#I just don’t know how to start sharing it

[checkeredflagggs]

Baby Lion

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: baby shower shenanigans with rich financially irresponsible F1 idiots drivers

a/n: I needed to do something funny 🤷🏻‍♀️

Masterlist | Taglist

Rookies Masterlist

Private Messages, the Grid (Unserious) [February]

Private Messages, Max and the Duckies Rookies [February]

y/n

liked by victoriaverstappen, sophiekumpen, maxverstappen1, and 1,824,349 others

tagged: sophiekumpen, victoriaverstappen

y/n: so many thanks to Sophie and Victoria for the amazing baby shower! Can’t wait to get the party started

view all comments

user1: What a party!

↳user2: it’s so aesthetic!

↳user1: Exactly! A Pinterest board dream

annehathaway: Looking forward to it! liked by y/n

oscarpiastri: Lily and I are on our way!

↳y/n: excellent! Shoot us a text or just come in when you get here — we probably won’t be able to hear you knock

↳lilyzneimer: Thank you again for the invite!

↳y/n: well since we’ve nearly taken custody of Oscar away from Charles — we really need to get know you!

↳charles_leclerc: stop stealing my kids!

↳nicolepiastri: is there something I need to know?

↳y/n: we can do shared custody Nicole? liked by nicolepiastri

↳hattiepiastri: or you could just take him?

↳oscarpiastri: 😑😑

user3: love love love the jungle theme 🦁🦒🐘

serenawilliams: Sorry we can’t be there but enjoy our gifts!

user4: ok but who all is going??

↳user5: Right? I need a full attendance list

↳user6: I’m guessing most if not all of the current grid?

↳user5: I mean obviously but who else?? Max and y/n are weirdly connected to a lot of different people

↳user6: you do have a point…

taylorswift: Can’t wait to see you again!

↳killatrav: do we get a trophy for winning the most baby shower games?

↳y/n: We’re so glad you could come! And Trav — absolutely

alex_albon: The theme is on point and I approve

↳y/n: not the albon approval I want tbh

↳alex_albon: 🙄

↳albon_pets: 🐾 paw prints of approval from us!

↳y/n: score!

caitlinclark22: Thanks again for the invite, sorry I couldn’t make it liked by y/n

user7: ok but I NEED to know if the rookies are there…

↳maxverstappen1: they invaded air max after Shanghai, then my apartment when we got to Monaco and they haven’t left

↳y/n: stop being mean to our sons!

↳olliebearman: yeah! You invited us!

↳jackdoohan: Don’t lie — you love doing arts and crafts with us

↳isackhadjar: You have to, you’ve stolen all the red beads

↳maxverstappen1: no one needs red anyway

↳y/n: well…

↳maxverstappen1: no

sophiekumpen: Oh, it was no problem sweetheart! Anything for my newest grand baby

↳victoriaverstappen: Yes! It was very fun to put it together and not have it thrown for you!

↳alexandrasaintmleux: It looks absolutely lovely! We can’t wait to get there to enjoy it in person

francisca.cgomes: Oh it’s so cute! (And I can’t wait for some of the games…)

↳landonorris: A chance to show off for my godchild? Sign me up!

↳y/n: what?

↳user8: Oh that’s not a good what… liked by y/n

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 2,821,628 others

y/n: now onto the games! We’ve got the Chug Bottle, Diaper Baby, Guess the Belly, Guess the Baby Food, Don’t Say Baby, and an Adopt an Animal Station!

view all comments

user9: oh my god Netflix needs to be there…

user10: I need details. I need receipts. I need videos.

maxverstappen1: All of this is going to be great blackmail material…

↳landonorris: Blackmail? No no no. This is gonna be video evidence of how great at games I am

↳y/n: I cannot begin to say how much over you were at Guess the Belly…

↳user11: ok but how much over was he?

↳y/n: based on his guess, I’m birthing a whale…

↳user11: oh my god 🤣🤣🤣

↳landonorris: I WASNT THAG BAD

↳y/n: Lando your ribbon was like 20 feet long!

oscarpiastri: Proud Winner of Don’t Say Baby 🏆

↳user12: that’s our Australian!

↳danielricciardo: rude!

↳jachdoohan: so rude!

↳user12: ok but he won?

↳danielricciardo: still rude

user13: I love the names but what even are those games???

↳y/n: chug the bottle is exactly like it sounds — we gave everyone champagne and whoever finished their bottle first won (Raikkonen won)

↳user13: I love that??

↳y/n: Diaper Baby had teams try to wrap a member into a toilet paper diaper (Trav’s team won this one)

↳user14: unexpected result…

↳y/n: the Guess the Belly had everyone cut a ribbon to the length they thought my belly was wide (Max, predictably, won)

↳user13: this was what Lando thought he won??? liked by y/n, maxverstappen1

↳y/n: Guess the Baby Food is again just like it sounds — they grabbed an unlabeled jar and had to guess the flavor (Yuki and Elton were shocking good at this one)

↳y/n: Don’t Say Baby had people trying to NOT say baby and if you heard someone else say it, you got to steal the clothespin for yourself. (Oscar was like a ninja and won by a landslide)

↳y/n: and the Adoption station was to adopt an animal, with a travel journal/camera, so the animal could go on adventures with the adopter and eventually baby lion will get those animals back with lots of fond memories

user14: ok i literally love all of these but the adoption center??? 😍😍😍

↳user15: that’s such a cute idea and for them to also have a journal and camera so there’s a story/timeline of their travels…

↳user15: and like we know/can guess Taylor and Sabrina and other singers were there…imagine the travel journal of those guys…

user16: ok but who ALL was there??? Cause we now have proof Kimi R was there…

↳user17: this is gonna be my white whale I just know it…

↳user18: oh that’s such a big mood! Need to know everything. Everyone there. All the gossip.

y/n

liked by taylorswift, zendaya, oscarpiastri, and 2,823,910 others

y/n: Everyone was so so generous today (and maybe a bit financially irresponsible — baby lion is a BABY who is gonna GROW why did you buy them so many shoes…) We ended up with a whole zoo of stuffed animals and somehow (ignoring my desperate pleas) enough electric cars for them all to drive see more…

view all comments

user20: that is the most extra baby crib I have ever seen in MY LIFE

↳user21: That it is. I think baby lion is destined to either be blessed by fairies or cursed by the fae with that crib…

↳user20: THATS SO TRUE OMG

georgerussel63: Well we had to get the child started with the right team!

↳maxverstappen1: and it’s not that one! All of it will be donated to charity (far far away from me)

↳user22: oh to be on max’s level of haterism…

↳kimi.antonelli: all of it 🥺🥺🥺

↳y/n: not yours sweetie! Baby lion will definitely be rocking your number occasionally!

↳kimi.antonelli: yayayaya!

oscarpiastri: Mum said that stuffed animals and diapers would be very welcome?

↳y/n: And they are! I just didn’t think we’d be opening our own stuffy zoo

↳alex_albon: But the custom Albon pet line is the cutest right?

↳y/n: No that would be the custom Lion family with scent beads and realistic purring capabilities

↳alex_albon: foiled again…

landonorris: No picture of the rad McLaren merch and car I got you?

↳maxverstappen1: sorry it’s already been disposed of.

↳y/n: he was too fast for me — I opened it then it was already thrown away…

↳user23: I’m loving the fact that they’re talking about all the gifts because the fomo I would have otherwise…

user24: who on earth bought a diamond encrusted pacifier???

↳user25: FINALLY! That’s my biggest question too…

y/n

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 3,122,392 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, sebastionvettel, kimimatiasraikkonen

y/n: and a very special thank you to you guys for all the Ferrari love! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

view all comments

charles_leclerc: Of course! We have to show Bébéte the real team to root for! liked by y/n

↳user26: Loving the wife and the mistress working together liked by y/n, charles_leclerc

maxverstappen1: we’re not keeping all of that

↳y/n: yes we are!

↳maxverstappen1: Redbull!

↳y/n: Ferrari!

↳maxverstappen1: Redbull!

↳y/n: you don’t even like Redbull that much anymore!

This comment has been deleted

pierregasly: Really? Jack and I got you so much Alpine stuff and we don’t get our own post?

↳y/n: Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳jackdoohan: really?

↳y/n: oh don’t worry Jack! Baby Lion WILL be wearing the Doohan #7!!

↳jackdoohan: really? liked by y/n

↳pierregasly: really 😑

lewishamilton: It was a pleasure 🖤

↳y/n: So many thanks for all the clothing — lord knows I’ll need all the help I can get…

↳maxverstappen1: hey!

↳lewishamilton: 😂

user27: Are you telling me that y/n and max have Ferrari wonderkids Sebastian and Kimi giving them special Ferrari merch???

↳user28: I don’t know if I’d call Seb a Ferrari kid…

↳y/n: and yet we have so much Vettal merch in Ferrari red… liked by sebastianvettel

kimimatiasraikkonen: 👍🏻

↳y/n: 👍🏻👍🏻

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 2,827,193 others

y/n: my heart has never been so full. thank you everyone who came out today and thank you to everyone else who sent well wishes!

comments have been disabled on this post

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @Lilbitchfromfaraway @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @raizelchrysanderoctavius @dying-inside-but-its-classy

[onsomenewsht]

And through the clouds, I see love shine

About when, on a Wednesday in a restaurant at Barcelona, you watch it begin again

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: 12.8k

》 fight a losing battle [idiom]: also known as “losing game”, to try hard to do something when there is no chance that you will succeed, a failing effort or activity 

Your last relationship ends so badly that you consider abstinence from everything – processed sugar, alcohol, and even people. A period of deep cleansing, as if you could purify every cell of your body, like a celebrity spiraling from rehab to full-blown identity crisis.

This emotional state explains why you find yourself on a one-way flight to Barcelona, all your things crumbled in a backpack.  A rash impulse led you to declutter your belongings, a wishful attempt of turning into a completely new person just because your closet is now half what it used to be.

The decision to straight-up flee is rushed and quite terrifying, much like many of your recent choices.

Elena, your best friend since you were barely old enough to share made-up stories and Barbie-like careers, thinks you’re going mental. She nearly cries when you decide to donate your vintage Christian Lacroix jacket, but you’re convinced it’s the only way to get a new lease on life, so she mourns in silence.

The loudest reaction comes from your brother, who, if you could be mature enough to admit it, is the only voice of reason that almost resonates in your head. 

Almost.

Despite your stubbornness, you accept the offer of hospitality from one of his university friends, who gives away a spare room. You don’t plan on staying in a hotel for gods know how long, and you certainly don’t have the patience to search for an apartment. You’re not completely out of mind, if they want to help, so be it. 

Barcelona is brighter and feels as welcoming as you hoped, though that might just be the nicer weather and the fact you’re far from your problems. And your ex. 

The first month flies by in a rush of Catalan cafeterias, art galleries, and little boutiques that refill both your closet and your spirit. 

The people here are kind enough to put up with your attempts to speak the language, humoring you since you’re oh-so-sure that eleven consecutive days on a passive-aggressive app have made you fluent.

The places you visit and the ones strangers recommend are loud enough to ignore the voices of reason in your ear that start to sound a lot like your brother’s.

Still, there’s only so much one can do to avoid responsibilities and self-consciousness.

“You need a job”, Ricardo states one morning, finding you in the kitchen eating cold pizza, still in the clothes you wore two nights ago.

Your closet isn’t as limited anymore.

“I’ve saved enough money to enjoy my vacation, thanks for your concern”

“I thought that was the money saved to buy a house with your ex”

“I do not have an ex nor a house to worry about, do I?”

As soon as the pizza starts to taste like regret, you’re ready to end the conversation to sleep the rest of day away. 

Ricardo means well, you know that. 

He’s a nice guy and a good roommate, but, like your brother, he’s overprotective and likes to gossip a little too much. Sometimes, it’s surprising how much he knows about you. Most of the time, it’s just annoying.

“I’m want to say– maybe a routine could be good for you”

“I have a routine”, you retort, knowing it’s a fat lie.

You’re out of the bed before eleven only if you didn’t sleep through the night before, wandering around the city with no real destination until something, somehow, catches your attention.

It’s not a bad thing per se, but it’s not a sustainable lifestyle.

“You quit a well-paid accounting job, right?”

“Ricardo, I swear, I’m this close to reporting you for stalking”

His laugh is too loud this early in the morning, but the comfort of bantering with someone who knows you is too familiar to ignore. Even if most of his insight comes from your nosy brother.

They both need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve judging your questionable life choices.

He sips his coffee while studying you, assessing how risky it would be to keep pushing the subject.

Apparently, he feels brave enough.

“My friends’ restaurant could use some help”

~

You’re not sure if Ricardo downplayed it or if he’s just blissfully unaware, but his friends don’t need some help – they need a miracle. 

That’s what happens when you get scammed by your bookkeeper. 

Despite not being really familiar with Spanish tax laws and regulation, it’s clear as the day someone exploited every possible loophole in the profitable business run by three way-too-trusting men. The truth becomes evident as you examine their accounting ledger, your frown deepening with each passing moment.

You have been to their restaurant before, and have loved it.

The place is cosy and carefully maintained. The food is prepared by a grumpy man from Puerto Rico named Paco, who, after twenty years in Barcelona, learned just enough cursing in Catalan to run the kitchen. Local bands play live on the weekend and someone’s mom made sure everyone is nice and well mannered. The worn wooden tables are witness of countless shared meals. 

Pedro and Paul, the other two owners, can only be described as a comedy duo with a really questionable sense of style and even worse jokes. But they’re nice enough, definitely good company when you have a bad day. They can turn it upside down so quickly, for the better or the worst.

However, Ricardo tells you how much the restaurant means for his friends and the local community, guilt-tripping you into helping them to fix their finances.

The truth is, you love math and numbers so much that a challenge like this excites you more than it’s appropriate to admit.

Hence, you agree to help them for far less money you could have asked anyone in the same situation.

They take it as a promise to make sure the business keeps running and organise a dinner with way too many people to celebrate your help.

“I’ve barely started looking into it, Pedro”, you complain, not used to such enthusiasm.

“¡Cállate y bebe tu sangría!”

You meet Alba that same night.

She’s nice and quick-witted, no one is safe from her clever remarks. It feels nice, the way she makes sure you’re included when everyone seems to forget you’re still learning Spanish from a green bird on your phone, and that, in most conversations, you relate more to vibes than actual words.

Flirting is a universal language, though.

If her hand brushes on your arm a couple of times you make sure to smile and get closer, and if you lean into her with the excuse of needing a translation she makes sure to whisper right into your ear. There’s a note in her voice that makes you feel at ease.

Of course, Ricardo ruins everything.

“I’m starting to think you’re running from tax collectors, not your ex”

It’s a good joke, you know it is nothing more than that. But it suddenly reminds you how messy your life is and how out of place you feel sometimes.

Not just far away from home, but also far away from everything familiar.

A job for a company you hated but paid good money; friends you didn’t see as you’d liked, but who knew damn well when to drag you out of your apartment – and out of your own head. A boyfriend who barely tolerated your love, but somehow always managed to say and do the right things at the right time.

Every morning, you wake up knowing what to wear for work, what numbers to punch into the computer to get the needed results, and how to act to be sure you’re not too much.

You’re not running away from just your ex, you’re running away from your life as known until finding out about the cheating. 

“¿Todo bien?”, Alba asks, noticing how you miss the opportunity to jab Ricardo. 

It takes you a moment to register her reassuring hand on your arm and the talks moving to a completely different topic.

“Yeah, sorry, just tired”

“You better get used to the Spanish nightlife”

“It’s pretty much all I’m doing so far”, you admit, slowly sipping a beer and making sure your annoying roommate doesn’t hear a word about this.

The rest of the dinner passes without too much trouble, despite not remembering most of the names and following even less of the conversations. 

Alba stays close and you blame the spicy food for the way your face reddens when she bids her goodbye with three kisses and a promise to meet up with less people.

“It’s a surprise”, Ricardo comments, his grin spreading across his face as soon as you settle onto the couch to debrief the day’s events.

It’s starting to look a lot like a new routine, a tradition in the making.

“What? Something my brother didn’t mention?”

“¡Ay, claro!”

“I hate you”

“I had no idea Alba is your type”

You have to give credit where due, he displays incredible reflexes. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, your punch barely grazes his arm, and your kick misses his shin by a mile.

To be honest with yourself, you’re not really sure who is your type. 

Not even getting in the mind-space to think about your ex, the past relationships you care about to recall all look pretty different. There’s no consistent pattern, not a clear preference in haircuts or any kind of colours, not a style that catches your attention more than another. 

The only thing most of your exes have in common is tiring you to the bones and leaving your life making you trust less and less in others. 

Maybe you do have a type.

~

It’s not a date, you both agree on that.

She doesn’t ask about the infamous ex, she’s good company and even a nicer distraction.

But your mind drifts and, as you recount the highlights of how that relationship crumpled in slow motion, it becomes clear as the day you shouldn’t be with someone until you’ve committed to a good therapist.

It’s not fair to anyone, but it’s definitely not fair to Alba.

You kiss her anyway, and she makes you promise to let her be your first date as soon as you’re ready to get back into the game again.

~

“Ricardo told me your ex is un cabrón”

If not for the possibility of blemishing your otherwise spotless record, you could have shoved Pedro down the hill you’re currently struggling to climb, losing too much dignity. 

The guy looks like he had one beer too many, but he’s surprisingly in shape and apparently unaffected by the whole hike so far. 

“Am I the only topic of conversation he has?”, you ask, mostly to buy a few more seconds to catch your breath.

“Creo que sí”

You raise the finger as you outpace him to keep going.

The sun has set, casting a warm, golden hue across the clear Barcelona sky. Despite Pedro knocking on your door when it was barely socially accessible to be at someone’s place, it takes the two of you more time than necessary to reach this point of the trail.

Not close enough to the top yet, but definitely too late to turn back without regrets. 

It’s mostly his fault.

The view is impressive, and the Catalan knows too many fascinating details to not be amazed by the nature around.

“¿Estás bien?

“Cabrón is a nice word”

“It’s not”

“No, it’s– I mean it’s not a bad enough word to describe him”, you clarify with a faint smile as Pedro slows his pace.

Your final destination is just a few steps away.

It may be the pleasant company, a good friend you’ve discovered in an unexpected place at the most unexpected time of your life. It may be the warm rays of sunshine that tickle your skin or the ache making your legs feel alive. It may be the weight on your chest, the one that crushed good intentions and caused too many sleepless nights, now becoming smaller under a new sense of resolve.

It may be for many different reasons, but for the first time in more than you’re comfortable looking back, it feels better.

“It was a good relationship”

He gives you a moment, sitting on the slightly damp grass next to your sprawled figure.

“It was good, until it was really bad. But it’s hard to do anything about it when you’re doing such an impressive job at hiding all the signs”

“A bad relationship can’t be blamed on just one person”, he tries to reason.

“It can”

“Guapa, mira–”

“No, it can. He was controlling, aggressive, and incredibly talented at making me take all the blame and the shame”, you admit, for the first time out loud, “My only fault was pretending to ignore when I finally saw it all for what it really was”

As you gather the strength to rise to a more dignified position, you almost expect Pedro to hug you or be the over affectionate Spanish stereotype he usually is.

Instead, he’s looking somewhere away in the sky, pensive.

You feel the need to reassure him, “I’m fine now, I–”

“No, lo siento, lo siento”, he turns with a small, yet genuine smile, “We don’t know each other that well”

“You’re hurting me now, I thought we were friends”

“We are, tonta!”

Pedro raises and his large hands, marked with tiny cuts, extend to pick you up. He paves the way down the hill with no words, and for the first time since you meet the man, the silence it’s a surprise. 

It’s not uncomfortable, maybe just a little unsettling.

And short-lived.

“We don’t know each well”

“You already said that”

He shoves you playfully, not impressed by your attitude, but used to it.

