#Punch Out X Reader

[glassjoe]

I saw your post hihihi, could you write some Aran X reader headcanons? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) Like how Aran would act in front of his beloved when he realised he has a crush on them?

hihi ! sorry this took a while, im a slow writer & ive been busy lol

okay so. tried my best. i went with the idea of reader/beloved being someone who works for the wvba but isnt a boxer, left it unspecific.

first few bullets are pre-crush/general hc stuff, then the stuff u actually asked for happens. im still figuring out how i wanna characterise these fucks so if it seems odd or ooc please lmk

aran ryan with a crush | headcanons! gn reader

cw brief mention of alcohol and vomiting. nothing huge, just mentioned in passing but slapped this here anyway. also penultimate bullet point is a bit sexual but again only brief, u can skip over it

Emotions aren't Aran's strong point. Most complex feelings he has are released in the ring--he finds bloody noses and bruised stomachs are far more interesting conversation partners anyway--and the ones that stay rooted deep in his belly are routinely sweat out or lost in the haze of a night on the town. Rinse and repeat ad nauseum. Wallowing in it helps no one, after all.

But sometimes, a feeling in his gut won't get chased away as easily as, say, guilt or grief. A stubborn sort of stabbing, not unlike himself, gets tangled in his belly, too stuck for his stomach acid to burn through when wild nights come back for seconds.

As much as his thick skull in the ring would have you think otherwise, he's not dense. He knows what crushes are, had more than enough in secondary school, and he's not oblivious to it nor the source. He doesn't even know you *that* well--yet--but that's never stopped the heart from wanting.

cont under cut

There's no real "moment" he realises, no build-up, just sitting exhausted after a match well-won, and being now too tired to now fight the butterflies swarming his stomach or stop his eyes from following you as you pass by with a clipboard. He hides his gaze with a swig of water, drinking a bit more aggressively than he needs to and spills half of it, and by the time he recovers you've disappeared. The buzz in his gut doesn't fade, just deflates, and his hand meets his sodden hair with a half-hearted groan. Fuck.

For a while, he tries to shove it down. Where knuckles and bottles don't work, brute force emotional repression just might. "Not ready" to be tossed into dealings of love again, he'll try convince himself. Should that fail it's "Grown men don't have silly little crushes, make a move or get over yourself."

He's not as good at hiding his emotions as he'd have himself think. Just as he can't help a cruel grin in the ring, smiles find their way onto his face before he has a chance to realise he's pleased. What he intends to be a subtle smolder looks more like a hyena after a successful hunt, toothy and wide, with red blood swapped for rosy cheeks. Of course, he then attempts to recoup and snap his head away with an exaggerated frown, leaving you to wonder if he was happy to see you or wants to devour you.

Its embarrassing. He feels like a fawn, unable to properly control himself or function as soon as you step in the room. He swears all he has to do is smell you and his heart spikes not that he'd know what you smell like.

Pre-match, he doesn't want to see you. Or during, really. This suffocating adoration that came from nowhere has choked him enough to messing up in the lowest stake situations--he still gets teased over the time he intended to pass you your drink and full-hand knocked it over in his flushed haste--he doesn't want to risk it coming to bite him when it really matters. He makes a point to not provoke the audience close to staff, at risk of seeing your face--perhaps disappointed, perhaps amused--and throwing his game off.

And in turn, post-match is his favourite time to see you. Though Aran Ryan being calm will happen when pigs fly, the rush of a bout serves well to at least temper his energy a bit. Not as erratic, or bouncy, and a bit more in control of himself. Plus any fuckups can be blamed on muscle fatigue. You dote on him as best you can, he's noticed. Asking if he needs anything, offering to ease the strain rippling under his skin... Another bonus of being all tuckered is his face already being red and sweaty, so he's in no rush to hide flush that creeps up his neck as you fuss over him.

He'll make a show, teasing you for wanting to help, and as subtly as he can try to delve a little deeper, find out more about yourself. Whether you're working his wounds or jotting down on a clipboard, your company is exhilarating. It makes him giggle laugh. The insane cackle of a man has never sounded so nervous.

As he learns about you, as you grow closer and start meeting outside of designated hours, he feels both at ease and more tense. Scared of scaring you off, as he often finds he does, but he still won't dial himself back for your sake. Wants you to see him bear all and like him anyway. So he checks. He does what he wants, does his best to not act too different where it matters, and simply... checks. Waits for your reaction. His intention is to see if he should pursue, so to speak, that you simply enjoy him and his company regardless of his reputation or persona or who he is on a genuine level. As well as if, yeah, he didn't need to yell at that guy like that, that was just uncalled for. He's perhaps not the best judge on that end, though.

Speaking of trying not to act different, well, everyone acts a fool in love. He can certainly try, but an early 20s man in a male-dominated sport? There's at least a few masculinity issues trailing aftet him. He can't help but puff his chest out like a bird of paradise when you compliment him, or flex his arm when you so much as graze it. Simply can't stop himself from saying how he could protect you if you're walking through a forest, or wanting to compare hand sizes, regardless of your size compared to him.

Aran Ryan is still Aran Ryan. While there is an extent of not wanting to scare you off, he's not holding back on the name-calling or insults, no mattet how playful. He may dig too deep into genuinely sensitive areas though. Maybe he's still in denial about this, trying to prove it to himself. Or he's just not that great at boundaries.

He's nearly tripped over his own feet several times. One time you managed to grab his hoodie only to also fall onto his back. Nearly died, he swears. Cushioned your fall quite nicely at least. He'll want to make a lewd joke about it, but gets embarrassed as it leaves his mouth because he gets a mental image so it descends into stuttering and ends up insulting you instead to cover himself. Brilliant work Ryan really making yourself look great.

Aran's a mess of a man. He's all over the place. Stuck between wanting to impress you and staying true to himself unabashedly, and he finds doing both is very difficult. Past lovers compounded that. And as long as his affections remain unrequited or secret, that's not really going to change easily. Maybe its comfort he needs, or just a helping hand. Maybe you should say something...

GOD im so sorry this is SO all over the place i qrote this over several days so my flow wasnt there and i dont wanna put too much effort into thesee. i. need to write down how i charactetise these guys stat so im uh sorry if this is shit. i would have a nicer ending to out a ribbon on but idk how to end bullet point hc stuff so. enjoyyy

AND TY FOR REQUESRTING !!! as much as im bitching this was fun to do !!! and also feel free to send more of these in !! i can do more like this or i can do thise ones that like its a scenario and all the boxers react to it those seem fun

[matt-imagines-popcorn]

Being in a relationship with King Hippo [Gender-Neutral! Reader]

While much is secret about King Hippo's life, it's likely that they never considered dating prior to joining the WVBA. To them the whole community of Hippo Island is their family and even if they're not related by blood, the thought of dating any of them was weird. So King Hippo also has no dating experience.

