#AND GETTING DISTRACTED BY EVERYTHING ELSE

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU II [JJK]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x fem!OF!reader

GENRE: smut, roommates au, nerd!jk, photography major!jk, friends to fuck buddies, OF!reader, slight fluff.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC: 4.5k

WARNINGS: pwp, this is pure smut (mdni), unprotected sex, smacking, choking, dumbification/slight degradation, jungkook wearing a silver chain (trust me, that needs a warning), riding, jungkook being a complete meanece for real this time, teasing, a lot of pet names, nipple play, slight fingering, jungkook saying that one line from that one live, big dick!jk, very slight fluff at the end bc i didn't know how to end it. lmk if i'm missing something.

A/N: part 2 is here woo! i cannot even explain how much i love this jungkook, like omg nerdy!jk is just a yes for me. Anyway, i hope u guys like it and enjoy it as much as i did writing it. As always lmk ur thoughts on the comments or through asks, feedback is always appreciated. Happy reading <3!

part 1 | masterlist

Moans, lewd and whiny moans filled the room. A mixture of breathless words, nonsensical chants and obscene sounds engulfed both of your ears, pulling you into a dreamy dimension where only your and Jungkook’s body existed. The reality of it all was that the man in front of you was taking you places that you never thought of reaching, all in the comfortness of your bed. His hands, once timid and careful, were now running wild over your body, eliciting the most beautiful noises out of you. His avid fingers were pressing hard enough in the right spots while his mouth was eagerly devouring yours. 

It was only you and him, him and you; nothing else mattered in the world, only the warm touches and harsh curses thrown to the wind whenever either of you would bring pleasure to the other. The video —which was the main reason for you two to end up like this— was long forgotten, with the camera still aiming to the spot you two were sitting at but neither of your bodies were in sight. Jungkook was nice enough to carry you to the bed and lay you down to get more comfortable.

“You deserve better than just pillows and a blanket.” He said, waiting for you to wrap your legs around his waist to finally get up.

Everything leading up to this moment felt like a fever dream, the attempts to dirty talk, the way Jungkook used his fingers to pleasure you, the pet names and the look that coated his face when he watched you come on his hand; it felt like the most cliche plot for a porno. Asking my roommate to help me with something ends up with us fucking; you were sure that if you browsed for a few minutes in the hub you would find at least ten videos with the same storyline, but here you were, being another addition to the list, the only difference is that this wasn’t a raunchy film that you could find on the dark side of the internet, it was your life, and you were about to fuck your roommate.

“I need to ask before this goes any further.” Jungkook's breathless voice sounded so good that it almost distracted you from what he was saying. “Are you completely sure about this?”

“Kook, baby, I appreciate you asking, but if you don’t put your dick in me, I’ll kick you out of the apartment.” You deadpanned. 

Jungkook chortled at your response, pulling away just enough to undress. You waited patiently, enjoying the view he was providing you with. His honey-like skin glistened under the neon lights after taking off his black shirt; abs were in full display along with his big biceps. His right arm was adorned with an array of tattoos that he collected all through the years he’s been living with you. Who would have thought that under all those baggy clothes was hidden such a hot body? It often baffled you how different his appearance was compared to his personality; Jungkook looked like a cinnamon roll with the body of a certified fuckboy, however, he wouldn’t catch you complaining, especially not now. The brown-haired guy took his glasses off, carefully placing them on your night-stand, and just as you were about to protest, your roommate was quick to form a knowing smile on his face.

“I know you like them on me, but it’ll be impractical to fix them all the time while I fuck you dumb, don’t you think?” It was ridiculous how much his voice and words affected you. “Let’s keep them away from now.”

You couldn’t even form a proper response to that, other than a meck nod. You were hypnotized by the way he was taking his clothes off. Jungkook was now left with his usual pair of baggy jeans that were low enough to show the hem of his Calvins, he also had a silver chain wonderfully hanging from his neck; you often daydream about it, imagining how the cold material would feel against your skin, dangling just close enough to your face that you could simply take a bite and pull him down to meet your lips. It seemed like you were about to find out.

“Can you leave it on?” You requested signaling to his chain. 

“Sure thing, pretty.” He flashed you a smile, pulling away his hands from the necklace. 

You really needed to get used to this side of Jungkook, otherwise you weren’t going to survive the night, although you had a feeling that it wouldn’t really make a difference considering what was about to happen. 

Both of his hands drifted down to undo his pants, pulling them down easily and tossing them somewhere in your room. Next thing was his underwear, a pair of black Calvins that were just tight enough to reveal his evident hard-on. Even with the fabric covering that area you could still make out its length. It looked bigger than what you were expecting, which only added to your eagerness. Without further ado —and driven by the sudden confidence, Jungkook took them off, letting his thick cock spring free from its confinements. You couldn’t help to let out a tiny gasp, zeroing on his reddened tip that was already leaking precum. It was in fact bigger than what you assumed he would be, nothing too crazy but drastically larger than the other guys you’ve been with. It was slightly curved to the right, the perfect angle to reach the places you wish him to reach. The veins adorning his cock made you salivate at the thought of what it would feel like against your hot tongue. Would it feel heavy? Would it make you gag? Would it get you crying and turn you into a spit mess? Maybe you will have to wait to find out. Tonight was all about you and him enjoying each other in a closer way, getting a taste of him would have to wait. 

The more you stared at him the more your hands were eager to reach out and stroke it, to see if it would be able to fit in your palm, because judging by its looks, you even doubted that you could take it all. 

“You like what you see?” Jungkook’s voice was the embodiment of sin. Low and raspy with a hint of hesitation that he tried to cover with a faint chuckle. 

Deep down he was feeling nervous once again, feeling too vulnerable and exposed, however, backing down wasn’t an option for him, so instead of letting his insecurities conquer his mind, Jungkook decided to act driven by desire more than rationality. 

“I do, actually.” You answered, staring at him with such a look that made the guy weak in the knees. “Come here, pretty boy.” 

Pulling him by his chain you crashed your lips together, both liberating a satisfied moan when the head of his cock brushed through your folds. His hands, that were on each side of your head, caging you in, fisted the soft material of the pillow in which your head was resting on, all due to the sensation of your hot cunt against his length. 

“Shit.” You breathed out after pulling away. “Do that again.” 

Jungkook only shook his head, confusing you with the sudden rejection. 

“You’re missing something there.” He added, eyes never leaving yours. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Come on, pretty. I know you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.” His answer was followed by a harsh smack on one of your thighs. “Aren’t you?”

“But I don’t—” Another smack delivered to your tender flesh interrupted you. “Fuck, wait…” The next time his hand impacted against your skin a sting of pain mixed with pleasure spread within you. “Jungkook!” You whined, trying to create some friction on your own. 

“I thought you said you were gonna be good for me.” He mockingly said, colliding his big hand with the flesh of your ass this time. “Why don’t you look back on your manners, hm?” 

This fucker. 

Jeon really was full of surprises, or so it seems, because just when you thought he would go easy on you, he pulled this. 

“Seriously? All of this over me not saying, what? Please?” You sassily argued back. 

“Is that how you wanna act right now, doll?” He raised one of his eyebrows, questioning you in such a way that got you wondering what would be the appropriate approach. “I’d be careful with what I say if I were you.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” 

The question hung in the air for a few seconds before Jungkook pulled away from you completely. His hands reached out for your waist, holding you with a strong grip. 

“Turn around.” He ordered. A few more seconds passed before he turned you around himself. “And just so we are clear, I’m not repeating myself tonight.”

Ass in the air, completely exposed to him. It excited you what his next move would be, but it was also killing you not knowing what he was up to. 

His hands were caressing your sides slowly, distracting you for a second with his touches from what was coming your way. 

“It seems like you can’t keep up with your promises.” It was sudden, completely unexpected; the sound of skin being slapped echoed through the room. His tattooed hand colliding with your ass. “So I might need to remind you what you asked for.” 

The next one felt harsher than the last one, eliciting a deep moan out of you and making your whole body move forward. This is not what you imagined that your night would be like, and you were definitely not expecting your roommate to turn into such a brat tamer. However, what surprised you the most is how much you actually liked it. This whole scenario in which Jungkook was simply handling you in any way he wanted was far way better than what your fantasies were about. The way he talked to you; the fact that he knew just the right amount of strength he needed to use to make you whimper in pleasure rather than pain; the tender touch he would provide you with before delivering another slap, as if he were preparing your skin for the collision. Everything felt like the perfect wet dream. 

After delivering one last slap to your ass, Jungkook leaned down to place wet kisses all over the area, before admiring the red imprint of his hand on both cheeks. 

“You think you’re ready for me now?” He mockingly asked. “Or should I check?” Not even expecting an actual answer, he slipped two fingers inside your entrance, moving them painfully slow. 

“Jungkook, please…” You whined, burying your face into the pillow. 

“Oh, now you know how to use the word, hm?” His fingers never stopped moving. “How convenient.” 

You shook your head, whimpering and squirming under his touch. “No more, please…”

“No more what? Tell me doll, what do you want from me?”

“No more… teasing.” 

You struggled to answer, letting out a deep breath before looking over your shoulders to glare at him. In hindsight, you should’ve known better than doing so, because the way his sweat-coated skin shone under the red lights almost got you coming on his fingers again. 

“Oh god!” You moaned when his fingers dug deeper into your velvety walls. “Right-fucking-there!” 

And just when you started to feel your walls getting tighter and your stomach feeling funny, Jungkook pulled out, stroking your clit a few times before flipping you over on your back. 

“Why did you stop?” 

“You’re the only one getting all the fun, baby.” He simply answered. “And next time you come, I want you to do it on my cock.” He placed a kiss on your lips before adding, “Where are the condoms?” 

Jungkook wasn’t dumb, he knew you had to have some hidden somewhere in your drawers, he’s seen you buy a package before, and while he had some himself, the brown-eyed boy didn’t think it would be practical to go to his room for it. 

“No need.” Just before he could question your answer, you added, “I’m on the pill.” 

Jungkook couldn’t comprehend what good he did in his past life to get this lucky, but he was thankful for it. 

“Should’ve said that from the start.” 

“Why? You like it raw that much?” You chuckled.

“Only when I have a pretty girl like you under me.”  His lips brushed against yours with a fleeting touch, making you chase after him which caused a smug laugh out of him. “Patient, doll. I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta be on your best behavior. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded, adding a quick yes right after. Jungkook leaned down once again, placing his hands on each side of your head just like before. He started up kissing your neck, placing wet kisses all over it before reaching your mouth again. It was the perfect distraction from him lining up with your entrance. Before you even knew it, Jeon was pushing his tip right in, slowly and steadily. 

“Oh, fuck, ah…” You moaned out, hands flying over his shoulders. “Jungkook.” His name came out of your mouth as a whimper. 

“I know, pretty, I know.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you’re really tight.” 

The brown-haired guy kept pushing in, careful to not hurt you and stopping every now and then to help you get used to his size. It was more than what you would normally take, so it took you a few seconds to go from slight pain to pleasure. Your nails were digging into his honey skin, eliciting a hiss from the guy above you, but not even once did he complain, if anything it looked like he enjoyed that sliver of pain.  

“Oh god, you feel amazing.” Jungkook whispered against your lips when he finally bottomed out. His breath was agitated and it was evident that he was struggling to keep still, yet he managed to do it, waiting for your permission to move. “You're doing so good, baby. Look at you, you took me so well, it’s all in.”  

You tried to look down to where both of your bodies were united. It was just there that reality really hit you; having all of his manhood nestled deep inside you was a whole new sensation, a different kind of feeling. You knew that there was no coming back from this, no going back to normal, no getting the same feeling from anyone else. You could only hope for this to be good enough for your roommate to stay with you. 

“Let me know when I can move, yea?” His breathy voice brought you back from your thoughts, preventing you from overthinking. 

A small nod was your first response, “You can… You can move.” You softly said. 

“Alright, I’ll be gentle okay? Promise I’ll make you feel good.” A sweet kiss was placed on your mouth before his hips started moving. 

Jungkook commenced thrusting in and out, sliding with enough ease inside of you while maintaining a steady pace. You could feel the entirety of him, stretching you out deliciously good. His cock was hitting the right places over and over again, eliciting moan after moan from you. His face had the most beautiful expression you’ve ever seen. Eyes connected to yours, lips parted while panting and cursing, eyebrows furrowed with a slight coat of sweat covering his forehead. Everything was just right.

Jungkook was loving every second of it, the way you were clenching on his length, while looking right up at him with pleading eyes and your nails scratching his skin was something he never thought would love so much. It was until then that he questioned if he was into pain, because the burning sting of your nails digging into his toned back was getting him more excited than it probably should. 

“Shit, Kook, you feel so good right now.” You panted, connecting your lips into a messy kiss. “Faster… I need it faster.”

“Anything you want, doll.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice; going at a slow pace was torturing him. Jungkook was quick to speed up, thrusting in and out of you with such strength that almost made you scream. He continued to fuck you like that, pressing his chest agaisnt yours while leaving a trail of wet kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sliding down with ease until he reached your tits. Jungkook admired them for a few seconds before diving in to close his mouth around one of your nipples. 

“Ah, Jungkook.” You whimpered, feeling his hot tongue circling your already hardened bud. His pace never relented even when his sole focus was on devouring your tits. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your skin. His teeth made contact with your sensitive nipple, stealing a gasp from you while some incoherent sentences flew out of your mouth. “What was that, pretty?” 

Jungkook was fucking you so good that it was difficult to even utter a single word. Everything felt so intense, and he was taking good care of you that it felt almost unfair to only lay there and enjoy it, that’s why you tried to compose yourself to voice your request.

“Come on, baby, use your words. Or is it hard for you to speak with your pussy stuffed with my cock, hm?” He mocked you and your little sounds. 

You’ll pay for that later. 

Trying to push him away would be futile so you didn’t even try, instead you glared at him while saying, “I wanna ride you.” It was clear and straight to the point, you needed to experience being on top of Jeon Jungkook while taking all of his cock as deep inside you as you could, at least once in your life. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, doll.” He breathed out, “But okay, show me what you got.”

In a split of a second, Jungkook was laying down on your bed, staring right at you with lustful eyes and a smirk plastered on his face. His big hands were resting on each side of your hips, caressing your skin tenderly, almost encouraging you to get going with what you wanted to do. With no further ado, you guided his twitching dick to your folds, sliding through them and smearing your juices all over his length; you were enjoying the sensation of his tip nudging your clit when a harsh smack was delivered to your ass.

“No teasing.” Jeon warned you when you looked at him pouting, however, you complied, lining his cock with your entrance, sinking in slowly to enjoy how good he was stretching you out. “There you go, fuck, that’s it, pretty. You’re so good.” He hissed, holding your hips with a stronger grip than before. 

“You feel so big like this.” Throwing your head back, you whimpered out of pleasure, losing yourself in the sensation of his cock reaching deeper into you in this position. 

You started to move, back and forth with a steady pace; hands now resting on his chest to get more comfortable. Little by little you gained speed, sliding up and down just like you always wanted, the sound of skin on skin filled the room, along with the filthy sounds coming from both of your mouths. 

“Shit, that’s it. You look so pretty bouncing on my cock.” Jungkook loved the new view, not only did you feel amazing in this position, with your walls clenching on his girth, but also the way your tits were bouncing up and down with every move was driving him crazy. 

One of his hands reached up to hold your tit, fondling and kneading your tender flesh, however, his hand didn’t stop there. Jungkook felt bold enough to push his hand further up, slithering smoothly until his fingers reached a certain part of your body. Without even thinking, Jungkook wrapped his hand around your neck, just tight enough to make you gasp in surprise but without any ill intent. Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t the only one being taken by surprise, because the sudden pressure on your neck was like adding fuel to the fire, encouraging you to fuck yourself harder and faster on his throbing cock, and Jungkook noticed how your whole demeanor changed.

“Look at you,” He chuckled, “You liked being treated like this, huh? Like it when I choke you and smack you hard enough to leave a mark on you?” 

It was cruel the way he was speaking to you, but you couldn’t deny it, if anything it only pushed you to speed up, making your thighs ache and almost fall on his chest completely exhausted. 

“Ju-Jungkook…” You tried to call his name in a pleading voice. It was only then that you recognized the hot feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. Your orgasm was, once again, approaching.

“What? Can’t you answer the question? Are you that dumb to say a simple yes, hm?” His mocking smile was as infuriating as attractive. “Come on, doll, I know you can do better than that.” 

You really tried to hold yourself together, but the more his cock hit your sweet spot, the more your strength crumbled. 

“I- I’m…” It was getting pretty hard to voice your thoughts with his hand around your throat. 

“Am I making it difficult for you to speak?” The hand he placed on your waist was helping you to keep moving, but the one adorning your neck never lessened the grip. “Do you want me to take my hand off? You just have to say please and I’ll do anything you want, pretty.”

How could such a sweet and nice guy turn into a complete meanece in the blink of an eye. Jungkook continued to prove that judging a book by its cover it’s never a good thing, because the way he was acting with you in that moment, was beyond what you imagined he would be like in this type of scenario. 

“Ple-Please,” You begged, “Jungkook… please.” Not even a second passed before you could breathe properly again, his tattooed hand away from your neck. 

You felt like passing out, but his angelic voice brought you back from your hazy state.