“Lo que quiero decir es que– you’re a good person, I can tell, even if we don’t know each other for long”

“Don’t get soft on my right now”

“You’re a good person and you love good, you have to keep loving”, he states, so casually, “Once you know love, you should never try to forget”

~

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you hit your head hard enough to go mental and somehow no one noticed”

“I miss you so much, Elena”

Your phone is precariously balanced on a glass of wine as you cook a recipe Paco scribbled on a piece of paper. In Catalan. 

It makes less sense than his finance decisions, but you’ll take it.

Your best friend’s face is half out of frame but you can clearly point out every step of her beauty routine. It’s a grueling and painfully long process, her boyfriend is way more patient than you about it.

But tonight Ricardo is out for his bi-weekly pottery class, and you’re happy to indulge her just for the sake of spending some time together, even if it’s through a screen.

Not like there’s a slight chance you’d say it out loud.

“What are you trying to cook?”, the eyebrow in frame raises skeptically.

“No idea”, you admit, coming to the conclusion the number you’re looking at is five and there’s no way this dish needs so many onions.

“Good, now, let’s track back to your mental instability”

“And you ask why I am in different country?”

The wasp she lets out is so loud, and the silence that follows is so deafening you look at the screen to make sure the call is still on. She can be so dramatic.

“Don’t joke about it, I’m still grieving”

“I’m still alive”

“Barely”, she mutters.

Elena is a good friend, despite the theatrics. 

When the world seems a little too much to handle, she turns into a safe space for you to be at peace. When you’re overthinking the stupidest choices, she always has a comforting, new point of view. 

To people who don’t have the privilege to know her well enough, she may look shallow and too noisy. The truth is, you’ve never met someone so aware of herself and her life that she perfectly understands how to give due weight to even the smallest things. 

And she doesn’t keep quiet, she loves loud and proud. 

You learned to hold yourself back. You were forced to.

That’s the biggest lesson she’s still teaching you.

“Just saying, you’re surrounded by hot, Spanish people–”

“Happens when in Spain”

“You’re allowed to have fun!”

“I have plenty, thank you very much”

A strange smell comes out of the pan as the lid is lifted, prompting you to close it and pretend it’s not even there for the rest of the night. Not planning to call a poison center, ordering takeout is how you opt to end this cooking attempt.

If Elena thinks you paused the video to piss her off, it is on her.

When your best friend’s face pops up on the screen again it’s so serious you’re tempted to hang up for real.

“I mean it in a good way, don’t get me wrong, but taking a leave of absence and flying to Barcelona is the most selfish thing I witnessed you do in forever”

“I’m actually thinking of quitting for good and going freelance”

“See?”, she gushes, although she can’t be taken seriously with a panda-shaped face mask on, “You like to do your nerd-numbers-shit again, you’re trying new things, even if you clearly can’t be trusted in the kitchen–”

“Fuck you, that man can cook, but for sure can’t write”

“You’re making friends, not as amazing as me, but we’ll take it!”

Trying to argue could be useless and, honestly, you have no arguments.

“You’re fine, you’re doing good”, she smiles, and you miss her a little bit more.

This time you say it out loud, and she cries.

~

The guys are planning something.

By now, you know them well enough to sense trouble the moment you step into the restaurant.

Paco wears a grin that’s almost creepy, a beam blasted across his face, while Pedro is cleaning the tables with unnecessary vigour and his usual commitment is taken to an unusual level.

They’re clearly waiting for something to happen, lingering around as you try to explain to Paul, the musketeer you pointed as the most reliable when money is on the line, how to delay a payment reminder.

“Okay, what is wrong with them?”, you ask, trying to recall a single reason why you put up with these people’s ethics.

You only need one.

“No te entiendo”

“Tú me entiendes perfectamente”

“Your español is getting so good, ¿lo sabes?”, Pedro chimes in, and you’re sure whatever they want, you’re not going to like it. 

Paul is usually the voice of reason, the emotionally adult one. Why is he looking at you like he’s about to commit the worst betrayal?

“We were thinking–”

“I’m scared when you guys think”

“We are allies, feminists, and strong supporters of women in male dominated fields, equality–”

“Please, shut up”, you interrupt as if the conversation is physically hurting you.

“Barça is playing the Copa on Saturday. We organise una fiesta every year when they come back, es una tradición”, Pedro cuts in, feeling like the best way to get to the point is to dive straight into it.

“What if they lose?”

“Ellas no pierden”, Paul’s voice is so final you don’t dare to object.

“Cool, fine, why are you acting like this party is something I’ll not like?”

“We pay for it all”

It’s nice.

It is a really nice gesture, knowing how much they care about their community and their friends and apparently the women’s side of their favourite club. 

Then you remember they have a huge debt to pay up because an asshole took advantage of their kind hearts and the accounts are just starting to make sense again.

“It’s a good thing”, you admit out loud, “But–”

When Paul starts a passionate rant about the team’s season so far and how sure he is they are gonna win those trophies all over again, apparently setting a new record for the sport itself, it’s not strange to feel thrilled too.

Even Paco joins the excitement at the prospect of adding another title to the collection.

You have been in Barcelona long enough to understand football is a big deal here, and you can’t deny it’s really wonderful to see three big guys hyping up their club – women’s and men’s side alike. 

Pedro looks at you like he knows you’re about to crumble.

“They better win then”, you agree, pretending it takes a lot of thinking.

They wrap you in a group hug so welcoming you don’t have the heart to tell them the restaurant can’t really afford to pay out an entire party right now, on a weekend, literally planned for a football team and their mothers. 

You’ll make sure the numbers check out later.

You meet Alexia that same night.

Alba makes the introductions, and you shake her hand a moment too late and too long than socially acceptable.

You’re busy shifting your gaze back and forth. 

They look alike. A lot. But somehow, they’re also so different.

You make a mental note to dig up some old pictures of a younger version of yourself and your brother.

“She’s the reason this party won’t bankrupt the guys”

“I’ve heard only good things about you”, Alexia admits.

If a slight redness tints your face it’s due to the compliments, not the feeling of her eyes on you, or the way your body seems to jolt awake.

“All lies, probably”, you try to compose yourself – get a fucking grip, “They’re just impressed ‘cus they can’t count to save their lives”

The laugh that leaves the older woman’s lips is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard. Something in the way her face lights up and her features relax makes your chest ache with a surprisingly comfortable feeling.

A desire to make her laugh again.

And that is what you do all night.

The girls are way too excited – deservedly so, after another title added to their already impressive collection. The live music is loud, the food and the drinks come in flows. You’re too busy to mentally estimate the costs.

When one of Alexia’s teammates decides you’re her new favorite person in the whole restaurant, you’re perfectly fine with it. Just because she’s funny, not because she seems to have an impressive amount of stories to tease her captain with.

When Paul hands you another beer, you sip it without a care of keeping count. Just because you’re allowed to get loose, not because you noticed Alexia is making sure everyone will not regret a drink too much tomorrow. 

When Alba drags you to the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music and the bodies around. Just because the party is definitely worth it, vibrant, not because her sister joins the group at the same time.

You go home, much later than intended, with an unfamiliar feeling prickling beneath your skin and a somehow familiar pair of eyes stuck in your head.

~

The first time you end up in the stands for a football game is purely by accident.

An unmistakable electric buzz fills the air, lingering all the way from the parking lot to the seats that seem to keep filling. Everyone is smiling and chanting, sporting just two different colours but expressing their support in an unique way. 

The games you endured watching on TV to spend a few hours with your brother as a kid can’t compare to the real thing.

You never imagined finding yourself in such a place, but when in Rome. Or, well, when in Barcelona.

It’s all on the Putella sisters, to be honest.

You meet Alba in the most unusual place you could think of, or being yourself in the first place. A sports shop.

Planning to go on the hike a stranger at the restaurant pointed out, you need appropriate trekking shoes. Since the decluttering phase is officially over, you looked up one of those obnoxious places that sell overpriced sports-related shit.

Not the kind of shop you’d picture Alba willingly entering.

“Mind you, I actually like sports”, she objects.

“Do you?”

She giggles as your head tilts in a mocking way, “Vale, I like watching more than doing the sports”

“No way!”

The bags she’s dragging out of the shop are the only thing stopping her from not-so-playfully smacking you. It’s surprisingly easy to tease each other.

She reminds you of Elena, who called this morning to discuss how to act now she discovered where her boyfriend hides the ring. As if she hasn’t been snooping around for months.

Not entirely her fault, the poor guy left the jewelry’s receipt with the car keys at the entrance.

“Are you?”, the younger woman asks.

“What?”

“A sports person”

“My brother used to kick footballs at me when we were kids, the only sport I ever pretended to be remotely interest in”

Her smile dims slightly.

For some reason, that seems to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Have you been to a Barça game yet?”

“What if I’m a Madridista?”

That’s even worse, apparently, since Alba dramatically drops the bags to gasp in shock. Her acting of a heartbreak is surprisingly convincing.

A second voice chimes in out of nowhere, “Don’t even joke about it”

Alexia’s comment is dead serious, you can tell, with just the hint of a grin on her lips as a clear giveaway that she’s more than comfortable teasing a person she barely knows.

You’re definitely not going to complain.

The hat she’s wearing hides half her face, but you can see her lighting up behind it.

“What if I’m not joking?”

“Alba, you said she is a nice person”, the midfielder complains, a huff escaping her lips as she adjusts the weight of the bags she’s carrying. 

Did they just raid the whole shop?

“Bold to you to assume I can’t be a nice person and a Madridista”

“Please, don’t fight her on this, she’s gonna be insufferable”, Alba complains, playfully rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics and your teasing.

“No, she needs to be educated. She’s coming to El Clásico with us”

As simple as that.

You find yourself in the home section of the stadium for one of the most anticipated games of the season.

Or that’s what Alexia is ranting about all the way to your seats, going off about the rivalry and basic football knowledge you have to thank your borther for drilling into your brain against your will.

It’s all worth it when her blush spreads across her face as she realises, in the middle of her fourth attempt to explain with yet another example, that you actually do know what offside is.

Alba watches the interaction closely, amused by how easy it is for you to tease Barcelana’s captain and how comfortable she seems to be around you, despite not having known each other for long.

A couple of minutes before kick-off, Alexia returns from wherever she went – one mission in mind. She takes her place on your side, handing you a Blaugrana jersey, “You can’t sit here without wearing the right colours”

Maybe wearing a white t-shirt was a bit too much.

You burst out laughing, opting to put in the item immediately to avoid upsetting the filled seats around you, “How’d you find your own at a men’s game?”

“I happen to be pretty beloved around here”

“Did you hear that, Alba? La Reina is bragging!”

The only reason she doesn’t retort is due to the referee’s whistle announcing the start of the game, followed by a surprisingly enjoyable night with the two sisters.

~

Summer in Barcelona is nothing like you pictured it.

The streets are filled with tourists, too many people crammed in too little spaces. Complaints about the crowds and the chaos drown out any excitement. You have to remind Pedro that it’s awful, but it’s good for business.

Sometimes, it’s too hot to even think of leaving the comfort of your place. Fans blow in every room because, of course, the air conditioner broke the day it was turned on. 

Sometimes, it’s so loud you don’t need to ignore the voices of doubt in your head, subdued by everything that’s happening around you.

Sometimes, it’s exactly the kind of life you can see yourself living.

Your brother came to visit for a week, spending more time teasing you with Ricardo than doing anything else. You hate it, but you missed him too much to complain.

Maybe you pulled some strings to make his dream of visiting Camp Nou come true, just so you could look cool, but then what?

He’s as happy as a kid in a candy store, and all you have to do is endure an overexcited guided tour and bribe Alexia with overpriced drinks the night after. Totally manageable.

Your therapist announces her vacation like it’s not the worst news she’ll be sharing, leaving you with tasks to occupy the time. You dutifully completed them all, never quite managing to shake the nerd label off, and, quite frankly, you pay her too much to not do her homework.

Some tasks seem a little over the top, though – signing up for a dating app is definitely not how you’ll get over your ex.

You started hanging out with a group of passionate excursionists. Perhaps a bit too excited about life in general, but nice enough to follow during their hikes.

Pedro joins when he can, most of the time, someone from the Barcelona team manages to invite themselves. 

Since you and María aren’t allowed to be on your own, Ingrid or Esme supervise. It may be an overreaction, but the last time you two were alone, you sprained your ankle and the defender got nasty cuts on her legs before the trip even started, so you can’t really judge them. 

If you say Alexia is a better hike partner than most is just to piss María.

That summer in Barcelona makes you miss your family and friends back home a little more than usual, but it’s also the first time in months that you feel like you’re actually living your life – not just letting it flow right through you. 

~

When the new school year starts, Irene and her wife come to the restaurant a couple of times before Paul suggests that you could be the perfect person to help their son with his math homework.

Your attempt to explain that you really are not qualified to teach in a different language goes completely ignored.

They’ve already tried different tutors, and Mateo seems to hate them all. You accept, mostly because of the kid’s puppy-dog eyes.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. Once a week, he would lend you basic grammar school manuals and children’s books to help with your Spanish, and you would explain math to him in the simplest way possible.

It goes well.

Mateo decides pretty soon you’re his new favourite person, and you basically become one of Irene’s as well.

That’s how you find yourself on the sideline during a Barça training session, reading a book about a dog that doesn’t know how to bark while Mateo is too pleased with himself, checking all the math exercises he nailed. 

“Good one?”

You raise your gaze, shielding your eyes from the sun enough to point out Alexia’s silhouette.

The weather is still too warm for your comfort, making you question the girls’ mental stability for running lap after lap under such conditions with a smile on their faces. 

Sports people are scary.

“You look too good to be someone who just finished training”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Derogatory”, you clarify, pushing your stuff aside so that Alexia can sit beside you on the sideline. 

She’s drinking some sort of sport drink like she’s just eaten sand, and this close, she looks human. She’s grinning, enjoying the sun picking at her skin and Mateo’s passionate explanation of the math exercises he’s done all by himself.

The training session is wrapped up, she stays until Irene comes back from the changing room, washed and dressed, ready to take the little boy home.

The blonde lingers a bit longer, talking about books she loved growing up and how she takes management courses when she can. You find out Penélope Cruz is both your favourite actress, but the midfielder acts shocked when you tell her you haven’t watched her favourite film. 

That night, you put it on and change the language setting, live-texting Alexia all your reactions.

Halfway through, you’re pretty sure she’s watching it too.

~

Almost nine months after booking that life-changing one-way ticket to Barcelona, you buy another one to go back home.

With a return ticket in hand.

It’s your mother’s birthday, so you kind of have to.

Recently, she’s been repeating a new favorite line, rambling about the uncertainty of life and the precariousness of old age. She’s barely in her 60s and has less back pain than most people of your generation, but she’s not willing to listen to reason. 

You come to the conclusion you can’t lose any more points against your brother in the unspoken sibling race for your parent’s love. So you book the flight, pack a suitcase big enough, because you literally have nothing to wear left behind, and mentally prepare for the investigation your family will conduct. 

The tension in your shoulder melts away the moment your brother wraps his arms around you in the airport terminal. 

“You grow up so much”

And, just like that, he’s your annoying, stupid older brother again.

“I didn’t miss you at all”

“I can see you holding back tears”

“You’re literally crying!”, you accuse with a grin on your lips, lightly punching him.

“Just wait until mum sees that new tattoo”

The truth is, your mother is too busy peering deep into your soul to care about the tattoo. 

It takes two days of constant reassurance that you’re working, eating, and sleeping properly; a ceramic salamander figurine – maybe overpriced, but a gift meant to make an impression; and Elena backing up your story to calm her worries.

Barely enough to get you through the rest of the week unstretched.

“She’s just worried”, your best friend tries to reason, sipping a flashy pink drink that you’re not even sure is made from real fruit.

“I moved to Barcelona, not a war zone”

“Oh, so now it’s permanent?”

The shit-eating grin spreading across her face should annoy you, but you have to admit she has a point.

At first it was just an impulsive decision, an urge to run away from everything and everyone. Then, without really realising it, the Catalan city started to feel a lot like a place to settle in, to let your wings spread wide open.

Now you almost call it home.

The waitress interrupts your flow of thoughts, saving you from Elena’s pointed gaze long enough to be properly distracted by the huge amount of food presented. He leaves with a charming smile, but you’re genuinely too focused on the salty chips to notice.

“Are you pregnant?”, you ask, looking as she almost chokes to avoid comically spilling her drink on you.

“The Spanish heat fried your brain?”

“What? You didn’t even have soft drink when we were underage”

Elena pauses for a moment, weighting if knocking over you the rest of the pink beverage could be worth it. It takes genuine pondering.

She decides to take the highest road.

“Are you dying?”

“Are you taking comedy classes in Barcelona?”

The last time your best friend was this over the edge it was because of a pregnancy scare. First year of university, and her boyfriend at time wasn’t really the guy you’d take home for Christmas. A memory that doesn’t help her case right now.

You slip under the dim lights of the bar, a classy spot where she hangs out with the women from her pilates class. A shiver runs down your back, a bad feeling overcoming deep inside you. 

Then, she speaks up.

“I’ve already bought a wedding dress”, she admits, as if she’s confessing a crime, “It’s a size smaller and I have to–”

“Elena, for fuck’s sake, I thought you were actually dying!”

“It is, indeed, a tragedy”

“He hasn’t even proposed yet”

“Details”, she chugs the rest of the drink, smirking and grabbing the last chips you’re too shocked to care about.

The same waitress hovers around your table, drawn in by the loud exchange and your clear distress, “Excuse me, is everything okay?”

He’s young, charming enough for this to be just a gig while he waits and hopes for his acting career to take off. However, he looks genuinely concerned, his gaze shifting between the deep frown and your friend amused grin.

“All good, she’s just dramatic”, Elena points at you with the straw, before delivering the final blow, “And she is single”

The poor boy’s face lights up, naively thinking the commotion was a creative way to play matchmaker.

What a mistake.

You don’t even dignify her with a glance, rolling your eyes before addressing him directly, “Excuse her, she’s panicking because her long-time, overly in-love boyfriend still hasn’t popped the question”

“That’s not–”

“And I’m not interested”, you finish, kind but firm.

He leaves with a nod, cheeks slightly red.

Elena watches him disappear as you sip your own drink, studying you the way she used to when you were confused teenagers who didn’t know how to deal properly with all those feelings and real-life emotions.

“Oh”

The reason you still encourage her goes beyond your understanding.

You’re not starting to question it now, “What?”

“You like someone”

“Elena, I swear–”

“No, no, it’s just–”, her gaze softens as she looks at you, teasing and playful attitude making space for her most supportive side, “It’s good to see you, you know, welcoming back some happiness”

It doesn’t matter how she’s always capable of reading you like a book, like you’re a poem she knows by heart but she’s never tired of.

After all the years and the lessons you’ve learned together, it feels so comforting to know there’s someone out there who deeply understands you. Who truly sees you.

You don’t deny it, you don’t retort to her observation. 

That's not the point right now.

~

You break the promise made to Alba.

Kind of.

It’s early in the morning, the sun has barely risen in the sky, but it’s the perfect time to arrive at the little market. It arrives every two weeks, with vibrant stalls full of everything – though you understand half the things the vendors say. The freshness of the fruit and the unique clothing finds you always manage to come home with are totally worth it.

Alexia is buying vegetables and, judging by the passion she shares with the old lady in front of her, discussing important geopolitical questions.

You enjoy the exchange, taking a moment before approaching.

She jokes about the fact you’re up before the clock even hits double digits, laughing at your retort about fighting with the elderly over groceries. 

The footballer suggests breakfast in a cosy place not far from the market, the promise of fresh bakeries enough to convince you.

It’s not a date.

But you walk side by side, bags lightly colliding sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the café. Alexia holds the door open, pointing out her favorite pastries. She scoffs, unamused, when she realizes your questions distracted her long enough for you to pay for both your orders.

It’s not a date, obviously.

But you sit at a table in the far corner of the café for almost three hours, talking about everything and nothing. The bubble you find yourself in bursts when Ricardo calls, complaining that you’re late for lunch, despite insisting on making a reservation.

“We should do this again”, she says as she hugs you goodbye, a smile lighting her entire face.

