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oceantornadoo · 15 hours ago

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tw: evil ex wife stereotypes it’s for the plot trust

sorry this is unedited

captain price, divorcee and extreme dilf.

after a soul crushing mission, the safe house is silent as the team waits for morning exfil. you go outside for a breath of fresh air and find your captain, smoking a cigar and looking at a polaroid photo. “hey, cap.” he sends you a nod, then focuses back to the picture in his hand. you let him have this privacy, closing your eyes and breathing slow.

"smoke?" you open your eyes to his hand in front of you, offering a cigar. funny, how soap's been trying to nab one of cap's cigars for months and here he is, offering it to you. you take it silently, reminding yourself how to use it as you exhale slow. a minor cough eeks out, sending you both chuckling. he takes it back and switches hands, his photograph now on the side you share. his show of trust instills you with enough confidence to ask: "is that them?" two dark-haired little girls smile at you through the photograph, cheesy grins cloaking you with warmth. he hums affirmatively, callused thumb stroking the photo. "forced me t' buy a polaroid so they could model their new dresses." you bet he bought them that camera with a smile on his face. the wedding band tanline on his hand, stark when you met him two years ago, has faded completely like it was never there. "they've got you wrapped around their fingers." he nods, tucking the photo back in his vest to focus on his cigar. you both watch the smoke curl into the midnight air.

"open." you do obidiently, both pairs of eyes zeroed in on how close his hands are to your mouth. they brush your lips (not necessary if he'd adjusted his grip), staying there for a few seconds while you inhale and retreating when you exhale. something grows there, in the space between his body and yours. only once the smoke dissipates do you decide to get some sleep. "goodnight, cap." you back away towards the door, eyes on his. "goodnight, lieutenant." his eyes drop in alarm and that's when you see the red light of a sniper gun on your torso. everything goes to shit after that.

your hospital stay comes in flashes. your captain, haggard yet handsome, in that uncomfortable-looking chair next to your bed. a blink and there's two angels instead, bickering at the height of the hospital bed. "daddy said not to wake her!" the taller one argues. the younger one shakes her head, an echo of her father, and pets your limp hand. "daddy also said she has a boo-boo and t' kiss it better!" she kisses your hand with a restrained gentleness you wouldn't expect from a little kid. they keeping arguing, anchoring you to the land of the living for a few minutes. "alrigh' rascals, lets let her sleep. what do we say?" they turn to you with toothy smiles, like the picture, and whisper-yell "feel better!" before getting scooped up by their father.

later, time slipping through your fingers like sand, the doctor explains what happened in practiced words. shot to the torso, passed out because of shock and blood loss. simon haunts the space behind her like the ghost he is and you have to laugh at the gall of your fellow lieutenant. once you hear "a month of recovery," you give in to the weight of your eyelids.

a month later.

you knock at his door, then let yourself in. it’s something he lets you get away with, no one else.

price is grumbling into his phone and while usually you wouldn’t care, it seems oddly personal. you try to inch back out, but his sharp blue eyes catch yours before you can. “i told ya i’d need this today. gave you a two day warnin’.” he’s frowning at whatever the other person says (high pitched voice, definitely female). “christ, i’ll figure somethin’ out.” he hangs up before they can get another word in.

“everything ok? i can leave if you need some space?” you ask. he shakes his head, dragging a hand through his beard and readjusting his hat (stupid, why does he wear it indoors) before sitting down in his desk chair. “need t’ pick the girls up but this goddamn report is killin’ me.” it’s an intelligence focused night and while you finally broke through to one of your contacts, the creation of reports and communications with higher ups takes forever. your captain is especially chained to his desk, where his bosses could call at any moment and demand a redo.

"oh." you're not sure what the lines are here. not sure what to say to the loving father of two who sat vigil at your hosptial bed for a week. "their mom's at a dinner an' can't drive 'cause she drank a glass of wine." he bites out, almost to himself. "so her boyfriend can drop her home, but simply can't make a stop on the way to pick up the girls from after school care." you think back to the finished reports on your desk and the lack of plans you have.

"i could pick them up?" you tick the end up as a question, easier for him to deny. he does, of course. "can't ask tha' of you, lieutenant. not in y'r job description." you shrug, moving closer to his desk until you're practically sitting on it. "i'm not medically cleared to the field yet but i can still drive. it's not like i'm getting deployed in the next hour. and i'd be glad to do it." he's still unsure, staring at the laptop in front of him. "i've got to thank the angels that kissed my boo-boos." you break the tension with a laugh and when he looks up, there's a small smile under his beard. "you sure you're good t' drive?" you nod, rounding the table so you're a bit closer. he leans back a bit until his eyes meet yours. "passed the driving requirements last week. can't run out a burning building but i can handle pickup." he lifts his hips, tantalizing and strong, to fish out the keys in his pocket. "little one still needs the booster seat. easier f' ya t' take my car." this show of trust is worse, worming its way into your heart.

he texts you the address and says he'll call them ahead of time since you're not on the list. before you leave, price fishes out a sweatshirt from somewhere under his desk. "so ya don't look like a soldier." you're wearing standard olive green wear, t-shirt and camo pants. the sweatshirt (black, has 'price' on the back, smells like him) dulls the look into something almost publicly acceptable. "i'll keep you updated, cap." you're almost out the door when he says it. "thank you, lieutenant."