“You okay there, Y/n?” He smiled softly at you, confusing you and making your heart skip a beat. Jungkook looked at you with a split of concern and tenderness for a brief second, making a weird feeling spread through your body, one that you were too scared to address. 

“I’m… yes, all good.” You nodded. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Both of his hands were back to holding your hips. “Because I’m not done, understand?” His eyes had that evil glint once again.

Before you could even ponder on his switching attitude, his strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, forcing you to rest on top of him, chest to chest and face so dangerously close to yours.

“I know you’re close, baby, stay like this and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

And so you did, burying your face in the crook of his neck while Jungkook positioned himself the right way to slam his cock into you with hard and fast thrusts. Your whimpers were muffled against his skin, while his moans filled your ears. He sounded so pretty, chanting your name the more you clenched on him.

“Shit, I’m getting close too.” Jungkook announced. 

“Please, I wanna cum…” You begged, pulling away from his neck to look at him with pleading eyes. “I can’t hold it.”

“I’m almost there, doll, wait for me, come on.”

His hands started to slide down to get a hold of your ass while still thrusting into you at such a relentless pace. So persistent and intense, every touch, move and caress felt ten times more than before, your whole body was sensitive that it was so difficult for you to hold it together, you desperately needed to have your release. Jungkook was aware of it, it was so painfully clear how bad you needed to cum, how desperate you were for him and his cock.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good.” His husky voice rang through your ears, making goosebumps coat your skin. “Fuck, I’m right there, baby, come with me. Make a mess on my dick.” 

It was automatic the way your body reacted to his command. A needy moan abandoned your mouth while your hands fisted the sheets in which the both of you were laying. You finally came on Jungkook’s cock, clenching so deliciously tight, meanwhile your whole body shook with the intense feeling of your awaited release. 

“Fuck, so good… Y/n, shit.” You couldn’t even pay attention to whatever the brown-haired boy was saying; completely lost in the moment and how well you felt. “I’m gonna come.”

With a final thrust, Jungkook finally unraveled, filling you to the brim with his warm cum. Hips stuttering and voice completely hoarse while calling your name. It felt so good to hear him like that, so breathless and spent; weak and whiny, so needy for you and only you. 

It took you a few minutes to fully recover from such an intense moment. Neither of you dared to speak once the rush of your orgasm finally subsided, you laid there, on his firm chest, breathing his scent and relishing in the sensation of his fingers caressing your back with a soft touch. 

“Are you… Are you okay?” There was a pinch of shyness in your roommates voice, almost as if his dominant persona vanished the moment he got his release. “I wasn’t too much, was I?”

You giggled against his warm skin, lazily shaking your head to answer his concerns. 

“It was way better than I expected.” You confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up due to that. “I gotta admit that you surprised me, though. I didn’t know you could be like that.”

Jungkook sighed softly, feeling satisfied with your response but slightly amused by your comment. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, yet.” 

It was the way he said it that piqued your interest, promising and inviting, as if he was trying to lure you into discovering just how much you still needed to learn about him. And just like Jungkook wanted, you fell right into it.

“Maybe you can show me.” Lifting your head slowly, you stared into his beautiful brown eyes, waiting for a reaction.

“Are you sure you want to get into that?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting down to set on his puffy lips. Jungkook didn’t think twice before leaning in to kiss you, slow and soft, with so much care that almost made you feel dizzy. 

“Alright, I’ll show you all of me.” 

taglist 🏷️: @petalsofink @goldietigers294 @ggukieshoe @jk-190811 @hanamgi @internetbelle @songbyeonkim @berryonasummerevening @lanyia @rpwprpwprpwprw @brokebitch-101 @satisfied18 @nikixkoo @susansemolinathrower

[dreamingofaizawa]

Just thinking about Johnny being a Certified Yapper ™ while you’re all in the rec room on base.

He hasn’t stopped talking for a solid two hours, constantly filling the dead space even when all he gets as answers are grunts from Simon or huffs from Price while they’re focused on their billiards. Kyle gives a few words, but he’s mostly distracted with his book. 

Then there’s you.

You’ve been mostly silent, not contributing much to anything while you’ve got your sketchbook open, doodling nonsense while you half-listen to whatever else is going on. But you do have a question that bubbles up in your mind. It’s an innocent, genuine question. The next break in Johnny’s string, you take for yourself, still sketching mindlessly.

“Does silence make you uncomfortable, Johnny?” Everything goes dead quiet. The sudden silence has you stopping to look around the room, only to find all eyes on you. Johnny’s eyes have blown wide, appalled, while the rest just blink blankly at you. 

“What?”

Kyle bursts into a fit of boisterous laughter. Price sighs, hanging his head, and Simon fucking chuckles. Nothing gets a reaction out of the Ghost, but somehow you’ve just made him laugh. You’re just sat there confused. Johnny, for one, breaks from his shocked stupor to point accusingly at the others.

“Haud yer wheesht ye fuckin brits.” 

Then it clicks that you’ve just basically told Johnny he talks too much.

“Oh shit I swear I didn’t mean it like that! Fuck I’m sorry, Sergeant MacTavish.” He blinks, then reels with a hand dramatically on his chest.

“I cannae believe this bullshite. I ken ‘m a wee talkative but really?” Kyle can’t keep his head, wheezing from his spot on the couch, his book abandoned on the coffee table. Simon and Price have refocused on their game but you can still see the way Simon’s eyes are smiling behind that mask of his. 

“I swear I was just asking a question, I didn’t even think about how it would sound out loud.” He puts on the dramatics, sighing before falling back into his chair with an exaggerated swoon.

“Aye, I talk too much, I ken. I’ll never talk again if it bothers ye so much.” All you can muster is an eye roll, but his antics have you fighting a smirk. He’s starting to push it, and you know he’s not anywhere near serious.

“Yeah you go ahead and do that, Johnny. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” His grin is wide and devious when he sits up to meet your gaze.

“I know a few ways to sleep well. Wanna come see ‘em?” For a second you don’t quite register what he’s said, about to answer with a ‘sure why not?’ and follow him out to wherever it may be. 

But then you look at the way his eyes drag over you and oh fucking hell. Price speaks from the billiards table.

“Keep it in your pants, MacTavish.” 

The scot sighs, then delves into a rant and the yapping picks right back up.

[malsmind]

vampire!chris 𝘢𝘯𝘥 bsf!reader 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵

🕸 - content warnings: ★ underage drinking ★ smoking weed ★ mentions of blood/drinking blood ★ fingering ★ public ★ pet names ★ dirty talk ★ eating pussy ★

the night was strange from the start. the group had all been laughing earlier, walking through the fields after some late-night adventure, when matt and your best friend suddenly disappeared. one second they were behind you, the next, gone — no shouts, no warning, just silence. you called their names. nothing. maybe they went off to be alone. maybe it was something else. but the unease lingered. so everyone went home, you and chris did too. the mood soured, the energy gone. and now you’re on the bus, the only two left from the group — you and chris.

he’s sitting next to you, thigh pressed firm against yours, head leaned slightly against the window. the bus is mostly empty, only a couple people scattered in the front, the driver focused on the road ahead. you’re curled up next to him, the streetlights flickering past, casting shadows across his sharp jawline. chris hasn’t said much. his energy tonight is tense — his shoulders tight, jaw clenched. you notice how his hand keeps tapping against his thigh. nervous. distracted. his eyes are darker than usual, less shiny blue and more… something else. deeper. hungrier. you reach over and touch his arm gently.

“you okay?” you ask, voice soft in the quiet.

he turns to you slowly, his lips quirking into that half-smile you know too well.

“just thinking,” he says. “about matt. about where he went. what he’s doing.”

you know what he means without him saying it. what matt might do. despite his issues with controlling his anger, he was good at controlling the hunger for blood deep within him. but there was always a chance he'd lose it. he could get messy, both of them could, but chris had all his focus on controlling it, even when it was hard, almost impossible. matt didn't care. if he was lost in it, he was really lost in it.

“you think he’ll lose control?” you whisper.

chris doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you, eyes flicking down your face, tracing your features.

“i dunno.” he says finally, “he might.”

you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent — something dark, crisp, something that’s always made your skin warm. even now, with the nerves crawling down your spine, there’s something safe about his presence. something addicting. he shifts slightly, his hand dropping to your leg, fingers brushing against the bare skin of your thigh. you glance down, realizing just how high your loose sleep shorts have ridden up. it’s summer. hot, humid, late. chris just needed something to distract him from his thoughts. his brothers business was his business, if it came to something like this. potentially getting caught, exposed. the truth getting out there was something they couldn't risk, they both knew that, but again, matt was like a ticking time bomb, ready to ruin everything they'd worked on keeping a secret.

“chris,” you murmur, a warning laced in the way his hand starts to slide higher. “we’re in public.”

he smirks without looking at you, his fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles against your inner thigh.

“and?” he murmurs. “bus 's empty back here.”

your breath catches. you try to close your legs, but his hand stays firm, keeping them just slightly parted. his mouth finds your neck — warm lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there, just beneath your jaw. you shiver as his breath ghosts over you.

“you smell so good tonight,” he whispers. “you always do, but right now... shit baby...”

you know what he means. not perfume. not sweat. your blood. your pulse. the ache between your legs he can almost feel. you don't know what changed, when exactly it did, but chris has been having a hard time getting his mind off of the natural lust for blood. he'd never hurt you, never do it, never even think of drinking your blood. he didn't want to, because he knew what would happen if he ever sunk his teeth into you like that. he'd avoid you when it got too much, which you understood, but something about the idea of giving him what he so badly craved was always occupying your mind.

his fingers trail further, teasing the edge of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp fabric.

“chris,” you hiss, grabbing his wrist, your grip tight. “someone could see—”

“no one’s watching,” he says, voice a low rasp now. “and i need to touch you. just for a little.”

his fingers push under the fabric. and he finds you instantly — warm, slick, already pulsing for him. your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale. you clutch his wrist harder, but you’re not stopping him. his face is still buried in your neck, kissing slow and open as his fingers slide through your wetness. he groans softly against your skin.

“fuck, baby. you’re already this wet?” he mutters. “from just this?”

you’re melting into him, hips twitching, trying not to move too much. you can’t make noise. can’t draw attention. but every flick of his fingers — slow and calculated — makes your stomach tighten. you bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut, trying to breathe steady. but it’s impossible. his fingers slide inside you, two of them, stretching you just right as his palm presses into your clit. the pace is slow. tormenting. he knows exactly how to work your body, how to push you just close enough to the edge without letting you fall.

“you’re holding back,” he whispers, licking a stripe up your throat. “trying so hard to be good.”

you grip his wrist tighter, nails digging into his skin, and he just moans into your neck, loving how much you’re struggling not to lose control. it’s not even about teasing anymore — he’s trying to calm himself, keep that vampire part of him on a leash, the one that gets so fucking high off your arousal. when the bus finally jerks to a stop at your street, you’re breathless, legs weak, skin flushed. he pulls his hand away slowly, deliberately, and brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean like what he just did was the most normal thing ever. you can barely walk straight as you follow him off the bus.

he doesn’t speak as you make it home, fumbling for your keys, heart pounding in your ears. your parents are out of town — that fact practically blaring through your skull now. the moment the door shuts behind you, he’s on you. chris grabs you by the waist, spinning you toward the couch, and throws you down onto it without a word. his eyes are black now — not just from lust, but hunger.

“chris—” you start, but he’s already dropping to his knees between your legs, ripping your shorts and panties off in one rough motion.

“please don’t say anything,” he says, almost begging. “just… let me taste you.”

you nod once, breathless. and then he’s on you. his mouth is messy — nothing delicate about it, nothing soft. it’s tongue and lips and hunger, groaning into you like he can’t get enough, like he’s drowning in it. his hands are locked tight around your thighs, keeping you spread for him, pulling you closer as his tongue flicks over your clit fast and dirty, then slower, deeper — the kind of rhythm that drives you insane. he hums against you like it tastes like heaven.

“fuck, you’re sweet,” he groans, eyes flicking up to watch you squirm. “always so sweet for me.”

you’re a mess — hips jerking, hands tangled in his hair, your moans filling the empty living room. it builds fast, your second orgasm still aching beneath the surface from the bus ride.

“chris—oh my god—i’m gonna—”

“that's a good girl,” he mumbles, sucking hard on your clit. “cum f'me, cum on my tongue baby.”

and you do. hard. your whole body arches off the couch as you cum with a choked moan, the sound of it raw, helpless, dragged from somewhere deep. chris doesn’t stop until you physically push his head away, your body too sensitive to handle another second. he licks his lips, eyes still dark, still hungry. he crawls up your body, resting over you, his mouth slick with you, and kisses you deep — so you taste yourself on his tongue.

“feel better?” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

he nods, forehead pressed to yours.

“a little,” he mutters. “but i really wanna fuck you...”

you'd be in for a long night, but you didn't mind. you loved it. but maybe it was also to keep his mind off of things that'd have him worried up all night, to keep your own mind off of it...

♱ - @kittybitch @tits4matt @bgfshai @just-a-girl-1 @phonysuperstarr @sweetshuga @aflairforthedramattic @chrisbratt333 @courta13 @h3arts4nat @rizzgod12 @whore4chris @urlocallera @il0vey0um0st @slvtf0rchr1s @chrispycremedonut @oopsiedaisydeer @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @dummyslut00 @chrissfavhoe @sturnsflirt @hello-emma @abbystromboli @y3sterdaysproblem @mi-co-uk @loser41ifee @emillionaireee @corpsebridedelrey @sturniolosssworld @certified-sturniolo @bluessturniolo @mattswifeyy @cass-sturn @tezzzzzzzz @ariasautumn @auttysturnz @mx7ka @backwardshatnick @applecidersturniolo @sturnsrecord @cass-sturn @matts-wife @chrattgetsmewetter @joanakaulitz @izzylovesmatt @mathewsmonkey @bgfshai @chrissfavhoe @herewegoagain-b @sturnslux3 @owensbabygirl

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[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 6: Spain stay at St George's Park Other Parts

Word Count: 7.6k

This one needs to come with a bit of a warning for the ending.

⚽️

The queue for food stretches toward the end of the room, trays clattering, girls chatting, familiar noise filling the space like steam.

You’re last in the line moving slow, distracted, gaze caught behind you, because they’re there. The Spanish squad, gathered loosely at the back of the room, hovering like they were going to join the line but not quite in it.

They look unsure not out of place, just... hesitant. Like they’ve stepped into someone else’s routine and don’t want to get it wrong. You catch it instantly, you pause, hand on your hip, and glance back scanning instinctively until your eyes find Alexia.

She’s not at the front of the group, she’s off to the side arms crossed loosely, scanning the scene ahead like she’s trying not to overthink it. And you watch her. Not subtly. Not secretly. Just openly, willing her to look back. It takes three heartbeats and then her gaze flicks up like she could sense someone was watching.

Right into yours, your stomach flips, your breath catches, but your face stays calm. You give her a smile, soft, closed-lipped, silently asking if everything was ok, the edges of her posture ease almost immediately.

She mutters something to her team and stars in your direction, quiet, graceful, stops in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And then voice soft, English careful “What do we do?” She’s looking at the line, the trays, the cutlery, the way people are moving through but her eyes keep darting back to yours, like she’s checking whether this is okay.

You nod once, matching her low tone. “Get in line. Grab a tray. Go down the line. Take what you want.” You gesture subtly. “It’s… chill. Sit where you like. By the looks of it, the girls have left some empty tables so you can sit together"

Alexia’s eyes track the movement of your hand, then flick back to your face. "Gracias," she says quietly.

You nod again, but don’t say anything else. You don’t have to she steps back toward her team, then speaks in Spanish and they all filter towards her.

You turn forward again. But you feel her still in the space behind you, in the warmth in your chest, in the slow, steady way she was lingering.

Georgia infant of you in the line turns, then clearly she spotted the figure behind you, smirks and turns back to the front.

Your phone buzzes, you pull it out your pocket enough to see what it is, it's Gee.

Gee: Looks cozy

You roll your eyes shoving it back in your pocket using your foot to nudge the back of her knee, earning you a back hand.

The line’s moving slowly trays clinking, steam rising from silver containers, the buzz of two languages folding over each other.

You’re focused ahead hand on your tray, eyes scanning what’s left of the roasted veg when you feel it. A shift behind you. Tone, not volume. Sharpness, not sound. Spanish rapid, clipped, a little too loud for how close she’s standing. You don’t know the words, but you don’t have to. You feel it in your spine.

Montse Tomé, Spain’s coach, has joined the line just behind. She’s talking quickly to Alexia something that sounds like instruction but lands like criticism. Not raised, but tight.

You glance back, Alexia’s face is composed, but her shoulders have gone slightly still. Around her, a couple of the Spanish girls shift uncomfortably. One glances at the food like it’s suddenly very interesting.

You watch Montse a second longer, then turn back to your tray, grabbing a spoonful of something without seeing it.

You keep your voice casual quiet enough that only those just behind can hear. “Does she always have an attitude,” you murmur dryly, “or has she reserved that for our benefit?”

There’s a beat of silence behind you. Then a soft, barely stifled snort from someone near the front. A giggle from another. And then Alexia’s laugh, quiet, warm, caught in her throat like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

You don’t look back. You just smirk down at your tray and add, still facing forward: “I don’t need subtitles to clock that energy.”