It’s not a date, but it definitely feels like it.

You remembered the promise you made to Alba, to save your first date for her once you feel ready, just a second after realising how badly you wish to go on a real one with her sister.

~

You refuse categorically to celebrate your birthday at the boys’ restaurant.

They could make a big deal out of it, insist on paying for everything, and you couldn’t let that happen. After months of knowing them and the “Barcelona way” of celebrating loved ones, you can’t let them be in charge of this. 

Also, the bills are finally adding up. They can afford it, you can’t let them do it – at least, not emotionally speaking.

So you host a little party at your place – your place, because Ricardo says you basically own it as much as he does after the bathroom’s makeover. 

The small kitchen quickly turns into chaos the moment Paco takes charge and ropes Ricardo into helping. Pedro shows up with decorations and a banner that was most likely used for his little sister’s. Paul, however, closes the restaurant that same afternoon, brushing off your protests and reassuring you that your birthday is more important than the evening’s earnings.

You can’t find it in yourself to fight them.

The apartment fills with laughter and a vibrant energy that eases the weight pressing on your chest when overthinking takes hold. Balloons cover nearly the entire floor, raised voices and the scent of spices travel from the kitchen. 

Your friends from the hiking group arrive in waves, immediately hitting it off with some of Barcelona’s team. You’ve grown close to a few of them through your relationship with Irene’s family and the one Ingrid and Frido practically forced on you.

Some regular customers from the restaurant also show up, people you’ve grown pretty comfortable with after spending so much time there during the first weeks of taking over the accounting job.

There’s also a nice girl you met at a concert, who Elena stalks on social media to make sure she’s not a serial killer.

Alba and Alexia are the last ones to arrive.

Your life in Barcelona is full of new people, new experiences and adventures.

At your lowest point, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved out loud.

And those people are the loudest you ever met.

The noise around the apartment subsides just as most of the guests leave. The music is turned down to a minimum, because of the late hour and Pedro’s questionable taste, as he hasn’t let go of the speaker once all night.

The small group gathers around the couch, drinks in hand, still willing to celebrate with you. 

“I’m just saying, I think they taste the same”

The entire room erupts in protests at Ricardo’s comment.

“Absolutely no”, Pedro chimes in, seated on the edge of the armchair with a half-drunk beer in hand, “Black olives are made to be a pizza topping, green ones are perfect for everything else”

“What do you even know about pizza topping?”, you interrupt with a grin, “You put pineapple on yours”

Somehow, the complaints grew louder, the room buzzing with indignation.

“What’s wrong with that? Pineapple is a great pizza topic, you’re just too pretentious to admit it!”

“Can we move on from the pizza argument?”

“Oh, no, let’s get into it!”, you wave your hand dismissively, “Pedro, please, tell everyone what you put on first, cheese or sauce?”

“Fuck you”

“You work in a restaurant”, Alba says, her voice laced with disbelief. 

“I’m not the one cooking, am I?”

“Thank God!”

The conversation quickly turns on poor Pedro, who now finds himself defending his questionable taste and own belief.

Alexia, who’s been quietly sipping from her glass, looks at the scene with a raised eyebrow before turning to you, relaxed on the couch beside her, “Honestly, I never imagined pizza to be the thing that ends a friendship”

“I’m just happy we’re not talking about pineapple anymore, that’s a sin”

“You started this”, she points out, giggling. 

Ricardo shrugs from his spot on the floor, amused but staying out of it for now. 

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want”

“Oh, por favor”, Alexia says with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging the paper crown still perched on your head, “This must have cut off circulation to your brain”

You gasp, your dramatic antics in full display, fueled by the time, the alcohol, and, likely, the footballer’s shoulder still brushing against yours.

“You’re just jealous you’re not the only reina in the room”

“Keep dreaming”, Alexia responds with a grin.

The proximity lingers in a way that’s not just playful. It’s comfortable, like an inside joke no one else is allowed in on.

Ricardo watches the interaction from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you and the blonde for a moment longer than necessary. He notices how her cheeks redden slightly, the way you look a little different – softer, at ease.

Alba catches the moment too, still pretending to be involved in the pizza argument. She notices the quiet exchanges and private moments that have unfolded all evening. The way you and her sister have fallen into a different rhythm, a different world.

She’s seen it before.

There’s something between you two, something unspoken, but not quite hidden. She wonders how long it’s been there, how long it’s been that way.

But, like Ricardo, she keeps her thoughts to herself.

The rest of the group laughs, the debate seems to fade into a more relaxed conversation that doesn’t involve food or questionable life choices.

As the night goes on, the teasing continues, but, underneath the surface, there’s something deeper.

There’s the way you lean in a little closer to Alexia when someone says something ridiculous, how your eyes linger on her when Pedro makes a joke and you think no one is watching.

There’s the way Alexia’s knee brushes yours when you laugh, how her fingers dance on your arm simply because you’re close enough to.

There’s the exchange of gazes and smiles, quiet signs of complicity in the loud room.

~

Ricardo waits to the tune of three days before cornering you.

You mention being a bit homesick after your birthday and the Putellas sisters literally drag you to have dinner with them at their mom’s. Eli is the sweetest woman ever, going above and beyond to the point of making that one pie you mentioned once being your favourite. 

The house is filled with memories and tender gestures, a haven of support and a desire of caring for your own that squeezes your heart with a bittersweet beauty. Spending the night there makes it clear how Alexia and Alba were raised, revealing the roots of their kindness.

“You had fun?”

It’s a miracle you don’t drop dead on the floor right there, Ricardo’s voice echoing from the middle of the couch in the dark room.

“Why are you lurking like a fucking killer?”, you shout at him when your heartbeat slows down enough to let you come up with proper words.

“I was waiting for you”

You don’t even dignify him with a response, watching how he’s sipping from a mug like a scene from the shittiest b-movie you can think of.

Crossing the room to sleep the unease away, the guy’s next words make you stop right where you are, “You need to come clean with her”

“What are you talking about–”

“You like Alexia”

It’s not a question, there’s no doubt in his voice.

There’s not a single reason to even try to fight his assumption or your own overthinking.

You reach for the seat next to him on the couch, noticing the second mug just when he offers it to you. It’s a fruity tea you enjoy hot, with way too much honey and not a drop of milk – exactly like the one in your hands. 

The silence wrapping around is comforting in a way that makes sense just because it’s the two of you, sipping tea in the quiet darkness of the room.

“I do”, you admit after a while, even if you don’t need to. 

“I know”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah”, your roommate confirms with a soft smile.

He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t accuse you of anything.

It’s so typically Ricardo that you feel a surge of affection, a need to embrace him and accepting the support of someone who, in a twisted and brotherly way, looks out for you – and your heart. So you do just that, jumping into his arms without a care of your reputation or of the almost-empty mugs.

The man, despite the surprise of your reaction, is ready to hold you for how long you need.

Turns out, you need it a lot.

“Sorry, sorry”, you say after a couple of minute, trying to pull yourself together, “I didn’t see it coming”

“Me being so observant and clever or you falling in love with Alexia?”

“I’m not in love with Alexia”

“Yet”

He’s lucky the tea is not hot anymore.

“I’m not in love with Alexia”, you repeat. 

Not yet, resonates in your head – your own mind betraying you. 

Yes, Alexia is beautiful. Yes, you two apparently clicked perfectly right the moment you met. Yes, recently the time together doubled the time spent with anyone else. You can admit you like Alexia, the therapy is worth the commitment and the money put into it. 

But being in love?

It’s a good feeling, the one that makes her cheeks flush crimson when your smile catches her gazing. Even better, the one that fills you with pride when Alexia’s laugh resonates in the room because of something you say or do. 

It’s an exciting force, the one that unsettles your stomach when she reaches for you just for the sake of touching – of feeling you close. Even better, the one that makes you two sure of finding the other in a room full of people just when needed. 

It’s so terrifying close to love, what it’s blossoming.

You want to fall in love with Alexia.

Ricardo raises from the couch, taking the mugs and putting them on the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. An annoying habit you’re sure he keeps up with just to annoy you.

He returns a minute later, “Are you going to do something about it?”

You don’t miss a bit, “Yes”

“Let Alba know first”, he says with a serious note in his voice, “She liked you”

~

The stadium buzzes with the loud roaring of fans and the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass under the rain. Barcelona dominates the pitch, their control of the midfield a suffocating grip as the opponents scramble, desperate for a counterattack. 

Between miscalculated slides and short passes, Alexia weaves through defenders in a blur of motion and focused energy. She’s calm when the ball is glued on her feet, sparkling to light, her presence igniting the pitch, as soon as her teammates take over. 

Patri finds her captain just outside the box and you lean forward, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

You may be new to the whole thing, new in the Blaugrana’s home stands, but you learn quickly and you know exactly what Alexia’s movement means. 

The shot curves perfectly, the stadium exhales a collective gasp as the goalkeeper’s fingertips fail to reach it. The ball hits the bar loudly, the sound echoing before it flies out of the pitch.

Beside you, Alba lets out a whoop, clapping her hands with a grin stretching across her face, “She’s out for blood”

You laugh, not like anyone could disagree.

Barça is winning by three goals, outrunning the defence and shooting as if they need to score at least three more to sleep peacefully tonight. 

The poor goalkeeper will have nightmares for sure.

“She really want to take home that ball”

“She’s playing to impress”, Alba points out, not so subtly.

You chuckle, her remark flying over your head, “She’s just– good, I guess”

“Good? ¡Por favor!”, the younger Putellas scoffs, rolling her eyes, “She’s acting like a ballet dancer out there, doing pirouettes and running around like she has two sets of lungs”

As to prove her sister’s point, Alexia nutmegs another midfielder and executes another perfect movement, clearing the field for Aitana to set up Vicky for a chip goal.

The crowd erupts, but Alba’s attention remains fixed on you.

“¡Mirala!”, she says, pointing at the pitch where the team is hugging and celebrating, “That was another ‘look at me, soy la Reina’ moment!” 

“Your sister is the most competitive person I’ve ever met”

“Competitive? Chica, she’s showing off! And don’t even get me started on the way she keeps looking up here, fixing her hair between plays– It’s ridiculous”

You watch as Barcelona’s bubble dissipates and they get back at their positions, Alexia waves towards your seats, her face illuminated by a radiant grin.

Your cheeks flush slightly, a mixture of amusement and something else.

The game keeps on with the same level of excitement, and even more shots on target. They win narrowly, unconcerned by their soaked clothes, lingering happily in the rain to sign autographs and chat with supporters.

Alexia immediately seeks out you and Alba, trying to embrace you both despite your not-so-playful protests. The damp material of her kit clings, accentuating her defined muscles, and your thoughts stray to less innocent territories.

Alba sends her sister to the changing room, accepting the kiss landed on her forehead and watching as you nod like an idiot when she leaves with the promise to be back in no time, her hand lingering on your arm.

“¡Ay, esto es increíble!”, she interrupts your thought flow, tilting her umbrella just enough for a stream of rain to drop on your face. 

“Alba!”

“You’re not exactly subtle either, ¿sabes?”

The stadium noises fade into a distant hum. The air between you thickens, the playful banter morphing into something more charged and intentional. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, avoiding the younger woman’s gaze.

“How long have you known?”, you ask.

“The moment I introduced the two of you, idiota!”, she says, her voice teasing, “But I knew for sure at your birthday’s party”

“Nothing happened between us”

Alba’s smile softens, a gentle understanding dawning in her eyes, “I’m not blind and I know my sister pretty well. And honestly? I think it’s cute, you two glow when you’re together. She likes you. A lot. And you like her too"

Your shoulders relax, “I do. I really like her, Alba”

The wave of relief that washes over you is comforting.

You don’t owe her anything, and Alba definitely doesn’t owe you anything. But it’s good to know this love growing between you and Alexia is real, people around you see it too. People you care about support it.

Your smile spreads naturally on your face when you spot Barcelona’s captain approaching, hair still wet but changed in warm clothes.

Alba doesn’t miss it, nudging you with her elbow just before her sister’s close enough to hear, “It’s good you feel ready to date again, and I’m happy it’s her”

~

“I’m going to say it just once, so listen carefully”, you stop in the middle of the road with a stoic face, “Please, don’t make me regret our entire friendship”

The grin on Elena’s lips tells you everything you need to know, but you give her the benefit of the doubt. Because she’s your best friend, because she knows how to behave.

But she’s your best friend, and she’s not going to behave.

Her visit is not unpleasant, just unexpected.

It’s barely six in the morning when loud bangs on the front door wake you up and almost scare Ricardo to death. He takes it well enough, greeting Elena and going back to sleep the shock away. You, on the other hand, think of leaving her waiting outside until it’s socially acceptable to show up. Her immediate embrace is a clever attempt to smooth your annoyance.

She booked a red-eye flight for a hit and run, so you take her around Barcelona all day and agree to a late night out in a club Alba suggested you join with some of her friends.

“Relax”, she says, skipping steps like a kid as you approach the place.

“Elena, I’m serious”

“Why are you so stressed? Oh– oh, I know!”

She turns around in her heels, too graciously for someone with shoes so high and such low alcohol tolerance – you two may not be in your early 20s anymore, but you figured pregame was necessary this time around.

Her good resolution of not drinking alcohol crumbled as soundly as it started.

“Is she here too?”

“I don’t know what–”

“This mysterious woman you can’t shut up about, who is so great you have heart-shaped eyes but I can’t know her name”, she interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulder as you approach the club’s entrance. 

It’s not like you’re hiding Alexia, or your feelings for her.

She’s a frequent topic of conversation with your best friend, you’re comfortable sharing the moments between the two of you and the way your heart beats at a completely different rhythm around the Barcelona’s captain.

But Elena can be protective, and curious.

All she needs is a name, and she’s going to find out if Alexia has ever got a bad grade in primary school. The teasing for liking a football player? You aren’t ready for that either.

“Yes, she’s here and I need you to–”

“This is the best day of my life!”, she doesn’t even let you finish, leaves you right there, flashing the bodyguard at the entrance a huge smile and sweet talking her way in – even though they have your names as vip guests.

“This is going to be the worst day of mine”, you mutter to yourself, following after her.

The energy in the club is charged with a dangerous combination of freewill and alcohol. The place is packed and colored lights go on and off with the music, bright enough to see who’s in front of you, but not enough to make your decision clear. Not tonight.

Alba sees you first, waving her hand to catch your attention so you join them in a secluded table in a corner of the place.

You don’t even ask how Elena is already seated in the cool leather booth, talking animatedly.

“She’s funny”, Alba comments after greeting you with a hug.

“Don’t believe a word she says”

The younger girl’s laugh mixes with your best friend’s, and you know your fate is sealed when a guy hands her a drink. 

You look around the table, noticing some people from Alba’s close circle and some you met in passing at the restaurant or at a Barcelona’s game.

“She’s in the bathroom”

Your body betrays you before a coherent thought can leave your brain, your cheeks redding to the tips of your ears. 

“Told you, you’re not subtle”, Alba comments, too amused at your reaction.

As if she knows you’re talking about her, as if a magnetic energy forces your body to get closer and closer, Alexia’s gaze locks with yours as she approaches the table, followed by a vaguely familiar face.

She greets you with a dimpled smile and a welcoming hug, it may look like months passed but it’s been a matter of days. The black top she’s wearing emphasizes her toned stomach, and your fingers itch to trace the subtle sheen of sweat crossing her back – a sign she’s been dancing for a while now. 

You’re fashionably late, regardless of the time Alba suggested you to be here. Spanish people are stragglers, you have learned it at your own expense.

“Are you ready?”, the footballer asks.

“For what?”

“You owe me a dance”

“Absolutely not!”, you protest, trying to escape her hug.

“Oh, yes”, she smile, her arm around your waist dragging you even closer, “You made fun of my dancing moves, now you have to prove yours”

Next time, you will think twice before sending the blonde every single comment you found online about a TikTok video one of her teammates posted after a huge win. In your defence, you find it very cute.

The dance floor is filled with people, dancing in fluid movements like you learned Spaniard are comfortable with. A sea of arms fling around, bodies smoothly moving to feel each other. The music vibrates with a bass so deep that your ribs pulses at the same rhythm.

Alexia guides you in a less crowded section, far enough from the table so Alba and Elena can study every single movement, but out of earshot. 

You try to ignore the thought of your best friend gossiping with Alba.

Thinking, however, is the last thing you do when Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, skin waking up by the slight hint of touch.

It doesn’t really matter how you managed to get this close, how the music runs through your bodies with an unmistakable energy and desire to get even closer. Your arms rise to frame the blonde’s face, her grin growing as soon as she notices your reaction.

It’s not like either of you is hiding the attraction, the pulsing needs to be together. To talk, to touch, to be around one another. It’s always been there, you just never acted on it.

“Are they like that all the time?”, Elena asks, still studying the way you seem to speak a different language with Alexia.

“I’m thinking about locking them somewhere until they kiss or whatever”

The disbelief is clear in Elena’s voice, “Are you sure they haven’t kissed yet?”

“If I know my sister, she must be really fucking scared”

“If I know my best friend, she must be really fucking stupid”

The two nod before bursting in a loud laugh, clicking their glasses. 

Almost an half an hour later, you find them like that, giggling and talking as if they have known each other for years and not just met. Alexia raises an eyebrow, silently questioning if she needs to hold back Alba’s enthusiasm – Elena is matching it without a problem, and that’s what really worries you. 

“And that’s how she ended up with the sister of her blind date”

“That’s not how it happened, at all”, you complain, hitting your best friend’s arm as she decide telling the worst stories possible is the best way to spend the night.

“Must have been a great date”, someone jokes.

“I’m a fantastic date, thank you so much”

“I can confirm”, Alba says with a teasing grin, raising her empty glass as you flip her off with an equally open smile on your lips.

Alexia, on the other hand, straightens up a bit at the exchange, switches her gaze between the two of you, almost taken aback, “You two dated?”

“I told you”, the younger girl retorts.

“I thought you were messing with me”

The change in her posture is subtle, but you’re close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice the way she moves her knee, breaking contact with yours, her fingers toying with the ring on her pinky.

Alba is a bit too drunk to pay attention to the footballer’s dampened mood, not affected anymore by that one date with you so long ago.

She told her sister about it when she first clocked in her interest for you, hoping to clear the way for her to do something about it – a sort of blessing.

Turns out, Alexia’s so sure she was teasing her, lying about it just to annoy her.

Thankfully, your best friend reads in your face the panic and drifts the conversation on a completely different topic. 

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughs, questionable drinking choices, and more dancing. 

Every single attempt of catching Alexia’s eyes fails miserably. She’s not ignoring you, she doesn’t leave her seat next to you, and her touch is light but grounding. Your mind, however, spirals in a way it hasn’t in months.

It’s late when the group decides to call it a day, stumbling out into the cool, damp air of Barcelona. No one is sober enough to even think of driving, the decision to summon taxis rather than risk the roads is unanimous. 

A strange intimacy settled inside the car. You and Alexia sit in the back, while Alba, in the middle, sleeps on the older woman’s shoulder with soft snores. Elena is deep in conversation with the Catalan driver, despite not speaking a word of the language. The city lights flash outside, blurred by a light drizzle that you trace with a finger against the window.

Upon reaching Alexia’s apartment, you insist on helping her carry her sister inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Your best friend, armed with a winning smile and a ‘thank me later’ attitude, somehow manages to convince the driver to wait for you outside.

The place is quiet when you enter, amplifying the tension that crackled between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable.

You and Alexia carefully settle Alba onto the bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the guest room. Each gentle adjustment of her sister’s blanket, each soft whisper to ensure her comfort, stretched out the delicate balance. 

It’s minutes later, right by the front door, that something snaps.

Before you can reach the handle on the way out, the footballer’s fingers wrap around your wrist.

There’s urgency in the way her body feels stirred by an electric discharge all of a sudden, her voice low, “You dated?”

“What?”, your confusion is mostly prompted by Alexia’s distressed tone.

“You dated my sister?”

