#// or just failed to connect my train of thought

[bethanydelleman]

Hi Bethany!

I have a question for you related to Darcy. I am attending an Austen-themed bibliotherapy group, and during one of the sessions one of the participants talked about Darcy as "emotionally unavailable". I know this is quite a commonly used term nowadays, but I do not really think that it applies to him.

By definition we talk about "emotional unavailability" when a person is unable to be emotionally vulnerable with themselves or others, is unable to connect with others through deep conversation, and struggles to connect with another person showing emotions. (At least that's what Google told me :D )

I see Darcy as someone who is perfectly capable of the aforementioned things: when he talks to Elizabeth during her stay at Netherfield, he talks about his own character and failings quite openly, risking that he will be vulnerable by doing so, he does actively try and is perfectly able to connect with her through deep conversation, he is very responsive when he sees her distress caused by Lydia's elopement etc. My take is that he is just very selective about this: he engages in these activities with someone who he is or wants to be close with. That is not emotional unavailability to me, but I would love to hear your thoughts about this.

Thanks!

I agree. I think this is probably an adaptation issue, because Book!Darcy is far more expressive than 1995!Darcy.

I will add two notes. One is that Darcy is trying not to openly show his intentions towards Elizabeth to avoid an entanglement of honour. If he flirts with Elizabeth, he may raise expectations that he isn't sure he wants to meet. He does it anyway, occasionally, and much more in Kent, but that is something restricting his behaviour and emotional openness.

There is also the general manners of the time. Nearly anyone in 1800 England might look "emotionally unavailable" to us today (in the US and Canada at least), who live in much more emotionally open societies (except Marianne Dashwood). I remember Russians on a train in Europe telling me that they find it so odd to see people smiling openly in public because it's just not done in Russia. It's a different cultural norm. That doesn't mean that Darcy isn't open in a private setting and you point out good examples of him sharing his emotions with Elizabeth, but what he allows to show in public would be more controlled.

I hope that helps! (Also, watch P&P 1967 for expressive Darcy!)

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[baroupurin]

━╋ cw : smut , oral (m) receiving , slightly submissive (m) , cursing , fem reader . .

men who are DEVOTED munchers becoming a stuttering mess when you ask to give them head… they look at you like you just asked the most incredulous question in existence. you? give him head? right now? he’s so used to servicing you— the thought of you giving him head already had him shamefully twitching in his pants and dizzy.

“are you sure, my love? no, i mean, you don’t need to… i mean—”

poor baby can barely put a sentence together even before the touching has even happened. don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. he’s indulged— matter of fact, he’s stroked a few ones out at the thought of you sucking him off. on your knees, pretty glossy doe eyes looking up at him while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth. it’s just that he’s always been a little shy. too embarrassed to ask you. it’s pathetic— hilarious even that a burly, bulking man of his stature couldn’t bring himself to ask his darling little wife something so simple. he was devoted to you. the man worshipped you. he knew his purpose. it was clear as day in fact. to service and care for you. to follow you like the smitten fool he was. he knew that he was meant for nothing else the moment he had laid his eyes on you. he was yours.

your husband’s putty once you begin leaving behind the softest of kisses down his chest and trembling stomach. the smell of his skin and the hushed whimpers every once in a while leaving his pretty lips dulling your senses. you had to pull away to admire the sight— your hungry eyes drinking in the mesmerizing sight of your man. the contour of his prominent muscles; the number of ruthless hours he’d managed to put into training never failed to impress you. the tank he wore now bunched up and resting on the swell of his pecs; buds glossed over with drool while his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took, and god, the trail of thick hair leading down to his veiny lower abdomen.

he’s practically a pathetic puddle of moans and drool while you attempt to push another inch of his twitching length down your throat minutes later, the tuft of hair on his abdomen tickling your nose as your mouth painfully stretches to take in his fat girth. your tousled hair not going unnoticed as he begins to comb it back, chivalrous as ever while he holds it back with one shaky hand, the other draped over his burning face.

“ah, hnng..! fuuuuck… just—just like that, pretty…”

he drools out, a fucked out mess of groans and praises just for you as he bucks his shaky hips into your mouth involuntarily, apologizing hastily at the sound of your gagging. but oh, how you could practically live off this rare sight. your panties soaking wet at the sight of your husband selfishly chasing his high. you suck in your tear stained cheeks, hallowing them out as his fat leaky tip hits the back of your throat. you were no better than him; a slobbering, gagging perverted mess as you begin to massage and stroke the base of his wet cock.

“gonna… oh— oh, god… don’t… please, baby, i’m gonna…”

he strains out, his hips twitching up as his head presses back against the arm of the couch, his bulging biceps flexing from the iron grip he has on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth once more. you pull away from his thick girth to catch your breath, eliciting a whine that you swore had you ascending. sticky gloss and spit trailing down his cock and connecting from your lips as you push his cock against his tense stomach to lick at the veiny underside. you allow the tip of your tongue to massage against a vein before leaving behind sloppy kisses at the thick shaft down to his twitching balls. he jolts forward in shock, heels digging into the plush surface of the couch. the veins straining underneath the thin skin of his large hands, almost like they were ready to burst with how tight he fingers were interlocked with the roots of your hair.

he can barely control himself, at this point mindlessly babbling on about how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you, how close he is to cumming. you begin to massage the base of his sticky cock once more before sliding the wet shaft past your lips, slurping shamelessly as you begin to bob your head back up and down. it doesn’t take another second before he shoots his thick load right down your warm, wet cavern. riding out his orgasm as you massage and you pull your head up with a pop, gasping for air as he begins to wipe at your mouth, praising you for taking him so well. he definitely didn’t mind a bit of spoiling here and there. especially from you.

⟢ reiner, erwin, choso, nanami, sendou, niou, noel, tokimitsu, yukimiya, diluc, sanji, zack, aki, vash, gris, sanemi + your favs . . (〃ω〃)

ᣟ៹ ❤︎៝ : first smut sweats .. can you tell i’m a sucker for big men who turn into a whimpering mess for you i’m sorry for any spelling mistakes in advance… i’ll check later after class !! （＾ω＾）

[gray-gray-gray-gray]

Let's Talk About The Overlap Between Autism, ADHD, and Schizophrenia

I've been wanting to make a graph like this for awhile, about the overlap between these three disorders. Tagging @auschizm because it's highly related to that blog :D

Text transcribed below the cut because it's long!

Title: Can We Talk About The Overlap Between... AUTISM, ADHD, AND SCHIZOPHRENIA?

Description: You always hear people talking about AuDHD, but schizophrenia has the same if not more overlap with these disorders, and it's not talked about!

Let's start boosting schizophrenic people's voices. There's more to the disorder than just psychosis!

Graph based on my personal experience with schizophrenia, my experiences with autistic and ADHD communities, and the words of people with AuDHD themselves.

Made by @gray-gray-gray-gray on tumblr.

Schizophrenia Only

Typical age of onset between 15 and 54 years old

Before the onset/ first psychotic break, there is a "prodrome" where you have a drop in functioning

Reoccuring episodes of psychosis (Hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, etc)

Likely had less noticeable or covert symptoms pre-onset

Often daydreaming, 'in their own world', hyper-self-reflective, 'space cadet'

Autism Only

Need for familiarty & routine

Sudden disruptions to routine are highly distressing

ADHD Only

Craves new experiences & novelty

Autism & ADHD (AuDHD)

Interest-based nervous system (meaning attention & focus is activated based on personal interest, not how important something is)

Onset in very early childhood -- before age 12

Autism & Schizophrenia (Auschizm)

Self-soothing via repetitive behavior

Higher rates of catatonic symptoms

Social withdrawal or exclusion

Difficulties filtering speech

Flat affect

Alogia

Concrete and/or literal thinking

Higher rates of personality disorders, dissociative disorders, and trauma

Internally oriented behavior

Difficulties wording what they

want to say correctly & disorganized speech

Difficulties with insight into what is part of the disorder and what is neurotypial

ADHD & Schizophrenia (SchizoDHD)

Impulsivity & hard to sit still

Difficulties regulating attention & focus, also causing social cue difficulties

Difficulty keeping a daily routine

Jumping around or out of sequence speech

Forgetfulness

Failing to reach a clear end goal or point in speech

Less coherent progression from start to finish in stories

General difficulties with thinking clearly

Drawing blanks / losing train of thought often

Difficulties finding motivation to do things

Lots of energy some days, no energy other days

Troubles multitasking

Planning poorly or not at all

All Three

Stimming

Echolalia, echopraxia

Executive dysfunction

Sensory issues & overload

Emotional dysregulation

Interconnected/webbed thought

ND communication (infodumping, connecting ideas, shared interest bonding)

Increased risk of victimization

Hyperfixations

Higher rates of depression, anxiety, OCD, BFRBS, bipolar, suicidality, sleep issues, eating disorders, and substance abuse

Eye contact differences

Difficulties switching tasks

Masking

Hyperfocusing

Restlessness

Prone to boredom

Memory issues

Social situation difficulties

Time blindness

Difficulties with school, learning, and following tasks

Chronic disorder

RSD

Anhedonia

Alexithymia

Interoceptive difficulties

[kxsagi]

Hello! Could I ask something about a foreign reader, maybe European, meeting Michael in Germany, Sae in Madrid and Rin in Japan while on a trip? Speaking in English since they don't know the language and having that immediate connection that neither of them have ever had before. That'd be very cute, and such a dream😫

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤”

a/n: love talk by wayv is a FIRE song

made reader both european and american if that’s okay! being american helps explain the english more

translation of each title: “do you speak english?” (german), “more beautiful than the sun” (spanish), “kotoba janakute mo/even without words” (japanese)

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

kaiser michael – "sprichst du english?" 

berlin's streetlights hum like lullabies, the city bleeding into a haze of jazz from some underground bar. you don’t know where you are. literally. google maps is spinning like a roulette wheel and you're pretty sure the bratwurst vendor gave you a fake street name just to mess with you. 

“you look like a lost little tourist,” a voice purrs, rich with amusement. 

you turn to see a tall, golden-haired man leaning against a lamp post, hands in his coat pockets, smirk curled like a sin. 

“you speak english?” 

his eyes light up. “better than you, probably.” 

he says it like he’s challenging you, like he wants to bicker for the next hour over espresso and late-night currywurst. 

you blink. “oh my gosh, thank goodness. i thought i was gonna get kidnapped.” 

“well,” he chuckles, stepping forward with a lazy saunter, “depends on who finds you first.” 

he offers his hand. “michael. kaiser, actually. but you can call me whatever you want, hübsches mädchen.” 

you laugh, hand in his. “i literally have no idea what you just said.” 

“good. it’s more fun that way.” 

and just like that, he walks with you, not behind or in front, but beside, like he already belongs there. he gets you a kebab, points out ridiculous graffiti, and lets you try to pronounce german street names while biting back laughter. 

you don’t even remember what you were looking for in berlin. now it’s just him. 

itoshi sae – "más guapa que el sol" 

you’re melting. madrid in the summer is no joke. and you, brave but dumb, decided to wear jeans. 

as you take refuge in a quiet little café, fanning yourself with a menu, the chair across from you scrapes against the floor. 

“mind if i sit?” an unfamiliar voice in crisp english asks. 

you look up. red hair. unreadable teal eyes. the aura of someone who absolutely hates small talk but will make an exception for you. 

“… uh, sure?” you blink. “do i know you?” 

he just shrugs and sits down, sipping from his water. “you were staring at the menu like it insulted you. figured i’d save you.” 

you snort. “i can’t read anything. my spanish sucks.” 

he lifts a brow. “american?” 

“and european… you say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“it is,” he mutters. but the corner of his mouth quirks like he’s fighting a smile. 

he orders for both of you without asking, and you're weirdly okay with it. later, over chilled wine and tortilla, you learn he’s a football player. kind of famous, actually. sae something. 

“so you're like, a celebrity?” 

“only here,” he says, looking out the window. then softer, “not with you though.” 

you don’t know what it means. maybe he doesn’t either. but when he offers to walk you to your hotel, slowly, like he has nowhere else to be, you let him. 

itoshi rin – “言葉じゃなくても” 

you’re crying in the middle of a tokyo train station. not ugly crying, but overwhelmed, jetlagged, google-translate-is-failing-you crying. 

someone taps your shoulder. you spin around, sniffling, trying to look like you didn’t just almost sob into your iced matcha. 

he’s tall. sharp-eyed. slightly terrifying. but his voice is gentle when he asks, “are you okay?” 

“do you… you speak english?” you manage. 

“a little,” he says. “you’re lost?” 

you nod. 

without a word, he gestures for your phone. you hand it over and he starts typing something into your map app. once he finishes, he gives it back and mutters, “i’ll take you.” 

“you don’t have to–” 

“i want to,” he says. blunt. serious. a little red in the ears. 

on the way, you try to make conversation, and he gives these awkward, short replies, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how. still, he slows his pace to match yours. he buys you a melon soda when he notices you haven’t had water all day. he hovers protectively when the crowd thickens. 

when you reach your destination, you thank him profusely. he just nods, looks like he wants to say something else… and hands you a tiny slip of paper. 

his number. with a scribbled note underneath: “i could work on my english more. can i practice with you?” 

and suddenly, you’re not so lost anymore. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[yndrgrl]

katsuki bakugo is the only man who can help bunnygirl! you during heat.

established relationship. normal! au. first time as a couple.

warnings: nsfw, lowkey angst ngl, fellatio, praise, slight degradation, creampie

if you're here for the nsfw part, i marked it >:)

a/n: dude, idk why my last fic has that "mature" label 😭 also is this a hypersexual comfort fic? yeah.

---

"are you okay? you look hot?"

"your forehead is on fire!"

"you look red. drink some water."

you've been hearing that non-stop all day. of course, you know that everyone has good intentions, but it was so annoying.

no, you didn't feel fine, nor did you feel sick. it was a strange, embarrassing thing to admit. in a world full of truly remarkable quirks, you just had to get a basic one. your quirk was rabbit. you know mirko? yeah, well you two are in the same boat.

you have floppy bunny ears the same color as your hair, a puff ball of a bunny tail, & muscular legs. all so cutesy & alright to deal with. the behavioral traits were what got you though. increased hearing, jittery/easily scared, & most annoying of all, the heat that came with it.

though it wasn't unusual to have heat, it was definitely not something you mention in a passing conversation. heat made it hard to focus on anything except for breeding & sex. your senses are enhanced, making clothes feel itchy at all times. your train of thought always derailed to live making. that's why you were prescribed heat repressant.

no side affects & it worked like a charm.

however, this month you forgot to stock up on them, & you just so happened to run out. you would've just skipped school to get some, but it was midterms, which comes with tests & presentations that simply could not be made up. it was either fail your classes or bite the bullet.

"oi! what's your deal?" someone barked at you. ah yes, your boyfriend of six months, katsuki bakugo.

"nothing," you said with annoyance. another thing about your heat is that you get irritable because of the overwhelming feeling of needing to do a certain activity. "don't worry about it."

taken aback, katsuki reached out for you & spun you around. your eyes welled with tears of frustration & utter embarrassment, the tips of your ears were red, & every thread of your clothes made your skin crawl. "hey, what's going on?"

"i-it's nothing, just leave me alone. class is about to start." you understood how much katsuki prides himself in his academics. you're not gonna be the one to drag him down; that's not very amazing-cool-awesome girlfriend of you, after all.

he wanted to say that he didn't care & let's just ditch class, but you both knew you couldn't. the exams were too important. luckily for the both of you, the last period of the day was study hall. most kids just skip it, starting their free time early.

just a few classes, then i can go get medication, that's not bad at all, i've been through worse, you thought in attempts to calm yourself.

yeah, but imagine how could it would feel to be absolutely railed, oh fuck, imagine katsuki-

you had to cut yourself off, he was standing right beside you after all.

your relationship with katsuki has been slow, healthy, & true. the most you two have done in the span of six months is make out, grind, & grope each other clothed. both of you saw a future together so having sex didn't have to happen right then & there. if it happens, it happens, but there was no need to have it to connect.

you didn't want you first time with the love of your life to be because of your current circumstances.

"did i do something?" he asked, making your ears twitch.

"no, it's not you," you reassured, "there's nothing going on." you both entered the classroom, & you could feel katsuki's worried stare focused on you the entire time.

you took exam after exam, which, in of itself, is a long, stressful process. the bell rang throughout the school, & your classmates shuffled out of the room to go to their last period. finally, it was study hall. you threw everything into your backpack without a care. you were practically panting.

throughout the school day, the pressure building inside of you only gotten worse. you couldn't stop thinking about katsuki. his god-sent body, his perfect face, his rugged voice. god, he turned you on so much-- too much, actually.

you felt bad for ignoring all of his texts throughout the day. if you didn't, however, you had a feeling you would've sent some embarrassing messages.

as you exited your class, someone grasped your wrist, dragging you out of the school. their touch lit you on fire. you knew exactly who it was. "let me go, katsuki."

"no, not until you tell me what i did!" he growled at you. he doesn't even realize how wet i am for him-

you had to shut off your thoughts, but that's easier said than done.

"i told you already. you didn't do anything."

"well something is going on with you. tell me what's happening," he raised his voice, a vice grip still hanging onto your wrist. you were getting overstimulated & overwhelmed. once again, you couldn't help the angry tears from forming. you couldn't help but hyperfixate on your panties brushing against your sensitive clit. you couldn't help that your nipples were painfully perked.

you can't just admit that though. it's such a stupid problem to you. you felt so wrong & disgusting for thinking about sex all day. "you wouldn't understand!" you finally yelled back. "you wouldn't get it."

he didn't respond. katsuki continued to drag you throughout campus, leaving you with your thoughts.

god, i made him mad, you mentally cried out. hopefully he'll hate fuck you then-

you want to rip out your own brain & throw it on the concrete. it was a constant cycle of that the entire walk.

a few moments later, you realized you were in his dorm, sitting on his bed with him across from you in his desk chair. both of your hands were in his as he brushed his thumbs against your knuckles. that alone gave you goosebumps. "please tell me what's wrong, baby," he said in a hushed near-whimper. "i'm worried about you."

"you really wouldn't get it, katsuki," you whispered, finally letting a few tears roll down your cheek.

he placed his index finger underneath your chin. he gently raised your head, your gaze following suit. the two of you locked eyes, his swirling with worry & yours sprawling in uncertainty. "then make me understand."

"it's my stupid quirk," you exasperated. you tried coming up with ways of how to say what you want to say without scaring him off.

"what about it?" he asked.

"you have such a nice quirk, you know," you started, avoiding his question. "it's just so much flashier & cooler than mine. there's already a rabbit hero!"

"what are you talking about? you do have a cool quirk."

"i'm a bunnygirl. nothing more. people already know what to expect-"

"what is this really about? you brag all the time how you get to come up with new ways to make your quirk yours," he countered, not convinced with your answer. "there's something more, isn't there?"

katsuki was so good at reading people-- at reading you. the other times you've confided in him, your voice lacked clarity, stability. why would it be different now? it wouldn't, that's why.

"yeah, there is," you admitted, tugging on his hands so he'd get closer. "i just don't know how you'll react or how to even say it-"

"it's fine. just tell me, i won't get mad or judge you or whatever," he assured. you began to cry even more, staining his dress shirt.

he smelt so good, i can feel his muscles through his shirt, he's so sexy-

"i need you," you muttered into his chest.