Another laugh this time from Mapi, somewhere behind Alexia. Montse either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it, stepping out of the line to take a call. You finally glance back over your shoulder.

Alexia’s looking at you now tray in her hands, expression very carefully neutral… except for the small tug of her mouth.

You raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t say anything. But her eyes sparkle. And it tells you everything.

⚽️

You’ve found your seat by the time it happens two trays down, the table split half-English, half-Spanish, a soft mix of conversations rippling between the two sides.

The air’s lighter now. Whatever tension Montse brought into the line, your one-liner cleared it like a breeze through fog. You’re sipping from your water bottle when you hear it a soft but clear voice from across the table.

Cata Coll, her English is careful, her tone curious. Not hostile. Not testing. Just… interested. “When you played us…” she says, pausing to find the phrasing, “with your club and with England, you played out of position. Both times. Why?”

You blink not expecting the question. There’s a slight hush near the middle of the table, even the clatter of cutlery softens.

You glance up and find her eyes steady on yours. Beside her, Alexia is speaking, but she’s listening. You set your fork down gently and give Cata your full attention. "Both your coaches publicly said they were worried about me,” you say, voice even. “So naturally, tactically you adjust to best contain and counteract me." You let that hang for half a beat. "Can’t control what you don’t know."

Cata stares at you a second longer and then her mouth curves. She nods. Respect. No pushback.

From a few seats down, Mapi gives a low whistle and mutters in Spanish, just loud enough for you to catch the tone even if you don’t get the words.

Alexia bites her lip to hide a smile. Beth grins beside you, nudging your arm. "Remind me never to play poker with you."

You shrug, picking your fork back up. "Don’t bluff," you say simply. “Just study.”

Leah sat opposite, voice full of that trademark smugness throws out, “So. Would you play for Barça?”

You don’t even get a chance to blink before Georgia cuts in instantly, “She’s not leaving me alone in Germany. Stop putting ideas in her head, Leah!”

The table laughs. You smile slow, controlled and drag your fork slowly between your lips, sucking it clean before resting it on the plate. You glance at Georgia with a small, knowing smirk. “I’m not leaving her in Germany.”

Across the table, Leah narrows her eyes like she’s lining up a shot “Then why were you in Barcelona?” she says, tone mock-sweet. “You’ve still not answered me.”

You don’t blink. “I told you I wasn’t in Barcelona.”

Leah’s already pulling out her phone, tapping the screen. “I literally have the thread open. Pictures. Of you. At a game.”

You shrug, reaching for your water. Calm. Measured. “Wasn’t me. Must have a Spanish twin.”

Beth lets out a high-pitched laugh and claps her hand over her mouth. Georgia groans dramatically beside you. Leah points her fork at you like it’s a knife. “I know you’re lying to me.”

Before you can reply, Millie, who has missed absolutely everything, looks up from her bowl of fruit like it’s the first she’s hearing of this. “Wait— is your contract up at Bayern?”

You turn to her, unbothered. “Not ’til the end of next season.”

Millie frowns thoughtfully. “So you could move on?”

You nod once. “I could.” You stab a bit of sweet potato with your fork. Cool as ever. “We’ll see.”

The table quiets just slightly not completely but enough, because now everyone’s reading into it. The phrasing. The calm. The deflection.

Beth leans back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. “She’s so annoying when she’s like this.”

Georgia crosses her arms. “She does that thing where she technically tells the truth but also doesn’t say anything.”

You say nothing. Just smile, because they’re not wrong.

⚽️

You’d come down here to be alone. To switch off. Headphones plugged in, controller in hand, Call of Duty loading on the screen.

The match kicks off. You settle into it easily focus narrowing, shoulders loosening, brain finally dialling into something simple and competitive. You barely notice when the door opens. Spanish voices. Low. Familiar.

You glance up, expecting them to pass by but they hesitate. Just inside the threshold, a small group of them hover. Patri, Jana, a couple others you’ve only exchanged nods with so far. They’re dressed in hoodies and sliders, clearly winding down. But they don’t move farther in like they’re waiting for permission.

You pause the game, pull one headphone off, and smile. “Hey,” you say simply, nodding. “Come in. I don’t bite.”

They laugh softly, surprised. Patri mutters something in Spanish to the others, and after a few beats, they drift in. Quiet, casual. Still a little cautious. You realise then they’ve been keeping their distance, not out of disinterest, not out of attitude, but out of respect.

They didn’t want to step into your space unless you made it clear they were welcome. You unpause, fingers working the controller again. Patri lingers near the edge of the nearest sofa, watching the screen.

“You play?” you ask.

She shakes her head with a grin. “Only when I’m bored enough to embarrass myself.”

You laugh properly this time and she grins wider. She sits nearby, not next to you, but close enough. The others do the same spilling onto bean bags and floor cushions, chatting amongst themselves, tossing occasional comments your way as you mow down enemies on-screen.

It’s easy. Light. You’re mid-reload when the door opens again. You hear her before you see her Alexia, finishing a phone call, voice low, Spanish soft and measured as she tucks her phone into the pocket of her hoodie.

You glance up. The second she sees you, she smiles small, effortless. Like of course you’re here. Like this is exactly where she expected to find you. She walks past the others with a gentle squeeze to Patri’s shoulder.

And without hesitation she takes the one spot left on the sofa, next to you there were other cushions. Other chairs, but no one else took that place, not one of them, not even when you’d sat there for fifteen minutes alone.

And now, sitting beside you knee brushing yours, hands resting calmly in her lap Alexia leans back like she belongs there.

And something clicks, they didn’t take that seat... because it wasn’t theirs to take.They knew, maybe not the whole story, maybe not everything. But enough.

You say nothing, don’t look at her, but your chest is warm, your mouth can’t help its curve, and your hands are steady on the controller even as your pulse thunders beneath your skin.

Alexia shifts slightly beside you not speaking, not looking but her leg presses against yours, gentle, grounding.

And for the first time all day, you feel completely still.

You finish the game you were playing, you toss the controller onto the table beside you, stretching your arms overhead with a satisfied sigh as the final stats flash on screen.

The girls around you clap half in celebration, half in sarcasm teasing you for your accuracy, your kills, your body count. You grin through it all, playful and relaxed.

Alexia is still beside you, legs crossed beneath her now, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, close without crowding. The Spanish girls have broken off into small conversations Patri and Mapi trading jokes, Aitana curled up with her phone, Jana humming softly to the song playing from someone’s speaker.

It’s quiet. Soft, then in a lull Patri looks up from her spot two cushions over, eyes on you, voice casual but clearly meant to land. “So,” she says, in English, “Why didn’t you tell your team you were in Barcelona?”

The question hangs there not sharp, not cold but deliberate. You feel it land between you and Alexia like a small spark on dry grass.

You glance over, she’s not looking at you, but she’s not pretending not to listen either. You shift slightly, leaning back into the cushions, playing with the hem of your shorts.

You don’t answer right away, you don’t need to, Patri’s gaze is calm. Patient, but underneath it you can feel the pulse of what’s really being asked.

You take a breath. Then you shrug, voice quiet but steady. “It wasn’t their business.”

Mapi raises an eyebrow, amused. “No?” she says. “Beth seems to think otherwise.”

You smirk can't help it, “She always does.”

That gets a few chuckles. The mood stays light but the thread doesn’t slip. Patri’s eyes stay on you a moment longer. “Just curious,” she says, holding your gaze. “That’s all.”

You nod, a beat of silence. Then without looking, without shifting Alexia finally speaks. Quiet. Calm. “Sometimes it’s easier not to explain what people will turn into something else.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even directed at you, technically, but it lands squarely in your chest.

“I didn’t go for headlines,” you say simply. “I went for... time.”

No one pushes after that and somehow the quiet deepens. Not uncomfortable. Just... settled.

Alexia shifts again beside you closer this time, just slightly, her hand brushes yours, and when you don’t pull away when neither of you moves it says more than anything else in the room.

It happens slowly. One by one, yawns, stretches, quiet excuses in Spanish. Mapi glances between the two of you and smirks knowingly before she stands. Jana gives you a warm smile as she collects her phone. Patri lingers the longest, offering a casual "Buenas noches" like she hasn't just left a small ripple in the middle of the room.

Then the door swings shut behind them, and it’s just you and Alexia.

She’s still curled on the other end of the sofa, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, eyes flicking between you and the now-idle TV screen. You glance over at her. She looks away. Classic. You smile softly to yourself.

You manoeuvre on the sofa to sit facing her, "Could they be any more obvious?"

She clears her throat, cheeks just a touch pink, she lets out a quiet laugh shy and warm and so her. She pulls one leg up onto the sofa, facing you now, even if she still won’t meet your gaze for more than a second.

She pulls her sleeve over her hand and starts gently picking at a loose thread a tell you’re beginning to recognise now. You watch her for a moment, then say, low and warm, “Did they leave the seat open for you?” Her eyes flick up at that quick and startled. You smile, not cocky, just sure. “You know they did.”

Alexia exhales slowly, the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, “They’re not subtle,” she murmurs.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under the other. “No,” you agree.

She goes still at that, just for a beat, then she shifts again, rests her chin on her hand, eyes finally meeting yours properly.

There’s a softness there, not shy, just... unguarded.

“Would you care if I'd told them about me going to see you and you coming to see me?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

It’s not loaded. It’s not even afraid. Just curious. You sit with it. Let it settle in the space between you, because it’s not the kind of question that needs a fast answer.

You shrug gently, voice matching hers in tone. “It's your story to tell I suppose.”

She nods once, thoughtfully. Like that’s enough, you hold her gaze, steady and open. She smiles, small but sure and this time it doesn’t falter. She shifts closer, knee brushing yours now. Not tentative. Not unsure.

Just... there. You let out a slow breath and say, teasing, “You’re still terrible at small talk.”

She rolls her eyes but grins, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “I’m better at passing,” she says.

You huff a laugh. “That’s debatable.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” she challenges, mock serious.

And just like that, the tension lifts, because between the laughter, the teasing, the way your knees stay touching now, she leans back a little, eyes scanning your face, and then quiet again, soft again, “I like being near you.”

You feel it land low, deep, honest. “I like you near me,” you say back.

"When can I see you again?"

You bang your knee to hers, "What? Is this not good enough for you?"

"I've come to love cliches"

You knock your knee against hers again, grinning, she pretends to wince, overly dramatic. “You’ve come to love clichés?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Alexia shrugs soft, honest but whatever she’s about to say never lands, because the door bangs open, sharp and jarring.

You both look over as Montse strides in, her words clipped, brisk Spanish cutting through the calm like a blade. Alexia tenses beside you, the moment folds up, you shift back slightly as Montse rattles off something you don’t understand, her eyes never even flicking in your direction.

You’re invisible, but not to Alexia, she’s already pushing to her feet, hoodie sleeves tugged down, chin lifting slightly.

“I have to go,” she says quietly, regret threading through every syllable.

You nod, already feeling the weight of the shift, the loss of her warmth beside you. She reaches a hand out, you raise yours half reflex, half habit and slap it gently in return, but she doesn’t let go.

Her fingers close around yours. A pause. “They’ve sorted us a hotel,” she says, softer now. “We’re going.”

You glance up at her, still seated, suddenly not ready. “See you soon then,” you say hopeful, too much like a question.

She stands over you, gaze fixed on yours, something unreadable moving in her expression.

And then a hand comes on the arm of the sofa beside you, the hand on your hand leaves and finds your chin slow, certain and she tilts your face gently up to hers.

You don’t have time to speak, don’t have time to think, because she kisses you.

Not rushed. Not apologetic. Just sweet. Soft.

Like a promise, like she’s making up for the airport, like she finally let go of whatever was holding her back.

Her lips move slowly against yours, careful, almost reverent her thumb brushing lightly against your jaw and when she pulls back, it’s not far. Just enough to look at you, really look,

“I didn’t want to leave it again,” she murmurs, "I should of done that at the airport"

You just nod, barely. "You should have" you whisper because your heart’s in your throat and her touch is still warm on your skin and she finally, finally did what you'd been thinking about since you came ever so close at the airport,

She finds your hand again and gives it one last squeeze and then she’s gone.

But her kiss stays with you. Like the most perfect cliché. You just had to find Gee and Beth, you counted to ten in the hopes Alexia would not be in the hall way when you left the room.

But of course she was. As you came out the door there she was, with her team Montse speaking yet again, "Sorry" you mutter walking by through the lined corridor of Spanish players.

Your eye connect with Alexia's ever so briefly as you brush by her finger runs over your wrist intentionally, a silent conversation, you bump your hand into her hip in return not missing a step on your way to find just someone to tell. You had to tell someone.

And then you’re gone. Still walking. Still moving. Still trying not to explode.

Your skin’s buzzing, your heart’s somewhere in your throat, and you don’t care where you’re going exactly just that you find someone.

Someone to tell. Beth. Georgia, it doesn’t matter who’s first. You take the stairs two at a time, mind racing, face burning, mouth stretching into a smile you can’t suppress.

You find them in the corridor of the rooms Beth half-asleep on a beanbag, Georgia picking at crisps as she sat her back against the wall. Georgia out of the team spot you first, she narrows her eyes instantly.

“You’ve got that face.”

Beth sits up straighter. “What face?”

Georgia grins. “The something’s happened face.”

You just stand there, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to not grin like an idiot, at this point you don't care the whole team is here.

“She kissed me,” you say.

Georgia’s eyes go wide

“Who—” Beth starts.

“Who do you fucking think!,” Georgia cuts in.

"What?" Millie was paying attention, "What did you just say?"

You collapse into the beanbag with Beth, head spinning, hands covering your face.

“Okay, tell us everything,” Beth demands, already grabbing your wrist.

“Was it good?” Georgia asks at the exact same time, already smirking.

You laugh into your hands. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “She kissed me,” you say again, softer this time. Like repeating it will help you believe it.

The room stills. Like someone hit mute. Beth’s eyes are huge, but her mouth is already splitting into a grin that looks ready to explode.

Georgia’s the only one moving slowly folding her arms, smug as anything, nodding like she’s been proven so right, but the rest pure stunned silence.

Millie’s frowning like you just told her two plus two equals fish.

Tooney finally says it. “Wait. Who kissed you?”

A little sheepish, heart still in your throat, you say, "Alexia"

Lucy nearly chokes on her protein shake.

Keira drops her phone in her lap. “Alexia Putellas?”

You glance at Georgia, who raises an eyebrow and mutters, “Told you this lot weren’t paying attention.”

“No, sorry.” Alex leans forward, hand in the air like she’s at school. “When did that become a thing?”

Beth’s already bouncing next to you, grabbing your arm. “Are you kidding me? This is so exciting!”

“But how—” Ella cuts in. “Like when? Where? How do you even know her like that?!”

You laugh helplessly, because yeah, you get it, to them, this came out of nowhere.

Georgia leans back, arms behind her head, she says smugly. “They were making eyes at the champions League games. And when we played Spain last month. You were all too busy watching the ball.” Beth cleared her throat, "Except Beth, she saw it"

"So you went from making eyes to kissing?" Millie asked

“Erm, no. She uh she came to Germany. She visited me, stayed with me, we hung out for a few days” you say finally, voice soft. “Then I visited her in Barcelona, stayed with her.”

You glance around the corridor at the sea of shocked faces, half in awe, half still short-circuiting.

“She kissed me before she left just now,” you add, quieter again. ���It wasn’t dramatic. Just… real. Said she should of done it at the airport yesterday”

And that’s when the chaos starts, "Thats why you were in Barcelona?" Leah exclaimed, "You were seeing Alexia"

"So are you like? Dating?"

You shrug, "I don't know. It's-"

Georgia smiled, "It's giving clueless shy teenager"

"Fuck you Gee" You laugh as she did.

⚽️

It’s only a friendly, that’s what they keep saying.

Low stakes. Rotations. Minutes in legs, but you feel different, there’s something crawling under your skin not nerves exactly, but anticipation.

You step out into the tunnel, boots scuffing lightly against concrete, the murmur of the crowd leaking in from the stands. You roll your shoulders, breathe through it.

Beth jogs up beside you, bumping your elbow. “You good?” You nod, too fast. She squints at you. “You sure?”

Before you can answer, Georgia jogs past, turning back over her shoulder. “You heard? Spain are here nothing else to do so came the came”

You blink. “What?”

Gee's already pointing subtle, just a tilt of the chin toward the lower stand across from the benches. You follow her gaze and there they are.

A block of familiar red hoodies Spain’s internationals still stuck in England. Still!

And right in the middle Alexia. Hair loose around her shoulders, sunglasses perched in her hair, coat undone like she didn’t even think about looking cool and yet still does. She’s watching warm-ups casually, like it’s nothing, but you feel it.

You shake your head, fighting the smile already creeping up your face as you pick up a jog to go join the warm ups in the lovely early afternoon sun.

It dawned on you, she's never watched you play like this, you've watched her, you've played against her, but she's never done this. Sitting in the stands to watch you play. No pressure. None at all.

You knew where they were all sat and the position you were in today, you would be playing right up and down in front of them all the first half.

You finish the final stretch of warm-ups, but peel off before heading inside as you spot them. Your little brothers.