“No, we– I mean, we went out like one time and I was, clearly, still fucked up by my ex– It’s not like we actually dated or something”

“She said–”

“She was joking”, your hands cupping the blonde’s face seems to do wonder at calming her, but you still feel the need to clarify the situation, “I kissed her, once, then found a good therapist and said to her I wasn’t interested like that”

“Are you interested like that?”

“Alexia, I just said–”

“No, no”, she interrupts shyly, never dropping her gaze, “Are you interested in me like that?”

Despite the voices still filling doubts in your head, kissing her is the easiest, most natural thing to do at that moment. 

Her lips are soft, warm, and taste faintly of sweet drinks. Her breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the quiet intimacy of the kiss.

A current of interest, desire, and care pulls you closer. There’s complicity and belonging, mingling with curiosity, and the thrill of uncharted territory.

And there’s Alexia, right in front of you, vulnerable and exposed and trusting enough to lay her emotions in your hands. Making you feel so safe that you don’t even have to think about doing the same.

So you kiss again, trying to convey how sure you are about your feelings. Because the insecurities and the questioning silence when Alexia’s heartbeat syncs with yours and her hand caresses your face.

The sharp honk coming from the taxi outside is the only reason why you separate.

~

The late afternoon sun drapes over the Barcelona streets as you and Alexia stroll, fingers laced together. 

It’s a familiar feeling now, holding hands after a date.

You have explored hidden hikes, shared tapas after her games, and even attended a couple of flamenco lessons. Nothing too different from what you’ve already experienced. 

Except, of course, for the kissing.

And there’s been a lot of that.

Your phone buzzes, interrupting Alexia’s recall of Vicky’s last attempt of convincing her to do another stupid trend. You drop her hand, your fingers flying across the screen, muttering in concentration.

The footballer raises an eyebrow, complaining playfully, “Am I annoying you?”

“It’s this stupid bird!”

“Still fighting with ser y estar?”

“I’m sorry, my Spanish teacher is a tease and gets distracted five minutes after promising to help me study”

“She sounds like an incredible teacher”, she counters, too pleased with herself as she hints at your last private tutoring.

Despite your best effort, the other woman had other plans. The sentences she whispered right at your ear, with a raspy voice and a note of teasing in every single movement of her lips, made your resolution crumble in a matter of minutes. The books, not even opened, fell off the bed with a kick of her foot.

You do, however, learn some new words.

Your cheeks flush at the memory, “Shut up!”

“I said nothing”

You ignore her grin, still welcoming her embrace as she pulls you closer to help with the lesson.

“This app is useless! Why do those Spanish animals always do weird things? It’s making me questioning my entire existence”

“Tan dramática”, Alexia snorts, nudging you with her hip, “Why are you even using that thing? You can learn everything you need from me”

“I’m trying to actually learn something here”, you retort, faking annoyance, “Besides, you’re not always available for Spanish lessons. I want to get better, impress the locals”

“After more than a year?”

“Never too late”, you grin, “Just wait, I’ll be ordering in flawless Catalan in less time than it took you to ask me out”

Alexia stops in her tracks at your teasing, taken aback by your admission and by way of calling her out for the stalling after the first kiss you shared. She may have needed a little push then, trying to find the best moment to ask you for a real date to just blur it out in the rush of a late game night you attended.

You continue walking, too focused on the lesson to acknowledge the blonde’s momentary pause.

“Wait, I thought you were taking Spanish lessons”

“Yes, from you and the stupid bird, but I have an actually tutor for Catalan”

“You’re learning Catalan?”

“I live in Barcelona”, you say, matter of factly, but the flush creeping up on your cheeks betrays you.

The truth hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. It isn’t about fitting in, not anymore. It’s about her.

To understand her better, wrapping deeply into the fabric of her world. It’s commitment, to the city and to a future that you can’t picture without her in. It’s a promise, somehow, to bridge any gap and to learn her culture, her soul. 

Alexia’s gaze lingers, the weight of your growing feelings both exhilarating and inevitable.

She told herself she set a pace comfortable for you, respecting your need to get better with loving yourself and trusting others.

But you’ve been ready for this love for quite some time now.

The way you open up with her, hold her after a long day, and gently kiss the creases around her lips when she smiles. The way you not just proudly wear your heart on your sleeve, but you hand out your emotions to be seen. The way you make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to be taken care of. 

The way you’re learning to love her by learning to love everything that makes her who she is.

A nervous flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in your stomach as Alexia catches up to you. You could feel the energy radiating from her, the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of wood and something undeniably her.

“Estic enamorada de tu”, she confesses, cheeks slightly tinted but her voice so firm, so sure. 

“I know what that means”

A smile, genuine and carefree, grows on both your lips. You study her face for a moment, finding nothing but pure care and a force that feels like arms keeping you safe and warm.

Nothing but love. 

The way you kiss her is almost too intense for a late afternoon in the streets of Barcelona, but barely enough to convey all the emotions that you discovered and learned to welcome in your life again. 

You may not be ready to say out loud you’re falling in love with her too, not yet. But the firmness of your hands on her face, the happiness lightning in your eyes, the resolution conveyed by your kiss.

She knows.

~

On the day you declare the restaurant officially debt free, Paco lifts you up off the ground, spins you around with ease and plants a loud kiss on your forehead.

Paul’s reaction is a bit tamed, even if he declares he’s going to name his firstborn after you. Still single and hopeless romantic, you’re not sure how much to read into his words.

Pedro cries, of course he does, but he also hugs you in a way that conveys almost too much not to shed a few tears yourself.

It’s not difficult for you to admit you own them more than they own you. 

Taking care of the restaurant’s ledger and the guys’ enthusiastic opinion about your accounting job opened a lot of small businesses’ doors. The idea of opening your own office never even crosses your mind, not planning on entangling yourself in a structured system anytime soon. The new apartment you rent has a small room that works just fine as a study.

You will still keep an eye on them, though, not sure enough your finance lessons really drilled in their heads. 

“So, you’re finally letting us treat you with dinner?”, Paul asks, serving you up with way too many pleasantries. 

“I already have someone who pays for me”, you retort, playful smirk on your lips.

“¡Ay, I thought you were taking me out tonight!”, Alexia complains next to you, keeping up with the joke as she pretends to not be interested in the food anymore. She can be such a dork.

“Wait, am I crushing a date?”, Alba intercepts from the other side of the table.

“You’ve been crushing our dates since the day we met!”

The laughs that erupt are loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons, thankfully not really annoyed by the chaos. The truth is that, despite being a menace of a group, it is not like you can drag your friends in any other place without the risk of getting banned forever. 

It’s a familiar scene. The restaurant feels like a second home now, one that you built on your own around people that truly see you, support you and never miss a chance to tease you.

So you shake your head at Ricardo’s antics and glare at Alexia when she keeps teasing her sister, effortlessly distracting her with light movements of your fingers on her knee. 

The conversation flows between shared memories and inside jokes, carrying the night away until your table is the only one left. Not planning on leaving the place anytime soon. And as you sit there, surrounded by your friends, questionable recalling of stories, and the magnetic pull of Alexia’s presence, you just know that this is it. 

This is your life, your love, your chosen family.

Then Pedro has to ruin the moment, persuading everyone you have to make a toast for whatever reason. You try to fight it, embarrassed and quite frankly taken aback by the respect and genuine admiration this people seems to feel for you. 

A subtle nod of your girlfriend’s head, her hand finding yours beneath the table, is all you need to indulge with their antics.

“To us”, you say, raising a glass, “To finally getting our shit together!”

Laughter and cheers fill the restaurant, everyone congratulating each other for the most random things and joking around as if life could always be this simple.

Alexia’s hold tightens, her eyes meeting yours. Her face lights up in a way that never fails to make your own heart grow. 

“T’estimo”, you whisper, just for her to hear. 

Your love is usually so loud. A love that grows unexpectedly, but burns with a fierce and tender flame. But your promises are quiet. A silent acknowledgment of commitment that goes beyond, that stretches confidently into the future. 

Together.

[misshuntereevee]

The Winner Takes it All, part 1.

( part 2 is out now. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Note: I haven’t written anything in like a month so go easy on me 😅 I also am not beta-read, I just need Sylus simping and begging for forgiveness…

—

Two years ago. The little reminder flits across the screen.

But nonetheless, you sit in your shared apartment -- alone with a glass of wine. No missed calls, no texts.

You weren’t sure when it started. Probably the first time he saw her. She looked just like you. You — just like her. You didn’t think anything would shake how Sylus saw you. His princess. But she obviously did. He found himself torn -- were you his sorceress? Or was this woman?

When you do finally get a message from Sylus, it’s enough to make your heart drop. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”

No mention of the anniversary. Being sneaky, you decide to tap and see where he is. Linkon? Another few tabs and you see the feed of a sidewalk -- with him and Miss Hunter chatting. Your eyes close, your fingers rubbing the bridge of your nose. You feel your hands tighten around the stem of your wine glass until it shatters. You didn’t even feel the glass dig into your skin -- just the blood trickling down your wrist.

She’s wearing your smile. The smile that you give him. And he’s looking at her like she’s you. And as your doppelganger, she’s probably close.

As you treat your wound, you can’t help it. Tears overflow as blood washes out into the porcelain sink.

You’d promised yourself after how your father treated your mother that you’d never let yourself feel this way. Unloved. Don’t get you wrong -- if it had been this once, you probably wouldn’t have cared. But the fact of the matter -- this is the third time. You’d been keeping count.

So you call.

Once. No answer.

Twice. No answer.

By the third unanswered call, your hands tremble. The broken wine glass sits untouched beside you, the clock ticking in mockery. You stare at the phone screen, willing his name to appear, but nothing. Just silence. The kind that suffocates. The kind that makes decisions for you.

“If I’m not your little bird, then fine,” you say, grinding your teeth. You make one more call, this time to your best friend. She answers on the second ring and it’s not long before you’ve made your decision -- you’re leaving.

* * *

He’d call you as soon as he dropped her off.

He promised himself that. And while Sylus had a great memory, he suddenly had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. But he ignores the phone in his pocket as he listens to the woman next to him. Miss Hunter.

He can’t lie and say he doesn’t feel the attraction. But what happened? Why was she here if you were too? And which one was his princess? Which one was the one he was bonded to? He’d never had this linkage bond with you -- no, that only happened with this hunter. That…looked exactly like you.

The phone is ringing again, and Miss Hunter tilts her head. “Aren’t you going to answer that? Might be one of your henchmen.” She teases.

So he glances -- seeing your name, his fingers hover over the screen before pushing decline. “It’s not important right now.” And he shoots the simple text: Don’t wait up.

Walking her upstairs, Miss Hunter turns to face him. “Well, thanks for the ride… maybe you aren’t the monster everyone says you are.”

His lips stretch up in a smile. The words make him feel warm -- the way that for the longest time only you could do. “Careful, kitten. I might think you're softening up on me.”

“Never,” is all Miss Hunter says, before disappearing into her apartment.

He’s almost on his motorcycle when he gets another call. He answers it without looking, convinced it’s you again. “Hello, my little bird,” his voice says softly. The familiarity is settling in now that he knows he can talk to you -- something absent with Miss Hunter. In a way, he can recognize that Miss Hunter will never be able to give him that. But he has to know why she’s here. Why does she exist when you’re right there?

But it’s not your voice that replies. “Oh -- no, it’s Luke, boss. I thought you and the Missus were out on your anniversary date. I was calling --”

Sylus’ grip on his handlebars tightens. “What?” he nearly growls. The blood in his veins turns ice-cold. His knuckles go white, the rich and expensive leather groaning under the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, heart slamming against his ribs. He forgot. Fuck, he forgot. The realization crashes into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Oh, I just saw the date on your calendar --”

“I’ll call you back,” he snarls.

Sylus knows as soon as he gets past the second ring that you aren’t going to pick up the phone. You never let it ring longer than that. But just in case, he waits until you let it go to voicemail. And then he calls again. And again. If he was a normal man, he’d be a little embarrassed to call so much -- but he wasn’t normal and he didn’t care.

By the tenth call, he’s gripping the device tightly. “'Pick up. Please, my little bird. Pick up.” The call goes to voicemail. Again. His chest tightens. He feels it now—the absence of you. And for the first time, he's truly afraid.

And for a moment, he wondered if he’d panic this much if it was Miss Hunter who was upset. Would he be upset if she was mad at him? Finally, he leaves a message: “Little bird, call me please. You know we need to talk about this.”

You’ll call him back with that. He was almost certain. But as he got closer and closer to your shared apartment, it became clear that you weren’t going to call. And all it did was give him time to think. And he came to the conclusion that you had every right to be pissed.

But he had no idea how pissed you were until he unlocked your shared front door -- and it’s all gone.

Not the furniture, no. But your favorite cardigan by the door? Gone. Your mail slot? Your name was ripped off, and only Sylus’ remained. The further he got into the apartment, the more he noticed was gone. Your brush, your blankets. Each missing item was a knife in his heart.

“Little bird?” He called out, holding onto a shred of hope before noticing a note on the bed. His red eyes narrow, stepping softly toward it.

And the words are enough to make him ball the note into a crumbled mess, and throw it against the wall with a snarling yell:

Sylus,

I don’t know how to write this. But as the weeks have passed since you met my doppelganger, I’ve realized there’s really nothing I can do to compete with myself. I thought our history was enough -- but I guess I can’t win against fate. My only wish is you would have let me know before I dug my claws in.

Like you’d know, my dragon, it hurts to pull them back out. And it hurts even more to see the open wound I left -- I am not sure if it will stop bleeding out.

Take care of yourself,

Your Little Bird

Y/N

The words you wrote echo in your voice in his head. He could see the teardrop stains marking the paper. Little scratch marks -- like you hesitated. And he’s hit with the feeling -- maybe if he’d just answered sooner, he could have stopped this.

And -- how stupid could he have been to pay so little attention that he missed your anniversary? And how stupid was he for still feeling conflicted about Miss Hunter?

But the strongest feeling was this: he needed to see you again. The possibility of not seeing you again… that was enough to make him never visit Linkon again.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since you left. You weren’t from the N109 Zone and you weren’t from Linkon -- so he’d crossed that off his list. But you weren’t in your hometown either. Sylus rode his motorcycle through your old stomping grounds -- and it brought him some comfort to be here. In your home -- since you’d fled the one you’d shared together.

His phone rings -- Miss Hunter.

And surprisingly -- he doesn’t answer.

Because a better notification comes up from Luke and Kieran.

“Hey, Boss! We’ve got sightings of Madam over in Brighton,” they say, happy to give him some sort of good news. Because the last few weeks -- Sylus has been downright vicious in his hunt to find you. To tell you sorry.

“Brighton? Interesting. Send me the coordinates,” he says. The location is a cafe. It’s filled with books, magazines-- all your favorites. That part made sense. There’s slight relief in his thoughts. Knowing where you were was better than not knowing. If you were in Brighton, then you were probably safe. Alive. And not under Ever’s thumb somewhere.

You’re safe. That’s what matters. That’s what he keeps telling himself as he watches you laugh at a cashier’s statement —like nothing is wrong, like the past two years meant nothing. You’re alive. You’re fine.

But the longer he looks -- it’s enough to make him murderous.

It’s the cashier you’re speaking with. You’re laughing…you’re happy. ayou hadn’t smiled like that at him since Miss Hunter arrived… Realistically, anyone could say it was innocent, but now --

He should be the one making you laugh. He should be the one paying too. Jealousy doesn’t come easy to Sylus -- but right now -- he’s understanding how you felt the last few weeks with Miss Hunter. But unlike you -- he thinks to himself as he puts the kickstand on his bike down -- he’s not afraid to step in.

If you thought two years would disappear like that -- you’re wrong. And he’ll prove it. (He has to.)

Please like/reblog for part 2! I am not sure how much I love this or not yet, so let me know if you do. Comments are appreciated but not required. 🫶🏻

[spookyji]

i need to talk about how jisung loves a shy gf… ufhhh so cute yes this has nsfw rambles

thinking about how jisung is into shy girls because he thinks it’s cute when you’re shyer than he is. something about being needed feeds his confidence, a sweet feeling of being able to take care of you? he can almost feel his face about to burst into flames when you shy behind him, hidden by his broad shoulders and tall frame, it’s too cute. and his friends can laugh at him for being so protective, but jisung can’t help it, ‘cause he just wants to take care of you, love making him so crazy for you, isn’t it? having a shy gf means he doesn’t have to share you at all, keeping all of you to himself. the way you’re only willing to open up to him, your genuine smiles and excitement only for him to see. jisung never wanting to let go of your hand, he loves the feeling so much, only topped by how clingy you are once you’re alone together, always wanting to be with him but too shy to show that part of yourself until he can coax it out of you, bit by bit until you’re inseparable.

burying your face into his chest when he blushes and says he loves you, it’s so cute how neither of you can say the 8 letters that mean so much. actions over words? jisung being addicted to the feeling of being the only one who can really see you, effortlessly gathering up your wrists in one of his hands when you try to hide, but he’s 8 inches deep in your pussy, there’s nothing to hide. needing to be praised by you, tell him everything cause he loves it knowing he’s taking care of you, pretty boy who wants you to look at him when your lips are wrapped ‘round his cock, such a turn on when he has to hold your chin to make you keep eye contact because it’s too much for your shy self. please, jisung’s going to cum in seconds if he can convince you to ride him, something about his shy gf being on top? god. and jisung is such a clingy love bug after sex, always wanting to cockwarm or cuddle and praise you for doing so well for him, cause he’s the only one who knows all your sexual secrets.

and don’t even get me started on how lovesick jisung is for when you’re shy the morning after. he is so unbelievably down bad

this is so incoherent okay now i need to write my yandere jisung thoughts byeeee

[pricklythepear]

Choose a continuity

Aligned universe: a gladiator turned poet and an archivist work together to earn people rights, disagree on how and start an extinction class civil war over it. Neither can let go, both are different types of delusional about it. This is where the fandom gets the ‘old friend’ thing, though it’s shared with Ratchet.

Animated: Leader of the Decepticons gets beaten by this college dropout who will NOT let him hurt Earth. Rivalry ensues. I would like to note that due to the hilarious sizing of the Autobots and Decepticons in TFA, Optimus is like half Megatron size

Transformers One: Best friends fall into a main character quest, learn their lives are a lie and their idol is the worst (he invented the racism they’ve been suffering under and is working for the enemy), and have different levels of reaction to it. One crashed out so much more aggressively that it’s toxic enough the other banishes him. “We were brothers once. Once.” Fun fact: this movie is what finally made MegaOp the most popular transformer relationship on ao3. Until this point they were being beaten out by a crack ship of two characters who barely get to interact outside of comics

Bay-verse: I don’t know the full history, but I know they worked closely together before Megatron betrayed Optimus; Megatron was basically equal power to Optimus, but a military leader instead of a governing one. (This is where the fandom got Lord Protector or Lord High Protector, which canon meant as brotherhood but everyone else uses for romance). Turned against him for some power or something. Saves Optimus before trying to kill him and dying instead

IDW: I do not know the details and am not going to go down that research rabbit hole today. One of, if not the first place that gave Megatron the whole ‘revolutionary leader turned dictator’ backstory, and had Optimus help him until the dictator thing (Prime was a cop here though), and I think also the first place that had him at the end of the war turn from Decepticon to Autobot, and all the angst that ensues from that.

Earthspark: Post-war. Megatron swapped sides last minute, so now the two old men are working together. I don’t think EarthSpark explains their past so much as banks on fans knowing previous history and stories and precedences from other continuities, it’s just taking all the tension from everything else and showing the after ig?

G1: I have no clue. They’re just like that

we need more divorcebaiting. how strongly can canon imply (without technically outright stating) that these two characters are bitterly, acrimoniously divorced? essential we explore this

[bapeach]

Senior day

Sorry I've been gone for a month! I'm going to try to write more again, but no promises. Also sorry if the end is a bit abrupt, I suck at writing endings. Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 3.1k+ Summary: Y/N finally surprises her girlfriend on senior day. ------------

If there was one thing you loved, it was surprises. Well, you liked surprising other people, you didn’t love getting surprised yourself. Which sucked because somehow, Paige always managed to surprise you, while she always knew what you were up to before you even knew. 