"hello, lovelies." you squat to get on their level, noting how they're holding hands tightly. "i'm a friend of your daddy. he sent me to take you to your mum." the older one squints at you with suspicion. "are you the lady from the hosp- hosp- hospital?" you nod, telling them your name. "i'm all better now thanks to you two. your kisses really worked." that causes them both to blush, inching towards you. the aftercare supervisor nudges them forward, thanking you with a grateful smile when they finally get towards the car. the fact that it's their father's calms them, settling in easy to their seats as the older one shouts unhelpful instructions as to how to buckle the car seat. you text price an update, then head towards their mother's.

when you get there, though, something's off. john picks up on the first ring. "everything ok?" he pants, hard. "yeah, the girls are fine. i'm at their mom's but i don't think anyone's home? the lights are off." he barks out a curse, and shamefully, it sends a spark straight to your core. "if it's ok, i could take them to get dinner? maybe pizza and ice cream since they had a long day? they only had a snack at the after program." he sighs and you can practically see him nodding in agreement.

"yeah, love. get some food in them, their mom should be home in an hour." love. spoken warmly and fluidly, like it was meant to be there. you bid him goodbye and take a deep breath, locking yourself into babysitter mode with no thoughts of their father. "who wants ice cream?" you ask, and smile when they scream.

an hour later, you get back to the house with two sugared-up littles. for all the grief their mom has caused john, you don't particularly care. the lady herself is standing on driveway, arms crossed with a frown. when you let the girls out, they hug-attack their mother, and she earns a few points back with her whispered "hello, my darlings. go wash up, mummy will be in soon."

you're closing the doors when she appears next to you. "so you're john's girlfriend." you frown, shaking your head. "no ma'am, i'm one of his lieutenants." the determined expression on her face doesn't change. "exactly, you're the lieutenant." and then she says your name like it's been memorized, even though you didn't offer it to her. all you can do is nod numbly and make an excuse to get back to base, ruminating on her words the whole time.

back in price's office, it's like deja vu with how tired he looks. this time, he greets you at the door, only a singular lamp on in the background. "hi cap-" the words get cut off when you're pulled into a bone crushing hug. it takes you a second to readjust: his hands around your waist, head tucked into the cruck of your neck.

slowly, your own hands wrap around his neck, pulling him in deeper. your fingers thread through his hair, cringing when they knock off his hat. he doesn't seem to care, squeezing you tight before pulling back. "thank you." he murmurs, hands still on your waist. your own drop to your sides, floating. "you told her i'm your girlfriend?" you eek out, unable to hold it back. his relieved expression drops, hands unsure at your waist. "i- she asked who the girls were visitin' at the hospital. was easier that way." your face drops at his response. john has an opposite reaction, stepping closer with a rough grip to your hip.

"you wanted another answer?" there's nowhere to go under the force of his stare. "maybe." is what you finally spit out. bravely, your hand finds the rough hair of his beard, exploring. it's as simple as a yes.

his kiss is possessive and bruising, pushing you against the door. your other hand tangles in his hair, pulling him in further. one of your legs wraps around his waist and with some encouragement, he gets you to surrender your position fully, your legs in his hands. "christ, ya taste like sherbert." you giggle, folding yourself further into him. "it was, oh fuck." he licks a stripe up your neck before kissing your jaw. "it was mango." he hums appreciatively.

“such a good wife f’ me.” you freeze, pulling back. “i’m not your wife, john.” yet here you are, his face in your hands like it’s yours to hold. “my hoodie.” he kisses your forehead. “pickin’ up my girls.” your cheek. “usin’ my money.” the credit card you found in the hoodie pocket. he shakes you out of your reverie with a nip to the neck.

“tha’s wha’ i thought.” he murmurs when you don’t argue back. you shut him up with a kiss. “i can see why you got divorced, cave man.” and all he does is laugh, moving to set you down on his office table.

john tugs off your layers one by one until you’re in your bra, legs spread on his office. “john.” he hums, fingers exploring the lines of your bra. “can we talk?” he stops suddenly, eyes on yours. the force of it is too much, making you meek and weak-willed. “so…you like me?” he nods, tracing the lines of your skin until he gets to the wound, healing on your torso. “felt like i died too when ya got shot. right in front of me an’ i couldn’t protect you.” you shake your head, pulling him in by the belt buckle until he’s between your legs. “it wasn’t your fault. we cleared the area best we could.” he kisses the scar, soft and sweet. “let me make it up to you?” you nod.

john pulls down a cup of your bra, laving at your tit like he’s trying to draw milk. “right, love. lay back f’ me.” and like always, you do.

i wrote this in between classes and it’s unedited. perhaps will come back to edit. anyways.

#price #cod 141 #i wrote this in class #price call of duty #captain john price #price is right #price cod #john price #captain price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #tornadothoughts

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astrologydray · 2 days ago

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Moon through the degrees

The Moon represents your emotions, intuition, subconscious patterns, and how you seek comfort and security. The specific degree of the Moon in your birth chart fine-tunes your emotional expression, sensitivity, and how you process feelings.

0° Moon – The Pure Emotional Self

• Extremely instinctive and emotionally raw.

• Feels deeply but may struggle to regulate emotions.

• Highly intuitive but needs grounding.

1° Moon – The Emotional Pioneer

• Quick emotional responses, bold in expressing feelings.

• Seeks independence in emotional matters.

• Can be impulsive in personal relationships.

2° Moon – The Emotional Stabilizer

• Strong need for security and emotional grounding.

• Loyal and committed in relationships.

• Can be resistant to change in emotional matters.

3° Moon – The Expressive Heart

• Openly shares emotions and enjoys deep conversations.

• Communicates feelings with ease.

• Needs to avoid exaggerating emotions.

4° Moon – The Protective Nurturer

• Emotionally defensive and values home/family deeply.

• Creates strong emotional boundaries.

• Can struggle with letting go of the past.

5° Moon – The Passionate Dreamer

• Emotionally intense and deeply connected to creativity.