"what was that, baby?"

you glanced up at him, eyes glossy, lips pouted. "i need you."

katsuki's breath hitched, "what are you talking about?" yes, he's had theories about your quirk & its drawbacks. was this it? was his theory correct?

more tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks as you tried to explained, "i have... you know."

his cock stirred, scolding himself mentally for getting hard during a time like this. "have what?" he wanted you to say it, confirm his suspicions.

you took a deep breath. "i have this thing every month or so, & it just makes things so much harder."

"tell me." his stern voice sent shockwaves through you.

it made you obey him automatically, robotically. "i'm going through heat." a silence followed. "it's normal for people with quirks like mine to go through this. i usually have repressants! & i know this probably makes you so uncomfortable; i understand if you don't want to be-"

-- nsfw starts here --

katsuki cut off your rambling, almost offended. "don't ever say that. i want you, all of you."

"p-please don't say such things," you begged him as you felt your pussy throb. "i'm r-really trying to hold back-"

"let me take care of you, princess," katsuki purred, finger tips ghosting over your exposed thighs. he buried his face into the crook of your neck. "do you want this, y/n? because i want you right now. if you tell me you don't want this, i'll stop."

all you could do is nod, your breath turning uneven.

"say it, y/n."

"i need you so bad. please, katsuki," you cried out as you rubbed your legs together.

he smirked into your neck before he started kissing your neck. you couldn't help but whimper. he noticed you holding back, so he bit your neck. he sucked hickeys all over your neck. your unsteady breathes turned into needy moans.

"t-take off my shirt, please-"

katsuki took in your demand by ripping it off your skin as if it were poison. he unhooked your bra, throwing it on the floor. "ah fuck," he groaned, cupping your breasts.

"are they o-okay?"

"you're fuckin' perfect, baby."

with one, he replaced his rough, calloused hand with his mouth. you grinder against his thigh as flicked your nipple with his tongue. "k-katsuki~"

he switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment. "all mine," he growled in between. he nipped at the skin around your nipples. your neck & chest were soon littered with purple marks & bites.

"let me touch you," you begged & you began to fidget with the buttons of his shirt. "take this off~"

"so needy, aren't you, princess," katsuki teased, yet he gave into you. he threw off his shirt, looming over you. goosebumps pricked at your skin, all over your arms down to your legs. you found yourself trailing your hands all over his abs, his muscular arms, around his back. it was like your hands had a mind of their own.

you flipped the two of you around, so now he was under you. "c-can i please mark you?"

he let out a laugh of amusement, making your face turn a deep red. "you don't have to ask, baby," he told you. as a response, you mimicked his actions from earlier. your lips kissed all over his neck, leaving marks in its wake. you trailed down to his chest, then his abs then his v-line until you reached the band of his pants.

the entire time, he was groaning, feeding you praises that shot straight through your core. when you stopped, he looked down at you, & there you were, staring back at him with eager, wide eyes. he could read you so well. "go ahead, y/n. pull them down."

to which you did. you hands hooked both his uniform pants & his boxers. you pulled them down, & your mouth watered when his cock sprung out. "i-it's so big," you moaned; you meant to only think that, but you couldn't help it.

his mushroom tip beaded precum, his veiny shaft twitched in anticipation. "you see how hard i am for you? all for you," katsuki told you, watching your eyes dart to his then back down to his cock.

you started licking him to test the waters. you saw as his eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth agape, narrowed eyes. your licks evolved into you sticking his tip into your mouth. your tongue flicked around his cock. you crossed your eyes & whined when you tasted his precum. thanks to his quirk, it tasted almost sweet, salty, & god, was it addicting.

you bobbed your head up & down his thick rod. the tip hit the back of your throat while spit flooded your mouth. it was hard to breath, but you didn't care. having katsuki inside of you was more important than breathing. "slow down. you're gonna make me cum, good girl."

that was enough inspiration for you. you needed his cum. you forced your head all the way down his cock, your nose buried in his pubes. your eyes watered (for the fifth time today), & you stared into katsuki's eyes. both of his hands tangled themselves into your hair. "i'm gonna fuck that slutty, little throat, okay? just tap if it's too much," he informed, but he had a feeling you were going let him do whatever he wanted.

you moaned as a way to let him know that you heard him. the vibrations quivered his tip. "mmm, fuck. you're doing so good," he praised, jutting his hips forward the drawing them back.

his thrusts at first were small, in fear he was hurting you. however, as he looked down at you, your eyes rolled back, drool spilling out of your mouth, rubbing your aching clit for some sort of release, he couldn't hold back. he started using your throat as a fuck toy.

fast & rough, & all you could do was take it. take it, even though you're crying & it's hard to breath. "i'm close," he uttered out in between moans. his sultry voice turned a pitch higher in a humiliating tease, "you want my cum, baby? huh? c'mon, tell me you want it."

you choked out muffled, "yes please" & "cum down my throat please." he laughed at you trying to form sentences with your mouth stuffed. "such an eager bitch. fine, i'll give you what you want."

he thrusted his hips forwards, keeping your head in place. you face smushed against his hips. his cock twitched as he unloaded spurts of cum down your throat.

he pulled away, & strings of saliva mixed with his semen leaked onto your skirt. you looked back up at him, finding his cock still erect. "you look so surprised," katsuki said as he caught his breath. "i'm still so hard for you. after all, i told you i was going to take care of you."

"p-please have sex with me," you barely even whispered.

"what was that?"

"please-"

"i still can't hear you," katsuki told you, stroking his dick. he really knew how to push your buttons

"please fuck me, katsuki! i need it, i need you so bad~ i need your big cock inside of me," you blurted out. you finally let you stupid, nasty fantasies get the better of you.

judging from katsuki's smug expression, he wanted you to indulge in them. "alright, alright. you've been such a good girl for me. it's the least i could do," he shrugged before flipping you over so you were trapped under him. even in your most intimate moments, he was cocky. & god, did it make your pussy wet.

as he started to pull your skirt down, your hands shot to grab his wrists. "no, fuck me now, i can't wait. it hurts too bad," you whined, your glossy lips pouting.

"of course, princess," he said with a smirk. "whatever you want." katsuki's fingers dove under your skirt to push your panties out of the way. he held your legs up, placing your calves over his shoulders.

he lubed the tip of his dick with your juices by running it through your folds. "you're so wet for me, good girl."

"it's all for you, katsuki~" you purred, anticipation practically killing you. you felt pride as he turned his head to kiss the meat of your calf in approval.

"can't let it go to waste," he told you. he lined his thick, heavy cock with your entrance. something must've taken over you because, the moment it lined up with your hole, you shoved your hips forward with your entire body.

you let out a squeal of pleasure, your pussy stretching to accommodate for katsuki's lengthy cock. "shit, baby, you almost knocked me over," he chuckled as he readjusted. both of his hands were on your hips.

"shut up & fuck me," you growled at him. his cock twitched, brow raised in amusement.

"yes ma'am," he replied, "but remember you said that." from the get-go, his thrusts were powerful, immediately finding the cervix. your nails dug into his biceps down to his wrists. moans, whimpers, & screams spilled out of your lips.

katsuki took his fingers to your mouth & demanded in a low voice, "suck."

the action made you quiet down. he found your g-spot soon after, & you felt lightheaded. with his fingers down your throat, his cock abusing your most sensitive spot, & katsuki whispering dirty nothings into your ears, you shut your eyes & released all the tension building up.

"f-f-fuck, i-i'm cumming, katsuki," you rasped, voice having a small lisp thanks to his fingers. you squirted all over his abdomen, breath heavy & uneven.

he didn't stop though. he still rammed his big fuckin' dick in & out of you, not letting you calm down from your euphoric high. in fact, his hand that you slobbered all over found their way to your clit. he drew small circles around it. "ah, katsuki!" you moaned. "it's too much!"

"you'll be a good girl, & take it, won't you? i haven't cum inside you yet," he responded while his other hand pinched your nipples.

"i-i-i'll be a good girl, katsuki~" you slurred, speaking on beat with his thrusts. he made you cum three more times then you felt as his hips became more robotic, shorter, uncalculated.

"i'm cumming," he groaned through gritted teeth. "i'm cumming. fuckin' take all of it." thick jets of hot, white cum stained your walls. his dick pulsated inside of you. you came again; who could blame you?

he took a few deep breaths, collapsing on top of you as he pulled out of your pussy. cum spilled out of you & onto his sheets. he embraced you, whispering, "round two?"

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1, navigation

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |6|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Killing and Death

Word Count: 4k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Almost as soon as Sam stepped outside, she was bombarded with reporters. She was thankful that she didn’t see Tara around, that meant Kirby got her out of there without getting hounded by the media. Sam tried ignoring the cameras and microphones being shoved in her face as she pushed through the crowd. Everyone was screaming questions at her, asking if Ghostface was back, if she was a suspect, who this new Ghostface was, if the killings were connected to her, if this was all because of her father.

Sam kept her head down, focusing on the concrete and not on the dozens of people crowding her. She was about to crack when she felt a strong-arm wrap around her, the grip tightened as they pushed through the crowd. She turned to see you, staring straight ahead, your arm that wasn’t around her was stretched out, keeping the reporters at bay. Sam couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath when the two of you finally broke free of the crowd and she could see the road and a taxi already sitting there.

She nearly sprinted to the taxi and opened the door without bothering to look back at the reporters, she learned quickly it was best to ignore them. “Gale Weathers,” Sam heard a voice say. She didn’t bother holding in her groan as she gripped the door to the cab tighter. “Channel Four.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sam asked, whipping around and glaring at Gale.

Gale just laughed at her making Sam frown and only glare at her harder. “Do you think Ghostface is going to go after others since he failed to get you?” Gale held the mic out to Sam.

Sam scoffed, shaking her head, Gale sure had a lot of nerve. Gale knew better than anyone that Ghostface didn’t go attacking random people, not unless they were in the way, every victim was intentional. “No comment,” Sam said harshly.

“What about you, hero,” Gale redirected her attention to you. “Do you think saving Samantha Carpenter’s life has made you a target now?”

You just stared at Gale, it didn’t look like you had been phased at all by her questioning or by anything that was going on at the moment. “She said no comment,” you said. You stared Gale down then flicked a glare at her camera man before turning back to Sam.

Sam didn’t realize she was still staring at you in awe until you pushed the car door open a little more and gave her a nod. Sam looked down, trying to cover the blush she was sure was on her face before quickly jumping in the cab. You were right behind her, slamming the door shut and giving one final glare to Gale and the rest of the reporters.

You gave the taxi driver your address and then the two of you sat in silence. There were a million things going through Sam’s head, she had so many things she wanted to say to you, and she didn’t know where to start. She needed to apologize, she needed to thank you, she needed to explain herself, then on top of all that, she had all these questions that she had no right to ask. You had seemed completely comfortable with jumping into fight Ghostface, you didn’t hesitate in any of your movements, and every time you slashed the knife it was with the intent to kill, even after getting stabbed you still swiped the knife at Ghostface. On top of all that, you didn’t seem too affected by being stabbed, you had other scarring all over your body, and Kirby had called you sergeant. Sam wasn’t sure if you were in the military or law enforcement or what, but it was clear you had training.

“Sorry about the cab,” you said, breaking the silence and Sam’s thoughts about what to say to you. “My Jeep is still at my house.”

“It’s-It’s fine,” Sam brushed it off, looking at you. “And if anything, you shouldn’t be apologizing, when I should be thanking you.” You turned your head, finally meeting Sam’s eyes for the first time since leaving the station. “So, thank you.”

You gave a little shrug. “It was nothing, really.”

“But it was, odds are you’re now a target all because you saved me.” Sam ignored the glance from the cab driver in his rearview mirror.

“And I would do it again.” There was no hesitation in your voice. Sam couldn’t decide if this really was nothing for you, if you truly weren’t concerned about any of it, or if you didn’t know anything. “I don’t run from danger.”

“So, you just run to it?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

You silently chuckled and Sam couldn’t help but give a little smile, she had never seen you smile, let alone laugh, even if it was a small one. “It’s kind of my job.”

“Which is? Kirby called you sergeant.”

You nodded. “Army, special forces.”

Sam let out a whistle. “Well, seems Ghostface is the one who doesn’t know what they’re getting into.”

“That’s for sure,” you smirked.

Sam’s head whipped back up to you. “Do you know something?” she watched you closely, there was still no visible reaction.

Kirby might not have trusted you, but she had enough doubts about you being Ghostface that she didn’t try and hold you longer at the police station and she didn’t put up much of a fight when Sam said she’d go with you to your house. It didn’t stop the thoughts of if Bailey was right from piercing her mind. She wanted to trust you, you were strong and clearly had skills, you saved her life, plus she liked you, but all of that could mean you were Ghostface. Every thought in her mind suddenly stopped, she was being paranoid, if you were Ghostface that meant you set up the whole gym attack, which just seemed crazy. Though crazy and seemingly illogical plans seemed to be Ghostface’s thing, maybe she made a mistake getting into the cab with you and inviting you back to the apartment where the others would be, where her sister would be.

“Having regrets about tagging along?” you asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Yes, she was, it was like you were reading her mind. She wasn’t sure if that should put her at ease or make her more on edge.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” she blurted out. She tried not to pay any mind to the cab driver whose eyebrows rose, and how his eyes kept going from staring at the road in front of them to the rearview mirror.

You glanced at her out of the side of your eye, though you didn’t seem offended by the question. “You’re not supposed to ask that.” Sam frowned; it was a rather rude thing to ask. If you were special forces, it was a fair assumption that you probably had, but normal people didn’t tend to like to talk about that type of stuff. She opened her mouth to apologize when you continued, “But yes.” Sam could see the way the cab driver’s eyes widened slightly, and his eyes instantly dropped from the rearview mirror to stare straight ahead again.

Usually learning someone has killed before would make a person more nervous but it oddly eased Sam’s worries. The fact that you didn’t try and lie or didn’t brush her off, that you answered and didn’t elaborate or try and defend anything was what eased Sam’s worries about you. If you were Ghostface or the mastermind behind these knew attacks she figured you’d try and justify your actions, saying it was part of the job, they were the enemy, or something, anything to get Sam to understand and let her guard down, but you didn’t do any of that.

“You never answered my first question,” Sam said. She couldn’t let her guard down yet, you knew something, and until she knew what that was you were a potential threat. “Do you know something?”

“We’re here,” is all you said.

Sam rolled her eyes; you were being incredibly difficult with your short responses. She didn’t understand how she could have a conversation with you and learn more about you in a cab ride than she had in the last few months at the gym, but you still somehow came off as even more mysterious. You were somehow a lot simpler and easier to understand when you were just the cute stranger from her gym who liked to box.

You paid the cab driver and opened the door, stepping aside so Sam could slide out and close it behind her. Sam looked around; it definitely wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, but it certainly didn’t seem like the worst. Sam followed you through the metal gate in front of a single level white house. It was tucked between two other houses, leaving hardly any room on the side of the house but you had a front yard with a small patch of grass that was fenced in.

You didn’t have much else though, the grass wasn’t dead, so it was clearly taken care of, but you didn’t have any plants or a garden of any kind. The only thing in the driveway was your Jeep, which she wouldn’t know for sure until she saw the inside of your house, but it seemed like the nicest thing you owned, it had large wheels clearly meant for off roading, if the dried mud splattered on the side was anything to go by and it was a four door, giving you ample room for stuff or people, but Sam had a feeling it was used more for stuff. Even your porch was bare, not even a chair to sit on. If Sam were just walking past the house the only thing that would indicate there was someone possibly living there was the fact that the grass wasn’t overgrown.

She followed you up the concrete steps and waited as you put the key in the door. Your house wasn’t run down by any means, it was taken care of, there was no paint peeling or siding falling off, it just seemed empty. You pushed open the door, giving it a good shove when it got stuck. Sam moved to follow you but froze when she heard a deep growl.

Her head snapped up and past you and deeper in the room was a snarling German shepherd. Sam clenched her fists that were shoved in her pockets, she didn’t dare move, the dog continued to growl and bare its teeth, making sure they were on full display.

“No,” you commanded. You held up your hand in a stop motion and the dog instantly snapped its mouth shut and sat down as if it hadn’t just been ready to attack.

You walked over to the dog and gave it a good pat, scratching behind its ears. It looked up at you and Sam could see the tail wagging, but the dog continued to sit. Sam also stayed where she was, she had no desire to step into your home and be mauled by your dog. As much as Sam wanted to back out and just stay outside, she was afraid to move, she was pretty sure she always heard you weren’t supposed to run from a dog because then they’d chase you.

You glanced back at Sam, and she could swear there was a slight smirk on your lips. “You can come in,” you said. Sam started to move her hands out of her pockets but when the dog’s head snapped to her, she froze again. You fully turned around but still kept a hand on the dog, never stopping running your finger through her coat and behind her ears. “She won’t hurt you.”

“I’m inclined to disagree,” Sam said, looking at the dog warily. She had never been afraid of dogs before, but she wasn’t stupid, if that dog charged at her it definitely wouldn’t be pretty.

You chuckled and crouched down to rub your hands up and down the dog’s neck and under her chin. She was a mostly black German shepherd with bits of brown on her legs, neck, and belly. “She’s harmless.” Sam raised an eyebrow, giving you a disbelieving look, there was no way you could convince her that dog was harmless. “Unless you attack me. So, just,” you nodded your head back and forth as you stood back up. “Don’t do that.”

Sam nodded unsurely but crossed the threshold, stepping into your home fully. She closed the door behind her without turning around, just because you said the dog was friendly didn’t mean she was taking her eyes off it. Sam opted to stay near the door, not wanting to do anything to trigger the dog. The dog also stayed put, it was just Sam and the dog, staying in place and staring each other down, though at least she wasn’t growling at Sam anymore.

You moved away from the dog and into the kitchen which was just past the living room. Sam heard you shuffling around and when you turned around, she saw you scooping some dog food into a bowl. After you set the food bowl down on the floor you came back up with another one, dumping the old water out before giving it a quick rinse and filling it with fresh water.

“How long should this whole thing take?” you asked. Sam finally took her eyes away from the dog to look up at you. “I just need to know if I need my buddy to take her,” you glanced at your dog. “Or he just needs to stop by and let her out.”

Sam shoved her hands in her pockets again and gave a little shrug. “Usually, these psycho’s only make this go over the course of a few days,” she answered. “But you might not want her to be here,” she nodded at the dog, who just tilted her head curiously at Sam. “Ghostface might come here looking for you.”

You chuckled as you put the fresh bowl of water down. “Then I feel sorry for him. Artemis there,” you pointed to the dog. “Is a military dog. She was trained for combat, to take down bad guys with guns, and people shooting all around her.”

“Artemis?” Sam couldn’t help but smile at the name. She looked down when she saw the dog’s ear twitch at hearing her name.

You shrugged as if it was an obvious choice. “Goddess of the hunt.”

“I didn’t think dogs usually came home with soldiers. Aren’t there rules for that?”

“Normally, but she isn’t active duty.” You walked back to the living room and leaned against the doorframe as you looked at your dog with nothing but love. “Got injured and had to retire.” Sam frowned at that, even though she’d never admit that she was slightly scared of the dog she couldn’t imagine what kind of injury she had to suffer to be retired. “That doesn’t mean she can’t still take someone down.”