Tiny hands waving over the hoardings, feet bouncing, eyes glowing. Your dad’s standing beside them, and beside him his wife, and her daughter twelve, polite, slightly shy, but smiling when she sees you heading over. You give her a little wave, as you approached.

You slow your jog as you get to the barrier, "DAD!" you shout, he can't hear you. Of course. "DAD!" You motion to Freya to get your dad which she does and you point at the boys and motion for them. You lean on the advertising board as they excitedly rush down the steps past the Spanish team.

“Look who’s here,” you grin, ruffling there hair and kissing there heads.

The six-year-old is practically vibrating. “We saw you on the big screen already!”

You laugh, reaching to squeeze his chin. “You excited?”

The four-year-old thrusts out a drawing, a sign he made, crumpled at the edges, a stick figure version of you in an England kit with arms outstretched like a plane.

“I made this!” he yells.

You press a hand to your heart mock surprise on your face, "I love it, make sure you hold it really high so I can see it"

They’re a little overwhelmed with the amount of people and noise already, but full of joy this is their moment, seeing you out there, and you drink it in like water.

You smile, "I have to go but one question, if I score what celebration should I do?"

They lose it.

“Do the sui!” “No, do a heart!” “Do the cartwheel!” “Backflip!”

You’re laughing, fully gone, hands fixing your hair as you shake your head.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “If I score… I'll pick one.”

They both agree loud and excited and you squeeze their hands before you go, you went to go but spot Freya coming down, you give her a quick side hug check she's ok before sending the boys off with her and sprint across the pitch and down the tunnel now no one else was out here.

But as you turned, brushing your palms on your shorts, you feel it. Eyes. You didn't have to turn to know it was Alexia watching you.

Seated amongst the rest of her team, her arms folded, eyes fixed on you but not in the way she would watch you on a pitch.

It was softer than that, warmer.

⚽️

It’s been one of those starts, they’ve clearly done their homework Portugal’s midfield and defence collapsing on you every time you get the ball, and the ref was letting way too much go.

First it was a late hip-check. Then a clipped heel. Now it’s every possession hands on your back, arms across your chest, studs snapping too close to your shins. You keep shaking them off, keep getting up, until you don’t.

The ball’s played into your feet just outside Englands half, you open your body, try to spin and the moment your touch shifts into space, a challenge comes straight through you. Legs gone. Feet out from under you.

You don’t fall, you hit the ground shoulder first and hard. With a sickening thud, the kind of impact that knocks the breath out of your lungs before you can process the pain.

The whistle doesn’t come, of course it doesn’t. You stay down, not in a dramatic way, not milking it, but because you have to. Just still., trying to breathe, trying to see straight, access if it hurts just because it does or if you were injured,

You hear the crowd screaming at the ref that sharp collective roar, sounds of whistles being made with mouths. Alessia the only one up the pitch shouts your name, but you don’t respond right away.

Your shoulder pulses. Your elbow’s scraped raw. Your ribs feel like they got rung like a bell.

And above all of it you feel her, you don’t look toward the stands, you don’t need to. You know Alexia’s watching not as a player, not even as someone who knows the game but as her. The one who held your chin last night, the one who kissed you like it meant something, the one who sees you, now, folded on the pitch and not bouncing back since it happened right in front of the Spanish team.

You push yourself up slowly, testing weight on your arm, breathe coming through your nose. You hear the bench yelling for the fourth official. You hear Alessia calling across the pitch again, the bench wanting her to find out if you were ok as the ref was still not taking you on stopping the game.

But through all of it, there’s only one person you want to look for you glance toward the crowd, and there she is sunglasses gone, hands clenched in her lap, eyes locked only on you.

You’re up. Barely, but you’re already walking it off, because she’s watching and so is your family. And that’s enough to keep you upright even if you’re hurting.

Down the opposite end of the pitch, stretching the pitch, two passes and they’re in the box.

Before you can even catch your breath, the ball’s in the net.

0-1.

The stadium groans, the bench is shouting. Your teammates throw up their arms in frustration.

You just stop, right there on the pitch, you throw your head back, chest heaving, throat closing tight with exhaustion and heat and pure frustration.

Then you drop, not like before this time, you choose to. You lower yourself back to the turf flat on your back, arms above your head, lungs dragging at air like it’s suddenly gone thin.

Your eyes sting, not from tears not exactly, but from everything. The pain. The helplessness. The way you can feel your family watching. The way you know Alexia is too.

You press the heel of your hand to your chest, try to breathe through it.

It doesn’t work, you squeeze your eyes shut, and suddenly, a shadow cuts across you.

Beth.

She’s already crouching beside you, a hand on your side voice low and tight. “You alright?”

You can’t answer you just shake your head once. Tiny. Honest.

Georgia’s there too now, someone’s signalling to the bench as your team all descend on you making the watching crowd now even more worried it wasn't you to stay down, let alone go back down.

The ref’s finally calling for the physio, but you don’t move. You just stay down, chest rising too fast, eyes fixed on the blue sky overhead.

And all you can think for just a second is whether she’s still watching, and how stupid you look.

You don’t open your eyes when the physios arrive. You feel the soft tap on your ankle, the calm voice saying your name twice, then a third time.

Beth’s still crouched beside you, one hand braced on your shin, her voice close to your ear. “Breathe. Okay? I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

One of the medics asks, “Where’s the pain?” and you gesture toward your ribs with a shaky hand, still not speaking.

The other’s pressing gently against your shoulder now. "Range of motion?"

You nod once. But you’re still flat on your back. Still trying to find a breath that feels full.

Millie's voice comes from somewhere just above. "She’s been getting kicked every five minutes. Are we seriously gonna wait until she can’t stand to protect her?"

You push yourself up, quicker than before, pain flares down your side like it’s laughing at you, but you grit your teeth, get an elbow under yourself, then the other, until you’re sitting. Barely.

Beth’s hand steadies your back. "You’re not weak for coming off," she murmurs.

“I’m not,” you rasp. “Coming off.”

She gives you a long look, not impressed, not unkind.

Then quiet, but pointed, “Saw her stand up when you hit the deck.”

Your jaw tightens.

You get to your feet stagger, then plant them, he physios hover, the ref checks in. You’re not okay, but you’re not done and as the whistle goes to restart, and your waiting on the touchline to be let back on, your hand drifts briefly toward your ribs, grounding yourself.

The pain’s not gone, but your feet are under you and you know she’s still watching and it was time to put on a show.

You’re still feeling every step.

Each sprint tugs at your ribs. Every pivot sends a throb through your shoulder. You’ve gone quiet on the ball not because you’re hiding, but because you’re calculating. Watching, biding your time, you watch as slowly your markers distance, giving you more and more space as you slow to a walk back and to follow the direction of the play but not involved. You know what you’ve got left for this half and you’re saving it.

The board goes up: +3.

There’s a murmur through the crowd not a roar, not yet but people are shifting, expecting whistles, slow jogs, the halftime lull, but you’re still moving.

The ball breaks down the left Beth, of course, fighting through two defenders like she’s got something to prove. She cuts it inside, sharp and low, and Georgia takes the touch on the edge of the box.

You’re trailing, late, not marked, open.

Georgia sees you flicks it your way the pass is bouncing, awkward not clean, but you don’t need clean. A roar of shoot erupted from the England fans and you just hit it.

Left foot, none preferred foot, first time, outside of the boot, top of the laces. It rises fast skipping the turf, arcing, curling away from the keeper. You know it’s in before it even finishes rising.

Top corner. The stadium erupts.

You don’t stop to think you’re already turning, already running toward the touchline with your arms out but halfway there, your ribs bite, and you stop short.

Instead, you slow, you bring your hands up and you make the heart exactly the way you promised.

You glance up as your swamped by your team not toward the bench, not toward the camera, but the stands. And there she is, Alexia, not standing, s smile over her mouth. Not shocked, not disbelieving.

Just… in awe.

Mapi beside her nudges her hard. Patri shouts something you don’t understand. Alexia's just watching you.

You lower your hands, still breathless, still burning, but smiling.

⚽️

Second half starts and you press.

Every time they try to close you down in twos, you draw one in and spin away. Every time they get physical, you use it a shoulder drop, a feint, a switch of pace.

In the 48th minute, the gap opens.

Beth sends it to you from wide overhit slightly, bouncing but you chase it anyway. The Portuguese centre-back goes shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

Big mistake.

You let the contact roll you forward, slip low around her blind side ball sticking to your foot like it's tied there.

Two touches then you bury it.

Low. Near post. Keeper stuck.

2-1.

You don't celebrate wildly you just turn back toward the halfway line, all calm smirk and low nods, like this is exactly what was always going to happen. By the time the 55th minute hits, they’ve stopped pressing you.

And that’s when you go again this time it starts with Keira — ball recovered deep, pinged straight to your feet just outside the box. You drop a shoulder, glide right, and they don’t follow, they’re waiting. Sitting, so you take the space.

One touch. Two. Left foot. Curled. Over the keeper, bottom corner.

3-1.

You don’t even lift your arms, you just turn, eyes sweeping the crowd until you find Alexia as you await the onslaught of your teammates

Standing this time, one hand fisted low at her side like she’s trying not to cheer too obviously, but her eyes shine.

65th Minute

The cross is perfect fast and low skimming past the first defender, bending into that no-man’s-land between keeper and back line.

You see it early. You know the run. You’ve made this run a hundred times. It’s instinct now. You break the line. You dive.

Head low, shoulders tucked, eyes on the ball. You dip and drive forward and connect. It’s beautiful. A flick, just enough, ball sails past the keeper’s hand.

The ball is in, you know it, you felt it glance off your forehead, the weight of it pulling away toward goal.

But you never see it go in, because the defender’s boot slams into the side of your face mid-dive hard, blind, no malice, just collision and your body crumples and twists with the force mid-air.

You hit the ground with a dead weight thud, sparking fears you were out cold instantly with the way you fell, face first, no reaction to try and cushion your fall with your arms, they were just as limp as the rest of your body appeared to be.

The stadium reacts before you can, he gasp the collective inhale rolls like thunder, before that silence you never wanted to hear in a football stadium,

Boots thudding as your teammates swarm, but you don’t move, because your body won’t let you.

The blow rings through your skull, white-hot and suffocating. The sound disappears dulled like you’re underwater, your vision pulses with light and black edges, your jaw slack. Your lips parting. And the blood warm and constant begins to stream from your cheekbone, nose, lip, you taste it.

You're aware of nothing other than pain and the dull weight of your head on the grass.

You hear your name again and again but it feels far away, even Beth’s voice, usually sharp as a knife, barely lands.

The medics reach you in seconds, one is already holding your head, the other’s checking your breathing, murmuring something you can’t follow.

You catch phrases in broken pieces.

"Concussion protocol." "Stay with me." "Bleeding from the orbital..." "Possible fracture."

Your breath shudders, and a timid cry escapes your lips as the medics are rolling you carefully now, stabilising your neck, pressing something against the blood to slow it.

Someone taps your shoulder, tells you to squeeze a hand if you can hear them. You do. Barely.

Your eyes flutter half-open, lashes wet with blood and sweat, and then your eyes move, they find Alexia frozen risen in her seat still as stone.

She’s standing feet braced like she doesn’t trust her own knees eyes locked on you. She’s not shouting, not calling your name, she’s just watching, and she doesn’t move.

You come back to yourself in pieces.

First, the cold. Not the air the grass. Damp and sharp beneath your body. The way it clings to your skin. It smells like dirt and turf pellets and blood.

Then, pain, spiking, dull, all at once.

Your cheekbone throbs with a heartbeat of its own, your jaw’s locked, your eyes won’t open all the way, your nose doesn't even feel like it's still apart of you and your ribs still sore from earlier now ache with the effort of every breath.

You flinch when gloved fingers press gently to your face.

“She’s responding,” someone says. “Pupils reactive.”

Your lips part, dry and cracked, the taste of iron spreads again across your tongue.

You feel pressure on your shin steady, grounding and then a voice, closer, lower, “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here.” Georgia.

You can’t see her, but you feel her crouched beside your legs, probably giving the medic hell in her own way. You manage to shift one hand. It twitches against the turf. That’s all.

Still, the physio murmurs, “That’s good. You’re doing good.”

Another figure joins the edge of your blurred vision Leah, maybe, pacing just out of reach. Someone calls for water. There’s shouting you can’t track, the ref speaking to the fourth official.

And still beneath it all that awareness, she’s watching, you don’t see Alexia, but it's like her presence is stitched to your skin. Like the back of your neck can feel the weight of her stillness.

The physio cuts through again. “Hey, can you hear me?” You nod. Barely. “Can you talk?” You try. Nothing comes, just a low breath, half-choked on the edge of your tongue.

Georgia grabs your hand. “Don’t force it. You're doing great, yeah?”

The ref leans in, there’s talk of subs, of time, but you’re not leaving. Not yet. You blink once slow, heavy and drag your gaze toward the sideline.

Alexia is still on her feet, still rooted to the same spot, hands clenched now, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists.

The voices begin to settle, the urgency in them thins not gone, but changed. Less panic, more preparation. The medic closest to you leans in, voice low and careful. “We’re going to help you sit up, okay?”

You nod. Or something like it.

They count one, two, three and gently roll you, shoulder first, until you’re propped awkwardly onto your side. Your head swims a wave of heat washes over your skin.

Georgia is right there, crouched beside you still, her hand braced against your back.

“You’re alright,” she whispers, her voice thick now. “You scared the hell out of us.”

You let out a breath through your nose all you can manage, another medic moves in with gauze. They press it carefully against your face the bleeding’s slower now, but your face is tacky, red, sticky with sweat and blood.

You can’t quite open your left eye but you’re awake, then they start to lift you one under each arm, guiding your weight, giving you the chance to push with your own legs, it’s slow. Your knees don’t feel like yours at first. The pitch tilts. The lights feel too close.

But you rise, bit by bit, until you’re upright.

The stadium comes into focus blurred edges, crowd murmuring again, then clapping. Louder now, you blink into it, dazed.

You glance sideways Georgia's still at your side, she’s not letting go. You mouth, “Water?” She’s already handing it over, when you’ve swallowed, when your balance returns in shaky breaths you look up.

Alexia is speaking quietly to one of Spain’s staff, eyes only on you and when you look at her, she stops talking, her jaw sets.

Her gaze flickers over your body your limp, your hand pressed to your ribs, the blood still staining, well everywhere.

And for the first time, she looks angry not at you at the game, at the way it takes and takes, no matter how much you give it.

You start the walk.

Flanked by a physio on your left and Georgia still glued to your right, you take that first step off the touchline and immediately, the stadium rises.

It’s not thunderous, not rowdy, it’s steady, respectful, the sound of people knowing what you gave.

You can barely lift your chin your ribs ache with every inhale, your vision still fuzzy on one side, your jaw tight against the throb in your cheek, but you’re walking.

And as you pass the halfway line, they start coming.

Beth is the first hand to your shoulder, a squeeze that says proud. No words needed.

Leah next, touching your back gently, then stepping aside so you don’t have to slow down.

Ella jogs over from midfield, half-breathless, half-emotional. “Don't scare us like that” she whispers as you pass, “Fucking hell.”

You smile with only half your mouth.

Keira’s further down, eyes flicking over your face, her brow tight with worry. “You alright?”

You nod once. Just once.

Lucy, last before the tunnel claps your back, firm. “Reckon that’ll be on highlight reels for years.”

Each touch steadies you, each word softens the ache just a little, but still the tunnel looms. Cool, shadowed. Removed.

Georgia stays close, shoulder brushing yours, “You did it,” she says quietly, only for you. “Even if the rest of us barely kept up.”

You glance toward the crowd again instinctively, your family, your brothers, your dad and just before you vanish beneath the overhang, you glance to Alexia.

Still watching, still unreadable, but you step into the tunnel, the roar fades behind you.

[joaeriz]

Hi I loved your pazzi fic so much omg!!! Since you said you're taking requests... This is like the opposite of the beautiful fluff you just gave us, but could I request something where P and A get into an argument and then one of them storms out but then gets into an accident? (They're ultimately ok but need the hurt/comfort angst!!) Ty!!!

📎 you are my home

🏷 pairing: azzi fudd x paige bueckers (uconn!azzi / wnba!paige)

📝 summary: after a heated argument and a near-tragic accident, paige and azzi find themselves fighting not just for healing, but for each other. as their love rebuilds, so do they, piece by piece.

⚠️ warnings: heavy angst, hurt/comfort, physical injury mentions, emotional breakdowns, slow healing

📎 word count: ~7.5K

🧸 author’s note: hey anon, thank you so much for this request! writing this fic was such an emotional experience, and I loved diving into their healing process. it’s full of angst, love, and the kind of bond that comes from going through tough times together. please let me know what you think — i’d love to hear from everyone! 💌 (p.s this is my longest fic yet so buckle up)

The night had arrived. Paige had everything planned out perfectly, from the restaurant reservations to the quiet walk under the stars afterwards. She was excited — excited for the night they would spend together, to show Azzi just how much she cared for her.

She had been thinking about this night for days, knowing how much Azzi deserved to feel special. The UConn basketball team had just wrapped up a successful season, and with the championship win behind them, Paige figured it was time for them to enjoy some peace and quiet, without the pressure of games or practices. This night was all about them.

