#I!!!! AM LITERALLY BESIDE MYSELF RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!

[p0orbaby]

pregnant!r x either alexia or leah - reader has been really horny but alexia/leah is really tired and can’t help them out so reader takes care of it right next to them but alexia/leah can’t take it anymore and they end up having sex (preferably with a strap, but cool if not)

broken english alexia is hotter than her speaking catalan or spanish. i will debate this

-

Alexia is wearing her ‘No Sex’ t-shirt again.

Not literally—it’s a crusty old grey t-shirt with a hair dye stain—but spiritually, it’s the same.

She’s draped half-on, half-off the bed, one leg kicked out at a graceless angle, head tipped back, hair sticking to her forehead like she’s been dragged backwards through a wind tunnel. She smells like Aesop deodorant and the free isontonic from the training ground.

You sit cross-legged beside her, vibrating.

Not metaphorically.

Literally vibrating, like a microwave about to explode.

Hormones are ruining your life.

Your body is not your own—it’s a rental car no one ever serviced, bumping along on three wheels and a prayer.

Six months pregnant and you’ve never been more exhausted, more tearful, or—apparently—more horny in your entire existence.

“I am dead,” Alexia says, eyes closed.

“I noticed,” you say dryly, flicking the edge of her shorts.

You could climb her like a tree.

You could ruin her.

You could sob into her mouth and call it foreplay.

You shift closer.

Subtle.

Tactical.

An elbow bump. A brush of your knee.

A whimper you swear isn’t on purpose.

“Mm,” she says, noncommittally.

You trail a finger down her arm.

She doesn’t even flinch.

Might as well be trying to seduce a chair.

“I’m so horny I could kill someone,” you announce, flat as a dinner plate.

She cracks one eye open.

Chuckles.

Pats your thigh in a gesture so dismissive it feels like a friend of a friend trying to comfort you at a cousins funeral.

“I love you,” she says, “but no.”

“Seriously?”

“I am a corpse,” she says solemnly. “Sexy corpse. But still.”

You sit there.

Seethe.

Boil in your own tragic juices.

You imagine throwing yourself dramatically off the bed.

You imagine suing your hormones for emotional damages.

You imagine clinging to Alexia like a koala and simply refusing to let go.

She yawns, deep and long, and misses you glaring at her like you’re planning a murder.

After four minutes (you count), you snap.

Silently.

Decisively.

You shuffle down the bed, furious, grab the waistband of your knickers in a way that looks way less graceful than it feels, and shove your hand down.

Alexia doesn’t notice at first.

She’s too busy being dead.

You work yourself up, quick and pitiful, as if you’re punishing yourself for being a sad, sex-starved whale.

The sheets rustle.

The room smells like lavender detergent, betrayal, and injustice.

After a minute, there’s a pause.

A disturbance in the force.

Alexia opens her eyes again.

Turns her head.

Watches.

At first, there’s confusion.

Then disbelief.

Then outrage.

“¿Qué haces?” she says, sitting up a fraction.

Her hair’s sticking up like a sad palm tree.

“What’s it look like?” you snap.

“You…without me?”

“You said no!”

“I only mean no to dishes,” she says, scandalised. “Not to this.”

You glare at her.

Keep going.

Because now it’s about principle.

Alexia watches you, chest heaving, mouth open like she’s witnessing a robbery.

“You are…?” she gestures vaguely, unable to find the English.

“Sorting myself out,” you say sweetly.

She groans.

Throws an arm across her face like a maiden fainting.

“You are so bad,” she mutters.

“You’re the one abandoning your pregnant wife in her time of need,” you hiss.

You’re close, now.

Closer than you want to admit.

Your hips are shifting, your stomach tightening, your breath going embarrassingly shaky.

Alexia’s hand shoots out.

Grabs your wrist.

Tight.

“No,” she says.

“You can’t stop me now,” you growl.

“Not stop,” she says. “I fix.”

And then she’s on you.

All lazy muscle and hot skin, pinning you down, taking charge like you’re a job she’s been reluctantly guilted into—but is secretly going to ace anyway.

Her mouth finds your neck, warm and biting, and you cry out, shuddering into her hands.

“You are annoying,” she mutters against your throat.

“That’s on you,” you gasp.

She laughs—dark and low and breathless.

“Next time, you wait for me,” she says, fingers sliding down your belly with absolute purpose. “I make you forget you even have hands.”

You believe her.

Because when Alexia Putellas finally makes up her mind—even if she does it late—there isn’t a force in Barcelona, or hell, even the entire galaxy, that can outpace her.

[vera-deville]

HIHIHI IM HERE TO REQUEST A TWST ONE SHOT !!

a Leona/masc reader, with reader having been exhausted from running around all day and relaxing with Leona. All the soft fluffies, and lil romances teeheehee

Tysm !!! <3

Home is Where You're Waiting

04/27/2025

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Word Count: 536 Warnings: N/A Gender: Gender Neutral Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @atomatoho3, @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: GOD was I craving Leona fluff; anon you came in clutch- Masterlist

You weren't sure how you made it back to your dorm room. Your body felt half-asleep already, legs dragging with every step, mind fogged over from running around all day. Errands, classes, helping Crowley with yet another "small favor" that turned into a three-hour ordeal - it had all stacked up until you were quite literally running on fumes.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you barely managed to toe-off your shoes before slumping forward with a sigh heavy enough to rattle the windows.

"You look like you lost a fight with a tumbleweed," a low voice drawled from across the room.

Leona, sprawled lazily across your bed, cracked open one sharp green eye to look at you. He didn't seem in a hurry to move - no surprise there - but there was something unusually soft about his gaze tonight.

You grunted, managing a weak, "Feels like it, too."

Leona stretched, long and slow like a cat, before patting the empty space next to him. "Come here, herbivore."

You didn't need to be told twice. Peeling off your jacket with fumbling fingers, you all but collapsed onto the bed beside him, letting out a groan that came from somewhere deep in your soul.

Immediately, Leona shifted, tugging you into his side with an ease that made it clear he'd been waiting for you all along. His arm slung comfortably over your shoulders, pulling you against the solid warmth of his body. His scent - sun-kissed grass and something wild - filled your nose, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

For a few blessed minutes, neither of you said anything. You simply lay there, breathing in sync, your tired muscles slowly unclenching one by one.

"You work too hard," Leona muttered against your hair, voice low and lazy. His hand idly traced patterns across your arm, slow enough to make you shiver.

"Somebody's gotta do it," You mumbled into his shirt.

"Not you," He shot back, not unkindly. "You're not the caretaker of this dump."

You huffed a soft laugh at that. "Feels like it sometimes."

Leona clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't argue further. Instead, he shifted again, pulling you fully onto his chest, one hand coming up to card lazily through your hair.

"You should let me handle it," He said, the words almost a rumble beneath your ear. "I'm good at doing nothing."

You snorted. "You're an expert, you mean?"

"Exactly." He said smugly.

Another long beat of silence stretched between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt right. Safe. You melted further into him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you closer to sleep.

Leona's hand never stopped moving, combing through your hair with slow, unhurried strokes. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your cheek, was like a metronome pulling you down into something warm and heavy and decadent and good.

"You're staying right here tonight," He said, voice already thick with impending sleep.

You couldn't have moved even if you wanted to. "Wasn't planning on going anywhere."

A lazy, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest.

"Good."

And that was the last thing you heard before sleep finally claimed you, wrapped up in Leona's arms, safe and sound.

Author's Note: I'm going through a MASSIVE spring cleaning right now, and one of the things I wanted to get done today was this request. I myself am craving some Leona fluff, so thank you so much anon for requesting this! I'm not sure if you wanted the Reader to be male, or have masc traits, so I just tried to write as gender neutral as possible (I'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted)!

Masterlist

[444lotus]

how i manifested (+revised) my dream body ౨ৎ

This is my first post on my new account, though I am NOT new to the law and NOT new to loablr either. This post is specifically about how I manifested my dream body instantly with no technique besides knowing :)

PART ONE - the old story

In the old story, I was so fixated on my body and my weight all of the time, I was tracking my calories and weighing myself and my food obsessively and constantly gaining and losing weight. Back then, my beliefs were that 1) Excess food causes weight gain, 2) If I don't track my food and weigh myself, I will become too fat/skinny, and 3) There is something wrong with my body, and I need to diet/exercise to fix it.

Noticing these beliefs were key to changing the way I viewed food and my body, and therefore changing how I knew food to effect me and how I knew my body to be.

When I was overweight, I knew my body was too big, I knew I was eating too much, I knew excess calories made me gain weight. When I was underweight, I knew I had no appetite, I knew I was too bony, I knew that exercise makes you gain muscle which is why I had none, etc. I had to identify the limiting beliefs that made me know my body was a certain way.

PART TWO - writing the new story

Once I identified the beliefs that were holding me back and kept me from my goals ("I know I eat too much, even if I affirm I'm skinny, I'm still going to gain weight."), I could then change them. I wrote down a list of these beliefs, like I did above, and came up with reversals. For example;

"I overeat, so I will gain weight" -> "Calories aren't even real, so I can eat whatever I want and stay the same weight."

"I eat junk food, so I'll never be skinny" -> "I love how fast my metabolism is, I can eat junk all day and still stay so skinny." or "Junk food is just like other foods. Raspberries can't make me fat so neither can hamburgers."

"I don't exercise enough to be toned" -> "It's crazy how I'm naturally so toned and fit without trying."

The key for me was changing key beliefs that kept me dieting and exercising to lose weight, to sever the tie between calories consumed and weight, and hours exercising and muscles. These are limiting beliefs. We literally create our reality. Not ice cream, not soda and chips, none of that can overcome YOU as a divine creator. It sounds silly when you spell it out like that, doesn't it?

PART THREE - how i did it

Okay, now we understand that the secret is to change the rules of our own reality to allow us to know a higher truth (my higher truth? I am a skinny legend). So how do we put this into practice?

All you have to do is know. You set these rules, so you know they are true, reality is bound to them. You must know you are successful, know that reality is in the 4d, and feel truly satisfied in that realm. You can do this using whatever method you need to, but personally, I just knew deep within me that I was my ideal weight, and that nothing could change that, that is simply the reality, that is simply the way things are. I thought about old pictures I took of myself, and remembered how skinny I looked in them, I thought about the last time I saw my friends and how much littler they said I'd gotten, I thought about the last time I stood on the scale and how it read the exact weight I knew myself to be. And I just knew, deep within me, that was simply how things were.

And the last step, for me, was to feel truly joyful at this realization. To feel satisfied it came into fruition. Without seeking confirmation, because I already KNEW.

And what do you know? Pictures of myself in my phone from weeks ago, they were my ideal body. The girl I saw in the mirror when I stood up from my meditation? She had my ideal body. My clothes? XS and S, all of them. I had revised my ideal body all the way back to the day I bought them. And confirmed this by checking pictures I took in the dressing room.

I'm telling you right now it is possible if you know in your heart you've always had your desire. It's always been fulfilled within you. You make the rules because you are a divine creator. Nothing outside of you can change what you know to be true.

That's all for now ౨ৎ

[idiopathicsmile]

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

[irisintheafterglow]

co-parenting a dog with pro!katsuki means having horrendously wrapped christmas presents.

"hey, kats?" you're about to open the door to the living room when he quickly calls out a warning.

"don't come in here right now!" your hand hovers over the door handle, eyebrows pinching in confusion.

"is something wrong?"

"wrapping presents," he replies with the tiniest air of frustration. you think you hear a hissed move, damn it! but figure it's just the sound of the heater roaring to life.

"i thought we agreed we would wrap each other's presents when the other wasn't home," you point out and you get a grunt of assent. you take it as permission. "i'm gonna open the door now--"

"don't! 'm not done yet!" there's whispering and shuffling on the other side of the door but you genuinely can't make out what the urgency is all about.

"bakugo katsuki, i have literally seen you shit-faced wasted," you command. "i don't care about your wrapping paper job, so i'm gonna open the door now." before he can implore you to wait, you appear in the doorway and pause.

now what the hell is going on here?

on his knees in the living room with two hands shoved under your gigantic shepherd mix's butt, katsuki freezes and both the dog and your boyfriend's eyes go wide. it takes you a second to process what's happening here, before realizing where your dog decided to rest her body. you burst out laughing unexpectedly, a loud, echoing laugh that bounces off the kitchen cabinets.

"are you trying to lift my damn dog?" katsuki gapes in protest.

"she sat on the wrapping paper and i can't get her off!" he narrows his eyes in thought for a moment. "also, she's our damn dog. i have to deal with her as much as you do."

"i'm not so much dealing with her as i am living with her," you say, making kissy noises to beckon the dog off the paper. it wrinkles and tears holes under her paws and she smacks katsuki with her fluffy tail as she approaches you for much-needed affection. "look at you, puppy. is katsuki being a meanie?"

"she started it," he huffs, sitting back against the couch. "tried to tell her to stay on her bed, but she would just come over and be a bother."

"i was on a work call for an hour, and you can't get the dog to stay in one place?" he shrugs a broad shoulder and you crawl over to sit beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"did you try moving her bed over here?"

"yeah, and she just wanted to sit on the paper anyway, so there was no point." your dog completes the trio and lies down next to you, putting her head in your lap. you can feel his irritation radiating under his black long sleeve, the way his cheeks were slightly red with indignance.

"why're you frustrated, baby?"

"the paper looks like shit now, but every time i yell at her to move, she flinches away and looks sad," he mumbles in deep thought. "i don't wanna scare her, but i also wanna just wrap the damn presents."

"maybe she wants to help," you offer.

"she ain't got thumbs, sweetheart," he deadpans.

"how about you keep her occupied and i'll do the paper job myself? that way we're all engaged in some way." your boyfriend considers this for a minute before a small smirk appears on his face, glancing at the dog resting on your legs.

"i think i have a better idea."

when it comes time for the class 1a's annual christmas celebration, they watch bakugo lay out a crumpled piece of wrapping paper in the middle of the floor. before they can ask what he's doing, he motions to the dog and she happily lays down, ready to be included in whatever holiday festivities were occurring.

[zyafics]

i love love love your writing<3

rq: rafe had came up to tanneyhill's balcony for some peace at his own party. though he didn’t expect reader to be there, looking utterly lost. he knows reader is new. seen you before, too, hanging out with sarah’s crowd; under a pogue’s arm whenever they see him around, telling you rafe isn't anything worth talking, or interacting with.

first off, i am so sorry it took me so long to get this done (as with a lot of my requests) but thank you so much for enjoying my writing!! 🩷 i hope i do this prompt justice (literally shaking in my boots as i post this 😭)

ANGRY GOD | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Content — fluff, angst, Rafe spiraling (S2 Canons), Enemies Tension, Rafe growing possessive of Reader.

Word Count — 3.2K.

Dedication — to @mintforadollar who listened to me rant about this plot a month ago, only for it to now be completed <3. Prompt credited to this on c.ai!

Rafe wants to be alone.

His mind is caught in a tailspin, muscles singing with ache from his latest altercation. It didn't help that the fucker managed to get some good swings in, ripples of pain spread from his jawline to his left eye. When he enters the second floor of Tannyhill, all he wants is to catch a breath of fresh air away from the party. His party.

He didn't expect to see you.

"Out." Rafe commands gruffly. You flinch at his abrupt command. "Second floor is off-limits."

He adds nothing else as he marches over to the edge of the balcony, digging his scraped palms into the smooth ridges of the handrails. He didn't want anyone here to witness the brunt of his frustration and disappointment, or how his mind swims with disoriented and incoherent thoughts. He wants to be alone.

But you won't let him.

Cautiously, you take a step forward—not in the direction of the exit, as he hoped—but towards Rafe instead. Lifting his head at the sound of your faint footsteps, agitation flushing through his expression at your proximity. "Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"You got into a fight." You mumble your observation, examining his hardened profile to discover the bruise that decorates his jawline, swelling with discoloration, the darkening under his left eye, and the split of open skin right above his brow.

He scoffs. "No shit."

"And you're bleeding."

He is? He didn't know that. All consumed by the adrenaline rushing through his system—that has yet to wind down—Rafe lifts his hand to run his fingers over the most prominent aches around his face. When he presses against something wet, he withdraws, finding a fresh coat of blood over his fingertips.

Rafe grimaces at the sight—not the blood, he's used to that—but the fact that his opponent succeeded in cutting him too.

Now, he definitely doesn't want you here. Before Rafe has the chance to kick you out the third time, you offer assistance. "I can help," you say meekly, messing with the hems of your top.

He didn't catch it over the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "What?"

"I can help," you repeat, louder this time, wincing at the projection of your own voice. You don't like the strain in your tone, the desperation seeping through. You'd do anything to avoid returning to the party. "I know how to patch up wounds. I'm training to be an EMT."

"I didn't ask for a life story." He snaps, a mechanical response to any aid. The idea of someone taking care of him is unheard of; unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react other than complete and utter rejection. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Rafe assumes his harsh words would drive you away. The bite behind each syllable has been enough to scare off everyone else but you remain firm in your position. If anything, your expression softens, eyes washing over his rigid posture with a sympathetic look. He hates it.

"I know," you start slowly, eyes cascading down his face, carefully monitoring his reaction. "But... wouldn't it be nice if you didn't have to?"

His expression breaks.

Your kindness strikes directly to his chest and his heart clutches at the way you address him. With humanity. Even when he's been nothing but a complete asshole to you, demanding your departure, you respond with a sense of warmth. Rafe clenches down his jaw.

When he doesn't answer quickly enough, a sign of his contemplation, you add. "Please."

Reluctantly, Rafe gives in. "Fine."

Rafe moves from the balcony deck to reenter Tannyhill, not bothering to check if you're following behind. He heads straight to the ensuite connected to his bedroom, checking under the sink for his first aid kit, before throwing the box over the counter.

That's when he catches a glimpse of himself through the mirror, the ugly bruising that lines his face, the dried blood that stains his temple. His jaw tightens at the sight.

You enter shortly after, seeing him with his back to the mirror, his spine pressed against the rim of the porcelain sink. Your eyes do a quick sweep of your surroundings, before landing on Rafe and his rigid form, arms crossed over his chest, and a cold look on his face. He just wants to get this over with.

You glance outside, to his room, with its openness, before meeting his gaze. "Can we go to your bed?"

His answer is immediate. "No."

You frown but ask nothing more. Rafe's trying to make this difficult for you, refusing to cooperate because it's easier than submitting to your grace. Easier than admitting he'd like the help. You work around that.

Grabbing the antiseptics from the kit, you proceed to clean his wounds, softly massaging his flesh in the process. For a moment, it feels too good and Rafe fights the urge to lean into your hand before a sharp pain rips through him from the open cut and he hisses.

You immediately pull back, mumbling a quick apology.

His eyes squeeze shut, it takes a moment for the throb to cool down, and once it does, Rafe reconnects his gaze with yours to find the remorseful look behind your stare, the softening of your features met with utmost concern. You don't make another move to try again.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." He bites out, wanting to rid you of that look. He's not weak. Stop looking at him as if he is. Despite the reassurance, you have yet to continue. "You're not going to be a good doctor if you shy away every time your patient gets hurt."