• Seeks thrilling emotional experiences.

• Can be dramatic in expressing feelings.

6° Moon – The Sensitive Empath

• Deeply attuned to others’ emotions.

• Highly intuitive but needs to set emotional boundaries.

• Can absorb negative energy from surroundings.

7° Moon – The Spiritual Mystic

• Feels guided by intuition and higher wisdom.

• May have prophetic dreams or psychic abilities.

• Needs to balance spiritual emotions with reality.

8° Moon – The Powerful Feelings

• Emotionally resilient and determined.

• Strong emotional control, but can suppress feelings.

• Can be magnetic and influential.

9° Moon – The Free-Spirited Soul

• Emotionally adventurous and open-minded.

• Seeks new emotional experiences.

• Needs to balance emotional freedom with commitment.

10° Moon – The Devoted Caregiver

• Emotionally dedicated to family and loved ones.

• Takes responsibility for others’ well-being.

• Needs to prioritize self-care.

11° Moon – The Independent Heart

• Values emotional independence and freedom.

• Unique approach to emotions, doesn’t conform.

• Can struggle with emotional detachment.

12° Moon – The Dreamy Idealist

• Emotionally romantic and imaginative.

• Strong connection to fantasy and creativity.

• Needs to stay grounded in reality.

13° Moon – The Transformational Soul

• Experiences deep emotional changes in life.

• Intense emotions that lead to personal growth.

• Can struggle with emotional control.

14° Moon – The Magnetic Charmer

• Emotionally expressive and charismatic.

• Attracts people with their emotional energy.

• Needs to ensure authenticity in emotions.

15° Moon – The Balanced Emotion

• Strives for emotional harmony.

• Can see both sides of emotional situations.

• Needs to trust their own feelings more.

16° Moon – The Purpose-Driven Soul

• Feels called to fulfill a higher emotional purpose.

• Can be deeply devoted to a cause or mission.

• Needs to balance work with personal emotions.

17° Moon – The Fierce Protector

• Extremely loyal and defensive of loved ones.

• Can be territorial in relationships.

• Needs to balance possessiveness with trust.

18° Moon – The Thoughtful Observer

• Emotionally reflective and deep thinker.

• May struggle with expressing emotions outwardly.

• Needs to share feelings instead of bottling them up.

19° Moon – The Emotional Risk-Taker

• Seeks excitement and variety in emotional life.

• Can be impulsive in relationships.

• Needs emotional grounding.

20° Moon – The Dedicated Worker

• Emotionally invested in career or responsibilities.

• Finds comfort in productivity and structure.

• Needs to make time for emotional self-care.

21° Moon – The Creative Dreamer

• Emotionally expressive through art, music, or writing.

• Feels deeply connected to beauty and aesthetics.

• Needs to find a stable emotional outlet.

22° Moon – The Master Strategist

• Emotionally intelligent and calculated.

• Prefers thinking before reacting emotionally.

• Can struggle with showing vulnerability.

23° Moon – The Confident Heart

• Strong emotional presence and self-assurance.

• Can inspire others with their emotional strength.

• Needs to remain humble and open to emotional growth.

24° Moon – The Passionate Soul

• Feels emotions intensely and deeply.

• Puts heart and soul into relationships.

• Needs to manage emotional highs and lows.

25° Moon – The Loyal Defender

• Protects and stands up for loved ones.

• Can be emotionally possessive or defensive.

• Needs to allow others emotional freedom.

26° Moon – The Hidden Depths

• Keeps emotions private and deeply personal.

• May not express feelings outwardly but feels deeply.

• Needs to trust others with their emotional truth.

27° Moon – The Dreamer in Action

• Emotionally motivated by ideals and visions.

• Can be deeply spiritual or philosophical.

• Needs to balance imagination with practical action.

28° Moon – The Worldly Explorer

• Emotionally drawn to different cultures and perspectives.

• Open-minded and enjoys emotional variety.

• Needs a stable foundation amidst change.

29° Moon – The Karmic Soul

• Carries deep emotional wisdom from past lifetimes.

• May feel emotionally intense or burdened with lessons.

• Needs to master emotions before stepping into their full power.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology degrees #decans

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rizzanon · 3 days ago

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Stitches and Sarcasm

a jason todd and batsis! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: you’re stitching your brother up whilst trying to reconnect with him | events align with post-UTRH if you squint (like a few days later)

Jason Todd’s apartment was the kind of place that reeked of solitude. The dim light from a single flickering bulb casting long, warped shapes across the cracked walls. It smelled like gunpowder, whiskey, and something metallic, like dried blood. The place was barely lived in—no personal touches, no warmth. Just a temporary graveyard for a man who didn’t know how to stay dead.

He felt the moment something was off. A presence, silent and waiting. Someone watching.

His fingers curled around the grip of his gun before his brain even caught up with his instincts. Smooth, practiced, deadly. The weapon was out of the holster and pointed at the darkened corner of his apartment before he even registered the shape standing there.

“Y’know,” he drawled, voice rough from exhaustion, “if you’re gonna break into my place, you should at least try not to breathe so damn loud.”

Jason didn’t expect an answer. He expected a threat.

But instead, you stepped out of the shadows.

His grip tightened on the gun before his brain caught up—before recognition slammed into him like a bullet to the gut. His arms tensed, but he didn’t lower the weapon. Not yet. His stomach twisted, a strange, uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t place.

It was you.

He should’ve known. Should’ve realized the second he stepped inside, should’ve felt it in his bones. But he’d spent so many years trying to forget you, trying to let go of that part of himself, that he barely knew what it felt like to have you near anymore.

Still, his first instinct was to keep his guard up.