It's a bit of uncharted territory if/when King Hippo gets crushes on somebody. They sorta understand the feeling, having seen others back on the island explain and act around their crushes but it doesn't make it any less awkward for them. Although Hippo seems to hide it well and tries not to let this new feeling affect their relationship much.

Even if we ignore their lack of English, Hippo isn't much of a talkative person and would much rather have their actions speak instead of speaking. That being said, they love helping out their friends and especially their crush/partner in any way. They enjoy the feeling of being helpful and seeing their crush/partner being happy. Hippo will also actively look for ways to spend more time with them. (I can see Hippo inviting them to go around the city with them and trying out different restaurants.)

Once in an active relationship with King Hippo - well, good luck from keeping them from lugging you over their shoulder 24/7. Seriously, this big fella cannot help but pick their partner up and literally nothing will stop them from that. No matter if your small or tall, fat or skinny, in rain or shine, even if its only for a few feet, their going to carry you around

If you have any bad habits you're trying to break then King Hippo is your guy. While perhaps somewhat naive, they are more observant than they let on so they usually catch on to harmful habits quickly. Within seconds they're on your case and reminding you to care for yourself.

There will always be a risk of suffocation during cuddling and while Hippo is usually aware of his weight and tries to avoid lying on top of you, it's a bit harder to do so while unconscious. You'll get used to it (if you aren't a coward).

Hippo definitely plans on one day bringing you with them to Hippo Island. It's unfair you get all the fun of teaching him about your culture (and the weird things Americans do and say) plus they want you to meet their family! Hippo is sure that their family would absolutely adore you just as much as they do.

Ideal Date: While going out to different restaurants and trying different foods is fun I think King Hippo would much rather be outdoors and would enjoy stuff like hiking or simple nature walks. They don't spend too much time outdoors which does make them a little sad so they try to savor it in any way possible, especially with their partner. 

MINOR CIRCUIT DOWN GOT LIKE NINE MORE BOXERS TO GO-

[ghs-imagines]

Just had this thought but I’m curious… the punch out Wii men reacting to their s/o proposing to them?

Doc Louis: Looks like you have beaten him to it darling, honestly the night you decided to propose to him was also the night he was gonna propose to you. It’s definitely going to be a story he’s going to bring up at parties whenever he can.

Glass Joe: As much as he wanted to be the one to propose to you, it does warm his heart that you proposing first means that you actually want to be with him. Which does bring a few small tears to his eyes.

Von Kaiser: This man was in shock when you proposed to him as he did have a plan to propose to you but it seems that you will always find a way to surprise him. He’s not mad about it honestly once the shock wore off he was quite amused by it.

Disco Kid: There is a flood gate of tears coming out of this man’s face once you present the ring to him. He is just so happy that you want to share your life with him, just be prepared for some killer moves from him for your first dance.

King Hippo: Honestly it is custom in his culture for the leaders to be proposed to by their potential spouse, so when you did propose he just agreed immediately to it.

Piston Hondo: Much like Doc he wanted to propose to you on the same night you proposed to him, and he does almost immediately after you. The whole situation makes his face run red because of how sweet your engagement ring’s exchange was.

Bear Hugger: The moment you pull out the ring box he is pulling you into his arms and saying yes to the proposal before you can even utter the words. You can bet that in the next few days Miss Bear will know about your engagement.

Great Tiger: With all his magical arts and tricks he is happy that he can still be able to be surprised by you. Though most his opponents wouldn’t know it but under his clones gloves they also have a copy of his engagement ring on.

Don Flamenco: This man was definitely a bit bitter for awhile that you proposed to him first as it really took a hit to his pride. But after much scolding from his best friend Carmen he has learned to let it go and be happy that you actually wanted to be with him forever.

Aran Ryan: While he will always tell the world circuit boxers that he was the one to propose to you, he will always happily tease you that you were the one that wanted to stick with him through thick and thin. Especially if he’s up to something dumb.

Soda Popinski: No matter who’s proposing to who it is a time of celebration and many, many drinks. This man will be in tears as soon as the ring is actually on his finger as soon you will be able to properly call him yours.

Bald Bull: He actually preferred you taking the reins of the proposal as that way the paparazzi wouldn’t be able to ruin it. That being said he only wears his engagement ring inside your shared home to not tip off the paparazzi to any potential wedding in the works.

Super Macho Man: Much like most things in his life it will be on the internet within the hour. He honestly doesn’t mind that you were the one that proposed to him as long as the ring looks good, then he honestly doesn’t care.

Mr Sandman: He does feel slightly bitter that you were the one to propose to him but shakes these feelings off as at least he truly knows that you want to be with him and not his persona that puts on. He also happy that he no longer has stress about finding the right time to propose to you, it has honestly stopped 3 buildings from being destroyed.

[tellingmona]

HELLO!!

As an introduction post, I would like to include an example of my writing. But firstly I would like to talk about myself and my interests!!!

REQUEST STATUS:

Closed!(5/5)

OVERVIEW

ABOUT ME and FANDOMS that I write for

Do’s and Dont’s

Non-Fandom related requests

CONCLUSION

ABOUT ME!!

I’m Mona! I’m 18, I use any pronoun, and I used to write as a hobby back in middle school but stopped posting due to lack of motivation and loss of interest. I haven’t really posted anything relating to fan fiction in over 3 years. But now that I have that motivation back, I’m able to put my work out there and be confident in it.

As mentioned before, I’m in a few fandoms! Here’s some that I’m in;

OVERWATCH

PUNCH OUT

SUPER MARIO BROS.

THE YAKUZA SERIES

TF2

SMILE FOR ME

KATAMARI DAMACY

I’ll be adding more to this soon! I’ll also be posting a masters list for the characters I’ll be writing the more requests that pour in.

For requests, here’s a list of what I do and don’t for requests.

Do’s

Canon x Canon

Reader x Canon

Angst

Fluff

Comfort

Romantic and platonic pairings

Dont’s

NSFW

Large age gaps

Zoo

Underage

DDLG/MDLB (any variation/implication)

Incest

Rape/Non-Con

basically anything that’s illegal or morally questionable, I will not do.

All reader pairings will be gender-neutral unless specified otherwise.

Don’t be afraid to dm me any questions if you have any! This applies for short story/poem prompt requests.

Okay so for fandom-unrelated story requests; it can be a challenge, a word minimum, anything as long as there’s a prompt given if that makes any sense. I might make a separate post going into more detail.

Here’s an example of a short story from me!

———

I remember sitting in the soft mead of our own sovereign

And how his eyes glossed as he stared longingly into the cloudless sky

He never blinked. No, I don’t think he even took a breath.

But he was alive though.

More than I.

And never did he finish emerging from his own body.

As he thought that once he did, he’d lose his new skin

And he’d have to start all over.