"I feel bad." You admit, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Why? You didn't do this."

He's the one who got into the fight. The one who swung first. While he may have won in the end, having knocked out the guy in the middle of the yard, it doesn't neglect the damage done to him in the process. But, at the end of the day, it's his fault.

You don't see it that way. "Because you're hurting."

You're too soft. That's what Rafe determines. Every little moment, little sprouts of empathy, every inch of sensitivity, is going to hurt you in the end. It won't save anything.

"I don't need your pity," Rafe snaps, giving you the first taste of reality under his razor-sharp tongue. He could be considerate, and understanding, but he isn't. That's how he learned.

"It's not—" You sigh. You don't want to argue and relent against his jabs. Without further commentary, you continue forward with your duties: aiding in his treatment and biting through the humane urge to sympathize with his pain.

Rafe takes the silence to observe you while you work. He knows you grew quiet because of his rough manners, and he won't lie to himself and say he enjoys it. He doesn't. But it adds to the list of everything else he has done wrong in his life; his long string of failures that his father can't wait to remind him of.

In the quietness, Rafe recognizes something about you. It takes a moment, after all the aches and throbs, but the recognition dawns on him that you're new. You hang out with his sister, Sarah, and the rest of the filthy group of no-good Pogues on the other side of the island. There have even been occasions when he saw you under JJ's arm, slinging around red solo cups and a grim soak of southside.

"Where's your friends?" Rafe asks, surprising you with the roughness behind his voice.

You lift your gaze to his. "Hmm?"

"The Pogues. Don't you hang out with them?"

You swallow hard, feeling like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You hoped your newcomer status would be enough to shield yourself from Rafe's wraith, especially his hatred towards your selected group. "Why?"

Rafe immediately picks up on the shift in your demeanor, the rigidness in your shoulders that tells him exactly what he needs to know. "You've heard about me, haven't you?"

You hesitate to answer. Rafe presses on. "What'd they say?"

Your friends have told you many warnings about the notorious Rafe Cameron. It all comes down to one conclusion: he's dangerous. He's irrational, self-centered, and narcissistic. He isn't worth talking to because all he cares about is himself.

However, you like to find out for yourself.

Rafe leans forward, lowering himself to meet your height and his face is right in front of yours. An arrogant smirk rises to his lips, a challenge for you to answer. "Come on, princess, don't tell you came up here without doing a bit of research beforehand."

You recognize this as a facade, a way for him to hide his true feelings because it's easier to disturb others. To mess with people and not reflect on your own. You place a hand against the solid of his chest and gently push him back, forcing him to reinstate the safe distance established before. You continue back to your line of work.

Your little push surprises Rafe. It also intrigues him too.

"They said you weren't worth talking to," you say softly, avoiding eye contact as he follows your every move. "That you're dangerous."

He scoffs at the reveal, but it pinches his heart that his own sister would agree. He values her opinion more than he'd like to admit. Drawing out a noncommital shrug, pretending not to care, he declares. "They're right."

You hum. "Maybe."

He looks directly at you with a raised brow. "Maybe?"

Your eyes finally connect with his, "I'm still figuring that out." You pull back, setting the supplies back into his aid box. "Done."

You're about to take a step back when Rafe grabs your wrist, holding you in place. Your breath shortens, and you peer down at the place of your contact before raising your gaze to his.

"What do you mean by that?" He demands, his expression hardens but his eyes are pleading. That juxtaposition, between who he is and what he wants, is the exact thing you're trying to uncover.

You aren't afraid of him. Not like the others.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, sweeping over his face, reading the conflict his features can't seem to contain. Rafe, you're slowly unraveling, is someone who puts his heart on his sleeves. He just hasn't had anyone who cares enough to look for it. "I just don't know if I truly believe that."

"Why not? The rest of the island does."

It's almost a spiral. An edge closer to it. You think it's because Rafe finally has someone who looks past his mask, his deception that the rest of the island gladly takes. They're afraid of him; he engineered that reputation by hand. But you've met your fair share of burnt souls to know they're all worth saving.

You answer him.

"Your eyes." You explain gently. "They say it's the windows to someone's soul."

"And?"

"And, Rafe Cameron, you're someone who isn't as heartless as you'd like the rest of the world to believe."

His grip loosens from your words and you take the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and settle your arms by your side. Rafe watches as you offer him a soft smile, one that reaches your eyes, and you're about to return to the balcony deck for some peace when he follows you into his bedroom.

"That's not fair." He denounces, halting your exit.

You turn around to face him. "What is?"

"You can't come in here and make those assumptions. You don't know shit about my life."

Rafe doesn't like to be read so clearly; to know that whatever he's trying to front isn't deluding you. For some reason, he needs to convince you that every rumor and gossip is true. That he is bad. The idea of it is embedded so deeply into the crevices of his self-worth, that he's having a hard time believing anything else.

Rafe expects your reaction to meet his fury, but the slope of your brows furrow together calmly. A delicate practice over years of training. "I never said I did."

"You're acting like you do."

You frown. "Now you're making assumptions about me," you refute, pointing out his hypocrisy, and a tinge of sharpness slips through. "You asked and I answered. You can't be mad because you don't like them."

"Then why?" He snaps, irritation spewing with his venom. "Who the fuck are you to make that judgment?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear my life story."

He huffs. Rafe finds himself at a crossroads. While you're standing there, with your collected composure, he feels like he's unraveling by the seams. There's something about you. The way you read through him like glass. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. If he needs it or not.

"Bitch," he mutters under his breath at your lack of compliance, and your breath hitches at the term, a flash of anger goes through you like a surge. He recognized that look; it was something he was all too familiar with.

You turn around, about to sprint for the exit once again when Rafe calls out. "Wait."

You don't want to turn around this time. Rafe had managed to make you break through your own facade, your own composure that you spent years trying to cultivate. Something about being in the same room as the eldest Cameron makes you regress into your formative years.

"Turn around."

Your jaw is slighted, but you try to hold it together. You loosen your features before you turn on your heel. You still don't think Rafe is the person he's trying to present to the world, and you doubt that he truly carries that much cruelty in one body, but that doesn't mean you have to be in the same room as him.

But something made you stay.

Rafe crosses the large space, standing just in front of you. His breath is hot against yours, his eyes sharp. You tilt your head, meeting his stare, but to contrast his intensity, your gaze is soft yet firm, your eyes unwavering. Just because you are kinder than he is doesn't mean you are weak.

"You know what it's like, don't you?" He murmurs gruffly, his voice straining at the exposure. This questioning also carries the weight of admission underneath; to bridge a kinship. "Or are you a liar?"

You're not. But no one's ever asked the questions Rafe is asking either. Not your friends back home or the new ones with the Pogues. They treasure your friendship but they don't understand your depth.

"No."

"No, what?"

"I'm not a liar," you bite out. Rafe's mouth curls into a satisfactory smile, and he gets a glimpse of your real character. The true you underneath all that dignity. It's like his own dirty secret. "I know."

You saw through Rafe because you understood him. You shared the same sentiments. You groomed the same callousness. Every act he performs, you went through first. You can't point at his reflection without looking at the mirror yourself.

But you're a bit different. You learn to control it. You discovered that all that anger was something else. Hurt, pain, injustice. You take it all and put it in a box, caged behind thick chains and hard locks. Never to be touched again. Rafe takes it out to the open, free to play. You may come from the same origin but you take two different routes.

However, Rafe sees you much clearer now. To know you can understand him, see through his perspective, and filter out his incoherent thoughts. That's something he'd never experienced before in his life.

"The voices, anger, and impulses?" His voice shrinks, eyes searching yours. You hesitate before nodding once. "You get that too?"

It comes out when you're most hurt. "I do."

He feels like can breathe for once, to not feel completely isolated from the rest of the world. Rafe always feels off, like something is wrong with him. Nothing can be explained; nothing is allowed to be explored. Even when he sought therapy, his father denied his request. He thought he‘d be forever alone in all this.

He steps forward, closing in the distance until there's only an inch of space separating you. But even that feels too big. Oxygen stuck in your throat, Rafe connects his gaze with yours to whisper. "You're like me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard. You didn't realize understanding someone could be a reflection of your own damning soul. You don't know if it's a good thing. "Yes."

His pupils are dilated and nearly pitch-black. His breathing shortens, and his gaze pools with desire. You feel it too. Your heart accelerates beneath your ribcage, your stomach knotting with want. When Rafe leans forward, about to capture your lips on his, you ready yourself to let it all in.

But you're a bit different.

You turn your head away at the last second, his contact coming to your cheek.

"I'm..." You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm with JJ."

The world stills on its axis, and you feel the gravity of it beneath your feet. You slowly peel your eyes open, only to find Rafe having pulled back, his hand, midway through the air to hold your chin, closes into a tight fist.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes swimming with regret.

The look on his face is heartbreaking because you know him in parallel, you know what he's feeling. You take a step back, for your sanity or his, it’s unclear. All you know is the distance was safe. Until it wasn't.

"I should go." You whisper.

Rafe says nothing as you pad your way across his room, slipping out of the door. He remains motionless in the same spot, his jaw set, his fists clenched by his side. The adrenaline pulses return through his veins.

Fuck.

It takes a minute to gather himself. Hearing nothing but the throbbing bass beneath him, pulsing through the floor. His heart is wretched, his stomach full of nausea.

Rafe returns to the balcony to pull away from his room, the place where you had been, and he steps closer to the ledge. Everything in his mind is too quiet; sterile and white-screeching. He doesn't know how to fathom this change.

His blue eyes search across the lawn and he easily picks you out of the crowd. He knows you well now. Those brief, fleeting moments attached to his soul are permanent memories.

You rejoined the party with Sarah and the rest of the Pogues, while JJ saunters over and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and whispering something in your ear. You smile and laugh, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

When you look up, you find Rafe already watching. His eyes are set on yours, unmoving, and the intimacy of his gaze strikes something deep. You had to turn away to preserve yourself.

Rafe slowly comes to his understanding on his own. He never had someone who understood him, much less in such a short time. You unravel him behind gentle stares and quiet observations. You knew him because you knew yourself, and he doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose you. He can’t. 

So, he decided.

You weren't his.

But he's taking you anyways.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02

[insomniadreamzz]

OK OK OK FOLLOWING THE PREGNANCY STORYLINE LETS IMAGINE ISHA IS HERE A CUTE FLUFFY THING WITH EITHER ISHA MEETING THE BABY OR FINDING OUT READER IS PREGNANT AND THAT SHES GONNA BE A BIG SIS

Our family

Jinx x Fem!Reader ft. Isha (plus a little bonus with Sevika)

Fluff

A continuation from the fic „My Everything“ https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/772011828255621120/hey-how-are-you-i-wanted-to-request-gp-jinx-x

Part 2 https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/773579527173668864/hey-im-absolutely-obsessed-with-your-series-about

Part 3 https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/775006861557661697/our-family-part-3

You still remember when Isha found out she gonna be a big sister, the way her eyes were literally glowing with happiness. Isha was mute but she expressed her happiness clearly, already doing little doodles of her and her sister together with you and Jinx. The way she put her little head on your baby bump to feel her sister kick, it was just too cute.

Jinx already set up some stuff for the little one, making sure youre gonna have everything you needed when the baby will arrive and soon it happened.

You can still remember how Jinx held your hand and never left your side. Singed, the only doctor here in Zaun also made an appearance to make sure everything went well. He wasn’t used to be part of something like that very often but he was glad he could help you out in that situation. Jinx kisses on your forehead and the way she encouraged you during that hard time, it was still stuck in your head how gentle and loving she can be and then it happened. When you first heard your little one cry, both of you shed tears of happiness, feeling relieved that everything went good. It was a little girl.

When you both got back home after that, Jinx immediately ushered you to bed, figuring you must be tired as you had your newborn in your arms, Jinx never leaving your side.

„Look how cute she is…our little one…“ She cooed, holding you close as she admired your daughter, making you smile so happily. „Of course she is, she is ours.“ You mentioned, looking into your girlfriend’s eyes. „What should we name her?“ You asked and Jinx already got an idea, something that she was thinking about for a longer time now since she knew you are pregnant.

„Powder.“ Jinx said, making your eyes widen in confusion, knowing it was Jinx‘s actual name. „Powder?“ You asked, Jinx nodding in response. „Yes. I want to have a good connection to that name now. Every time I hear it I have to think about myself when I was younger and…certain things happened but I want to forget that. I want to be happy hearing the name Powder and not feel triggered anymore by that name. She will be a better Powder, not like me. I am Jinx now, Powder died in me but we can make her be a better Powder than I was.“ You heard her voice crack a little, seeing little tears running down her cheeks. This really meant a lot to Jinx, you knew it. „Then she will be Powder.“ You agreed with her, using your free hand to caress her back gently, getting back her attention towards you. „Thank you my love.“ She said before placing a little kiss on your lips.

The moment got interrupted by little footsteps, it was Isha who curiously walked up to you, Jinx shifting to make space for Isha between you both. „Isha! Come here, say hello to your little sister.“ Jinx said, letting the girl slip beside you as she looked at the little one with wide happy eyes, her small hand gently touching Powder as if welcoming her.

„Now you are a big sister. You can show her everything when she gets a little bigger, cool right?“ You said, Isha nodding at your words, feeling really happy to be a big sister now plus she was excited to have someone to play with in the future as well.

You talked a little more this evening until all of you just fell asleep. Powder on your chest and Isha sleeping between you and Jinx, all cuddled up in one bed. It was a very peaceful moment. Jinx slept for the first time very happily and calm, the voices in her head not bothering her at all. She was truly happy for the first time and she won’t let anyone destroy this happy life she had.

The next morning Sevika was on her way to Jinx’s hideout, it’s been a while since she showed up, probably hanging around in the Last Drop or doing her usual work. Sevika knew Jinx from when Silco took her with him so she felt like she had to look for her every now and then, making sure Jinx was alright.

„Jinx where the fuck are-…“ She started but stopped immediately in her tracks as she saw Jinx holding a baby while you and Isha were still sleeping cuddled up together. „Where did that baby come from?“ She asked with a raised eyebrow, not trusting this situation for now.

„That’s my daughter which came right out of my girlfriend if you want to know.“ Jinx replied with her usual sassy behavior. Sevika didn’t want to know any more details, shaking it off as she stepped closer to Jinx, having a closer look at the baby. „That’s…really yours?“ She asked again, being a little bit shocked, Jinx nodding in response. „Yep! Does auntie Sevika want to say hello to little Powder? Or are you gonna chicken out?“ Obviously Jinx had to tease Sevika but the older woman didn’t let her make her annoyed as she just nodded. Jinx helped Sevika to hold Powder with her arm, the baby looking even smaller in her strong arm. „There you go.“

Sevika stared at the baby with a unusual soft gaze. „Aw…did you just say auntie Sevika?“ She asked to be sure. „Of course! You’re the only one left who’s like a family to me after Silco died.“ Jinx became soft as she said that, thinking it was about time to speak the truth to Sevika, making the other womans eyes water a little. „Silco would be so happy and proud of you Jinx.“ Sevika mentioned, making Jinx almost cry but she held back her tears. Instead a little tear rolled down Sevika‘s cheek. „Are you crying?“ Jinx tilted her head as she gazed at Sevika who just shook her head. „No I am not.“ She said, making Jinx chuckle in response. „Damn you are a bad liar.“

And with that both started chuckling.

[cevansbrat0007]

The Slam

Summary: Ari has had a enough of your TikTok foolishness...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Brat!Reader, Prank Foolishness, References to P in V sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Now that you’ve gotten your first TikTok prank under your belt, you found you needed more. It was as if a beast – for lack of better phrasing – had been awoken inside of you. And it demanded that you served the world chaos.

At your man’s expense.

While you’d gone a little bigger the first time around, today you’d decided to dial it back just a touch. Lately you’d been watching videos of women slamming their boyfriend’s and husband’s car door after what seemed to be the most innocent of conversations. 

In retaliation, some of them yelled confused obscenities, or honked horns, others simply appeared content to stew in whatever resentment had already been brewing beneath the surface. 

Regardless, almost all of them were funny. And not only that, but you got the distinct feeling that Ari wouldn’t appreciate it. His truck was precious to him. 

Almost as precious as you. 

This morning you choose to test your luck when Ari is kind enough to drop you by your place so that you can switch out purses and grab your makeup bag before heading out for lunch. You can tell that he doesn’t fully understand the reason you need either of those things. 

In fact, when you told him what you needed, he’d been swift to grunt something to the effect of how you already looked “perfectly good to him as it was”. And although it had made the butterflies in your belly do their special little flutter that was reserved for when you received compliments just from him, you pushed him to make the stop anyway.

In part because you needed those things, but also because you wanted to fuck with him a bit.

“I promise I’ll be super quick.” You tell him, hastily undoing your seatbelt as he pulls up in your driveway. 

“Still don’t get why you needed to come here.” Your bounty hunter was hungry, and therefore also a little grumpy. “You’re already the prettiest little thing I’ve ever set my eyes on without all the extra froufrou shit.”

“You would really have me walk into a restaurant with you with a bare face?”

“Baby, real talk, I’d be proud to have you on my arm if you were wearing nothing but a paper bag.” Comes his quiet, but sincere rebuttal. 

It’s enough to make you melt.

 “You’re sweet.” 

“Uh huh.” He huffs, throwing his truck in park. “And women are weird. Besides, all that makeup looks better on my pillow anyway.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to call us weird. Could’ve sworn you were supposed to be intrigued by the feminine mystique.” You tell him, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

“Weird.” Ari huffs again, clearly not moved by your response.  

“Mystique – you jerk.” Feeling slightly miffed, you decide to steal a sip of his water. 

“Can you please just go get the bag and war paint before I waste away from hunger?” You bat his hand away when he leans forward to open your door and usher you out his vehicle. “My stomach is literally trying to eat itself and you wanna fuckin’ argue.” 

“I am capable of opening it myself, thank you very much.” You hiss without any real heat before grabbing the handle.   

“Then I would very much appreciate it if you did that so we can get this show on the road.”

“Okay, okay.” You finally relent. “I’m sorry. Gimme a kiss and I’ll go–”

Ari’s mouth is on yours so fast it’s almost comical. He cups your face with calloused hands, stroking his thumbs across your temples as he does. But unfortunately, just as you’re about to sink into the kiss, he pulls away.

“Now get.” He growls, before opening the door and effectively shooing you out. 

“Fine.” Climbing out of his truck, you decide that this is your moment. “Be right back.” Closing your eyes, you give it up to the Lord before slamming Ari’s door hard. 

Actually a little harder than you intended. Ah, well. 

Grimacing, you begin to half walk, half run for your front door. After all, there was such a thing as being too brave for this world. And you’d actually felt his vehicle rattle with the force with which you’d put behind it. There was no way this man would not respond. There was no way–

“Aye!” Your shoulders automatically hunch of their own volition when you hear him throw open his own door in protest. You haven’t even made it to the front porch. ”The hell was that about?”

“What?” You try to play dumb.

“Bird. Stop.” 

It’s the calm authority in his voice that has you freezing in your tracks. It’s the same reason your panties are soaked too. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you turn around and face Ari.