She checked the time, glancing nervously at the door. She had dressed up in one of her favorite dresses, hoping Azzi would be impressed. The evening was perfect — cool enough for a light jacket, with just enough breeze to make the air feel refreshing.

But as the minutes ticked by, Paige's excitement began to give way to concern.

Where is she?

Azzi had promised she’d be there, but the minutes continued to stretch on. Paige checked her phone again, seeing no messages from Azzi. She couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment.

Azzi wasn't the type to forget things, especially when it came to Paige. They had always been good at communicating. But this... this felt different.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Still no word.

She tried calling Azzi, but the call went straight to voicemail. Her stomach twisted in a knot.

What’s going on?

Another five minutes. Another unanswered call. Paige’s heart began to race, and frustration slowly crept in.

It had been an hour since Paige first started waiting. She had tried texting, calling, but there was still no sign of Azzi. The romantic mood she had tried so hard to create had vanished, replaced by a sinking feeling in her chest. Her frustration only deepened as she checked her phone again — no updates.

She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. If Azzi didn’t even care enough to show up tonight... was something else wrong?

Her thoughts spiraled as she paced the living room. Was this about the game? Had something happened at practice that she didn’t know about? Had they been spending too much time apart lately?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the front door opening.

Azzi walked in, looking distracted, a far cry from the bright, energetic woman Paige knew and loved.

Azzi’s eyes flicked over to Paige, her expression unreadable. She froze in the doorway. "Paige, I—"

"You forgot." Paige’s voice was sharper than she intended, but the sting of abandonment hit hard. "I planned this entire night for us. I’ve been waiting here, worried, wondering where the hell you’ve been. And you just... forgot?"

Azzi’s shoulders sagged. "Paige, I didn’t mean to—"

"You didn’t mean to? You forgot!" Paige’s voice cracked. "I’ve been here, all dressed up, ready for our night, and you—" She stopped herself before her voice could rise too much.

Azzi bit her lip, clearly torn. "I’m sorry, I got caught up at the gym. I lost track of time. I didn’t—"

"How could you lose track of time?!" Paige snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "You said you’d be here. You knew how much this meant to me. I’ve been waiting for hours. I feel stupid for believing you’d actually show up for something that was just for us."

Azzi opened her mouth, then closed it again. She stepped forward, but Paige took a step back. She wasn’t ready to hear whatever Azzi was going to say.

Paige’s breathing came in short bursts, her chest tightening. "I thought you cared. I thought we were on the same page. But maybe I’m just... not as important as I thought."

Azzi’s expression faltered, but she didn’t say anything right away. She just stared at Paige, eyes wide with guilt.

Azzi’s silence weighed heavily in the room. Paige’s heart felt like it was splitting in two. She had poured so much of herself into this relationship, always trying to be there, always trying to make it work. And now... now she was standing there, broken-hearted and frustrated, with Azzi just staring at her.

“You know what?” Paige spat, her voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe we should just stop pretending everything’s fine. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of waiting for you to remember me.”

Azzi’s face paled, and her eyes widened, the guilt becoming visible in the way she clenched her fists at her sides. “Paige, please—”

“No!” Paige interrupted. “Don’t you dare apologize! I’m done.”

Without another word, Paige turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She needed to be anywhere but there, away from the raw emotion that was surging through her.

Azzi’s call of her name echoed in the hallway, but Paige didn’t stop. She couldn’t face her right now.

Azzi stood in the middle of the living room, feeling like the ground had just been ripped from beneath her. The door had slammed shut with a finality that made her stomach drop. She hated how badly she had messed things up, and now she had to fix it. But first... she needed to get to Paige.

Azzi grabbed her keys and dashed out the door. Paige was angry, and she had every right to be, but Azzi couldn’t let her go. She couldn’t stand to see her upset like that. She had to make it right.

But as she hurried to the car, her mind was clouded with the fight, with everything she had said and the guilt she felt for messing up. It all hit her at once, and she wasn’t focused on the road.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel, the wind from the open window rushing through her hair, but her thoughts were scattered. She could hear Paige’s voice, her hurt, her anger echoing in her ears. And then, in a blink, the car swerved.

Azzi didn’t even have time to react.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through her body as the car careened off the road and slammed into a tree. The impact left her breathless, her head spinning.

For a few moments, Azzi just sat there, dazed, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

She reached up to touch her forehead and felt blood. Panic set in, but before she could do anything else, her phone rang. It was Paige.

Shit, Azzi thought. She had to answer, but the dizziness was overwhelming. She fought through the haze and managed to press the answer button.

“Paige?” Azzi’s voice was weak, barely a whisper.

“Azzi? Azzi, where are you? What’s going on?!” Paige’s frantic voice cut through the phone.

“I... I...” Azzi struggled to form words. “I’m... I’m sorry, Paige... I...”

“Where are you?! What happened?!” Paige’s voice cracked.

“I... I crashed...” Azzi gasped for air.

Paige’s heart stopped when Azzi’s voice went quiet. “Azzi? Azzi!” Paige shouted into the phone, her voice thick with panic.

There was a moment of silence before Azzi’s weak voice came back, barely audible. “I’m… I’m in an accident, Paige. I… I crashed the car.”

"Where are you?!" Paige’s voice cracked as she tried to hold back the tears, her hands shaking. “Azzi, please… please tell me where you are."

“I’m…” Azzi’s voice faltered, and Paige could hear her breathing erratically. “I’m on… on Route 9... by the old park... I… I don’t know…”

“Stay on the phone,” Paige said, her panic escalating. “I’m coming. I’m coming now. Don’t move, Azzi, just stay with me, okay?”

Paige ran to her car, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. She threw herself into the driver’s seat and started the engine, her hands trembling as she gripped the wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and frustration, but all she could focus on was getting to Azzi.

The whole drive felt like an eternity. The road blurred as she sped through the streets, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t stop thinking about how she had left Azzi, how their argument had pushed her away. Was this her fault? If she had stayed calm, if she hadn’t been so angry, would Azzi have stayed home?

A rush of guilt flooded her chest, making it hard to breathe.

When she reached the location Azzi had mentioned, Paige’s heart dropped into her stomach. The car was wrecked, smashed against a tree on the side of the road, steam rising from the hood.

Azzi’s body was slumped against the door, blood on her forehead, but she was still alive.

“Azzi!” Paige screamed as she rushed out of the car, running toward her.

Azzi’s head lifted slightly as Paige knelt beside her, her eyes unfocused. “Paige…” Azzi murmured weakly.

“Don’t speak,” Paige urged, trying to keep her voice steady despite the overwhelming fear. “Stay still, okay? Just stay still. I’m here.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered, and she winced as she tried to move. “I’m sorry, Paige... I didn’t mean to... I...”

Paige grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t apologize.”

Azzi’s breaths were shallow as she tried to sit up, but the pain was too much. She collapsed back against the car with a gasp. “I was so stupid…”

“No,” Paige said fiercely. “You’re not stupid. You’re hurt. We’ll get you help. Just stay with me, okay?”

Azzi’s hand trembled in Paige’s as she closed her eyes, trying to fight the pain. "I didn't... I didn't mean to forget..."

Paige brushed a stray strand of hair from Azzi’s forehead, her own eyes filled with tears. “We’ll talk later. Just stay with me.”

The ambulance arrived what felt like an eternity later, the wail of the sirens echoing in Paige’s ears. She refused to leave Azzi’s side, her heart in her throat as the paramedics carefully pulled Azzi from the wreckage and onto a stretcher.

Paige didn’t want to let go. She didn’t care about the paramedics rushing around, didn’t care about the questions they asked her. All that mattered was Azzi — her girlfriend, her best friend — lying there, injured and unconscious.

The ride to the hospital was agonizingly silent. Paige kept holding Azzi’s hand the entire time, her own grip tightening whenever the car hit a bump. Every second felt like a year. She was trapped in a world of guilt and worry, her mind replaying the argument over and over.

When they finally reached the hospital, the paramedics quickly wheeled Azzi into the ER, and Paige was left standing in the hallway, helpless. She felt as though she was being torn in two — part of her wanted to scream, to do something, to make this right. But all she could do was wait.

Minutes felt like hours. Every time the door opened, Paige’s heart skipped a beat, her stomach twisting in fear.

The doctor finally emerged, looking tired but calm. “She’s stable,” the doctor said, offering Paige a small, reassuring smile. “We’ve cleaned her up. She’s going to be okay.”

Paige exhaled a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “She… she’s okay?” Her voice trembled.

The doctor nodded. “She has a concussion, some bruising, and cuts on her face, but there’s no major damage. She’ll need to rest, but we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Relief flooded through Paige’s body. She felt like she could finally breathe again.

“She’s awake, if you want to see her,” the doctor added.

Without hesitation, Paige rushed to Azzi’s room, her heart hammering in her chest.

The next few days were a blur of hospital visits, paperwork, and endless concern. Azzi’s body was healing, but the emotional toll of the accident was far from over. Paige never left her side, even when the doctors insisted that Azzi would be fine. She knew Azzi needed her more than ever, even if Azzi couldn’t admit it.

The first night Azzi was home, Paige set up a cozy spot on the couch for them to lie together. She gently helped Azzi settle in, her eyes never leaving her girlfriend’s face. It still haunted her, the image of Azzi’s battered form after the crash. Every bruise, every scrape felt like a reminder of how close she had come to losing her.

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s chest, her hand clutching Paige’s shirt as she drifted in and out of sleep.

“Azzi…” Paige whispered into her hair, her fingers gently running through the soft strands. “I love you so much.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away, but Paige could feel her squeeze her hand, the small action a quiet reminder that they were still in this together.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi murmured, her voice rough with exhaustion. “I’m so sorry for everything... for making you feel like you weren’t important. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Paige replied softly, her heart aching for the pain Azzi was carrying. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get in the way. I was scared. I thought... I thought maybe we were losing each other.”

Azzi shifted, her eyes fluttering open to meet Paige’s gaze. “We’re not losing each other,” she said firmly, her voice stronger now. “I promise. No matter what, we’re in this together. We always have been.”

Paige smiled through the tears that threatened to spill over. “Together,” she repeated, her voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, they simply lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. Azzi’s head rested against Paige’s chest, her breathing steady.

It wasn’t just about the physical healing. It was about the emotional wounds — the hurt they had caused each other and the trust they had to rebuild. But they would rebuild it together, just like they always did. Slowly, and with love.

The days that followed were filled with healing — both physical and emotional. Azzi’s bruises faded, and her cuts healed, but it was the emotional scars that took longer to mend. Paige stayed by her side, not rushing anything, just allowing them to find their way back to each other.

On the fifth day after the accident, Azzi finally felt well enough to leave the house. Paige had planned a quiet day for them. No arguments, no expectations — just the two of them, taking things slow.

They walked through the park hand in hand, the sun shining down, casting warm light over their path.

Azzi smiled, her face soft and relaxed for the first time in days. “You know, I never thought I’d be the one to mess up like this.”

Paige chuckled softly. “We all make mistakes, Azzi. The important thing is that we learn from them and we grow. Together.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “I’m glad we’re growing together.”

“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else,” Paige said, her voice full of warmth. “I love you, Azzi. More than anything.”

Azzi stopped walking and turned to face Paige, her expression serious. “I love you too. And I promise… I’m never going to let something like this come between us again. We’ve been through too much, and I’m not giving up on us.”

Paige felt her heart swell with affection, and without thinking, she pulled Azzi into a tight embrace, pressing her lips to Azzi’s forehead. “You’re my everything, Azzi. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

Azzi leaned into the hug, her eyes closed as she breathed in Paige’s scent, feeling safe and loved in her arms. “I’m sorry, Paige. For everything.”

Paige pulled back just enough to look into Azzi’s eyes. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We’re okay. We’re better than okay.”

And for the first time in a long while, they both believed it.

Azzi was propped up in bed, her head wrapped in bandages, but her eyes were open. She looked up when Paige walked in, her lips parting as she winced in pain.

"Azzi," Paige breathed, her voice softer than she had intended. She rushed to her side, taking Azzi’s hand gently. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered, and a weak smile tugged at her lips. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I forgot about the date, Paige. I was so caught up in everything, I didn’t think about how much it meant to you.”

“I was angry,” Paige admitted, her voice breaking. “And I didn’t think about how much you needed me, too. I thought... I thought maybe we were falling apart.”

“We’re not falling apart,” Azzi murmured, her voice weak but full of sincerity. “We’re not.”

Paige brushed a tear from her cheek, her heart swelling with love for this woman who had always been so strong. “I love you, Azzi. I don’t care what happens. I just need you here with me.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

It was a few weeks later when things finally started to feel like they were returning to normal. Azzi was back at practice, and although she was still cautious, her energy was starting to bounce back. There were still moments when the weight of the accident would fall on her — those rare, quiet moments when she would look off into the distance and her mind would clearly wander. But Paige was always there, always ready to remind her that they would get through it together.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice, Azzi returned home to find Paige sitting on the couch, a book in her lap, but her attention focused entirely on the door. Her eyes lit up when Azzi walked in.

“Hey,” Azzi said, walking over to her, still a bit worn out from the intense workout. “You waiting for me?”

Paige smiled, setting the book down. “Always.”

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m really sorry, you know,” she murmured, her voice soft. “For all of it. The fight, the accident... I didn’t realize how much I was pushing you away. How much I was taking you for granted.”

Paige shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips. “We both messed up, Azzi. But what matters is that we’re here now. We’re not giving up on each other.”

Azzi stepped forward, taking Paige’s hand in her own. “I’ll never take you for granted again. I promise.”

“I know you won’t,” Paige replied gently, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “We’ve been through worse, and we’ve made it out stronger. This isn’t any different. We’re a team, always.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she leaned down to kiss Paige softly on the lips, her lips lingering for a moment longer than usual, as if reassuring each other that they were still there. Still in this together.

As the weeks passed, their relationship continued to grow, strengthened by the challenges they’d faced. There were still tough moments, of course. No relationship was without its bumps in the road. But now, Paige and Azzi were no longer running away from their problems or shutting each other out. Instead, they were facing them head-on, learning, growing, and most importantly, loving each other more deeply with each passing day.

One night, after another long practice, Azzi came home to find Paige setting up their favorite spot on the couch. The familiar scent of their homemade dinner filled the air.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a grin forming on her face. “What’s all this?”

Paige turned to her with a playful smile. “I figured we could use another date night. No games. No distractions. Just us.”

Azzi’s heart melted. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Paige replied with a wink.

They ate, laughed, and talked about everything and nothing. It was a quiet, perfect evening — the kind that they had been craving ever since everything had fallen apart.

After dinner, they settled on the couch again, with Azzi’s head on Paige’s lap, both of them wrapped in a cozy blanket. The TV was on, but neither of them was really paying attention.

Azzi looked up at Paige, her voice quiet and serious. “You’re the best thing in my life, Paige. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Paige smiled softly, running her fingers through Azzi’s hair. “And you’re mine. Always.”

For the first time in a long while, everything felt right. They were healed, not just physically but emotionally, and stronger than ever. They had faced their demons, fought through the tough times, and come out on the other side more united than before.

Together, they could conquer anything.

A few months later, things were more solid than ever. Paige and Azzi were walking down the street together, hand in hand, with the sun setting behind them. They had both come so far since that painful night, and now they were finally in a place where their love felt invincible.

Paige looked over at Azzi, a soft smile on her lips. “Do you remember that night? When you forgot about the date and everything went crazy?”

Azzi chuckled softly, though it was a quiet laugh, tinged with a touch of remorse. “I’ll never forget it. But I’m glad we got through it.”

“I think it made us stronger,” Paige said thoughtfully, glancing over at Azzi. “We had to face our issues head-on. No more running away.”

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand. “No more running away.”

They continued walking in comfortable silence, their hearts in sync, knowing that whatever came their way in the future, they would face it together — stronger, more united than ever before.

Azzi stopped suddenly and turned to face Paige, her eyes serious. “I love you, Paige. More than anything in this world. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Paige’s heart swelled. “I love you too, Azzi. Forever.”

With that promise lingering in the air between them, they continued walking forward, hand in hand, towards their future — whatever it may bring.

[songbirdseung]

𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬  𝑨  𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲  /  𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲  𝑱𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑮

"𝐒𝐞𝐞?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮." (𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵) 

Another day, another long hour spent in the studio, watching your boyfriend stress over his mixtape.

Jay was always passionate about his work, but sometimes, he got too caught up in it so much so that his shoulders tensed, his brows furrowed, and his temper ran a little shorter than usual. You were used to it by now, but today, the frustration rolling off of him was heavier than ever.

Sitting behind him on the couch, you watched the screen full of music files and confusing waveforms, pretending to understand what was happening. Every now and then, the members would stop by to check in on Jay, only to be dismissed with a sharp “I’m fine.”

Sunoo, the last to try his luck, plopped down beside you with a sigh. "He's so rude, how do you deal with him?"

You chuckled. "I think he's just really in the zone."

Sunoo hummed, glancing over at Jay’s stiff shoulders. "Maybe help him blow off some steam," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows before standing up to leave.

You rolled your eyes at his insinuation but couldn't deny that Jay needed a break—desperately.

"Seongie?" you called out softly.

No response.

Sighing, you finally got up and padded over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Only then did he acknowledge you, reaching for your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

"I'm sorry, baby," he mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice was deep and tired, weighed down with exhaustion.