And looking at him.

Sweet grace.

Look at him.

Because right now.

I can’t.

———

GOODBYEEE!!

I hope that covered everything!!! Thank you for reading! Requests are open! Like I said previously, DM me know if you have any questions.

[shouyuus]

sfw; popstar!reader x vi in which u punch someone in face and vi finds that incredibly attractive

"who the hell--"

you pull the door open, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the thin strap to your pink silk nightgown hanging off your shoulder.

"hey."

you frown, blinking at the skinny man standing across the doorframe, a fist held up as if to knock again.

"reese?"

the man smizes, leaning up against the doorframe, his eyes slicking down your exposed skin like an oil spill. you grimace, rolling your eyes. "you need to stop showing up like this. it's getting embarrassing."

"c'mon baby," he says, shrugging, trying to step into the door, "i know you've been missin' me --"

"uh. sorry. no --" you resist the urge to gag as he pouts at you, "we hooked up one time, and it was a mistake."

"it was the best night o'my life!" he crows, still trying to shove into the room but you narrow your eyes, blocking his path till he sighs, re-doubling his greasy smirk "and i'm pretty sure it was also the best night of --"

"princess?" vi's voice calls out from the bedroom. you sigh, glancing over your shoulder as her voice draws nearer, "what's goin' on?"

she rounds the corner to the hallway and pauses, her sleep-fogged eyes sharpening as she takes in the scene. a beat, and she's sauntering over, slipping an arm around your middle, pressing her chin to your shoulder, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

"everything alright? who's this, an old friend?" she looks reese over once, her expression the picture of a woman unimpressed.

you shake your head, leaning into her touch. "no, he's no one --"

"hey! pft, oh i see -- i leave you, and you decide to replace me with a beefed up enforcer whore -- oof --"

"ow."

vi lets out a sharp, startled laugh, her eyes widening as you pull your arm back, shaking out your stinging fist with a whine, cradling your hand.

"holy shit that really hurts," you say, pouting as vi takes your hand in hers, running a thumb along your reddening skin, her shoulders still shaking with laughter, even as she tries to sooth a thumb over your knuckles. she coos, kissing the back of your hand. you crinkle your nose, "you do that all the time?"

she grins, shrugging, "helps if you've had a lot of practice."

"-- y-you -- you broke my nose!" reese's voice is reedy as he holds his face, a thin line of blood trickling through his fingers, his eyes wide.

"oh shut up dude, you're fine. it'll set in a few days," vi snaps, rolling her eyes as she glances back towards the open door. you glare at reese, reaching for the small intercom on the wall.

"go away, reese. and find something better to do than stalk me, okay? ugh --" you huff, punching the call button for the security downstairs.

"h-hey! you can't just close the door on me --" reese tries to scramble for the doorknob but vi puts herself squarely between you and him, cocking an eyebrow. he falters, eyes flickering over vi's arms and shoulders, his lip curling with fear masked as distaste before he stumbles back, snarling at the pair of you, though the effect is largely dampened by the rapidly darkening bruise at the bridge of his nose and the blood smeared down his chin.

"w-whatever! i d-didn't actually wanna fuck you anyway --"

"oh do yourself a favor and get lost," vi says, slamming the door in his face just as the intercom beeps the life and you let the building security in on the situation.

"your hand okay?" vi asks, though her expression is a tug-o-war of concern and ill-concealed amusement.

you crinkle your nose, clenching and unclenching your fingers, wincing at the soft sting.

"yeah. that just hurt way more than i thought it would."

"aww, c'mere," vi tugs you into her chest, peppering your face in kisses before moves to your hand, laughing as you giggle. "my little warrior princess."

you whine, digging your nose into her neck, "don't make fun of me."

"i'm not!" though her voice is still clearly laced with laughter as the pair of you make your way back into the bedroom, "though, i gotta say -- that was kinda hot. like really hot."

you laugh, letting her scoop you up and press you down into the still-warm sheets. you bite your lips.

"yeah? maybe i should try punching my ex-hookups in the face more often."

vi's lips twitch. "yeah? you got alotta those?"

you frown, your pout returning in full swing, "no! ugh -- reese was -- reese was a very drunken mistake one night okay? we've all made choices we're not proud of --"

but vi is laughing, leaning down to catch your lips in a long, indulgent kiss. when she pulls away, your eyes are dark, your mouth sweet and soft around a half-caught breath.

"you know i don't care about your past, princess," she says, running a thumb along your cheeks, "all that matters --"

"is that you're the only one in my future?" you ask, smiling as you reach up to catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. vi's lashes flutter at the certainty of your words, before she's sighing into your neck, her lips warm against your skin.

"yeah. something like that."

you giggle, head tilting back as she kisses a line down your shoulder. and then you're squealing as she flips the pair of you, settling you firmly over her hips, a smirk twisting her lips.

"though, reese --" she makes a show of whistling beneath her breath, "you were really goin' through some shit, huh?"

you groan, burying your face in her chest. "you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"

vi laughs, carding her fingers gently through your hair before dropping a kiss to your temple.

"nope. never."

[jangmi-latte]

BANGS HEAD ON WALL

making out with malleus or just being so affectionate with the fae on that damn tower when malleus KNOWS that rollo's just behind that glass window. watching and scowling as your lips pressed against the fae's jaw with your cheeks burning and eyes half-lidded. how rollo thought you were once pure and innocent from these vile creatures yet here you are completely drunk by mere words and touches alone.

malleus glancing over his shoulder as he caresses your waist and that ghost of a smirk stretching on his lips as he could practically sense the anger from the person behind the glass pane. the handkerchief crumping under rollo's grip, trying to stop himself from punching and breaking the glass. he doesn't know if he's angry at you or malleus. he's not going to lose his only.... well

we can find another way to word his sweet maria.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. ���You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[btnclmrttn]

"Just another morning" (Saitama/Reader)

[absolutely sick. ill. famished for this man. No plot just a drabble]