“What–”

“I’m gonna need you to walk your pretty little ass back over here, baby.” He quirks a tawny brow when your legs don’t immediately start moving. “Now.”    

“Beast, I need to go inside and–”

“Ass. Here. Now. Please.” Ari tacks on the last word when he sees you frown. However, the frown stays in place as you march back over to where he’s standing, or now leaning, against the side of his truck.

“Thank you.” He grunts before cupping your cheek, drawing you forward. “Now, is there a reason you’re out here slammin’ my shit and spikin’ my blood pressure? Does this have somethin’ to do with that whole feminine mystique business again?”

As he talks, you find it hard to resist the urge to run your fingers through his newly shorn beard. You’d hung out in the bathroom with him this morning while he trimmed it, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts. 

“No.” You breathe, your nostrils flaring when that same hand moves, gently lacing itself around your throat.

“You pissed at me for somethin’?” His electric blue eyes search yours for answers.

“Um…nope.” 

“You tryin’ to pick a fight?”

“Also no.” You tell him as your hand comes up to wrap around his thick wrist. “It was a joke I saw on TikTok and–.”

“Christ, I’m gonna stop you.” Ari blinks twice before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Since you and I don’t have a problem, I’m gonna let you go inside and fetch your things. You have five minutes, or I’m comin’ in after you.”

“To do what?” You can’t help the pout that forms on your lips. Sometimes this man really had no sense of humor. “Because I‘m gonna need more time than that to put on my face.”

The look this man gives you lets you know that you are absolutely trying his patience – every last piece of it. 

“You got five minutes.” Ari repeats, his thumb stroking over your pulse point. “Or I’m gonna come in there and personally take my time making sure all that makeup ends up in its proper place where it belongs.” 

“But that’s not fair!”

“Neither is subjecting me to shit you see on that damned hickory dickory dock crap you watch all the time, and yet here we are.” He leans down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Now go.”

Ari finally releases you before pulling out his phone, and it takes him only a second for him to show it to you, letting you see that he’s started a timer. And it is quickly counting down. 

“You got five minutes, sweetheart.” He winks at you then, before breaking into full blown laughter when you turn to make a break for your front door. “Otherwise I’m comin’ in after you, and it’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” 

Forget the purse. You decide you’re better off snagging the makeup and beating it back to the truck before the timer strikes zero.   

“Bastard.” You grumble under your breath – which only makes him laugh harder.

“You just lost yourself thirty seconds for that one. Better run, Bird.” 

END

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[andy-wm]

Moving out, Moving in

Mission accomplished by sleight of hand?

This is just a collection of thoughts so it's probably full of holes, but it seems to me that Jimin and Jungkook always have a plan in motion.

I guess it's not surprising since they live and work in a fast paced environment in which most of their waking hours are scheduled to the max. It's not just the day to day that's planned down to the wire, their albums and tours are planned years ahead of time and coordinated with military precision.

Their lives run on plans and schedules

Random anecdote: Someone I was friendly with a couple of years ago worked on the BTS Samsung ads as a translator. She described how she was expected to be awake and ready to take calls and edit copy at literally any time of the day or night. Hybe does not sleep. There are staff all over the world, working around the clock. Time is money.

We've all heard these stories, right? So we can imagine the project/event management going on there. The place must run like a Swiss watch.

When you live like that it becomes your normal, so i have no doubt ALL the members are used to planning out their lives.

Also, when you have hardly any free time you use it carefully. If you want to do anything you have to plan and schedule it.

I'm not suggesting they project manage all these things on their own. What's the point of having an endless well of money if you can't hire people to help you make life happen the way you want it to. But I am saying they would know that if they don't plan it, it aint gonna happen.

So, back to Jikook and their plans.

Solo albums

Despite how different their solo album were in terms of musical styles and themes, their promotional materials were astonishingly similar. From colour palettes to photo styling to identical outfits they were far too similar for it to be a coincidence. In fact, if those albums had been people walking down a street they would have been couple dressing without a doubt.

Are You Sure

The travel adventures they squeezed in between deadlines and performances must have been carefully orchestrated too.

Home sweet home

And let's not forget Jungkook finding time to design, plan, and execute the building of the Itaewon house in between everything else.

They plan down to the fine details. And they also play the long game. It's how they're used to operating.

Keep that in mind as i move onto the next thought. This is the interesting bit...

Military service.

It's a reality for every able bodied man in Korea. For a group like BTS it's another thing that would have been carefully considered. Enlistment timing, yes, and every other variable they could choose: locations, divisions, roles etc.

They would have been thinking about their options for MS from the time they were eligible to enlist. Jungkook would have been acutely aware that his tattoos would prevent him from doing anything in security. But that didn't prevent him from inking up his whole arm.

So, we can assume other plans or priorities for MS existed even then.

And those plans included a major decision:

Companion enlistment.

They would have thought carefully about this, having heard all the horror stories of how it can go wrong.

Besides that, despite being dismissed as no biggie by most of the fandom it is extremely rare for idols to enlist as companions.

I did the research. There might be one other occurrence of this. Enlisting at the same time does happen (still rare) but as companions... almost never.

It meant their enlistment was even more newsworthy. They must have known it would highlight their closeness. Was that a conscious choice too?

Maybe.

Everyone, not just jikookers, knows they're inseparable now. It's proof for those who needed it that their relationship is genuine and not fan service.

If they were concerned about how their relationship was perceived i guess thats a bonus. But they coukd have just been more visible in Seoul.

So I'm still asking myself... why?

Why take the chance? Why risk the relationship? So many couples just have to deal with the MS separation, it's simply a fact of life. All the other members had to go through it alone. Jimin and Jungkook could have done it too. They spent months barely seeing each other when they were on solo schedules.

And I'm absolutely not denying they most likely wanted to be together if at all possible. But besides that, what could be gained? Its a long game, remember... so what could be their ultimate goal here?

Where will this lead?

What comes next for them?

Logically the biggest thing for any of the members one they've completed their MS, is their adult life. On a personal level it's the next step.

Nobody is naive enough to think these guys are still going to play boyfriend to the fandom. Not when Hobi our sunshine, who wouldn't even show his armpit on camera, describes the Sweet Dreams lyrics as BEST HOT SEX and then adds 'am I right?' with a smirk because he knows ARMY are all adults too (or that's the part of the fandom he's choosing to engage with).

There's going to be an expectation - or for some ARMYs a resigned acceptance - that the members will actively date, maybe settle down and have a long term partner or a family. But it's only acceptable for those who are going to date or marry a woman. It'd have to be an unknown and discreet or better yet totally secret lover if they're with any other gender.

Which brings us back to Jikook

So what might adult life look like for our lovebirds?

<<content warning: unbridled speculation>>

As a person who believes they're in a long term intimate relationship with plans for a future together, i think they'd want to share a home.

Could they share a home & future?

Imagine the absolute pandemonium that would ensue if Jimin and Jungkook suddenly paired up and set up house together. It would be wild. Possibly the most scandalous thing to ever happen to kpop. The press would roast them, carve them up, and serve the to the nation for dinner. Every conservative right wing mouthpiece would have an opinion on their morality. It would be hideous.

Unless....

Unless they didn't need to suddenly pair up because they were already living together!

Like maybe... as companion enlisted soldiers. And not just any ordinary soldiers but cream of the crop, highly commended, much adored soldiers. Soldiers who have done their nation proud together.

By enlisting together they've already bridged the possibly fatal social chasm they needed to navigate (aka rampant homophobia) if they wanted to move in together.

They ALREADY live together

They've done the hard bit.

It would be no big deal, really to continue to do so. All they'll be doing is relocating to the house in Itaewon.

And my goodness what serendipitous timing... the build was completed while they were snuggled up in their barracks so there's no awkward in between stage. They can just slide right in to their cosy new home and nobody can really say a thing.

What a cunning plan

Now before anyone yells at me of course i have no idea what their plans are. Zero. Nobody does except their trusted circle. This is entirely fabricated. But ya know what?

It's also entirely possible.

💜🏠💛

[cokou]

What OP Men Post About you on Reddit PT2

OP 男性があなたについて Reddit に投稿するもの。

𝑴𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒄

sum. Your boyfriend posted about you on reddit. 𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑫𝑰𝑻 PT1 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tw. Fluff & Crack! Slight nsfw on shanks part😭 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n. Im using my free time to upload my works, i hope its okay to have late uploads���😭 // Do not translate or transfer any of my works, this is my only account (exp. AO3) will not be cross posted anywhere else. // Masterlist♥

r/AITA Swrdsmn.Zoro ⬆︎ 11.7k ⬇︎ 309

Am I the asshole for refusing to take my girlfriends map route?

My girlfriend loves to take me on a different of adventures throughout the world, her main favorites were taking simple walks that would eventually end up at the other side of the city. She drags me along with her always even if i had told her multiple times that it's too early to go for a walk. My girl, sets her alarm at 3am and wakes me up to go outside and walk with her.

About a week ago, she broke the news to ME, that she booked us a hiking trip. Me being myself, i usually laze around the house and get some sleep, so hiking isn't definitely my thing. But either way she bought us 2 hiking tickets up a snowy mountain.

When we had 4 days prior before setting out for hiking, she immediately drew a map from the place we were going. I admit that she is definitely good at drawing maps, but i studied them and absolutely got confused. I gave up on doing so.

We arrived to our destination and she immediately grabbed her map out of the bag, she tried pulling me to the right side of the mountain but there was a map hanging by the wall of the cabin shop saying that the left side is where the mountain hiking is located. I talked to her about it and she told me that the map they made is probably fake.

We got into a small argument and i parted ways with her towards the left side and i fot lost, I was reported as missing and a group of search party was launched to get me back, Now I'm back with my girlfriend's hold and she's mad at me for not taking her word. We talked to the cabin shop for the map route and found out that there was no such thing as a cabin back on the mountain.

Comments:

Chef_Sanji: yta, obvi your gf deserves someone better. ➣Swrdsmn.Zoro replied: I wasn't asking you ➣Chef_Sanji replied: Obviously you were, you posted this so you're asking everyone. (COMMENT WARNING)

—

r/meat Straw_Luffy ⬆︎ 12.7k ⬇︎ 103

My girlfriend cooked me this today :D !

I'm absolutely thinking that she's better than @chef_sanji! Her cooking is so yummy i could eat all of this in just one bite🤤 THANK YOU SO MUCH @Your.Name !!

Comments:

Chef_Sanjii: IT LOOKS SO GOOD, GIVE ME SOME TOO YN-CHAN❤️❤️ ➣Straw_Luffy replied: No way it's mine! ➣Chef_Sanjii replied: I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU ➣Your.Name replied to Chef_Sanjii: I will when we meet again! :D (Liked by Chef_Sanjii)

—

r/wifey ItsmeShanks ⬆︎ 47k ⬇︎ 1.7k

—Attach photo of you

All night, all day, with clothes, naked, doggy style, missionary, full nelson, in public, in private, in bed, on the sofa, with toys, vanilla, piv, anal, boob job, hand job, fingering, masturbation, in the ship, on the floor, top to bottom, on sea, on land, on my face, on your tits, helicopter style, pegging, on camera, in front of everyone, in an alleyway, in the shower, standing up, sitting, laying down, bent over, no stopping, finishing inside, finishing outside.

@Your.Name

Comments:

Your.Name: WHAT THE FUCK SHANKS (Liked by ItsmeShanks)

—

r/girlfriends Com.Acee ⬆︎ 113k ⬇︎ 12.3k

My girlfriend is so beautiful, she absolutely deserves the world.

Literally shes the best, I don't know what i even did to desrve her presence besides me, but im sos so thankful for it. Everyday i wake up next to her it feels like im blessed eith yet another peaceful and loving day knowing that everything is complete with her by my side.

She smells so good that it stays on my sense of smell, the way her fragrance litter her room and immediately smells like her once i enter is so peaceful and sweet. I absolutely love her perfume, i bought one of them to keep on my room and i spray tiny bits of it on me whenever she's not with me now.

I seldom carry her little gifts in my small bag whenever im away from her to remind me of her presence, her perfume never leave my hands. My shelves are filled to the brim with her godly scented perfumes, her perfume is wuite expensive yet it doesn't matter. Her little girts are kept in a glass covered shelf to ensure protection and will never be broken.

I love gifting her her favorite items and seeing the cutest smiles on her face, i really really wish to spend my eternity with her forever. @Your.Name i love you so much😭😭

Comments:

Your.Name: THIS IS SO CUTE AHHH ➣Com.Acee replied: ILYYYY❤️❤️ (Liked by Your.Name)

—

r/Girlfriends MetalPipeLover_Sabo ⬆︎ 46.1k ⬇︎ 429

I need advice on where to take my girl on a date! D:

Any recommendations for places that's suitable for a date? I'm planning to propose to my dear girlfriend, we've been together for a solid 6 years and a half. We've talked about getting married and i think today is the day i propose to her. I can't think of any place thats perfect enough to do so.

Anything that would have a good view or maybe a little cute cat cafe beside it would be fine, I'm thinking of a little elegant theme..or maybe a little cute one? I really cant decide, i contacted my brothera but they couldn't take a single thing serious. Please actually take me seriously😭

My girl isn't that picky, but i myself think that what ever crosses my mind is simply not enough and that she deserves much better than what im thinking of, but of course i still need to atleast make the proposal romantic right?? 😭😭 Please give me recommendations, im absolutely desperate...

Comments:

Com.Acee: The grand canyon idk🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ ➣MetalPipeLover_Sabo replied: ACE GET OFF MY COMMENT SECTION😞😞😞 Straw_Luffy: Take her where there's meat! :D ➣MetalPipeLover_Sabo replied: No that's not good enough. Unknown: A flower field maybe lol? (Liked by MetalPipeLover_Sabo)

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐃 - 𝐎𝐓𝟓

bf!txt x afab!reader

in which the txt members take care of you while you are on your period

wc 250-350 per member, 1.4k in total

warnings menstruation duh, cramps, established relationship, pet names, I try to not state which products are used most of the time but in Taehyun's reader uses pads

↪ izzy speaks... yes, I am on my period writing this and I hate it so I need myself someone like them

CHOI SOOBIN

he always tries to make your pain go away by staying close. You feel like just lying in bed because you're tired or in pain? cuddles. Your cramps are bad? He is your personal heater.

He will ALWAYS make sure you have everything you need

you need another blanket? It's already beside you. Craving your favorite snacks? He bought everything earlier that day.

When you first started dating he was PANICKING

Obviously, he knew menstruation was a thing but he never really needed to care until he got together with you

After the first time you got your period while staying over at his he started asking questions

How bad does it hurt? How often do you get it? What does ovulation have to do with anything?

And then he sat in silence the whole afternoon, just listening to your explanation and taking mental notes

“It's alright, Soobie. I am feeling a lot better now,” you assured him, watching him from the comfort of his bed. “Are you sure though? I can make you a cup of tea? Or maybe we can watch a film together?” He suggested, making you chuckle as you reached your hand to him. Your boyfriend smiled too, holding your hand as he stepped closer. “All I need is for you to lay beside me, yeah?” Soobin nodded, climbing onto the bed. His arms wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your lower stomach. “I love you,” he whispered against the nape of your neck, placing soft kisses in the same spot. Your lips curved into a smile again, your hand resting on his. “I love you too, Soob.”

CHOI YEONJUN

he definitely knows your cycle by heart

he even has the same app you use to keep track of your period on his phone so he is prepared

His bathroom is STACKED with all the products you could possibly want to use

even though he knows your preferences, he likes to have other opinions ready in case you ever change your mind and want to use something new

He also has a few pads/tampons in his bag in case you would need any when you two are out

does literally anything you ask him for

He WILL run to the store to get you your favorite ice cream if you run out of the one you had at home

He likes to stay home with you when your period starts. No matter if you two spend the day lying in bed, watching a movie while eating ice cream, or if you want to clean the whole house, whatever it is, he will stay by your side

“I am going to run to the store real quick, I’ll be right back,” Yeonjun smiled as you finished your lunch. “Oh, really?” You looked up at him immediately, and he could swear he saw sparks in your eyes. “Can you get me-” “Some chocolate and fruits? I am on it,” he interrupted you, nodding. “If you need any pills while I am gone they are in the bathroom, yeah?” He reminded you as if you hadn’t been in his bathroom, looking for the same pills many times before. “I know,” you smiled back at him, standing up from the dining table. “Thank you,” you whispered, walking over to him and placing a kiss on his cheek. “For everything.” His smile grew even wider, stealing a kiss from you when you stepped back again, his hand on your hips. “No need, darling.”

CHOI BEOMGYU

He definitely says something like "Well, you know, I could take it away from you for nine months" when your period starts just to tease you

but when he sees you glare at him, lying in your bed in pain, he shuts up immediately

“Okay, I am just going to shut up now and run you a bath, yeah?”

Continuously asks you if you are okay or need anything, to the point it gets annoying

But he simply means the best and just wants to make sure you are doing fine because no matter how much he teases you, he loves you

He always tries to make you laugh and make you think about different things

He always makes sure you have enough water to drink,

Extra: you definitely made him try the period pain simulator just so he could see what you go through every month and after that, he had never even tried to tease you about your period

You sat on a chair in your boyfriend’s bathroom, in your pajamas now, your eyes closed as you finally relaxed. “Are you feeling any better?” Beomgyu asked, drying your hair. “A lot,” you hummed with a nod. “Thank you, Beom.” 

He shook his head, turning the hair dryer in his hands off. “I didn’t do anything,” he disagreed. Sure, he had run you a bath and helped you wash your hair, but every boyfriend did that, right? “I am just glad the shower helped. Do you still want me to give you some painkillers?” You opened your eyes again with a nod, “Yes, please.” He smiled, nodding back. “I'll be right back then.”

KANG TAEHYUN

Man studied for this day

I feel like similarly to Yeonjun, he is always prepared and knows everything he needs in advance

feels no shame in buying you products and doesn't mind doing so every month

surprises you with your favorite food and flowers to bring up your mood

he normally cooks meals for you, but during your period he is extra careful not to miss a single meal, no matter how busy he is

If you are free, he always asks you to visit him at work so you don't have to be home alone

completely understands if you don't want to join him in the gym or do any sports in general during your period

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panicked, covering your head in embarrassment. How could you just forget you were supposed to get your period today? The gym was the worst possible place it could show up too. Your panties covered with blood, with no sign of any sanitary products in your local gym’s bathroom wasn't the ideal situation. “Love, are you okay?” You heard your boyfriend’s voice behind the door, your eyes widening. “No,” you admitted. “I got it. Oh god, how could I be so stupid and not notice?” 

“Come on, you are not stupid. I should have some pads in my bag, I’ll be right back, yeah?” You sighed in relief. You had an amazing boyfriend, you reminded yourself once again. 

It didn’t take much longer for him to come back, knocking on your door before he opened them slightly, passing you the pad with his fresh pair of boxers he had for after the gym through the gap. “Thank you,” you mumbled, embarrassed. No matter how many times you had gotten your period, it always somehow felt embarrassing. “No need to thank me. I’ll be waiting outside, we can go home and have your favorite meal, what do you think?”

