaced Mac’s scared one as he lit a match.

“The moment I throw this, run.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, hoss.”

—

It was unfortunate how used to the scents and sounds of a hospital they were. It practically came with the job, being in a hospital waiting room, if not the hospital bed itself.

Riley had been shot. She was currently in surgery and the doctor who’d talked to the two other agents had assured them that if all went well, she would be fine.

Jack remained worried, of course. It was his job to worry, after all. Mac was worried too but it was obvious by his pacing he was feeling guilty as well.

Riley had shielded him from the bullet. It was supposed to hit him. Now she was the one in surgery, getting a bullet removed from her back when it should’ve been him. She didn’t deserve this.

Jack had been watching him like a hawk the whole time. Mac knew he was making him worry, which just made him feel worse. He shouldn’t be making Jack worry about both his kids, especially when one was more deserving of that worry than the other. Mac's unhealthy train of thought came to a stop when Jack spoke up.

“Hey, Mac.” Jack motioned to the seat next to him and Mac sat down, avoiding eye contact.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jack reached into his front pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He moved it in front of Mac’s face, making sure he saw it, before he started talking again.

“I’m willing to bet that there’s no way in hell you can bend this into…the Eiffel Tower.”

Mac scoffed, “Jack, you’ve seen me do it before.”

“The hell I have!”

“You have! We were in Paris trying to take down that arms dealer, remember?”

“Nope. Not ringing any bells.”

Jack smiled and Mac smiled back. The younger agent knew what his partner was up to and Jack knew he knew. Mac took the paperclip, happy to be distracted, and started bending it.

—

It was their first mission without Jack.

If anyone had noticed that the jacket Mac was wearing was Jack’s, no one acknowledged it.

It was a little too big on him, but that was okay. It was comforting, in a way. It felt like Jack was still there. Still protecting him.

During their mission, Mac had made a mistake. He hadn’t been able to focus properly since…well. A man had come at him with a knife and Mac froze. Luckily for him, Desi actually took her job seriously.

A good helping of blood had landed on Mac and therefore also on the jacket.

Mac didn’t want to wash the jacket. It still smelled like gunpowder and leather. Like Jack. But it was also starting to smell like blood and Mac was sure Jack wouldn’t be too happy about a bloodied jacket when he came back.

If he came back.

He’d eventually made up his mind and decided to wash the jacket.

Mac knew from experience that putting something in the wash before checking the pockets could lead to some kind of catastrophe, so he decided to empty out the pockets. He opened the zipper of one of the inner pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper, simply labeled Mac. The man in question looked at it curiously, flipping it over and back before he folded it open.

Hey Mac,

I’m sorry I broke my promise. You should know that I didn’t want to leave if I didn’t have to. I know this seems like something I don’t have to leave for but, trust me, I do. Irregardless, my place will always be by your side. And don’t you worry, I promise I’ll be back as quick as I can. If you’ll have me, of course. Tell the others I love them.

Love you kid,

Jack

Mac wondered if Jack had anticipated Mac taking his clothes or if this was something he was supposed to read at all.

Either way, the short note brought some comfort to Mac, like his partner was still checking up on him despite his absence.

Mac slipped the note in his back pocket and put the jacket in the wash, a smile of his face.

#luke writes #2k words #(rounding up) #macgyver #macgyver 2016 #gen #mac & jack #angus macgyver #jack dalton #riley mention #desi mention #fluff #light angst #5 + 1 scenario #caring jack #comfortember 2020

[masonsystem]

ok last post abt this (FOR NOW) but it even sours any narumitsu i want to indulge in bc whenever these two fuckers get to guffaw together i just think "WHY DIDNT MY FRIEND MAYA GET ANY OF THIS NUANCE.....????"

#like is she really just phoenixs cheerleader is that it. Really???? #that and a character to get put in danger so phoenix can show how much he cares abt other people Ohhh... #like ok but can she get some of her own development too maybe. please #aa lb #like the first time around in 2-4 was fine a bit tiring cuz this is the third time round shes in a precarious situation #(defendant in 1-2 and 2-2) #but it was executed well enough in 2-4 that its forgiveable #but this gimmick kinda ran itself dry in 3-5 like really maya has to be saved Again... #and at least maya had tht heart touching letter in 2-4 #but in 3-5 shes just a footnote for godots angst like man.

[sabraeal]

You mentioned having to work at finding Soowon's voice for To All the Ghosts, and I believe you mentioned struggling with Shirayuki's voice in early fics, so my question: do you have a process for finding characters' voices?

Lots of screaming and crying 🤣

Mostly it's something I find through drafts. Some characters come easy (Suzu, for one, because he is such a weirdo), but new characters are always a process, some more than others. Lili was much easier, because she's a character you can KNOW through her dialogue. She wears her heart on her sleeve and so just by reading the manga you have her voice.

Soowon is a much more private character. No one truly know him, not even himself, so you have to piece it together from everyone around him. How he reacts to people. All the things he doesn't say. And so I'll use my first draft to get down lines and actions, stuff I'm generally solid on what he needs to do...and then really flesh out the internal narration in the second draft. Why is he doing this? How does he feel? And since he's incapable of looking an emotion straight in the face, how do i convey that without saying a word of it? 😅

Shirayuki was a similar challenge, because she's so nice. She might get sassy, but she's not snarky. So first draft was what I wanted to get across...and second draft was walking it back to be NICER.

#asks #carte blanche meme #actually i went back to see if I could find an example for soowon #and was surprised to find out that the WHOLE FIRST SCENE never existed in draft 1 #I actually started it right where he grabs her wrist but it required SO much backstory that I was like #he has to have a whole ass monologue about unloved kings #purely from coming up with the 'for a king so beloved xing mourned him very little) #because i felt like that encapsulates Soowon's problem in that fic. he is fixated on legacy #specifically the legacy of fathers. and so he needed to chew the scenery about it #i needed to remind the audience that he is both the boy thinking about how he wished kouka had rioted at the death of his father #and also can fake smile at this lady and thank her for sweet rice cakes #draft 2 went through like 3-4 different beginnings until I rearranged things to make it flow better #and then rearranged things AGAIN during a beta because it still wasn't like. punchy enough #Lili's first scene was literally added in during a round of editing and it FLEW out of me it was stupid #now that Lili's around Soowon will have less time to angst so like. it'll be better for next time

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Back in the Gulf

Hey people! Here's a fic I've been thinking about for 😂 a while. It's also one that has become much bigger than I expected. It's about Sam working through all his feelings after the blip and before TFATWS. At least, that's what the first chapter's about 😆 This will also count as my "Wilson Family" square for my @samwilsonbingo round 2 card. Enjoy! 🥰

1) Back in the Gulf

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rating: M | Chapter: 4/4 | WC: 22.9K |

Summary: Sam Wilson is trying to find his footing in a post-blip world and it feels like he's failing. It doesn't help that his sort of best friend Bucky keeps leaving him on read.

Excerpt:

There was a mural. At the airport. Flowers collected on the floor under it. Wings. Giant red wings blooming from Sam’s back. Sam in his Falcon uniform. I know some part of you might want to give up hope. But this is our moment. Our chance to turn things around. Displayed above him. When had Sam said that? Was there a clip of it somewhere? He had to have said it, it sounded familiar. Said it on a mission. Said it somewhere. Sam felt like he’d never completely get rid of all the fog in his mind. The fog that came with him when he woke up.

2) Meanwhile, On the Boat

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rating: E | Bonus Story | WC: 2.1K |

Summary: Sam and Bucky have some fun on the boat as the party celebrating Sam becoming Captain America winds down.