"Jay, it’s okay," you reassured him, rubbing small circles on his back. "But you need to take a break."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can’t. I need to finish this."

You frowned. Stubborn as always.

But as your fingers trailed up to his shoulders, kneading gently at the knots in his muscles, you felt him relax against you. His body melted ever so slightly, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

"That feels… really nice," he murmured, rolling his shoulders into your touch.

Encouraged, you continued, pressing your thumbs into the tight spots. Jay’s grip on your waist tightened instinctively, his breathing growing slower.

"See?" you whispered, smiling. "A little break won’t kill you."

But as you adjusted your position on his lap, shifting just a little to get more comfortable, you felt him tense again for a very different reason.

Jay sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping your hips firmly. "Babe-" His voice came out strained. "Could you, uh, stop moving so much?"

You blinked, confused for a second. Then, realization dawned on you.

You smirked.

"What’s wrong?" you teased, pretending to be innocent.

Jay groaned, leaning his head back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "You know what’s wrong."

"Do I?" you hummed, shifting just a little more.

His grip on your waist tightened. "Y/N-"

You giggled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Relax, babe. I just want you to take a break."

"Yeah?" His eyes opened slightly, dark with something unreadable. "Because it kinda feels like you’re distracting me instead."

You shrugged playfully, twirling a piece of his hair between your fingers. "So? Maybe I want all of your attention for once."

Jay exhaled a laugh, finally looking at you properly. His hands moved to your face, cradling it as his thumb brushed over your cheek.

"You already have it, baby," he murmured, before pulling you in for a lingering kiss, one that made you forget all about the studio, his work, and everything else.

[adoredaqua]

NOTE: am reposting this cause something weird happened before, so uh, second try :) i was originally going to make this sorta angsty (like a forbidden romance), but i couldn't do it. Vi deserves the world, and ugh, i love her sm. she's not a "hear me out" but a "hOLD ME BACK"

synopsis: loser! Vi as your girlfriend

CW: popular cheerleader! reader, feminine reader, FLUFF, college AU (reader is in second year but Vi is in third year), modern setting, not edited, no usage of y/n, Vi being obsessed over you, academic weapon Vi

word count: 1 500+

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

loser! Vi, who is content with her life, has her family and a couple of friends. She didn't need anything else. That is, until she saw you at the library in the corner. You were sitting at her regular spot. Normally, she would be ticked off, but her heart simply started beating faster when you looked up from your textbook and offered her a small smile.

loser! Vi immediately left the library. She had never seen you around. Did a Goddess like you really go to her school? Instead of studying, she spent some time just trying to calm down so she didn't look so flushed for her next class.

loser! Vi hasn't seen you since then. Months go by, and Vi searches for you everywhere. She would go to the library, hoping to see you, but unfortunately, you were never there. She tells herself she should move on, but a part of her knows you're out and not just a figment of her imagination.

loser! Vi, who was forced to go to the last game for the football team. Normally, she wouldn't go, but Loris wanted to watch. She found a seat so she and Loris could be comfortable and not squished with others. It was near the front, middle, having the perfect view of the field and as well as the cheerleaders.

loser! Vi, whose eyes practically bulged out when she saw you in the middle front of the lineup. You're hair was in a slicked ponytail accompanied by a forest green bow. You wore a mini skirt and crop top, adorning the colours of Zaun Academy, green, white, with a hint of black. And, damn, you looked really good. She mentally thanked Loris for inviting her out.

loser! Vi is contemplating whether or not to go to the after-party at the sorority house. Everyone at school is invited, but Vi hesitated. You two didn't know each other, so why would she go? Also, you were probably going to be distracted by many others and would never catch a glimpse of her.

loser! Vi, who was pathetic and went to the party anyway, just to catch a quick glimpse of you. She wandered around the party for a while, searching both floors, but you were nowhere to be found. Not wanting her trip to be completely useless, Vi grabs a drink and heads to the backyard.

loser! Vi spots you sitting by the bonfire, drinking all by yourself. She thought to herself that this could be it. Finishing her drink for a confidence boost, she makes her way towards you.

loser! Vi and you start chatting it up. You're laughing at all her corny jokes and touching her arm while doing so. Vi observes the way you twirl your hair, which is now down and loose. You keep looking at her through your lashes, and all she can think about is kissing your soft, glossy lips. She finds out that you only recently transferred to Zaun due to an error in your application, so you're technically new.

loser! Vi is ecstatic to hear that you're single and like girls. Not that she thought she had a chance with you, but at least she can fantasize about you in her free time.

loser! Vi, who escorts you to your dorm. She apologizes profusely for keeping you out late, but you insist it's okie and she made going to the party worth it. As you both walk to your door, you turn to Vi, asking her out on a date. She was elated and agreed. Vi tells you she'll plan everything out, so all you need to do is look pretty, which won't be much of a challenge.

loser! Vi gets home and starts panicking. Now, she needed to plan the perfect date. To be able to impress you enough that you don't realize how much of a cute nerd she is.

loser! Vi asks for help from everyone she knows. She never thought this day would come, to get asked out by a pretty girl. Leading up to the date, she was so nervous that her family couldn't help but tease her. It was only fair, as it was the only thing Vi could talk about, you. Powder rolls her eyes each time, but is happy to see her sister focus on something other than academics. Vander was proud and even offered advice.

loser! Vi arrives at your place an hour early because she was so excited to see you, but waited in her car until the designated time she told you she would pick you up. In that hour, she fixes herself up. Fussing with her hair and straightening out her white button-up shirt, paired with black dress pants. She starts overthinking if it was basic, she decides to FaceTime Powder for reassurance. When the time finally came, Vi walked up to your dorm with your favourite flowers, the same ones you mentioned at the party. She knocked on your door, and once she saw you, her jaw quite literally dropped on the floor. Vi stutters out a compliment and mentally slaps herself, but you just giggled and thanked her. You told her she looked handsome, and you didn't think Vi could get as red as her hair, but she did.

loser! Vi makes a fool of herself during dinner. She almost drops the glass she was drinking out of. She not only dropped her utensils once but twice. Worse of all, she accidentally replied, "You too!" when the waiter said, "Enjoy your food." Despite all of that, you only found her more and more endearing. Maybe it was just her, but there was something about Vi that you couldn't help but fall for.

loser! Vi and you keep going on dates. Eventually, she asks if she could be your girlfriend. You eagerly said yes, kissing her with all your might. Vi gloriously goes home that day to rub it in her brothers, Claggor and Milo, faces that she got a girlfriend before them.

loser gf! Vi, who somehow got clingier after establishing a label. With each date you went on, she slowly got more handsy (with your consent, of course). It started with simple hand holding, squeezing your hand as a way to get your attention. Then, it was Vi wrapping her arm around your waist, her rough, calloused hand sliding up and down your figure. Every make-out session became more heated, as her desire for you grew stronger. She wouldn’t leave your dorm until she was reassured there would be a mark there to claim you as hers. 

loser gf! Vi wants to be in contact with you every hour of the day. Vi soothes you that she wants to know every detail that happens to you. Doesn’t matter how small, you'd better text or call her about it. 

loser gf! Vi helps you with your classes and homework. She saw how messy unorganized your notes were and rewrote them for you to help you better. Any diagrams that you needed, she drew them for you, and it was always colourful. 

loser gf! Vi wants a kiss as a reward after every study date. Don’t be mistaken, though, despite her insistence on being together, she will focus on her studies. Vi has always been the smartest in the class, but she had to work hard for that. You just became her motivation to do even better. Even reminded her that she needed a break. She always indulged you if you wanted a sweet treat; of course, she always bought it for you. 

loser gf! Vi and you are hanging out in her room. You were just going to watch a movie, and only focus on the movie, is what you told Vi several times. But she doesn’t listen. Not even ten minutes in, her hand is already on your thigh. You would push her away, but you just couldn’t. Next thing, you know you’re on her lap, grinding on her as she kisses your neck.

loser gf! Vi, who doesn’t hear the garage door and footsteps in the house. Before you could warn Vi of the noises outside her room, the door swings open to Powder telling Vi (and you) it was dinner time. You were hoping to have a better first impression on the family, but sadly, that’s not how it goes. That night, you stay for dinner after apologizing profusely to Powder, who says it’s okie but can’t seem to look you in the eye. Seeing you interact with Vi’s family, she can’t help but hope that this would become a regular occurrence. 

Bonus scene:

“Hey, we got- OH MY GOD!” Powder screams, her voice pitching higher than it ever has. 

“What is it? OH-!” Milo rushes towards her sister, alerted. Only to also be met with you on Vi’s lap, pulled apart. Horrified at the scene, Milo slowly turns away, nodding his head. Powder’s face manages to morph into a deeper disgust. She swears she just lost her appetite. 

“What’s wrong?” A distant shout from downstairs boomed. 

“We’re too late! Vi’s already eating dinner!!” 

“Powder!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (1)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn't that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You rush off the bus, stumbling as your toe hits the curb. You stagger and right yourself, rushing by the other passengers as they shuffle along the pavement. You cut across the grass into the parking lot and hurry towards the front doors of the box store. You're just on time to punch in. 

You sweep in through the front door and wave at Claudia as she stands at the front door welcoming in customers. You flit around the displays of seasonal candy and dip in between customers and aisles until you get to the back of the store. Before you can key in the code, the lounge door opens. You back up as Drew, the store manager, steps out. 

He stops and checks his watch. He curls his lip. You're not late. Not yet. Not unless he doesn't let you through. 

"On the floor in the next minute," he demands. 

"Yes, sir," you agree. 

He steps out and lets the door fall behind him. You barely catch it as you spin through and keep the door open with your foot. You punch in your employee code. The screen blinks green. It's right on the hour. 

You toss your bag on the shelf above and hang your jacket from one of the many bent hangers. Lilian pull the door back from against your toe and huffs as she steps out. You follow her. She's worked there about two decades too long. 

You go out to your zone; with the vases, candlesticks, and lamps.  

You wander around, waiting on any customer to come by and distract you from the slow grind of time. You rove around for the fifth time and relent to your mindless urges. You take out your phone and check your notifications. A couple of hearts and shares. You smile. You don't have too much time for more than work and everything else piling up around you. Your little corner of social media is your one escape. 

A shadow steps into the same aisle as you. You hide your phone, slipping it into your back pocket, and smile at Drew doing his rounds. He marches toward you. You turn to tidy the shelf. 

"Name tag." 

You look down. "I got it..." your voice fizzles as you see the logo. It's the wrong one. "I'm so sorry--" 

"You're more than entitled to have another job but once it starts interfering with his one..." 

"It's not, sir, I'm sorry." You reach into your pocket and find your other name tag. You switch them out. "It was a long night." 

He doesn't smile. He doesn't care and you know it. You don't make excuses a lot but some things you just can't control, no matter how much you wish you could. 

"This is work." He sniffs and saunters away. 

You stare after him. Yeah, it sure is. You prefer your other job. It's always quiet in the small boutique. That's probably not a great omen for your employment but the vintage re-seller is much calmer than the corporate discount depot. Some days, you can't handle all the people. 

When you're sure the coast is clear, you take out your cell again. You hide in the corner with the decorative bowls. You rewatch your reel of the chrysalis moving ever so slightly. You're really excited for that one. You hope you didn't leave your window closed. The air gets too hot in your room. 

You flip over to your messages. You key in a quick 'how's it going?' and hit send as you hear voices. You tuck away your phone and push your shoulders back. You strut up the aisle and greet the pair of older ladies with a smile. 

"Hi, how are you today? Can I help you find something?" You ask. 

"I think we can find the discount shelf, thank you," the red-haired woman retorts flippantly and rolls her eyes at her companion. "As I was saying, Gia is coming back next month..." 

"Let me know if you need anything," you call after them softly and retreat to the next aisle. 

You give it a couple minutes before you go back to scrolling. The women chatter about their children and their husbands. They have so much going on. Happy things they couldn't be more miserable about. 

A message blips up, a small envelope in the margin. You pull down the menu and click on it. It's your mom. 

'Just woke up. Can't find my water bottle.' 

You type; 'I left a note by your bed. It's in the fridge with your dinner. Sorry if I worried you. Love you.' 

She replies with only a heart. If she just woke up, it's likely all she can manage. You return a heart of your own and put your phone away. It's no longer a doorway to distraction; it's a reminder. 

You stop just at the edge of the clothing section. If Drew catches you, he'll write you up again. You look at the pink paisley scarves hanging beside the tan purses on sale. That would look nice on mom. She needs a new one. Her cap is getting ratty. 

Well, only seven and a half more hours, a bus ride home, and you can check on her. 

🦋

The apartment is quiet as you enter. It usually is regardless of the time of day. It wasn’t always like that, but you understand why it is now. 

You sanitize your hands and turn on the living room light. Your mom is on the couch, hugging a pillow, eyes closed. She looks peaceful. Despite that, you can’t let her stay there. 

You drop your bag on the chair and near her. You gently touch her shoulder. “Mom, hey, you gotta go to bed.” 

She grumbles, “I’m fine...” 

“Mom,” you squeeze her, feeling the bone through her skin. She feels fragile. 

She hums and bats your hand away lazily. She yawns and sits up. As she does, she blinks and touches her bald head. Her eyes round and she feels around the cushions. She pulls on the floral skullcap. 

“How was work?” She asks as he keeps the pillow in her lap. The shirt that once fit her snugly, hangs over her chest loosely. 

“It was work, that’s for sure,” you say chipperly. “But I got through it.” 

“Did you eat?” She asks. 

“Did you?” You counter. 

“Some,” she shrugs. 

You nod. She’s always nauseous. The doctor said she would be. 

“Finish it,” she says. “Please, I don’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Sure,” you agree and turn to the chair. You flip open your bag and dig inside. You pull out the pink scarf, the fabric cool and sleek. “Here. It’s getting hotter out.” 

You hand her the scarf. She admires the fabric between her fingers. “It’s pretty.” 

“It’ll look great on you,” you assure her. 

“You’re too sweet, pie.” 

You smile at the nickname. She always calls you that. Ever since you stole that slice of pie in grade one after bed time. You’ll never forget your first crime. 

“I need to eat and sleep. Somewhere in there, I need to shower. Tomorrow morning, right?” 

“I can go alone.” She says. 

“No, you won’t,” you insist as you go to the kitchen. 

You go to the fridge and take out the container of grilled chicken, rice, and green beans. She had a little rice and veg but none of the chicken. You put it in the microwave. 

You go to the doorway and peer into the living room. She wraps the scarf around her naked head and ties it. She peeks over her shoulder. 

“Well? Is it a good colour for me?” 

“You always look good in pink,” you assure her. “You need anything?” 

“Yes, I need my daughter to take care of herself.” She grunts as she pushes herself up. She throws the pillow on the couch and stiffly waddles around. “I’m going to bed, okay?” 

“I’m not coddling you,” you cross your arms. “I just don’t want to hear you whining when you’re all out of joint tomorrow.” 

She sticks her tongue out at you and kisses her palm, opening it to you as she shuffles by. 

“Get some sleep. I mean it.” 

“Take your own advice,” you throw back and grin crookedly. 

She waves you off and heads for her bedroom. You watch until her door snaps shut. You look down at the floor. The silence slowly rises around you, like water it getting deeper and deeper, until you could drown in it. 

You jerk out of your trance as the microwave beeps. You spin and hurry across the small kitchen. You take a fork from the drawer and grab the container as it steams. You drop it on the counter to cool. 

You hurry into the living room and grab your phone from your bag. You return to the kitchen as you twirl the fork in your hand. That notification remains; the one that blipped in an hour from close. A familiar subject line: OVERDUE. 

In the morning. You continue to ignore it as you open up your Insta. You put the phone on your counter, leaning on the edge, and eat bite by bite as your scroll. Someone liked a few older posts from last year. That beautiful monarch you hatched and the green caterpillar on the log in the park. 

You have a red admiral. Or so you hope. It’s a particular sort of patience you need to have for the hobby. If you can call it that. 

Waiting and waiting to watch the chrysalis crack and bloom with large wings. A butterfly born and released off to flutter. It’s so beautiful but sombre at the same time. The small changes, the subtle twitch of the cocoon, it reminds you of the passing of time. Of the inevitable. 

You rinse out the container and wash the fork. You set it all away and shut off the kitchen and front room lights. You scoop up your bag in the shadows and slink to your bedroom. 

The light in there is duller. Softened to keep from affecting metamorphosis. You stretch out your neck as you drop your bag and phone. You go to the mesh hamper in the corner, covered with a dish towel on top. Through the holes you can see the sticks you set up on and angle and the cocoons hanging within. 

The curtains stir and draw you back. It’s getting cooler. You close the window and bounce onto your bed. Half of it is covered in your clutter. The crinkle of paper has you straining to fish out the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill. You’re trying. So hard. 

You toss them to the corner of the bed and fall onto your back. What if it’s not enough. You don’t think it is. The invoices outpace your checks. Your hours at work can’t measure up to those at the clinic. The chemo is draining your bank account as quickly as your mother’s body. 

You put your hands over your forehead and sigh. Your eyes sting and a wobble of tears brim along the edges. You inhale deeply and wipe away the moisture. 

No. You're not giving up. It’s too early to grieve. You won’t be doing that any time soon. You promised your mom that. 