“Oh,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of anything remotely close to warmth. He finally lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. Just in case. “It’s you.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t react to the gun, didn’t react to the fact that he’d pointed it at you like you were a stranger.

Like you weren’t—like you hadn’t been—his family.

Jason felt something ugly coil in his chest.

You were studying him. He could feel it—the weight of your stare, the way your eyes darted over him, cataloging every little thing. The stiff way he carried himself, the limp he hadn’t been able to fully shake, the way his jacket sat unevenly on his shoulders. Jason hated that look. You were picking him apart, analyzing him the way you always had.

It made something bitter rise in his throat.

“How the hell did you find me?” His voice caught, the deep rasp unmistakable.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly. “It’s been years, Jason. You think I wouldn’t have picked up a thing or two from Bruce?”

A scoff. Dry. Unimpressed. “Cute. Real cute. Now answer the question.”

The gun stayed firmly aimed at your chest.

You sighed, tilting your head slightly. “Tracked your supply runs. You have a pattern, whether you realize it or not. You’re good, but not perfect.”

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Guess I got sloppy.”

The silence between you was heavy. Uncomfortable. Unforgiving.

You could feel Jason’s eyes raking over you, scrutinizing. He was studying you, just as much as you were studying him.

You were still looking at him like that—like you were trying to understand him, like you were trying to see through all the layers of armor and blood and anger to something that didn’t exist anymore.

It made his skin itch.

You took in everything—the way his jacket sat unevenly on his shoulders, the stiffness in his stance, the way he was favoring his right side just a little too much.

“You’re hurt,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them, and Jason felt something tighten in his chest.

He scoffed, shifting his weight slightly to take the pressure off his bad leg. “No, I’m not.”

“Jason—”

“I said, I’m fine,” he snapped, voice like a blade.

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did.

“Lying doesn’t work on me,” you said, meeting his stare head-on. “I know you.”

Jason hated that. Hated the way you said it like it was still true.

Because the person you’d known was dead.

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, you thought he might actually argue. But then he sighed, shaking his head, looking exhausted.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Why are you here?”

You hesitated. Jason caught it—the brief flicker of uncertainty in your expression before you pushed through it.

“I needed to see you.”

Jason let out a bitter chuckle. “Congratulations. You saw me. Now leave.”

He saw the way your shoulders tensed at that. The way you took a slow breath like you were forcing yourself to keep steady.

You still cared.

And that was dangerous.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Of course you’re not,” Jason muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

You took a step forward. “Let me help.”

Jason stiffened. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“Help?”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head.

“You’re kidding, right? Did you tell anyone where I am? Did you tell Bruce?”

“No!” you said quickly, taking another step forward. “I told no one. I turned off my tracker before coming here. It’s just me.”

Jason’s mouth twisted slightly, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment.

Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating. Jason tilted his head, as though trying to read your expression, but you knew he couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t read his anymore.

“You’re bleeding, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “That’s nothing new.”

“Jason,” you said, voice softer this time. “Please.”

For a second—just a second—his expression cracked. Something raw and vulnerable flickered behind his eyes, something fragile and aching. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want you here, didn’t want the way his chest ached at the sound of your voice, at the way you looked at him like you still saw something worth saving.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered.

“And you shouldn’t be doing this,” you shot back.

“Doing what?”

“This,” you said, motioning around the dingy apartment. “All of this. What are you trying to prove?”

Jason let out a humorless laugh. “That Gotham doesn’t need a fucking coward. She needs someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty for justice.”

“This isn’t justice.”

His eyes darkened. “Then what the hell is it, huh? What do you call it?”

“Pain,” you whispered. “Self-destruction. A slow suicide with a gun instead of a noose”

Jason flinched. Just barely.

But you caught it.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Don’t,” he warned, voice dangerously low.

“You’re pushing everyone away,” you said, taking another step closer. “You’re pushing me away.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward again. “You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

Jason snaps his gun back up, his voice rising. “Don’t take another step unless you want a bullet in your chest.”

You froze, the hurt flashing across your face before you could mask it. “Jason…” you murmured, taking a slow, hesitant step.

“I’m serious,” he growled. “Go home.”

The two of you locked eyes, his steel gaze clashing with your own. His were hard, unrelenting, but there was a flicker of something else—hesitation, vulnerability, maybe even longing.

You exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Jason shot back. “It really is. You leave, you go back to your nice little world where everything makes sense, and I—”

He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

You frowned. “And you what?”

Jason’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

The silence stretched between you once more. Stretched too long. It was the kind of silence filled with things unsaid, the kind that felt like it carried the weight of every mistake, every moment of time lost between you.

Jason shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You should give up on me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“You should,” he muttered.

“But I shouldn’t, though.”

Jason bristles at that.

“I don’t need you,” he said, forcing the words out.

“You’re lying.”

Jason clenched his fists. “Am I?”

“You don’t believe that.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to you, something sharp in his eyes. “Don’t I?”

You didn’t back down.

You took another step forward, slow and careful, like you thought he might bolt. “At least let me stitch you up.”

Jason didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

But then, finally, he let out a slow, frustrated breath and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

It wasn’t an invitation.

It wasn’t acceptance.

But it was enough.

For now.

Jason refused to sit.

You could see it in the way his muscles tensed, in the way his stance shifted, like he was ready to bolt the second you let your guard down. But you weren’t giving him the chance.

“Sit down,” you said, voice steady.

Jason didn’t move. His gaze flickered to the door, then back to you. Weighing his options.

You shoved him—not hard, just enough to throw him off balance, to get him to land heavily onto his worn-out couch. He let out a sharp exhale, one hand instinctively going to his side, fingers pressing against the bleeding wound through his jacket.