Excerpt:

“I’m going nuts trying to find a cookie to take a bite out of. I’m a wolf looking for the most delectable dish,” murmured Bucky into Sam’s ear before he nibbled Sam’s earlobe, “Are you rationed, honey?” Sam shouldn’t have a raging boner because of what Bucky was saying. Why was it all so sultry coming from this asshole? Why did wherever Bucky’s breath hit heat up as he said those words? Sam had standards. Where were Sam’s standards? Out the window when it came to a man with washboard abs, a growl of a voice, and eyes that looked like all Bucky wanted to do was make love to Sam and take care of Sam forever, apparently.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#sam wilson bingo #sam wilson bingo round 2 #sambucky #sambucky fic #sam wilson #bucky barnes #family feels #angst with a happy ending #sarah wilson #aj wilson #cass wilson #sam centric #my fic #Back in the Gulf #Chapter 1 #Homecoming

[rurpleplayssims]

About a month later, Deidre had adapted to her new way of thinking. 

She was more content, and she was able to socialise a lot more, even if she did still remain at home most days. Even at the weekends when Zoey had time off, Deidre remained inside and only spoke to others on the phone.

More often than not, if she went anywhere, it was next door to meet with Helen, Luke and Becky who she knew the best as the four of them had travelled to the town together. It was a running joke that she was their adoptive mother, as whenever they started bickering in her presence, she would shush them and tell them off.

The current topic for today’s talk was Jasper and Ellen’s engagement and Jasper’s aspiration change.

“Well I’m happy for the pair of them” Deidre said genuinely. “The pair of them look perfectly happy with each other, and Jasper is showing more devotion by changing his life goals for her.”

(…)

“Helen, I wouldn’t suggest changing your views on a whim.”

“You should remain true to yourself. If your parents told you how to act and it’s not true to who you are, then only you can decide what’s best for you.”

(…)

“No Helen, your parents aren’t evil.” 

(…)

“Sometimes its hard for parents to realise their children have grown up. Usually it comes to a head when the parent acts in place of the child, without their consent, behind their back as if they were still a child, when in fact they have an adult daughter who sees it as a betrayal of trust.”

#CampbellQuayBaCC #Campbell Quay #CampbellQuay #The Sims 2 #TS2 #BaCC #Build a City Challenge #The Sims 2 BaCC #Cooper Household #Cooper Round 1 #Spring: First Year #Madeleine Cooper #Deidre Gothard #Getting a bit of angst out whilst I can #This is why I was upset a few weeks ago

[ancientmyrddin]

already planning some angst for this year

#As well as seeing if I'm actually going to be able to do the new way I want to post #But I'm working on some elden ring angst 🙂 working on drogier tragedy #Basically I'm thinking about not posting anything until 1) it goes through one round of perfection edits (what wwdt got) #2) I have 5 fics in the barrel #Drop them all over the course of a few days #Which will also hopefully give me enough steam to decide if I want to do a 2nd draft #Generally I know if I want to do one pretty early on so I'm not too concerned about that #Abyss.txt

[criminalamnesia]

everyone’s asking for a part two so here is more angst bc cedar by gracie abrams is perfect for this [ also inspired by what @shotmrmiller said in their reblog :)) ]

part one here

part three (aka version 1 of the ending) here

part three (ending version 2) here

it’s odd coming home to an empty house. unnerving, even. he doesn’t like it— dislikes it even more than he did your celebrations. fuck, he’d kill for those damn streamers right now.

“love?” his voice is soft as he calls out into the dark, once lively little flat. it hasn’t felt this big since before you had moved in.

he takes a few more steps inside, toeing off his boots and letting his backpack fall to the floor. by now, you would’ve been launching yourself into his arms. where were you? you’d never missed the day he came home. ever. you would have it marked on your calendar from the day he left, exclamation points and stars decorating the date.

“love?” he calls again, his voice a little louder. he keeps moving; notices there’s no smell of freshly baked goods or a home-cooked meal.

he rounds the corner, his eyes instantly finding the little note propped up on the dining table. eyebrows furrowed, he approaches. it’s addressed to him, clearly in your handwriting.

he reads it, and he really should’ve seen all of this coming.

he doesn’t cry. doesn’t even feel sad, really. it’s not like he hadn’t loved you— he had, but sometimes you made it really damn difficult to. your constant touches and words, doting on him, talking his ear off about this and that. he’d loved it at first, then came to tolerate it, and eventually he found himself hating it.

it wasn’t fair to you. he didn’t hate you, he hated the naivety. the unconditional love. partners were supposed to show each other that kind of love, were they not? so why did he come to despise it?

perhaps it was some deep rooted self-hatred. something dark and twisted inside of him that had done too much and taken life. killed and killed and killed. watched his comrades die in a number of ways. slowly. quickly. suddenly. brutally.

it hollowed him out, but it was his job. it was his job to do what he could for the damn world— get his hands dirty so people like you would never have to worry about a damn thing.

he should’ve seen it coming. you had been acting a little odd the last time he was home, he realizes now. detached, almost. quieter. he had cherished the quiet then.

now it was weird. he didn’t know how to feel.

he placed the note back down onto the table before making his way into the kitchen. some utensils were missing. some plates and bowls. the colorful dishrags you’d hung from the stove handle. the little plant you’d stationed in front of the window above the sink.

all the pictures of the two of you remained on the fridge. he could see in the photos how he slowly became detached. but you— god, you wore that dazzling smile in every photo.

he turned around and headed towards the bedroom.

——————————————————————

there wasn’t really any defining closure. you’d left the note, sure, but he hadn’t gotten to speak his piece.

would he have begged you to stay? told you to leave?

he didn’t know. all he knew was that it wasn’t fair to you, how he acted. what he did.

he also knew that if you called, or if you showed up and said you forgot something, or hell, if he saw you on the street, he’d say something. apologize at least, because that’s the least you deserved.

but you didn’t, and after a few days, he stopped thinking about you. what you’d be telling him right now if you were there. stopped thinking about how you sang when you cooked dinner. how you would reach for his hand when the two of you were in the grocery store.

how you would throw those damn ‘welcome home!’ parties.

he fell back into who he was, and your memory became nothing but a minuscule dot on a large piece of paper.

but for you? you had been miserable when you’d shown up at your friends apartment. cried into her shoulder as you told her about the note. sobbed as you realized that he didn’t care about you, and how you’d wasted so much time on this man who didn’t give a damn.

but even still, when you stirred in the middle of the night, you expected to feel his hands around your body. expected him to press a kiss to your head as you drifted back to sleep.

you woke up and expected him to be there. you forgot that he wasn’t yours. you found yourself missing him, even though you’d starting doing that far before you actually left.

it took the man you loved days to move on. it took you months— almost a year. he put you in fucking therapy, for god’s sake, because that shit messes with someone.

loving someone so completely, so wholly, only to finally realize it’s one sided? it’s crushing. he crushed you. but you picked up the pieces, and you put yourself back together.

you move on. find someone who actually cares for you— someone who communicates and doesn’t lose interest. someone who appreciates your enthusiasm. someone who returns it.

and when the man that broke your heart several years ago tries to stop you on the street one day,

you keep walking.

#simon riley angst #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john price drabble #john price fic #john price x reader #john price #captain price fic #captain price x reader #captain price #angst #ghost x y/n #ghost x gn reader #ghost x you #ghost angst #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #john price angst #price angst #cod mw2 fic #cod mw2 #cod mw2 angst

[roturo]

⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WATCH IT!

Gojo Satoru didn't predicted this move... So he ended up fucking you lol ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ G!Satoru x afab!reader and sex pollen!

tags: smut, sex pollen, unprocteted sex (wrap it and pee after sex), overstimulation (like A LOT), use of nicknames (princess, baby, good boy, love...) multiple rounds, praise kink, angst if you squint your eyes till you cry like gojo, sub(ish)!gojo satoru, god complex, fluff if you take one eye out, crack, belly bulgde, creampie, breeding kink, crempie kink, A LOT of cum, dumbfication, cock warming, npr.

A/N: happy holidays! might be my last writing of the year so i wish you lots of love and happiness <3 i might write pt2 for this one and 'she's back', which one would you like first?

o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

DAY 1: HOW IT STARTED

How the fuck at his grown ass age Gojo Satoru could be this stupid. And that’s big coming from him, because this man considers himself the senior of seniors and god of gods. So, how come he falled into this?