Before you could answer him, you heard a female scream, kicking your boyfriend out of the bathroom. Right, this was the women’s toilet, you remembered, a chuckle escaping your lips. 

HUENING KAI

Since he has two sisters I hope no one is surprised he KNOWS what to do

He notices every shift in your behavior

every turn you make in your bed, every frown you make from the pain, every change in your eyes. He sees it all and always knows exactly what you need, often before even you do. Before you can register your sudden cravings, he is already bringing you the exact snack you had in mind

he always lets you wear his clothes, but especially when you are on your period

He knows you feel comfortable and calm in his things so once you are on your period he gives you every piece of garment he owns to make you feel exactly that: comfortable and calm

“I wish I could go through it instead, I hate seeing you in pain,” type of guy

Just like Soobin, he always keeps you close, being your personal heater

cuddles, cuddles, and cuddles

“Come here,” Kai encouraged you, moving his gaming chair back so you could sit on his lap more easily. You smiled, walking over to him. You wrapped your arms around his waist as you rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

He caressed your back while he waited for his game to load, placing kisses on your neck. “Did the painkillers work?” You hummed a quiet “Not yet,” taking a peek at him. “Should I tell Soobin I have to go?” Kai wondered, not bothering to hide the sadness in his voice. You knew he felt sorry for you, but there was not much he could do about your cramps. “It’s fine,” you shook your head. “Keep playing, I am comfortable like this.” Your boyfriend gave your neck one last peck before moving his chair forward again, doing his best to focus on the game on his screen. Still, he couldn’t help it and constantly glanced at you, making sure you were doing okay.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae ✶⋆ want to get notified? join taglist here!

[bjlipss]

— 11:08, “i’m gonna ruin you” .

cw: throat fucking, this is so fucking nasty and i am deeply disappointed in myself but i am gonna wallow in my pathetic nature later because i got this outta my system and now im gonna go study bye AND ITS ONLY 11 IN THE MORNING GAHHH

i am losing my mind(p link)

“lay back for me, baby—head right at the edge. yeah, just like that.”

nanami’s voice is low, already a little frayed, like he knows he shouldn’t want this as much as he does. like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous. but you see it in his eyes—the hunger, the hesitation, the desperation to treat you right even when you’re asking him not to.

you’re lying on your back now, head tipped off the edge of the bed, hair falling loose and your mouth already parted as you blink up at him. he’s standing above you, shirt pushed up to his chest, abs tight with tension as he strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on your throat.

“are you sure?” he asks, one final time, voice hoarse. “i won’t be able to hold back like that. not in this position.”

you just smile, wide and inviting, the picture of obedience and sin.

“i want you to use me,” you breathe. “i want to feel it in my throat, kento. show me.”

something in him shatters.

he sinks to his knees first, kisses you upside-down—soft and almost reverent—then stands again, fists clenched at his sides before he brings the tip of his cock to your lips. and when you open up without hesitation, eyes fluttering closed around the first inch, he lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before.

he eases in slowly at first, hands braced on either side of your jaw to keep your head steady. but gravity helps him, and so does the slick of your tongue, and soon he’s deeper than ever, and you’re swallowing around him like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

his breath punches out of him. “oh my god—”

and then—

he sees it. the bulge.

a thick outline pressing beneath the delicate skin of your throat, unmistakable and obscene, and it knocks every last ounce of control out of him.

his hands shift to your head, grip tightening, and his hips begin to move. slow at first, but forceful—like he wants to savor it but can’t stop himself from chasing more. from sinking deeper, from watching your throat flex and ripple around the shape of him.

“fuck—look at that. you’re taking it. taking all of me,” he groans, head tipping back for a second like the sight is too much, like it’s breaking him.

and then he starts to fuck your throat in earnest.

steady, brutal, using you—just like you asked—his hips rocking against your face with rhythmic force. your head bobs with the movement, and your hands scrabble weakly at the sheets, but you never stop him. you’re moaning, throat fluttering, eyes rolling, and drool runs down your cheeks and over your neck.

he’s panting now, completely wrecked, voice barely audible over the slap of his hips against your lips.

“so pretty—so fucking pretty like this—i’m gonna ruin you—gonna—fuck—” he groans through gritted teeth as he sees that bulge again, watches his cock press up under your skin like your throat was made to take it.

when he finally comes, it’s violent. his whole body locks up, a hoarse moan torn from his chest, and he holds your head still, buried deep, cock pulsing as he spills down your throat.

and still, he doesn’t stop right away.

he fucks into you a few more times, slower now, like he’s milking the last drops of pleasure from your body—and his.

when he pulls out, it’s with a wet pop, and you cough, breathless and soaked, eyes glassy and throat sore. but you’re smiling. god—you’re smiling at him like he just gave you the best gift in the world.

“that,” you rasp, voice ruined but proud, “was so fucking hot.”

nanami stares at you in stunned silence, chest heaving, hair mussed, flushed all the way to his ears.

“you saw it, didn’t you?” you whisper. “how deep you were?”

his knees buckle. literally. he collapses onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his lap, cradling your body like he needs to protect you from himself.

“you can’t say things like that,” he whispers against your neck. “you’ll kill me.”

but you just giggle, curling into him, and nanami—utterly, completely ruined—knows he’ll do it again the second you ask.

[cheeseceli]

When your parents don't like them

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!Reader (individually)

Genre: reverse hurt/comfort? Angst? A little bit of fluff perhaps; reaction

Description: their reaction to not having the approval of your parents in their first meeting (established relationship)

Warnings: not proofread; a lot of overthinking and self doubt in most of the scenarios; the length of each story is not favouritsm!! It's just that some scenarios required more details than others

A/n: I should have posted this one a long time ago... Oh well. And I am literally the mix of Han and Lee Know, this would 100% happen to me if I were in their shoes

Bang Chan

‌HE'S SO SHOCKED

‌Parents always love him, so why didn't yours?

‌He believes he took it for granted

‌But he was so sure your family would love him

‌Rethinks everything he said and did

‌And thinks about what he could've done

‌He'll be up all night because of it, you better believe me

"Maybe it's the outfit I was wearing?"

"Chan, for God's sake, go to sleep."

"Seriously though, do you think my clothes weren't appropriate?"

"There was nothing wrong with how you looked baby."

"... So maybe I didn't introduce myself properly?"

"Chan."

Lee Know

‌ He knew he had to talk

‌ But it turns out he was too scared

‌And your parents just aggravated his problem

‌ He'd give only short answers and would only speak when spoken with

‌ Because of that your parents didn't see him as a really charismatic guy

‌ But I swear he was trying his best

"I swear it wasn't as bad as it seemed."

"It was horrible. I doubt any of your parents even know what my voice sounds like."

"You were nervous. I'm sure they'll understand. If you'd like I can talk to them about it."

"Please, don't. The last thing I want is for your parents to think that besides being awkward I'm a coward as well."

"They don't think either of those things. You'll see, you guys just need to know each other a little bit more. They'll love you."

Even with his worried expression, he gave you a small smile "I hope so".

Changbin

‌ You warned him he was getting too close

‌ He was holding your hand, caressing your thigh, hugging you too tight, kissing you a lot...

‌ All the time

‌ And yes, you both were dating for a while now

‌ But your parents didn't really appreciate the attitude

‌ And truly, he thought that by doing that he was showing how much he treasured and loved you

‌ Sadly your parents didn't understand his actions like he planned

"But what was I supposed to do? Stay away from you?"

"Ideally, yes"

Changbin pouted, not even realising it "but I'm your boyfriend"

"They are not used to this fact just yet. Don't worry though, they still have a lot of time to like you. Just wait and see"

Hyunjin

‌ Similar to Chan, Hyunjin didn't expect to be rejected by your parents

‌of course, he wasn't expecting to make the fall in love immediately, but he knew he had some charms

‌and he actually put a lot of effort into impressing them so when it doesn't work he's like

‌genuinely sad

‌And he's scared your relationship might change now that he doesn't have your family approval right away.

"So... About the dinner"

"They are always like this, don't worry"

"How come?"

"I knew they were gonna play hard to get. But don't you stress over it, sooner or later they will realise there is no need to act like it"

"So I can still convince them into not hating me?"

"Why would they hate you? You were really boyfriend material if you ask me"

He laughed, a little bit more relieved "They were kinda... aggressive back there, y'know?"

"Ugh, sorry about that. I swear things will get better"

"You're not mad?"

"Of course not. Why would I be?"

"I thought you'd get sad or something like that since the meeting didn't go that well"

"I'm a bit sad, yeah. But it's not your fault. You did your best. Besides, it won't last that long. It's kinda hard to hate on the Hwang Hyunjin for too long"

He laughed again, openly this time as he replied "I hope you are right"

Han

‌The problem wasn't exactly what he did

‌The problem was that he didn't do anything

‌Literally anything

‌ He'd excuse himself to go to the bathroom to avoid any questions

‌He barely moved besides that

‌After a while your dad even forgot he was there

‌And Han wished he could disappear

"I'm so, so sorry"

"Ji, it's okay"

"I was gonna answer your mother, I swear. But she was looking at me with daggers in her eyes"

"You were just fine"

"Fine? Y/n, your dad sighed in relief after I left the room. They must see me as a loser"

"I'm sure they don't. Besides, you still have a lot of time left to win them over. I know they'll love you"

Felix

‌Your parents loved him actually

‌They just don't think he is fit to be your boyfriend

‌They think that his angel face and sweet personality wouldn't give you enough security throughout your life

‌And Felix wants to prove himself to your parents so badly now

‌He will use his deep voice privilege to try to prove his point

‌He will go to the gym with Changbin until he's "intimidating" enough

‌And he won't fail on reminding them how he has over 60 medals on taekwondo

"How do I look?"

"Great, as always"

"But do I look intimidating? Scary?"

"Lix..."

"But not too scary. I need to look threatening to others but reliable to you"

"You look like someone my parents will like"

"They already like me, but not enough to like our relationship"

"They will though. Soon enough they will appreciate everything that comes along with you, trust me."

Felix smiled and nodded, feeling a certain comfort into your words as you headed to the door

"Just for the record, you do look threatening but reliable"

"Oh thank you. I was going crazy over this"

Seungmin

‌If your parents don't like Seungmin then the problem is on them

‌just kidding

‌Seriously though, I can't imagine why they wouldn't like him

‌And neither can Seungmin himself

‌So he truly thinks that everything was a misunderstanding and that it's only a matter of time until your whole family falls in love with him

‌He will face it like a challenge

"What about we invite your parents to our apartment this weekend?"

"We just saw them less than an hour ago"

"I think we should see them again"

"Did you like them that much?"

"They seem cool. But they also seem to hate me. I need to change their minds"

"What? They didn't hate you at all"

"Your father's glare would disagree. But that doesn't matter that much because by the end of this week they will love me"

"You seem certain"

"Of course I am. I can't have them hating me for the rest of our lives, can I?"

"They don't hate you. They are just... hard to please"

"I'll change this" he faced you with a confident smile "I give you my word"

I.N

‌Kinda clueless

‌Totally clueless actually

‌He can't understand what he did wrong but apparently he did something awful considering your parents disliked him that much

‌Will try to find ways to apologise

‌Will gift them and try to keep a conversation even when you're not around

"Does your mother like flowers? She does, right? Every mother does"

"What are you doing?"

"You said that she invited us to lunch this Friday. I don't want to go see her with empty hands again. Maybe that's what made her hate me so much the first time"

"She doesn't care about those things, Innie"

"No? Then why doesn't she like me?"

"She's just hard to satisfy, you know. But I bet she'll like you in no time. She just needs to get to know you better"

"You keep saying that but I don't know, I feel like that won't happen any time soon. I really want her to approve me"

He had that hopeless expression again, that one that really wanted to change the situation but didn't know how to. You really hated seeing him disappointed on himself.

"Lilies" you said

"What?"

"Those are my mother's favourites. Lilies"

"Oh my God, thank you" he got up and kissed the top of your head lightly, before going to the door of your shared apartment "I'll be right back"

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! | masterlist

[glossoholicc]

Gotta regret em' all!

(read bellow for more insight/comments about these!!)

Ouuggghh my GOD the universe did not want me to create these. I started Folly darkrai, then got sick with a nasty cold that I am still recovering from. THEN I get the most painful ear infection ever. The last image was made while I was in physical agony. I cried real tears.

Regardlessss... I really love Pokemon and Regretevator. My brain has been hardwired since the ripe ol' age of 4 to be obsessed with Pokemon. Every fandom I touch I think about trainer AUs or what Pokemon characters would be. So... this was inevitable. Everything I touch becomes Pokemon.

For those only following me for Regretevator, Roblox fandoms yanked me out of my Pokemon branding for everything. Which was good, i think. I used to represent myself with my fave mon, Maractus. Now I am my Roblox avatar. Ripe ol' age of 20 and all I do is roblock. amen.

I wanted to also write an extensive explanation for why EVERY character here is the Pokemon they are. Mostly because I know there will be people disagreeing with me (which is fine), but the goblin in my brain says "nooo people need to understand you 100% all the time". Sooo, here is a horrendously long essay about why I am objectively correct and you should trust me with all Pokemon related content ever (slash silly?). Does a lil' jigggggg.

(Basic Pokemon knowledge may be required to understand these things btw)

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

Folly Darkrai

- Obvious reason Folly would be a darkrai is that darkrai represents nightmares. It can cause those its near to have terrible dreams, and its signature move is Dark Void which puts enemies to sleep. Pair this with its ability, Bad Dreams, any opponent on the field that is asleep will take continuous damage.

- Darkrai is also illusive, and feared. It holds a similar energy to Folly. That energy being big bad scary oooo ahh scary.

- Literally the exact same color scheme as Folly. Similar shape language as well (big claws, jagged black bits, big evil eyeball, and a collar)

- Darkrai are interpreted as evil by characters within Pokemon media, but it is canon that they cannot control the nightmare giving aura they have. They can give others nightmares unintentionally, and aren't blood thirsting or villainous by nature. I feel this is a good nod towards Folly being in a similar boat. She can't help the situation she is in, and wasn't born evil.

Design Notes:

- I LOOOVE DARKRAI AND I LOOOVE FOLLY. she needed to be a pokemon I adore.

- The sweater was awkward to add onto her... because darkrai's body is already supposed to be like. a scary cloth. and they are so bulky. but I think I did okay?

- The hat looks awkward but I didn't include it that would have been messed up.

- nothing cool to say about dreamer she is just cutesy and rounder shapes.

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

Great One Xerneas

- Xerneas is a legendary Pokemon which represents life. It creates forests with its powers, and it can go into a "dormant" form where it is literally a white tree. Xerneas, and its counterpart, Yveltal, are not represented as inherently "good" or "evil". The whole deal with them is that life and death are a delicate balance that should be respected. I feel this was fitting because Great One is also a god, gave life to Folly, and became corrupt from jealously. Yeah I think that would disturb the natural balance of shit if the god of life got messed up.

- It is literally a big tree deer idk man.

Design Notes:

- I am sooo proud of this design... I think I cooked! Not much to say besides my friend said it looked like a old pokemon creepypasta and that is true.

- Xerneas is so fun to draw but antlers. suck. ewie.

- The drawing on the far right is inspired by that one screenshot.

- Hard to see but on the far right drawing I included the stomach wound. Didn't do it on the other fullbodies though because I forgot oops.

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

MR Minior

- Minior is a meteor pokemon which has two forms. In its ability "Shields Down", where it has a rocky, outer shell that protects it until it's HP gets too low. Once it is weakened, it will change into its "Core Form". Which is basically a cute little guy. But MR Minior is trapped in its "Meteor Form". Meteors relate to MR because of the Happy Home Party floor where MR summons meteors yay.

- Minior are very pathetic pokemon, they fall from the stratosphere only to die on earth. I feel this is similar to MR in the way like. MR is dead and pathetic in its currently state. Compared to what it previously was anyways.

- Minior literally descends from the heavens. Something something word play MR dead god blagh blah.

Design Notes:

- Minior already had eye holes on its design, but I used the cracks throughout its body to make the forehead hole and mouth. I think it was done decently well!

- If MR did go into "Core Form" I imagine it would just be whatever Regretevator devs intend MR's living form to be.

- Minior is so cute and round. I think MR is kinda cute in a round plushie squishmallow kind of way.

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

Pest Lokix

- Okay this one is purely based off of aesthetic but HEAR ME OUT.

- Lokix is a locust/grasshopper pokemon inspired by Kamen Rider, a japanese superhero franchise. Multiple characters in Kamen Rider have grasshopper/bug motifs. Pest is Japanese and also a bug. Ive connected the dots so good.

- Lokix is the first ever bug/dark type, and Pest would definitely being this typo combo.

- Idk guys just trust me okay

Design Notes:

- LOOOOK I KNOWWW. Pest is a beetle. Heracross is right there. BUT Heracross doesn't give PEST. Heracross is a round little blue guy and Pest is a weird little freak. Heracross doesn't hold the same intimidating aura as Lokix. And the other beetle pokemon, Rellor and Rabsca, are even further off the mark.

- I thought I was so clever having the antennae form mandible shapes.

- I love Lokix so much. Pest gets to be one of my faves as a treat.

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

Poob Pikachu

- Pikachu is the mascot for Pokemon, and Poob is the mascot for Regretevator! In a way, Poob is in a lot of promotional regretevator material.

- Very similar color pallet and vibes. The vibes being "little guy".

- Something could be said for pikachu being an electric type. In the pokemon franchise, electric types are typically associated with being "wild" and "fun". Poob is electric! Personality wise. And Poob would totally hook themselves up to shit they shouldn't.

- Social butterfly, Poob gets their energy from parties. Just like how Pikachu is shown to be able to absorb electricity and shit.

- Just cute. Thats it. Cute marketable guy.

Design Notes:

- I really like what I did with the ears on this. I like them being droopy... because of the hat.

- Poob's goofy little face looks natural on a Pikachus face, I think. Awesome sauce.

- I made the tail tip a half star shape because A: Poob genderless B: Party hat has stars. For those who dont know, pikachu have different tail tip shapes based on gender. Poobs gender is party!

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

Pilby Caterpie

- Guys do I need to explain this one.

- Caterpie is a caterpillar. A green one! Pilby is also a green caterpillar.

- Pilby and caterpie have eyes meant to cry. That one clip from the anime where caterpie has watery wet eyes is Pilby.

- Caterpie is a small little thing and Pilby is also a small little thang.

Design Notes:

- I made the little horn in the front the color of their hair because I didn't want to add even more clutter to the face.

- Headcanon that happy Pilby sways/wags their tail when happy. So caterpie pilby gets to wiggle their tail in happiness too.

- hungry hungry caterpillar.

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

Mach Tinkaton

- Tinktaton is a pokemon that wields a massive hammer, and beats others to death with it. Its hammer weighs over 200 lbs in canon, and Mach would totally be able to lift that weight. If not more.

- Tinkaton is also an exclusively female pokemon. Mach is a woman. Shrugs.

- Not much to say!!!! Big woman big hammer.

Design Notes:

- I think I made her look UGLY. I don't know what I like about my design. I guess the pose on the fullbody is sick af.