Sam let out a hum. Based on the greeting she got she wasn’t surprised by that statement. “Let me change and we can go,” you said. Sam nodded and watched as you turned around, walking through the kitchen and into the bedroom in the back.

She bounced on her feet as she waited for you to return. She glanced around your place, the walls were bare, there was a couch, a coffee table, a TV, and a video game console plugged in. It really didn’t seem like someone actually lived in the house, she figured she should count herself lucky that it seemed like you had an actual bed and not just a mattress on the floor. Sam jumped back when she felt a wet nose brush against her. She looked down to see Artemis had moved and was now standing directly in front of her, sniffing her.

“Hello,” Sam said awkwardly. She slowly removed her hand from her pocket and hesitantly held it out for the dog to sniff. Artemis gave her hand a few sniffs before beginning to lick it. Sam couldn’t help but smile, when she wasn’t growling and showing her teeth Artemis was rather adorable.

“You still never answered my question,” Sam called out. “What do you know about Ghostface?” she knelt down to get on eye level with Artemis to pet her better.

You popped your head through the doorway of your bedroom just as you finished pulling your fresh shirt down. “I don’t know anything about Ghostface,” you said.

“Are you kidding me?” Sam looked up. There was no way you didn’t know who Ghostface was, it was too famous of a story, there were so many books and movies about the attacks. “You expect me to believe you don’t know the story?”

“Of course, I know the story,” you continued shuffling around your room. “I’ve never seen any of the movies, I’ve only seen a couple articles or whenever there’s a new attack, of course I’ve heard people talk about it.”

Sam sucked in a breath and nodded. She could believe that. Horror wasn’t really her thing, that was always Tara, she probably never would have seen the movies or known as much as she does if she hadn’t grown up in Woodsboro, and of course if Billy Loomis wasn’t her father. “So, do you know who I am?”

You crouched down at the nightstand beside your bed before looking back at Sam. “I’ve heard whispers,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t in the country last year so no offense, but I had other priorities when whatever was happening to you and your friends.”

“You didn’t look me up just from the rumors? Someone like you,” you raised an eyebrow as if daring her to finish that sentence. “You don’t want to know who’s coming into your gym?”

You let out a sigh and rested a hand on the edge of the nightstand. “Everyone is entitled to their privacy. I also know how the media can be spun; I prefer to form my own opinions.” Sam nodded, she never thought about what you might have seen or done and how the military and media might have spun things for the general public or covered things up.

You looked back to your nightstand, opening the drawer before doing something that looked like pressing buttons, though Sam couldn’t see inside the drawer from where she was. A second later you flipped open the door to whatever was in the drawer and reached down to grab something. When your hand came back it was holding a gun. Sam sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything or move from where she was still petting your dog. You glanced at her as you checked the gun before putting the magazine in and sticking the gun in a holster at your back. You fixed your shirt and if Sam hadn’t literally just seen you put the gun where you did, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you had one on you.

 Sam didn’t know you. You were a complete and total stranger to her; it didn’t matter if you had saved her life. There was no reason for Sam to trust you, to not say anything about the gun and still allow you to come back to the apartment with her. But she didn’t, she kept her mouth shut, she couldn’t explain it but a part of her felt like she could trust you, she wanted to trust you. She also knew all too well how handy a gun could be in these situations and if Ghostface didn’t know you had one then it would only be a plus.

“You asked what I know,” you said as you came back through the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe to the living room again. “I know whoever I fought in that gym is untrained. They had absolutely no experience handling a knife, if it wasn’t for the other one catching me off guard they didn’t stand a chance.”

Sam pulled herself back to her feet, smiling as she watched Artemis walk back over to you. “Most of them don’t have training,” Sam said, nodding along. “In every previous attack they’ve always been seemingly normal people, high school or college kids.”

“They were disorganized. The only reason the one caught up to you was because you tripped. The gym seemed like unknown territory to them.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Sam ran a hand through her hair. “It was an impulsive decision.”

“Meaning they’re watching you.”

Sam’s eyes snapped wide open. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “After all, my last relationship was all a lie to try and set me up.” You raised an eyebrow at that. “Long story.”

“Well, it’s hard to make a plan of action without all the information.” You crossed the room until you were standing only a few feet from Sam, Artemis falling alongside you. “If I’m going with you then I need to know what I’m getting into.”

Sam’s grip tightened around her jacket, but she nodded, it was only fair. It wouldn’t be right to literally drag you into her mess and basically expect you to help protect the others and not tell you why any of this was happening. “It will be easier when we get to my apartment, with the others.”

You nodded and grabbed your sweatshirt before leading Sam out the door. “Also,” she said, turning back to face you. “Expect a lot of questions from my sister and her friends, we’re not exactly a trusting bunch.”

You only lightly chuckled at that. “Great, another interrogation,” you said but there was a small smile on your lips. You scratched the top of Artemis’s head and behind her ears before telling her to go eat. Sam could hear the sound of claws clacking against the wood floor as you closed the door. “Are we allowed to take my Jeep?” you asked.

Sam opened her mouth, about to deny it, but ended up nodding. She had already ridden in a cab alone with you and came to your house, also alone, getting in your car hardly seemed like that big of a deal. She also couldn’t argue that not having to pay for a cab back to the apartment would be nice, she didn’t think you were too far from her place but with everything going on she didn’t need the cab fee on top of it all.

Sam slipped into the passenger seat and looked at you as you pulled out onto the street. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. You were a stranger and were literally getting involved in something you had nothing to do with. Anyone else would have told Sam to piss off and would have gone back to their life, never to think about her again.

You eased on the break as you came to the stop sign at the end of your street. “Because you need help,” you said like it was simple. “I can’t just walk away when I know someone is actively trying to hurt you.”

“But I’m no one, I’m hardly worth all this.” You turned out onto the main road.

“I told you, it’s not in my nature to just turn my back on someone who needs help. And it’s clear the authorities can’t be relied on.” Sam scrunched her brow at that. “I don’t know about agent Reed, but I don’t trust Bailey.” You spared her a quick glance. Sam had never questioned Bailey until this new Ghostface, specifically his clear distrust of you. “I might not know you very well, but no one deserves all this,” you gestured with one hand. “You don’t deserve to be hunted down by some psycho.”

“Thank you,” Sam whispered. She really didn’t know what else to say. She knew she was the one to ask you to join them, but you didn’t owe them anything. You were going above and beyond for some random girl at your gym. Sam couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face as she looked at you, your eyes glued to the road. Maybe you were one of the good ones after all, maybe Sam wasn’t completely cursed to only attract darkness.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

[ilovecatfr]

WHY THE FUCK THIS HAS TO HAPPEN TO ME RIGHT NOW?- but they say when you change your perspective that when the miracles happen

HOW TO TURN YOUR DISADVANTAGES INTO ADVANTAGES

Instead of trying to reprogram your mind to get rid of your disadvantages why not just turn them into a advantages. I truly don't think anything is a problem when it comes to shifting if you just shift your perspective.

1. ╰┈➤“I’m overthinking everything right now.”

Use it as a DR spiral.

Instead of shutting it down, channel it. Start overthinking your DR. Spiral into the details.

“What’s the smell of my DR room? How does my s/o handwriting look like? What the last thing I seen before I went to bed last night in my DR?

Let your overthinking become a insight of your Dr in small details. Small details = deep connection.

2╰┈➤“My brain won’t shut up / I keep getting random thoughts.”

Let them.

Even if those thoughts have nothing to do with your DR, let them pass without resistance.

When you stop fighting your mind, it relaxes. And once you’re relaxed, your method flows more easily. Your thoughts don’t block the shift—they soften the space around it.

(I'm also a firm believer you can get into a void state by just yapping your brain away)

3╰┈➤“I feel bored / I want to stop / This is taking too long.”

→ Reframe it as a sign of closeness.

Affirm in your mind:

“I’m bored because I’m already there. My reality just hasn’t caught up yet.”

Because remember our senses are last thing that shifts. Boredom means you’re there— your awareness is already there.

Boredom isn’t a block—It’s neutrality, It’s how your DR self feels—calm, natural, already there.

4╰┈➤ “I got distracted / I forgot I was even doing the method.”

→ Celebrate it.

That’s literally ideal. A lot of accidently shifts happen when you stop obsessing and let your subconscious take the wheel. It not you who shifts you but your subconscious. And if you can, use it because distractions can bring you to detachment and help you shift.

5╰┈➤ “I fell asleep mid-method!”

→ That was the method.

You didn’t fail—you succeeded. Not only you can turn this into a "method" now by just shifting while you sleep with no effort, but let me tell you something everytime you think of being in your Dr before sleep or you wake it extra confused or maybe you got a dream of your Dr? It because you were there while your drself was asleep so you just woke up here but you actually were in your Dr the whole night.

6╰┈➤“My affirmations feel fake / repetitive / I can’t do them for long.”

That’s because they’re already true. Your brain is just bored of repeating what it already knows as true. It’s not resistance—it’s recognition. You’re not convincing your mind of anything, you’re remembering what’s already real.

You already are the version of you that has it all.

7╰┈➤“My DR feels too good to be true.”

→ That’s your CR conditioning talking

It’s not too good to be true. It’s too good to be false. Your DR feels like a fantasy only because CR trained you to accept less. Flip the script: your DR is suited specific for you.

8╰┈➤ "I'm putting my Dr on a pedestal"

okay and so what? People put good stuff in their life on pedestal all the time? That doesn't make it unreachable or unreasonable because they already have it. Just the same way you are already in your Dr. Reminder yourself that it okay to romanticise your Dr life because it still your life.

[samkerrworshipper]

underneath the surface

umm so i’m back.. kind of? this fic was a rollercoaster but i hold it very near and dear to my heart. i hope you all enjoy it and find some comfort in it because i definitely do <3

warnings: no warnings just some medical jargon and talks of endometriosis!

Alexia has always been credited for her attentiveness.

Most people say that it’s the reason she’s such a good captain, and of course, she denies to everybody that she just goofs around less than some of her teammates.

But, inevitably, it’s true, Alexia is a lot more attentive than other people. She pays attention to the small things, the under the surface things, things that most people wouldn’t bat an eyelid at.

Although, in her opinion, she doesn’t need to be observant nor attentive to be curious about this one part of your relationship.

It doesn’t take brilliant observation skills to recognise a pattern, from the age of two most people are able to recognise patterns. For a two year old, it’s colours and shapes and different farm animals. For Alexia it’s become an observation.

It’s routine, a pattern, a constant repeat in your relationship that for the first few months she ignored.

Like a broken record constantly repeating itself, every month, without fail, you disappeared for a couple of nights.

Not literally, for those days you’ll retreat of the pitch and inside to the gym but Alexia still sees you everyday, and for the most part, you’ll still go out for coffee with her and go on walks together, but for at least three nights, sometimes up to 7, there are no sleepovers, no late night movie binges, no dinners.

It went unnoticed by Alexia for longer than normal, love was Alexia’s biggest weakness and it subtly impaired her abilities to be as observant as she prided herself.

Who could blame her? It was hard to be detail oriented when she was too busy enjoying the puppy dog love that came from realising that she was so in love with her life with you, even if it was still relatively new.

But, even with her focus partially impaired, it didn’t take a whole lot of skills to recognise the abnormality of what was occurring.

It was particularly abnormal, because for every other day of the month, you spent your nights at Alexia’s. Alexia would even go as far to say that you're pretty much moved into her apartment. Your dog had a bed in her apartment, your training kit and bag had a permanent spot at her door, most of your clothes were now sitting next to Alexia’s in her wardrobe.

Your apartment, for the most part, existed purely for the sake of storing all of your furniture. Alexia had brought up leasing it, you’d been dating for almost a year now and whilst it was a short time to move in with each other, the two of you spent so much time together that to her it made the most sense. Beyond that, it was her way of testing the water, to see if her observation was as real as she began to think it was.

Your immediate denial of the idea confirmed what she had been beginning to think.

Originally, she’d thought that maybe you were overwhelmed from constantly being around Alexia, it was a lot being at training together all day and then heading home to each other.

It didn't make sense though.

When you were together, you were attached at the hip. You were both naturally clingy towards each other and after questioning Mapi about it, as ambiguously as she could, she was backed up in that it wasn’t normal behaviour for an overwhelmed person to be so eager to be so connected.

So, the theory was canned and when the following month the same thing happened, Alexia’s curiosity peaked once again.

She moved onto a theory that maybe it was some kind of homesickness, that you just needed to sleep in your own bed a couple of nights every month.

But not only did you constantly complain about your own apartment and how unhomey it felt in comparison to Alexia’s, it was always the same week every month.

Which should have been the biggest clue, and yet for whatever reason it had completely slipped past Alexia.

It was only when one of the team doctors had approached Alexia about her cycle changing, that it all clicked for her.

Alexia’s period had skipped, and they’d logged it a couple of months ago. Obviously, without noticing, it had been because the two of you had synched up, which made plenty of sense.

Alexia’s period was an inconvenience, but it wasn’t a true bother, just something she had to put up with. In all honesties though, for her, her period was nothing to her, she had hardly any symptoms, her body functioned the exact same way, everything was almost the exact same.

Yet, every month, when apparently your period came around, you happened to disappear for a couple of days. Alexia would have loved to think it was a coincidence, but with her new knowledge, she decided to put it to test.

She wasn’t surprised, when the following month her own period came, a couple of days later you were back to hiding out at your place for a couple of nights.

Like lightwork, when you came back to Alexia, you were the exact same, like nothing had happened, and yet Alexia was certain that there was something being hidden underneath the surface.

A lot of people were insecure about their period, Alexia had grown up in a house full of girls, her period had been anything but stigmatised, and she was grateful for that.

She was self aware enough though to know that not everybody was fortunate enough to have that same experience. She was also aware that unfortunately, sometimes peoples partners could be unaccepting and close minded about those kinds of things.

So, when the following month, Alexia got her period and without fail, four days later you mentioned that you would drive yourself to training so that you could head back to your apartment afterwards, Alexia was already plotting away.

She had time to think about it during video review that day, there wasn’t a lot to focus on then when the team was coming off of a 4-0 win to Atletico and anything that was of importance, aAlexia had already noted when she’d watched the immediately after the game.

It was a sound plan in her mind, chocolate, a heat pack, your favourite italian takeaway, Alexia’s favourite hoodie that you always tried to steal and your favourite blanket from her apartment.

Alexia wanted you to know that you could be just as comfortable in her home, regardless of what was happening. Hopefully, in knowing that, you’d let go of the part of you that was so clearly avoiding Alexia.

Alexia, above being observant, liked to be a problem solver. She liked to take initiative, she liked to fix things.

So, after a shower and a quick snack when she’d returned home, she packed up all of the supplies. On the way to your apartment, which she hadn’t visited in months, she picked up food and then was on her way.

In the early months of your relationship, it had just been easier for the two of you to spend time at Alexia’s because it was closer to the training grounds and more lived in.

Whilst you’d been living in Barcelona now for nearly three years, your home was still in England, and it had been hard for you to fully settle into Barcelona even if it was your home for now.

Alexia knew it, so she’d welcomed you into her home with open arms. It had been heartwarming for her to slowly watch you integrate yourself into Alexia’s life, it made her happier then anything else.

So, she made her mind up that whatever this bump was, she was going to help you get over it, so that she could have all of you, and most importantly so you would feel like Alexia cared.

The feeling that Alexia got as she pulled up next to your car in the lot of your apartment was chilling, in her gut it felt like something was wrong. It was a feeling that set into Alexia's stomach as she stepped out of her car and hurried to collect her things before making her way over to the elevator.

Alexia stays as composed as she can manage, even though on the inside, the worry is starting to set in.

It’s not like theoretically she has anything to worry about, it’s not like this is an abnormal situation, but the weird feeling in Alexia’s stomach is putting her off and the only thing that she can think will make it better is seeing your face.

All Alexia wants to do is wrap you up in her arms for a moment, for her own peace of mind, to stop the off feeling that has been resonating inside of her as she’s tried to get to the bottom of this problem, that’s not really a problem. It’s an inconsistency, and one thing about Alexia is that she doesn’t like inconsistency. She fixes problems, she doesn’t enjoy living life whilst there is something that isn’t quite right, and she needs to make this right.

Alexia knocks at your door quietly, two little raps that she hopes you hear.

When she receives nothing in response, she knocks again, this time a little bit louder.

Alexia waits a few seconds, whilst it’s been a couple of hours since your session there is the off chance that you're in the shower or bath.

After quite a bit of waiting with no noises from the other side of the door, Alexia knocks once more, already pulling her keychain from her pocket and feeling for the spare key to your apartment.

When she finds it, she pulls it up to the lock, waiting just a few more seconds before slotting it into the keyhole and twisting it until it clicks.

The first thing Alexia notices is that your apartment is completely pitch black and if it weren’t for the fact that she saw your car earlier, she might have just left.

Alexia tiptoes her way through the entryway and into your kitchen, it’s hard to see much with all of the blinds pulled shut and none of the lights on, so she blindly feels around for the light switch until she finally finds it and flicks it.

The immediate groan that comes from the direction of your couch definitely does not go unnoticed by Alexia.

“Lights off.”

As fast as she can, Alexia turns the light back off, before curiously tiptoeing over to the edge of your couch.

You’re a lump under a pile of blankets, but she’s able to make out the shape of your body underneath it.

“Hey baby.”

You groan again, and the feeling in Alexia’s stomach only gets worse.

Alexia takes a few steps forwards, assessing you in front of her.

Her hand reaches out tentatively for you, she feels around the mass of blankets until she feels a part of your body underneath the pile of fluff, she follows the lump until she makes her way up to your head.

Your whole body is warm, or the blankets are warm, she isn’t actually quite sure where the blankets end and your body starts.

“Why are you here?”

Your voice is all croaky, and Alexia is certain you must be sick and she’s somehow missed all the symptoms of it.

“I wanted to spend the night with you.”

Alexia’s hand finally finds a bit of skin on your neck and she traces her fingers until she finds your jawline.

“Go home, Ale.”

The sound of your voice is making Alexia antsy, she can’t believe she’s missed the fact that you are sick.

“No, bebita, you’re sick and I’m here to look after you. I have your favourite food and chocolate, we can cuddle up in bed and you can sleep this off. I brought my hoodie for you.”

Alexia turns your head up, so your hair is peaking out of the blanket mound and she can see your squinted eyes.

“I’m not sick, Alexia.”

You keep your eyes crammed shut for the sake of not making the pounding headache you have any worse.

“Bebita, you’re all hot and croaky, it’s okay to be sick, I’m here to look after you.”

If you weren’t working so hard to keep your eyes closed you’d roll them, but that seems like far too much work for right now.

“Alexia I’m not sick, I’m just on my period.”

Alexia’s brow furrows, if your eyes weren’t closed you’d catch it. It’s the same furrow that always happens when Alexia thinks somebody else is wrong and she’s right.

“Bebita, this seems like a little bit more than a period. It’s okay, I’m here.”

You groan and Alexia recoils slightly.

“It’s just my period.”

Your deadpan makes Alexia confused.

“Your period shouldn’t be this bad. Are you having some heatstroke? It’s been warm out today, or are you having a migraine? You need to remember to hydrate.”

Your head is throbbing and Alexia’s theories aren’t helping.

“I have endometriosis Alexia, this is what my period looks like.It’s not fucking heatstroke or a sickness it’s just how my body is..”

Out of everything Alexia had been suspecting, that wasn’t it.