Saitama' is whiney and clingy when he's sleepy...

~~~~

Media and the lot alike make waking up seem so peaceful sometimes. It can be, especially when accompanied by your partner. Little moments of unspoken sweetness and all the whatnot, except when you have to piss as badly as you do.

By the dark of the room and what the clock beside you says, there's a couple of hours before Saitama's usual alarm goes off. If you make it quick, you can lie in bed longer and fall back asleep. Or take that moment to make something out of a quiet moment like this. Maybe.

Saitama barely has his arm around you in his sleeping position. You don't even know how he manages to end up so crooked sometimes. Practically diagonal on the futon. That arm only works as a guideline for not getting shoved off. As you sit up, you slowly try to unwrap yourself from his loose hold. Some days he's a light sleeper, some days not so much...just gotta be careful.

He catches you the second you think you're in the clear. He's quick to wrap his arm around you again and gently guide you back into his arms.

He croaks out a sound of disagreement to your escape attempt in your ear as he spoons you close to him. Goosebumps spread across your neck as his deep breathing of your scent warms it and a sigh of contentment when the haze of you fills him.

"I just gotta pee real quick," you tell him as you turn your head to look at him. His eyes open a bit. He hums as if he thinks about it before closing his eyes again.

"Uh-uh."

"Please?"

"Mm…"

Saitama pulls you closer and lifts a leg over yours to secure the comfy position.

"It's not healthy to hold it when you gotta go...and I gotta go." 

Your last escape attempt is making it about health. It always gets to him.

A long, dramatic whine sounds from his lips before he huffs and rolls off of you.

"Go pee and come back," he groans sleepily.

Once you scoot away a safe distance, you respond with a bit of a jest, "Such a baby…"

"Hurry up…" he whines again, "I'm cold."

You roll your eyes while chuckling at his dramatics as you enter the restroom.

[kickingcat]

This is um kinda based on the spring formal.. :D i kinda imagened it better ngl buttt anyways :333

their obliviousness is killing me :D

[just-null]

YO, SUPER LATE SUPER LONG SUPER MESSY OCTOBER POST THAT I JUST SHOVED EVERYTHING INTO BC I DIDN'T WANT TO DO MULTIPLE. FUCK IT.

I forgot halfway that these were supposed to be costumes and not mini aus... SO REMEMBER IN MY PLACE, EVERYTHING IS HYPOTHETICAL. also. some have a bit of yandere elements to them bc its SO FITTING FOR NORITOSHI.

Happy late October, everyone. it's winter now. Let's get it, baby.

[Long rambles and doodles under the cut!]

Vampire!

I kept asking myself, "How sexy is too sexy.." and "How the fuck does a sexy vampire even look like without it being a shirtless guy w fangs or Edward Cullen....." I think I figured it out

Sure, sure, vampires are superhumans with sun allergies that can drink blood really hotly. They can also easily overpower you to feast and blah blah blah, but what if said vampire (Noritoshi) was too weak to do any of that? Not literally, but he craves your say. He wants not only your blood but your affection. He wants to get praised as he drinks you in. Are you comfortable? How much will you allow him to take? Do you want to get him back in return? Guidance with this makes him feel more at ease. It's still Noritoshi at the end of the day. He's going to find a way to be a little awkward about you because of his crush. He refuses to drink from anyone other than you, even if it causes his death. Therefore, he has to keep you healthy! For the rest of your lives..! Besides, he can't really go outside or else he'd.. y'know. So if you think about it, this is a very beneficial relationship for both of you!!

The only downside is that you're losing blood on the regular, and for some reason, more people are moving away... Probably nothing, right? Noritoshi is always there to keep you company and help you recover anyways.

Witch!

my attempts also bled into the witch design.... you got greedy with requesting two in one ask, but I'll spoil you this time bc I also wanted to see Noritoshi as a (sexy) vampire and witch. heh. AND I DIDNT REALIZE HED BE SO CUTE AS A WITCH..... WHAT THE FUCK?? rip momo, fight for your title of cute witch...

Noritoshi strikes me as one of those witches who'd rather be left to their own devices because they're running some important magic whatever in the background. though, he'll take some breaks and indulge you if you insist on having him around. Insist meaning you pass by and strike conversation, leaving him to neglect anything and everything to prioritize his time with you. He doesn't want to use magic on you unless it's beneficial for either you or both. Noritoshi likes a natural progression with you that he knows for a fact is true and not some product of some spell. Though it doesn't mean he wouldn't use charms and such to get you to interact with him more often to speed up the process!

Can't sleep? He has a remedy perfect for that! Bad luck? Oh no, take a charm. Nerves? A potion he perfected will help you ease your jitters. Annoying peers? With a snap of Noritoshi's fingers, they're gone! Just don't ask what happened. Enjoy yourself instead and come to him with any new issue. He's quick to resolve it.

Definitely has some sort of doll that looks suspiciously like you.. Noritoshi would probably talk to it and practice one liners that give you the strongest sense of nostalgia once he uses them. He's simultaneously giddy that the charm he put in the doll works but also a little annoyed that his hard work isn't surprising you, but leaving you with deja vu.

Idol!

i was crying the entire time bc what does an idol look like.... noritoshi is handsome enough to be an idol without actually being an idol... now i can confirm that idols are very well dressed though. thumbs up 100% but i had some thoughts...

[Idol]

Noritoshi would be the type to cherish his fans, but hold clear favoritism over you. he'd be those idols that look cold, but they talk, and they sound smug in a charming way. i don't know much about idols, but i know he'd be so fucking good.... he'd be the type of guy to sing to you amongst the hundreds in the crowd.... ahhh the interviews w these famous aus. they're just talking and acting like themselves. can you imagine Noritoshi getting asked the question if he has a lover or not? he can lie, im sure you're alright with that, but he doesn't want to!! he does have someone!!! someone he loves more than all his fans love for him combined!!! he just can't say it for the sake of your privacy and his career. so Noritoshi does what any charming guy who's good with their words does. he deflects the question. answering the question, but not really, that'd be something he's known for. fans online are split on why Noritoshi does this. some think he's trying to keep that side of his life private, others think he's trying to mess around, and others think he's hiding a secret lover!!! though the last one is usually seen as the outlandish one, sometimes it makes Noritoshi's heart drop bc they get some things right. "Having a lover is a complicated question hidden behind a simple disguise. If I had to answer, I'd say my lovers are my audience. they make sure i'm well cared for, some more than others." AND HIS FUCKING LITTLE SMIRK I CANT COUGHS UP BLOOD. IM A THEORIST TOO. SECRET LOVER. 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

ON THE FLIP SIDE....

[Not an Idol]

An amusing thought where Noritoshi goes out in his casual clothes, and he's mistaken for an idol. No one knows who he is, but he just looks like he'd be one. bro's just trying to buy groceries, and now he has a fan group asking him to take pictures with them.. He'd tell them that he's just a guy, not an idol, but the group would still want a picture with him. it'd be a waste to pass by someone who's so naturally gorgeous, so with a sigh of defeat, he relents. It's just a photo, right? No harm done. Noritoshi'd go home and feel overwhelmed/embarrassed by the whole ordeal. later, he gets a call from someone in the kyoto group or you to inform him how he's all over social media, known as that handsome guy in the supermarket. HED BE COMPLETELY UNREACHABLE TO MEDIA OUTLETS BC NORITOSHI IS THAT GUY WHO DOESNT HAVE SOCIAL MEDIA.... he'd have to make one to make sure no one pretends to be him online. "Hello, I don't use social media, but I've been informed I've been getting attention online. To prevent anyone from being fooled by an impersonator, this is my official and only account. thank you." P.R. STATEMENT WRITING ASS.. his single post gets flooded with likes, comments, and DMs. it almost blows up his phone..... he was just buying bread, dude...... people try to dig up and find him through the other Kyoto group's social media.