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

Infected Cubchoo

- I quite literally only did this for the aesthetic of the snot droplet. Thats it.

Design Notes:

- For some reason the regretevator wiki doesn't have a close up of the left side of Infecteds hat, only the right side. This made it difficult for me to draw the blue bunny.

- I contemplated adding hair at all. I decided to do so because Infected is one of the rare few haired characters. You can keep your hair. For now.

- I was contemplating Grafaiai as well, but I decided going the snot droplet route was better. But Grafaiai still works really well for Infected IMO.

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

Bive Absol

- Absols can uhmm.. ughh. Predict future events such as Natural disasters with their powers. So I think she would do this but her future predicting shit sucks. And she is paranoid from Absol related intuition.

- That's basically the only reason I thought of, but Bive is a simple character in concept so thats okay.

Design Notes:

- Freak woman Bive I love you.

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

That's all ty for reading I'm so tired goodnight

[julietsf1]

Off Limits - Kenan Yildiz x Bellingham!Reader

summary: Jude had one rule: his sister was strictly off-limits. Kenan really tried to listen, really did. But then you smiled at him, and, well—there was no coming back from that. (18k words)

content: brother's best friend, slow burn, secret relationship, forbidden love, slight angst

AN: wrote this on the plane the other day!! can't lie guys, I have a real soft spot for Madrid since I had an exchange there & with the recent rumours on the possibility of Kenan leaving Juve I just had to write this! It is looooong but being a binge reader myself I always prefer long stories over multiple chapters :) hope u enjoy! ciao

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

The house smelled of garlic and slow-simmering tomatoes, the kind of warmth that wrapped around you the second you stepped inside. It was familiar, homey—but unexpected. Jude rarely cooked unless coerced, which meant one thing:

He had help.

Following the hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of pans, you stepped into the kitchen—and immediately stopped short.

Jude stood by the stove, stirring something that, shockingly, looked edible. Beside him, moving with effortless ease, was a second figure, sleeves pushed up, knife in hand, chopping vegetables with practiced precision.

Your brows lifted slightly.

Kenan Yıldız.

You recognized him instantly—not just because of who he was, but because Jude never shut up about him. His name had been woven into conversations for weeks now. One of the best new signings at Madrid. Got along with Jude right away.

What you hadn’t expected was… this.

Kenan fit into the kitchen like he had been coming to your house for years. The smooth rhythm of his hands, the clean efficiency as he gathered greens in his palm before tossing them into a bowl—it was clear he knew what he was doing. He didn’t even look up at first, simply remarking,

“You must be Jude’s sister.”

His voice was warm, rich, touched with something amused—like he already knew you.

You blinked. “And you must be the new recruit.”

That got his attention. He looked up then and—okay, wow.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome; that was a given. It was how he carried himself—calm, unhurried, effortlessly present, as if he didn’t need to take up space to be noticed. His dazling green eyes met yours, gaze steady, warm, quietly amused. Like he was taking you in, waiting to see what you’d say next.

Jude, oblivious to the shift in the air, barely looked up. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s not helping.”

Kenan scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m doing all the hard work.”

“You’re cutting vegetables,” Jude deadpanned.

“With flawless precision,” Kenan shot back.

You leaned against the counter, watching them, amused despite yourself.

“You actually cook?” you asked, directing the question at Kenan.

He nodded, as if it were obvious. “Of course.”

Jude let out a disbelieving snort. “He’s lying.”

Kenan pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “What’s with the judging, Judy?”

“You literally looked up a tutorial on TikTok when you picked up the knife.”

Kenan smirked. “And? I’m a quick learner.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Unexpected. Kenan’s gaze flickered to you, and for a brief moment, his expression softened.

Clearing your throat, you fought to regain the upper hand. “So, you’re just here to show off, then?”

Kenan shrugged. “Figured I should try my best to impress the sister I’ve heard so much about.”

You tilted your head. “Are you this smooth with everyone, or am I just special?”

His smile was slow, a little surprised—like he wasn’t expecting you to match him but found that he liked it.

“A little of both,” he admitted. “But mainly the latter.”

Jude groaned, dramatically turning away from the stove. “Oh my days. Don’t make me wack you with this spatula Kenan.”

Kenan smirked. “No worries, bro”

Yet he was still watching you, eyes glinting, something unreadable flickering behind them—like he wasn’t sure what to make of you yet.

You stretched out comfortably in the kitchen chair. “I think I’ll just sit here and watch. This is way more entertaining than I expected.”

Kenan chuckled, reaching for another onion. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

The worst part? You did.

Jude, still focused on the pan, added, “For the record, Kenan practically begged to be invited over.”

Kenan exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a dramatic way to put it.”

You arched a brow. “So what’s the less dramatic version?”

Kenan wiped his hands on a towel, leaning back against the counter. “I mentioned I had nothing to do tonight, and your brother insisted I come over.”

Jude scoffed. “You asked what I was making for dinner and then said, That sounds nice. I wish I had plans.”

Kenan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “And you invited me. So, really, this is on you.”

You hummed, amused. “Strategic play.”

Kenan’s lips twitched. “Can you blame me? Good food, good company…” His eyes flickered to you for half a second before he added, “I think I made the right call.”

Jude, oblivious, just shook his head. “Right. Well, you can do the dishes, then.”

Kenan sighed, dramatic as ever. “That’s not how guests should be treated.”

You smirked, shaking your head at him.

Jude barely paid attention, focused on stirring the pan. “Kenan’s alright,” he muttered. “One of the only friends I actually trust with my life.”

Kenan looked over at him, a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting the sentiment to be voiced so easily.

Jude continued, utterly unfazed. “That being said—just so you know—same rule applies to him as everyone else.”

He finally turned, fixing Kenan with a pointed look. “She’s off-limits.”

The air shifted.

Your expression twisted immediately. “Excuse me?”

Jude didn’t even glance at you. His focus remained on Kenan, casual but firm. It was clear he didn’t think twice about saying it, just like he had with every other teammate, every other friend. It was instinct.

Kenan, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He held Jude’s stare for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression before it turned into a friendly smile.

“Duly noted.”

Jude gave him a little slap on the back, before turning back to the stove. 

“Not that I don’t trust you, man. Just needed you to know.”

And then, just as effortlessly, just as naturally as if this were all a game only he knew the rules to—

Kenan winked at you.

You wanted to throw something.

Kenan just chuckled under his breath, tossing a handful of chopped parsley into the dish.

Jude, completely oblivious, still hunched over the stove, stirring like nothing had happened.

You exhaled slowly, chest feeling tighter than before.

This was going to be a problem.

…

The night was already borderline ridiculous before you even set foot on the course.

Disco golf.

Who in their right mind came up with this?

The artificial grass glowed with neon strips, fluorescent obstacles scattered across each hole like some kind of fever dream. Overhead, strobe lights pulsed in sync with a painfully bad club remix blaring from the speakers. It was an assault on the senses in every possible way.

And yet, somehow, this group made it work.

You barely had a chance to breathe before Antoine Griezmann materialized out of nowhere, his signature shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, flipping a golf ball between his fingers like it was a poker chip. “Look who finally showed up.”

“I was literally five minutes late.”

Antoine was as predictable as ever—an insufferable smooth-talker, equal parts charming and irritating. He had tried it with you once, a half-baked attempt at flirting that had crashed and burned spectacularly. Instead of being embarrassed, he had turned it into a long-running joke at your expense. Or at least, he claimed it was a joke. 

You rolled your eyes. “I see Jude didn’t immediately chase you out of here. He must be in a good mood.”

Antoine pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Why do people assume your brother hates me?”

“Because he does,” a new voice chimed in.

Vini Jr. 

The responsible one. The glue that held the group together. He was calm, steady, unbothered—unless you insulted his dance routine, in which case, he suffered more than anyone you knew.

Vini clapped Antoine on the back, his expression completely deadpan. “And for good reason.”

Antoine scoffed. “You wound me, bro.”

Before Vini could respond, a golf club swung dangerously close to both their faces.

“Boys, boys,” Arda Güler interrupted, dramatically flourishing his club like he was starring in a medieval jousting match. The lovable idiot, always at the center of chaos. His entire personality was built on making bad decisions and hoping for the best.

“This is a game of precision, not violence.” He spun his club around before dramatically planting it into the ground. “And I will emerge victorious.”

“You say that every time,” Vini muttered.

Arda ignored him.

A hand clapped down on your shoulder, and you turned to find Julián Álvarez standing beside you, unreadable as always.

“Should I even ask why you agreed to this?” he asked, voice low, amusement barely detectable.

Julián was the quietest of the group—the type who didn’t say much but noticed everything. He never inserted himself into drama, but if you needed advice, someone to talk to, or a brutally honest reality check, he was the guy.

You shrugged. “Morbid curiosity.”

Julián hummed, unconvinced.

The group started pairing up, and you had already resigned yourself to being stuck with Jude, as always. But before you could even move, Arda slung an arm around Jude’s shoulders.

“I’m with Jude,” he announced decisively, leaving no room for argument.

Jude shot him an incredulous look. “Since when?”

“Since now,” Arda said, already dragging him toward the first hole. “You’re good at this, right? Because I refuse to lose.”

You barely had time to process the betrayal before Julián and Vini shuffeled a little closer together as well. 

Great. That left you with either Antoine or Kenan.

Your eyes flickered toward Antoine, who was casually flipping his golf ball in one hand, smirking like he was already planning something insufferable.

Without a second thought, you turned to Kenan instead.

He was already watching you, utterly unbothered, twirling his club with the same easy confidence he carried in everything.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he said, handing you your ball.

Your fingers tightened around it as you met his gaze.

“Lucky me.”

Kenan’s lips twitched, just slightly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Jude, too preoccupied with arguing with Arda over proper golf technique, hadn’t even noticed—let alone the way heat crept up your neck as Kenan watched you with quiet amusement.

…

The first few holes passed in a blur of neon-lit obstacles and questionable golf techniques. Arda was taking things far too seriously, Jude was arguing about angles like this was an actual competition, and Antoine had already managed to cheat twice—though no one could prove it.

Kenan, to your mild surprise, was actually decent at it. Not overly competitive, but smooth, precise. Effortless.

Annoyingly so.

You, on the other hand, were not having as much luck. Your shots weren’t terrible, but they also weren’t particularly impressive. And Kenan, who had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing every single attempt, was clearly enjoying himself.

By the fifth hole, you were losing patience.

Kenan leaned on his club, watching as your ball veered slightly off-course. “Not bad,” he mused. “But I think you’re gripping the club too tight.”

You shot him a look. “Thanks, coach.”

He grinned. “Anytime.”

You exhaled, adjusting your stance before trying again. The ball rolled forward, making it past the obstacle this time but still stopping just short of the hole.

Kenan made a thoughtful sound. “Better.”

You turned to him, exasperated. “Do you actually have tips, or are you just enjoying watching me struggle?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Little bit of both.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you lined up for another shot. But before you could take it, you felt him step closer.

Too close.

Kenan reached out, adjusting your grip on the club before you could protest. “Relax,” he murmured, voice low enough that Jude—still distracted by Arda—wouldn’t hear. “You’re overthinking it.”

Your pulse jumped.

You were sure he knew exactly what he was doing. The proximity, the subtle amusement laced through his words—it was intentional.

You rolled your shoulders, pretending the heat creeping up your neck was from frustration. “Are you showing off again?”

Kenan smirked. “If I were showing off, you’d know.”

Before you could come up with a response, he took a step back, gesturing toward the ball. “Try again.”

You did. And, to your surprise, it went in.

You blinked at the hole, momentarily stunned.

Kenan’s smirk deepened. “See? All you needed was the right guidance.”

You turned to him, unimpressed. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, all faux innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the course.

…

The next morning, you sat across from Jude at your favorite café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries curling around you like a comforting embrace.

Brunch had become a ritual—a chance to catch up, talk nonsense, and, more often than not, for Jude to rant about something that had deeply offended his very specific worldview that week.

Today, that thing was Antoine Griezmann.

You weren’t even five minutes into your meal before Jude leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and let out a deep, dramatic sigh.

“I hate him.”

You didn’t even have to ask who he was talking about.

Still, you took a slow sip of your coffee, humoring him. “Antoine?”

Jude scoffed. “Obviously Antoine.”

You hummed in amusement, cutting into your pancake. “What did he do this time?”

Jude leaned forward, elbows braced against the table. “What did he do? He was one second away from licking your face off, did you miss that?”

You snorted. “He was annoying, but I wouldn’t say that.”

Jude shot you a deeply unimpressed look. “He was testing my patience.”

You arched a brow, feigning innocence. “So… your patience is thin, then?”

“My patience doesn’t exist when it comes to my friends hitting on my sister,” he stated, as if it were fact.

“Technically, he didn’t hit on me,” you pointed out.

Jude’s glare was immediate. “He was setting up for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. You know I’d never reciprocate anything anyway, right?”

“You better not.”

You exhaled through your nose, reaching for your coffee.

Because this was just Jude. Overprotective, borderline ridiculous, but never in a way that truly irritated you—because you knew it came from a good place.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t overdoing it.

Jude took a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “It’s a hard rule. No friends of mine. Ever.”

You almost choked on your coffee.

Then, slowly, you leaned back in your chair. “Aren’t you going a bit far?”

“It’s for the best.”

“It’s insane.”

Jude crossed his arms. “You know footballers. You know I’m right.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

Because, unfortunately, he had a point. You weren’t blind.

You had spent enough time around Jude and his teammates to know how they moved—always on the go, always in a whirlwind of temporary flings, casual connections, never really rooted anywhere.

Still, your mind drifted to Kenan, who did not give you that impression at all.

You eyed him, unimpressed. “So what are you aiming at? Immediate death if they look at me?”

Jude barely hesitated. “Immediate exile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “A bit dramatic.”

“I think it’s still very generous.”

You sighed, knowing this was an argument you wouldn’t win.

…

The house was alive.

Music pulsed through the walls, the bass thrumming beneath your feet like a second heartbeat. Laughter spilled from the kitchen, where a group of guys were debating whether or not vodka actually made you better at beer pong. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat, and something vaguely burnt—probably whatever disaster Arda had left in the oven.

It was the kind of night that blurred at the edges, full of bad decisions and good memories. The kind of night where anything could happen.

And yet you barely registered any of it.

Because he was here.

You felt Kenan’s presence like static in the air, a pull that had been getting harder and harder to ignore. It had been this way all night—glances exchanged across the room, fleeting, lingering.

He was talking to someone, laughing at something Arda had said, but even as he smiled—as if nothing in the world was out of place—

You knew better.

Because he kept looking at you, too.

Short, quick glances that made your pulse kick up a notch.

You tore your gaze away, turning your attention to the nearest distraction.

Unfortunately, that distraction came in the form of Antoine Griezmann.

“Well, well,” Antoine drawled, appearing beside you with his usual brand of obnoxious charm. “If it isn’t my favorite Bellingham.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “Oh, God.”

Antoine grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“No.”

“Lies. Say it again, maybe I’ll believe you this time.”

You turned to face him, unimpressed. “Antoine, it’s physically impossible for me to miss you when you’re always finding new and creative ways to bother me.”

Antoine pressed a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak. “Always so feisty.”

You didn’t even bother responding.

Suddenly his hand landed on your waist.

Casual. Uninvited.

Before you could even react and push him back, Jude was there, looking very angry. Oh god. 

His voice was sharp, unamused, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Antoine.”

Antoine turned, lazy grin still in place. “Jude. Nice house party.”

Jude’s jaw ticked. “Get your hand off my sister.”

Antoine raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just saying hi.”

Jude’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Say it differently.”

Antoine smirked. “Don’t be so pressed.”

Jude now looked ready to commit an actual crime.

And just like that, you’d had enough.

You weren’t about to stand around while Jude and Antoine had another one of their pissing contests.

“You boys have fun,” you muttered, pushing past them before either could stop you.

You felt Jude’s glare follow you.

You didn’t care.

You weaved through the crowd, exhaling slowly, trying to shake the tension tightening in your chest.

Suddenly, a hand brushed against yours. Barely there. Just enough to make you notice.

Before you could process it, fingers wrapped around your wrist. Light, but firm. A silent don’t go that way.

No words. Just a pull—smooth and effortless—like he had already decided you were coming with him.

You didn’t fight it. Just let Kenan steer you through the crowd until the heavy bass dulled and cool night air brushed your skin.

Only then did he let go.

Kenan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

Your arms crossed over your chest. "I should be asking you that."

He let out a breathy chuckle. "Why?"

"Because you just dragged me out of a party without saying a word."

Kenan smirked. “You followed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not the point.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes flickered back toward the door—checking. Not for just anyone. For one person in particular.

Your stomach flipped at the realization. 

"Antoine gets on your nerves that much?" you asked, tilting your head.

Kenan sighed, leaning against the railing. "You could say that."

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing his forearm. A fleeting touch, light as air, easy enough to pass off as nothing.

Kenan went completely still.

His green eyes flickered down to where your skin met his before slowly dragging back up to your face, something dark and unreadable swimming in them.

"You really care about that?" you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Kenan’s lips quirked, but his voice was steady. "Should I not?"

You held his gaze, pulse quickening. You knew damn well it was never just about Antoine. 

It was about you.

It was about the way Kenan had been watching you all night, the way he kept finding ways to be near you, the way his eyes dipped to your lips before flicking away like he hadn’t just done that.

You swallowed hard.

“We can’t do this,” Kenan murmured, but he didn’t move back.

He was still standing too close, still looking at you like he was already too far gone.

And you, reckless, breathless, said the words before you could stop yourself.

"I think it’s too late for that."

A flicker of something passed through his expression—uncertainty, hesitation, but that disappeared when he closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours.

It was slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was really allowed to, like he thought you might push him away. His lips brushed against yours once, twice—light, barely there, testing. But then you exhaled against him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and that hesitation unraveled.

His hand found your waist, gripping just firmly enough to keep you anchored as his other slid up, fingers skimming along your jaw before cupping your face, tilting it up to him. The railing pressed into your back, cold against your skin, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the warmth of him, the way his lips pressed deeper against yours, like he was memorizing the way you felt, the way you fit against him.

A slow, lingering drag of his mouth over yours, a quiet hitch of breath as your fingers twisted tighter into his shirt. When you tilted your head just slightly, letting him deepen the kiss, a quiet sound rumbled from his throat—a low, pleased hum that sent heat coursing through your veins.

It was a mess of pent-up frustration, of every unsaid thing, every stolen glance that had led to this exact moment.

And you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. Ignoring all the alarm bells that were supposed to go off inside your head. 

You chased it, chased him, let him pull you closer, let the weight of his body press against yours until—

The door creaked open.

You and Kenan broke apart instantly, breathless, heat still prickling under your skin.

Julián stepped onto the terrace, stretching.

You forced your breath to slow, straightening slightly.

Kenan rubbed the back of his neck, looking too casual.

Julián barely glanced at either of you. “Too loud in there,” he muttered, yawning.

Your heart was still pounding.

Julián paused, frowning slightly. “Why do you two look so—”

“Weird lighting,” Kenan cut in smoothly.