You glanced at the couch, wrinkling your nose. “You need a new couch.”

Jason huffed out a dry laugh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric. “Yeah, I’ll add that to my to-do list. Right after ‘get shot’ and ‘bleed out on my own floor.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe try not to get shot in the first place.”

Jason scoffed but didn’t argue. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching like he was debating getting back up. You ignored it.

You crossed the room without another word, heading toward the kitchen. “Where’s your first aid kit?” you asked over your shoulder.

“Cabinet. Left of the sink,” Jason muttered, rubbing at the tension in his neck. He heard you hum in acknowledgment before you disappeared from his line of sight, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

And just like that, the weight of the night came crashing down on him.

His ribs ached, the sharp sting of broken skin screaming at him every time he moved. The fight had been messy—sloppy, even. He’d underestimated how many guys would be there, how deep into the pit of Gotham’s underbelly he’d wandered. It wasn’t just some back-alley arms deal; it was an entire trafficking operation. He hadn’t planned on taking them all out tonight, but when he saw the cages—saw the way the kids inside flinched at the mere sight of him—something inside of him snapped.

He had gone in reckless. Let the rage take control. Got sloppy.

One of the guys had landed a solid hit with a crowbar to his side. Jason gritted his teeth at the memory, his fingers unconsciously curling into fists at the phantom pain. A fucking crowbar.

Because of course it had to be a crowbar of all weapons.

It hadn’t been the finishing blow, though. The bullet graze along his abdomen had done that. It was shallow, but deep enough that it wouldn’t stop bleeding. He hadn’t planned on tending to it anytime soon—had figured it would scab over like all the others. Another wound on a body already covered in them.

But then you showed up.

He still wasn’t sure how you found him. The fact that you did sent something cold and sharp through his chest. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be looking for him.

How the hell did you even find him?

And why did it make something in his chest tighten?

Jason gritted his teeth, pressing his fingers into his temples.

It didn’t matter.

Pain was just part of the job.

What mattered was that the kids were safe.

That was the only thing that mattered.

But now you were here, forcing him to sit still, forcing him to acknowledge the damage, forcing him to—

Your footsteps echoed against the floor as you came back.

You reappeared in his peripheral vision, first aid kit in hand, and sat down beside him on the couch. The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, as you set the kit down and opened it.

Jason turned his head slightly, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You’d changed.

Older.

Tougher.

There was a sharpness to you now, something hardened and worn down. The way you carried yourself, the way your face held no trace of the wide-eyed kid who used to follow him around—it was like looking at a stranger.

And yet… it was still you.

Still the kid who used to cling to his side, still the kid who looked up to him like he was worth something, like he wasn’t just some street rat Bruce had picked up.

But you weren’t that kid anymore.

Just like he wasn’t your big brother anymore.

The realization made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

He had missed too much.

He had missed everything.

You started working in silence, peeling back his jacket, assessing the damage. Jason let out a quiet hiss as you pressed antiseptic to his wound, but he didn’t pull away. He just clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still.

Then, you spoke.

“How long are you planning on doing this?”

Jason’s gaze flicked up to yours, searching. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely at him. At the blood, the injuries, the bullet wound. “Running yourself into the ground like this. Taking on entire gangs by yourself. Going after people in ways Bruce wouldn’t.”

Jason scoffed. “So that’s what this is about. You’re here to play the morality police now?”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers pausing for a second before resuming their work. “That’s not what I said.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just pressed harder against his wound, making him grunt in pain.

“I’m here,” you said, voice tight, “because I care about you, Jason.”

His jaw locked.

You weren’t supposed to say that.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Well, don’t.”

You stilled for just a second, just long enough for him to notice. Then you continued cleaning his wound, voice tight. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

Jason let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I’m not the person you remember.”

Silence.

Then—

“No shit.”

Jason’s head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Then why the hell are you here?”

“Because I’m trying to understand you,” you shot back. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened to the Jason I knew.”

Jason let out a bitter laugh. “He’s dead.”

Your fingers faltered for just a second.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“Jay…”

Jason froze.

Everything inside him went still, his breath caught in his chest like a vice had closed around it.

Jay.

Not Jason. Not Todd.

Jay.

The name you used to call him when you were younger. When you still saw him as your big brother. When you still—

Jason’s mind spiraled back—years back—to late nights on rooftops, to laughter muffled beneath masks and walls, to whispered “be careful”s before patrols.

Back when you still trusted him.

Back when he still had you.

His throat went dry.

You must have realized it too because you tensed immediately, pulling your hands back, guilt flashing across your face.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence was deafening.

The word stung.

Don’t.

Don’t say sorry.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Jason stared at you, at the way your expression had closed off, at the way your fingers hovered uncertainly over his wound like you weren’t sure if you should keep going.

And for the first time in a long time, Jason didn’t know what to say.

His body had gone completely still, but his mind was spiraling, dragging him back to the past with vicious clarity.

“Jay, do you think I’ll ever be as good as you?”

“Jay, don’t go without me!”

“Jay, you promise you’ll come back, right?”

Your voice was younger in his memories, filled with something lighter, something innocent and naive. Something that hadn’t yet been shattered by reality.

Now, sitting beside him, stitching up his wounds, you looked like a ghost of that past. Same face, same eyes—but different. Hardened. Worn.

Unrecognizable.

Just like he was.

Jason swallowed thickly, forcing himself to breathe, to ground himself back in the present. Then, his voice came out rough, almost strained—

“Don’t… don’t say sorry.”

Another beat of silence.

You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he.

Neither of you looked at each other.