And you know what? Maybe it is his fault! For believing he’s a superior and underestimating such a weak and useless curse he just killed. But, this weak and useless curse has him going crazy. That really was karma paying back to him because motherfucker- Why is he feeling all giddy and hot all of sudden? This has never happened to him before, so that’s why he’s losing his mind right now and almost sprinting into his room because of how bothered he was feeling to just teleport. 

Everything was like hell. Really, like hot as hell. And how does Satoru know that? Uh well, because he’s living it right now.

He couldn’t bear the sensation anymore and dialogue Shoko’s number like it was a habit.

“What do you want, Gojo? I’m in the middle of trying to know how Yuuji’s body is capable of being Sukuna’s vessel. Like- It’s quite important right now, and more than debating about some of your dumb tv shows you-”

Shoko’s voice was interrupted by a whine coming from Gojo’s line, seconds of silence continued the awkward moment between the both of them, while all Gojo could do was breathe and maintain his whines inside of his body before he started literally moaning.

“Are you okay, Gojo?...”

“Fuck, no. Some fucking curse sprayed me all over with some fucking stinky pollen. Didn’t even taste great, by the way. And now I'm just feeling really hot, sometimes dizzy… or kinda giddy? fuck. And my breathing became irregular. I’m fucking sprawled out in my bed trying to find a comfy position but my legs won’t cooperate.”

A loud laugh was heard coming from Shoko’s line. It was clear she’s been holding it all this time just trying to make sure she’s gettin it right.. and well. 

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Silence. 

“You know what? I’m sending Y/N over there with some medicine. You’ve been sprayed with sex pollen by the way.”

Sex- what?! 

Before he couldn’t even ask Shoko any question since she quickly hung up. Leaving a needy and confused (and hard) Gojo.

Knock. Knock. 

No answer, but a weird sounding moan? You gave yourself permission to enter Gojo’s room since no life signals were heard. But- holy fuck. Was this a reward or a punishment from the gods?

He was kneeled down on his bed, one of his hands used as a support placed in his bare calf while his other hand was as fast as possible jerking himself off. You stayed still some seconds before rewinding back to what Shoko told you before coming here.

“He might be another type… of… Gojo?... Anyways. He’ll be really needy and like a lost puppy looking for some salvation. I gave you this backpack with all you would need, yeah? Thank me later and good luck.”

So that’s why her flat ass was quickly sending you off with a backpack full of water bottles and snacks. Sex fucking pollen. Great.

It’s not like people don’t know that both of you have been crushing into each other lately, hell- even his newest student asked about this. But you never expected for it to be like this.

“G-Gojo…?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it’s like a hawk located his next prey because of how instant his reaction was just for your voice. A drunk smile on his face, while both of his hands fall infront of him trying to hide the act that was going on minutes ago. His sculptured white as snow body covered in a hot layer of sweat. Not being able to catch a breath thanks to this sight, somehow he’s in front of you. 

“Are you here to help me? Y/N?”

His voice sounded so different. But at the same time it was just Gojo.

A small nod was all the reaction he got. You could smell that sweaty smell, looking down you found yourself looking at a large wet spot staining his black briefs. While his cock does nothing to imagination, marking perfectly the shape of it. Moving your gaze to his v-line, a white happy trail proudly adorning it. Eyes moving up, you found yourself looking at his clearly erected nipples, But all this examination was over once he interrupted your thoughts.

“I need a verbal affirmation, princess”

Ah, the nicknames. If you weren’t wet by now, you’re pretty sure you’re leaking right now all because of him.

“Yes Satoru, I’ll help you.”

His knees felt weak. Literally. He kneeled down in front of you, it was like he hypnotized and somehow could smell through your body into emotions. His hands were cold but hot at the same time he roamed your body.

You tried warning him by calling his name while he started kissing the softness of your thighs, telling him to at least move you towards the bed. And his body was doing what you said like if you were controlling him, while his mind was somewhere else. He moved the both of you towards his bed, making you lie down. His head not wasting any second between your thighs until his nose touched where you needed him the most and you whimpered at the feeling. Clearly triggering a new kind of need inside Gojo.

Everything happened really fast. Between some kisses and moaning, Gojo ripped your shorts and pantoes a muffled noise coming out from him of what you suppose was “I’ll buy you new ones later” but right now you couldn’t care less.

Not when his tongue slowly started tracing the way from your entrance until it reached your core. Teasing it with kitten licks, while his hands remained on your hips from preventing moving them.

His tongue quickly found a rhythm between your entrance and your clit, forming infinite signs between them. And the simulation was too much you couldn’t notify Gojo about your orgasm- But he was so lost in the feeling of your thighs suffocating him and the taste of yourself in his lips, he swears he could die as a happy man right now.

And like it wasn’t enough, Gojo kept eating you out even after your intense orgasm. Overstimulation taking over your body, trying to take him off your core, ended up with annoyed groans coming out from him.

“Satoru, love, fuck. I need you to stop, please.”

The nickname had him exploding with happiness, he really looked like a puppy from this angle. His eyes looked ethereal, his mouth covered with your fluids and his face was with a cute smile while he called out your name.

“Will you please let me fuck you?”

A small giggle came out from your mouth, Gojo’s face looked a little sad and embarrassed, but was quickly erased when you pecked his lips. And that was all he needed to clumsily take off his briefs and while he climbed back to the bed, taking off your top while doing so. His eyes were full of adoration looking over your body, before he pressed his lips into yours, locking them for a long moment, clearly enjoying the moment, before the kiss turned more heated and he started kissing every part of your body again.

His tip was now wet thanks to your folds, Easily slipping through it. 

“Ffuck- Ssatoru- Be a good boy and put it in, please?”

Gojo needed no more words before thrusting his cock whole into you with one swift movement, hitting perfectly against that spongy spot that made you see stars. But something didn’t feel right. Not in a bad way. Since you re-opened your eyes to find a glassy eyed Satoru mumbling a lot of ´sorry’s´ while he kept thrusting.

Oh.

He came with just one thrust and was overstimulating himself, still rock hard with no break while he hid his face in the crook of your neck while marking it as his and tearing down from the pleasure. 

You’re pretty sure he came again, when he whimpered your name and moaned against your ear but still continued thrusting into you perfectly. And he was so lost in the pleasure of overstimulating himself he didn’t realize once he confessed to you.

“You’re so pretty- ffuck– I really want to make you mine now. So no one could look at you, not even in a friendly way. Just… have you all for me- sshit. I love you.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, thinking it was all because of the moment, so you just had to enjoy it for now. His thrusts were so  fast and hard, but somehow still felt romantic. Like this was a normal routine on a daily basis. And you would be disgusted by the pool of cum forming under the both of you if you weren’t so close to your third orgasm this night. No matter how many times you told Gojo to stop for a moment and take a break, he would cum again, and still be hard so he had to keep thrusting.

Your mind is lost now. All you could ever think about right now was Gojo Satoru and his immense cock. He wouldn’t stop mumbling praises to you, saying this was all for you to feel good and he would stop once you cum at least 3 times more than him. A hard dare to get over with. Or maybe it already happened?

You begged for mercy, not thinking he could get another orgasm out of you. Hell- to even get an orgasm out of him. His hands interweld into yours, and moved it down towards your tummy.

“Do you feel it, baby? I'm right here. Ahh~ I’m pretty sure my cum is there too heh. Your tummy is full of me and my cum.”

He sounded drunk. Like. Really drunk. But his words took off your last orgasm of the night, apparently your reaction making his trigger off and cum… dry?

How many fucking times did Gojo Satoru came inside you?

Will pills even prevent a pregnancy?

“Ah- shit baby.”

You couldn’t pay attention to him anymore, quickly slipping into dreamland. Gojo not once leaves your side. Literally. He was cock-warming, still hard, but no energy (and cum) to continue his misery.

You were here at 7.45 o’clock, one last look at the clock and it was 3.23 in the morning.

And it was like you just blinked, because a whimper came out of your mouth. Looking again into the clock, it was 10 AM, and Gojo was not over.