Every time you tried to surprise her by showing up at her dorm unannounced, she was there to open the door with a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates of her own. The fact that she knew your training schedule by heart and knew you’d come visit her every spare time you got warmed your heart, but man, was it annoying you never got to surprise her. 

The second your schedule was cleared and you didn’t reply for a few hours, she immediately knew you were on a plane to Storrs. Even when you tried lying by saying you were going to take a nap or you had extra practice, she knew.

This time, it would be different. 

When you got your training schedule e-mail at the beginning of the year, you immediately checked what the plan was for the 2nd of March. Seeing you didn’t have any practice, you basically jumped out of your seat. You immediately went into edit mode and changed the data to a full day of practice. Right as you click “save”, your phone pings. 

“Let’s gooo, we don’t have practice on senior day!! Are we flying to Storrs together?” The message reads. Grinning, you open the chat and press the FaceTime icon. Seeing Nika’s face pop up, you give her a wide smile as you say, “We’re flying together, and we’re gonna surprise the hell out of Paige!” The Croatian chuckles at your excitement. “Well hello to you too, babes,” she teases as her accent shines through. You roll your eyes playfully as you stick your tongue out at your best friend. 

“Hi lovely, how are you, queen of my life?” You joke, making her laugh. “Okay, you’re doing too much,” she giggles, shaking her head in amusement. You wink at her before looking back at your laptop and sending her the edited schedule. “Alright, I edited the e-mail we got, so now when we send it to P, she’ll think we’ll be busy that day, and she won’t see us coming!”

“Right, that’s totallyyyy gonna work,” the brunette nods with a smile. You pout at her as you whine, “It will! I don’t know how she always knows when I’m on my way to her, but she won’t this time! We just need to make sure we’re subtle, and that the team doesn’t snitch.”

You both continue to talk for another 10 minutes before your phone starts pinging with messages from your favorite blonde. Seeing the dopey grin on your face, Nika says her goodbyes and tells you to say hi to “Lovergirl”. Once the brunette’s face disappears from your screen, you tap Paige’s chat on your laptop and call her.

“Hey ma,” the blonde says with a soft smile. You send her a smile of your own as your pupils dilate at the sight of her. “Hey baby,” you respond, placing your cheek in your palm as you stare at her. Her baby hairs are sticking up, her eye bags look a little darker than the last time you saw her, and her lips are a bit chapped, but she still looks like the prettiest girl in the world to you. 

“Did you get your training timetable yet?” She asks, her right eyebrow raising slightly. You hum as you share your screen with her. The blonde leans in closer to the camera to get a better view, making you smile. You take a screenshot of her cute, scrunched-up face before focusing back on the calendar. “Damn, I was hoping you’d be free for senior day,” she huffs playfully, but you can tell she’s trying to hide her disappointment. 

You bite your lip, feeling bad that she’s upset, but you force yourself to keep it a secret. “I know, love,” you say softly, “but I promise I’ll be cheering you on from here!” Paige brightens up a bit, though not by much, so you change the subject. “I can’t believe you’re joining the WNBA soon… I can’t wait to kick your ass in front of thousands of people.”

Paige laughs loudly as she shakes her head, “Keep dreaming, babe.” You raise your eyebrow challengingly at her. “If my mind serves me right, I beat your ass at Christmas.” She rolls her eyes in return. “You cheated, and you know it,” the blonde complains. You laugh as you raise your hands in question, “How did I cheat?”

“Uhm, you were only wearing shorts and a sports bra, which you know drives me crazy. You kept flirting with me, trying to distract me. And you paid the ref to look the other way when you weren’t following the rules.” She replies, counting the reasons on her fingers. You smirk at the first two reasons but can’t help bursting out in laughter hearing the third. 

“I did not pay Drew to look the other way,” you say as you try to stop laughing. “Mhm, sureee, yet a few hours after the fact, Drew suddenly has a new game he’s been wanting for a while,” she replies, squinting her eyes in suspicion. You simply shake your head at her.

When you open your mouth to defend yourself, you hear Azzi calling Paige’s name in the background. The blonde looks offscreen and mumbles a few things before looking back with a slight frown. “I gotta go, baby,” she says, her eyes becoming a little less bright. You feel your heart clench, but you try to remain strong for her. “Alright, love, have fun at practice, don’t overwork yourself! I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She smiles softly. “Alright, bye, I love you!” “I love you too!” Once her face disappears from your screen, you sigh. Though you’d seen her just last week for the holidays, you missed her already. You both knew it wasn’t going to be easy being in a relationship while you were both in different states, but there was no way you were going to let each other go.

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

The next few weeks are hard. Paige is practicing more and harder than she ever has, wanting to leave UConn with a bang, meaning you barely ever have time to talk. The few times you guys are able to call, the blonde falls asleep within minutes of hearing your voice. Every morning after, you get a very sad message as she apologizes for once again falling asleep. Every time she does, you reassure her it’s okay, being happy that she finds comfort in your voice as she dozes off. Sure, you’d love to actually have a proper conversation with her, but you know she’s doing her best.

Besides, it’s not like you weren’t busy, either. Your coach had you practicing more than ever, wanting the team to be prepared to start off the season well. When you weren’t practicing with the team, you were in the gym with Nika, synchronizing your moves to become even better teammates. You were doing a pretty good job, though your heart felt heavy from the lack of seeing your girl.

You counted down the days until senior day, and with only a few days left, you were getting restless. “Okay, we should arrive about two hours before the game, so that should give us enough time to pick up the flowers, get settled and ready, and hopefully get to our seats without being swarmed by fans.” You ramble nervously as you fall back onto Nika’s bed. The brunette smiles at you as she settles down next to you, brushing some hair out of your face. “It’s gonna be okay, babe, stop stressing.”

“I just wanna make sure everything is perfect for her, she deserves that,” you reply as you look at your friend. “And it will be! I’ve been texting Azzi, and it seems P believes that we won’t make it, she’s all mopey.” She grins at the thought of a pouty Paige, knowing the girl gets a bit childish when she’s upset. You roll your eyes at her, but you can’t help your lips curving up a little.

“Only a few more days,” you thought to yourself.

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

The second your plane lands, you and Nika speed over to get your bags before rushing to your hotel. You make a quick stop at the florist to pick up a bouquet of flowers, beaming when you see how pretty they are. You each take turns taking a quick shower before getting ready together. You help Nika braid her hair as she helps you with your make-up. Sensing your stress, the brunette takes your mind off of things by talking about random things like the new restaurant you two should go to and the new show you’ve been watching.

You make a mental note to treat the Croatian to a nice girls day for everything she’s done for you.

Once you’re ready, you make your way over to the stadium. Your stomach flutters with nerves as you fidget with the bouquet. Once inside, you make your way over to one of the UConn staff members and an old friend of yours, handing him the flowers so he can keep them safe for now. You talk with him for a moment before Nika lets you know it’s time to get to your seats. You tap your foot to the music that’s playing as you wait for the Huskies to come out and warm up. 

When you hear the crowd start cheering, you look up and see the players slowly walk onto the court, grinning as they take in the moment. Your eyes immediately zero in on Paige as she walks onto the court with KK and Azzi by her side. A grin forms on your lips as you watch the blonde and the freshman tease each other. When you look at the team’s princess, you see she’s already looking at you with big eyes and a wide grin. 

You send Azzi a wave before looking back at Paige. Having noticed the younger girl beside her isn’t paying attention, the blonde looks over at her. She follows her gaze before freezing mid-step. Her blue eyes meet yours, and it feels like everything around you fades. Her pearly whites shine bright as she smiles at you. 

She quickly starts walking over to you as you get up to meet her halfway. The second she’s within reach, you fling your arms around her neck as she lifts you into a tight hug. You squeeze her close to you, finally feeling whole again. You feel the taller girl breathe in your signature perfume as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. You rub her neck with your thumb as you greet her, “Hey baby,” you whisper as to not break the moment. 

When she pulls back, you see a few tears have formed in her eyes. You chuckle as you rub your thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. “How? I thought you had practice?” She mutters, looking away from you for a moment to send Nika a big smile. “I may or may not have edited the file…” you say with a cheeky grin, “Surprise!” The blonde shakes her head as she laughs, her eyes seem lighter than ever. 

She looks around for a moment before shrugging and saying, “Fuck it.” She pulls you into a sweet kiss that leaves you both blushing as you hear the crowd around you cheer even louder than before. You push her away, shaking your head as you bite your lip to stop the huge grin growing on your face. “Go warm up, loser,” you tease. She nods her head, her eyes twinkling. She squeezes your hand before walking back to her team. “Hey P!” You yell, making her look back. “Knock ‘em dead!”

She sends you a smirk and a salute, causing the butterflies in your stomach to stir. You had full confidence in UConn, having seen the insane games they’ve been having lately, but that didn’t make the game any less nerve-wracking. Anything could happen. A bad fall, a shitty ref, or even just the nerves getting to the team. But even with all your worries about a possible injury, a smile is etched onto your face the whole match. Seeing Paige on the court, exactly where she belongs, is magical. It’s like seeing the last puzzle piece click into place.

As the last seconds tick by, you’re standing up beside Nika, applauding and cheering so hard your hands burn and your throat aches. As the final buzzer goes off, you pull the Croatian into a tight hug as the Huskies jump into a group hug. Once things have calmed down a bit, Paige waves you over, so you grab Nika’s hand and walk onto the court. The two of you immediately get bombarded by hugs, high-fives, and pats on the shoulder from the team. You gush to them about how well they played before finally making your way over to the star of the show.

You fling yourself into the blonde’s arms right away, not caring about her sweatiness. You hold her so tight that you fear she might not be able to breathe. You feel her heart beating loudly against her chest as your head lays against her. “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” you mutter, smiling up at her with love clear in your eyes.

Paige pulls you into a searing kiss, not caring about the camera’s flashing around you. “I love you so much,” she breathes out as she leans her forehead against yours. “And I you, my love,” you reply, your heart feeling like it’s about to burst out of its cage.

You let her go after a moment, letting her go to her team for the end of senior night. You stand around with Nika for a bit before it’s time for the ceremony. Giving the Croatian’s hand a squeeze, you walk towards where the Huskies are standing. You stroll over to Paige and her family, giving Drew a high five and the rest of her family a hug. 

The blonde looks at you with adoration and a hint of confusion. You stop next to her, sliding a hand into hers. “I’d love to walk with you, if that’s okay?” You ask with an easy smile. “Of course, but… I thought only family was allowed to do that?” She replies, her brows knitted together. “Usually, yeah, but… I pulled some strings,” you grin mischievously. A chuckle escapes her lips, but before she can say anything, the lights dim and a hush spreads over the crowd. 

You squeeze her hand before looking ahead at the announcer as he starts announcing the first senior, Kaitlyn Chen. You clap as she starts walking with her family, a bright smile on your face. You might never have played with the girl, but you adored her energy and had heard great things about her from Paige. 

Once it’s Paige’s turn, you walk beside her, winking at some of your old teammates as you pass them. Reaching Geno, you give him a tight squeeze, missing the old grump more than you dared to tell anyone. Once the blonde receives her frame, you take a step back with her siblings, letting her have her moment. You sling your arms around them, letting Drew stand in front of you as he leans against your front. Seeing their teary eyes, you squeeze their shoulders as you give them a watery smile.

After a moment, Paige waves everyone over. You give her siblings a tiny push as you grin her way. You let them take some pictures before joining them after a pointed look from your girlfriend. As you stand there, surrounded by your favorite people, your heart swells. Nothing could wipe your smile off of your face.

As you pose for the camera, your right pocket feels heavy. Though the tiny blue box holds nothing more than a ring and a thousand promises, it feels like it’s aflame and ready to burn its way to freedom. 

While you don’t plan on proposing in the middle of a big gym, surrounded by sweaty bodies and a howling crowd, you do have the ring on your person. Though it makes you slightly anxious, fearing you might lose it or Paige might see it, it also brings you a type of serene calm. You brush your hands against it, letting the velvet box ground you. Knowing that tonight is the night you’ll finally ask the love of your life to be yours forever only makes this day that much sweeter.

You squeeze the taller girl’s hand thrice before letting her go so she can take some more pictures with the other seniors. Once the whole team joins them on the court again, it’s time for the unveiling of your girl’s name on the wall of legends. Tears well up in your eyes once more at the feeling of pure pride and adoration you have. Nika laughs beside you, seeing you become a mess. She hands you a tissue as she gives you a tight side hug.

Once Paige is done with her speech and senior night is coming to an end. You walk back over to her, this time holding the bouquet you’d gotten her. She grins as she sees you coming, a light blush covering her cheeks at the sight of her favorite flowers. “You didn’t have to get me these,” she says, but you can hear the appreciation in her voice. “I know, but I wanted to. You deserve this… Not just the flowers, this whole thing, I mean. You’re amazing. As a basketball player, a leader, a friend, a sister, and a girlfriend. Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you ramble before biting your tongue. You have an entire speech planned for tonight, now is not the time to start blabbing.

The girl in front of you opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You’ve left her completely speechless with your sweet words, so instead of saying anything, she just pulls you against her, making sure not to crush the flowers. You hold her for a moment before pushing her away. “Now go shower, you stink,” you grin playfully. “Ugh, you’re so annoying,” she huffs back, but a smile is visible on her face.

You watch her walk away and into the locker rooms, exhaling as you roll your shoulders back. You try not to worry about the big question tonight, knowing you can’t back out. Turning around, your eyes catch Nika’s from where she’s standing with Geno. She sends you a smile and a tiny nod of encouragement, knowing your plan for tonight. You send her one in return before walking over to your (hopefully) soon-to-be in-laws.

“I’ve got this,” you think to yourself.

[issues4him]

KNISMOLAGNIA x BSF!RAFE

cw : tickle kink, smut, 18+, f receiving oral, penetration, alcohol, drunk confessions

the boneyard was alive. laughter, music, firelight dancing in the distance—everything pulsed like a heartbeat under the stars. you were long past tipsy, clinging to rafe’s arm like he was a lifeline, your body warm and loose against his as you stumbled barefoot across the sand in your jean shorts and black bikini top, “raaaaaafe,” you whined dramatically, tugging at the hem of his shirt, “you’re, like… my favorite person ever. you know that?”

he glanced down at you, brows raised, beer still in hand. “you’ve already told me that five times now, hun.”

“okay, but like—i mean it this time.”

“you said you meant it the other four times too.”

you burst out laughing, then suddenly gasped and clung to his side like you were being swept away by the tide. “wait—oh my god—this is so embarrassing but i have to tell you something.”

rafe looked amused, his free hand steadying you by your waist. “you better not be ‘bout to tell me you buried a body or somethin’, pretty girl?”

“worse.” you gave him a wide-eyed look, finger pressed to your lips like you were sharing a top-level secret. “it’s about sex.”

that caught his attention. he blinked, actually turning toward you this time, jaw tightening just slightly. “okay…”

you leaned in, almost conspiratorially, your words slow and slurry. “i have this thing… like this kink, i guess? but i don’t even remember what it’s called!”

“do i even want to know?” he muttered, though there was a smirk playing at his lips.

“okay… i get, like, sooo turned on when i get ticked,” you said plainly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “like—not in a haha way. like in a fuck-me-right-now kinda way.” rafe nearly choked on his drink. you blinked up at him sweetly, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “like, i don’t even know why, okayy? but every time someone tickles my sides i get all—mmf!!—and like, my legs get weak and i can’t help it, it’s soooo annoying.”

he stared at you. “are you being serious right now?”

you nodded enthusiastically, cheeks flushed from the alcohol—and maybe the confession. “dead serious. like, do you know what i mean? like when they get that spot just under your ribs and you can’t stop laughing but also it’s kinda like—ugh, i don’t know. it’s like electric. just makes me so horny”

“…you’re insane.”

“hey!!” you defended, poking his chest. “i’m being vulnerable right now.”

rafe ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose as if trying to reset his brain. “okay, well. thank you for that information. that’ll be real useful next time someone tries to torture you.”

you giggled, stumbling forward and latching onto him again. “shut uppp!! you’ve done it before.”

“done what?”

“tickled me, duh.”

he stiffened. because she was right. he had tickled her before. a million times. and now… now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

when he pulled up to your house later that night—well past two a.m., the car quiet except for your soft humming in the passenger seat—rafe couldn’t stop replaying what you’d said.

“i get sooo turned on when people tickle me.”

at first, he laughed it off. crazy drunk girl shit. but then his brain started connecting dots he shouldn’t have been connecting. like the time he’d tackled you onto the couch during movie night because you kept stealing the remote. his fingers found your ribs and you shrieked, kicking and squirming, breathy laughter spilling out as you tried to fight him off. he remembered the way your back arched under him, how your laugh broke into something softer, breathier—how your thighs clamped together and your face flushed so hard it made him uncomfortable. or the time at the beach when he picked you up and you’d squealed, instinctively trying to protect your sides. he dug in anyway, just to mess with you, and you went limp in his arms, laughing but gasping too—your head falling back against his shoulder like you couldn’t breathe right. he thought about your face. the way your eyes fluttered shut. the way you bit your lip after, like you were recovering from something more than just a tickle fight.

holy fuck. you weren’t kidding. you were into that. and now he couldn’t unsee it. rafe leaned his head back against the car seat, staring up at the ceiling like it could give him answers. he should’ve just ignored it. laughed it off. but instead all he could think about was how many times he’d unknowingly gotten you off by doing something as stupid as tickling you. and how much he suddenly wanted to do it on purpose.

it had been six days since that night at the boneyard. three days since you got drunk out of your mind, draped yourself all over rafe like he was your personal tree to climb, and slurred out confessions that had echoed in his head every single night since. you’d whispered it, how much getting tickled turned you on, drunk and giggling, like it was a throwaway joke. but rafe hadn’t laughed. he’d gone silent. because once you said it—once you planted that thought—he couldn’t unsee it.

he kept replaying every time he’d ever made you laugh. every time his hands found your sides and you squirmed, laughing so hard you cried. the way your back arched. the way your thighs squeezed together. the breathless sounds between your giggles. that one time you bit your lip after, still catching your breath. he thought it was innocent and harmless. but now he knew. and it was driving him insane. so when you invited him over for movie night that friday—completely casual, like nothing had happened—he knew what he wanted to do. and he’d been working up the nerve to do it the entire night.

the movie had been forgotten twenty minutes ago. it was still playing in the background—some half-watched action sequence flashing against the walls—but you and rafe had started bickering over something stupid. you’d been sitting side by side, blanket draped over both your legs, tossing popcorn at each other and fighting over which actor was hotter. nothing new. until you rolled your eyes, shoved the blanket off, and suddenly climbed over him—planting your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him with that same innocent energy you always had.

just best friends. just teasing. you weren’t even thinking. “take it back,” you demanded, pushing a hand against his chest, your oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. “he is not hotter than jake gyllenhaal.”

rafe leaned back against the couch, arms spread lazily along the back, letting you sit on him like it was normal. like your bare thighs weren’t warm and soft around his hips. like you weren’t sitting right on top of him. “you’re insane,” he smirked. “you just like him ‘cause he’s your type—soft jaw, pretty eyes, pathetic little mouth.”

you gasped, shoving him harder. “omg, rude!”

he chuckled under his breath, his hands moving slowly to rest on your hips, gripping gently—probably without even realizing it. you shifted on top of him without thinking, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest. rafe’s eyes flicked downward. he couldn’t help it. the way your breath hitched from laughing so hard earlier. the fact that you were on his lap, t-shirt sliding up, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to hide the heat of your body against his. “y’know…” he murmured, head tilting, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “you sit on my lap a lot for someone who calls me her best friend.”

you blinked, mouth parting. “wha—i do not—”

“oh, you do.” his thumbs rubbed slow circles against your hips now, the barest pressure behind his words. “kinda makes me think you like being in my lap.”

you froze. just for a second. then you swatted at him. “shut up.”

he grinned. you tried to shift off him. big mistake. because he gripped your waist tighter and sat forward slightly. “nuh-uh. you’re not going anywhere, hun.”