The weight of everything unspoken settled between you like a chasm neither of you could cross.

Jason shifted slightly, trying to ease the throbbing pain in his ribs. He should’ve said something else, should’ve changed the subject, but his head was still spinning, his chest still tight.

And then, after a long, suffocating pause—

“Who did this to you?”

Jason exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the couch. “Some asshole with a crowbar.”

Your body went rigid.

Your hands had stopped moving, still hovering near his wound, but your eyes weren’t on him. They were somewhere else—far away.

Jason let out a dry, humorless laugh at that. “Yeah. Ironic, right?”

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. “It’s not funny, Jason.”

“Never said it was.”

You looked at him then—really looked at him. And Jason saw something in your expression he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Because it looked like grief.

Like you were mourning someone who was still sitting right in front of you.

Jason turned away, staring at the floor. “I don’t need you to save me.”

“I know.” Your voice was soft. “But I still want to try.”

“You shouldn’t be playing nurse for me.”

You didn’t look up. “And you shouldn’t be doing… this. Any of this. What are you trying to get out of it, Jason?”

He scoffed, wincing slightly as you pressed the antiseptic to his wound. “Justice. Revenge. Call it whatever you want.”

“This isn’t justice,” you said quietly.

“Oh yeah? And what do you know about justice?” Jason snapped. “You’re still sitting pretty with Bruce, letting him call the shots. Letting the Joker live. Letting him get away with everything he’s done.”

“Bruce mourned you,” you said firmly. “He mourned for months. Years. We all did.”

Jason’s laugh was cold and bitter. “Sure he did. But not enough to do anything about it. Not enough to stop the Joker permanently.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands pausing mid-stitch. “He doesn’t kill, Jason. You know that.”

“And that’s why he’s weak,” Jason spat. “That’s why I had to step up and do what he couldn’t. What he wouldn’t.”

“He’s not weak,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “And neither am I. You think you’re the only one who’s suffered? We all lost you, Jason. I lost you. And now you’re back, but you’re not the same.”

Jason’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it. None of you do. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you snapped, your frustration boiling over. “I’m trying to understand you. I’m trying to be here for you, but you won’t let me!”

The room went silent, your harsh breaths the only sound. Jason looked away, his expression unreadable.

“Bruce still cares about you.”

Jason’s breath stilled for half a second.

You said it so softly, like you knew how he was going to react. Like you were already bracing for it.

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah?” His voice was rough, biting. “That why he threw a fucking Batarang at my throat?”

The silence that followed was immediate.

You froze.

Jason felt it—the way your hands had gone motionless against his skin, how your breath had caught ever so slightly.

And then he saw your face.

And fuck.

He knew that expression.

It had been burned into his brain since that night.

The night he’d come back, the night he’d stepped out of the shadows and made himself known to Bruce.

And to you.

He had expected anger, confusion, even disgust.

But the way you had looked at him—

Like you had been betrayed. Like he had ripped something apart inside you.

And now, that same look was back.

“…What?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Jason clenched his jaw.

Of course you didn��t know.

Of course Bruce had never told you.

His lips curled into a sneer before he could stop himself. “Of course you don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head. “All you ever see is this amazing man—Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s perfect hero, can do no wrong.”

Your brows furrowed, your eyes darkening. “That’s not—”

“He’s so good, right?” Jason continued, bitterness coating his words. “Loves all his kids equally, treats us all like we matter—”

“I know he’s not perfect, Jason.”

Jason stiffened.

You had cut him off this time.

And your voice—

It was sharp. Not with anger, but something deeper. Something more raw.

“None of us are,” you continued, voice lower now. “But he’s trying. He wants to—”

You stopped suddenly, exhaling hard through your nose as you dropped your gaze, your hands curling into fists.

Jason stared at you.

Scrutinized the tension in your shoulders, the clench of your jaw.

You were frustrated. But not at him.

At yourself.

For not knowing what to say.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

And then the overthinking started.

The overanalyzing, the picking apart every tiny movement, every breath, every twitch of your fingers.

Were you pitying him?

Were you angry at him?

Or—

Did you still see him as your brother?

Jason’s jaw tensed.

Finally, he muttered, “I don’t need you to be here for me. I don’t need anyone.”

“That’s not true,” you said softly.

Jason’s eyes flicked back to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his armor. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“You should give up on me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “You should. Everyone else has.”

“Well, I’m not everyone else, I’m your sister.”

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose.

He hated that word. Hated how easily it left your mouth. Like it still meant something.

Like it hadn’t been broken years ago.

But it did mean something.

His sister. You were his sister.

You still see him as your brother. Why?

“You shouldn’t have come.”

You didn’t even look at him. “You said that already.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

You finished the last stitch, cutting the thread with practiced ease before leaning back. “And I ignored it.”

Jason let out another bitter scoff, shaking his head. “Typical.”

You shot him a look. “You don’t get to talk about ‘typical.’”

Jason raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m not giving up on you, no matter how hard you try to push me away.”

Jason didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

You were still studying him, scrutinizing every movement, every flicker of emotion that passed through his face. He let you.

Because deep down, some part of him knew—he was doing the same to you.

And he hated what he saw.

Because all he could think about was how much you had changed.

How much he had missed.

You packed up the first aid kit and stood up, putting the kit back in its place. Still, before you left, you hesitated, your hand hovering for a fraction of a second before finally resting on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jason. Whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders tensed under your touch. It was barely a touch—gentle, fleeting—but Jason felt it..

He wasn’t used to this anymore. To the warmth. To the gentleness.

And then—just as quickly as it had come—it was gone.

You pulled away.

And the absence was visceral.