[bonus] my second in command requested to put him in a fem idol outfit bc he thought it was funny. after frothing at the mouth and coughing out blood, I complied.

Doctor!

THIS IS SUCH A STRAIGHT FORWARD ASK BUT IT HAS SO MANY IMPLICATIONS. MY BELOVED CULT MEMBER.. THOSE EMOJIS GIVE ME A DIFFERENT IMPRESSION BUT IM NOT SURE.

Noritoshi as a doctor...... apple sales would plummet. his little clinic's business would skyrocket. sick cases would peak in his area. getting your heart checked by his stethoscope would be so fucking embarrassing bc all he'd hear is THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

LIKE IMAGINE IF THAT WAS YOUR DOCTOR? BRO.

COUGH COUGH HACK WHEEZE COUGH COUGH.

Noritoshi would probably own a small clinic that he wants to expand. That or he opened one after working for a hospital for a while. He's a great doctor who's most likely respected but a pain in the ass to work with. Among patients, he's gotten the hot doctor reputation. Most want to be treated by him, but he's so professional, any chance of trying to flirt goes down the drain. Yeah, he puts his hair up to avoid it in his face even though his eyes are closed classic lab safety procedures. He seems like the type to have a soothing but authoritative voice during examination, so he gets his message across. it's a bit difficult when dealing with patients for Noritoshi. If he sees them too often, he firstly scolds you for not taking care of yourself, then feels guilty for not giving you the proper care. Keep yourself safe and healthy, or else Noritoshi will clearly :( Putting him in a yandere setting would be dangerous. He'd have a lot of control over you, considering he can prescribe medication, shots, visits, and other things.... he'd have a ball.... nothing that would cause you any harm, of course. he's only looking out for you and doing what's best for you..!

Pirate!

my second in command wanted a pirate. pirates are so fucking cool and i know damn well if this guy were a pirate he'd have a bunch of battle scars under that fancy coat.

Noritoshi as a pirate would be more than a little odd, but also fitting. He looks like the type of guy who'd be well put together, yet he's willing to get his hands dirty. Like the guy who got into the pirate life because of some personal issue that couldn't be solved fast enough through conventional means. Even as a pirate, i imagine he holds everyone to high standards. They're still pirates though.. so his expected standards aren't even that high. He has more freedom here, so even he himself lets loose once or twice. Especially with you. He's even able to get away with more violent actions for you, the seas are unpredictable, after all. While taking some treasure, Noritoshi'd toss you a gem or golden coin, just so you can say you were the first to claim it. Just so he can see that happy glint in your eyes when getting your hands on treasure. God forbid anyone try to get their hands on your hard earned goods. They'd be met with a bullet to the foot or a sword at their neck. Everyone and their mother knows how you're his favorite, but Noritoshi downplays it. Its not a crime to help out someone from his crew is it? Not in the seven seas. He leans more into his cold ruthless killer side here. He has goals and people to help keep in line whether hes captain or not. Yet when around you, he's almost adorable in how he shows you a pearl so entrancing that it reminded him of you.

Corpse Bride!

my submission to my Noritoshi Halloween costume closet.. CORPSE BRIDE, THIS MOVIE FUCKS. esp w the yandere elements.

Noritoshi 100% made you recite the wedding vows to him before accepting the ring. If you fumbled up, he'd correct you with SO much attitude and expect you to start from the top until you got it perfectly.

Hypothetically, in the chalice scene towards the end..

Noritoshi is the type to never be fully relaxed unless he knows for sure you'll be eternally his. In this scenario, YOU proposed to HIM but have to die to continue being together. Not only that, but someone in the living world is also after your heart. Someone who bleeds. Someone who's the obvious choice. Someone who can give you the life that you deserve. Someone who will succeed in their pursuits if you. remain. alive. Noritoshi's life was cut short, yet he still managed to lose so much and be abandoned a considerable amount of times. When he meets you and finds out about the possibility of having to go through that again even in death, it finally clicks in his rotting mind. He realizes he's been doing something wrong to keep constantly failing. Noritoshi revises his methods to a more.. selfish course. Why should he care about anyone else's wants or how his actions hurt them? You were the only one who made him truly fulfilled, to make him feel alive. The only one who deserves anything and everything good that comes from this world. Destiny is never done toying with him when he realizes your marriage is invalid because of your pulse and his lack thereof no matter how hard he'd try, but the opportunity arises. of course, he's ecstatic to give you an afterlife worth much more than what a silly beating heart can achieve. "All people die eventually. If you miss your living family or friends, all it takes is patience, darling. I'll wait by your side in the meantime." He weighs the pros and cons of everything, but when it comes to swaying manipulating your thoughts he only highlights the ones that'll get you on his side. in this case, the pros of dying to be with him! Honestly, the answer was so obvious that Noritoshi didn't know why he was stressing about it before. It hurts him to see you in any type of pain, but he reassures both himself and you that it'll only be for a moment. Afterward, he'll have the rest of your afterlives to make it up to you!! What happened to Till Death Do Us Part? Noritoshi thinks it's insulting that something as shallow as that could be so widely accepted. If your love were true, it wouldn't stop just because the world decided to take them away. "Till death do us part? Darling, don't be silly. 'Not even death will do us part' feels much better, doesn't it?" 

[bunnyreaper]

johnny has noticed you've been growing distant, so he asks ghost to help him out.

(18+/mdni, dubcon/noncon, toxic behaviour, manipulation, infidelity)

johnny wasn't sure the first time he noticed it, but recently something had changed. where before you used to react to his smothering with clinginess of your own, lately, you've started to withdraw. you squirm free from his tight hugs, make excuses not to have sex, you don't tell him how you're feeling anymore.

he knows he's losing you, knows you're slipping right out of his grasp and he doesn't know what to do to stop it. at first he tried to hold on stronger--would make more excuses to be around you, but it never worked.

ghost is at his wits end watching johnny climb the walls--with his actions growing more reckless, his temper flaring up so easily. its ghost who offers his help, expecting johnny to invite him out for a pint and a chat.

what johnny asks floors him, what floors ghost more is that he accepts.

it was almost too easy, johnny knew all your usernames, knew the communities you liked to frequent. ghost just slipped into one like he'd been there the whole time, an anonymous face following you and sharing your interests. a few comments here, some likes there--and you were so nice, so willing to make friends. it was easy for ghost, or his fake persona, to work his way into your dms and your confidence.

late nights texting until the early hours, all while you slipped further and further away from johnny.

ghost coaxed so many things out of you, cute selfies, stories about your life, conversations about your boyfriend.