#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #geto smut #gojo smut #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader #toji smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk #jjk fanart #jjk gojo #jjk spoilers #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #satoru #stsg #smut

[lightsoutletsgo]

girl dad — mv.1

pairing: dad!max verstappen x mom!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, obvs mentions of babies and kids, fluff, the briefest flash of angst and nostalgia hi loves! so this is the result of the absolute brainrot me and @verstappen-cult got stuck in yesterday discussing how max is such a girl dad. I actually really like this one so I hope you like it too! as always please leave any feedback, I always love reading the tags to find out how I can improve my work and what you want to see more of! happy reading! mimi 🤍

Max groaned softly as a heavy weight suddenly landed on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw a perfect reflection of them staring back at him. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face as his arms wrapped around his daughter and he cuddled her close to him, “Good morning little flower,” his voice was gentle and low so as to not wake you up, “did you have exciting dreams last night?” His hand smoothed over Esmee’s hair as she nodded, arm wrapping round her soft plush bunny even tighter as she curled up on his chest. “Well I’m glad to hear that…” They were both still and silent for a moment and Max thought she may have even drifted back off, until she popped up, sitting on his tummy, her hand bringing her bunny’s ear up to her face to gently rub it across her cheek in a soothing motion. Max’s heart clenched as he stared at his baby girl, where was the time going? Just yesterday it seemed like she was still a tiny newborn that he cradled so carefully yet awkwardly. 

“Mama sleep?” The two year old pointed to you lying next to him, your head resting against his shoulder as your chest rose and fell steadily. Max nodded and over exaggerated placing a finger to his lips in a ‘shh’ motion. The toddler giggled, a sweet sound that made Max smile. Max looked at the clock that sat on his bedside table and noticed how early it was and how dark it still was outside, “It’s so early flower! The sun is still sleeping.” Esmee pouted in that sweet funny way only toddlers can and pointed to her tummy, “Hungry papa!” Max made a noise of understanding and scooped her up in his arms, standing and silently padding across the room to leave you sleep. He carried her through the hallways of your family home in Monaco and he relished in the way Esmee snuggled into his neck, finding comfort and warmth in the way he felt each of her short little breaths against his neck. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and slowed his pace down a little, enjoying the time he had. It was quiet, barely five in the morning, the sun only just beginning to creep up in the sky. The traffic was still light outside, just the hiss of the garbage truck and the occasional siren in the distance. He softly strolled down the hallway, hand rubbing and down Esmee’s back in the way he’d done ever since the first time he held her.

As he got to the kitchen, he placed Esmee down in her chair, not a baby high chair anymore but taller than the rest of your chairs to accommodate her short body. She let out a whine at losing his body heat and attention and he turned back to see her holding her arms out to him, begging to be picked back up. ‘Like mother like daughter’ Max thought, knowing full well he was unable to say no to either of you. He picked her up and placed her over one arm, tickling her tummy with his free hand when her gleeful giggle sounded around the room knowing she’d gotten her own way. Max knew that anyone who looked at him for just a few seconds would see that he was completely wrapped around his daughter’s tiny finger. Just as Mama and Papa were her whole world, she was theirs. 

“What should we have for breakfast Es hm?” Max opened the fridge and looked at the contents, thinking what he could make for all of you, “should we make some for Mama too?” Esmee nodded, excited as Max mentions you. “Panpan papa!” Max laughed as she did her best to say the word ‘pancake’, “Okay then flower, pancakes it is!” Max had watched you make them so many times he was pretty confident in the recipe, knowing it would be in your recipe book on the island if he really needed guidance. Esmee clapped her hands and Max sat her on the counter next to where he was standing, “You want to help?” She nodded and a serious expression took over her face, Max smiled and kissed her forehead before he gathered the ingredients he needed from various cupboards and the fridge. “Okay then flower, let’s do this!” Max pulled the measuring cups from the drawer in front of him and held the correct one out to Esmee. She took it, her pudgy little legs kicking in excitement as her face lit up in glee. Max held out the bag of flour and wrapped his hand around hers to help her dig the right amount out of the bag. He let her tip it into the bowl on her own, her tongue poking out in concentration. Once she was finished, she beamed up at him and he gave a cheer, encouraging her for her efforts, “Good job flower!” She practically bounced on the counter, excited to be making pancakes with her Papa and for a moment Max almost wished you were awake to take a picture of this moment, so that even when he was old and his memory started fading, he would still be able to remember.

He pulled himself back to the present, not wanting to miss looking at her for a second. He was unable to help the way yet another fond smile creeps across his face as he watched  her gasp as she spilt some of the sugar on the counter top but he was quick to reassure her, “It’s okay flower! Mess is okay sometimes.” Her worried expression fell and she was back to staring at the bowl intently as she added the next ingredient. Max handed Esmee an egg, “You’ve done this bit with Mama before, haven’t you flower?” Esmee nodded but still looked at him and held the egg back out to him, “Papa help please?” He leaned down to rub his nose against hers and she giggled trying to push his face away, “Papa tickles!” Max relented and placed his hands over hers to gently tap the egg against the counter and add it to the bowl. He disposed of the shell before helping Esmee lift the milk carton to tip it into the bowl. When they’d added all the ingredients, Max grabbed a whisk and turns to the toddler, “Should Papa do this part?” Esmee nods, “Papa strong!” “Mhmm, Papa is suuuuper strong!” Esmee shrieked with delight as Max threw her into the air once to prove his point before placing her back down, hand ruffling her hair before he began to mix the ingredients together.

Esmee grabbed her bunny and Max gave a fond smile, remembering how it was one of the first things you’d picked out together when you were expecting her. Max allowed himself to reminisce as he remembered how he had been so desperate to have a son, he’d been so sure Esmee would be a boy. He had even told you that he hoped it wasn’t a girl, a point you hadn’t taken too kindly to and had quickly shut down. Max could still remember the conversation like it was yesterday… “Max you cannot be serious.” Your hands were planted firmly on your hips as you shot a cold glare at him and he cowered ever so slightly, “Schat I just meant that-” “No no, Max. I understood what you meant perfectly.” Max was silent, knowing he had no defence against you, “You want a boy to carry on the Verstappen name? You think a daughter can’t go into Formula One? You think a daughter won’t do great things and make you proud just because she’s a woman? What about me? Do you think less of me because I’m a woman?” Max sighed as your ranting stopped. 

“I’m worried about what the world of F1 would do to her…” You pulled back, having never heard him speak so quietly or softly before, he sank down onto the couch, “You know how horrible it can be…” You nodded understandingly, “I do, yes…” “Then you know what kind of things she will have to face.” You took a seat next to him and rubbed his back soothingly, “But she will have you to have her back and protect her from as much of it as you can…” You did your best to calm his mind and he took a deep breath, “I know schat… but also… I don’t know how to be a girl dad! I don’t know how to do hair or how to play with barbies or how to teach her about…” his voice quietened, “periods…” You couldn’t help the way a laugh left you and Max whined at you, “Stop laughing! I’m serious!” 