You sit up and grab your phone. You swipe around and open the app. You have a camera inside the hamper, recording in the chrysalises. It’s tedious and dull. One of your followers suggested a stream but you worried about the cameras picking up conversations or even just running up the internet bill. Besides, what’s there to watch? 

You scan through to find the most interesting bits when you can. If there are any. You edit them into shorts and put them up on your page. People love it, much to your surprise. And you like answering questions. Sometimes, they even teach you something. 

Ten new followers that day. It’s nothing compared to the beauty influencers or the fashion bloggers; or those gamers and their cult-like fans. It’s your own little space where nothing else can touch you. Where all you have to worry about is misting the cocoons so they don’t dry out. 

There’s nothing bad there. No managers, no crowded bus rides, no doctor’s appointments, or red numbers. It’s where you can forget. It’s where you can fly. Reborn just like the butterflies. 

[ooooo-mcyt]

Scar not Getting how he contributes to his own isolation is such a Thing for me.

Sure, in Last Life, he was lied to and scammed on a number of occasions, and absolutely, he was kept at arms length by a lot of the alliances he managed to actually form. It is valid, to a point, for Scar to feel used and alone during Last Life.

Sure, in Double Life, his soulmate did seek out someone else behind Scar's back, he was considered, by his only partner in the season, to be a bad partner, and he was kept at arms length. It is valid, to a point, for Scar to feel betrayed and frustrated during Double Life.

Sure, in Secret Life, Scar's tasks did, on a number of occasions, push him toward acts that would alienate people and push them away, even when Scar may have wanted to form alliances. It is valid, to a point, for Scar to feel like his isolation was forced by the game.

But that's not the whole story, is it?

Scar opened Last Life trying to scam and intimidate people from the start, and he was very flippant with any feelers people did put out for alliances. To his credit Scar did invite Joel in, but by episode two they were both willing to kill each other for Boogeyman kills, so I'd argue there wasn't much effort to forming a strong foundation there. By the time Scar did start feeling truly lonely and putting out feelers for alliances, everyone knew not to trust a word he says. Partially because of the previous season, and partially because of his attempts at continuing his legacy of scams in this season. Which could maybe be overcome, if Scar didn't treat alliances like business transactions. He'd form contracts of friendship, demand they be signed as part of a deal, personal bonds boiled down to a signature on a paper that was overtly framed to benefit Scar. Sure, Scar said they were "friendships" (just like he called it "friendship" in the previous season before betraying everyone who ever trusted him including his one main partner) but a contract is an inherently less personal bond than a real partnership, especially if you have a history of betrayal and deception.

Scar didn't care about soulmates in Double Life, for the entire first episode. He didn't look for his soulmate much, he actively brushed off conversations about soulmates, he often didn't think about his soulmate when taking damage, he repeatedly called animals (the allay and then the pandas) his 'real' soulmates, and when he found out he and Grian were soulmates his first response was "Do we have to live together?" in a way that very much implied he didn't want Grian. This alone would be enough to drive a wedge between them, but their argument in the next episode was the nail in the coffin, I think. Grian makes a "no animals in the house" rule (seemingly because he thinks they'll distract scar from helping him at all and take up all his time) and then repeatedly asks Scar to help him with the house. Eventually Grian gives Scar the single simple task of gathering some oak wood while Grian continues working on everything else. Scar, in retaliation, comes up with the idea of using powdered snow to "torture" ones soulmate and uses it to "punish" Grian for assigning him "chores". Grian was given ample reason by Scar to think Scar wasn't interested in being his soulmate or acting like a real partner to him.

Scar actively turned away companionship at every turn in Secret Life. He brushed off Tango and Skizz when they tried to get him on board, he ignored many attempts from Grian to connect with him, he set up alone and tried to sell stuff to the server, and when people came trying to bridge the gap with him, he waved them off. Even up to the finale, when Scar very much wasn't bound by any task to push people away. Sure, it was the finale, it was a bit late to form bonds, but Scar had multiple people trying to build a bridge out to him, trying to make a connection, and what Scar did was sit in the middle and keep both parties on the back burner until his allegiances were decided for him based on who he happened to be standing next to when the final confrontation began. It wasn't the tasks alone that made Scar isolate in Secret Life. The tasks may have exacerbated the issue by making him antagonize people, but Scar was alone because he built himself an outpost all alone and wouldn't commit to any particular attempt anyone made to build a bridge toward him, even though multiple people did try.

I'm not saying everything was Scar's fault. People have screwed Scar over, and the universe itself has handed him awful luck, on many occasions. And he obviously doesn't 'deserve' to be alone, Scar deserves human connection and loyalty as much as anyone else does, and he clearly wants it. But I'd almost always say Scar is the biggest reason for his own isolation, and he's blind to it.

Scar says "Everyone betrayed me in Last Life when we were supposed to be friends" or "My soulmate was a cheater in Double Life when all I did was build him a panda sanctuary" or "My tasks forced me to be the villain in Secret Life and made me push people away"

And I think that's a lie. Not an intentional lie, but one he tells himself.

Because if Scar had come to any team in Last Life and chose to be vulnerable, to express that he genuinely wanted companionship, with no deals or tricks, I don't think a single person would have turned him away.

Because if Scar had tried to come to Grian on his own terms at all in Double Life to make Grian feel more wanted or like Scar's interested in helping him as a partner instead of convincing himself he was already perfect and Grian was just a ungrateful, I think it would have done wonders.

Because if Scar had taken literally any of the many hands people extended to him- while he wasn't under any task making him push them away- instead of keeping people on the back burner, I don't think Scar would have been alone at all in Secret Life.

Scar's desire to believe his suffering is entirely inflicted upon him instead of being self imposed is a very natural human desire. But when you deflect any blame, you also blind yourself to all the ways you could make things better. Vulnerability is hard, changing your demeanor, how you operate, is hard, it's easier to keep going as you are and convince yourself it's everyone else's fault that you're struggling to form and keep bonds. But Scar clearly needs and craves human connection, and to find that in the way he wants, he needs to make an effort, compromise some things, and be more vulnerable than he seems to be comfortable being. He needs to accept the ways he's shooting himself in the foot, but he doesn't seem willing or able to do that. And it's just so sad to me how he forms a web of isolation and self imposed hopelessness around himself and can't even see it when he's the one who suffers most for it. I don't know I love this guy.

[hardbeingcasual]

“I’m not waiting any longer for you.”

post travis martinez fem reader

this is how tomorrow moves masterlist

yj masterlist / masterlist

about. after being rescued, nothing is the same

warnings. post crash yj. angst but eventual fluff. death. mentions of getting high. slight mention of cannibalism. normal stuff for yj

In the wilderness, a lot of people died, gruesomely.

Even during that you and Travis found solace in each other.

Before the crash you didn’t speak to him much, sure you’d strike conversation here and there but you didn’t think he was interested in talking to you. Until the crash happened, leading to him losing his dad, and then Javi, and then his mind.

You were there for him during it all. An invisible string pulling you closer makes you both inseparable. Laying on the green grass together, high out of your minds as the clouds fogged together and blended with the trees, your hands in eachothers hands without even realising, blaming it on whatever plants you had consumed.

But when you got rescued, he was distant.

You didn’t blame him at all, he lost his father and his brother, having to eat his brother’s remains and then go home to his mother filled with the guilt the wilderness caused.

But what you didn’t expect was to be shut out by him completely, you thought when you got home you would both still be there for eachother, holding him in your arms again, but in the comfort of your home this time, but it was the opposite.

Whenever you went and visited him at his house, he’d be laying in his bed facing away from you and the rest of the world. You weren’t sure if he was asleep or not so you turned away from his bedroom and passed his mother in the hallway who gave you a sympathetic but assuring smile.

He’ll come to you eventually. In his own time.

You tried to distract yourself as the days went by without Travis’ presence. You were starting to miss the comfort that he brought you.

When you were in the wilderness, you missed the sound of music, you missed watching TV, you even missed your mother waking you up early in the morning for school.

But right now, not even music and the television could distract you from your mind racing. You associated everything with the wilderness.

Your mother barely lets you outside alone. Fearing you would go missing once again. When you went to visit Travis, she’d be waiting outside in the car for you.

Obviously you were different when you got back, so was everyone else. You missed sleep most days, scared you were going to dream of what you did out there to survive, scared that you were going to wake up again there.

When you did sleep, you had to leave your door open, your mother insists. Like you currently.

Perched on your bedroom floor, the door opened, and your legs criss crossed as your headphones sat lazily on your head. You weren’t even paying attention to what was playing, you were just staring idly at the wall, your mind racing, hundreds of thoughts going through it. The one person you needed the most wasn’t available so you were all alone.

You move your gaze from the wall as you feel a presence join you on the floor. Travis. The person you were just thinking about. Your eyes meet his bloodshot ones as your eyebrows raise at his sudden presence.

It was like he read your thoughts. Like he heard your desperate pleas.

You take your headphones off your head, throwing them to god knows what. Travis almost laughs at that.

He looked a mess to say the least, but you didn’t care, because he was here, in front of you, alive in your room.

You place your hand on his face, his skin fragile like glass, bound to break any second now. Your hand fits perfectly on his face, like a puzzle piece.

His glossy eyes meet yours, “What’re you doing?” He croaks, like he hasn’t used his voice in weeks.

You shrug slightly, “Double checking that you’re actually here with me.” You reply, your voice hoarse from the tears that were pooling in your eyes.

He places his hand on top of yours that was resting on his face, his hand surprisingly warm as he looks you dead in the eye. “I’m always going to be here for you.” You frown at his words, almost feeling content again.

You move your hand from his face, bringing your arm around his neck, bringing him into your tight embrace. Scared to let go in case he left you like everyone else.

Here you were, at home, safe. Travis’ face in the crook of your neck, your arms wrapped around each other. A hug of trust. A sign that you will both be there for each other no matter the circumstances. Both of you are comfortable in the embrace of each other.

You finally got what you wanted.

published. 5/5/25 12:26am gmt

notes. reqs are open!!

[bigsoggyboots]

how good i think arcane characters can drive:

(a fun, harmless thread)

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: this is an idea i've had for a bit. i decided to make some content for it bc i realize i have free will. don't ask about the pictures; i just grabbed some and fixed them up real quick in Canva. honestly, a nice way to pass time. also i did not know there was an image limit so that's why Ambessa and Mel's image was put together.

might do a double upload btw.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

jinx:

definitely a passenger princess. if she drives, she's always too close to the sidewalk and almost always drives through a red light. driving with her is like racing in Mario Kart. you both are screaming for your lives, and breaking several laws. after you both get out the car, you tell her you're never letting her drive again.

she also can parallel park perfectly. no one knows how she does it.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

ekko:

great driver. gets it from benzo and vander. since he already drives jinx everywhere, he doesn't mind having the both of you in the car with him. he gives you a fidget toy so you don't mess up his car. he's very particular about the way he likes his things. the one area where you have free range is the glove compartment. it mainly is owned by Jinx but reassures you whatever you touch in there is replaceable.

drives with him are vibes. Ekko doesn't let you have the aux but his music taste is fire so it doesn't matter anyways. it's calming enough to where you can doze off a little in there.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

vi:

is a pretty good driver. she's one of those ppl who always drives with one hand on the wheel. (caitlyn says it makes her look badass). being on a ride with her is always chill; she'll let you control the aux and will check up on you often. ur pretty much safe in her hands.

if she's drunk however, its a whole different story. the music's blasting, she keeps dozing off on the wheel, and you swear you've been driving down the same street for an hour. you practically have to force her in the backseat so Loris can drive you guys home and not into a tree.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

caitlyn:

good driver. she's good at turning, parking, parallel parking and all that other stuff. she's good at everything pretty much but gets bad road rage. also, pretty strict. you can't control the aux or have food/drinks in her car. she likes her car tidy and without chip crumbs. the only thing you can do is roll down the windows but don't annoy her or else she will take away the privilege so fast. (the only exception to these rules is vi.)

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

jayce:

the best driver you know. there's snacks in his glove apartment, a cover on the seat, and air freshener in the passenger's air vent. abides every law and cares deeply for your safety. he'd feel so guilty if he even slammed the breaks too hard while you're there. the major draw back is that u cannot have a conversation with him while he drives. he will get distracted and will let go of the wheel. he has to drive in complete silence. other than that, pretty chill.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

viktor:

can drive but mostly walks places. if he drives, its like jinx but WORSE. bc somehow, he'll do everything but not make the car crash. and 50% of the time, he'll say u r overreacting and that he drove completely fine. besides that, he's the passenger princess who acts like the driver. he feels the need to tell u where to go, even if you just want to go around rhe block.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

mel + ambessa:

is like jayce but somehow better. she's a phenomenal driver with no violations to her name. she follows laws you didn't even know existed. if u drive with her, u wouldn't want to drive with anyone else. she's that perfect. (besides the times she won't let you have the aux). however, like caitlyn, she is strict. you can't touch anything in her car unless you ask or she gives you the permission to.

ambessa:

the worst driver you know. she's reckless and drives like its Fast and Furious. (ambessa can and will run things over if she's driving too fast.) Ambessa will deny any "lies" of her bad driving skills as if she doesn't have 2 kids to vouch against that. (Kino and Mel have almost died several time in her car.) by some miracle, you never crash with her though. you do return home with adrenaline pumping in your veins, 911 dialed in your phone, and your legs feeling like Jello.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

silco:

decent driver. (he's a terrible turner.) was a little better when he was younger. he mainly has sevika drive for him but if u ask to drive with him, he'll let you. like sevika, his car smells of smoke and beer and you can't control the aux. you kinda just have to sit and be quiet tbh. the only thing you can mess with is the glove compartment which, like ekko's car, is really Jinx's. also, he has pretty intense road rage; he knows, don't talk about it.

(has the ac on all whole ride. think about touching it and he glares at you until you move your hand away.)

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

sevika:

surprisingly good driver. she's smooth and steady behind the wheel. the only thing Sevika may need help with is parking. it's no biggie though; you just have to tell her if she's too close or not.

you can't control the aux but you can pretty much do anything else. just give her the directions and she'll take you there. a gentlewoman through and through. she leaves snacks in her glove compartment for you and opens the door for you. her car might reek of smoke and beer but it's cool.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

vander:

good driver. all he needs to know is the directions and he's good to go. somehow gets better when he's drunk. (don't ask, no one knows). let's you have the aux if you want, if not, he's blasting some oldies. also, has all sort of junk in his glove compartment for u to mess with. will listen to you rant about your day and offer some solid advice on the way.

one drawback would be how close Vander gets to crashing 50% of the time. seriously, its a bit of a problem how close he is from a car accident. you make it home okay though.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

[ujuinluv]

mitochondria: the powerhouse of the cell (intak) - nav

synopsis — who need's a's in biology when you have a boyfriend like intak?

you’re supposed to be studying.

supposed to be.

instead, intak is lying across your bed, flipping your notebook upside down, pretending to be very, very serious.

“you spelled mitochondria wrong,” he says, squinting exaggeratedly.

you groan, flopping onto the bed next to him. “i didn’t.”

“you did,” he insists. “but don’t worry. i still believe in you.”

you turn your head to glare at him, but he’s already grinning, boyish and unbothered. it’s unfair how easily he makes you forget about everything—deadlines, grades, the way the world feels too heavy sometimes.

“you’re a distraction,” you mutter, poking his cheek.

“the best kind,” he says proudly, catching your hand before you can pull away.

you stare at him—messy hair, soft smile, heart in his eyes—and suddenly studying feels like the least important thing in the universe.

“what?” intak asks, voice dipping lower.

“nothing,” you say, cheeks heating.

he doesn’t buy it. he shifts closer, still holding your hand. “tell me.”

you swallow, nerves crawling up your spine. “just… i like this. us. you.”

intak’s whole face softens.

he tugs you even closer until your forehead bumps his. “me too,” he whispers. “i’m crazy about you.”

you laugh, breathless. “even if i spell mitochondria wrong?”

he pretends to think very hard. “i guess i can forgive you.”

“how generous,” you tease.

“hey,” intak says, grinning wider, “you’re dating a future spelling bee champ.”

“pretty sure that’s false advertising,” you giggle.

he kisses you before you can say anything else—soft, lingering, sweet enough to make your toes curl.

“false advertising or not,” he murmurs against your lips, “you spelled mitochondria wrong, i didn't."

"get out my house."