“rafe—”

“you’re the one who got on me, remember?” and before you could argue, his fingers dug into your sides.

your body jerked, hard. a loud, involuntary shriek shot out of your mouth, laughter tumbling after it like a broken faucet. “NO—RAFE—” you gasped, immediately squirming and flailing, trying to escape his hands as he tickled your ribs. but you couldn’t. not when he had you straddling him, knees digging into the couch cushions, body locked against his. and you were laughing so hard. the kind of laughing that had you breathless, squeaking, twitching uncontrollably. your hands grabbed at his shirt, then his wrists, then back to his shirt again—like you couldn’t decide whether to push him away or hold on for dear life.

your hips rolled against his by accident. once. then again. and that’s when he felt it. your squirming. the soft drag of your warmth over the bulge that was very quickly forming beneath his sweats. rafe cursed internally. he almost stopped. almost told himself to pull back, to take a breath. but then you tipped your head back, your hair falling down your back, your laughter cracking into something breathy and desperate—and he lost all control.

he grabbed you tighter, then suddenly shifted. you let out a surprised squeak as he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, climbing on top of you now, knees planted on either side of your thighs. he hovered above you, grinning down like the devil himself. “rafe—no, don’t—” you panted through laughter, trying to wriggle beneath him.

“don’t what?” he murmured. “do this?” he started again. fingertips ghosting over your waist, your ribs, down to your hips and back up. every time you tried to block him, he’d change directions—tickling beneath your arms, then the dip beneath your ear, then up your neck, watching your face the whole time. and that’s when he saw it. your laugh started to fade into something softer. your eyes fluttered. your mouth parted. a tiny—almost imperceptible—moan slipped past your lips. and then you bit your lip hard, cheeks burning so pink it made rafe freeze.

the giggles were still there, but they were cracked and shaky, like you were holding back. your hands grabbed fistfuls of the blanket beneath you like you needed to ground yourself. and your thighs… your thighs were shifting open beneath his. rafe swallowed hard, watching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. your chest rising and falling fast. your lips bitten red. that same dazed, needy look in your eyes he’d only seen once before—three nights ago, in a car, while you were drunk and vulnerable and honest.

now you weren’t drunk. and you still looked the same. you looked worse. wrecked. but you hadn’t said a word. his fingers dragged slowly down your thigh—pausing just at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. you flinched—but didn’t move away. cidn’t say no. you were staring up at him, blinking slowly, lips barely parted, chest still heaving. silent now. but your body said everything.

rafe’s voice broke the silence. low and strained. “…you sure you don’t remember what you told me last weekend at the party?”

your face went even redder. you didn’t answer. but your thighs opened further beneath his hips. and that was all he needed.

your thighs parted for him, wide and slow like your body was acting on instinct before your brain could catch up. you were breathing hard. still dazed. still trying to keep your eyes on his, but they kept flicking downward—down to his lips, down to where he hovered above you. rafe didn’t move at first. he just stared. you, laid out beneath him. face flushed, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths, hands tangled in the blanket like you didn’t know what to do with them.

his hands slid down your hips, then back up. slow. careful. like he was waiting for you to stop him. but you didn’t. you arched into it. a soft, breathy whimper left your lips, and that’s when his restraint shattered completely. rafe leaned down and kissed you. not rushed. not clumsy. hungry. his mouth met yours like he’d been starving for it—like he couldn’t believe he was finally tasting you. and you kissed him back without hesitation, lips parting instantly, desperate and breathless, moaning into his mouth like it was second nature.

your hands found his shirt—fisted the fabric, dragged him closer, pulled him into you. his hips dipped, grinding down against yours, and the pressure made your eyes roll back. you could feel how hard he was. and he knew you felt it—because he groaned low in his throat, lips dragging to your jaw, then down your neck. “fuck, babe,” he whispered against your skin. “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

your eyes snapped open. “wh—what?”

rafe didn’t stop. he kissed the hollow beneath your ear, then nipped gently at your pulse point as his hands slid under your hoodie. “the way you laugh… the way you move when i touch you. been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy.” he pushed the t-shirt up slowly, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, then higher. you gasped when his mouth met your ribs. then again when he moved lower, trailing kisses along the inside of your thigh. you didn’t even realize when he’d slipped down the couch, dragging your shorts down with him—until the cold air hit the damp heat between your legs.

rafe froze. his voice was dark and ragged. “you’re soaked.”

you whimpered, hiding your face behind your arm. “shut up!—”

“don’t do that,” he said immediately, voice firmer now. “don’t hide from me.” his hands gripped your knees, spreading them wider apart as he settled between your thighs, eyes locked on your ruined panties. “you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “and this?” his thumb dragged over the damp fabric. “this is the hottest fucking thing i’ve ever seen.” you nearly whimpered. “can i?” he asked, fingers tugging gently at the waistband.

you nodded—fast, breath caught in your throat. he peeled them down slow, savoring every inch. and when you were bare for him, legs trembling and eyes glassy, he groaned—like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. then he lowered his mouth, and everything melted. he was slow and patient. tongue soft at first—teasing little flicks that made your toes curl—then deeper, firmer, sucking your clit into his mouth and groaning when your hips bucked against him. he held your thighs open, keeping you in place, moaning into you like he couldn’t get enough.

you were gasping. whining. one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching the pillow beneath your head, hips rolling helplessly with every stroke of his tongue. you felt high. drunk off him. he pulled back just enough to look at you—lips shiny, eyes heavy. “you’re gonna cum for me,” he murmured. “just like this.”

you nodded, desperate, thighs shaking as he sucked on your clit again, tongue circling exactly where you needed it. and when you finally shattered—mouth falling open in a broken moan, thighs clamping tight around his head—he groaned, dragging it out, letting you ride it through until you were trembling and boneless beneath him.

he crawled back up your body, kissed your lips again—slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue—and whispered, “…still just best friends, huh?”

you were still panting, body buzzing, heartbeat trying to settle. your orgasm had left you shaky, soft, and splayed across the couch—completely bare now beneath your hoodie. you blinked up at him through your lashes, flushed and messy and so undeniably wrecked from just his mouth. rafe hovered above you, bracing himself with one hand next to your head. his other trailed gently along your ribs—barely touching. you flinched slightly, even though it wasn’t rough. your breath hitched. he noticed.

his fingers traced the same spot again, “you’re still ticklish,” he murmured, voice low and deep. “even now?”

you swallowed hard. “rafe…”

he smirked—dark and knowing. “does it still turn you on?” you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. because your hips rolled toward him again. your thighs parted just a little. your breath came in shorter puffs, and your cheeks were right pink. so he did it again. light, teasing brushes across your sides. feather touches up your waist. just enough to make you squirm and let out the softest, broken laugh. but this time, it wasn’t giggles. it wasn’t a squeal. it was a whimper of laughter. like your brain couldn’t decide what to feel.

you covered your face with your hands, body twisting beneath him. “stop—stop, it’s—it’s too much—” but your smile betrayed you. so did your wet thighs. so did the way your knees slid further apart, welcoming him between them like you needed it.

rafe’s eyes burned into you, filled with something almost wild now. his cock was rock-hard, straining against the fabric of his sweats, already leaking just from watching you come undone like that. “fuck,” he rasped, leaning down so his lips grazed yours. “you’re unreal.”

you whimpered. “please.”

that’s all it took. his hands pushed down his sweats, not even fully off—just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and aching. he stroked himself once, then twice, eyes never leaving your face as he settled between your legs, rubbing the head against your slick folds. you moaned—eyes fluttering, hips lifting into him. still teasing, he dragged the tip up and down, just barely pushing in, “look at me,” he said. you opened your eyes. “tell me you want it.”

“i—i want it,” you whispered, breathless. he pushed in slow, and your whole body tensed. the stretch—thick, slow, deliberate—pulled a broken moan from your lips as you reached for his arms, nails digging into his biceps. “rafe—oh my god—”

“fuck,” he groaned, pushing deeper, inch by inch. “you feel so good. so tight, baby.”

your breath hitched. baby. he was all the way in now, hips flush against yours, both of you frozen for a second—so close, so deep, so overwhelmed. then he moved. slow, deep thrusts that had your mouth falling open. his hips rolled just right, grinding into your clit with every stroke. he leaned down, mouth dragging across your neck, lips parted against your flushed skin. you wrapped your legs around his waist. held him tighter. tried to breathe through how good it felt. but he couldn’t stop teasing.

his fingers slid along your ribs again. soft and deliberate. you gasped, laughing through your moan as your hips twitched up into him. “rafe—”

“still works, huh?” he murmured against your throat. “even when i’m inside you?” you nodded helplessly, your laugh dissolving into another shaky moan when his cock hit that perfect spot again. your body was confused. overstimulated. kverwhelmed. he tickled your neck again. not hard. not playful. just barely enough to drive you insane. and your pussy fluttered around he murmured against your throat.

you whined, biting your lip, face burning. but you didn’t ask him to stop. you didn’t want him to. every time he thrust in—slow, thick, heavy—he’d let his fingers brush that one spot just beneath your ribs or along your thigh or under your knee. and you’d laugh. gasp. moan. twitch. over and over. it was so much. too much.

your nails clawed at his back now. your legs were shaking. your body was so overstimulated it felt like the pleasure had nowhere else to go. “rafe—i’m gonna cum again—”

he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes back to his. “then cum, baby girl. just like that. laughing and moaning all over my dick.”

you shattered. back arched. mouth open in a silent moan. your body went tight, pussy clenching hard around him as your climax rolled through you like a wave as he fucked you through it.

still slow. still deep. still tickling your ribs with one hand while the other gripped your thigh, dragging out your high until you were whimpering beneath him. “shit, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groaned. “i’m gonna cum—shit—fuck—” he kissed you hard as he thrust deep one final time, cock pulsing as he emptied into you, groaning your name against your mouth. for a moment, the room was silent. just your panting. his weight on top of you. your fingers still tangled in his hair. then you both started laughing—breathless, dazed, stunned.

“what the hell just happened,” you whispered.

rafe kissed your cheek, still inside you, beginning to soften. “i think,” he murmured, “i just found a very specific way to get whatever i want from you.” you bit your lip, cheeks burning. then he tickled you side gently. you flinched—and groaned. “…please don’t start.”

a/n: lmk what u guys thought of this pls!!!!

[acquelus-ussy]

Hear me out...

Yandere!husband × wife!reader

You already know he would do anything and everything for you. So when you woke up in the hospital bed, Yandere!husband was already crying.

Hold on who is he? You look around, confused, slowly sitting upright. Then you see a man crying near you. He must be a family member or something.

He looks at you, and the moment he feels that you don't recognize him, his heart drops.

"Honey? Are you okay? It's me, your husband."

Hold on husband??? Since when? Your head starts to hurt again, but before all that... You got into a car accident. You were driving back from the grocery store when a drunk driver hit you.

At least, that's what they told you. But heck, having amnesia hurts a lot.

Every day since you regained consciousness, your so-called "husband" brings you flowers and food, staying by your side until the day of your release.

"So, if you're my husband, where did we meet? How did our love story begin?"

"Of course I'll tell you anything you want to know, anything for you, honey."

He talks about your relationship while driving you home. Once you arrive, you see proof of your marriage blossoming in every corner of the house you supposedly share pictures of the two of you, from your engagement to your second anniversary. You can't believe it... You got married so young.

But don’t worry a silly thought in your head its a reminder that your husband loves you very much. He provides for you, and might I say, he pleasures you. In fact, he's so addicted to you.

While you and your "real" husband were driving home from the grocery store oh, silly! It's nothing he just crashed into you both. And well...

He's the one who drove the truck.

He disposed of your husband’s body, got rid of your friends, redecorated your house, and convinced the doctors and nurses that he was your husband. Don’t worry about anything. He has connections for everything and anything.

So don’t move an inch. Because he will provide.

He knew from the start you were his wife.

But don’t worry, baby.

You won’t remember a thing if I keep fucking you this good.

Heck, you can’t even remember your name when I make you orgasm.

---

I really love this trope so bad i need more people to write about this 😭😭😭

Again i hope you guys like this one heheuwhwuwheh

[2xchomp]

A friendly visit to a grave

Don’t really know how to feel about this piece of art but I do like the way I made the sky so I’ll just post it.

(And on a smaller note the grass as well)

[bjlipss]

synopsis: you have a huge crush on suguru, right? so why is that your heart starts beating faster only when satoru appears. and why does he act like he knows it.

miyan’s notes: yay!! i like this. enjoy!!

part 1

you don’t even realize when it happens.

one day, you’re still sighing over suguru, watching the way he ties his hair back before training, admiring how effortlessly cool he is, and then—somewhere along the way—your focus starts shifting. not all at once, not in any dramatic way, but in little, subtle moments.

like when you enter a room, and instead of searching for suguru first, your eyes automatically flicker to messy white hair, scanning for that familiar, towering frame. or when something funny happens, and you catch yourself turning to tell satoru first, laughing before you even realize he’s already looking at you, grinning like he was waiting for your reaction.

you don’t think much of it at first. gojo has always been there, always loud, always impossible to ignore. he’s just—gojo. annoying, arrogant, a constant presence in your life whether you want him there or not.

but then, you stop talking about suguru as much. you don’t even notice at first, but shoko does.

“you used to bring him up every five seconds,” she says one day, exhaling smoke as she watches you from the corner of her eye. “now it’s just satoru this, satoru that. what happened to your lovesick little crush?”

you blink, caught off guard. what happened? you don’t know. but as you think about it, you realize suguru’s name doesn’t come up in your thoughts as often anymore. you stop trying so hard to be near suguru, but you do find yourself lingering when gojo’s around. you don’t hold your breath when suguru walks past you anymore, but you do when gojo leans in too close, his familiar, teasing grin a little softer than before.

you stop staring at suguru with admiration, but you do watch gojo when he’s not paying attention, when his guard is down and he’s just a boy with the world on his shoulders. when you walk into a room, your first instinct isn’t to find him. when you want to share something, it’s not his reaction you’re looking forward to.

instead, your days are filled with satoru—his dumb jokes, his stupid antics, the way he somehow always manages to drag you into whatever nonsense he’s up to. he annoys you, gets in your space, pokes at you until you snap, and then grins like it’s all part of some big, amusing game.

except—except when did it stop annoying you?

when did you start rolling your eyes but laughing instead of groaning? when did you start letting him pull you closer without shoving him away? when did your stomach start flipping when he leans in too close, when his fingers brush against yours absentmindedly, when he grins at you with something just a little softer in his expression? something you rejected even though you noticed

and then it happens. the realization slams into you out of nowhere—like walking straight into a glass door you didn’t see coming.

you’re sitting outside after training, stretched out on the grass, listening to satoru ramble about something or other. you’re not even really paying attention to what he’s saying, just watching him, the way his hands move animatedly when he talks, the way his lips quirk up at the edges, the way his sunglasses are slipping down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of bright blue beneath.

and then he turns to you, catching your stare, and grins. “what? do i have something on my face?”

your heart stumbles. and it hits you all at once.

oh.

oh no.

you panic. this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to like suguru. you were supposed to get flustered around him, supposed to daydream about him, supposed to be thinking about ways to impress him. but here you are, sitting next to satoru, feeling your heart pound over a simple smile.

you try to deny it at first. try to brush it off, tell yourself it’s just because you spend too much time together, because he’s always around, always teasing, always pulling you into his orbit whether you like it or not. that’s just how satoru is, no? a magnetic force, a pull no one can resist— except, they can and you don’t even try.

but then he tugs on your sleeve, pulling you closer as he whines, “you’re ignoring me again,” like he’s entitled to your attention, like it’s only natural that you look at him, and you don’t pull away. you let him hold onto you, let his fingers linger against the fabric of your uniform. let him mess up your collar and your hair and give him a halfhearted glare instead of cursing his bloodline.

and when he grins at you, pinkish lips glistening with your lip balm he likes to use, something warm curls in your chest.

you’re doomed.

the worst part? satoru notices.

he notices the way you don’t stumble over your words around suguru anymore. how you greet him with a smile that is more casual than anything else before your gaze moves to satoru and you beam because he is already looking at you. the way your gaze lingers on him now, worry seeping into you whenever he looks out of it. the way you get quiet whenever he gets a little too close, whenever his hand brushes yours, whenever his knee bumps into yours. whenever he tilts his head and watches you with that smirk like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just keeps teasing you, keeps nudging into your space, keeps tugging on your sleeve whenever you start looking at anything that isn’t him. hopes that you’re smart enough to realise what is happening on your own, with a little help from him.

and then, on a sunny afternoon, when you’re watching him a little too closely, lips parted like you were about to say something and forgot—he leans in, way too close, and smirks.

“huh. looks like someone finally came to their senses.”

your breath catches in your throat.

you don’t move, don’t blink—don’t even breathe—because satoru is inches from your face, smirking like he’s just won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing.

your brain short-circuits. your heart is hammering, and you can’t tell if it’s from the sheer audacity of him getting this close, or from the slow, sinking realization that he might be right.

you have come to your senses. and it’s terrifying.

“wh-what are you talking about?” you stammer, trying—and failing—to lean away without looking like you’re running. but satoru follows, resting his chin in his palm, his elbow propped on his knee, his whole body angling toward you like he has all the time in the world to sit here and watch you squirm.

his smirk deepens. “oh, don’t play dumb now. it was kinda cute when you were still pretending, but—” he reaches out, flicking your forehead, grinning when you scowl and swat at his hand. “—i know you like me.”

your entire body jolts with panic. does he? you were barely figuring it out yourself, barely coming to terms with the idea that maybe—just maybe—your crush on suguru had been a distraction, something safe, something comfortable. that maybe—just maybe—what you actually felt, what had been sneaking up on you all this time, was something much more dangerous.

because he always felt so unreachable despite how close he always was. so it was much easier to ignore that there might just be something for him.

and if satoru knows that? if he sees it? then what the hell are you supposed to do?

“y-you’re delusional,” you mutter, turning away, hoping—praying—that if you don’t look at him, he’ll drop it.

he doesn’t. of course, he doesn’t.

“am i?” he hums, tilting his head like he’s considering it, like this is just some casual conversation and not your entire world tilting on its axis.

you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, crossing your arms over your chest, refusing to meet his eyes. but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

satoru clicks his tongue. “see, if you really didn’t like me, you’d be yelling at me by now. pushing me away. threatening to beat me up even though we both know that’s impossible.”

you glare at him. “i could try.”

his grin is blinding. “ooh, feisty. you do like me.”

“do not.”

“do too.”

“i don’t—”

and then his hand is on your wrist. gentle, loose—barely a touch at all, really—but it’s enough to stop you mid-sentence, to make your heart stutter so violently in your chest you’re sure he can hear it.

his fingers brush over the inside of your wrist, tracing slow, lazy circles, and you swear your entire body is on fire.

“you do.” he says again, but this time his voice is softer, lacking its usual teasing lilt.

you swallow. hard.

you should pull away. you should.

but you don’t.

because the truth is, the second he touched you, something inside you melted, something warm and terrifying curling low in your stomach. and the worst part is—you like it. you can’t even deny it.

you like the way he touches you without hesitation, like he belongs there, like you belong there. in his arms that feel endless and in his hold that feels the closest. you like the way he looks at you, sky blue eyes sharp and knowing, like he’s peeling back every excuse, every ounce of denial, and seeing you.

you like him.

oh, you’re so screwed.

“…so what if i do?” the words slip out before you can stop them, your voice quieter than you’d like, but satoru hears them anyway.

his smirk fades. for a moment, just a second, something flashes in his expression—something that makes your stomach flip, something real.

“then,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your pulse, feeling it race under his touch, “i win.”

your breath shudders.

he’s too close. too warm, too confident, too much. you can smell his shampoo, feel the slight weight of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breathing. your body is screaming at you to do something, to move, to say something, to react.

so you do the only thing you can think of.

you flick his forehead back. hard.