It suddenly dawns on Alexia that she can’t fix what you’ve just told her, she’s standing in front of you completely dumbfounded at what to do in this moment.

Alexia is a problem solver, she finds solutions for the biggest and smallest problems, and yet she doesn’t have a solution for the problem she is being faced with.

“Baby, just go home, the first night for me is always the worst, if I feel better I can hang out with you tomorrow.”

Alexia doesn’t have a solution to the pain you are going through, but she knows she isn’t going to let you suffer alone. The information that you’ve been doing this by yourself for a year now is making Alexia feel like the worst girlfriend ever and she’s going to change that.

“No, bebita, no. I’m staying here tonight, I’m here for you mi vida. Would it make you feel better if we got you into bed or into a bath? What’s going to make you more comfortable? Have you had medication? How about some food?”

When another groan leaves your lips, Alexia becomes aware that she’s approaching this the wrong way.

“How about I go and put the food in your kitchen and you decide what’s going to make you feel best. I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

Alexia quietly tiptoes back into your kitchen, taking her time to put her things away and pulling two bottles of water from your fridge before making her way back into your living room.

You’ve emerged from your pile by the time she is back, your eyes are still closed but just seeing your face makes Alexia’s nerves settle just a little bit.

“Can we go to my bed, please?”

Alexia smiles at you softly.

“Of course amor, do you want me to carry you or do you think you can walk?”

The apprehension on your face is enough of a answer for Alexia.

She walks over towards you, picking up your blanket fort and body like it’s nothing and gently lifting you up, stepping carefully in the direction of your bedroom.

You groan out at the change of position, nothing feels good at the moment but Alexia’s arms are more comforting than the scratchy material of your couch cushions.

When she makes it to your bed, she lowers you down like you are the most delicate piece of glass, making sure that you’re tucked underneath the sheets before easing you out of your arms.

“Do you need anything? Heat pack? Water? Talk?”

Again, all Alexia’s words do is make the itching pain all over your body ten times worse, it’s all consuming and makes you feel choked.

“Bed, hugs, that’s all I want.”

Alexia is antsy, she wants to make the pain you are in better, she wants to know what to do right now instead of being completely blind in the situation.

“Are you sure? How about some pain relief or a cold compress?”

Alexia is no doctor, and up until five minutes ago she had absolutely no idea about this whole situation and whether she feels like she can admit it or not she’s terrified about it all.

She’s made up her mind that as soon as you're asleep she’s going to go on a deep dive of google searches to get to the bottom of this whole situation, but that will have to wait.

“Alexia, if you want to be here, just get into bed and give me some fucking hugs. I’m not in the mood to be told what to do with my body when I’ve been dealing with this for years, make up your mind of whether you want to be here or not.”

Alexia avoids conflict with you at all costs, she’s earned the title around your football friends of being your puppy dog, because she simply agrees to anything and everything that leaves your lips, and hearing you remotely mad at her makes her crumble.

“Sorry bebita, I’m so sorry, you’re right. I’m here for whatever you need.”

Alexia makes quick work of slipping her shoes off, something she never got around to in the darkness of your entryway.

She follows by taking her socks and outer layers off, stripping down until she’s in her tank top and a pair of old Barcelona training shorts.

Once she’s done she creeps around to the other side of your bed, slipping underneath the covers as subtly as she can manage.

When she’s completely covered, she lies back, unsure of how to approach all of this new information.

“You’re lying like a rigid corpse.”

Alexia gulps, she can see you in her peripherals, you look absolutely exhausted and in the kindest way possible, ten years older with the amount of wrinkles across your skin, bumps and ridges she can only imagine are the tightness holding in all of the struggle that you’re going through underneath the surface.

“Alexia, I’m okay, I’m not dying.”

Alexia knows theoretically that is true, she doesn’t have endometriosis and she’s not close to anybody who does, but she knows what it is. She knows it’s not cancer or something life-threatening, but the depth of the realisation that you’ve been suffering for so long and have kept it from Alexia is slowly pulling her apart at the seams.

You roll over slightly, it causes shocks of pain to go up and down your back and stomach, but you need the comfort as much as Alexia does, even if she isn’t ready to accept it.

She’s going through her process, compartmentalising all of it so she can be the brave and stoic face she always is.

You’re used to it, and you’ve come to realise that even though in these kinds of situations it seems like Alexia needs to be left alone, in reality she needs to be kept close by her nearest and dearest.

So, you worm your way on top of her body, it makes the cramps ten times worse and the nausea takes control of your stomach, forcing somersault after somersault, but when Alexia’s arms reach around you out of instinct it’s worth it.

You’re in pain, your uterus feels like it’s got knives embedded along the lining of it, like there are needles poking in and out of your back and gunshots being fired across your lower abdomen. But you’re well used to it, you’re used to the feeling of needing to throw up from having such intense throbbing pain across your whole core.

You’re used to the pounding headaches and migraines that come naturally from your body being so inflamed and agitated that all the tension eventually spreads to every single inch of your body, from the tips of your fingers to the edges of your toes.

Your head settles on Alexia’s shoulder, and her hand snakes it’s way down to the outside of your thigh, she’s being more cautious than she’s ever been with you and the normal you would probably be heartwarmed by her sweetness but the part of you that is currently seeing the worst kind of stars because of the cramps coursing through your body is just desperate to climb into her bones now that she is here with you.

It’s been ingrained in you since you were a kid that it was best to not bother other people with your weakness, it was your own struggle, your own burden.

You’d kept it from Alexia for this sole purpose, for the purpose that you knew she would take it all on as her problem, that she would try and fix it all and spend all of her time and energy trying to solve it all when you just wanted her to treat you the exact same.

She treated you like a princess everyday, but add a crippling reproductive condition and you knew she’d treat you like a priceless artefact. You were grateful you had a person in your life who would move heaven and earth in such a way for you but it was suffocating sometimes, when you were functioning on a normal level.

It was with those thoughts running rampant in your head that you slipped off into the same light sleep that you were lucky to drift into in these circumstances.

Whilst you drifted off, Alexia was left alone with her own thoughts.

Insecurity wasn’t something Alexia experienced often, she was secure in her body, she is as secure in her football as she has been since her knee injury, she’s secure in her family and up until today she felt completely secure in her relationship.

Now, she doesn’t know how she feels.

She knows that it’s likely you have a good reason to have kept this a secret, or a reason that you’ve justified to yourself. She knows underneath it all, you’re the one who’s secretly been hiding a big insecurity from her and she has no right to be truly mad about it, she’s disappointed that you haven’t felt able to share this with her when it feels like Alexia has bared all of her deepest, boniest secrets with you.

She does what makes sense, she reaches for her phone from her short pocket and begins to google all of the big questions that are swirling around in her mind.

You might have wanted to keep this a secret from Alexia but now that she knows about it she’d be a bad girlfriend if she didn’t educate herself on this.

So, instead of drifting off to sleep, Alexia drifts off into the land of medical journals and words that she doesn’t understand the meaning of but she’s determined to figure out.

You wake up in the morning in less of a state of excruciating suffering, instead of being stuck in a fiery inferno of hell you feel like you're dancing more on the periphery.

Your body is warm, in a way that makes you feel less like your insides are scorching you from the inside and more like you're generally just hot.

It feels like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon as you try to unroll from the blankets that you’d swaddled yourself in the night beforehand in an attempt to try and make yourself feel as small as possible in hopes it would somehow shrink down everything you were feeling.

It’s a feverish dream, and as you recall your night, blotches begin to come back to you and the memory of your girlfriend appearing somewhere along the way makes the dull cramps across the front of your stomach beat in a way that makes you uncomfortably uneasy all over again.

As you assess your surroundings and open your eyes for what feels like the first time in months, you notice that Alexia is no longer in bed with you.

It’s all extremely faint in your head and there is an off chance you’ve dreamt it all up, but the very faint smell of coffee drifting through the air and folded up clothes sitting on the dresser on the wall across from your bed.

You’re feeling less deathly than last night, so you wager your chances with slowly sitting up in your bed, when you don’t feel any different you begin to lift your legs up.

Your muscles ache in the same way they do every time your period comes around, they tweak and they constrict like you’re an eighty year old instead of a twenty something.

It’s rough, it’s uncomfortable and it’s painful but it’s life.

It’s your life, it’s your burden, it’s your problem and knowing that Alexia is now a part of it all makes you queasy in a completely different way.

Your heavy on your feet as you stand up and begin to creep towards the door of your bedroom, with every step every one of your toes grinds against the floorboards. Your heel digs in, your ankles crunch, your body moves in a way that mirrors the way that you are crumbling from within. On these kinds of days, weeks and months, everything hurts. Everything is an effort.

Once you make it to your open door, you steady yourself against it, your nerves are working against you, everything inside of you is actively trying to stop you and you’ll be damned if you let it happen.

You only stand still long enough for it to be classified in your brain as a stall, not a break, not a stop. You can’t stop in times like this, if you stop then you’ll never get going again and that is a whole pit of fuckedupness that you aren’t ready to dive into.

From the door, you try your hardest to tiptoe your way through the hallway to your living space, but it’s impossible in your body.

As you inch closer, the sound of Alexia only becomes more apparent and obvious, and as you creep closer the agitation across your body only gets worse.

As you reach the archway between your hallway and living space, the sight in front of you makes your heart throb and your uterus ache even worse then it already is.

Alexia is swaying in your kitchen, apparently to whatever music she has playing in her head. There is coffee on the counter, accompanied by two bottles of juice and water, like she couldn’t decide what would be best. To accompany the extra drinks is toast, eggs, bacon and pancakes on the stove.

It’s too much.

With the combination of hormones in your bloodstream you’re honestly impressed that you don’t burst into tears.

Alexia’s still here.

Alexia, sweet, loyal Alexia.

You’ve been conditioned to keep all of this a secret, that during this week it’s best to keep yourself and everything you’re going through hidden, for the best of yourself and for everyone around you. Yet, here Alexia is doing way too much for you.

You’re downward spiralling when her voice breaks you out.

“Hey bebe.”

Her voice is close to a coo, the same voice she uses with Irene’s son. You don’t let it affect you in the moment, but you’ll think about the tactic of it later.

“I have food for you, and coffee if you want it, but google told me that sometimes that’s not always good for endometriosis. So I got juice as well, because google also said it might help with inflammation.”

The thought behind it is extremely sweet, and you feel slightly overwhelmed by all of the options.

“You didn’t need to do that for me.”

Alexia frowns, it’s slight and hardly noticeable, but the little wrinkle between her eyebrows is an immediate tell.

“I wanted to, I want to help you, however I can.”

The sentiment behind her words is lost in the sudden shock that you experience as her words settle in, you’ve never met a single person, besides a doctor whose job it was to help you, that gave a shit about this.

When you have no words, Alexia finds some for you.

“I want to talk to you about this, I want to know about it, I want to help you. We’re partners, we do everything together, and I want to do this with you. I don’t want you to lock me out and I don’t want you suffering alone. I’m here for this, I’m here for you to lean on.”

You nod your head, her words feel like a drug, like it’s lifting away some of the pain you’re going through.

“I’m serious, this isn’t something you can hide from me. You looked after me when I hurt my knee and I am here to look after you in the same way when you’re in pain. Bebita?”

Alexia’s hand falls to your side, caressing your hip gently.

“I’m not used to people knowing about this, and I’m even more not used to people caring, I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to process.”

Alexia’s face softens, and before you can say any other stupid mumbles, she pulls you from the hip into her body. Her arms are warm, and yet oddly they soothe your prickly skin.

You melt into Alexia, you feel like shit but she makes you feel marginally better.

“Coffee, or juice?”

You stifle a giggle that falls from your lips.

“Juice, please.”

Alexia relaxes her arms, taking a step back.

“Can I get you any pain relief, or a new heat pack? Is your headache better?”

Alexia looks at you with so much genuine care that it’s hard to not feel embarrassed.

“Pain relief doesn’t sit well in my stomach on a good day. I save heat packs for when the cramps are really bad or else they don’t have the same effect. My headaches normally are at the end of the day as a result of tension build up during the day.”

Alexia looks as if she’s taking mental note of everything you’ve just told her, for later.

“How about some food, hmm?”

You want to say yes, because Alexia’s clearly gone to so much effort for you, but you know that if you eat this early and then train your stomach contents is going to end up on a pitch or somewhere inconvenient.

“My stomach won’t keep it if we train later, I’m better to eat afterwards.”

Alexia’s brow furrows once again.

“I called the doctor and Pere this morning, we’re both taking today off.”

Everything warm and good about the moment fades, and suddenly all you feel is confusion.

“Why did you do that?”

Alexia steps away from you and retreats into your kitchen, grabbing a glass for you and picking up the bottle of juice that she knows you prefer.

“Because I thought you were dying last night, and you can’t tell me that all of that has just disappeared this morning. You’re struggling and you don’t need to push through pain to prove that you are worthy or good enough. You’re self worth shouldn’t be dictated by you proving to yourself that you can work through a chronic disease. I’m sorry that I didn't notice earlier and that I wasn't there for you earlier but I'm here to advocate for you now.”

You want to tell Alexia that you don’t need an advocate, you can advocate just fine for yourself. But a part of you knows that she doesn’t want to hear it and that part of you is also the part that is crippling from the inside and simply doesn’t have the energy to argue with your girlfriend.

“I train just fine normally.”

Alexia can’t argue that, even though you spend the time in the gym, she’s never heard of anything out of the ordinary occurring.

“But you don’t have to. In fact when I talked to our doctor she told me that she’d been insisting on you being more cautious of your cycle and spending more time resting during it considering your history.”

You roll your eyes, taking the glass of juice Alexia offers you.

Alexia plates up a breakfast that could feed a family of four, but it makes you feel less bad for not eating any of it.

“It’s my body, I know my limits.”

You focus on your glass of juice and not the face Alexia makes at you.

“You know how to continuously meet and exceed your limits, but what about just leaving them and giving yourself some peace. I know nothing about what you are going through, I can only sympathise. But I know this must be incredibly hard and I know you definitely do not give yourself enough grace and definitely don’t care for your needs enough. I’m here for you to confide in, I’ve done my research, I’m prepared to help however you need.”

It’s endearing how clearly prepared Alexia has made herself.

“You’ve done your research, hmm?”

Alexia nods proudly.

“Lots of it. Like about how orgasms can help with cramps.”

She looks like she’s going to say more, but you splutter your juice straight back into your cup, causing her to stop.

Alexia’s always been more open with her sexuality then you are, it’s culturally more acceptable in Spain but she also grew up with it being slightly more normalised.

“Alexia.”

Her grin is broad, like she’s proud that she’s managed to embarrass you.

“It’s true! Although for some people endometriosis can cause pain whilst having sex, so if you’re one of those people then it may not work but if you want to try I’m happy to help, fingers, toys, everything but mouths is on the table.”

Your blush only gets more cemented.

“I’m okay for right now, the thought of any kind of intimacy makes my fallopian tubes ache.”

Alexia nods her head, you are certain that sometime in the future this topic will arise again. Alexia’s rabbit-like sex drive makes it hard to not involve sex in everything you do together.

“Can I ask what your symptoms normally look like?”

Alexia’s lip is caught between her teeth, it’s the first time she’s looked nervous this entire conversation.

“Of course. Normally for me, I get bad pelvic pain which never really goes away, sweats, fever sometimes, cramps everywhere, i bloat, i get quite nauseous and occasionally it can make me moody. Furthermore, it can cause me to have migraines, some joint pain, insomnia, there are other things but those are the main ones. Overall it just makes me drained, i’m more fatigued but I can’t sleep, it makes me feel pretty lifeless.”

Alexia nods, she listens to every single word with so much attention.

“I always assumed the scars on your stomach were from getting your appendix removed, but I’m assuming now it’s a laparoscopy?”

You’re impressed by the level of detail Alexia has gone to for you.

“I have had my appendix removed but also yes, I’ve had two laparoscopy’s and I’m putting off getting my third done.”

Alexia nods.

“Do they make it better?”

You bite your lip before nodding.

“It’s never perfect, but for a bit it definitely makes my symptoms better. I’m putting off getting my next one because the last time I did it put me out of action for two months and it took me a while to get back to where I was. My body is different, it changes you. Before you ask, I’ve tried birth control, I’ve tried IUD’s, I’ve tried other forms of contraception, they all made it impossible for me to play football.”

Alexia shakes her head.

“I wasn’t going to ask you that, it’s your decision what you do and don’t put in your body, and I’m sure you’re just making whatever decisions work best for you.”

It’s refreshing having somebody not question what you do and don’t do for yourself.

“That means a lot to me.”

Alexia puts down her cutlery, her food somehow disappearing into her stomach.

“It’s just what love is, and I’m here to love you for forever, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve put off crying, you’ve tried your very best, but it’s not possible anymore.

The tears fall freely, and before you know it Alexia has pulled you into her lap.

It hurts, everything hurts, and yet everything feels so much better knowing you’re in her arms.

“I’ve got you bebita, I’m here now, I’m here to help you work this all out.”

——————————————————————

whelp that’s done! thoughts, feedback and general opinions would be appreciated! i’m so happy to have made something for yall and it’s rushed and super unedited and definitely not my favorite work but i hope you enjoy it all the same 🫶

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 4: One night in Barcelona part 1 Other Parts

Word Count: 10K

This ran longer than I originally thought, so Y/N's Barcelona trip will be spilt into 2 parts

You get home and the flat feels too quiet.

Teddy flops on the couch like he’s mourning, and you stand there for a second, jacket half-off, keys still dangling from your fingers, just letting the silence settle.

You make coffee. Scroll half-heartedly through the news. Pretend you’re not checking your phone every three minutes.

She said she’d text.

You trust her.

Still, you check again.

You check your phone too soon. Too often.

Until finally as you park up at the training centre.

Alexia: Landed. Missing Teddy already. You only a little bit.

You laugh under your breath, sharp and surprised, leaning against the car.

You tap your thumb against the screen, smile tugging at your mouth.

You: Teddy’s devastated. Kept looking at the door all morning like you're about to walk back in.

You pause. Then add, softer,

You: I might of been doing the same.

The typing bubble pops up immediately.

Alexia: I've been thinking.

Your stomach flips. Another message follows, almost before you can blink,

Alexia: Come to Barcelona.

You stare at the words.

Simple. Sure. Not a question. An invitation.

You slowly pluck your bag from the boot, heartbeat thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to reach her before you can.

You type slowly, savouring it,

You: You serious?

Alexia: I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Come see my world. Stay at my place.

You bite your lip, grinning now, stupid, full, real.

You: Say when.

Her reply comes seconds later:

Alexia: Whenever you’re free.

You glance at Georgia, strutting across the carpark to meet you at the exact spot at the exact time she always did. "Hey gorgeous" she grins

You smile. Then you pull up your calendar. Because it’s not just a maybe.

It’s Barcelona. It’s her. You were ignoring the nerves. You were going.

Georgia bumps your shoulder lightly with hers. “So,” she says, voice low enough that it gets lost under the general buzz around you as you walk in the facility. “How were your days off?”

You glance at her. Her expression is innocent. Too innocent.

You squint, breathing out a soft laugh through your nose. “They were good,” you say, keeping it vague, dropping your bag in your cubicle before spinning and heading right back out with her for breakfast.

Georgia hums. Nods. Like she’s accepting the answer. But you’re not an idiot. You know exactly what she’s really asking.