Jason clenched his jaw, an unfamiliar tightness creeping up his throat. He hated the way his body reacted to it—to the sudden cold where your hand had been.

It was stupid. He shouldn’t care.

But the second your warmth disappeared, something ugly curled in his chest, something hollow and raw and fucking unbearable.

His fingers twitched. A thought—brief and reckless—urged him to grab your wrist, to stop you from leaving just yet.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

As you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“You’re wasting your time.”

It came out quieter than he intended. More uncertain. More vulnerable.

Silence.

Thick. Stifling.

Jason hated silence.

Because silence left too much room for thinking. For remembering.

You hesitated. He could see it in the way your shoulders stiffened, in the slight pause before you finally glanced back at him.

Your eyes met his.

And fuck.

He should’ve looked away.

But he didn’t.

Because the way you were looking at him—soft, aching, certain—made something inside him twist violently.

Made even more memories resurface.

Like he was still your brother, still family, still someone worth standing beside—and it made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Maybe,” you said softly. “But you’re worth it.”

Jason sucked in a breath.

His throat felt tight. His chest felt tight.

And before he could stop himself, before he could shove the words down and bury them under every wall he had built, something broke through.

A quiet, fractured exhale.

He turned his head slightly, just enough that his hair shadowed his face. He didn’t want you to see. Didn’t want you to know what those words did to him.

Because you had said them so easily.

Like they were the simplest thing in the world.

Like you meant them.

And Jason—

Jason wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Because damn you.

Damn you for saying it like that—like it was the only truth in the world.

Like you actually believed it.

Like you still saw something in him worth holding on to.

He turned his head slightly, letting his hair fall forward to shadow his face, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Because if you kept looking at him like that—if you kept believing in him like that—

He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to push you away.

a part of me feels like i yapped too much with this lol 😭 but still, hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass | ask to be added <3

#batsis #batfamily #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batsisreader #jason todd x sister reader #jason todd #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd hurt/comfort #jason todd x reader #x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #rizzanon

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cherrybr4t · 2 days ago

Text

pretty boys bring you to heaven - jeon wonwoo (m)

CONTENT WARNINGS: biker bf!wonwoo, jealous wonwoo (hehe.), SMUT!, unprotected p in v, oral (f rec), praise 😇, marking up (f rec), creampie, slightly possessive wonu, overused trope but! dom!wonwoo, sub fem!reader, kitchen counter sex 😔

WC: 2k

A/N: hello..fulfilling my inner teen wattpad days with a cliche scenario & trope. but. hot jealous biker bf wonwoo. one for me pls. i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this 😔 (slightly inspired by real life events)

enjoy! <3

"sorry miss, excuse me... my friends and i were over there and we thought you were really pretty.. any chance we could get your digits?"

you were already freezing outside the izakaya restuarant, waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up. said boyfriend was about 10 minutes late from the arranged timing.

mustering up the kindest smile you could in that condition, you waved a hand politely, "no thank you, i have a boyfriend." with a curt nod, you shifted about 5 inches to the side.

expecting the guy to take his leave, he offered a cynical chuckle on that scornful face instead.

"come on, it's just your number, hm?" he inched closer, waving his phone in your face.

scoffing, you turned to him, "i'm telling you, i have a boyfriend and he's about to be here any minute now so if i were you, i would walk away,"

"well, i don't see that boyfriend of yours anywhere baby, how 'bout you stop lying—"

"turn around," your eyebrows raised at the familiar deep timbre. you gulped, knowing that you tried to give that poor guy a small warning.

"ah," the guy turned around, took one look over before shaking his head. "didn't peg you for a pretty boy kinda girl babe, oh, and pretty boy rides," he mocked after seeing the sleek black helmet wonwoo was clutching onto.

“yeah? this pretty boy right here s’bout to turn you extra pretty with this helmet right here if you don’t step away from his girlfriend,”

you looked at your boyfriend, sharp eyes daggering through the man, knowing that he meant every word. wonwoo was a rather mellow person, but when things came down to it, you’ve seen first hand how it’s never good to rub him off in the wrong way.

with the exception of yourself, of course. you could do no wrong in your simp of a boyfriend’s eyes.

you felt your insides churn at how he stepped in with such a sinister glare. lips threatening to break into a giddy smile as you were feeling so in love with your boyfriend at the moment, as well as satisfied at how the man is now avoiding his gaze, slowly backing off.

“got it dude, chill out. s’not like i can’t find another one of these bitches out there,”

something in wonwoo snapped and he lunged forward, grabbing onto the man’s shirt with his precious helmet now dropped on the pavement.

“what did you fucking say?”

you decided it was time to step in, not wanting to cause any ruckus — you just wanted the night to be over and done with and to head home, tucked in with your boyfriend.

“alright alright, wonwoo, it’s fine let it go, he’s not worth the trouble,” you tugged onto wonwoo’s shirt, hand reaching up to massage his nape, calming him down.

wonwoo’s muscles relaxed immediately at your touch, before turning over to look at you. taking a few moments before deciding to let go —which was for the better because you knew that guy stood no chance against your hapkido black belt man.

wonwoo pushed him towards the road before grabbing onto your hand, chuckling once he saw that you’ve already picked up the helmet. you shrugged, holding onto him tighter before dragging him towards his bike.

“i’m sorry baby, this wouldn’t have happened if i got here on time.. i swear the traffic lights just weren’t in my favour today,” wonwoo cupped your face gently in his hands, pecking you gently on your lips.

“stop, this isn’t your fault wonwoo.. there’re always gonna be pesky rats out and about, plus i still remember some moves you taught me,” you got into your fight stance, flailing your arms while making exaggerated ‘hah’s.

wonwoo let out a chortle, before patting down your head, “good girl, but… i can tell you’re slightly pissed, you’re calling me wonwoo and not baby,” he wraps his arms around you, lowering his face to rub his obvious pout in your face.