“ow—!” satoru reels back, dramatically clutching his forehead like you’ve just dealt a fatal blow. “betrayal! and after i was so nice to you!”

“you deserved it.” your face is still burning, your heart still racing, but at least he’s not touching you anymore.

he pouts, rubbing the spot between his brows. “you’re just mad because i’m right.”

you are, but you’ll never admit it.

instead, you roll your eyes, shoving yourself to your feet, brushing imaginary dust off your uniform. “i’m leaving.”

“aww, don’t go, i was just starting to enjoy this.”

you ignore him, willing your legs to move, but then—

“wait.”

his voice is different this time. not playful, not teasing—something else, something more serious.

you freeze.

he pushes himself up, stretching his arms above his head before shaking them out, like he’s psyching himself up for something.

then he grins at you, tilting his head. “come on a date with me.”

your heart stops.

you turn to him slowly, carefully, because surely you misheard him. surely he didn’t just say what you think he said.

“…what?”

he raises an eyebrow. “a date. y’know, where two people hang out because they like each other? ring any bells?”

your mouth opens, then closes. then opens again. no words come out.

he waits, watching your expression with a smug little smirk, like he knew he was going to break you.

finally, you manage to find your voice. “you’re asking me out?”

“mhm.”

“because…?”

he sighs, dramatic as ever, running a hand through his hair. “because, my dear oblivious kouhai, i like you.”

your stomach twists.

“you… you do?”

“duh.” his tone is light, but there’s something underneath it, something steadier.

your head spins. “but—but you never—”

he shrugs. “figured i’d let you figure it out first. wouldn’t be fair if i did all the work, y’know?”

you stare at him.

gojo satoru likes you.

gojo satoru, the most annoying person alive, the strongest sorcerer of your generation, the boy who has been pulling you into his orbit from the second you met him—he likes you.

your hands are clammy. your face is on fire. your heart is a mess.

but then he reaches for your wrist again, tugging gently, looking down at you with that same insufferable, familiar grin.

“so? what do you say?”

and, somehow, impossibly, your lips curve into a smile.

“…okay.”

your lips barely part before satoru grins like he’s already won. like he knew what your answer was going to be, like he was just waiting for you to finally catch up.

“okay?” he echoes, stepping closer, still holding your wrist in his hand, his thumb brushing over your pulse.

you swallow hard, willing your heart to calm down—but it’s impossible when he’s standing so close, his entire presence swallowing up the space around you, making it impossible to focus on anything but him.

“okay,” you repeat, firmer this time.

his grin softens—just a little, just enough that it makes your stomach flip in a completely different way. and then his grip on your wrist shifts, fingers lacing through yours instead, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and maybe, you think, maybe it is.

“good,” he murmurs, voice dropping just slightly, eyes flickering over your face. his gaze is heavy, unreadable, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he tilts his head and smirks. “so… do i get a kiss now, or do i have to wait until the actual date?”

your face burns. “excuse me?”

“what? i think i deserve one, after everything. y’know, for my patience.”

“you bullied me for months—”

“—lovingly—”

“—because you knew i liked suguru—”

“—past tense, nice—”

“—and now you want a kiss?”

“…yes?”

you gape at him, heat prickling the back of your neck. you should say no. you should shove him away, roll your eyes, something, because that’s how it always is with him.

but instead, you find yourself staring—at his lips, at the way they quirk up in amusement, at the way he’s still watching you so intently, like he wants you to kiss him just as badly as he wants to tease you about it.

you want to.

you really, really want to.

so before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you tug him forward, standing on your toes and pressing your lips against his.

satoru makes a small noise of surprise, but he recovers fast—his grip tightening around your hand, his free arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close as he kisses you back.

and it’s—

it’s dizzying.

his lips are warm, unfairly soft, and he kisses you like he knew this was going to happen, like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s making sure you know—that you feel—that this isn’t a joke to him. that he meant it.

he likes you.

his fingers curl against your back, pressing you against him, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough that your knees go weak, just enough that you have to grab onto him to keep yourself steady, his uniform creasing between your fingers.

and when you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, he doesn’t let you go.

instead, he presses his forehead against yours, grinning so wide you can feel it, his fingers still tangled with yours.

“…yeah,” he breathes, voice warm and smug and so stupidly fond. “definitely worth the wait.”

you groan, shoving at his chest, but you don’t pull away—not really. you don’t want to.

temporary taglist: @booklova0-0 @sttm99 @linaaeatsfamilies @sylusonlylove @enyathedrakaina @paintedperidot @fawnfaer

[pitchsidestories]

but wait for me II Kika Nazareth x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | previous fanfic I word count: 1478

summary: Kika is heartbroken after an injury takes her out of the Euros this summer. Though she pushes her teammates away, they refuse to let her go through it alone. (Kika Nazareth x Reader, romantic), (Barcelona Femení x Reader, platonic) requested

author's note: we hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it. Feel free to share your thoughts; we always love hearing from you. ❤️💙

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

"mas espera-me: pois por mais longos que sejam os caminhos eu regresso." ( source )

Sadness clung to her like a second skin. It had been raining in Spain for weeks, the steady rhythm of raindrops on the roof providing a sombre soundtrack to Kika's misery.

The ankle injury hadn't just marked an abrupt end to her club season; it also meant missing out on the Euros in Switzerland this summer. Just as the forward had finally found her place on the team, it all slipped away again.

It broke your heart to see your usually smiley, sunshine-like girlfriend so down. With a gentle knock on the bedroom door, you told her that there were visitors—friends who were waiting to see her.

“Send them away.”, Kika pleaded softly. With a sad smile, you began: “But Kika—” “Please.”, she interrupted sharply.

Calmly but firmly, you replied: “They really want to see you.” “But I don’t want to see them.”, the Portuguese hissed. She immediately regretted her uncharacteristically harsh tone. However, there was no time for remorse as your teammates stepped through the door without warning.

“Too late!”, Vicky exclaimed, giggling. Kika cursed under her breath: “Oh no.” A cheeky smile spread across Patri’s face. “I guess what you really meant was, ‘Oh yes, we get to go to your favourite café and have a cup of coffee.’”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”, your girlfriend retorted, shaking her head decisively. Seeing her teammates—who had quickly become her friends since she joined Barcelona last summer—only made her feel worse.

How she missed playing on the pitch and spending time with them off it. Some of the memories Kika had captured with her camera now hung on the wall, each one a reminder of happier times that felt so far away now.

Sensing the heaviness of her friend’s unhappiness that seemed to fill the room, Ona bit her lip, guilt tugging at her: “Maybe we should leave her alone, girls. I told you this might be too soon after the surgery.”

 “No!”, Jana objected passionately. But despite her teammate’s protest, Kika's voice was quiet yet resolute: Yes.”

Softly, yet with a quiet firmness, Ingrid urged her friends: “Come on, we should respect her wish and leave her alone.”

“We know better what she needs.”, Vicky argued, her expression fierce. “She needs us. And some coffee.”

There was a silent understanding between her and Jana, who then asked: “Has anyone seen her camera? She always has it with her when we go out.”

“I know where it is.”, you replied, already heading toward the bookshelf in the living room.

The camera sat in its special spot, nestled among the Spanish and Portuguese books that filled the shelves, their spines mingling together—a quiet symbol of your shared love for literature and the bond you had built together.

When you returned, Jana nodded happily: “Great. Let’s go then.”  

“Amor…”, Kika started to protest.

You silenced her with a gentle look: “I promise you’ll feel better. And if your ankle starts hurting we’ll go home, okay?”

Kika stared at you, clearly raking her brain for an excuse. Finally, she sighed and agreed reluctantly: “Fine, okay.”

“Thank you.”, you smiled politely, while you handed her a lavender-coloured scrunchie, the same one she had worn when she had surgery on her ankle and the same one that had quietly become a good luck charm for her. “Now you’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” Kika slipped it over her wrist like bracelet, then grabbed her crutches, ready to leave with the team.

The group slowed their pace to keep you and Kika in their middle. Thankfully, the café was just across the block, close enough that the short walk wouldn’t be a problem for Kika.

As soon as you walked in, you were hit with the earthy smell of freshly brewed coffee. It was one of your favourite cafés in Barcelona, modern but still cozy. The sunlight streamed through the large window front, casting a warm glow on the bare brick walls and the various plants scattered around the space.

“It already smells heavenly.”, you sighed as you took in the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries and cakes.

Kika visibly relaxed in the familiar environment. A smile tugged on the corners of her lips: “Smells like croissants.”

You pulled out a mismatched chair for her so she could sit down and relieve her ankle.

“Yes, exactly like when…”

“When you started giving me Catalan lessons here.”, she finished your sentence, looking up at you with a glint in her eyes as she sat down.

You took the seat next to her, without breaking eye contact. You raised an amused eyebrow: “Technically I still do. You’re a slow learner.”

“Hey, I’m better than most guiris. Right, girls?”, Kika protested jokingly, turning to her teammates.

Ona tore her eyes away from the block-lettered menu above the counter and nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm: “Sure. Anything that makes you happy, Kika.”

“Wow.”, the Portuguese player said unimpressed.

Jana turned to the two of you and asked politely: “Flat white for you?”

“Yes, please.”, Kika nodded.

“For you too, y/n?”

“Yeah, thanks, Jana.”

“No problem.”, the young defender smiled before making her way to the counter.

Ingrid and Mapi sat down at the other side of the table, each holding an iced latte.

“So, how are you, Kika?”, the Norwegian asked with gentle curiosity.

She took a deep breath before answering: “I don’t know. I feel kind of useless at the moment. I hate sitting still.”

“You’re not useless.”, you said softly, contradicting her. Even though you and your teammates had all felt that sense of helplessness when an injury kept you off the pitch, hearing your girlfriend say it out loud broke your heart.

It was almost as if Jana could read your thoughts, because she turned to the Portuguese player, offering an empathetic smile: “Trust me, we’ve all been there at some point.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Ingrid added in an understanding tone, “Injuries happen. They’re part of the game.”

“Besides,” Vicky chimed in with a mischievous wink, “you can still be your girlfriend’s WAG.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the young player.:“Man, Vicky.”

“What?”, she asked, holding her hands up innocently.

With a cocky grin, Kika jumped in: “No offense, but I know I’d be a great WAG.”

“Is there even a question?”, Salma chuckled.

Your girlfriend nodded confidently: “Not at all. It’s a fact.”

“I can’t wait to see that at the next game,” you admitted.

The Portuguese player fixed her ponytail, a cheeky twinkle in her dark eyes: “You mean when you won’t be losing because I’ll be your lucky charm.”

“Too soon to remind us of that awful Sunday, Francisca.”, you groaned dramatically.

Jana’s expression turned pained as she thought of her disallowed goal. Though by now, she was certain they would have lost the game regardless: “Yes, we don’t talk about that.”

“I wish I’d never seen it live.”, Ona grimaced. The first time Barcelona had ever lost an El Clasico—at home, in the pouring rain, and with hail by the end. For the Catalan players, the memories of that day were especially painful.

Salma elbowed her friend playfully, joking: “You really weren’t a lucky charm, Ona.”

“Must have been the Lucy Bronze effect.”, Patri teased.

A confused laugh escaped Ona’s lips: “What does Lucy have to do with anything?”

“Makes no sense, Patri.”, you clicked your tongue.

In awe, Kika let her gaze wander over her friends’ faces, sighing deeply: “I missed that.”

“You missed what?”, you frowned.

She rested her head on your shoulder and confessed: „This togetherness.”

Kindly, you stroked her back: “You see, amor, just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you have to do it without being with your friends.”

“Exactly. We’ll always have your back,” Ingrid emphasized.

Fondly, Kika added: “I see that now.”

“Another round of coffee?”, Jana asked everyone cheerfully.

You looked around and remarked: “I think it’s needed.”

“Very much.”, your girlfriend confirmed. There was a light-heartedness in her voice that warmed your heart.

As the laughter and chatter flowed around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the frustrations, the injuries, and the setbacks, moments like this reminded you of the true strength of your team—not just as football players, but as a family.

With a glance at your girlfriend, who was still leaning on your shoulder, and the rest of the group, you felt a sense of peace settle in.

There was no doubt in your mind: no matter what happened on the pitch, this was what truly mattered. Your teammates would wait for Kika, no matter how long her ankle recovery took—the team would be with her every step of the way.

The sound of coffee cups clinking together filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like everything was just as it should be.

image sources: https://www.instagram.com/janafernandez3/?hl=com,https://www.instagram.com/kika.nazareth/?hl=com

[jayden-killer]

Don't let me go. ‹𝟹

Eddie pushes away his need of affection. That is, until he meets you.

warnings: ig angst to fluff(?), reader is fem bc yes, al munson mention lmao.

Eddie needed affection.

Having someone cuddling him is what he has always wanted; however, never admitted, especially since his mother passed away. He doesn’t need a maternal figure, far from it. Growing up, this need is repressed over time, inculcating this idea that it is not necessary because he can live without it. Yet this desire resurfaces in front of couples who embrace, holding hands, sharing their personal space. After all, he doesn’t need it.

He’s a freak.

Who would ever want to be next to a freak? A person who will never succeed in life? Who may end up like his father?

He cannot cope with the discomfort in his heart, so he tries to repress it once again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

That was his belief until he met you. It wasn’t a chance meeting at all. One of his teachers had said that he needed a tutor. His school grades were not stable, not to mention the poor attention he paid to almost every class. He would never have expected his tutor to be the most beautiful, kind person in the world.

Date after date, you have opened to each other, sharing a comfortable silence.

Your relationship started after 4 months of seeing each other; everything was going well. One of those days, Eddie thought it would be nice to invite you into his trailer, stating that his uncle would come back late to catch up on some overdue hours.

So you found yourself in the heat, on his poorly groomed sofa, focused on the vision of the musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show. One of Eddie’s favourite movies.

"Love?"

"Mh?"

"Do you really...wanna hold my hand?"

His girlfriend’s eyes were confused. "Why would I be bothered by it, Teddy?"

Teddy. God, he loved her when he called him that.

Eddie met her eyes and thought for a moment to lie, but... did it make sense? Was it really worth lying? What if she knew about it? She knew that her beloved had a good intuition. He also knew that women did not miss anything and would not get away with it easily.

So, with a deep sigh, he played with his girlfriend’s fingers and confessed everything. His feeling of repulsion towards love, of inequality, how he had always tried to fool him and how he was not...worthy.

"Eddie..." The girl’s fingers squeezed more of hers. "I must admit, I suspected it."

Eddie raised his eyebrows. Good sense, indeed. "How?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You weren’t very convinced when I hugged you in public on certain occasions or when I kissed you on the stairs of the school. You looked... tense. I knew something was wrong."

On Eddie passed a feeling of shame.

What a shithead, he began to think.

"And I understand how you feel. Sometimes it happens to me too, and it will definitely never be the same feeling as yours, but..." The girl caressed his cheek, gently swiping her thumb up and down, "you have to start believing it. Also, you don’t really believe all that crap going around about you? Unsubstantiated bullshit by ignorant people?" They both chuckled.

"Right," said Eddie, still smiling. "Maybe I just have to believe it a little bit more." He paused, this time stroking her cheek. " I have to work on it. It won’t happen immediately, but...with time"

"With time," she repeated. She silently got closer to him, as if she wanted to kiss him, but fearing that she might bother him. Eddie appreciated the gesture.

"You mustn’t think it bothers me. I love it. I love to feel your lips on mine." He gave her a quick kiss and took her cheeks in his hands.

Eddie memorized every detail of her wonderful face, with red cheeks and eyes that conveyed security and love. "Okay?"

She nodded, smiling. "Okay. I’ll be by your side the whole time. If you ever need to talk about it again, you know I’m here for that."

"I know, baby. I know. I don’t know how to thank you yet."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "10 dollars an hour for each psychological counseling."

Eddie threw his hands in the air. "This is a burglary without a gun! I’m already broke, then you go too!"

The two spent the evening laughing, enjoying the movie, and Eddie seemed to have a lighter weight on his shoulders. At least for now.

☆

taglist: @justalotoffanfiction

[yourstrulyrani]

Hi luv!

I am new to Simon Riley but I am DOWN BAD lmao

Could u please write something about mommy reade being insecure and struggling with like body image after pregnancy and during post-partum. Like being a REAL MAN he is, he just adores his mama and loves how her body changed and created their baby.

U can totally change it however u like, i am bad at explaining 😭😭

I absolutely loved ur last dad!Simon imagine, I could never 😭

Keep it up 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dad!simon riley x mom!reader

blurb: dad!simon soothes your insecurities about your postpartum body. cw&tws: body image/weight, suggestive right at the end // wc: 1279

a/n: aw hii you’re so kind, thank you! & don’t worry you explained it perfectly and i am so in love with this idea so here it is, thank you for your kind words btw 🥹🫶🏼 i want to bring attention to anyone reading who needs to hear it, that no matter your weight or how your body looks: you’re enough. your looks are not “hideous” or anything else along those lines just because society tells you otherwise. in no way do i have the intention of promoting body negativity/shaming. every body is a body worthy of love and respect as long as you treat others the same. please take care of yourselves & love yourselves as much as possible 🤍.

With the spare time you have now as your baby is asleep in her nursery, you take off your tank top, now clad in only a nursing bra and your underwear.

You step in front of the mirror. You thought your heart sunk enough when you saw the number on the scale, but you were wrong. You run your hands along your stomach. The skin is still saggy from the pregnancy and birth, and the stretch marks from your pregnancy that were once faint now boldly start at your hips and vine their way to your belly button. At this point, you let the tears fall. You want the body you had before pregnancy. You want the body where you could see where your waist ended and your hips started. You want the body where your breasts don't have stretch marks. You want the number you had on the scale from before. You don’t even recognize yourself.

You think: How did I let myself go this much?

You break down on the wooden floor of the bedroom, the hot tears falling on the cold floor.

“Sweetheart?” His voice calls out to you.

You forgot he was home too.

You look up through your tears, a blurry image but enough to know it's your husband at the doorway of your shared bedroom. Simon doesn’t hesitate to walk over and sit down with you on the floor, placing his hands on your cheeks and rubbing your tears off with his thumbs. “Baby.”

Your eyes shut, letting more tears fall at the pressure. You can’t look at him. You can’t be with him. Your body isn’t enough. Enough for you. Enough for him. “Baby, look at me.” His voice tightens along with his hands on your face.

You whimper in pain, “No.”

His hands move from your cheeks to your elbows, lifting you up gently. “Here, let’s get you up on the bed.” You have been recently so happy with the arrival of your baby, Simon too. It pains him to see you like this. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He pleads gently until you finally open your eyes.

As soon as you sit on the bed and your bloodshot eyes weakly gaze at him, his chest tightens. Your breathing is labored yet you manage to get out a few words, “My body, Simon.” You wrap your stomach around your arms, clutching at the body that’s giving you trouble. “It’s so ugly. I’m sorry.” You hiccup, the crying making it harder to breathe. “My stretch marks, my belly, my swollen legs and feet. Everything. I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as before.”

“You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I’m hideous, Si.”

Simon’s ears rang when you called yourself that word: Hideous. His gorgeous, dedicated, sweet wife. The mother to their baby, the love and light of his life, and here she is talking about herself like this.

“Stand up for me, sweetheart.” Simon grabs your hands and you reluctantly do as he says. He tugs at your bra, “Can I take this off?”

“But the doctor said no sex for six wee—“

“I know, baby. Don’t worry. Not planning on that right now. You need to heal." Your nod of permission makes him unclasp your bra. He cups your cheek and places a kiss on your forehead before guiding you by the shoulders to the mirror. Here you are, again, facing the woman you can’t stand.

Simon stands behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder and his hands on your arms. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses your neck, the touch of affection featherlight but heavy with love.

Simon’s hands move down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. His hands are big enough to let his thumbs trace over the stretch marks on them. “These stretch marks are normal and perfect. Your body grew selflessly for our girl and this shows it.” His eyes gaze into yours through the mirror. “I don’t think your stretch marks are hideous. I think they’re a physical sign of your strength.” His hands give your breasts a final rub, then move on to rub the stretch marks across your hips and stomach. You turn your head to the side, disgusted at looking at yourself for any longer.