You planted a kiss against his cheek and sat back against the couch, inviting him to lay his head in your lap near your tummy, something that had become your new routine every evening. Max plopped down and your hand immediately started playing with his hair as he rested one hand on your bump. “I know it’s scary… but you have plenty of time to learn as you go! You’re bound to make mistakes love, we both are… she’ll teach you how she wants to play with you and hey, maybe she’ll be into cars more than barbies!” Max kissed your bump and smiled, “And I think you should probably leave the period talk to me…” He laughed heartily and nodded before turning to your bump once more,  “Hi baby… It’s me… your Papa… W-we don’t know what you are yet,” He looked up at you and you nodded at him reassuringly, “but whether you turn out to be a boy or girl we’ll love you so so much. We already love you so much.” You hand continued through his hair as his eyes closed, “You’re going to love being a girl dad…” One eye cracked open as he stared at you, “You sound sure it’s a girl?” “Call it pregnant woman intuition…” 

“Mama!” A call of your name and Esmee’s hand patting his arm pulled him from his memories and he turned to see you watching in the doorway, the most peaceful and loving expression on your face, you crossed the kitchen having been caught and swept your toddler up in your arms, blowing raspberries on her tummy and feeling your heart squeeze at her little giggles, “Good morning flower!” You sat her up in your arms and her little hands held your face as she gave you a sloppy kiss on the cheek, you laughed and walked back to the counter, gently placing her back down, “What are you doing with Papa hmm?” Esmee pointed at the bowl with wide eyes, “Panpan Mama!” You gasped and widened your own eyes, mimicking her excitement, “You’re making pancakes? Mama’s favourite?” Esmee nodded and her little legs started kicking again. You turned to Max and placed your chin on his shoulder, “Good morning handsome.” he turned his head to kiss your forehead, “Good morning schat.” He put the whisk down and turned to pull you into his arms, “What time did she wake up?” You pulled away from him and headed to the fridge to get some milk for her sippy cup, “Around five…” Max winced and you smiled, “Sorry I stayed asleep,” Max waved your apology away, “Don’t apologise, you need the sleep schatje.” 

His eyes fell to the slight swell of your stomach and thanked every star above that he was lucky enough to have a beautiful wife, a sweet toddler and one more on the way. You bustled around the kitchen, tidying here and there as Max started cooking breakfast. You crossed back to Esmee to give her her sippy cup and she patted your tummy gently as you stood in front of her, “A’morning baby!” You felt a small flutter in your tummy and you booped her nose, “Baby says ‘good morning Esmee!’”

Max felt a huge smile fill his face as he took in the interaction next to him, he turned to you, crossing his arms as he waited for the next pancake to cook before he flipped it over, “You know… I really won’t mind if this one is a girl too…” You looked at him from where you stood and raised one eyebrow with a smirk, “Oh no?” Max let out a breath of laughter, flippin the pancake in the pan, “Yeah yeah, go ahead and laugh…” You shook your head, “Told you you’d love being a girl dad…” Max tipped the cooked pancake on the plate, turned the stove off and crossed the kitchen to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder so he could watch Esmee tucking into her pancakes with all the vigour a hungry two year old could muster, his voice was quiet, “And what’s your pregnant woman's intuition saying about this one then hmm?” he kissed your neck softly and your head tipped back with a happy hum, “Max Emilian Verstappen, you are destined to be a girl dad…” He laughed and kissed your neck once more.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

And five months later when Anneleise is born, Max stares at her in awe with tears in his eyes as this tiny precious bundle is carefully placed into his arms, “Hi baby girl, I’m your Papa…” Her only response is a big yawn for such a small person and an even bigger stretch as she nestles into his chest, recognising his voice. He isn’t sure why you’re suddenly chuckling to yourself but when he looks up, you’ve got tears in your own eyes as you film him sitting in the hospital chair doing skin to skin with your new daughter. It’s only then that he realises he’s crying. He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed, instead, looking back down at Anneleise and softly tracing her tiny features. You watch on and smile, noting how he’s much more assured in how he holds this baby, how he talks to her and you know that just like when Esmee was born, he is instantly wrapped around her finger. You know that just like the promises he made about protecting Esmee and always being there for her, ring true for this daughter as well. You know you’re looking at a man who will attend tea parties, drive his girls to the karting track and to ballet lessons, will do his best to braid their hair, will sing disney songs in the car and paint their nails to the best of his abilities. You know that when your girls get older he will buy them ice cream after a breakup, teach them how to drive, help them revise for exams, support them in their dreams and cry when he watches them get married. Because forever and always, Max is a girl dad.  And later on when Max watches the video you had filmed earlier - and every time after that -  he hears your voice, making him smile,

“Max Verstappen, you are such a girl dad.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

#mimi.writes #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

[best-fanfic-trope]

Round 1: Idiots to Lovers vs. Angst and Fluff

Idiots to Lovers

Pining without even being aware of it! Extra points if they are on the same wavelength of idiocy

Angst and Fluff

Two sides of the same coin, brought together to make a delicious pie

(Want to read fics submitted by y'all featuring tropes? Check them out here)

#bracket related #round 1 #round 1 part 1 #poll #idiots to lovers #angst and fluff #fic tropes #fanfic #fanfic tropes

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.��

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

#Anonymous #one piece #one piece live action #opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #x reader #opla #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece fluff #opla fluff #roronoa zoro imagines #roronoa zoro scenarios #floofy floof floof #scheduled post #angst mcgee #and yes after some consideration and that poll #im giving Proper Caps a try LOL #its strange i think it actually changes my voice a lil bit #but i dont think i mind??? #anyway -- any feedback would be much appreciated! <3

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After Bradley finally breaks things off with his girlfriend just days before the start of a deployment, he expects a few lonely months of nobody writing to him or waiting for his return. But the fateful arrival of a package from a class of fourth graders learning about aviation changes everything.

Warnings: Fluff, language, breakup angst

Length: 2200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley had his duffle bag open on his bed, tidy stacks of his uniform components, flight suits, and underwear lined up next to it. He had his checklist in front of him. He liked to be as organized as possible.

"Are you even listening to me? I thought we were going out to dinner."

He looked up from his partially packed toiletry bag into the annoyed eyes of Vanessa where she stood on the other side of the bed. He was seven months into this relationship, and sometimes he wondered why either of them still bothered. She knew his routine by now. She knew what his deployments were like, but she had absolutely no patience for any of it.

"Ness, I'm leaving in four days. I just need to focus on this for a few minutes so I know what I need to buy before Wednesday, and then we can go out and eat."

"It's already seven o'clock. I thought you'd have finished packing by now," she replied with a pout and a glare. "Every nice restaurant is going to have a long wait now, because I'm just going to go ahead and assume that you didn't make a reservation anywhere."

He took a deep breath and let it out before pressing his lips together. What he really wanted was to order something for delivery, cuddle on the couch, watch a movie and have the first round of hot, goodbye sex. But she'd never go for it now. Apparently he'd already fucked up for the night. 

"No, I didn't make a reservation," he said calmly, and she rolled her eyes and reached for her phone. "I really don't even feel like going out. I'll be gone for months, stuck in a tiny bunk or a loud mess hall. I'd like to stay in tonight where it's quiet. Just me and you."

But she wasn't listening at all. "Let me see if Woodmere has any tables left," she muttered. "If not there, then I can try The Landmark." She looked as beautiful as she always did, but he couldn't even stand the sight of her right now.

"Ness. I want to stay in."

She groaned and looked him in the eye. "Of course you do. You always want to stay in. You always want to decompress or read a book. That's not healthy, you know that, right? I shouldn't have to force you out of your comfort zone all the time."

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. His job was demanding, both mentally and physically. He usually preferred quiet over loud, because his own thoughts started to buzz when she dragged him out all over the place. And now she was glaring at him again. "Are you even going to miss me?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer. "You haven't said so one time since I told you about this deployment."

She heaved a deep and annoyed sigh. "You're deployed so frequently, Bradley, it's like you're the government's bitch. And if the Navy is going to insist upon eating up taxpayer money, the least they could do is pay you more."

His skin started to crawl as she went off about his career like always, but he'd honestly had enough. He raised his voice louder and asked once again, "Are you even going to miss me?"

Vanessa scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm going to miss you. What kind of question is that? I'll be bored every weekend, waiting for you to get back, like usual. I almost never go out when you're deployed."

Bradley's heart started to pound in a way that made his palms sweat and his stomach turn. "Jesus, Vanessa. I asked if you're going to miss me. Not miss going out every weekend."

When she hesitated for a beat, he reached out to brace his hand on his headboard. "Yes, Bradley. I am going to miss you. Okay? Happy?"

"Fuck, no. I'm not happy Vanessa." And that was the bottom line right there. The absolute truth. And it didn't hurt to say it, rather he immediately felt better. He knew he would miss the sporadic emails and the phone calls and the dirty pictures and the reunion sex. The upcoming weeks would be harder without those things to look forward to, but at least he'd come home to his own place where he could do what he wanted instead of what he was told. He wouldn't have to listen to her negativity. "I think we need to break up."