Julián squinted, then shrugged before turning away again. "Huh. Cool."

You risked a glance at Kenan.

And even though neither of you said anything, you both knew. This was far from over.

…

The morning after a party was always far too quiet.

The kind of quiet that exaggerated every tiny sound—every creak, every rustle—as if conspiring to remind you of all your questionable choices. Choices like sneaking onto terraces. Choices involving certain footballers whose names started with ‘K’ and ended with ‘enan.’

Yes, questionable indeed.

At breakfast, you tried to appear casual—a tall order given your current mental spiral. You clutched your lukewarm coffee like a lifeline, while across from you, Kenan sat annoyingly unbothered, spreading butter on toast with the ease of someone who had never had a scandalous terrace rendezvous.

Your narrowed eyes did nothing to shake his composure.

And because the universe loved tormenting you, Jude entered the kitchen at that precise moment, looking impressively disgruntled for someone still wearing last night’s hoodie. He slammed a plate down with the melodrama reserved for mornings after.

"Antoine Griezmann," he began, as if invoking an arch-nemesis, "is the biggest dickhead I’ve ever met."

Kenan, infuriatingly calm, took a sip of coffee. "Good morning to you too, Jude."

"Unbelievable," Jude muttered, turning to you. "That man has zero sense of boundaries."

From beside you came Arda’s voice, muffled by his folded arms. "For the love of God, lower your voice."

"You didn’t even drink," Jude shot back.

Arda lifted his head slightly, wincing. "The drinks weren’t the problem. The nachos, on the other hand…"

No one disagreed. The faint scent of burnt tortilla chips still lingered accusingly.

"Anyway," Jude continued, undeterred, "Antoine is officially banned from future gatherings."

You sighed. So much for hoping he’d drop the issue overnight.

"He put his hands on you," Jude emphasized. "I should’ve decked him."

"Jude. He barely touched me."

Jude scoffed. "Barely? You’re seriously defending him?"

"I’m not defending him. He’s a prick, but you’re overreacting."

Jude muttered something darkly under his breath.

Arda, finally awake enough to contribute, chuckled. "Antoine thinks he has a chance with everyone."

"Exactly!" Jude pointed triumphantly. "This is why—"

You braced yourself.

"No friends of mine. Ever."

There it was. Jude’s favorite rule, delivered with his usual finality.

Across from you, Kenan finally broke his silence, eyes amused above his coffee cup. "Are you always this intense before noon?"

"Don't start," Jude shot back.

Arda sighed. "Jude’s still recovering from his Antoine-induced rage episode."

"It wouldn’t be necessary if people listened to me," Jude muttered, sitting heavily with his breakfast.

You kept your focus on your now-cold coffee, resisting the urge to grimace. The last thing you needed was Jude sensing anything off.

But the silence stretched. You caved—stealing a quick glance across the table.

Kenan was already watching you.

Not brooding. Enjoying this. The way his gaze lingered was insufferable—calm, playful, like he knew exactly what was on your mind.

Your brows lifted. What?

The corner of his mouth curved—barely. A quiet tease. A private acknowledgment of shared misbehavior.

Your cheeks warmed. You turned back to your coffee.

Kenan cleared his throat softly, hiding his amusement with another slow sip.

It was going to be a long breakfast.

…

The living room was a battlefield of discarded hoodies, half-empty snack bags, and abandoned water bottles—the kind of war zone that only a FIFA night in full swing could create.

Jude was perched at the edge of the couch, controller clutched in both hands, his entire body tense with single-minded focus.

Julián, annoyingly composed, sat next to him, casual but lethal, dismantling the opposition with the kind of effortless precision that made everyone else look bad.

Arda, however, was mid-meltdown.

“This game is rigged,” he groaned, throwing his arms up as the ball sailed over the goal, missing by an embarrassing margin.

Vini barely spared him a glance. “You guys just suck.”

Arda let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the couch. “Next round, we’re switching teams.”

And then, of course, there was Kenan. Lounging back against the cushions, controller resting lazily in his hands, watching the chaos like it was free entertainment.

His lips twitched slightly when he noticed you standing near the doorway. A quick once-over, deliberate, measured.

You ignored the way your stomach tightened under his stare.

"You guys still at this?" you asked, stepping further inside.

Jude didn’t even look up. " Vini’s on some demon mode tonight."

Vini smirked, glancing at you. "It’s not my fault everyone else is bad."

Arda, ever dramatic, flopped across the couch like a fallen soldier. “This is what I get for believing in myself.”

Kenan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe next time, Arda."

Arda shot him a glare before tilting his head toward you.

"Are you keen on joining, or do you have more productive things planned?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’m getting water and then I need to finish my paper, unfortunately ."

...

The second you stepped into the kitchen, you exhaled, pressing your hands against the countertop.

You just needed a moment. A pause. A second to collect yourself..

But apparently, tonight wasn’t going to grant you that luxury.

Footsteps.

"It’s really cute how you get all flustered."

His voice was softer this time, teasing but not sharp, laced with something warmer, something dangerously close to fondness.

You turned slowly.

Kenan stood by the counter, one hand resting lightly against the surface, his posture relaxed in a way that felt entirely deliberate. His gaze swept over you—not just playful, not just amused. Knowing.

"You followed me," you murmured, willing your voice to stay steady.

Kenan tilted his head slightly, an easy smile playing at his lips. "Felt like the right direction to go."

Not a denial. Not an admission. Just a quiet, magnetic pull in the form of words.

"You need to stop looking at me like that," you muttered.

Kenan raised an eyebrow, gaze steady. "Like what?"

You swallowed.

He was too close. Close enough that you caught the faintest trace of his cologne, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you in ways you didn’t have the strength to ignore.

"Like you want to kiss me," you said, quieter this time.

Something flickered in his expression—brief but unmistakable.

"I do," he said simply.

The air between you shifted.

He wasn’t smirking now. He wasn’t toying with you.

"You can’t say things like that," you murmured.

"Why not?"

You opened your mouth, but you struggeled to find words.

Because what were you supposed to say? That he made it impossible to think straight? That you had spent the entire morning replaying the way he kissed you last night? That if you let yourself, you might start thinking about how much you wanted him to do it again?

"Because Jude—"

There it was.

The reason why you should be walking away right now.

Kenan sighed, running a hand through his hair. The teasing was gone now, something quieter settling in its place.

"You think I don’t know that?" he muttered.

Your breath caught.

Kenan took another step forward.

The kitchen felt smaller. The air, heavier. A quiet moment stretched between you. Not tense. Not uncertain. Just… waiting.

His gaze flickered to your lips for a fraction of a second.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation this time.

His hands found your waist first, pulling you against him with quiet urgency, like he had been holding back for far too long.

Your breath caught, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie as he deepened the kiss, steady and deliberate. Like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. Like he wanted to savor every second of it.

His fingers pressed against your back, firm, grounding. Your heart stuttered as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the counter like he had been meaning to do it all along.

Your legs parted instinctively to let him step between them.

And when his lips left yours, trailing down, brushing along your jaw, then lower—

A quiet sigh escaped before you could stop it.

Kenan smiled against your skin, pressing another slow, lingering kiss just below your ear.

You barely had the presence of mind to cling to him, hands twisted in his hoodie, breath uneven.

He stepped away, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth where his hands had been. Not far. Just enough for you to feel the absence of his warmth. 

Your pulse was a mess, your mind struggling to keep up. 

His lips brushed your ear, voice barely above a whisper.

"I really like you."

The shift was instant, the absence of him unsettling in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You blinked, fingers still curled against the counter, as if letting go might send you tumbling into something you weren’t ready to name.

Kenan smirked—subtle, something almost teasing but not quite.

Then, with a lingering glance, he winked and walked out.

Like this hadn’t just changed everything.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the empty doorway, thoughts colliding too fast to make sense of.

Because Kenan Yıldız liked you. And you we’re definitely enjoying his company too.

It took a full minute before your body caught up with your brain.

Even as you stepped forward, something felt off—like you were still hovering in the space Kenan had left behind, the ghost of his hands on your waist lingering longer than they should. You inhaled sharply, straightened your shirt, and walked out of the kitchen with a carefully practiced ease.

Past the living room. Toward the stairs. Just a few more steps and you’d be free.

When all of a sudden Jude looked up. His brows immediately pulled together. "You look like shit."

You halted mid-step. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, studying you like some kind of medical anomaly. "Did you die in the kitchen? What’s wrong with you?"

From the couch, Arda barely lifted his head, his voice dry. "Maybe she saw whatever’s still in the oven. That alone could ruin anyone’s night."

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. "You guys still haven’t cleaned that?"

Jude didn’t blink. "Right. Well, hope you’re okay." His suspicion deepened, his gaze lingering a second too long.

Your eyes flicked to Kenan.

He was leaning back against the couch, controller in hand, seemingly absorbed in the game. Nothing about his expression gave anything away, but you noticed his almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A silent reminder of what had just happened.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, heat creeping up your neck as you tore your gaze away before he could make things worse.

…

If someone had told you a few weeks ago that you’d be sneaking around behind Jude’s back, stealing glances and secret touches with his best friend, you would have laughed.

But here you were. And you weren’t stopping.

At first, it had been subtle. Little things that could be dismissed as nothing if anyone noticed.

The way Kenan’s knee would press against yours when you sat side by side, lingering a second too long before shifting away—always with that small, knowing smile. 

The way he’d find excuses to touch you in passing—a hand grazing the small of your back, fingers brushing against yours when he handed you something, the steady warmth of his palm resting on your waist as he leaned in to whisper something only you could hear.

You hadn’t been sure if it was intentional. If he was testing the limits.

Then came the car rides.

Kenan had convinced Jude that carpooling to training made sense, especially on days when Jude had plans afterward and wouldn’t be heading straight home.

And suddenly, Kenan was picking you up after work, dropping you home after practice, stretching the moments when it was just the two of you for as long as possible.

The car was dangerous. No one else around. No one to stop things from slipping past the point of denial.

Like the first time he had reached over—mid-traffic—to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

His fingers barely skimmed your skin, but the feeling traveled everywhere.

Or the time you had been venting about something Jude had done, and Kenan had just… reached over and taken your hand.

No smirk. No joke. No performance.

Just a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles, his eyes still on the road, completely at ease in a moment that made your stomach twist into knots.

You just let him hold your hand all the way home.

And then there were the kisses. Stolen between car doors, in the quiet seconds before you had to pretend you weren’t completely unraveling for him. Kisses that left you breathless.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how you had gone from avoiding him to falling straight into something neither of you could escape. The guilt of lying to Jude being overwhelmed by the joy you found whenever you two were together.

…

You were really not that much of a club goer. You hadn’t even planned on coming tonight.

But Jude had insisted, dragging you out with the usual crew, declaring that it had been far too long since your last proper night out. Maybe that should have been the first red flag.

Second red flag was Antoine. Obviously. 

He had been circling all night, hovering just close enough to make his presence known, just persistent enough to keep himself within your reach. Jude, already too deep into his drinks, was in no state to notice, leaving you to deal with him alone.

"Come on," Antoine leaned in, breath warm against your ear, his confidence as misplaced as ever. "Just one dance?"

You took a step back, trying to create space. "No, thanks."

If he heard the sharp edge in your voice, he chose to ignore it.

"Don’t be like that," he coaxed, grinning, still far too close.

Before you could respond, a presence settled beside you, calm and steady. Kenan.

He didn’t push, didn’t pull you away, didn’t do anything that could turn this into a scene. Instead, his fingers brushed against your wrist, light but deliberate, just enough to remind you he was there. That he had seen. That he wasn’t going to let this happen.

Antoine stiffened slightly. His smirk faltered, just for a second, before something sharp flickered in his gaze.

His hand lingered, his fingers warm against your skin, and suddenly Antoine decided he wasn’t so interested anymore.

"Didn’t realize you had another bodyguard," he muttered before stepping back, disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response.

Kenan’s fingers squeezed yours for just a moment longer before he let go, as if anchoring you before he released you completely.

Away from the worst of the noise, he turned to face you. "You okay?"

You exhaled, forcing the tension from your shoulders. "Yeah. Antoine is just—"

"A problem?"

"My most annoying problem."

Kenan smirked, leaning in slightly, his voice low enough to send heat rushing to your face. "Am I your favorite problem?"

The question made something flutter in your chest, but before you could answer, he kissed you.

There was nothing rushed about it. His lips met yours like he had been waiting all night for this. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing just enough to keep you there, like letting go wasn’t an option he was considering.

Your breath hitched as he deepened the kiss, his smile pressing into yours when you tugged him closer, the warmth of his mouth making it impossible to think about anything else.

"Kenan!"

The sound barely registered before Kenan was being yanked away, leaving you momentarily dazed, still gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Arda, far too exasperated to even recognize you in the dimmed lights, clung to Kenan’s shoulder like a lifeline.

"Bro, you gotta come quick."

Kenan blinked, still slightly dazed himself. "What?"

"Jude. Russian shots. It’s bad."

Kenan let out a slow, exhausted sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. " Scheiße."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

He hesitated for a second, gaze flickering back to you, something tender in his expression.

Then, leaning in just enough that only you could hear him, he murmured, "I’ll see you soon, baby."

And with that, he let himself be dragged into whatever disaster Jude and Arda had created, disappearing into the chaos of the club, leaving you standing there, still catching up.

…

Jude was dead weight against your shoulder, his entire body slumped into yours as you half-dragged, half-guided him through the front door. His hoodie was pulled up over his face, barely concealing the mess of curls spilling out, and his sneakers scraped lazily against the floor as he mumbled nonsense under his breath.

It had been a long night.

You should have known this would happen—should have expected that your always-overdoing-it brother would push himself too far, too fast, too recklessly, just because he could.

The others had offered to help, but you had waved them off, insisting you had him. And you did. Even if he was an absolute nightmare to get through the door.

You exhaled sharply as he nearly collapsed onto you.

"Jude," you muttered, shifting his weight. "Come on, just a little further."

A sleepy, unintelligible grumble was the only response before you finally managed to maneuver him onto the couch. His body melted into the cushions immediately, limbs sprawled in every possible direction, completely unaware that you had just spent the last of your strength hauling him inside.

"Never drinking again," he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes, pulling a blanket over him. "Uh-huh."

His breathing had already slowed, the heavy pull of sleep dragging him under. Then, just as his consciousness slipped entirely, his voice came—soft, barely audible.

"I’m glad you’re here."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. Jude wasn’t sentimental. Not like this. 

Not when he was awake, anyway.

You wanted to brush it off, let it roll past you like the other half-coherent things he had been mumbling all night.

But the words settled somewhere deeper than you expected.

Your phone buzzed against your palm.

One new message.

Kenan: Can I see you?

…

You cracked the door open, the cool night air whispering against your skin. Kenan stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze steady—warm, waiting. The streetlights cast a soft glow along his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the quiet hesitation in his expression.

He wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t asking for anything more than what you were willing to give. But he was here.

You hesitated for only a second before stepping aside, letting him in.

Kenan moved past you, slow, deliberate, his presence filling the space effortlessly. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—warm, clean, familiar in a way that made your stomach twist. The door clicked shut behind him, closing the rest of the world out.

Something between you felt different now, heavier with everything unspoken.

"You didn’t have to come," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Kenan’s lips curved slightly, but the teasing edge was softer this time.

"I wanted to." His gaze searched yours, careful, intent. "I kept thinking about you. And I didn’t want to fall asleep wishing I was here instead."

Your fingers curled at your sides, gripping at nothing. "That’s..." You trailed off, words failing you. "That’s really sweet."

His smile deepened, laced with something warmer, something almost adoring. "I was worried I’d crossed into ‘hopelessly obsessed’ territory."

"Never said those things are mutually exclusive."

Kenan laughed. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you an out, a final moment to stop this before the line blurred beyond return.

You let his touch linger, let his fingers curl loosely around yours, warm and steady.

His voice was softer now. "I’m really glad to see you."

Your chest tightened. The weight of his words settled deep, making it harder to ignore what you already knew.

Your pulse quickened. Swallowing, keeping your voice low, careful, you murmured, "We should go upstairs. Before we wake Jude."

Kenan didn’t move right away. His fingers squeezed yours just slightly, his grip steady, anchoring himself to this moment.

"Lead the way," he murmured.

…

You woke up to warmth.

Not the usual, oh, the blanket’s cozy kind of warmth—but the very specific kind that came from having a large, slightly inconvenient man wrapped around you like a human radiator.

Kenan’s arm was heavy around your waist, his chest pressed firmly against your back, his breath slow and even against the nape of your neck.

For a blissful, fleeting moment, you didn’t think.

You just existed in the warmth of him, in the steady way he held you, like even in sleep, he wasn’t willing to let go. It was grounding, disorienting, and honestly very distracting.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart stopped.

"Hey, you up?" 

Jude’s voice. Groggy. Unmistakable.

Kenan went completely still behind you.

Your stomach plummeted at the exact same speed panic shot through your veins.

You twisted, shoving at his shoulder, whispering urgently, "Go hide. Now."

Kenan groaned into the pillow, voice rough with sleep and entirely unbothered. "What’s going on?"

"Closet! Hurry up!" you hissed, already untangling yourself from the sheets, frantically smoothing out the blankets.

He cursed under his breath before rolling—not gracefully, not remotely smoothly—off the bed, landing with a muffled thud that had you cringing. You barely had time to gawk at his ridiculous lack of stealth before he scrambled toward the closet, slipping inside just as the doorknob turned.

You flipped onto your back, throwing an innocent expression onto your face so forcefully it was probably suspiciousas Jude poked his head in.

He blinked. Then squinted. Then held up a plate.

"As a thank you for dragging me home," he announced, completely unprompted. "I brought breakfast."

You stared at him, still trying to calm your breathing. "Wow. How sweet of you."

Jude frowned, stepping inside, eyeing you like you’d been caught committing tax fraud. "Why are you being weird?"

From inside the closet came the softest possible shuffle. You ignored it. Barely.

"I’m not," you said far too quickly.

Jude narrowed his eyes, the skepticism radiating from him palpable. "You definitely are."

The silence stretched.

Kenan was absolutely in that closet grinning. You just knew it.

“Just a bit sleepy, still need to wake up a bit.” You said, not even sure if you could convince yourself. 

After a painfully long beat, Jude finally left. "Take your time. I’ll be in the living room."

The moment the door clicked shut, you collapsed against the pillows, exhaling sharply.

From inside the closet, Kenan’s voice came far too smug for someone who had nearly blown his own cover.

"I think he’s onto you, baby."

Your eyes snapped to the closet. "Shut up and get out before he comes back."

Kenan slipped out, grinning like he had won something. His hair was already an absolute mess, and as he tugged his hoodie back into place, he looked disgustingly pleased with himself.

"Still worth it," he muttered, far too casual for someone who had just been shoved into a closet like a scandalous love affair in a bad rom-com.

You glared, unimpressed. "You’re the worst."

Kenan leaned down, tilting his head just slightly, voice low and teasing. "Go cuddle with Antoine then."

Your mouth opened, ready to deliver something truly scathing, but before you could—

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and slipped toward the window.