[tennessoui]

going vaguely off the mermay concept i think there is major comedy potential in like. the idea that Anakin (growing up on a desert planet) never really gets over his fear of water and avoids it at all costs but then sees Obi-Wan transform and becomes like insanely obsessed with (turned on by) his tail and different form. like he wants to have sex while Obi-Wan’s in merman form SOOO bad but then there’s fucking WATER in the way. the idea of Anakin telling Obi-Wan he wants to do exposure therapy and needs his help (so he can be pressed up against his tail <3. bc of course Obi-Wan needs to be holding him at all times) and eventually getting over his fear of water because he’s distracted by being horny is so funny. imagine he accidentally pavlovs himself and starts getting hard every time he swims and creates a totally new reason to avoid water.

ooo this is amazing but I can’t help but think like what if like…anakin isn’t actually afraid of water but is in fact incredibly desperate to see obi-wan’s tail again and can’t figure out how to make this happen short of just shoving obi-wan into the nearest lake

so he devises schemes where one of them has to be in or around water in the hopes that his master the apparent merman will transform again by sheer proximity and the power of gay obsession or something

one such scheme leads to anakin actually almost drowning which was NOT part of the plan because all things aside he is a very strong swimmer - my thought is that he’d make himself work through his self perceived weakness because he doesn’t want to be seen as lesser or anything by the younglings that learned years and years ago — but there was a sudden storm or something and anakin almost drowns

this gives anakin a bit of a complex but it gives obi-wan an arguably bigger complex because he pressures anakin (orders via misuse of chain of command powers) into remedial swimming lessons

Anakin is prepared to throw a fuss until he’s like

Wait. Yes. I have a crippling fear of water now. The only cure is these remedial swimming lessons where you are in the water with me. Tail and everything

and obi-wan is feeling protective enough of his hatchling who obviously did not learn how t swim well enough when obi-wan gave him to someone else to train that he’s like of course. chop chop get in the water now.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 14

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,710ish

Summary: You try to find a normal routine in all the madness.

Warning(s): talk of abuse, time jumps

Notes: I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Tony came home exhausted. Yelena and Clint were whispering near your bedroom, causing Tony and Steve to head over there.

“Is she still in there?” Tony wondered, growing concerned.

“We can’t even get her out to eat,” Clint explained. “She hasn’t responded to us in a while. We’re discussing breaking down the door.”

“If you do that, she’ll never trust any of us,” Steve said.

“Why do you think we haven’t yet?”

“Let me try.” Steve moved for the door and knocked. “Y/N? It’s me, Steve. I’m just checking in. We’re worried about you.”

Inside the room, you were sitting on the bed, trembling hands still grasping the note. You’d basically been frozen like this for a few hours. Salty tear trails had dried up on your cheeks. You had flinched at the sound of Steve’s voice, clearly dripping with concern.

“I— I’m f-fine,” your voice cracked as you tried to speak loud enough to be heard through the door.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not buying it.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Slowly, you slipped off the bed and opened the door. Steve, Clint, Yelena, and Tony were all standing there. They watched you carefully as you lifted your arm, handing them the note. Tony was the one to grab it.

“He was in my room,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “My father was a distraction.”

Tony’s jaw clenched as he read the note before passing it to Clint. His eyes met yours. “He will not hurt you,” Tony promised.

“He already is.”

Your words hurt more than they should have, causing everyone to stand in silence. Yelena was the first to move, taking a step towards you. 

“Let’s get you something to eat,” she suggested softly. “Come on.”

You allowed Yelena to lead you to the dinning room table before she got a cook into the kitchen to make you some food. The men watched, unable to pull their eyes from you.

“He came in when Obadiah did,” Tony murmured, still processing the information. “It was a set up.”

“They are going to use Y/N as something to fight for, you know that right?” Steve said. 

“And they don’t even truly want her,” Clint added.

The three men watched as one of the hired cooks moved quickly around the kitchen. Yelena was sitting by you, sharing some small talk that you were willing to give. Once you had food in front of you, Tony came over and sat on the other side of you.

“What do you need?” Tony asked you, trying to figure out what to do.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, focusing on the food in front of you.

“We’ll do whatever you need us to,” Yelena said.

“Can I just… Can I eat in my studio?”

“Of course,” Tony quickly said. Tony grabbed your plate and stood up. He went through the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle before heading towards your studio.

You shared a look with Yelena. She rolled her eyes. “Just let him feel useful,” she whispered.

You huffed out a small laugh. “Okay.”

When you and Yelena reached your studio, Tony had set everything down on one of your tables. He looked back at you.

“What else do you need?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” you told him.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push yourself aside. Not here. Not with us.”

You swallowed nervously. “Space… I need space.”

“How about we let you eat and work and we’ll leave the door open,” suggested Yelena. “I’ll be outside the room, close by.”

“As will Steve,” added Tony. “I have some work to do, but you can interrupt me anytime and my door will be open.”

You shook your head, hating like feeling you were a burden. “You don’t have to go out of your way—“

“We all want to— I want to. Okay? So don’t worry about it. Everyone here will take care of you.”

~~~

Yelena and Steve watched you eat and then work on your latest projects. 

“You’re going to be her first student,” Yelena suddenly stated.

“What?” Steve questioned.

“Classes. It will take her mind off things. Everyone wants to learn from her anyway. Figured you could be the first.”

“Have you talked to her about any of that?”

“I will talk to her about it…. After dinner. I’ll let her sleep on it. But you’re scheduled for a class right after breakfast.”

“Fine.”

~~~

Tony couldn’t help himself. He kept peeking into your studio, checking on you. On the outside, you seemed fine, so Tony could only assume that was a front. But he didn’t know how much damage Brock and your father had done before. You were clearly a master at pushing it all down, and it concerned him that you were doing that again. It was only a matter of time until pushing everything down broke you and Tony wouldn’t even know what to do or how to help you. He hated that.

When dinner time rolled around, Tony left his office to go check on you again, only to find you in the kitchen.

“Hi,” you shot him a soft smile as you continued to work. 

“Hi,” he responded, nervously standing at the edge of the kitchen.

“Do you, uh… do you want to join me for dinner?”

He nodded, almost a little too quickly. “Can I help?”

“Can you set the table? Or the island, wherever you want to eat.”

“I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“It’s your choice.”

Tony’s eyes moved from the island to the table and then repeated the motion a few times. Grabbing the plates he decided the table. It would give you the space he assumed you needed. Tony set the opposite stands of the table for you to sit on one and for him to sit on another. You put the food in serving dishes and placed them in the middle of the table.

“What would you like to drink?” Tony wondered. “We have all sorts of wine and other alcohols. There’s juices and soda.”

“I’m good with just water,” you told him.

“You sure? I can even make you a cocktail of your choice. Wouldn’t take me long.”

“I—I’m fine. I…” You took a moment, wondering if you should say what you were about to say. But when you looked at Tony, he was looking at you, patiently waiting for a response. “I don’t drink alcohol… I can’t afford to be on it with my father and Brock.”

Tony much appreciated that you were open up to him more, but he also hated it. It only made him grow more angry at your situation and at himself. He should have been better to you from the get go.

“I’ll have water too then,” Tony said. “Steve and Happy keep getting on me about my drinking habits anyway.” Tony grabbed two wine glasses and filled them up with water before placing them on the table. 

“Water in wine glasses?” You questioned.

Tony shrugged. “We have them, might as well us them.”

The two of you them sat on your sides of the table. You dished yourselves your own food and then quietly got to eating. Tony moaned in appreciation as he took another fork full of food.

“This is so amazing, Y/N,” he said. “Seriously.”

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Tony paused, realizing that it was the first time he had made you laugh. He couldn’t help but smile. The two of you continue to make some small talk while you eat. Once you both were done, Tony offered to clean up and sent you back to your studio. That’s where Yelena decided to talk to you.

“You have classes that start tomorrow,” Yelena told you.

“Classes?” You questioned. “What classes?”

“Ceramics classes. Steve will be your first student. Happy, Rhodey, Maria, Natasha, Peggy, Clint, and I have all signed up as well. I have an organized schedule here.” She lifted up a clipboard. “You have a few a day at various times.”

“I— I don’t know, Yelena…”

“This will help you keep your mind off of things and just help everyone in general.”

You knew that she had a point and she had worked so hard to get this all figured out for you. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yay! Everyone is so excited!”

“I just hope I don’t disappoint.”

“You could never. You’re so talented, Y/N.”

~~~

You were glad that Steve was the first one signed up for classes. It made you feel more at ease. He was kind and a quick learner, who asked questions if he needed. Steve wanted to make a small dish for Peggy’s rings. He told you about their relationship and how he was thinking about proposing.

“That’s wonderful, Steve,” you said with a large smile.

“Yeah, I have a ring picked out but I haven’t bought it yet,” he continued to tell you. “It just needs to be perfect, you know? Like I only want to do the marriage thing once and she’s it for me.” You nodded, silently focusing on your own ring dish. Steve realized that he should have been more careful with his words. “Y/N… shit, I’m sorry. I should have been more careful talking about marriage and proposing.”

“It’s fine. Really, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I should have—“

“I’m going to have these dry out and then I’ll put them in the kiln. Yelena will schedule another class to paint.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”

~~~

Weeks pass, with everyone still on edge, waiting for Obadiah and Brock to make their next move. Howard hasn’t stopped making moves against them though, blocking them from business dealings and turning other people against them.

You continued to teach small classes to everyone that signed up. You actually found yourself enjoying it. Yelena had been right, it did take your mind off of things. In the evening, you and Tony had dinner. You would make it while Tony would set the table and clean up. The two of you had small conversations, nothing too deep, and barely enough to get to know each other.

It’s been weeks since Pepper’s been over and randomly, after another one of your amazing dinners, Tony decided to call her over. She came over, dressed to the nines.

“You’re all dressed up,” Tony observed. “Why?”

“I thought you could take me out tonight,” she said. “I think I deserve it.”

“I can’t take you out. I can’t leave in case something happens.”

“Something happens? To who? That little girl you keep as your wife?”

“Don’t talk down about her like that. She’s been through too much.”

“Well, she should get in line then.” Pepper pulled Tony in. “Just take me out, please? I’ve been such your good girl. Waiting so patiently for you.”

“We are not going out, Pepper. I called you over for company tonight. But we are not leaving this house. I cannot.”

Pepper pulled away with a huff. “You’re changing and I don’t care for it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. You know what? I’m actually not in the mood anymore. Go home, Pepper. Maybe we’ll try again later.”

Tony left the room, heading to his garage. Pepper stayed put for a second, growing angrier, before she exited the bedroom. She had memorized the information that she had stolen weeks earlier and knew where guards were placed and how to unlock doors. She snuck over to your side of the house and easily entered your studio. 

Instead of flipping on the lights, Pepper opted to use her phone to not draw too much attention. She looked around. There was so much she could break in here, but she needed to break something close to home for you. Her eyes fell to your pottery wheels, most specifically the one that was the dirtiest. That meant that it was the one you used the most. Pepper waltzed over to it and dragged it over to the far side of the room. She flipped it over and kicking it over and over. As soon as a fews pieces were loose, she grabbed them and took them with her when she left.

~~~

After breakfast, you went into your studio to set up for your next class. You shut the door and turned around, gasping when you saw your favorite pottery wheel broken. You walked over there, looking for any sign of who may have done this. Your heart was beating rapidly against your ribcage at the thought of Brock coming in here and destroying your safe space. You knew that if the others found out about this, they would lose it. You couldn’t handle that right now. So you pushed the broken wheel under the counter, hoping that no one would notice.

As you were doing that, Tony glared down at the copy of your schedule Yelena had handed to him. She had been really good at keeping him in the loop of who would be coming in and out of the house. But something was bothering him. Basically everyone in Tony’s inner circle was taking a class from you except for him. He had also noticed that you gifted the others random objects you made, but not him. Everyone, including on the staff of the house, had a personalized mug. He didn’t. Everyone had a personalized bowl or plate. He didn’t. And Tony was jealous of it.

“Hey, Tony, need anything before I head to my next class with Y/N?” Steve asked, stepping into Tony’s office.

“What do I have to do to get a mug?” Tony asked.

“What?”

“A mug. Basically everyone else in the family business as a personalized mug from her except for me.”

“How you tried asking for one?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you?”

Tony ignored the question. “And everyone’s taking a class. What if I want to take a class?”

“Then ask.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t.” Tony waved Steve off. “Head to your lesson. I need some time alone.”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed to your studio. He noticed the door was closed, which was unusual as of late, with Yelena leaned up against the wall. 

“You’re late,” she commented.

“Sorry,” Steve apologized. “The door is closed. Why?”

Yelena shrugged. “She wanted to set up for her class.”

“Is she alright?”

“As far as I noticed.”

Steve nodded before knocking on the door. You said a small, ‘come in’ and he wasted no time slipping in. He took you in, studying you for something wrong but he couldn’t tell if something was. The two of you quickly got to work on painting while you chatted.

“Have you ever thought about making something for Tony?” Steve wondered.

“Oh, uh… I— I don’t know… I guess that I don’t want to bother him with my silly little presents. He probably wouldn’t like anything I made anyway.” You’re father and Brock never did, you thought.

“I’m sure he would appreciate anything you made for him. Trust me. jUst think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~

It took another week of Tony listening to you laugh and chat with everyone else for him to finally gain the confidence to come to you. It was late, after dinner since that was the only time Rhodey was available. You were cleaning up your studio before bed. Tony came up to the doorway and leaned against it. His hands were stuffed into his pockets. You noticed him, immediately sensing his nerves.

“Are you okay, Tony?” You asked. “Do you need something?”

“Where do I sign up?” He responded.

“Sign up for what?”

“Your classes. Seems like everyone is having classes with you now and none of them will stop talking about it. I kinda want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Are you— Are you sure?”

“Cause if you are, then you’ll need to go through me,” Yelena inserted herself into the conversation. “I’m in charge of her schedule.”

“I’m sure,” Tony confirmed. “I’ll schedule with Yelena if that’s okay with you.”

“I’m okay with that,” you nodded.

“Great. Then, goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

next chapter >

[iamthecomet]

dewther love at first sight🙏🙏 begging on my knees comet i love your writing

Hi!! Thank youuuu ♥♥♥ Happy love at first sight day! Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows

Here's 500ish words of Dewther love at first sight--because of course.

Dew notices the difference as soon as he wakes up. Dragged from a deep sleep by the sound of the Ghoul Wing waking up around him. He's warm, weighed down by miles of blankets. He's in Ifrit's bed, the smell of cardamom and wood smoke surrounding him. He blinks awake. The bed is empty next to him cold. But the fire is roaring, of course.

He can feel the crackle of ozone in the air, smell the sulfur underneath the scent of Ifrit.

Summoning day.

Fuck.

Ifrit promised he'd wake him up—not let him sleep through it. But, Ifrit has never been reliable about things like that. He probably woke up—looked at Dew's face and couldn't stand to wake him.

Dew shoves what feels like 50 pounds of blankets off and stands. He dresses quickly, tripping over his uniform, nearly forgetting his mask.

The last summoning they had Dew's. He came first with Mountain right on his heels. He hasn't had a chance to see one yet. Ifrit told him it wasn't important—nothing to see, which is probably why he didn't wake him.

Dew is going to drown him once he gets his hands on him.

This is the last ghoul they need for the band, they'll round it out. Whoever steps through today is pack, will be family. Dew wants to see them when they step through. Wants to smell the pit on them before humanity washes it away.

He makes it just in time. Sliding into a space between Zephyr and Mist, sending a growl in Ifrit's direction as the fire ghoul reaches for him.

"You promised," he hisses.

"I tried, you were out."

"Bullshit."

Ifrit shrugs, either not willing to engage in the arguement or too distracted by what is happening in the center of the room.

Papa stands at the head of the summoning circle. Clergy members and other ghouls stand at the other points. The candles are lit. The room smells heavily of inscence and ozone.

The circle is dark—inert—while Papa recites latin at it, so quietly Dew can't make out the words. Then, with sudden crack the lines begin to glow violet. They pulse to the beat of some ancient heart.

Most ghouls have to have some part of their element available for them grab onto. There had been potted flowers for Mountain, a basin of water for Dew, but quintessence doesn't need that.

Quintessence is everywhere, everything.

The new ghoul appears out of nothing.

The second he does, Dew feels the ground shift beneath him. Something siesmic that no one else seems to feel. Like the very foundations of Dew and the world he stands on have shifted—reoriented.

The new guy smiles as Papa talks to him, it's big and bright and Dew feels like the sun has just come out after a week of rain.

"Oh fuck," he whispers to himself, and Zephyr nudges him. Dew doesn't look at them—can't. Because something is cracking apart in his chest and he can't look anywhere but at the new guy. Not that the new guy is looking anywhere else either.

Dew feels pinned. Held under the gaze of this ghoul who is looking at him like he has crossed lifetimes looking for him.

"Aether," the new ghoul says—prompted by a question Dew doesn't hear. His name he realizes too late. His name is Aether.

Aether breaks eye contact first, turning to face Omega. Those dark eyes still dragging back over to Dew every few moments like he is magnetic.

Dew can't think. The rest of the summoning doesn't matter—might as well not happen. He's torn between the need to walk over there, to say something and the wish to run. To hide. To pull himself out from under the weight of…whatever this is.

So—when everyone else moves and formation breaks, Dew stays put, frozen, rooted. Aether finds him.

Later—it will feel right. Aether always finds him. Today and every day after. This, Dew only sees in hindsight, was dawn breaking over eternity. There is nowhere he can go after this, that Aether cannot follow.

Aether holds out a hand for Dew to shake. This close he can smell the lavender on him, the ozone. Dew feels like he's come home after a long tour—it's so strange—he doesn't even know this guy.

"I'm Dewdrop—Dew mostly." Dew says and Aether smiles and Dew knows he will do anything to see it again and again. He's gone for this guy and they haven't even said two words to each other. Aether's eyes glimmer with that strange quintessence knowledge that Dew still doesn't quite understand. It's unnerving in Omega—in Aether it feels—easy, warm, comforting.

"Hi, Dew." Aether squeezes his hand, doesn't let go. "I've been looking for you."