Her eyes went wide with shock. "Excuse me?"

Bradley let go of the bed and ran his hand over his face. "You heard me, Ness. This isn't working. For either of us."

"Don't call me Ness," she snapped, immediately turning toward his bedroom door. "You're not my boyfriend anymore." She paused briefly, just long enough to say, "Fuck you," and then she was gone. 

He sat on the edge of his bed for a couple minutes, but it didn't take long to sort through his feelings. The immediate sense of calm that he felt had him convinced he'd done the right thing. There was no shared living space. There was no ring. There was no real commitment. Maybe he'd always known why that was the case. 

So he packed up his bag and made a shopping list, and when his stomach started to growl, he ordered dinner for himself from his favorite restaurant. He didn't cry, and he didn't worry about having to do anything he didn't want to do.

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

The first few weeks of his deployment were great. He spent a lot of time in the air, and he flirted a bit with some of the women who approached him in the gym on the aircraft carrier. He jerked off while he thought about whomever he fucking wanted to. He didn't spend very much time reflecting on his relationship with Vanessa other than to acknowledge that it wasn't much of a relationship at all. In the moments where he thought maybe he missed her, he realized he just missed the idea of having someone who cared about him.

He was about a month in when he realized the attractive woman who always touched his arm in the gym was actually married, and he was not all about that. He was also maybe kind of getting tired of masturbating which was a depressing thought. He was bored, and he was lonely, and other than randomly hooking up with someone, he figured his best bet was finding a book or something to read. 

When he made his way to dinner, he heard everyone talking about the helicopter that had landed on deck less than an hour ago stacked full of containers of mail. There was a line of officers trailing down the hallway adjacent to the mess hall, everyone waiting patiently to pick up parcels from their loved ones. Since Bradley had basically nobody who would think to write to him, he made his way toward the food instead. 

His tray was piled high with everything he could get his hands on, and when he looked for somewhere to sit, he had to deftly avoid that stacked lieutenant who had a husband at home. He found a table off in the corner and devoured his dinner alone. When he stood to drop off his empty dishes and tray, some petty officers entered the cavernous room to drop off unclaimed mail. 

"Harper, Jonathan! Pauley, Vincent! Dixon, Jennifer! Sutter, Wesley! Bradshaw, Bradley!"

He was more than a little intrigued as he made his way up along with a handful of others, and then a white envelope and a small cardboard box were thrust into his hands. The envelope was addressed to him by name in familiar chicken scratch that made him smile. He shouldn't have counted Natasha out, especially when his birthday was in a few days. 

He tore into the envelope as he made his way back to his bunk. It contained a very short letter along with a coupon for buy one get one free steak dinners at her favorite restaurant with a post-it stuck to the back. 

This is your birthday present. Now when you take me out for my birthday when you get home, you only have to pay half as much. You're welcome.

He snorted as he unlocked his bunk door and tossed everything from Nat onto the small nightstand. And then he examined the box. It wasn't addressed to him. Not really. It was addressed to 'A Deployed US Naval Aviator' in tidy handwriting. Then he noticed the return address was from an elementary school in Mira Mesa, and his curiosity got the best of him.

Bradley sat on the edge of his bed and tore gently into the packaging to find the box was jam packed with items and overflowing with envelopes. He tipped the box, and everything went cascading out onto his narrow bed. There were a lot of snacks, and a pack of trail mix caught his eye, making his stomach growl.

"I just fed you," he muttered but ripped into the snack anyway, dumping half of it into his mouth in one go. He was eyeing the envelopes carefully, each one distinctly unique. Some had names written on them, and some had little doodles or pictures, but they definitely seemed to be from a class of kids who went to the school. He sifted through them until he found a slightly larger, more official looking envelope which once again said To: A Deployed US Naval Aviator.

He finished his snack, silently thanking the class of kids and their teacher, and then he opened the big envelope. He pulled out a typed up letter which was folded around a few photos that slid onto his lap. Then he started to read.

Dear United States Naval Aviator,

First of all, thank you for your service. Second, let us introduce ourselves. We are one of the fourth grade classes from Mira Mesa Elementary School, and we have been learning all about aviation for the last month or so. We have combined our science, math and social studies classes into one unit all about flying, and we have learned so much. We really wanted to share some of what we learned with you in the hopes that you might be able to help us learn even more!

Each student in the class has included a letter filled with information and some questions. If you have some free time and are inclined to do so, we would love to hear back from you. (No pressure!) There are plenty of thoughtful questions that my students would appreciate more information about. (Once again, only if you want to!) And I for one would love to give them the chance to show off what they learned to a professional. (I'm just a proud teacher!)

Thank you very much for indulging our curiosity thus far, and we hope to hear back from you. I'll include my email address just in case you have any questions or would prefer to reply that way. Otherwise you can send mail directly to the address for the school along with my name, and it will get to us. We hope we are about to dazzle you with our letters, and we wish you well on your deployment.

Sincerely,

The best fourth graders you will ever meet along with their teacher

Bradley was chuckling as he finished reading. Of course he would take the time to look at all of the notes from the kids and send back a response. It wasn't like he'd be tied up talking to Vanessa. This little project would keep him busy when he had nothing else to do, and besides, this was the kind of shit he would have thought was outlandishly cool when he was a fourth grader himself. 

He read and reread the name and accompanying email address at the bottom of the page. This teacher sounded charming, and he'd only read three paragraphs from her. He flipped the page over to double check that she hadn't written anything more, already wishing she had. Then he picked up the photos that had landed on his thigh and started to flip through them.

First he saw a group of kids outside in the bright San Diego sunlight, lined up and throwing paper airplanes. Then he flipped to one where some of the kids were sitting at their desks building more elaborate planes out of pieces of foam. There was another photo of the class on some sort of field trip, but it was the last photo in the stack that had him sitting up a little taller and taking a closer look.

"Damn."

The kids were all lined up once again, wearing a rainbow of colors, some making silly faces. But his eyes caught on their teacher. On you. Smiling back at him from the photo like you had an amusing secret. Like you wanted to share it with him.

"Fucking gorgeous."

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

And, we're off. Oh, he thinks we are cute. Oh, he is about to be charmed even more. Thanks for pushing me out of my comfort zone a little bit with this one, and thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #yours truly bradley bradshaw

[jamminvroomvroom]

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

-

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, yourfriendnancy, yourfriendmia, maxfewtrell and 378,654 others

youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

-

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, ashjbibby, yourfriendnancy and 344,555 others

youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y’all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

-

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, maxfewtrell, yourfriendmia and 332,211 others

youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

-

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, abudhabigp, yourfriendmia and 543,288 others

youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

and 588 other comments

lando.jpg just posted on instagram

liked by: youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 645,321 others

lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

-

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

-

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

-

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-

you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

-

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

-

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-

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[awfcspencer]

Text or Call? || alexia putellas x reader

prompt: At the 2019 World Cup you meet Alexia, what happens at the 2023 World Cup.

warnings: uswnt!reader, instances of angst but a happy ending

“The United States look to continue their powerful regime and earn a fourth covenant star on their jerseys.”

It was the somewhat mantra of this year’s major tournament, building the pressure to perform well to the highest magnitude. There was an expectation of excellence surrounding the team months leading up to the tournament, with new eyes joining the march nearly every day, boosting the US to new heights. 

The 2019 Women’s World Cup had been set and it was imperative that the United States go back-to-back World Champions, you could see the newspapers now as it seemed it was somewhat written in the stars for the United States. The pressure to play well was there, and you couldn’t let down your country on the national stage. The prevailing narrative casted an array of self-doubt and anxieties into you, and you couldn’t deny the lingering thoughts of what-ifs. What if you don’t play well? What if you don’t win? 