and that whole time, ghost was your shoulder to cry on, ever so slightly pushing your boundaries at johnny's request, while you desperately try to stay loyal. he was always there to listen when you and johnny had a fight over god knows what, and he was always so balanced, trying to get you to see your boyfriends side, trying to get you to concede how your boyfriend was doing these things because he just cared so much.

your new friend confused the fuck out of you. on one hand, they seemed interested in you, some comments that could be misinterpreted as flirting, and they always gave their undivided attention, and yet they always played at being johnny's advocate. maybe you wanted to read too much into it, maybe you wanted them to want you because you wanted them--the distance between you and johnny having become too much.

you tried to flirt back, tried to get to know the stranger more, and he always gave you just enough to keep you hooked, but not enough to make you cross any real lines. johnny seemed to have long given up on making things work, having withdrawn himself. when the guilt and the loneliness overcomes you, you wonder how you can rebuild things with him, how you can back to where you were, but it all seems so futile.

you missed the way you used to feel with him, how certain you felt of everything--but these days none of it made sense anymore.

the breakdown comes swiftly, you're gently and unknowingly coaxed to it by your online friend, while johnny waits to sweep in and pick up all the pieces. you find yourself crying and begging for your new friend to meet you, to give you just a bit of light in such a confusing time.

he gives you the name of a hotel, a time and date, and a glimmer of hope for the first time in a long time. you find yourself slipping into a nice dress, some makeup--putting in effort so your new friend doesn't think you're a mess. that's what you tell yourself.

you're a nervous wreck as you make your way to the room number he gave, the door ajar when you arrive, coaxing you to step inside. this is it, the moment of no return, where you step away from johnny and step toward him.

imagine your surprise when you step into the room to see ghost waiting there, sitting on the bed.

"fuck, simon?! don't tell johnny, please." you beg and plead, panic coursing through you.

ghost just smirks behind his mask, leans back casually.

"don't tell johnny what, bonnie?" you feel his sickening touch on your skin, the feeling of him slipping behind you, you smell his familiar cologne. "tell me that you were coming here to get fucked by somebody that isn't me?"

he snarls, hand wrapping around your neck as you try to explain yourself.

"well ghost, she came here to get fucked. what d'ya say we give my girl what she really wanted?"

[matt-imagines-popcorn]

Being in a relationship with Disco Kid [Gender-Neutral! Reader]

Disco Kid has the most dating experience out of the whole Minor Circuit crew. But don't let that fool you, it's not by much. Sure he was decently popular in high school and able to charm his way into dates but they were all short lived. Often because their vibes didn't match up. Nowadays, while not on his mind as much, he does want a long term relationship and perhaps at some moments is a bit desperate to be in one.

When he gains a crush, oh boy he crushes hard. What's worse is that he unconsciously makes it the most obvious thing in the whole wide world. He can't help it, honestly! He just gets so excited about the person he just has to show it off otherwise his nerves will get the better of him and make him avoid his crush which is something he certainly doesn't want!

Signs of the disco maniac being undoubtedly in love are: PDA (or the closest he can get to that without making them feeling uncomfortable), focusing his singing/dancing around them, constantly talking about his day and asking about theirs,

On that note, Disco Kid is big on PDA - as mentioned previously, he's often seen dancing around/with his partner and twirling them around. The best way I can describe it is like that one couple at school who are always blocking the hallways and making smooching noises at each other. He's perhaps slightly better about it (And I do mean only slightly.). He does get teased about it by his brothers and fellow boxers but at the end of the day it doesn't really get to him.

Disco loves any and all kinds of affection - especially if he's on the receiving end of the lovings. It literally makes his whole day, hell his whole week! Like sure he just the shit knocked out of him to the moon and back but he got a smooch from his partner before the match! So really who's the real winner? Still not him technically but it's the thought that counts.

It wouldn't be long before Disco's mother forces him to invite you over for dinner. She can read him like an open book and even a sniff of a possible wedding gets her excited. His brothers would follow suit as well, teasing their baby brother and threatening to do so till the end of his days. It's most likely you'll meet up with Miss and Mister Disco real early in the relationship.

Oh he definitely has mixtapes named after you. Either filled with songs that remind him of you or ones he remembers you liking. He's too embarrassed to ever show you these and his soul will leave the very mortal plain if you ever found any of them. Regardless he listens to these mixtapes often - usually when he's a bit downer than normal and misses you terribly.

His ideal Date: Reader, Y/N, buddy, homie, you need to take another reread if you can't already guess but your lovely boy is going to take you out disco-ing the first chance he gets. Doesn't matter if you're any good at it or not he just wants to share his interests with you and he hopes you'll do the same with him!

I think a close second, if you're or he's too tired then he's down on just getting take out and talking about stuff while watching movies at home. Sure not the most romantic thing in the world but to him as long as you two are doing something together he considers it a win. 

I swear I'll do these for every boxer (at least every boxer in the Wii game) its just at the pace I'm writing its going to take five bloody years-

[ghs-imagines]

Calling them Baby Girl

Did anyone ask for this, no! But it was inside my brain anyways

Doc: He gets a little flustered but will more or less laugh it off. Might ask if it’s a new form of endearment that the youth have came up with. Will jokingly ask if you are Mac’s father figure now since he’s now just your baby girl.

Glass Joe: This man doesn’t know how to feel about it, on one hand it makes him blush almost as dark as his hair as you see him with such affection but on the other do you really see him as someone to protect? It should be him looking out for you and he will get stronger for you. It honestly depends on what mood he’s in when you call him that.

Von Kaiser: Hates it with every fibre of his being despite what his overly red face tells you. He’s fine with it in private just don’t call him that public he already gets mocked by children, he doesn’t need the rest of the guys to tease him as well.

Disco Kid: Loves it, lives for it even, will call you baby girl right back to your face coz you are just so cute! Like him. Disco is the king of giving fun nicknames to people so when you call him your baby girl it just brightens up his day.

King Hippo: Is fine with it, he doesn’t completely understand what it means but knows it’s a term of endearment.

Piston Hondo: Much like Von Kaiser he dislikes how much the name makes his face go red especially in public so please only call him such a name in private please.

Bear Hugger: Oh aren’t you such a little jokester, seriously this man is in tears laughing his butt off. Now that you have called him your bby girl he will in actual conversations with the other boxers refer to himself as a baby girl. He has absolutely no shame.

Great Tiger: Is mildly amused by the name and will tease you about it to his home and back, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get slightly flustered about it. Good thing he has his magical clones to distract you for a moment while he composes himself.

Don Flamenco: More or less accepts the pet name but please refrain from using it around the other boxers as there is so many other better pet names you could give him.

Aran Ryan: Oh it’s so on now you have opened the gates of chaos my friend be prepared for the most wild pet names to come out of this guy’s mouth. Yes he is your bby girl but you are his little meow meow honestly it’s gotten past the point of being cute pet names and into the realm of just trying to fluster the other, it’s very fun.