…

The stadium buzzed with anticipation, the crisp night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the more questionable aromas of stadium food—the kind that always smelled five-star but tasted like regret. Fans waved scarves and banners, their collective energy contagious, a living, breathing force of excitement.

You, Vini, and Julián had arrived early, settling into your usual seats in the VIP box, which offered a prime view of the pitch. Jude, Kenan, and Arda were warming up, all sharp movements and pre-match focus. Vini, still sidelined with his injury, lounged comfortably like a man who had fully embraced the perks of forced rest. Julián, meanwhile, had no real stake in this game—his Atlético Madrid loyalties firmly intact—but had shown up under the universal rule of football friendships: when your boys play, you support.

It should have felt normal—just another match, just another night watching your brother do what he did best. But from the moment the whistle blew, your gaze found him. Not Jude, not the movement of the game as a whole—but Kenan. 

You told yourself you were just watching the match, same as everyone else. But the way your eyes tracked Kenan’s every step made it painfully obvious that this had very little to do with football.

Watching him play like this—so completely in his element, entirely untouchable—felt a little like staring directly at the sun. You weren’t supposed to. It was bad for you. But even knowing that, you still couldn’t look away.

And then—Kenan broke loose.

A perfectly timed run, the ball practically glued to his foot, the entire pitch stretching open before him like a red carpet moment he had scripted himself. His acceleration was sharp, effortless, the kind of movement that made defenders rethink their entire career choices. One quick feint, a clean turn, a final ruthless touch—

And the ball was in the back of the net.

The stadium detonated.

Kenan’s name thundered through the stands, fans losing their collective minds, his teammates swarming him in celebration. Hands ruffled his hair, clapped his back, pulled him into the chaos—except Kenan barely acknowledged any of it.

Because Kenan wasn’t looking at them.

His gaze was already cutting through the noise, through the bodies, through the absolute carnage unfolding around him—until it found you.

With all the casual confidence of a man completely unbothered by the tens of thousands of people currently watching, he held your stare for just a second longer than necessary, before lifting his fingers to his lips, sending a small, knowing kiss in your direction.Not exaggerated. Not over-the-top. Just a little something to make sure you saw. A little something to make sure you knew.

And oh, you knew.

Your stomach twisted. Heat crept up your neck. You could feel yourself reacting before you could stop it, before you could school your expression into something resembling normal.

Too late.

Julián, seated next to you, hummed. Low, amused. Maybe even delighted.

And just like that the match was no longer your biggest concern.

…

The hallway outside the locker rooms was a chaotic mix of movement and noise, players filtering in and out, staff giving hurried instructions, and media figures darting around like they had somewhere important to be.

You, Julián, and Vini lingered near the entrance, waiting while the rest of the group finished changing before heading out for dinner.

Vini scrolled through his phone, completely uninterested in anything happening around him.

Julián, however? Julián was watching you.

You pretended not to notice, shifting your weight slightly, fixing your gaze on anything else—the floor, the ceiling, a scuffed mark on the wall that was suddenly very interesting.

But, of course, he wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.

"You know," he said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets, voice just low enough to be intentional. "You could just tell him."

Your body went rigid.

"Tell who what?" you asked, feigning confusion as if you didn’t immediately know where this was going.

Julián gave you a look. Not just any look—the kind of look that translated to: don’t even try it.

You swallowed, forcing a nonchalant shrug. "You’re being cryptic."

"And you’re being too obvious," he countered without missing a beat, eyebrow lifting in quiet amusement.

He wasn’t wrong.

Before you could even begin crafting some kind of defense, he sighed, the teasing edge in his voice softening.

"Listen," he said, quieter this time, like he was letting you in on something no one else was supposed to hear. "If you’re happy, you should just be honest."

You hesitated.

Julián wasn’t usually like this. He wasn’t the type to meddle, to pry, to offer unsolicited advice unless he genuinely meant it.

And the fact that he was saying this now—that he was looking at you like he had already figured out everything you were trying so hard to keep to yourself—made something tighten in your chest.

" Julián —"

"Jude will understand," he said simply.

And just like that, your heart stopped. That cracked open something you weren’t prepared to confront yet.

…

Post-match dinners were tradition—good food, good company, and Arda laughing at himself while everyone else berated his more questionable decisions.

But tonight, something felt... off.

And if you had to pinpoint why, it would be the warm weight of Kenan’s hand resting on your thigh under the table.

The restaurant buzzed with post-game energy—clattering plates, bursts of laughter, the scent of grilled meat and fresh bread.

For a while, everything felt normal.

You and Kenan were just sitting next to each other. It wasn’t unusual. No one had batted an eye when you slid into the seat beside him. There was no reason to think twice about the way his knee brushed against yours a little too often or how, at some point, his hand had found its way to your thigh. The contact was warm, steady, deliberate in a way that made it impossible to ignore, but subtle enough that it would have gone unnoticed by anyone not looking for it.

Jude wasn’t suspicious. At least, not yet.

You frowned as Kenan stole a fry from your plate, grinning at your outraged expression as he dodged your attempt to swat at his hand. 

Somewhere between that and the next bite, you had started laughing a little too much, leaning in a little too easily.

Then came the real mistake.

Without thinking, without even realizing what you were doing, you reached over and fed Kenan a piece of food from your plate.

He didn’t bat an eye, didn’t move to stop you. He just took the bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment your fork landed back on your plate, Jude’s eyes found yours.

His brows furrowed. His gaze narrowed, expression shifting as though his brain was struggling to make sense of something that wasn’t quite clicking.

You could almost see it happening in real time, the slow mental process of realization beginning to piece itself together.

And in a moment of sheer, blind panic, Kenan—quick as ever—turned to Arda and, with zero hesitation, lifted a forkful of food to his mouth.

And fed him a bite straight from his plate. With complete eye contact. A hand under his chin for dramatic effect. Like he had been planning it all along.

Arda, to his eternal credit, didn’t miss a beat.

He sighed dreamily, tilting his head slightly as if this was some grand romantic moment before murmuring, “Finally, some love and appreciation.”

The entire table erupted into laughter. And just like that—crisis, momentarily avoided.

Jude, momentarily thrown off the scent, shook his head and rolled his eyes. "God, you two are annoying."

You exhaled.

Kenan’s hand, still resting on your thigh, squeezed once before relaxing again.

Suddenly, with loud steps, Antoine walked in.

Late as usual, he carried himself with the kind of lazy confidence that came from always assuming he was welcome, flashing his signature smirk as he slid into the empty seat across from Kenan. His gaze flicked across the table, already amused, already scanning for his next source of entertainment, before landing directly on you.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

Vini barely looked up. "You missed Kenan and Arda having a moment."

Arda, ever the performer, turned toward Kenan, winking like they had been caught in a scandalous affair.

"I’d happily do it again."

Antoine’s brow lifted in mild curiosity. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Julián muttered before taking a sip of his drink.

Antoine smirked, leaning forward slightly.

And then—he turned to you.

"Good to see you again," he said, tone just smooth enough to be irritating. "Didn’t know you were coming tonight."

Your body reacted before your mind did, the subtle shift of tension tightening across your shoulders, the momentary hesitation before you answered. It was small, barely noticeable, but enough for Kenan’s fingers to flex against your thigh under the table.

Antoine, oblivious, continued.

"Been a while, huh?" His voice had that same practiced charm, the kind that could talk its way in and out of just about anything.

You forced a polite smile. "Not long enough."

Arda snorted into his drink.

Antoine, entirely unbothered, let his grin stretch wider. "Whatever you say, beautiful."

The words settled over the table like a misplaced knife, sharp, unnecessary, and completely unwelcome.

You felt Kenan’s grip on your thigh tightening—not possessively, not obviously, but enough. Enough that you knew this was the exact moment his patience expired.

Antoine, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh.

"You know, I was thinking—"

"You? Thinking?"

Kenan clearly wasn’t the only one who had lost his patience for Antoine.

Jude’s voice sliced through the conversation like a cold blade, stopping whatever Antoine had planned to say before it even left his mouth.

Antoine blinked, caught off guard.

The shift in Jude’s demeanor was immediate, the air around him suddenly weighted with something just serious enough to silence whatever playful deflection Antoine might have had planned.

"Clearly you can’t, or you’d remember she’s off-limits."

The weight of the words hung between them, unchallenged.

Antoine scoffed. "Oh, come on—"

"I don’t care." Jude’s voice never wavered.

Antoine stiffened, his usual lazy confidence faltering.

Arda, ever the hero, ever the breaker of tension, propped his chin on his hand and made a kissy face at Jude.

"Thank God there’s another Bellingham who isn’t off-limits."

It took a second, but then the entire table exploded into laughter, the relief of the tension being broken visible on all faces.

Even Jude, despite himself, exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Antoine, thoroughly humiliated, sank into his seat.

Kenan reached for his drink, finally looking at peace.

And you?

You just exhaled, yet the weight on your shoulders hadn’t fully dissolved yet. 

...

The night air had a crisp edge to it, the kind that made everything feel a little more defined, a little more present. The streets had quieted, save for the occasional burst of laughter from passing groups and the distant hum of traffic rolling through the city. A leftover energy from the match still clung to the air, lingering in the spaces between streetlights and the faint glow of shop windows.

Jude had just left for some girl’s place, tossing you a lazy wave over his shoulder before sliding into the backseat of a taxi, completely unaware of what—or rather, who—he was leaving behind.

Now, it was just you and Kenan.

The two of you walked in sync, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm against the pavement, the kind of silent coordination that came naturally when you spent enough time around someone. Neither of you spoke for a while, but the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was settled, familiar, charged in a way that didn’t require words.

Kenan was the first to break the silence.

“You know,” he mused, his hands shoved in his pockets, his voice carrying that usual casualness, though there was something softer beneath it, something more careful. “I realized something tonight.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “And what’s that?”

He tilted his head slightly, considering. “I don’t actually know how you see the world.”

The comment made you blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Kenan smirked, but it wasn’t teasing—not in the way he usually was. “I know how you react. I know how you argue. I know the way your mind works when you’re scheming something, the way you roll your eyes when you think someone’s being an idiot. But I don’t know what you dream about. I don’t know what you think about when it’s just you and your own thoughts.”

His words sent something warm curling through your chest, something that felt an awful lot like being seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

You narrowed your eyes, lips twitching. “That’s already quite the character study. What else is left?”

Kenan’s grin widened. “That you’re stubborn, that you were a menace growing up, and that you have god-awful taste in movies.”

You gasped, scandalized. “First of all, I do not have god-awful taste in movies—”

Kenan hummed, feigning deep thought. “You like that one rom-com with the guy who—”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, and you will respect it,” you shot back, jabbing a finger at his chest.

His laugh was warm, deep, cutting through the cool night like a melody you’d heard before and wanted to hear again.

But then, after a beat, his voice softened. “I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “Tell me about you.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because no one ever really asked. Your entire life had existed in orbit around someone else’s story, in the shadow of football pitches and expectations, always introduced as Jude’s sister before being anything else.

But standing here, under the dim glow of streetlights, Kenan wasn’t looking at you like someone else’s sister.

He was looking at you. Like he wanted to know. Like he wanted to understand who you were beyond the spaces you filled for other people.

So, you told him.

About your dreams, your ambitions, the things you wanted that had nothing to do with football or being tethered to a world you hadn’t exactly chosen. About how you had always been restless, always searching for something that felt just out of reach, never quite sure what it was supposed to be. About the weight of constantly being seen as an extension of someone else instead of just you.

And Kenan listened.

Not in the way most people did, waiting for their turn to speak, but fully, completely. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tease, didn’t try to fix anything. He just walked beside you, nodding now and then, his expression unreadable but focused, present, engaged.

Then, when you finally ran out of words, when you had spilled more than you had planned to, he stopped walking.

You turned to face him, and his gaze didn’t waver.

There was something warm in his eyes, something deliberate, something that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you could name.

“I don’t want to keep sneaking around,” he said, straightforward, unwavering.

Your breath caught. The easiest response would have been to joke, to throw back something sarcastic, something that made this feel less serious than it was.

But you couldn’t. Not this time.

Instead, your voice came out quieter than expected. “Me neither.”

Kenan exhaled, like he had been holding onto that breath for too long.

He stepped closer, slow and measured, his presence surrounding you in a way that made the rest of the world fade into background noise. “We’ll tell him,” he murmured. “After this weekend.”

You hesitated—not because you weren’t sure, but because—

“Jude’s going to kill you,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

Kenan tilted his head, grin forming. “Think he’ll make it quick?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Probably not.”

“Damn,” he sighed, like he was genuinely considering the odds. “Guess we better make the most of it while I still have my limbs.”

…

The morning unfolded slowly, wrapped in that golden kind of stillness that came after a night where nothing was rushed, nothing was hidden, and nothing felt like a mistake.

You stirred awake gradually, the soft glow of daylight stretching through the curtains, dusting the room in muted warmth. The duvet was tangled around your legs, the air comfortably heavy, and Kenan’s arm draped over your waist, solid and warm, his grip loose but unwavering.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Still caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, your mind felt foggy, your body relaxed, completely enveloped in the weight of him against your back. His breath was slow and steady, lips barely grazing your bare shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest in perfect rhythm with yours.

There was something easy about it. Something natural, like neither of you needed to rush back into reality just yet.

Like the rest of the world could wait.

Kenan stirred behind you, inhaling deeply as he shifted, his fingers pressing lightly against your stomach before relaxing again—like his body refused to let go, even in sleep.

Then, soft and half-mumbled against your skin, a voice still thick with sleep—

“Mmm… morning, baby.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, the drowsy heaviness still clinging to his green eyes, barely open, barely awake.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice quieter than intended.

Kenan exhaled a slow, contented sigh before burying his face into the crook of your neck, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for just a moment, as if delaying the inevitable need to get up.

Neither of you moved for a while, tangled in the sheets, limbs draped over each other in a way that didn’t feel stolen or temporary anymore—just right. The silence was filled with soft sighs, half-hearted murmurs about starting the day, Kenan groaning dramatically every time you even suggested getting up.

It took twenty more minutes of coaxing, a promise of coffee, and an absurd amount of effort to finally untangle yourself from him.

Which somehow led to Kenan, standing in your kitchen, sleeves pushed up lazily, completely in your space—eerily familiar to the first time you two met.

"You just gonna stand there and look pretty, or are you actually going to help?" you teased, casting him a glance over your shoulder as you reached for the pan.

Kenan smirked, arms crossed over his chest, the definition of amused. “I thought I was the guest here.”

You rolled your eyes. “I must have missed the part where guests show up like stray cats and never leave.”

Kenan snickered, stepping closer, his presence pressing against yours without even touching you.

"Can’t help it," he muttered, reaching past you to grab a knife from the counter, his hand grazing yours in the process.

Your breath hitched.

It was such a small thing—barely even a touch. But the air between you shifted, thickened, like neither of you quite knew how to handle it now that there were no rules left to break.

Kenan didn’t move away.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you, something soft and unreadable flickering behind his expression.

“I like this.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

He glanced around—at you, at the kitchen, at the quiet ease of the morning—before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“This,” he murmured. “Mornings with you.”

…

By noon, Kenan was lacing up his shoes, bag slung over his shoulder, the usual ease in his movements feeling just a little more forced. Neither of you had said it out loud, but the reluctance hung between you, stretching out the seconds, making something as routine as leaving for training feel heavier than it should.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, watching him stall in the smallest ways—adjusting his bag, running a hand through his hair, double-checking his phone. It wasn’t subtle, and you weren’t about to call him out for it, because truthfully, you didn’t want him to go either.

His hand reached for the door handle, fingers grazing the cool metal, but instead of pushing it open, he hesitated. The pause wasn’t long, but it was enough.

He turned back.

His gaze settled on you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. Without a word, he stepped forward, his fingers curling lightly under your jaw, thumb tracing absently along your cheekbone.

He slowly leaned in, lips warm against yours, moving with easy confidence, unhurried but unwilling to be cut short. His palm moved to your hips, pressing lightly against, fingers flexing like he wanted to pull you closer but knew he shouldn’t.

When he pulled back, his gaze flickered over your face, taking in every detail before a small, quiet smirk ghosted across his lips.

"You make it really hard to leave," he murmured.

A quiet exhale slipped past your lips. "Then don’t."

Kenan let out a soft laugh, more resigned than amused, like he knew exactly how impossible that suggestion was. His fingers lingered against your skin for just a second longer before he pressed a final kiss to your forehead.

Neither of you noticed the figure standing just a few feet away.

Neither of you caught the subtle shift in Kenneth’s expression, the way his arms crossed over his chest, gaze locked onto you both with an undeniable edge of amusement.

But when he saw Kenan kiss you—

Something clicked.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

And just like that—

A plan was beginning to form.

…

Vini Jr’s birthday getaway was supposed to be a break—one night away from the noise, the obligations, the endless cycle of training and matches. Just twenty-four hours to indulge, unwind, and embrace the illusion that their schedules weren’t already mapped out for months in advance.

And for the first few hours, that’s exactly what it was.

The cabin was absurdly over-the-top, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Nestled deep in the countryside with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a valley, it had everything—an infinity pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and a very charming fire pit outside. Every detail had been planned with precision, a testament to the fact that Vini took his birthdays far too seriously.

It was meant to be a night of doing absolutely nothing except lounging around, eating too much. It was one of those nights that felt effortless, where nothing needed to be said aloud because the comfort of familiarity spoke for itself. The kind of night where everything felt easy—like nothing could go wrong.

And then, Vini Jr—sentimental by nature, twice as bad when exhausted and warm from whiskey—sighed, stretching his legs toward the fire.

“This group means a lot to me,” he murmured, gaze flickering across the room before settling on the flames. “You guys are like my family.”

There were a few small nods of agreement.

Julián, reclining comfortably in an armchair, gave a lazy smile. “Yeah. Feels that way, doesn’t it?”

Arda, sprawled across half the couch with a blanket tangled around his legs, let out a sleepy chuckle. “If we’re family, does that mean I get to be the favorite child?”

“No,” Julián said flatly.

The laughter was soft, easy, unforced—

Until Antoine, sitting just slightly apart from the group, his usual smirk in place, twirling his whiskey glass idly between his fingers, decided to ruin it.

"You’d be surprised how close some people are."

The shift was instant, subtle but undeniable—like the air had dropped a degree.

Jude, who had been half-drowsy, half-listening, barely reacted at first, brows knitting slightly as he processed the words, turning them over in his mind.

“What?” he asked, tone absentminded, not yet realizing he had just stepped into a landmine.

Antoine leaned forward, setting his glass down with slow, deliberate ease, his gaze flicking toward you, then Kenan, then back again.

“Oh, nothing,” he mused, stretching out in his seat. “Just thinking about how you never really know what’s going on right under your nose.”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jude’s expression barely flickered, but the tension in his shoulders shifted, subtle but unmistakable, a sign that he had just caught up to the conversation a second too late.

Vini Jr must have sensed it too, because his voice cut through the air, sharp and warning.

"Antoine."

But Antoine, who had an unsettling grin plastered on his face, wasn’t finished.

“I meant to come apologize after dinner the other night,” he continued, voice mocking, syrupy-slow, words laced with the kind of satisfaction that made your stomach churn.