You’d spent countless years preparing for this opportunity, moving through the USWNT age groups with ease and then battling to make the senior team roster. You’d been playing professional soccer for a couple years right out of college, playing for a few different NWSL teams throughout your career. A few international assignments scattered along the schedule leading up to the World Cup proved you were worthy of such call-up and when the roster was announced, you’d managed to escape with a spot. 

The media’s outrage was uncontrollable, claiming other national team members deserved your earned spot more than you, the constant outpour of hatred flooded your social media, it was hard to ignore, just like the dark cloud that casted over you as you landed in France to begin the tournament. 

The group stage had gone swimmingly, the United States proved once again why they were a threat and seemingly looked to breeze by competition. The roster was filled with the highest of talent but still you’d managed to find minutes on the pitch, only causing increased negative media. One bad pass or one bad movement made you feel each and every ruthless word that the fans spewed online, it was uneasy to escape the anxious feeling you felt each time you played. 

Your national teammates tried to shield you from the hatred online, but you saw it, and throughout select moments of the tournament, you felt yourself desperately trying to prove them wrong, but your head was clouded and your mind was on overdrive, your apparent distractedness was only hurting your game. 

With an upcoming knock round game versus Spain, you seeked to play your game, play the game you loved with every fiber in you, play with the seemingly carefree nature that set your game apart from your teammates. The same energy and joy you played with during the NWSL season that had initially brought your name up to Jill, you needed to return to yourself, you needed to play for yourself and not listen to what hundreds of people said behind anonymous screens.

The match against Spain in the midfield looked to be a challenge you welcomed, matched up directly across Alexia Putellas, a woman near your age who had been streamlining a new era of Spain dominance and prolonged success of Liga F’s Barcelona team. 

You’d yet had the chance to meet the brunette in person, but seconds before kickoff you couldn’t deny the effortless beautifulness the midfielder had. Her fixed concentration and aura was undeniable, there was something enticing about her that you clearly didn’t have time to ponder on as the whistle blew and the game had begun.

The US managed to strike first but an untimely mistake that Jenni Hermoso quickly countered on and the score was tied 1-1.  

A wave of up and downs on both sides left the match up in the air, both sides fighting desperately to move on. You’d spent most of the match marking the vital number 11 for Spain, she moved rapidly down the pitch, excelling at such rate that you questioned if she was human or not, her stamina never withering. Alex had sent you a narrow ball on the route down the right side, forcing an untimely challenge from the Spaniard you’d been eyeing all game. You’d felt every spike of her cleat in your ankle, immediate pain coursing through the bone. 

“Lo sien- I am sorry.” She spoke with a clear apologetic tone, crouching down to meet your eyes. Her eyes were piercing up close, an assortment of different brown and hazel tones that fit her perfectly. “Are you okay?”

You’d sent her a swift nod, using her extended arm to help assist you up. Her breathtaking eyes peered down to you ankle, searching for any sort of extra concern. You moved your ankle in circles, the pain dwindled a bit and you were ready to compete again. Alexia let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in, thankful she hadn’t hurt you for her idiotic attempt to stop your path to a goal to put the US back on top.  

“All good.” You explain, sending her an appreciative smile for helping you up and jogged backwards a bit to resume play. You’d understood the tackle wasn’t malicious or targeted, she was simply trying to win the game, you couldn’t blame her efforts as you would have done nearly the same. 

Throughout the rest of the match, you’d found yourself stationed within close distance of the midfielder, her feet always seemed to attract the ball from her teammates and her vision for the game sent you running yards to continue to track the ball down. She made her passes look effortless, slicing through defenders with ease and her dribbling technique to create space was incredible, you would have been in full awe of the brunette if you weren’t in the middle of a vital match. 

Luckily a penalty had been awarded to the United States and the US were now ahead 2-1 and you desperately begged for the final whistle to blow. Your wish came true not much longer and the US moved on to the next stage. Spain gave a valiant effort, exposing the weak parts of the US game which you were sure the opponents were watching. After a brief celebration, your legs seemingly moved without your own account, moving until you were inches away from the Spain number 11, the midfielder that had suffocated your thoughts nearly all game. Before you could really think, your arm peered out and tapped the midfielder on the shoulder. 

“Good game.” You told her when she turned to you. “Jersey swap?”

Her once focused eyes now red-rimmed as tears threaten to fall from her eyelashes. It broke your heart in an indescribable way and you’d just nearly met the girl 90 minutes ago, but there was something alluring about her, she was a future powerhouse of women’s football and there was a sort of fascination that bubbled in you about the brunette.

She nodded and quickly discarded her jersey and handed it to you, “Good game as well.” 

You couldn’t deny, Alexia Putellas was built by God himself, her features chiseled and muscles defined, you couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds before she put your jersey on, the heat certainly rising to your cheeks placing a warm blush across your face. 

“See you around Putellas.” You told her as you walked toward where your team stood in the middle of the pitch conversing with other members of the Spain team.

The celebrations rang through the changing room, everyone congratulating one another on a solid performance and another checked off box towards back-to-back world cup wins. The time difference in France had certainly caught up to you and the efforts of the match meant your sore limbs desperately needed relaxation, so you headed back towards the hotel, leaving your national teammates who you knew would be partying until the sun eventually came up the next day. You’d swiftly changed out of your new Spain jersey and settled for a casual grey sweatsuit combo. 

Entering the hotel, you made your way towards the elevator, but something, or someone, piqued your interest. The all too familiar girl you’d spent the last 90 minutes chasing around, now sat in the hotel bar. She was dressed in similar clothes as you, nursing a small glass of wine alone. You’d recognized the back of her hair immediately, you’d constantly been behind her most of the match as her speed was unrivaled. Her hair now escaped the bun it had during the game and cascaded along her back. She was beautiful in the bun, but something about her hair down made your heart skip a beat, she was breathtaking, even from the back. 

Once again, your legs drove you forward, tiredness forgotten, you were incredibly infatuated in the midfielder and you desperately wanted to know her, understand her. There was something unexplainable about her that you couldn’t pinpoint that drew you in. 

“Can I sit?” You asked timidly. The position you know found yourself in was sticky, you didn’t think about the fact that your country had just knocked hers out of the World Cup and there was a high possibility that she wanted nothing to do with you, the brutal obvious thoughts now entered your mind when she didn’t immediately answer. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll go.” You told her as you made your way to leave.

“No, stay. You can sit.” 

You turn your head at the familiar voice, settling in next to Alexia on the barstool to the right of her. 

“You don’t deserve the hate you get online you know.” She spoke, breaking the awkward silence. 

“Thank you, and if it’s any consolation, you and your country did play well today.” 

She simply nodded in agreeance, taking a slow slip of her red wine. You and Alexia fell into an easy conversation when you asked about her journey, and then when she asked you about yours. The talking flowed effortlessly and you slowly found the girl in front of you coming out of her shell. She was easy to talk to and even after experiencing the loss she did today, she was quite humorous. The laugh that fell from her lips was intoxicating and you slowly found yourself melting around the Spaniard with every passing second. 

During one of your national teammates stories where you described an amusing event at training during the group stage, the pads of her fingers briefly stroked your shoulder and even through your sweatshirt, you could feel her electric touch, something was growing between the two of you in that dimly lit hotel bar. 

Glancing down at your watch, you realized you’d spent nearly three hours in the bar, talking with Alexia. Your once tiredness completely vanished when you saw the girl, but now the weight of your activities of the day now hitting you like a truck and a small yawn escaped your lips unwillingly.

“You should probably get some sleep.” She whispered. “But here.” She tore off a piece of the napkin that held her wine glass and jotted down her number for you. “Text or call after the tournament, yeah?” 

“Of course, Alexia. Thank you for tonight.” You told her as you pulled yourself off the bar stool. “Good night Alexia.” 

You moved to leave the bar before you heard her voice again, “Wait.” 

As you turned back to the midfielder, she placed a soft kiss on your cheek, “Good night.”

After the World Cup, you’d made good on your promise and texted Alexia, blossoming a friendship with the Spaniard, and then with time, you found yourself in a committed relationship with Alexia. A long-distance relationship that relied heavily on communication, but every chance either of you got to visit, you both did so instantly. 