Soda Popinski: Another one that just laughs at the name, are you sure you are not the bby girl here? No it’s still him well ok then if that’s what you want. He honestly isn’t all that bothered by the name.

Bald Bull: You have signed a possible death sentence please tread carefully, honestly it depends on if the paparazzi are around or not. If they are then prepare to see a very angry bull (thankfully his anger is not directed at you, yet) if they aren’t around then he just gets mildly annoyed with it.

Super Macho Man: Another one that just accepts it as is because he has already been called every name in the book by his fans so this is nothing new to him. You might be able to get a light chuckle but that’s it.

Mr Sandman: Finds the pet name quite amusing because have you seen the size of him, it should be you that’s the bby girl but if you insist on it being him then he’ll accept it but not without a bit of light teasing first.

[itstobias149]

Little Red Seeds

I know the poll has only been up for a few minutes but I really wanted to share this with you guys! I tried not to use any gendered language so this could be for anyone! It’s just a cute little story, nothing too crazy! I hope you guys enjoy!

It is a fluff so don’t worry! I like keeping things pg here! Kinda just a slow burn.

The gym was quiet now, the usual hustle of sparring and shouting replaced by a calm that settled as the day wound down. The sounds of gloves hitting bags and sneakers scraping against the floor had given way to the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. Marie wiped her hands on the rag, standing by the counter where a small bowl of pomegranates sat. They were ripe, their deep red skin glistening in the light, the promise of sweet, juicy seeds hidden inside.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to bring little bits of her culture to the gym—whether it was homemade food, a stray song in Yiddish under her breath, or, like now, a simple offering from home. Pomegranates had always been a staple in her life, a symbol of renewal and resilience, both in her family’s history and in her own journey. It felt natural to share them, like offering a piece of herself without needing to explain.

She plucked one from the bowl, its weight familiar in her hands, and turned it over. The skin was firm, the edges rough, but the color was vibrant. She thought about her grandmother, the way she used to place pomegranates on the table at holidays, the symbol of fertility and hope that carried generations of stories. It was more than just a fruit to Marie—it was a connection to her past, to a time before the pressures of boxing and the grit of the gym.

Walking over to where you were finishing up, Marie hesitated for just a second. She had her moments of silence, moments where she let herself retreat inward, keeping her traditions close and private. But today was different. She was in the mood to share, to bridge that gap between her two worlds—the one she’d built in the gym and the one she carried from home.

“Here,” she said softly, holding out the pomegranate toward you, her fingers brushing the skin lightly. Her voice was almost quieter than usual, as if she were letting the gesture speak for itself. “I thought you might like one.”

She didn’t explain. There was no need. It wasn’t about the fruit itself; it was about what it represented. She knew you might not know that, but it didn’t matter. The simplicity of offering it was enough. It was about connection—offering something meaningful, something shared between her and the few people who knew her enough to appreciate these small, quiet things.

Her eyes met yours as you took the fruit from her hands. There was a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her face, like a secret that had just been passed. The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on her, though she didn’t speak of it. She never had to, not with you.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she said, her tone light, but there was something warmer there than usual. “Just… it’s from home.”

She watched you for a moment, not looking for a specific reaction, just observing. It was rare for her to share so much of herself without the walls she usually kept up. But with you, it was different. The usual walls of her personality—guarded, pragmatic, always in control—were a little more porous now.

There was something about the gym that felt like a second home to her, but in this quiet moment, with the pomegranate in your hands, it felt a little more like the place where she could breathe out her past and her future. Something as small as a fruit could mean so much, a reminder of what she had come from, what she wanted to give.

She stepped back slowly, her eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall. “I’ll get going soon,” she said casually, though there was a softness in her voice. “Just wanted to give you that. It’s funny, isn’t it? How something simple can hold so much.”

Marie gave you a nod, her lips pulling into a brief smile before she turned away. There was no pressure, no need for anything more. Just the quiet exchange of something real.

Marie lingered for a moment, her hands now resting at her sides. She watched you hold the pomegranate, turning it over in your hands. The rich red color almost seemed to glow under the gym’s lights. She had always found something deeply symbolic about the fruit—its hundreds of seeds, each one hidden beneath the tough skin, representing the many layers of herself, of her family, and of love in its truest form.

Her fingers twitched, like she could almost feel the act of peeling it. She shifted her weight, glancing down at her blue jumpsuit, suddenly aware of how simple the gesture seemed, but how heavy the words were. The gym was still, the low hum of the lights the only sound as she considered what to say next.

“You know,” she began, her voice quieter now, more contemplative, “I would peel a pomegranate for you.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure why she said it, but there was something in the way the fruit felt in her hand, the way she’d offered it, that made it seem right. It wasn’t just about the fruit itself, but what it represented. Peeling a pomegranate wasn’t something one did casually. It was intimate, careful—an act of attention, patience, and care. The person who would peel it for you, who would take the time to gently remove the skin and separate each seed, was the person who would handle your heart with the same precision and tenderness.

Marie’s gaze softened as she stepped closer, the weight of her words finding their place between them. “It’s a bit of an old tradition, but it means something. People say that how someone handles a pomegranate is how they’ll treat your heart.” She gave a small, almost wistful smile. “It’s not just about the fruit—it’s about taking the time, being gentle with something delicate. I guess that’s how I’d be with someone I cared about. I don’t rush through things.”

Her fingers ran over the edges of the pomegranate, her expression thoughtful. “It’s… not easy for me, you know. Letting people in. But if I cared about someone, I’d peel that fruit slowly. I’d take my time, make sure I didn’t crush the seeds, make sure each one is held gently. That’s how I’d be, with a person, too.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in her voice now, something she didn’t often show, but it was there, as real as the fruit she’d given you.

Marie took a deep breath, as if realizing the weight of what she’d just said. “It’s a weird thing to offer, maybe, but it’s just… how I think about things.”

She waited for a beat, unsure if you’d understand or if it even needed explaining. In her mind, peeling a pomegranate was the simplest way to explain the way she saw relationships: careful, deliberate, full of intention.

She finally met your gaze again, and the weight of the moment seemed to lift slightly. “I’d do it for you,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “If you wanted me to.”

Then, without another word, she took a step back, not expecting anything, but letting the gesture, and her words, settle where they may.