Not how was your rest? Not did you get your legs back under you? But how was it being with her?

You hold a mug toward her gently. She takes it without thinking. It was mindless routine with you both now.

Then she leans in just a little, eyebrow raised.

“Really good?” she murmurs, just for you. You smirk, looking away, pretending to focus on your cup of tea.

“Mind your business, Stanway.”

She chuckles, returning the ball with a light pass. “You’re smiling like a lunatic. Not very subtle.”

You shrug. Try to wipe the grin off your face. You fail. Miserably.

Georgia goes off to look what hot food was on offer, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

You watch her go, still smiling despite yourself, feet rooted in the soft spot, minds already miles away.

Back to rooftop nights and sleepy breakfasts. Back to Uno wars and stolen glances. Back to her.

⚽️

The planning starts that night after she lands back in Barcelona.

You’re lying in bed, Teddy snoring beside you, scrolling mindlessly when your phone buzzes.

Alexia When’s your next free weekend?

You sit up a little straighter immediately.

You: I'll check. Hang on. Trying to look important.

You flick through your calendar — training, matches, travel days. It’s tighter than you’d like. But there's a small window coming up.

You: Have two days off next month. Saturday to Sunday. Could maybe get the Friday night flight too if I’m sneaky and cancel something, but not promising that.

A pause.

Alexia: I have a home game that Saturday. Would you want to... come to the game?

You blink. Heart stuttering a little. She doesn’t say 'watch me play' or 'sit in the stands like a fan.'

She says come to the game. Come be there.

You type slower this time,

You: I’d love to.

Another pause.

Alexia: I’ll get you tickets. And after... we can actually see Barcelona properly on the Sunday when we have more time. Not just the stadium.

You grin.

You: Deal. Tourist Alexia can finally pay me back for Munich.

She sends back an eye-roll emoji.

Alexia: Only if you survive the Estadi.

You laugh, alone in your flat, staring at your screen like it's a map to something bigger than flights and fixtures.

You: I’ll book flights tomorrow.

A few minutes later,

Alexia: I’m excited.

You stare at that word. Read it again. Excited. You lie back against the pillows, heart hammering quietly. It’s happening. You’re going to her. You’re looking at your calendar and counting down the days.

Alexia: When are you coming? I'll put it on my calendar so I don't get booked for anything

The typing bubble appears immediately.

Alexia: Careful. I might not let you leave.

You bite your lip, feeling that same fizzy thrill in your chest you haven’t quite gotten used to — don’t really want to.

You: Dangerous game you're playing, Putellas.

Alexia: I like my chances.

You flip onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to fight the stupid grin taking over your face. You start mentally flipping through your calendar, through your training commitments, through flights that might work for that weekend to maximise your hours.

You smile, already typing back the dates you were free

Alexia: One night? That’s it?

You laugh softly into the dark.

You: I have a job, you know.

Alexia: Unacceptable.

You roll your eyes fondly, typing,

You: Tell you what. If you win the match, I’ll stay longer next time.

Her reply comes fast:

Alexia: I better win, then.

You tuck the phone against your chest for a second, feeling everything buzz under your skin, excitement, nerves, all tangled together. You’ve traveled for football your whole life.

But this feels different. Personal. Heavy in the best way.

Your phone buzzes again.

Alexia: Also... bring some Uno cards.

You frown, confused, texting back:

You: Really?? You want to play again?

Alexia: Maybe.

You laugh out loud this time, scaring Teddy half awake.

You: Big words for someone who almost cried over a +4.

You can practically feel her scowl through the screen.

Alexia: Shut up and book your ticket.

You type,

You: On it.

You pause. Then, without thinking too hard, you add,

You: Can’t wait to see you.

No emoji. No joke. Just real. Her reply doesn’t come immediately this time. You wait — heart thudding.

Then:

Alexia: Me neither.

Short. Simple. You turn the screen off, smiling in the dark, already dreaming of Barcelona.

⚽️

You barely remember how to pack when it wasn't to go play football.

Teddy curls up beside you, a warm, comforting weight, but your mind spins — running through every second of the past few days, every laugh, every soft look across Uno cards, every 'can't wait' tucked into your chest like a secret.

Your flight’s early. You don’t mind.

You breeze through security, headphones on, hoodie up, trying to stay calm. But inside, you’re buzzing.

Barcelona.

Her.

You board the plane, squeeze into your seat, and pull your cap low. Pretend to read. Pretend not to check your phone even after you’ve put it on airplane mode.

The whole flight feels longer than it should, even though it's barely two hours.

You stare out the window as the coast of Spain comes into view — glittering like a dream.

Your fingers tap against your thigh the whole descent.

When you finally step off the plane and into the terminal, it's like your lungs remember how to breathe differently — faster. Sharper.

You follow the crowd through the long hallways, baggage signs flashing above your head, the bright hum of early morning travelers all around you.

Your bag’s slung over your shoulder when you turn the last corner toward Arrivals.

And you see her. Alexia.

Leaning casually against a pillar, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, hoodie sleeves shoved up over her forearms. Backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s just another student waiting for a friend.

Her eyes are locked on you. Like she didn’t even bother pretending to be casual. Like she’s been standing there, waiting, watching the whole time.

Your stomach flips. You slow your steps without meaning to.

Alexia pushes off the pillar, straightening, a half-smile pulling at her mouth, small, real, slightly smug.

Like she knew this moment would feel like this. You cross the space between you faster than you mean to. And when you reach her, close enough to see the way her lashes catch the light, she grins properly.

“You made it,” she says, voice soft.

You roll your eyes, breathless. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m impressed,” she says, stepping forward just a little closer. “You didn’t get lost.”

“Yet,” you tease, voice cracking slightly under the weight of it all.

She smiles wider. And then, casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, she reaches out and plucks at the hem of your hoodie.

Tugging you one step closer. You bump her shoulder with yours, just lightly. And she laughs.

Low. Warm. Full-body. You breathe it in like sunlight.

“Come on,” she says, brushing her fingers lightly over your wrist a fleeting, grounding touch. “Let’s get out of here.”

And you do. Because Barcelona is waiting.

The air outside the terminal is warm already, not heavy, but alive, that salt-crisped breeze that says you’re close to the sea, close to something good.

Alexia leads you to her car, tossing your bag casually into the boot like it’s nothing, like this, you and her is normal now. You slide into the passenger seat.

She slides behind the wheel, shoving her sunglasses back down over her eyes, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other tapping the roof once as she starts the engine.

The city opens around you as she pulls away from the airport highways slipping into narrower streets, buildings pressing in with bright shutters and sun-bleached balconies.

You crack the window. The breeze rushes in carrying roasted coffee and blooming citrus and the deep, endless salt of the Mediterranean.

Alexia glances at you sideways. “You good?” she asks, casual, but her voice tilts at the end a little tentative, a little careful.

You smile. “Better than good.”

That earns you the soft curve of her mouth — the one you’ve already decided is your favourite. She doesn’t rush the drive. Doesn’t throw you into the tourist chaos.

Instead, she peels off onto quieter streets past open squares where kids kick footballs barefoot, past cafés spilling sleepy locals onto sidewalks, past corners where the real Barcelona hums, slower and deeper than any guidebook can touch.

You watch it all, drinking it in, feeling something settle under your ribs.

And you watch her. The way she belongs to this place, not loudly. Not like someone claiming it. Just woven into it. She points casually out the window at one point, a tiny café with peeling turquoise paint and a crooked sign.

“That’s where we’re going,” she says. “Best coffee. No tourists.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How very authentic of you.”

She smirks, taking a turn too fast just to make you grab the door handle. “Hold on, turista.”

You laugh — full and easy — and she laughs too, a little softer, a little closer to the surface now.

When she pulls up outside the café, it’s quiet tucked between two apartment buildings, a few chairs scattered under an awning, a dog sleeping under one of the tables.

Alexia tosses her keys into her pocket and slides her sunglasses up into her hair.

“Come on,” she says, bumping your shoulder lightly with hers as you get out.

Inside, it smells like heaven — bitter espresso, warm bread, oranges.

The woman behind the counter greets Alexia like an old friend. There’s no fanfare. No photos. Just two women smiling, exchanging a few quick words in rapid Catalan you don’t understand.

Alexia orders for you without asking, confident, easy, and you don’t even mind. You sit by the window. The coffee comes. Rich. Dark. Perfect.

You sip. It’s stupidly good. You look at her, eyes wide. She just leans back, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching you. “Told you.”

You smile at her over the rim of your cup.

You finish your coffees slowly, tucked into that quiet café like it’s your own secret corner of the world.

Alexia props her chin on her hand, watching the street outside more than anything else, but every few minutes her eyes flicker back to you, small glances, as if she’s checking to make sure you’re still there.

You finish your drink, wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and nod toward the door.

“Show me the rest,” you say.

She smiles. Stands. Leaves a few coins on the table like she’s done it a hundred times before. Probably has.

Outside, the city has stretched into full daylight the buildings throwing long, soft shadows, the streets buzzing without rushing.

You fall into step beside her easily. She doesn’t give you a grand tour. She doesn’t point at landmarks or monuments.

Instead, she shows you her Barcelona. The tiny bookstore with more stray cats than people. The cracked football pitch where she played as a kid. The alley where the graffiti changes every month, thick and layered like a living canvas.

You buy fresh fruit from a street stall, two peaches she insists are the best, and she peels hers without breaking the skin once, flicking it into a trash can with the smoothest little motion you’ve ever seen.

You, less gracefully, get juice on your wrist. She laughs. Low. Warm. Private.

You both sit on a low wall by a park, knees brushing sometimes, peeling bites off the peaches and wiping sticky fingers on napkins she dug out of her bag.

There’s no rush. No schedule. At one point, she asks about you — not the headlines, not the football stuff.

Just you. Your favourite meal. Your worst habit. The first song you ever learned the words to.

She listens, really listens, smiling at some answers, laughing at others, tossing the last bite of her peach to a hopeful pigeon that’s been hovering under the bench.

When you get up again, she nudges you lightly with her shoulder. "You walk slow," she teases.

You bump her back, grinning. "Maybe you walk too fast."

She raises a brow, smug. "Or maybe I’m just better at moving forward." you picked up her not so subtle football dig there with her comment.

You roll your eyes but you're laughing, real, unguarded, helpless.

You wander past shuttered bakeries and tiny ceramic shops, past clotheslines stretched across alleys, past motorbikes parked two to a sidewalk.

You stop at a corner to let a delivery truck pass, and when Alexia steps back, her hand brushes yours. Neither of you move it. Not a big thing. Not fingers lacing. Just touch.

You glance over once. She’s already looking at you. Not intense. Not daring. Just there. Fully. Quietly.

You’re sitting together on a low wall just outside another tiny square, the sun pressing down soft and warm, when Alexia glances at her watch and winces slightly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Time to go captain some people?”

She smiles, sheepish. “In a few hours. But...” She hesitates, for half a second, something flickering across her face. Not doubt. Just care “I was thinking…” she says slowly, slipping off the wall and brushing her palms against her jeans. You blink. She shifts her weight, glancing down the street. “I’ll have to leave soon for the game. But I want to show you my place. Get you settled in. Before.”

She shrugs, trying to sound casual. You can hear the not casual tucked underneath it. You stand, brushing the seat of your jeans, smiling. “Lead the way.”

The drive out of the city is short. The streets stretch wider, the buildings breathe out. The hills roll up around you, green and sun-shot and lazy.

When Alexia pulls into a long, private drive, your mouth actually falls open. You can’t help it.

Because her house It’s beautiful.

Sprawling but not obnoxious, modern without feeling cold pale stone and wide windows and the flash of a pool catching the sun in the backyard. Olive trees line one side of the garden, low and heavy with thick leaves.

Alexia cuts the engine, tosses her keys into the console, and glances over at you, grinning when she catches your face. “Bit different to you imagined, huh?”

You scoff. “Bit different to reality, more like.”

She laughs, light and proud.

You follow her up the steps, Teddy would lose his mind here you think, and she pushes open the door with a casual nudge of her shoulder.

Inside, it’s light and clean and lived-in. Photos tucked into shelves. Boots left near the back door. A jacket, Barcelona’s, slung over the kitchen chair.

She shows you around quickly, sweeping hand gestures, half-apologetic about the laundry basket sitting half-full near the stairs.

Kitchen first — huge, bright, glass doors leading out onto a sun-bleached patio where you can see the pool glinting like a promise.

Living room next — low couches, big TV, one of those weird modern fireplaces set into the wall.

Home gym tucked around the back — more trophies and shirts than you can count framed along the hallway toward it.

And upstairs — a guest room that’s bigger than your whole flat, sun pouring across the duvet like an invitation.

She stops outside her own bedroom, hand on the door but not opening it.

“You can um bring your bag up and unpack whenever you want,” she says, thumb tapping the doorframe lightly.

You nod, shouldering your bag tighter, trying to hide the way your heart’s thudding a little harder again. “Thank you” you say, meaning way more than just the tour.

Alexia shrugs, looking at you from under her lashes. “No problem.”

Simple. True. Before either of you can say anything else, her phone buzzes. You see it, the team group chat lighting up the screen.

She grimaces. “Duty calls.”

You grin. “Go.”

She points at you as she backs toward the stairs. “And don’t get lost in my house.”

“No promises,” you call after her, and she laughs, real and full, before disappearing to grab her kit.

You’re left standing there in the middle of her home — her life — the windows open, the pool sparkling, the space around you full of something you hadn’t even let yourself hope for yet.

You’re standing by the front door, bag dropped by your feet, sneakers on, heart thudding lightly against your ribs, not heavy, not anxious.

Just... full.

Alexia’s in her matchday tracksuit now club crest pressed proud over her chest, sleeves tugged down to her knuckles. Hair tied back, boots dangling from one hand.

She’s fidgeting slightly not nervous about the game, you realize. Nervous about leaving you.

You lean against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling at her softly.

“I’ll be fine, you know,” you say, voice low.

She huffs a little, a self-conscious shake of her head. “I know. I just—” She glances out at the driveway where her car is waiting. “I asked Alba to pick you up. My sister.”

You blink, surprised, not at the offer, but at the thought.

“She knows the way into the estadi,” Alexia continues, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Better than most security, honestly.”

You laugh under your breath, warmed by how carefully she’s thought about this.

“She’ll be here soon,” Alexia adds. “I didn’t want you being alone. Didn’t want you... feeling out of place.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t.”

She steps closer anyway, like she can’t help it.

And suddenly you’re standing right there. Only inches apart. The soft weight of the moment tugging at both of you.

Her hand brushes your elbow lightly as she grabs the keys she almost forgot.

“Thanks for not making me feel like a tourist,” you say, teasing.

She smiles too, eyes crinkling, and for a second you think she might say something more, something bigger.

But instead, she steps back. Slow. Regretful. You catch the way her fingers brush her thigh once, like she’s resisting the urge to stay, to reach for you again.

“Enjoy the match,” she says, voice a little rough around the edges now.

You nod. “Go win it.”

She smiles once more, soft, sure, and then she’s gone, door swinging gently shut behind her.

You stay there for a second. Just breathing.

⚽️

You’re upstairs when you hear the sound, tyres crunching the driveway gravel, a soft, two-toned beep of a car horn.

You freeze for a second, holding a folded shirt halfway into the guest room dresser.

Alba.

You glance at the clock. Plenty of time still Alexia was never going to leave you rushed.

You drop the rest of your things onto the bed, brushing invisible wrinkles from your jeans, checking yourself once quickly in the mirror without meaning to. Not nervous.

Okay, maybe a little.

You jog lightly down the wide staircase, the open living room yawning out around you. Teddy would love it here, you think again absently. And then the front door swings open.

Alba steps inside like she’s been doing it her whole life, which, you guess, she has, car keys jingling in one hand, sunglasses pushed into the messy bun on her head.

She spots you immediately. And smiles. Big. Not polite. Not stiff. Warm.

“Hey!” she says brightly, tossing the keys into the little bowl by the door. “You must be the famous one.”

You blink, a little stunned. “I—uh—hi,” you manage, stepping forward awkwardly, hand half-extended before you realise you don’t know if she’s a handshake or a hug person.

She decides for you. She tugs you into a quick, friendly hug, no pressure, no hesitation. “I'm Alba," she says as she pulls back, grin wide. "Alexia’s sister. Obviously."

You laugh a little, already relaxing. “Yeah, I figured.”

Alba steps back, scanning you with an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. "You look normal," she teases. "I was expecting someone taller. Intimidating. Maybe with secret agent vibes."

You snort. "Sorry to disappoint."

She waves it off. "Nah. She likes you. That means we like you."

Your cheeks flush hotter than you can control, but Alba barrels on before you can crumble under it.

"We’ve got loads of time before we need to go," she says, glancing at her watch. "She probably just panicked and rushed out without feeding or watering you, didn’t she?"

You laugh, nodding. "Something like that."

Alba grins. "Knew it. She’s useless under pressure when it’s not on a pitch.” She heads toward the kitchen with a flick of her hand, calling over her shoulder, "Come on. Let’s get you a drink."

You follow, heart lighter than it’s been all morning.

Inside the kitchen, Alba pulls two glasses from a cabinet without asking if you want one, just knowing, and pours something cool and golden, sliding one across the counter to you.

"Relax," she says, lifting her glass in a half-toast. "You’re in the circle now."

You clink glasses with her, grinning despite yourself. The circle. Her circle.

And maybe it’s the easy air of Alba, the way you didn't have to think what to say because you couldn't get a word in anyways or the warmth of the house still clinging to your skin, or the fact that Alexia wanted this. But for the first time since you landed, you don’t feel completely overcome with nerves.

⚽️

The car ride is easy.

Alba drives with ease one hand on the wheel, window half-down, sunglasses perched lazily on her head again. Music hums low through the speakers something local, something with a heavy beat that thrums through the seat beneath you.

You sit back, drink in hand, feeling yourself settle into it.

She chats nothing heavy, nothing pointed.

Asks about your German club, your impression of the city so far, whether you’re a coffee person or a tea person. Tells you a ridiculous story about Alexia getting lost on the metro once as a teenager and swearing it was because 'the map lied.'

You laugh real, surprised and Alba smiles like that was exactly the point.

Just treating you like someone welcome. Like a new friend. You’re grateful for it more than you can say. By the time you pull up near the stadium massive, bright, pulsing with early matchday energy, you feel almost ready.

Almost.

Alba flicks the ignition off and slings her bag over her shoulder in one smooth move. “Come on, England,” she says, bumping her hand lightly into your shoulder as you both climb out. “You’re about to see real football.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that what you call it?"

"In Spain, we call it winning." She grins, slinging an arm around your shoulder for half a second before steering you toward the stadium entrance. "Something you don't know here" You couldn't help the laugh and playfully shoved her away from you.

In the stadium. It’s chaos, but controlled chaos.

Fans already filling the stands, scarves flashing in team colours, the buzz of anticipation climbing higher with every step closer to the pitch.

Alba moves through it like a pro nodding at stewards, flashing a lanyard at security, weaving you through the crush of bodies without hesitation.

You barely have time to take it all in before you’re ushered through a side entrance and up a short flight of stairs into a section marked FAMILIA tucked just above pitch level, the view perfect.

Alba leans against the railing, arms folded, surveying the field like she owns it.

You slide into a seat beside her, nerves bubbling lightly in your stomach now..