You watched Alexia cement her name in countless record books across Spain and she watched your game develop likewise. A powerhouse couple of sorts in women’s football, and you had fallen madly in love with the midfielder. But eventually, the hundreds of miles caught up to the two of you.

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You replay the moment in your head every single day. From the very second you wake up in the morning to the second your eyes close at night, the moment replays in your head like a broken record. Alexia’s voice on the other side of the phone, hundreds of miles away, begging you to not give up on her drilled into your brain. 

Every day that passed you thought about forming a line of contact, trying to take back the obvious mistake you’d made. But you had let her down, and the last memory of the Spaniard you had was her voice buzzing in her your head, pleading to give her one more try. The distance between the two of you ultimately became too much and you couldn’t handle it any longer, and you would not let Alexia throw her whole life away to move closer to you, her home was in Barcelona and yours was in the US. 

You still smell the traces of her scent on your bedsheets. You still remember her favorite songs, the way she’d sing them out loud in the shower thinking no one’s listening. You still remember the feel of her under your palms, every curve, every line. The Spaniard still infiltrated all of your thoughts, even after you thought you’d gotten over her. You still couldn’t get her out of your mind, even though you knew you were probably long gone from hers.

From then on, you’d thrown yourself full force into your game, working hours a day to perfect your game and make the 2023 World Cup roster. A numbness had settled into you some time after the breakup and it had never left. Your main focus was football, the game that had changed your entire life, and not necessarily because of the sport itself. The game in which you had the highest of highs and low lows, the game that had brought you Alexia, and the game that eventually teared you away from the girl. 

You’d watched her struggle to recover from her ACL tear and watched her proudly return back to the pitch like she had never left. You’d kept up with Alexia, peaking into a Barça match every so often, watching her excel on the pitch just like she did four years ago at the World Cup, now just more people appreciated her game and you couldn’t be happier for you her.

The 2023 World Cup had the same intense feeling as the 2019 World Cup, the pressure for the United States to win another star was at a new height and it was up to the squad to win at any cost necessary. You’d cemented yourself as a valuable member of the team and now felt the weight of what was at risk for this tournament. 

You knew Alexia was going to be at the tournament, but you tried to force it out of your mind and focus on the task ahead. But there was no way to avoid her, the anxiety that settled into your stomach thinking about the girl was uncontrollable. Your mind was supposed to be focused and ready, but instead you felt numb and blank. Physically you were in Australia, but your mind was elsewhere. 

The group stage was all a blur, you’d been simply going through the motions for longer than you could remember, trying to just survive. The media was even more ruthless this tournament, claiming the US had lost their passion for the game and condemned each and every national team member, it was ruthless and you simply couldn’t escape it, but your mind spewed the same things, except your thoughts were focused on the girl who hadn’t left you mind since you broke her heart. 

The game against Sweden was an eye-opener, a stalemate match that even after extra time was still even, forcing a penalty shoot-out. Your team swayed together uncontrollably as your heart pounded in your ears, tuning out the crowd and trying to focus on the penalties. 

Next up was you. You lined the ball up and did the same penalty kick routine you’d done every single time. You took a deep breath and kicked the ball. The ball cleared the goal post, missing the net entirely, sending the ball into the stands. You had missed the penalty, and Sweden capitalized. You’d let down your country. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alexia sat in hotel room watching the match. Her knee bounced anxiously as she tried not to bite her nails, a habit you desperately pleaded for the Spaniard to stop. The match had given her heart palpitations as she shakingly paced around the room when the match came down to penalties. She watched you take yours and miss terribly, and when the camera panned to you, her heart broke in a million little pieces.

 Her thumb hovering over your contact, wanting to extend herself to you again, to be a shoulder to cry on, she knew this pain all too well. But luckily, she knew where you would go.

Back at the stadium, the Sweden team celebrated and the USWNT left in despair. You want to scream and cry but you can’t, every time you want to show an emotion, your body shuts down, unable to get the numbness that has surrounded you all tournament out. You needed something to let go, to get rid of this agonizing feeling and aid your despair.

You’d made quick work of packing your belongings in the changing room, and escaped out the door as quickly as you could, getting on the team bus and locking your eyes out the side window, not allowing the tears to fall. 

Once back at the hotel, you fell behind your teammates and instead of turning right towards the elevator up to the hotel rooms, you took a left and entered the hotel bar. You’d asked the bartender for something strong, something to forget the last 90 minutes of football. 

 “I figured I’d find you here.” You knew her voice all too well, it sent a bone chilling shiver down your spine. “Can I sit?” 

As you turned towards the girl, even in the softly lit bar, you knew who it was. 

“Alexia.” You try to not let your voice betray your feelings because you know Alexia can read you like an open book. Being back in Alexia’s presence was more intoxicating than any drink the bartender could offer you. 

“This was a bad idea. I just wanted to…” What did Alexia want to do? In truth she wanted to kiss you, hold you and tell you how special you are and apologize a thousand times for letting the distance get in the way, she wanted to do and say so many things. She noticed your eyes were tired but still had the same fire she saw four years ago. 

“Please stay.” You said and reached out to grab her, not caring how desperate you sounded, you couldn’t help it. Alexia, the girl who you had tried to avoid like the plague the second you landed in Australia, stood right in front of you. Her hair was slightly longer and you met her eyes for the first time since the breakup. She sat next to you in silence, she’d never seen you so damaged, so frail.

“How are you… doing?” You asked, swallowing around another lump in your throat, trying to get your thoughts together as you look towards her nervously. 

“I’m okay.” She said, sending you a soft smile with the small quirk it always had, the smile that was ingrained in the back of your mind even though you wished it wasn’t. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, Alexia was mere inches away from you and you yearned to lean over and kiss her, but you knew you couldn’t. She most likely had moved on and found solace in someone else, someone who wasn’t you. 

You try not to look into Alexia’s eyes for too long, because you know that if you lock eyes, Alexia will see just how much you still love her. 

“It’s not your fault you know.” She said, but you couldn’t tell if she was speaking about the match or about the past relationship. But nonetheless, you saw the opportunity and took it, and the apology spilled out of you.

“I was scared. I was hurt by the distance and I couldn’t handle it any longer. I tried to get you back but I am so sorry Alexia.” You whisper brokenly, tears streaming down your cheeks gently. You choke on your own cry that builds in your throat, everything bubbling to the surface. 

“I am so sorry I ever let you go.” Your voice cracks on the last word, not knowing where this conversation would go from here, but it had to be said.

Before you can say anything more through tears, you feel Alexia stand up, a hand wrapping around your waist and warms lips on your neck. Your eyes close as you cry harder, emotions from the game combining with the unsettled emotions of your breakup all those months ago. Alexia tightened her hold around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You watch as something flashes across Alexia’s face and it takes your heart in a vice grip to see the girl so confused and hurt. It makes you think back to the phone call and if you’d been able to see Alexia’s face when you broke up with her, you didn’t think you’d be alive now. 

There were two broken hearts in the room, not just one.

Alexia takes one of your hands, holding it between the two of you, “If you leave again, I will not be able to survive.” 

Her words hit you like a train as the impact almost makes you fall over, but you take your combined hands and place them firmly over her heart. You close your eyes and focuses on the heartbeat under your palm.

“I never want to live without you ever again.” You tell her as you hold your breath with the last syllable as you finish. Alexia kisses the small tear rolling down your cheek, The move is gentle and genuine and you reach out and tug Alexia closer. 

Alexia lifts your head up to meet her eyes that are also brimming with tears, “I never want to live without you ever again.” 

Alexia is giving you the power to reach into her chest and rip her heart right out again, but she is trusting you won’t this time. She leans in once more and kisses your lips, the gesture so familiar as if no time has passed. 

Alexia manages the one sentence that she knows doesn’t need much explaining for you to know the meaning, and she weighs on it heavily to anchor the two of you. 

“Text or call after the tournament, yeah?” She asked as the corners of her mouth curved into a smile. 

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