Marie smiled softly, her fingers still brushing against the smooth skin of the pomegranate, the quiet weight of her words lingering in the air. After a moment’s pause, she glanced over at you, as if making up her mind. “Hold on,” she said, her voice warm. She turned on her heel and walked toward her office, disappearing for a few moments. When she returned, she was holding a small bowl, the edges chipped but well-loved.

She set it down in front of you with a little grin, before carefully placing the pomegranate into the bowl, the skin now pressed between her palms. She gave you a small, playful look. “I wasn’t lying,” she said, her voice light but still carrying that undercurrent of sincerity. “If I said I’d peel it for you, I will.”

Taking a deep breath, Marie’s hands moved to the pomegranate, starting to peel back the tough skin, her fingers stained with juice as she worked. She was meticulous, using the tips of her fingers to gently pull away the layers, her eyes focused and calm. As she did, the rich red seeds inside were revealed, glistening like little jewels against the white flesh of the fruit. The juice stained her fingers, darkening the tips as she worked, but she didn’t seem to mind.

With each gentle movement, she seemed lost in her thoughts, as if the act itself was grounding her. She glanced up at you occasionally, making sure you weren’t just waiting for her to finish, but also understanding the gravity of the moment. There was something about peeling a pomegranate—it felt personal, intimate, like sharing a part of herself without needing to say anything more.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence as she carefully separated the seeds into the bowl, “pomegranates have been a symbol of love for centuries. Not just love in the sense that people think about it, but real, enduring love.” She paused for a moment, her fingers working on the fruit with steady care. “In my family, we always talked about how the seeds are like all the little parts of a relationship. Some are sweet, some are sour, but all of them are important. You can’t just ignore the hard parts and only keep the easy ones.”

Her voice softened as she continued, her eyes tracing the pomegranate’s vibrant seeds. “When someone peels a pomegranate for you, it’s more than just about the fruit. It’s about taking time for you, being gentle with you. It’s the same way you should treat love—carefully, with intention. Not rushing, not cutting corners.”

She looked up again, her expression thoughtful but steady. “It’s a way to show someone that you’re willing to put in the effort. It’s not about the quick fix, but about the long-lasting things, the patience, the understanding.”

Marie wiped her fingers on a nearby rag, the deep red stain spreading across the fabric as she finished peeling the last bits of skin away. She handed you the bowl with the seeds inside, the fruit now perfectly separated. Her fingers, though stained, seemed to hold a new kind of tenderness in the way she offered it.

“Love is a bit like this, I think,” she said quietly, the warmth in her voice undeniable. “It’s messy. It can stain your hands, but it’s worth it. If you really care about someone, you’ll sit there and peel it for them, even if it takes time.”

Her eyes met yours again, and for just a moment, her usual guarded demeanor melted away, leaving behind something softer, more vulnerable. “I guess that’s how I’d be, too. If I cared enough to do it. Slowly. With intention.”

With that, she let the moment settle, leaving the fruit between you as she took a step back, but her eyes stayed on you—waiting, quietly, without expectation.

Marie’s gaze lingered on the bowl, her fingers still lightly stained from the pomegranate juice. The quiet space between you felt filled with something more than just the fruit, more than just words. There was a certain calm in the air now, like the world outside had faded for a moment, and all that mattered was the small, simple gesture of sharing something meaningful.

She gave you a soft smile, one that was rare for her, but warm and genuine. “Well, there you go,” she said, her voice a little lighter now, as if the act of peeling the fruit had settled something within her as well. “A pomegranate. For you.”

Her eyes met yours as she gently pushed the bowl toward you, her fingers brushing against yours in the motion. “It’s… not much,” she added, though the softness in her voice betrayed the opposite. “But I hope it’s enough to show you that I care.”

Marie leaned back a little in her chair, watching you with a hint of a playful grin, the kind she only let out when she was comfortable, when she didn’t feel the need to hide behind her usual walls. “Take your time with it,” she teased, her tone light. “You’ve got all those seeds to savor.”

She paused, then shrugged slightly, her smile becoming even softer. “And if you ever want more… I’ll peel another one for you.” The offer hung in the air, casual but filled with quiet affection.

It was just a small thing, really—a simple act of peeling fruit—but for Marie, it was a quiet declaration. In the way she handled the pomegranate, the way she’d shared it with you, there was something bigger, something deeper. It was a way of telling you that she’d take the time for you, with patience and care, even in the quiet moments like this one.

As you took a seed from the bowl, she settled back into her seat, watching you with an easy, contented smile. The gym felt quieter now, the tick of the clock in the background the only sound as she let herself relax, knowing that this small exchange—this simple act—was enough for now.

[sixpennydame]

Part 2 of Punch Drunk Love in the works. Y’all ready for some smut with boxer!Choso? 😜

I’ve been trying to manifest @peachdues since she is a smut-writing goddess to me.

[desired-fantasy-writings]

Aran Ryan Relationship Headcanons

Request by?: Nobody Warnings: Slight mentions of NSFW at the end Readers Gender: Gender Neutral Fanfic Type: Headcanon Fanfic Genre: Fluff kinda, kinda not Word Count: 469

• Who would in their right mind date a man like Aran Ryan (who's a complete psychopath) who wouldn't stop at nothing to hurt anyone? Oh yea, that one person would be his S/O.

• Everyone they knew told them not to even dare try to befriend him, let alone get close to him by how dangerous of a man he is; even some of the other boxers think he's insane, but his S/O looked passed the facade. Still insane yes, but Aran has some humility in him.

• Lots and lots of head nuggies.

• Aran always has his arm around his S/O's shoulder or waist.

• Aran gets him and his S/O in trouble almost on a daily basis.

• A real aggressive lover outside and inside the sheets if you know what I mean- 

• People get the impression that Aran and his S/O are just best buds when really they're lovers. Aran doesn't really show lovey dovey affection like most couples would. Not to say he can't at all, but the way he does it is different.

• Making fun of his S/O, teasing them, pushing them a little, hard high-fives, grabbing his S/O's shoulder whilst shaking them, leaving hard nibbles wherever he can latch himself onto, and if he's feeling real comfortable he'll leave sloppy kisses on his S/O; those are just the few ways on how he shows his way of affection toward his S/O.

• Aran's favourite place to go for dates are the local bar obviously (definitely not because he wants to fight some blokes to impress his S/O), but also playing pool and darts with his S/O are his go to these days though. If Aran's feeling "real nice" that day he'd prefer staying at his or his S/O's place to watch movies (or, you know, he'll make out with them).  

• In my NSFW head canons for Aran I explained how he'd be hyper sexual asf, but I didn't clarify something quite important. It's only when he's real close to someone, someone he has full amount of trust and love for since he has trouble trusting others (explaining why he's aggressive in his mannerisms). 

• Trust me when I say Aran gets real comfortable, way too comfortable. Examples of real comfortable would be him walking around his place (or his S/O's) butt ass naked with not a care in the world, basically begging his S/O to touch him. 

• He's touched starved as fuck after all, help the poor lad.

• Aran acts all innocent til he has his moment to strike. He does what he does sometimes to see if his S/O takes the bait or not (and no surprise it does 👀). 

• Aran really softens up toward his S/O, like real soft. He's more hush hush, but he still acts like his usual self.