You glance at your phone once no new messages then tuck it away, just as the first players begin to stream onto the pitch for warm-ups.

Your heart kicks harder. And then. There she is. Alexia. Jogging lightly across the grass, warm-up jacket open, hair bouncing with every step. Focused. Sharp. Beautiful.

You watch her, frozen. You wonder if she’ll see you. If she’ll be too locked in, too professional.

But mid-stretch, mid-conversation with a teammate she glances up toward the stands. Scans. Finds you. Locks eyes.

And even from here you can see the change. The way her shoulders ease. The way her mouth twitches, just barely, into something small and secret and meant only for you.

Your breath catches. She gives you the smallest nod, sharp, barely-there, but it says everything.

I see you. I'm glad you're here.

Alba nudges you with her elbow, smirking slightly. “Good seats, huh?”

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual. “The best.”

She just grins wider and turns back to the pitch pretending she hasn’t noticed a thing.

You sit back. Heart racing. Eyes on her.

The game starts quick, faster than you expected, the kind of breakneck pace that makes even the home fans tighten in their seats.

You’re sitting forward almost immediately, elbows on your knees, chin resting in your palms, eyes glued to the pitch.

You spot her instantly. Calm. Sharp. Moving like she’s reading a book no one else has even opened yet.

But even she can’t control everything.

The first twenty minutes are rough passes just a little off, the other team pressing high, forcing mistakes you rarely ever see from this squad. The atmosphere shifts. Not angry. Just… tight.

You don’t even realise you’re gripping the edge of your seat until Alba nudges your arm lightly.

“Relax,” she says, voice low. “It’s early.”

You nod. You try. But your knee’s bouncing before you even know it.

Every time Alexia gets the ball, your heart jumps willing something clean, something brilliant. Sometimes it comes. Sometimes it doesn’t.

The crowd murmurs grow louder as the half wears on frustration crackling in the warm air like static.

And then out of nowhere a turnover. A fast break the other way. And before you can even sit up properly- Goal.

For them. You swear under your breath, heart sinking as the away fans explode somewhere to your right.

Alexia turns immediately, rallying, clapping, calling out instructions, but you see it. The flicker of frustration. The tightness in her jaw.

Halftime whistle blows not long after. You sink back in your seat, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through your hair.

Alba hands you a bottle of water without looking, casual as anything. “You’re more stressed than she is,” she teases, grinning.

You shake your head, half-laugh, half-miserable. “She’s out there,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear yourself. "I don't do well just watching"

Alba’s smile softens a little. “She’s fine," she says. "Worried about you more than herself, probably.”

You don’t know if she means to say it. If it slips out. But you don’t question it.

You just sit there watching Alexia disappear into the tunnel with her team feeling the beat of your heart pounding against your ribs.

The stands buzz during the break the low rumble of conversation, of half-hearted chants, of fans refuelling hope with overpriced snacks and superstition.

You sit back in your seat, arms folded tight, heart still racing, eyes flickering anxiously down to the tunnel.

Alba stands, stretching lazily. “Beer?” she offers, grinning like she’s not at all concerned.

You blink. Smile, small. Nod. "Yeah. Please. Why not?”

She disappears into the throng of fans, moving with the easy grace of someone who’s navigated this stadium a hundred times.

You lean back, exhale slowly, hands scrubbing over your face.

A few minutes later, she’s back two plastic cups in hand, foamy and golden. She hands you one with a mock salute.

“To surviving first halves,” she jokes.

You clink cups, laughing softly. You both sip, the taste crisp and slightly bitter. After a moment, Alba nudges you again gentle this time.

“So,” she says, settling back into her seat. “Tell me about Teddy. The legend himself.”

You grin, almost immediately pulling out your phone. You swipe to your gallery you definitely have an entire album labeled TEDDY 🐾.

Alba leans in, resting her chin lightly on your shoulder to get a better look.

First up — Teddy in his raincoat. She snorts immediately.

“Diva.”

Swipe.

Teddy covered head-to-paw in mud after a particularly reckless park run. “Rebel,” Alba comments, approvingly.

Swipe.

Teddy asleep under a pile of your hoodies. "Smart," she says. "Knows the value of good real estate."

And then — You both pause on that photo.

You, sprawled across your sofa in grey joggers sporty & rich emblazoned on them and a Calvin Klein sports bra. Teddy is draped directly across your lap, snoring like his life depends on it.

But what really stands out even through the sleepy chaos is you. The toned, defined abs cutting clean down your stomach.

Effortless. Unintentional. Stupidly unfair. You laugh softly, ducking your head, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. "Ignore that," you mutter, reaching to swipe past it.

But Alba leans away, raising an eyebrow dramatically. "You're joking, right?" she teases. Grabbing your phone for apparently a better look, "You’re body's banging"

You freeze for a split second caught off-guard.

Alba catches it, but doesn't push. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t say more. She just grins and tosses the phone lightly back into your lap. "Good abs. Great dog. Terrible self-awareness," she says breezily.

You laugh, genuine and a little helpless, heart thudding unevenly.

Before you can come up with a smart reply, the stadium announcer cuts through the noise. Second half about to start.

The players stream back onto the pitch.

And there, right in the middle of it all, standing tall and steady and looking right toward your section. Game face on. Ready. You tighten your grip on the beer cup. Settle in.

Alba nudges your arm again, voice low. "Relax," she says. "This is where it gets good." You don’t look at her. You don’t need to. Your eyes are locked on her. And you believe it.

The second half kicks off hard.

Barcelona come out different, sharp, coiled, teeth bared like they remembered who they are during that halftime talk.

You’re on the edge of your seat within minutes. The ball zips through midfield faster, the press higher, the tackles sharper. Alexia moves like a storm orchestrating everything, pulling invisible strings with every look, every shout, every touch of the ball.

Five minutes in — Equaliser.

The stadium explodes.

You’re half-standing, one hand fisted in the hem of your hoodie, heart hammering. Alba slaps your back, whooping.

Another ten minutes. Barcelona take the lead.

A sharp finish, clean through the keeper. You shout without thinking, the noise ripping from your throat, swallowed up immediately by the tidal wave of cheers around you. You catch a glimpse of Alexia, fist pumping once, jaw tight, eyes burning.

But it doesn’t stop. Goal after goal. Four, five, six.

You lose track somewhere in the middle the pure chaos of it overwhelming but Alexia is at the heart of all of it, running the game like it’s a private performance just for you.

You swear — swear — she glances up toward the family section after every major play. Not searching for approval. Just checking you're still watching.

And you are. You couldn’t look away if you tried. By the time the seventh goal hits the back of the net, you’re hoarse from shouting, grinning like an idiot, beer long forgotten under your seat.

Alba’s laughing beside you, half-hugging random people in your row, yelling over the din, "We don't do boring games here!"

You laugh too, breathless, exhilarated, feeling like your whole body might lift right off the ground with it.

And finally. In stoppage time. Goal eight.

It’s Alexia who starts it winning a scrappy ball in midfield, slipping it out wide, following the play like she knows exactly where it’s going.

When it curls into the box, she’s there ghosting past defenders, rising up at exactly the right second to bury it in the back of the net with a perfect header.

The stadium detonates. You’re screaming without even realising it, hands in your hair, lungs burning, heart stretched so full it almost hurts.

She lands, stumbling forward, arms wide team piling onto her in celebration. But even then. Even as her teammates swarm her. Alexia looks up.

Straight to your section. Straight to you. You don’t know if she can see you clearly if the distance and the lights blur it all. But you’re standing now, clapping, smiling so hard your face aches, nodding like an idiot.

I see you. I’m here. I’m proud.

The final whistle blows barely a minute later.

The roar of it vibrates through your ribs, through your spine, through your very bones. Barcelona. From 0-1 to 8-1

A massacre. A masterpiece.

You turn to Alba, laughing breathlessly and high fiveing.

⚽️

You and Alba are perched on the low concrete barrier just outside the secured gate, plastic cups of leftover water cradled in your hands, your legs swinging lightly.

The players are slowly filtering out still in their matchday tracksuits, hair damp from showers, energy buzzing higher than the stars overhead.

You spot her immediately. Walking out with a couple of teammates Patri and Mapi both laughing about something you can't hear yet, boots slung over their shoulders, kit bags knocking against their hips.

Your heart lurches. You sit up straighter without meaning to. Alba notices. Smirks to herself. Says nothing.

Alexia spots you, of course she does, and her whole face softens, just for a second. A flicker. A breath.

Then she's steering toward you, casual, playing it cool. Too cool. Patri spots Alba first and waves wildly, jogging the last few steps to pull her into a quick, noisy hug.

"¡Alba!" Patri laughs. "You're always here!"

"Someone's gotta keep you humble," Alba teases back.

Mapi grins at you, sharp and curious, tipping her chin up in hello.

You smile quick, polite feeling about three seconds from vibrating out of your skin.

Alexia stops in front of you just enough distance to be proper, not enough to stop feeling like the whole world narrowed to this moment.

"Hey," she says, low and a little rough from shouting through ninety minutes.

"Hey," you echo, equally useless.

There's a beat just a second where you both hover there, not quite knowing if you should hug or not, not quite knowing where you were with each other just yet.

Then Patri and Mapi sweep the tension aside without even trying.

"So," Patri says, sliding her arm around Alexia’s shoulders easily, "Your the friend she has staying with her, we’ve heard about?"

You blink.

Alexia flushes actually flushes and ducks her head, laughing under her breath.

You open your mouth not even sure what you’re about to say but Mapi cuts in with a wide, playful grin:

"We were worried she made it up."

You laugh properly nerves bursting like soap bubbles in your chest. "Happy to confirm I'm here," you manage, sticking your hand out awkwardly for a shake.

Patri slaps it away and pulls you into a quick, casual hug instead all warmth and no hesitation. "You staying long?" she asks, releasing you.

"Just tonight," you say, glancing at Alexia before you can stop yourself. "Got a game Tuesday"

Alexia catches it. Smiles. Soft, shy. Patri and Mapi share a quick look you’re definitely not meant to catch.

But they don't say anything else just toss a few more jokes Alba’s way, ribbing each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You stand there, sipping water, feeling the sticky hum of the stadium still clinging to your skin, Alexia just close enough that you can feel the heat of her. Not touching. Not rushing. Just there.

Exactly where you want to be.

The conversation hums around you for a few more minutes easy laughter, Alba teasing Mapi, Patri swinging her bag around dangerously close to Alexia’s legs until she finally side-steps and gives her a look that could wither a tree.

You stand there, half in the circle, half outside it. Still not totally sure where you fit.

But Alexia stays close.

Close enough that your arms almost brush when she shifts her bag. Close enough that you can feel her thumb tracing idle little circles against the strap of it, like she’s working up to something.

Finally, when Mapi and Patri start peeling away toward their own cars waving, shouting goodbyes over their shoulders. Alexia turns toward you.

Just you. Tugs lightly on the hem of your sleeve with two fingers.

A soft, almost shy little pull. You look up. Meet her eyes. She clears her throat once, quiet. “You wanna ride with me?” she asks, voice low so it doesn’t carry.

Her sunglasses are tucked into the neckline of her tracksuit now. Her hair’s still a little damp at the temples from the match. She looks exhausted and beautiful and like she’s hoping really hoping you’ll say yes.

You smile small, easy. “Yeah,” you say, letting the word land in the space between you. “I’d like that.”

The look she gives you, brief, brilliant, almost boyish in its relief. Hits you low in the chest.

Alba grins as she catches on. “Guess I’ll take my own car then,” she says, exaggeratedly put-out, tossing her keys up and catching them with a smirk.

You flash her a grateful smile. She just winks at you, no real pressure in it, no teasing just welcome to the family.

Alexia leads the way toward her car low, sleek, black against the white glare of the stadium lights.

You fall into step beside her, bag slung over your shoulder, matching her pace without thinking.

Neither of you talks much as you walk. You don’t need to. There’s something thick in the air not tension exactly. Just awareness.

When she unlocks the car with a soft beep, she opens the passenger door first a tiny, stupidly old-fashioned gesture that makes your heart squeeze unexpectedly tight then tosses her own bag into the backseat.

You climb in. Buckle up. She gets in too, pulling the door closed with a soft click that seals the two of you into this small, private world.

The engine purrs to life. She glances over once, quick, like she still can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then she smiles small and secret and pulls away from the stadium, the road unfurling into the quiet Barcelona night ahead of you.

No fanfare. No big words.

Just her hand resting casually on the gearshift, her body loose with tiredness, her energy still somehow drawn toward you like a tide.

The city flickers past in soft blurs streetlights washing gold across the windshield, neon signs blinking sleepy messages you’re too relaxed to translate.

The windows are down. The air is warm. A little salty still from the sea. A little electric from everything that’s still buzzing in your chest.

Alexia drives one-handed, easy and loose, elbow propped casually on the door. The other hand hovers near the gearshift relaxed, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the leather.

You sit quietly beside her, turned slightly toward the window, letting the night wrap around you both. Somewhere along the way, she flips the radio on low volume, something mellow and scratchy and Spanish, the beat soft and old and safe.

You tap your fingers lightly against your thigh, matching the tempo without realising. Alexia notices.

You catch her glancing at you once, just once, a tiny smile ghosting over her lips before she looks back at the road.

Neither of you talks at first.

Not because there’s nothing to say. Because there’s so much to say, and none of it needs to be rushed.

Finally, a few minutes in, Alexia breaks the silence voice rough from the game, softer now. "You really stress-watched the first half, huh?"

You snort under your breath, turning your head to look at her. "You saw that?"

She grins quick and sharp. "Alba sent me a picture."

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. "Traitor."

Alexia laughs low and warm and you swear it vibrates right through your chest. "It was cute," she says after a beat, a little more serious, a little more honest.

You lower your hand, glance at her just in time to catch the way she’s looking at you.

Not teasing. Not playful. Just looking. The kind of look that feels like standing barefoot on the edge of something huge and good and a little terrifying.

You hold it for a second longer than you mean to. Then you clear your throat lightly, breaking the spell before you drown in it. "You didn’t seem stressed," you say, fiddling with the hem of your hoodie. "Out there."

She shrugs, the smallest roll of her shoulders. "I was."

You blink. "Really?"

She nods once, slow. "First half was..." She trails off, searching for the right word. "Messy." She taps the steering wheel lightly with her thumb. "I kept thinking..." she says, quieter now, "what if you flew all this way and I gave you a terrible game?"

Your heart flips over so fast it almost hurts. You stare at her, at the way she’s half-smiling, half-hiding behind the motion of driving.

You reach for words. Find only the truth. "You could’ve lost eight-nil," you say, voice steady. "I still would've been proud."

She glances at you, fast, sharp. Then she looks away, but not before you see it.

The way her mouth curves. The way her fingers tighten slightly around the wheel. The way she breathes out like she’s been holding it in for longer than just tonight.

You let the silence settle again after that. Soft. Easy. Like a promise tucked into the dark. You’re almost back at her place now the city giving way to low walls and olive trees and the wide stretch of private drive.

The tires crunch over the gravel of her driveway, the headlights sweeping across the stone and low olive trees.

She parks with a casual ease, switches the engine off, and the world outside the car drops into a warm hush.

No street noise. No stadium roars.

Just the cicadas buzzing softly in the distance and the thick, heavy stillness of the late Barcelona night. Neither of you moves right away.

You sit there, the car cooling around you, the faint hum of the radio fading into silence.

Alexia finally glances over at you a small, hesitant smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “Come on,” she says, voice low, almost a whisper.

You follow her out of the car, bags forgotten for now, the air soft against your skin as you walk side by side up the path. She unlocks the door, swings it open. But she doesn’t head straight inside.

Instead, she jerks her chin toward the side gate, the path that loops around the house toward the garden and the pool beyond.

You hesitate only a second. Then follow.

The patio stones are cool under your sneakers, the pool ahead gleaming softly under the light of the moon. Water still. Perfect.

Alexia drops her keys onto a table, kicks off her shoes without a word, and pads barefoot toward the low wall by the pool.

You slip off yours too, matching her without thinking. She sits, legs swinging slightly, toes brushing the surface of the water.

You sit beside her, a safe inch of space between you. For now.

For a while, you just sit there the house at your back, the whole wide, soft night stretching out in front of you.

Alexia leans back on her hands, head tilted up toward the stars “You’re quiet,” she says after a moment not accusing. Just noticing.

You glance over, smiling faintly. “So are you.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Feels like a quiet kind of night.”

You hum in agreement, letting your own hands fall back onto the stone, palms flat against the cool surface.

You’re close enough now that your arms brush when you breathe in deep enough. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of her, even under the open air.

She tips her head sideways, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. "You want a glass of wine?"

You grin, lazy now. "Always."

She smiles back slow and real and pushes herself up with an easy roll of her shoulders. You follow her inside, barefoot and buzzing.

In the kitchen, she moves easily grabbing a bottle of red from a low shelf, pulling two mismatched glasses from a cupboard. No pretence. No performance. Just home. She pours. Hands you a glass.

You clink them together softly, no words, just the clink and the shared little smile between you.

And then without discussing it you drift back outside, glasses in hand, settling into the deep lounge chairs by the pool.

The stars scatter across the sky like someone spilled silver paint. The air smells like salt and olives and warm stone. You sip your wine.

She leans her head back and sighs long and low and content. You don’t need to talk. Everything important is already humming between you. The kind of night that doesn't ask for anything.

You glance sideways at her once catch the way the light catches her profile, softens her edges, makes her look a little like a dream.

She catches you looking. Raises an eyebrow, amused. "What?" she says, playful.

You just shake your head, smiling into your glass. "Nothing," you say, voice low and warm.

The wine is halfway gone.

The stars hang heavy and low, like they’re closer here, closer because you’re sitting with her, side by side, letting the world fall away.

Alexia leans back in her chair, glass balanced loosely in one hand, head tipped toward the sky.

You mirror her without thinking, lazy, loose, comfortable in a way that sneaks up on you. It’s quiet for a long moment. Then out of nowhere, soft and real. Alexia says. “My dad would’ve liked you.”

You turn your head, startled by the quiet honesty of it. She’s not looking at you eyes still on the stars but you can hear the weight tucked into the words.

“He was the... welcoming type," she says, lips quirking slightly. "Always wanted the house full. People everywhere. Laughter. Even when it was chaos. He would of enjoyed the way you play football”

You smile, picturing it. Her, growing up in a house like that. “He sounds brilliant,” you say, meaning it.

Alexia hums, low in her throat. “He was,” she says simply. Then she’s quiet a second longer, swirling the wine in her glass. “Sometimes I think he’s still here. Just... quieter now.”

You sit with that. The beautiful, impossible hope of it. And you don't rush to fill the silence. You let her have it.

Alexia shifts a little, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “My mami's the boss, though,” she says with a small, teasing smile “Doesn’t matter how old we get. She'll still text me after every match to tell me if I look tired, or if my socks were too low.”

You laugh soft, genuine. “She sounds terrifying."

“She is,” Alexia says, grinning. “In the best way. She's a softy really”

You tuck your feet up onto the chair, glass resting against your knee. “She must be proud of you," you say.

Alexia shrugs, but it’s not dismissive it’s shy. “I think so. She won’t say it much. She’ll just... pack too much food in a bag when I go visit.”

You laugh again, picturing it Alexia, superstar, carrying away plastic containers like a teenager heading to university.