Your husband clicks his tongue. “Look, baby. Please. Right there in the mirror. Look for me.” Simon glides his hands along your stomach. He squeezes gently, enough to feel the softness without hurting you. You turn your head back to face the mirror, and Simon gives you a warm smile through the mirror. You look at your body, analyzing every inch. The stretch marks you once saw as something that should be disgusted over, you now see them as a physical witness to your pregnancy. You start to think they're not so bad.

His hands circled all around your stomach. “And your belly you said? Here is where you carried our baby. You let her grow here. Your stomach is not hideous. It changed beautifully. It’s softer than before and I love it. I love feeling it. I love looking at it.” He keeps reassuring you in your ear and you can't help but to shiver. You always loved Simon's voice, but the combination of it and his honest reassurances does something else to you.

You slowly start to feel better, but your doubts still rise about how Simon feels. “But I don’t feel pretty enough for you. I’ve changed so much after this pregnancy.”

“You are always pretty enough for me. You are always beautiful. You’re perfect, mama. Your body changed because you got pregnant and that’s normal. I’m not disgusted. If anything I am in awe of you and your body’s ability.”

Simon walks around to stand in front of you now, making you look up at him by lifting your chin up with his finger. His head lowers to kiss your forehead, his lips kissing their way down to your cheek, and lastly to your neck. “Believe me when I say your body has changed in the best way possible, my love. Every inch. Every stretch mark and curve. It’s all beauty to me. You are beauty to me. Love yourself, please.”

Your eyes tear up. Not because you hate your body anymore, but now realizing just how much you should love it and how much the man you love loves it. "I love you," you whisper. Both of you look into each other's eyes, none of you denying the amount of love in each pair.

"I love you too, mama." Simon brings you into an embrace, wrapping his forearms around your upper back. His face finds the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your most sensitive spot as he speaks. "My beautiful woman. Just a few more weeks and I'll prove it to you just how beautiful you are." He softly kisses your neck, thinking about how fortunate he is to have a woman who loves him like you do.

You giggle and cross your arms playfully, “How so?” You know exactly what he means, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it out loud.

Simon chuckles before moving his head away from your neck to look down at your face. He admires every slope. He loves the way your eyelashes compliment your eyes, the way your lip color is the perfect shade to kiss, and your cheeks soft enough to hold in his hands. He does the latter, his words laced with suppressed desire as he whispers, “The same way I got you knocked up.”

You think: How did I get so lucky?

(brb gonna go cry UGH i need a man to praise me like he's doing RIGHT NOW.)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[its-me-your-bicon]

Stray Love - Joaquín Torres x Reader.

Summary: Joaquín brings home a little someone as an act of kindness.

Word count: 1244.

No pronouns used for reader.

Warnings: Pet names in Spanish, I guess?

Author’s notes: I love him <3 not my best work, but the idea was too cute not to write.

Joaquín was late.

Not to the degree of having to call authorities or watch the news in order to see where the hell he was, but late nonetheless.

You weren’t mad about it, but ever since he’s become the Falcon, you’re not sure he fully understands the degree of your worries whenever he gets held back without being able to write you about it.

Weirdly, you hear the ringing of your doorbell, not expecting any visitors and knowing Joaquín has a key to the shared apartment.

You expected the worst.

Looking through the peephole, though… You see the face of your boyfriend poured in the rain from outside, apparently holding something with both arms.

“Joaquín, what the h—?”

Once the door was open, you could see your boyfriend carrying a stray dog with both arms and just as wet as him. Its coat is mid-length and honey-colored, although darkened by the water.

“I know what this looks like…” Joaquín started, “But I couldn’t just leave her in the rain! Sorry I’m late, but she wouldn’t stop running from me, no matter what I did!”

Joaquín always had a soft spot for the little guys in the streets, so it’s not the first time he has brought an animal to your shared apartment, even though it definitely wasn’t allowed by the building. You don’t have it in you to discourage him from it, though it could damage your reputation and contract with the owner.

“Just come in…” you tell him after a sigh.

He smiles that gorgeous smile of his and kisses you on your cheek as he enters your shared home, “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” you smile a little at the sight of Joaquín putting the little girl down and coaxing her with a towel before addressing his own state. They both must be freezing…

“Let’s give her a warm bath, mi amor… you’re already wet, so it’ll be easier.” You joke and wink at him as he looks up to you.

He does as he’s told, and you both try to get your new guest to follow into the tub by giving her treats along the way. You don’t have any dogs of your own, but you keep treats inside for this exact situation (and to sometimes interact with the dogs in the nearby park).

Once she’s partially fed with treats, she gets in the tub with a little help from Joaquín and some reassurance from the both of you.

You assess from top to bottom to see if she has any injuries that need immediate attention, but you find none, so you proceed with the warm water. Occasionally spraying Joaquín with the shower hose.

“Hey!” He protests when it becomes obvious you’re doing it on purpose, “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” He says as he gets shampoo on your shirt as revenge.

You two just laugh the situation away and keep washing the dog until she’s done for drying.

“I’ll do it, Joaquín. Just get in the shower and change your clothes.” You needed a change yourself, but he’s in dire need considering how he initially entered.

He agrees and gets to it, just as you bring a towel and a few more treats to handle her easier into it.

She’s a kind dog, and you can tell friendly too, but she's just scared. You leave her to food and water by herself to give her some space, just as Joaquín gets out of the washroom in a towel and goes to your shared room for clothes.

“What do you think of the name “Delta”?” He asks, a little muffled by being in different rooms, but you hear him clear enough.

“Joaquín, no.” You tell him as you walk to the bedroom “You know it gets more difficult to let them go once they get a name…”

“But baby! She totally deserves a name. Don’t you sweet girl?” As if on cue, ‘Delta’ barks twice at Joaquín. “See?” He says totally pleased with the outcome. You roll your eyes.

“Come on, Angel.” He gets close to you and puts his hands on your shoulders “I’ll get her a family soon enough. I always do.”

That he does. Delta is not the first, nor will she be the last, stray to pass through that door, but somehow Joaquín always finds someone who can take care of them in one way or another. Both your jobs don’t allow you much time to be home, thus it's not ideal.

Even so, Delta ended up six more days with you. Joaquín would get her in and out through the back door and hack the building’s cameras to play the same image of an empty corridor every time he went for a morning run with her.

As you suspected, Delta was a sweet girl who warmed up to the two of you fairly quickly, but goodbyes were in store as Joaquín got in touch with one of many host families he has collected over the years.

“Joaquín, are you crying?” You ask in bed with him the day before you have to give her up. He was lying down with Delta on his chest as he hugged her.

“I’m not!” He laughs with clearly wet eyes “I’ll just miss her, y’know?”

“I know, baby… Me too” You give both of them a kiss on the forehead. Delta gets closer to Joaquín’s neck at the action with a displeased expression, perhaps jealous of the attention you give to your boyfriend. Both you and Joaquín laugh at the action.

It’s not a secret that animals usually get closer to Joaquín while living under your roof. You accepted it long ago. He just has that kind of energy about him.

“Girl! That’s my boyfriend, you hear me?” You give her a scratch on the head, hard enough for some of her hair to lie disheveled.

Joaquín grabs your hand before you retrieve it completely.

“Thanks, mi vida… For sticking around for all this craziness.” He gives a shy smile as he says so.

“It’s not crazy to care for others, Joaquín… That’s your biggest strength, and I adore you for it.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Needless to say, goodbyes the next day were bittersweet. But after having taken care of her, checking up everything was alright at the vet, and given her sweet nature, you had no doubt she would find her forever home soon enough.

Joaquín insisted on receiving updates from her temporary hosts, and after much reassurance from them, you finally get to return hand in hand to your own home.

“I’m proud of you, baby bird. You handled this one very well.” You give him a congratulatory kiss on the side of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah… You won’t tell Sam about the crying part, will you?” He wears his best pleading face as he says so. You two stop walking at that.

“Maybe… What’s in it for me in exchange for my silence?” You ask as you wrap your arms around his neck to emphasize your request.

“I can think of a few things…” He gives your waist a squeeze with his hands as he reaches for a kiss.

Life may be unpredictable and chaotic for all creatures on earth, but having people like Joaquín on your life gives you hope for the future. Suit or no suit, he tries his best to never give up on others.

[verstappenverse]

Call Me When You Breakup (Role Reversal)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’re with the wrong person, and Max knows it. So do you. He won’t ask you to leave but he’ll be here, hoping, aching, waiting. Just… call him when you do.

Authors Note: Okay so when I was writing Call Me When You Break Up, I genuinely couldn’t pick whether Max or the reader should be the one in a relationship bc I loved both versions too much, so… I wrote both. Figured I’d share this one too in case you needed a little comfort after the first one! (Spoiler: this one ends has a happier ending, promise 💕)

1.6k words / Inspo / Masterlist

Max knows he's in trouble the moment he sees you with him.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. Shouldn’t feel like something inside him is being wrenched apart, piece by piece. But it does. Because that’s not where you’re supposed to be.

You should be with him.

Instead, you’re laughing at something your boyfriend just said, your hand resting lightly on his arm, and Max feels like he’s suffocating in plain sight.

Because he knows that laugh. He knows your real laugh, the one that starts low in your chest and crinkles the corners of your eyes. This one is polite, forced, paper-thin.

You're fading right in front of him, and he doesn’t know how no one else sees it.

"You’re staring."

Lando’s voice pulls him back to reality, but Max doesn’t bother denying it. What’s the point? Everyone knows. They’ve always known.

Lando follows his gaze across the restaurant, shaking his head. "You really gonna keep doing this to yourself?"

Max exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter. "What choice do I have?"

Lando scoffs. "I don’t know, maybe tell her how you feel instead of sitting here like some lovesick idiot?"

Max wants to. God, he wants to. He’s rehearsed it a thousand times, in the car, in the shower, in those sleepless hours past midnight when he’s certain no one will hear his heart breaking. But it’s never that simple.

Because you’re in a relationship. One that looks fine from the outside. One that checks boxes. One that convinces everyone… except Max, that you're happy.

But Max knows better.

Because he’s seen the way your boyfriend talks over you when you’re excitedly telling a story. How he interrupts, how he subtly corrects you. How he walks ahead without waiting, and rarely looks back to see if you’re still with him. How he only reaches for your hand when people are watching, when it can be seen, posted, admired.

But still, you stay. And Max doesn’t understand why. Because you were meant for him.

You know it too. He sees it in the way your eyes linger on him a second too long. The way your laughter always falters when he looks at you like this, like he’d burn the world down if you asked him to.

But you never ask.

And Max? He’s stuck waiting.

We’re so meant for each other. When will you wake up.

The words sit heavy in his chest, but he swallows them down. Because as much as he wants to say them, to beg you to choose him, it has to be you.

Call me when you break up.

He thinks it almost every time he sees you. It sits there behind his teeth, aching to be said. A quiet, desperate plea. Because he can’t say it first.

You have to want it. Want him.

Until then, he’ll keep watching from across the room. Holding his breath. And praying that one day, you’ll finally stop pretending.

And come home to him.

It gets worse before it gets better.

Max tries to move on. Tries to shove the feelings down, bury them beneath podium celebrations and mindless distractions. He flirts with women he doesn’t care about, lets them kiss him in the shadows of clubs, lets them wrap themselves around him like temporary bandages, but their lips never feel right.

Because they’re not yours.

You’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like he doesn’t have to win to be worth something.

He tells himself he’s fine. That if he says it enough, he’ll start believing it.

But then he sees you again.

You’re sitting alone in the paddock, scrolling through your phone, and you look exhausted. Not just physically, but in the way that sits deep in your bones. Like you haven’t been happy in a long time.

Max doesn’t think. He just moves.

"Hey."

You glance up, startled, before a slow smile spreads across your face. "Hey, Max."

It’s stupid, how much just hearing his name in your voice makes his chest ache. How his whole world rearranges itself around that one sound.

He sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. "You okay?"

You hesitate just for a second before nodding. "Yeah. Just tired."

You’re lying. He knows it. You know he knows it, but you don’t elaborate, and Max doesn’t push.

Because this isn’t his place.

Not yet.

So he swallows the things he wants to say. Swallows the part of him that wants to take your face in his hands and ask what happened to the girl who used to give him hell just for fun. The one who could make him laugh with a single raised eyebrow, who used to challenge him just to see if he’d rise to it.

He forces himself to play the part. The best friend. The one who listens but never crosses the line. The one who waits in the background, hoping that one day you’ll finally wake up.

But waiting is hell.

Especially when he sees it clearer than ever that you’re not yourself anymore. Not the girl who used to light up every room, not the girl who used to challenge him on everything just to make him laugh. You’ve gotten quieter. Like the wrong love dimmed your light.

And Max? He wants to be the one who brings it back.

He wants to remind you what it feels like to be loved loudly. To be listened to. To be challenged and adored in equal measure. He wants to be the arms you fall into, not because you’re tired, but because it finally feels safe. He wants to fight with you and for you, and he wants to laugh until you can’t breathe, until your face crumples in that way that only happens when you’re so happy you forget to hold it all in.

The call comes finally at 2 a.m.

Max is half-asleep when his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart lurches before he even picks up.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Then—

"Can I come over?"

Your voice is raw, like you’ve been crying, and suddenly Max is wide awake.

"Yeah," he says immediately, already sitting up. "Of course."

You don’t offer an explanation. You don’t need to.

Because he already knows.

You show up at his door twenty minutes later, eyes red-rimmed, wearing the same clothes from earlier.

Max doesn’t ask what happened. He just steps aside, letting you in.

You sink onto his couch without a word, pulling your knees to your chest. Max sits beside you, close but not touching. Waiting.

It takes a minute before you finally speak.

"It’s over."

The words send a jolt through his chest, but he keeps his expression careful. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t know." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I feel like an idiot... I should’ve left a long time ago, but I was scared. Of being alone. Of starting over."

Max swallows hard. "You’re not alone."

Your eyes flick to his, something unreadable swirling in their depths. "I know."

A beat of silence. Then—

“Were you… waiting for this?”

The question slips out of you like a confession, small and uncertain, but it lands like a thunderclap between you.

Max doesn’t blink. Doesn’t deflect with a joke or pretend he didn’t hear. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and unflinching, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Yeah,” he says, simply. “I was.”

“Max—” you breathe, voice thick and trembling.

But he cuts you off gently, a hand lifting like he’s physically trying to slow the moment down.

“Don’t,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “Don’t say anything if you don’t mean it, not because you feel guilty, or because you’re hurting, or because I’ve been stupid enough to love you this long.”

“I think part of me always knew,” you continue, blinking hard. “That I was supposed to end up here. That it was always going to be you. But I kept talking myself out of it. Because you were safe. And I didn’t think I deserved safe.”

“You deserve everything,” Max says hoarsely.

You nod, a few tears finally escaping down your cheeks

Max is still watching you like he doesn’t dare breathe, like if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”

His grip tightens instinctively. “What do you feel?”

You swallow hard, but your voice is clear now. Certain. “I’m in love with you.”

Max exhales like he’s been underwater this whole time and finally broke the surface. His hand rises to cup your jaw, thumb catching a tear before it falls.

“Say it again,” he whispers, eyes shining.

You smile through the tears. “I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “I’ve been yours since the beginning”

And then you’re kissing him.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, a little desperate. There’s hesitation in the way your lips press to his, like you’re testing the waters of a dream you never let yourself have. But Max doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist, anchoring you to him, pulling you into his lap like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if there’s any distance between you. His fingers slide into your hair, and he kisses you like it’s the only language he’s ever been fluent in.

Like he’s been waiting forever.

You gasp softly into his mouth, and he slows down, gentling it, letting you set the pace. Letting you feel safe. Loved. Wanted.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the small space between you. Your eyes stay closed, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Max exhales, brushing your hair back behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re here now,” he says, thumb ghosting across your cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

[henry7931]

Starting College?

Alex:

I don’t know how I feel right now, I guess I’m kinda excited but I really wasn’t planning for this. You see, the body I’m in actually belongs to my big brother Max.

My brother Max and I have this special ability where we can swap bodies. We used to do it all the time when we were younger and use it to our benefit— like I’m good with Math but Max is good at English. No one knows about our ability including our parents.

So right before Max leaves for college, he panicked and begged me to go as him instead.

“Bro please! I know you’re so ready to get out of here anyways. Just go for me, I’ll out here in your body,” he says to me.

“I don’t know Max, you think you’ll regret not going? That’s your body, your life,” I say to him.

“Alex, you and I both know that’s not true. We share our bodies. To me, my body is just as much as yours as it’s mine. Now can you please swap with me?,” he says grabbing my hands.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

I felt nervous and excited. I thought to myself— am I ready to live on my own? I have always been the more independent one…

I also love having my brother’s body. I just feel so confident when I’m him. And the fact that he’s even offering it to me… saying his body is just as much mine as it is his….

“One more thing Max, I want your body the entire freshman year. I’m not going up there and have you call me—”

“Done,” he says shaking on it.

We immediately swapped bodies and as I ride off with my parents waving good bye to my body with my brother inside— I couldn’t help but feel so much excitement rushing through me.

I look down at Max’s hands and legs… I feel right when I’m inside of him.

Hours later…

I get to my new dorm and my parents help me unpack. They say goodbye to me and it feels so strange hearing them call me Max over and over again. I’m gonna have to get used to it.

Before they leave my dad takes a picture of me sitting on my new bed.

And just like that— I was alone in my own dorm room.

Time passes and I wait around to see if I have a roommate but to my surprise no one ever shows up.

I guess this is a good thing, I can have my own privacy and space.

I lock my door and immediately pulled off all of the clothes my brother put on this morning.

Now nearly naked, I stare at my brother’s muscled frame in the mirror.

I run his hands down his abs and open up the waistband to his briefs.

I look inside and my new equipment. Max is notably well endowed. I’ve interacted with it a few times, primarily to go to the bathroom.

But I’ve never jerked off with it. Something about it felt like I was crossing a line. Although now that this is my body for atleast a year… fuck it!

I craw up to my bed fully naked. I run my hands down to my legs all the way to my new cute feet. Max has really nice feet, I’ve always admired them.

I run my fingers in between my toes grinning at them… they’re mine. I bring one of my feet up to my face. I sniff it and take in the smell…

I kiss each of my toes and notice that I’m so hard that pre-cum is already dripping out of my cock.

I take a sample and taste it…

I start running my fingers over my tight balls and hard dick when my door opens…

“Oh fuck!!!,” says a hot guy standing at the door.

“Shit!!!” I grab a blanket and wrap it around my waste.

“Dude I’m so sorry…”

“Uhhh it’s okay man. I’m Josh,” he says to me waving.

“Hey im uh— I’m Max! I guess we’re roommates?,” I say to him.

“Yeah I guess so,” he says to me. Josh’s eyes focus in on my noticeable wood still standing at full attention.

“Oh sorry… I uh…,” I stumble through my words when Josh says, “need to jerk off? It’s okay dude, I can give you some privacy or join in.”

Wait is this guy flirting with me???

“I wouldn’t mind if you joined,” I say very matter fact.

Josh pulls off all of his clothes and I toss off my blanket. Both of us start making out.

He pushes me onto his bed and starts kissing down my chest.

“Damn, this is great,” he says to me.

“Yeah?,” I say to him.

“Yeah, I got a hot roommate with a nice dick. It’s about to be the best year ever,” he says to me.

Josh starts sucking me off and it sends me into like another universe!!

Fuck this is going to be the best year ever!!!

6 Months Later…

A lot has happened this year. For starters, I have a boyfriend. And to no surprise it’s my roommate Josh.

Not only that but I’ve made some big changes. I joined a frat and have been working out more.

I even got my first tattoo!!

And I feel so comfortable with my life now. The funny thing is Alex (previously Max) feels the same way.

Both of us feel so much more comfortable in our bodies and I don’t think we’re ever going to switch back.