And then, with a casual, effortless cruelty—

"But then I saw Kenan making out with your sister."

Silence.

Like the room itself had just swallowed all the air.

Jude didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even react.

Just sat perfectly still, eyes locked onto nothing in particular, face so unreadable it almost looked blank.

Like his brain had short-circuited, too stuck between disbelief and fury to process anything at all.

When he looked up his eyes met yours. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack under the pressure. 

"Tell me he's lying."

His voice was quiet, low—but lethal.

A final chance.

A last, desperate lifeline—one last opportunity to prove that Antoine was just being a smug, conniving bastard.

But you had nothing to give him.

"Jude, I—” You faltered, voice paper-thin, cracking under the weight of what was coming. “There… might be something going on.”

Another silence.

But this one was worse.

Thicker.

Final.

Like the ground itself had just cracked open beneath your feet.

Jude’s expression didn’t shift. Didn’t change. Didn’t flicker. It was still terrifyingly blank.

"Oh, come on, Jude," Arda groaned, breaking the tension like he hadn’t just stepped into the eye of a hurricane.“Don’t be mad, they’re actually kinda cute.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter skated across the room.

Vini Jr sat up, clearing his throat. “Kenan’s a good guy, man. You know that.”

Jude’s head snapped so fast you almost thought he’d get whiplash. His gaze darted from Arda to Vini Jr to Julián, like he was waiting for someone—anyone—to tell him he wasn’t crazy.

That he had every right to feel betrayed.

That this was completely, utterly wrong.

But no one did.

His voice came out sharp, brittle at the edges. "So, what? You’re all just fine with this?”

Julián hesitated before exhaling heavily. “Well… yeah?”

Jude blinked. Slowly.

Like he was waiting for the universe to right itself.

It didn’t.

Arda, shooting Kenan an empathic look, sighed. “I mean, it’s not like they killed someone, Jude.”

"That’s not the point!" Jude’s voice rose suddenly, snapping with a rough edge. “I had one rule. Just one.”

The words hit you square in the chest, knocking the breath out of you.

And then—

Something shifted in his face.

Like a much, much worse realization had just landed.

His jaw locked, eyes narrowing.

"Wait."

The single word was a trigger, a warning, a countdown to something that was about to explode.

His gaze flickered across the room. “Did you guys already know?”

Silence.

And then—

Julián sighed. “I mean…”

Arda awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have figured it out.”

Vini Jr, ever the most unbothered, hummed. “I had my suspicions.”

Jude inhaled sharply.

"You—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening like he was physically forcing himself to stay composed.

And then—

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Bitter. Cold.

"Unbelievable."

His gaze snapped back to Kenan, something dark flashing through it.

"You. You knew how I felt about this. About my teammates—my friends—going near her."

Kenan’s jaw was tight, his entire body tense, rigid.

"I didn’t plan for this to happen," he said, evenly, carefully.

“So?” Jude scoffed. "That makes it better?"

Kenan hesitated. Then, softly, quietly—

“No. It doesn’t.”

Jude let out a sharp, unsteady breath, pushing up from his seat so fast that the blanket draped over his lap slipped to the floor.

“I need to clear my head.”

And just like that—he walked out.

The room stayed frozen, the embers in the fireplace popping softly, the only sound breaking the crushing weight of his absence.

Kenan didn’t move.

Didn’t look at anyone.

Just sat there, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the door Jude had disappeared through like he was already mourning something he couldn’t bring back.

Finally he exhaled. “I should go.”

“No.” Vini’s voice was firm.

But Kenan just shook his head, already rising to his feet.

“He’s my friend,” he said simply, voice quieter now, the tension in his body starting to unwind into something that looked an awful lot like regret.

“And I crossed a line. I don’t want to stay here and make it worse.”

Vini sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Then—his eyes flickered to Antoine, and his entire expression changed.

“You, however?” His tone turned sharp, unforgiving. “You can get the hell out.”

Antoine scoffed. “Oh, come on—”

“I mean it,” Vini snapped, patience gone. “You don’t get to sit here and act like this wasn’t a game to you. You wanted to cause damage—and you did."

Antoine rolled his eyes, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

And then, with one last lingering glance at you and Kenan—

He was gone.

The silence around the now nearly burned-out fire was deafening. 

Arda exhaled. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Julián gave you and Kenan a sympathetic look. “For what it’s worth, we never thought it was wrong. Just… complicated.”

Vini clapped Kenan on the shoulder. “Jude will come around. He just needs time.”

Kenan didn’t say anything.

Just nodded, his jaw tight, gaze distant.

Then—he turned to you, eyes softening for just a second.

“I’ll pack my bag.”

And with that, he was gone too.

…

The warmth of the day had long faded, leaving behind a crisp chill that clung to your skin, but you barely felt it.

You sat on the porch steps, arms wrapped around yourself, staring out at the darkness beyond the trees, replaying every second of what had happened inside.

The way Jude had looked at you—like he didn’t recognize you.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You and Kenan had agreed—you would tell Jude together, do it the right way. But now, the choice had been ripped from you. Antoine had done it for you, cruelly, deliberately, stripping you of any control. Instead of sitting Jude down, instead of explaining it carefully, you had been exposed—caught like some dirty little secret.

Now, it was out in the open. And everything felt ruined.

The door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the wooden planks.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

Kenan settled beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth without touching. For weeks, he had made you feel safe. But tonight, there was no safety. No reassurance. Just the wreckage of what you had built.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I should have told him right away,” Kenan murmured.

You swallowed hard. “We both should have.”

Kenan exhaled sharply. “I knew exactly how this would go. I knew how he’d react, and still—I let myself believe it would be fine.”

His gaze was locked on the horizon, jaw clenched, hands tightening into fists. “Maybe Antoine did it to be an ass, but it doesn’t change the fact that I let this happen. That I knew this could ruin things, and I…” He inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.

His voice broke slightly.

And you knew—he wasn’t just talking about Jude.

Kenan exhaled, finally turning his head to look at you.

And your stomach dropped.

Because for the first time in weeks, he looked conflicted. Not just guilty. Not just sorry. But like he was standing on the edge of something and deciding whether to jump—or walk away.

“I love you.”

Soft. Barely a whisper. But it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Because this wasn’t how he was supposed to say it. Not like this. Not in the quiet of the aftermath, when everything was already slipping away.

Your breath hitched, vision blurring slightly, but you forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat. If this was the end—if you had to let him go—then at least he would know

You reached out, fingers trembling slightly as you cupped his face, memorizing the warmth of his skin.

“I love you too.”

Kenan exhaled, ragged, forehead pressing against yours. His hands cradled the back of your neck like he couldn’t quite believe what you had just said.

For a few stolen seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. Just sat there, foreheads touching, eyes closed, existing in the space of what could have been.

Then Kenan pulled back, and you felt it.

“I don’t want you to pick between me or your family,” he murmured.

Your chest caved in on itself. “Don’t say that.”

Kenan let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Come on, baby.”

He called you that one last time, like he knew he wouldn’t be saying it again. His thumb brushed your cheek, one final touch, like he was committing the moment to memory.

“You should stay.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, tears well and truly spilling over now.

Kenan smiled, but it was small, sad, something entirely different from the ones he used to give you. “You know I’m right.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head, desperate. “I don’t care.”

Kenan exhaled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for it to hurt.

“You do,” he murmured against your skin.

And that was the worst part—because he was right.

Kenan had known what this would cost before you did. And that was why he was doing what you couldn’t bring yourself to do, why he was making the choice you refused to face.

A lump formed in your throat. “This isn’t fair.”

Kenan’s smile barely touched his lips. “Nothing about this was ever fair.”

You shut your eyes, but it didn’t stop the warmth trailing down your cheek. Kenan caught the tear with his thumb, unbearably gentle, as if this moment wasn’t already unraveling you.

And then—he stepped back.

And you knew.

This was it.

The moment he walked away.

Kenan adjusted his bag, glancing at you one last time before slipping his hands into his pockets and making his way down the steps. His shoulders were tense, his pace unhurried, but he didn’t look back.

And if you had glanced up, just for a second, you would have seen the faint glow of light filtering through the open window above the porch.

Would have seen Jude lying awake in bed, unmoving, his expression unreadable.

He had heard every word.

…

The stadium pulsed with energy—chants, stomping, the distant crackle of flares. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, laced with smoke drifting from the passionate sections of the crowd.

To most, this was just another match. Another ninety minutes under the floodlights.

For you, it was something else.

The first game since everything had fallen apart. Since Kenan walked away. Since you let him.

You sat stiffly in the private box, wedged between Vini Jr. and Julián, a cup of cold coffee cradled between your hands. Your eyes weren’t on the game.

They were on him.

Kenan stood on the pitch, clad in his Real Madrid kit, shoulders squared. To the world, he looked composed. You knew better. His jaw was too tight, his shoulders held tension that shouldn’t be there.

His gaze swept the stands until it found you. A fraction of hesitation. A flicker of something before he forced himself to turn away.

Julián muttered, “You’re staring.”

You blinked. “Was not.”

“Right,” he drawled. “And I’m a Barcelona fan.”

Jude hadn’t really spoken to you since that night. He had seen it—the way you barely ate, stayed in your room too long, weren’t yourself. Watching you now, staring at Kenan like you had already lost—he knew.

And on the pitch, it showed.

Kenan was off. His passes lacked precision, his movement hesitated. Jude, too. He wasn’t playing poorly, but you saw the difference.

Vini exhaled. “This isn’t them.”

You weren’t just watching two footballers struggle. You were watching two boys trying to push through something bigger than the game. And failing.

…

Halftime.

Kenan barely made it three steps into the tunnel before a hand gripped his arm, pulling him to a stop. His entire body tensed, bracing instinctively for a confrontation, expecting a sharp word, maybe even another shove.

But when he turned and met Jude’s gaze, something in him stilled.

Because Jude didn’t look angry.

He didn’t look like he was about to start another fight, didn’t look like he was holding onto resentment or betrayal.

He just looked… tired.

Kenan swallowed, exhaling slowly as Jude crossed his arms, studying him like he was weighing something in his head.

"You care about her."

It wasn’t a question.

Kenan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded without hesitation.

"I do."

Jude didn’t blink. His expression remained unreadable, sharp but not hostile, as if he was searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation, anything that would confirm his worst fears.

"No, I mean, you really care about her."

Kenan’s chest tightened, his pulse drumming against his ribs.

But still, there was no pause when he spoke.

"More than anything."

Jude let out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face like this realization had just knocked the wind out of him.

"I was an idiot," he muttered, shaking his head. "I should’ve known earlier. She’s been miserable all week. So have I. And so have you."

Kenan didn’t answer.

Because there was nothing to say.

Jude sighed again, quieter this time, voice losing its edge.

"Listen to me," he said, meeting Kenan’s eyes with a look that left no room for misinterpretation. "If you ever mess this up—if you ever hurt her—" he paused, letting the weight of it settle, "you are done for."

Kenan nodded immediately. "I won’t."

Jude held his gaze for another long moment, assessing, deciding.

Then, finally, finally, he nodded.

"Then you have my blessing."

The words hit harder than Kenan expected.

His shoulders relaxed instantly, the tension he had been carrying for weeks lifting all at once, and for the first time in days, he could actually breathe.

The relief was overwhelming—so much so that before he could even think, before he could talk himself out of it—

He pulled Jude into a hug.

Jude stiffened immediately.

Then—he sighed. Loud. Dramatic. "Alright, alright, enough of this."

Kenan grinned, pulling back, the tightness in his chest easing completely.

Jude gave him a long-suffering look before muttering, half amused, half resigned—

"Kind of glad it’s you if it has to be any of my mates." A pause. "Still kinda weird, though."

Kenan laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks.

And just like that, the weight of everything else—the tension, the guilt, the uncertainty—faded into the background.

Jude clapped him on the shoulder, nodding toward the tunnel. "Go play like yourself."

…

Where the first half had been marked by hesitation, the second half ignited with purpose. The tension that had clouded the match lifted, replaced by a sharp, relentless drive. And at the center of it all—Kenan.

From the moment the whistle blew, he was everywhere. Every pass landed with precision, every touch carried confidence, every movement had the unmistakable ease of a player who had just remembered exactly who he was. It was as if something inside him had settled, like the weight of the past few weeks had finally lifted.

Jude’s words in the tunnel had done more than clear the air. They had set him free.

Kenan played like a man with nothing to hold him back, his rhythm returning in full force. His movements were sharp, impossible to predict, his speed cutting through defenders before they even knew what was happening. The energy was infectious—his teammates fed off it, the crowd roared for it, the entire game shifted because of it.

Two minutes left on the clock. One last counterattack.

The stadium held its breath as Kenan surged forward, the ball at his feet, his body moving with instinctive precision. The defenders scrambled to stop him, but he was faster, sharper, weaving past them with practiced ease.

The goal was right there.

He didn’t hesitate.

One clean, powerful strike—

The ball sailed past the keeper.

And hit the back of the net.

Kenan barely had time to react before his teammates crashed into him, grabbing at his jersey, shaking him, shouting in pure elation. The weight of the game, of the past few weeks, of everything—gone in an instant.

And you?

You didn’t even realize you had jumped to your feet, hands pressed over your mouth, laughter spilling out in pure, unfiltered exhilaration. Your heart was pounding, the adrenaline coursing through you as you stared down at the pitch, at him.

Kenan turned, still surrounded by his teammates, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking for you.

And the second his gaze found yours, the rest of the world fell away.

His hands lifted, his fingers shaping a heart.

Right at you.

Your breath hitched, something flipping violently in your stomach, the moment pulling so tight you could feel it in your bones.

A hundred thoughts flashed through your mind. Jude. What if he saw? What if—

But then Jude jogged over to Kenan and patted him on the back, before tilting his head up to the box—

And smiling at you.

The tightness in your chest unraveled, the last few weeks dissolving in an instant.

Jude was telling you, without words, without spectacle, in the quietest, most Jude way possible that everything was okay.

The final whistle blew, Real’s victory confirmed, and the stadium exploded into celebration.

Your feet carried you down the stands before you could talk yourself out of it, weaving through the crowd, pushing past security, slipping through the barriers until your shoes hit the pitch.

The world around you was a blur of flashing cameras, roaring fans, falling confetti—

None of it mattered. You only saw one thing.

Kenan.

Still in the center of the pitch, still wrapped in the aftermath of victory—teammates cheering, hands clapping against his back, voices shouting over each other in celebration.

But Kenan wasn’t listening.

His eyes were searching.

And the second he saw you, everything else became secondary.

He moved through the crowd with quiet determination, each stride measured, gaze fixed on you like there was nowhere else he was supposed to be. There was no hesitation, no doubt—just certainty.

The second he reached you, his hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your jacket, warm and steady. His forehead brushed against yours, the ghost of a breath passing between you, his grip anchoring you to him like he had no intention of letting go.

And then—his lips were on yours.

There was nothing tentative about it, no room for second-guessing.

The way he kissed you was deliberate, like he had been craving this moment long enough and wasn’t about to waste it. He tasted like adrenaline and triumph, his fingers tightening against you as though to make sure you were really there.

The stadium noise melted into something distant, unimportant. It was just the two of you, caught in the heady mix of exhaustion, relief, and something deeper—something neither of you could deny anymore.

Still breathless, you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, the flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“So, since we’re all feeling sentimental, should I kiss you too?” Arda stood a few steps away, grinning as he clapped Jude on the shoulder, eyes alight with mischief.

Jude recoiled instantly, baffled. “Absolutely not.”

Arda clutched his chest in exaggerated offense. “Wow. Rejected just like that. No hesitation.”

Laughter rippled through the team, light and easy, the weight of the last few weeks dissolving into something less complicated.

Jude exhaled, shaking his head.

But this time he was smiling.

For real.

[str4wberrysw4n]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟑𝐃 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋!! + 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃 🧁

i don't want to give out too much info, but i have a friend who doesn't come to school very often. she's absent for majority of the week or comes late so i barely get to see her. today, she didn't come and she hadn't come the day before. most of the time, i try to text her to see if she'll respond, but today i thought to myself "why am i upset she isn't at school? besides it doesn't matter to me. I would like for her to be here but it's not a big deal if she isn't." so after 2nd period, we meet up at the stairs so we can walk to class. when she's not here, i wait for her just in case she came late or smth. this time, i simply walked upstairs. smth was telling me that my friend would be here somehow, but i ignored it.

imagine my surprise when i sat down, looked to my right, and saw her sitting down in the flesh. just there. i was shocked.

now, ik this might not seem like a manifestation (spoiler alert: I count it as one) unless u knew how i would affirm for her to come to school only to not get results. i consider her one of my best friends and school isn't the same without her. it was frustrating that the results would only come days later, yet the moment i said i didn't care, it came to me. why?

imo, the key was that I didn't put it on a pedestal. I told myself "I would LIKE for her to come, but it's not a BIG DEAL if she doesn't." i used this not only bcuz it happened at the time im writing this, but bcuz it's a perfect example of how taking ur manifestations off a pedestal helps.

imagine being a king/queen. u have literally everything u desire with the snap of ur fingers. u control everyone and everything around u. but then, u want something that u don't have in the 3d. u have it the 4d, but YOU don't see it bcuz ur eyes are only honed in on the physical world. all of a sudden, u put this object of desire,that u ALREADY have, ABOVE u. it's what u need or else u'll practically fall and break into thousands of pieces. doesn't make any sense, right? well that's literally how it is when u put ur manifestation on such a high pedestal.

YOU are the prize. YOU should be the one placed on the pedestal and stay on it. ik it's hard, especially when there's no evidence of the 3d showing u that -- but it's true. that's why when u care so much abt a manifestation, u are quite literally taking urself off and putting something way less important on there. it's hard to accept that, bcuz society has literally told us that some people are better than others. those who feed into money, fame, "above average" beauty, concepts that only exist in the 3d. but the truth is being tied down to thoughts like that will only make things harder for u.

I'm not saying u shouldn't try to manifest concepts that we know from the 3d -- almost everyone is. I would be a hypocrite to say that when im literally trying to manifest clothes rn lol. im saying that u should stop thinking of those concepts as "impossible" or "out of ur league", bcuz unless u say so, YOU are the standard. stuff like that will only drag u down into the illusion of the 3d.

to sum it up, stop putting the 3d on a pedestal and put urself on there!! when ur able to detach and no longer depend on ur manifestation coming through, it helps it pass through ur 4d level of consciousness and materialize into the 3d. someone with everything doesn't cry abt something they ASSUME they don't have. now, u might be asking: "what do i do if i can't get my mind off it?" i know all too well that this task is easier said than done, so i wanted to help!! :3 these r just some general hobbies u can do instead of obsessing over manifestations!!

🎀 drawing or some form of art

🎀 self care day

🎀 baking

🎀 studying

🎀clean ur room

🎀 text/face time ur friends

🎀 window shopping (my fav lol)

🎀 read a book

🎀 indulge in one of ur own personal hobbies

these r just some of the things that i do when i find myself stressed with a manifestation!! as always, this is all imo, and im just trying my best to help!! happy manifesting ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