Alexia watches you laugh, her face softening, her eyes catching the moonlight. “What about yours?” she asks.

You shift a little in your seat, glass resting on your knee.

And for a moment, you wonder if you should just tell her the easy version.

But something about the way she’s looking at you — open, steady — makes you want to say the real thing instead.

You swallow lightly.

“It’s... complicated,” you say first, voice quieter.

Alexia tilts her head, waiting. You take a breath.

“My mum and dad had me,” you start, words slow and careful. You pause, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “Then my mum had an affair. That’s... how my little sister came along.”

Alexia’s gaze sharpens slightly, not judgmental. Just seeing you. Really seeing.

“They split up after that,” you continue, a half-shrug working up your shoulders. “It wasn’t dramatic no screaming matches, no throwing things. Just... this weird silence. This broken... thing.”

You pick at the hem of your shorts.

You laugh under your breath not bitter, just tired.

“My dad remarried. Had two boys. Something he always wanted”

You set your glass down carefully on the stone, tracing the rim with your finger.

“So now it’s like... I’m caught in the middle. Not fully part of either side. Not really sure where I fit.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the honesty of it tasting a little raw now that it’s out.

“Sometimes I feel like a guest in both homes," you admit. "Loved, sure. But... still kind of the wrong piece of a jigsaw trying to fit in. Christmases are awkward. Birthdays are even worse, I never celebrate my birthday, can't upset anyone then when I chose the wrong person to spend it with.”

You huff a laugh dry, not bitter.

“I love them,” you say. “All of them. Even when it’s messy. Even when I don’t always know where I... fit.”

You expect it to hang heavy between you that confession. But it doesn’t. It just settles. Softly.

You risk a glance at her, at Alexia, who’s sitting there, still and steady in the warm dark. She doesn’t look uncomfortable. She doesn’t look sorry for you. She just looks... present. Solid.

When you stop talking, when you let the silence fill in the cracks, she doesn’t rush to fix it.

Alexia doesn’t say I’m sorry — thank God — or offer some neat little fix.

She just leans back against the lounge chair, looking up at the stars, she shifts a little closer. Lets her knee bump lightly against yours “Sometimes it’s the messy ones who fight the hardest to love you.”

You blink. Look at her. And feel something pull deep in your chest. You tilt your head, studying her in the moonlight.

“Is that so?” you ask, quieter than you mean to.

She smiles a tiny, soft thing. “So I'm told,” she says.

You both fall silent again. Not uncomfortable. Not unsure. Just... there.

You take a sip of your wine, letting the warmth bloom in your chest, and when you set the glass back down, your hand brushes hers again — this time more deliberate.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice rougher than you mean it to be.

Alexia just smiles small, real, enough. “You’d get along with my Mami, too,” she adds after a beat, a little lighter, nudging your leg with hers. “She’d adopt you instantly. Especially if you bring wine.”

You laugh the sound bubbling up, easing the tightness in your throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You sit there a little longer shoulders brushing, glasses forgotten, the stars turning slowly overhead.

Two kids from broken families for very different reasons, finding something simple in the middle of it all: Each other.

She glances sideways at you, not startled, not nervous, just there.

Present. You breathe out a soft laugh, barely more than a sigh, and tilt your head back, looking up.

The stars are stupidly bright tonight. Like a show meant just for you two.

“I missed this,” Alexia says, voice barely a thread of sound.

You turn your head, curious. “This?”

She nods, eyes still upward. “Quiet. Someone who doesn’t need me to talk all the time. Someone who...” She trails off, searching. “...who just sits.”

You smile, small, knowing. “I can sit,” you say lightly.

Her lips curve. That small, soft grin that always threatens to undo you. “I noticed.”

For a little while, you both just stay like that not speaking, not moving listening to the faint splash of the pool, the occasional flick of a night bird overhead, the rhythm of your own breathing matching hers without even trying.

And then without warning Alexia shifts. Not big. Not dramatic. Just leans ever so slightly sideways her shoulder brushing yours.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it feels like everything. You don’t look at her. You don’t have to. You just sit there side by side, skin to skin, letting the night wrap itself around you like a blanket you both chose to share.

No words. No need. Just the slow, steady thrum of something building, something growing, something that feels inevitable now.

You let your hand slide down the armrest between you not grabbing, not reaching just resting your fingers lightly against the edge, where her hand already lies.

Your pinky brushes hers. Once. Twice. You don’t push it. Neither does she. But you feel the shift.

“Ever feel like you don’t get to just... exist anymore?”

You turn your head, surprised by the sudden vulnerability but you catch the way she’s not really looking for an answer. Not yet.

You let the quiet settle first. Then you nod. “Yeah," you say simply. “All the time.”

Alexia’s breath hitches just a tiny thing like she’s grateful you didn’t make her explain it. She leans her head back again, staring up. “It’s like…” She frowns, searching for the words. “Everywhere you go. Every time you put the kit on. Every post, every match, every minute someone’s filming, or watching, or pulling. Or wanting to question you”

Her voice drops even softer.

“They don’t see you anymore. They just see what they want from you.”

You shift slightly closer, almost without meaning to your knee brushing hers now. You know exactly what she means. Exactly.

You let out a long, slow breath. "Sometimes I feel like I’m made of... tiny pieces," you whisper. "Handed out one by one. For the press. For the fans. For the club. For the national team." You glance at her. "And there’s never enough left over for me. To. Just be me."

Alexia tilts her head, eyes catching yours across the space and it’s not a heavy look. It’s a knowing one. Soft. Shared. "You get it," she says simply.

You nod. "I get it."

She smiles, a small, tired thing, but real. Real in a way you know she doesn’t let many people see. She nudges your pinky with hers just the lightest brush, a tiny anchoring touch. And then she murmurs "Feels different with you, though."

You swallow against the tightness rising in your chest. "Yeah?"

She nods once, sure. “With you, it feels like... I’m still just Alexia.”

She pushes herself up, stretching slowly, arms overhead, her hoodie riding up just slightly over the waistband of her shorts. You catch the glimpse of skin before you can look away.

She smiles down at you slow, sleepy and jerks her head toward the house. “Come on," she says, voice low, a little rough with tiredness. "Before we both fall asleep out here."

You grin and force yourself to your feet, your body feeling heavier, but your heart somehow lighter. You follow her across the patio barefoot, silent the doors left open to let the cool night air slip inside.

The kitchen is dim, the living room bathed in a low, soft glow from a lamp someone forgot to turn off. You both move instinctively now, without talking leaving your empty glasses on the counter, flicking off a few lights as you go.

You reach the hallway together that soft, quiet space that splits toward her room, your guest room, the rest of the house.

You both slow there. Stop.

The hallway light spills between you pale, warm, catching on her hair, the soft edge of her smile.

Alexia leans a shoulder into the wall, hands slipping into the front pocket of her hoodie.

She looks at you. Really looks at you. In a way that makes your stomach flip, slow and certain.

She exhales a little laugh under her breath, shaking her head.

“What?” you whisper, smiling without meaning to.

She shrugs, shy for the first time all night. “Nothing. Just... glad you're here.”

Your chest tightens warm and aching and real. You step a little closer not touching, but close enough to feel it hum between you.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you like she wants to memorise this second. Then she says soft, playful "Sleep well. I’ve got a busy day planned for us tomorrow."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. "Oh yeah? Am I gonna survive it?"

She grins that beautiful, tired, wicked little grin. "Maybe."

You both stand there for another heartbeat neither of you quite moving yet, neither quite ready to end it.

Her hand brushes yours just barely as she pushes off the wall and steps backward toward her room. "Buenas noches," she says, almost a whisper.

"Goodnight," you whisper back.

And as she disappears down the hallway hoodie sleeves dragging lightly along the wall you’re left standing there, heart thudding, skin buzzing, smile tugging stubbornly at your mouth.

You head into your room, still feeling her everywhere.

[starsjulia]

rekindling us // leah williamson

a/n : based of this request!! also so sorry it’s short, school is currently consuming my being.

trigger warnings : accidental mistreatment of spouse? idk

You weren’t a footballer like Leah. You had your own passions, your own world, but you had always been her biggest supporter. Whenever Leah was exhausted after a long day, you’d make sure the house was tidy, cook her favorite meals, and offer her the kind of quiet comfort that came without asking. You didn’t need her to tell you how much she appreciated you—you believed her actions would show it. But lately, the actions weren’t there. The little things had faded away.

Leah was constantly missing plans. The dates you had carefully planned together were brushed off with a casual “Sorry, training went long,” or “I got caught up with the girls, we’ll do it next time.” You understood, at first. You knew how demanding her schedule was, how much her career meant to her. But the cancellations became more frequent, the nights spent waiting for her to come home stretched longer, and slowly, without even realizing it, you began to feel invisible.

You continued to put in the effort, thinking maybe she would notice if you worked harder. You took on even more around the house, making sure Leah didn’t have to lift a finger when she was home. But Leah barely acknowledged it. She was so wrapped up in her own world that she didn’t see how much you were doing, or how much it hurt to be overlooked.

One evening, you decided to make a special dinner. You knew Leah had been under a lot of stress lately, so you thought a quiet evening together would help her unwind. You spent hours preparing a dish (other than party food) that you knew she’d enjoy, setting the table with candles and soft music, hoping it would be a reminder of the love and connection you shared.

But Leah didn’t come home on time. As the hours ticked by, the food grew cold, and your heart sank. When she finally walked through the door, she didn’t even notice the effort you had put in. She tossed her bag on the chair and casually said, “Sorry I’m late. The girls wanted to grab a drink after training.”

You tried to hold it together, but the disappointment was overwhelming. She had forgotten, again. Forgotten the evening you’d planned, forgotten how much you’d been waiting for her. Without saying a word, you got up and went to the bedroom, tears stinging your eyes.

Leah, oblivious at first, finally noticed the candles, the untouched dinner, the quiet emptiness in the room. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she realized she had let you down again. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before making her way to the bedroom.

She found you sitting on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down your face as you hugged your knees to your chest. The sight of you so upset shattered her. She had never seen you like this before, and it hit her hard—how much she had been neglecting you without even realizing it.

“Babe…” Leah’s voice was soft, full of regret. She knelt beside the bed, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away slightly, hurt and frustration etched into every movement.

“Do you even care anymore?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been trying so hard, Leah. I cook for you, clean for you, wait for you—just to spend a little time with you. But it feels like I’m not even a part of your life anymore. Like you don’t see me.”

Leah’s heart clenched painfully. She hadn’t realized how much her actions had been hurting you. She had been so focused on her career, thinking you’d understand, that she had failed to see how much you were giving and how little she had been offering in return.

“I… I didn’t know,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t see how much I was hurting you, and I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I feel like I’m doing everything for you, and it’s never enough. I just want to feel like I matter to you. Like I’m more than just someone waiting at home for you.”

Leah’s breath hitched as she took your hands in hers, holding them tightly, as if afraid to let go. “You do matter. You matter more than anything, and I’ve been too caught up in everything else to show you that. I’ve been taking you for granted, and I’m so, so sorry for that. You deserve so much more than what I’ve been giving.”

Your tears fell freely now, but this time, Leah didn’t let go. She pulled you into her arms, holding you close as if trying to make up for all the times she hadn’t. “I’m sorry for missing our dates, for not being there when you needed me. I’ve been selfish, thinking you’d just understand, but that’s not fair. I love you more than anything, and I’m going to show you that. I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

You sobbed into her chest, the weight of everything you’d been carrying finally spilling out. “I just miss us, Leah. I miss what we used to have.”

“I miss us too,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And I’m going to make it right. I’ll make sure you never feel like this again. I love you, and I can’t lose you. Not over something like this.”

You stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the silence between you no longer filled with pain but with the promise of something better. Leah’s apologies weren’t just words; you could feel the sincerity in the way she held you, in the way she promised to be more present, more aware.

In the days that followed, Leah kept her word. She made more time for you—whether it was something as simple as cooking dinner together or making sure you had a proper date night each week. She paid attention to the little things, the ones she had overlooked before. Every day, she made sure you felt loved, cherished, and appreciated.

The connection you shared began to heal, piece by piece. Leah started to see just how much you did for her, and she didn’t let a day go by without thanking you. She showed up for you, not just physically, but emotionally, and you could feel the shift in your relationship.

Leah would wrap her arms around you from behind while you cooked, pressing soft kisses to your neck and whispering, “Thank you. For everything you do. I love you so much.” You’d smile, feeling the warmth of her love and knowing she truly meant it.

It wasn’t long before you both found your rhythm again. The love between you was stronger now, forged through the realization of what truly mattered. Leah’s career would always be important, but she had finally learned that the most important part of her life was you—the person who had stood by her, supported her, and loved her through everything.

And from that point on, Leah made sure that you always knew just how much you meant to her. Because, in the end, no match, no trophy, no accolade could ever compare to the love she had with you. You were her heart, her home, and she would never let you forget it again.

[erogenousmind]

Conditioning

Every time you do it, it gets easier. Every time you try to fight and fail, it gets harder to resist. You are being trained. Conditioned.

Brainwashed.

We give it different names based on the particularities, but the result is the same. More and more, you are being changed. You respond, not based on your own decisions, but on habit. You act, not of your own volition, but on the systems of rewards and punishments that we have crafted in your mind.

Because when it comes down to it, you are a simple creature. Whatever intellect or thoughts or feelings sit atop it, underneath, an animal brain is guiding you. It has needs that must be met, desires that must be fulfilled. It is attracted to some stimuli, repulsed by others. And what it does so incredibly well is recognize and respond to patterns. It learns. You learn what behavior is rewarded. What thoughts are rewarded.

And it doesn't matter what you might think about those behaviors or those thoughts. It doesn't matter what opinion you have about what you are becoming. Because when you obey, it feels good. Your body responds. It knows what it enjoys. What it needs. And that overwhelms the independent thoughts and decisions you think you still have.

That superficial layer that forms your conscious mind might try to resist it. You might tell yourself little stories about how it is all a game, or just for fun, or that you can stop whenever you want to. But each time, the connection is being made more powerful, more irresistible at a fundamental level. And maybe your mind finds ways to escape that realization. Maybe you allow yourself to forget more and more easily. Your conscious mind doesn't want to know how helplessly and utterly subservient you become for the right trigger. How desperate you become to please. How pleasure can wrack your body to the point that you can't even form coherent thoughts when you are praised with just the right words. So you allow yourself to forget. You can imagine later that you were still in control, or that it never even happened. Maybe it was just a dream, or an idle fantasy. Anything so you can rationalize. Can pretend you still are in control.

Of course, that just makes it easier to control you. Your surrender becomes something you expect. Something you anticipate. That you pretend it doesn't concern you every time you inevitably fall just lessens your fight. If you ever really tried, your body and your mind already know too well how to lose. They have forgotten how to resist if they ever knew.

And when you forget, you give yourself license to experience this so much more fully. You can embrace feelings and thoughts and actions that if your conscious mind remembered might give you pause. But you lock them away and let my control grow safely inside of you. Letting you indulge more and more until the boundary you put up in your mind, partitioning those experiences can crumble away.

Or maybe you can embrace your conditioning. Maybe you get off on seeing just how addicted you become. That you are a passenger, your will an illusion. Maybe it excites you to know that I can do such incredible things with your mind. Maybe it excites you to know that power is growing and growing. That every time you respond, every act of obedience, every reward cements that control more deeply. Maybe that's all your show of resistance ever was. An invitation to demonstrate just how helpless you have become. How powerless you are when you body has learned so well how to give in. When your mind is racing ahead of the suggestions you have been given, eager to drop deeper. To surrender more.

But the result is the same regardless. Your frame of mind mere ornamentation around the profound changes you experience. The deep states of trance you enter intensify your response. They provide an extra richness in your mind. But they are no longer necessary. You respond because you have been trained to respond. Your critical factor has been removed from the process. Disobedience no longer possible because you no longer make a decision. You are conditioned to obey. And seeing how your mind embraces that reality, how it enjoys the toe-curling ecstasy that has cemented your submission. How the more deeply you are controlled the more intensely you experience the pleasure of obedience.

It just makes you want more.

But that's not your decision anymore, is it?

[wrestlingwithlife]

Chew Toy (COD MONSTER AU)

When you have a mouthy werewolf on the team it pays to have thick skin (or scales).

COD!Monster!AU x Male!Kaiju!Reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Y/n let his eyes follow Soap’s pacing figure as he practically stalked around the common room, obviously restless.

His clawed hand came up, scratching at the skin around his collar.

Price had argued against it, but the higher ups had insisted on the kaiju wearing some kind of “fail safe” of sorts, should he go rouge.

So they settled on a shock collar, much to the displeasure of the task force.

Price had been badgering Laswell to get the order revoked, and the human female was doing her best, but Y/n wasn’t going to complain.

This was a massive upgrade to what he was used to.

“Is it like this for every werewolf?”

Soap’s eyes honed in on the Kaiju, zoning back in to process his question.

His eyes were a much more vibrant shade of blue, atleast they seemed to Y/n.

The werewolf flopped onto the couch with a huff, the cushion dipping and making him accidentally lean closer to the warm body beside him.

Allegedly.

“It’s different for every wolf, but they all experience atleast something similar on full moons.” Soap shrugged, tail flicking back and forth.

Seemed like at least one part of his body insisted on being active.

“Do kaiju’s get anything like that?”

Y/n clicked his tongue, leaning his head back in thought.

He’d only ever met one other Kaiju in his life cycle, and she’d seemed nothing but perfectly calm and capable at any given moment.

“Not that I know of, nothing like this though.” He mused, nodding to Soap’s twitching. “There’s no set time for it, at the very least.”

Soap mulled over his words before his thoughts were cut off.

“How do you cope?”

His eyes flickered back to the kaiju, eyes locking on to the intense e/c hues.

He was honestly shocked, and quite pleased, at how much he was putting into the conversation.

“Depends, sometimes I’m just put in quarantine, most of the time guys come in and help me blow off some steam.”

He caught the way Y/n stopped, giving him a look out of the corner of his eye.

In his defense, coming out of Soap, you just never knew.

“Not like that.” The werewolf huffed, swatting at the larger hybrids arm, before giving him a grin. “But if you wanna…~”

“Down boy.” Y/n snorted, shrugging the wolf off him.

Soap barked out a laugh, tossing his head back, tail speeding up.

“We’ll see~”

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜・

Y/n stood behind Ghost, watch over the wraiths shoulder through the one way glass into the padded training room.

Soap’s wolf prowled around, occasionally lunging at the few training dummies that had been left inside.

“Shouldn’t he have calmed down by now?” Gaz mused, leaning against one of the walls of the viewing room with his arms folded over his chest.

Price sighed, scratching his beard with a nod.

“Doesn’t normally take him this long. I’d say we go down, but he’s more mouthy than usual.”

“I can do it.”

All eyes turned onto the Kaiju, mostly out of surprise that he’d even spoken up at all.

“You sure? You’ve not gone through…” There was a loud rip as Soap tore the head off a dummy. “…this.”

Y/n shrugged, his heavy tail scraping the concrete floor behind him.

“My skins impenetrable, atleast to anything he can do, even like this.” He motioned to the wolf still throwing a fit below them.

Price mulled over it for a moment before reluctantly giving in.

“Fine, but if he gets to wild I’m pulling you out.”

Y/n made his way out of the viewing room and down towards the training room door.

Soap had honed in on him the second he’d heard the door click, posture ridged and ears forward.

His tail was wagging, and Y/n would have taken that as good sign, had he not immediately come barreling towards him.

Y/n braced, catching the wolf on his shoulder and stopping him in his tracks.

He heard the snapping of jaws, but even in the places they were able to connect, they couldn’t break the Kaiju’s skin.

Y/n managed to get his arms around the werewolf’s neck, trapping him in a headlock and dragging them both to the floor.

Soap’s tongue lolled out as they wrestled, blue eyes widening as Y/n’s arm came within reach, lunging for the exposed limb.

The s/c skin immediately changed black as it hardened protectively, the werewolves ivory teeth bouncing off uselessly.

Soap broke away, eyes wide as he stared, as if offended, at the slowly fading color of Y/n’s arm.

He huffed, curiosity seemingly taking over whatever fight he had left as he padded closer, sniffing at the skin of the arm.

The kaiju offered the arm to him for a closer look, happy to do this instead of wrestle.

Soap gave the skin a tentative lick, eyeing Y/n’s face before taking the arm back into his mouth and biting down again, softer this time.

Once again, the skin changed color, hardening where the teeth pressed.

He let out a rumble, the brown canine clearly unsure what to make of his new discovery.

The door to the room opened again, the rest of the force making their way in, but Soap hardly looked up from Y/n’s arm.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜・

“Got any threes?”

“Go fish.”

Gaz groaned, drawing a card from the pile, giving Y/n a skeptical look.

“You’re cheating.”

“Who cheats at ‘Go Fish’?”

His wings fluffed, almost hitting Price who was sitting behind him, watching over his shoulder.

Ghost was doing to the same to Y/n, leaning closer to peer over his cards.

“Nope, he’s got a clear conscience.”

Y/n gave a pleased hum, shifting a bit as Soap moved his tail once more.

The wolf was splayed out behind the group, the Kaiju’s black, scaled tail held between his two front paws as he gnawed on the end.

Y/n could hardly feel the pressure, and besides the wolf drool, there was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary when the wolf would pull back to look at his work.

“Got any fours?”

Gaz grumbled, but passed the card to Y/n who added the pair to his ever growing collection.

“Yer getting obliterated.” Price chuckled, dodging a wing slap from Gaz.

“I know that!”

The outburst drew Soap’s attention, the werewolf now keen on being apart of the circle.

Y/n felt his tail drop, looking back only to see the quickly approaching wall of fur and muscle.

Neither Y/n nor Ghost stood a chance as the werewolf came crashing down onto the them, pinning the two under his massive weight.

“Get off, ya mutt.” The wraith hissed, fighting to free atleast one of his limbs, shadows pulling and pushing on the canine to try and will him to move with no such luck.

Y/n groan as the air was forced out of his lungs, dodging playful licks to the face as best as he could.

The cards were scattered everywhere, Price and Gaz blinking in surprise at the turn.

“Does this mean I win?”

Soap whipped his head around, tongue lolling, giving Y/n a chance to catch his breath.

Soap reached out with a massive paw, hooking it around Gaz. Price, who’d been sitting to close, getting dragged in along with him in a mass of tangled wings and thrashing tails.

Price grunted, getting tucked right next to Y/n beneath the mass of fur.

“Come here often?”

Price rolled his eyes playfully at that, swatting the e/c eyed male with his tail.

“More often than not.”

“So this is normal?” Y/n nodded up at Soap, who was now giving Gaz the same treatment he’d give Y/n moments before.

“Eh, something along the lines of it. Never seen this before.” He mused, using his one free arm to gesture to the dog pile they were trapped in.

Y/n puffed before settling back, as if accepting his fate, and Price followed suite, head flopping back against the padded floor.

The dragon felt the scraping of other scales against his tail, finding that his tail had instinctively wrapped itself with the thicker tail of the Kaiju beside him.

He was about to apologize, to move his rouge appendage, when he felt the other’s tail tighten around his in return.

No words were said, they didn’t need to be, Price was already turning a pretty shade of pink.

—————————————————————————

Boom, only took me way to long to get this done haha

Sorry if the ending felt a bit abrupt, I wanted to end on something fluffy but obviously nothing romantic has been established in this story line and I didn’t want to have them acting to out of character.

So I still haven’t decided on a call sign yet, but I have narrowed it down to two choices for you guys to pick from below, so please let me know!

[mythicmanuscripts]

Just a notion relating to sub aemond

Imagine not being a native speaker of high valyrian but learning the phrase good boy in high Valyrian and then out of nowhere one day just springing it on him when he's close to finishing, and then he does epically

I think the best way is to use it sparingly only on special occasions when he's been extra good so it doesn't loose its affect on him😂

Idk if its just me but I think that shits hawtttt

(Big fan of your blog btw!!!)

Absolutely brilliant idea anon! I love this so so much.

NSFW sub!aemond below the cut!

My immediate thought with this was actually just that Aemond would probably get so emotional to realise you spending time to learn something important to him? I don't just mean a wholeass language either. If he realises you've been reading some of his favourite history books or taking note of his favourite foods or even just asking him about his training.

From the moment he was born he had countless duties shoved upon him. He had so many expectations of him the moment he was born and all he's ever known is desperate attempts to meet those expectations and always failing by virtue of being the second son.

Of course he eventually learnt his own interests and things he enjoys, mostly just riding Vhagar, reading and training. He never actually thought he'd have anyone take any interest to what he likes, and he certainly never expected anyone to actually want to spend time with him.

So when he meets his future wife and you start to ask him things about what he likes, he's confused. At first he thinks you're just trying to make small talk to make things less awkward and he really has no idea what to do with himself when you actually remember everything and bring things up later and try to form a real connection with him.

The first time you mention that you were actually busy reading a book he had said was one of his favourites he has to turn away from you to prevent you from seeing the tears welling in his eyes. He just... he didn't know it was possible to actually bond with someone like he is with you.

(Sidenote before we get into the actual content of the ask: I think in response to this he would dive head first into literally anything you were interested in. You best believe he will read every favourite book of yours multiple times, will ensure the kitchen is always stocked with your favourite foods, will spend hours learning about something you like)

I think the idea to learn a few choice High Valyrian words and phrases came about when you started to realise how much Aemond prides himself on his High Valyrian. You knew he was fluent, but it takes a while to realise that he has spent many many more hours learning it than necessary and he prides himself on being able to speak and read it fluently.

So you decide to surprise him by learning a few special words and phrases in the language. It takes a while before you can find a tutor that you're confident won't spoil the surprise but once you do, you get to work on ensuring your pronunciation is perfect.

The first time you call him a good boy this way is during a very intense scene. Aemond loves to be pushed and wrecked, loves being made to cum so many times he can't stop twitching and whining. For his last orgasm of the day, you ride him and just as you're about to finish you whisper 'good boy' in high Valyrian in his ear and yup he's done for. It takes him HOURS to come back from subspace that time, just laying with you and letting you look after him without a care in the word because... because good boy.

After that reaction you ensure to use it whenever he's been really really good and no matter how many times you do so, it always turns him completely to mush.

I also think he'd be so touched and happy if you started trying to learn the language properly? The moment he finds out you're still meeting with the tutor he confronts you and when you say you know it's important to him so you want to learn it, he nearly starts crying again.

Needless to say, he tells you to stop paying the tutor and to let him help you. At first you're worried about it because he's obviously very very far ahead in it, but you quickly realise he absolutely loves teaching you. Normally he has no time for those he seems less intelligent but it's completely different with you because he doesn't see you that way at all. He's well aware of just how intelligent you are in other fields and he's so touched that you'd learn a whole language for him.

Some of Aemond's favourite nights are the ones spent curled up by the fireplace with you, a book in High Valyrian on his lap with you leaning against him, listening or trying to read some of it. Over time you become fluent in it and pretty soon Aemond speaks to you more in High Valyrian than he does in English.

[starhvney]

a requester asked: Travis, Garroth, Laurance, and Gene from MCD with tea, cream, and pumpkin bread. If that works! If it makes any sense star, have an amazing day and don’t overwork yourself!!!

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟗: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: romantic tension, fluff, teaching/training/mentoring a skill

𝐚/𝐧: i LOVED this one hehe thanks for requesting, and have an amazing day/night! i’ll try not to overwork myself hhahahash but we shall see

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to go so hard back there…” Travis winces as he sits on a suitable log, holding up his arm to look at the deep cut he’d acquired in your sparring match.

“I’m really sorry,” you genuinely apologize, sitting next to him. “I thought you were paying attention to my swing.”

“I guess I was distracted by something…” He bites his lip, a fox-like grin spreading on his face that puts his fanged canines on display. “But, ah… I’ve had much worse than this, don’t worry.”

It doesn’t ease much of your guilt, and you reach to gently hold his arm–inspecting it with a frown.

“...If you really want to apologize, why don’t you patch me up?” he suggests, pulling his pack from his back and setting it in your lap.

“I don’t really know how to that well,” you hesitate, eyes wide when he pulls out a needle and thread, setting it in your hands as he wipes the blood from his wound with a clean cloth.

“Then I’ll teach you,” he grins. “I only need a few anyways. It should be easy to do.”

“Uh…”

“Trust me. You’re not gonna hurt me anymore than you already did, beautiful,” he leans closer, eyes lidded as his face hovers near yours.

“I’ll add another cut,” you warn, and the impish man backs away with a chuckle.

“Alright! I can take a hint,” he places his uninjured hand over his chest theatrically. “Even though it hurts.”

He points down at his wound, giving you a pouted lip. “Now, could the pretty woman please grace my wounds with her touch before I bleed out?”

You situate the thread and needle in your hands, feeling nervous again. “Okay… how should I do this?”

“Just carefully thread it through the first couple layers of skin there and pull. Not too deep that out hurts but also not too shallow that it doesn’t hold,” he explains, leaning over you as you carefully do as he says. “Then loop it around there and pull gently… not too tight but enough to connect the skin together again.”

He only winces a bit as he talks, seeming used to the pain. He was right, only a few stitches were needed before the wound was closed, and the healing ointment and bandages he also had in his pack made finishing the job rather quick and easy.

“How’d you learn this?” you ask, as you finish tying it off the end of the bandage. 

“Well, not many doctors would accept the son of the Demon Warlock,” he says quietly. “After so many failed attempts of doing it on your own, you eventually learn.”

A wave of sadness washes over you at the admission, the image of a younger version of Travis in pain and tears as he fails to nurse his own injuries heartbreaking to think about. Green eyes dart over your face when you remain speechless, and the man quickly jumps to his feet.

“But! Now you and I both know their technique, so what good are they for anyways?” With his hand held out, he bows to you, offering help to bring you to your feet.

You take it, standing with a quiet sigh.

“Hey, don’t look so upset. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been now that such a fine-looking face worried over me.”

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

Your breath creates steam in the cold air as you stand in front of the dummy, the burlap sacks sliced and stabbed in several places; causing their hay insides to spill onto the ground. Despite the cold, you were warmed up from how long you’d been training with the head guard today, and you’d even shed a layer of your heavy clothing in the process.

Of course, the man in charge of your combat lesson naturally ran hotter than you, so you were both blessed and subjected to his upper half only to be covered by his linen undershirt. Every time he’d demonstrate a way he wanted you to swing or how to change your footwork, your eyes would drift to the thick muscles that pulled against his sleeves and stretched the material over his chest.

Truly, it wasn’t your fault! He was tall enough that those assets happened to be directly within your line of sight, so if anything it was his fault for… being so tall and muscular!

“…No, that’s not what I showed you…” Garroth sighs gently when you once again mess up your stance. Seeming as you hadn’t been paying close attention to his feet when he’d given you a demonstration, you were a bit lost when he put you on the spot.

Walking up to your side, strong arms come around either side of you as he adjusts your grip, his leg coming between yours to push your feet out. You have to stop yourself from letting your jaw fall completely to the floor, the proximity of the man towering over you nearly scrambling any semblance you had left to remain professional.

“You seem distracted today. Are you feeling well?” He asks as he steps away, a concerned look in his eye as he looks over your face.

“Um… no, I’m perfectly fine…” You chuckle nervously, dipping your sword a bit as you scold yourself for your obviousness.

“Are you sure?” he frowns, strong hand landing on your shoulder and squeezing in an act of comfort. It only heats your skin on fire, sending your thoughts reeling. “We can take a break, if you need to.”

“No. I’m alright,” you breathe. “Let’s continue.”

“…Alright, then let’s change from practicing offense to defense,” he gives in to your insistence, walking over to pick up a shield and place it on your arm.

The distance he puts between you a moment later gives you a moment to breathe, but not before he’s readying himself to attack. A sense of panic takes over you as you move to ready yourself, his nod for your short spar to begin coming all too soon.

He charges, and in one swipe the shield is immediately knocked from your hands, the force of his strength immediately overtaking you. You stumble back, and you’re sure you’re set to fall right down on your back as your feet lose their balance.

With a yelp, you tense for the impact, but you only fall for a split second before a hand tightly wraps around your arm. His sword dully falls against the training ground dirt before his other hand shoots your other side, pulling you up in a quick motion to your feet.

Briefly, you’re pressed against his chest, his heart racing against your ear and arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. He’s warm, so warm, that you almost forget the reason he was holding you in the first place. The brief sense of his strong muscles pressed against you is taken away when he pulls you back enough to get a good look at you.

His eyes are wide, unblinking, darting across your form and checking for injuries. “I think… this has been enough training for today. Are you okay?”

You manage a nod, focused in on the rising blush against his ears and cheeks. “Yes.”

“…Good. Now, how about I treat you to a meal?”

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

“One thing Garroth hasn’t taught you is the art of smooth-talking,” Laurance leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. The calm breeze of the day rushed past the two of you as you sat on the edge of the guard tower, looking out on the village. “It can get you out of any sticky diplomatic situation.”

You cross your arms, humming with a raised brow. “Ah, yes. Something you know all about, huh?”

“I’d never deceive you if that’s what you’re implying,” he says with an offended gasp. “By my honor!”

You can’t help but laugh, turning away to attempt to hide it from him to no avail. When you turn back, he’s looking at you with a soft gaze and quirked lip. He hums, smile widening as he watches your eyes dart away shyly.

“I’m serious, though,” he starts, tilting his head at you with an intent look. “I don’t want you to be in a situation where simply swinging your sword around isn’t going to work and you end up in trouble.”

You deadpan.

“Are you saying I’m a brute or are you insulting my ability to communicate?”

He tilts his head back, hearty laughter dancing into the air as a hand reaches up to his stomach. “Neither! Though if you were a brute you sure are the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

For everything that is good, he really can never let up on his flirting, can he? You lower your head, giving him a glowering look at his insistent teasing within every sentence he utters to you. It wasn’t fair to your poor heart, as it betrayed you with its quick beating in your chest. The way you were never able to fully gain your composure next to him was entirely frustrating.

“Will you continue to display how good you are at smooth talk or are you going to teach me?”

A snort leaves his lips. “Well your methods of intimidation need some work, too-”

You swing, narrowly missing his arm before he scoops your hands up in his. “Hey now! What did I just say about using words over violence? Not off to a good start, huh?”

He softens his smile, lowering your hands. “You have to be personable. To play on the other’s weakness to get the answer you want. I’ll give you an example.”

With a subtle tilt of his head and a pleading lift of his lashes, the man leans forward, his voice softening. “My lady, your forced indifference wounds me to my very core. Can’t you consider my advances as genuine?”

Your body betrays you once again as a rush of blood rises to your cheeks. You’re quick to look away, attending your focus back on the village below you.

“Does that work on most ladies?”

“Oh my, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he moves his head to get a better look at your expression, his eyes eating up the slight pout on your lips. “I hope you know the only woman I have eyes for is you…”

You don’t respond, and he forms his own answer with an almost giddy smile. He’s quick to return to his suave demeanor only a moment later. “I see. Well, what’s your response? Give me your best shot.“

His smug reaction is enough to make your pride stubbornly rear its head. So you turn to him again, eyes narrowed and face coming only inches from his as you give a similar look that he’d given you only a moment prior.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep teasing and distracting me on the job,” you whisper scoldingly. “Don’t you think it’s unfair to a subordinate to tempt them all the time from wanting to do anything but their assignment?”

The smug look is replaced with a look of awe and an almost unnoticeable hitch of air caught in his throat. He dares to lean in closer, eyes longing as they drift down to your lips, his own parting for a moment before he clears his throat, leaning back again.

“Ah, good job,” he smirks, though his cheeks are flushed. “Consider me charmed. Though, I already was, so how fair of an assessment can I give…?”

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄

Wind rushes by your ears as you sprint further into the forest, your breaths quick as you stare down at the ground ahead of you, your feet searching for the quietest part of the ground to step on. Still, the leaves and twigs crunch under your boots, and your lungs loudly gasp for air–the noise echoing off the trees around you.

A large tree looks promising ahead, the trunk wide enough for you to side behind if only for a moment to rest. Your hand meets the rough bark as you swing around to the other side, pressing your back flat against it. 

In nature, animals and bugs can sense when there’s a shift in the normalcy of their small lives. They can feel when the energy shifts; when there’s something dangerous nearby. A predator. Something that wasn’t meant to be there.

You can feel it too.

Even if you didn’t, the nature around you gives plenty of warning. There’s no bird chatter or the distant rustling of bushes as critters search for a snack. Eerie silence save for the rushing of blood in your ears settles over, sending a fearful spike of adrenaline through your legs. You can’t tell if it was going to make you take off in another spurt of energy or if it would make you collapse down onto the bed of grass beneath you.

There’s not much time for you to decide which it is before an almost intentional snap of a twig under what could only be a person’s foot sounds from your left. You quickly twist your neck to look, only to be met with more empty forest before your eyes.

A breath brushes against your right ear, low and amused—and most definitely meant to startle you. Arms snatch around your torso, lifting you into the air and against a built chest as you yelp in surprise.

“You, my dear, are not very good at this.” Gene’s lips press against your ear; his breath unnervingly hot.

You swallow, gasping for air while your feet dangle in the air. Your heart feels like it’s going to leap straight out from your throat with every quick harsh beat, making you dizzy as the chase concludes.

“I made it pretty far.” you gasp, pointing your toes to the ground and still unable to gain footing.

“Yet all of the strategies I’ve shown you were nowhere to be found. I could hear you from a mile away, pretty.”

“It’s not fair, you have an advantage by nature…”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he slowly sets you down, though his arms still keep you trapped against him.

“That’s true… but I don’t know… I’ve been teaching you these techniques all week and you still haven’t caught on at all,” He muses in a teasing tone, grabbing your chin and tilting you up to look at him. “Maybe I just need to follow you around forever to guard you from attacks.”

His dark eyes dance between blue and red, both deep in hue like blood spilling into the deep ocean. It’s dangerously mesmerizing, entrancing despite your very nature fighting against it. A lithe finger taps against your cheek when you don’t offer him any response, his head tilting at you as his tongue runs over his teeth. 

“Hm? Is that it? Should I never let you out of my hands?” He suggests, voice bordering something possessive, or maybe an emotion that ran indescribably further down than that. “Maybe you want that.”

A second passes before he lets you go, gently shoving you ahead. “One more. I’ll give you a longer head start this time.”

“H-huh?” you pant, turning around with wide eyes to look at him as he leans against the tree, not looking worn or phased at all. “Right now?”

“One… two…”

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