“gosh you’re such a baby, baby.” you kissed his pout to which he gladly welcomed and engulfed you into an open mouth kiss, tightening his grip on you.

“that’s more like it baby, now let’s go home, need to keep my pretty baby out of these dangerous streets,”

wonwoo has you up on the counter back home, between your legs as he kisses you so fervidly while his hands grip onto your waist tightly. you rake your fingers on his nape and across his scalp as you deepen the kiss, tongue entering to find his.

his deep rumble of groans as you run your nails through his scalp has you clenching and you let out a small whimper mid-kiss. he pulls apart and stares at you.

“my pretty baby, so fucking beautiful you got all these men thinking they’ve got a shot,” he groans as he peppers small kisses along your jawline.

“til they find out that you’re mine, hm? not a fucking chance,” he follows through, kissing his way down your neck, stopping at your sweet spot he knows all too well, and starts sucking lightly.

you let out a full fledged moan at this point, head tilting back – unable to control how your boyfriend makes you deranged just by a few kisses.

“wonwoo…” you whine.

“yes baby? needa mark you up all prettily so no one else dares to even make a move hm? all mine mine mine,” he goes down on the same spot, sucking harshly with a few bites before smoothing it over with his tongue. you squeak out in pleasure, loving how his tongue feels so strong yet so good against that bruised spot.

“i'm all yours baby, l-let them all know who i belong to,” you beg, wanting to feel his mouth all over your body, not wanting him to miss any spot.

wonwoo moves on to his next spot, sucking, biting and soothing. you feel so giddy, totally missing his hand creeping towards your core, until you feel him directly palming your cunt aggressively – and you realise just how soaked you are when you feel your panties stick to your cunt.

“fuuck baby, you’re soaking through your fucking pants fuck,” wonwoo pants, inner fire growing stronger seeing how you react to him marking you up. he hastily removes your pants and kicks them aside, licking his lips subtly at the sight of your drenched cunt through your thin panties.

“wo-baby, do something, please,” you grab at nothing desperately on the counter, needing him to do something to release the tension in your core that’s been growing – you feel the need to rub against air.

“yeah? whatever my pretty baby wants,” he starts rubbing on your clothed cunt, before pushing the destroyed fabric aside, fingers soaking in your juices as he plays with your folds.

his other hand grabs onto your jaw forcing you to look at him, “open up,” he whispers before taking his fingers out of your cunt to stuff them into your mouth. you moan at the taste of yourself, eyes fluttering shut.

“so fucking delicious aren’t you,”

he spreads your legs wider before ripping your panties off. getting onto his knees, he positions his face directly in front of your cunt before going in straight and kissing your growing bud.

“fuck fuck fuck,” you scream out as you feel him start to suckle on your swollen bud, before leaving kisses over your folds. he sticks his tongue out, teasing over them before going in through layers of your folds.

“wonwoo!” moaning out your boyfriends name with a cracked voice, you thrust your hips in his face, craving more.

“as always, fucking sweet and fucking delicious, god,” he moans into your cunt, looking like a starved man as he eats and laps at your cunt so ravenously.

he grabs onto your thighs, forcing them to stay apart as he continues diving deeper into your sweet cunt, that tall nose of his hitting the right spot, rubbing against your bundle of nerves at a consistent pace.

“w-wonwoo, i’m gonna cum, gonna cum, wanna cum c-can i,” you cry out, feeling the gates of your dam about to break open any time.

wonwoo looks up you, half-lidded and lustful gaze as he urges you, "cum baby, cum all over my face fuck, need you to,"

few seconds after, you grab onto wonwoo’s hair as you feel the last string break, feeling of numbness engulfing your whole as you feel all the tension pump out of you. pulling his locks as you release your juices, moaning out his name like a mantra as you came, and you feel like you've been to heaven and back.

wonwoo doesn’t stop, and continues drinking in all of you – every last drop of your release. you pushed his head away due to oversensitivity, and wonwoo stands up chuckling.

“you make the prettiest sounds when you cum for me baby, can you do it again for me?” wonwoo coos, and kisses your forehead, slowly removing the remaining articles of clothing between the both of you.

“only if i get to cum around your cock this time,” you shot back lazily, eyes still hazy and drunk on your previous orgasm, yet still greedy for wonwoo’s cock. always greedy for more of him.

“of course baby, gotta feed this pussy more of my cock and my cum to remind who it belongs to, hm?” he turns you around before bending you over the counter. you smirk, heart palpitating at being manhandled to one of your favourite positions.

wonwoo glides his hands down your spine, caressing your cheeks, playing with them before slapping his pink and bulging tip on them.

“perfect ass, perfect tits, perfect everything, my fucking perfect baby, you were made for me and only me,” wonwoo moans out, letting his tip drench in your juices along your folds.

“mm wonwoo, baby, put it in, please,” you wiggle your hips backwards, and after a few more slaps against your cunt, he finally slides his tip in, causing you to gasp and fall forward onto the counter more.

you feel your walls constrict and expand aggressively, trying to suck your boyfriends length in inch by inch desperately.

wonwoo has a hand wrapped around your waist as he slides his full length in, both of you releasing the airiest moan once feeling each other on every nerve ending.

wonwoo starts to find a rhythm, hips thrusting so deep in you feel his tip hitting your cervix so comfortably and so fully every thrust you can’t help but scream out every time his tip nudges against that spot.

“so fucking good, cunt was made for me baby, making me see stars and shit,” wonwoo rasps out, panting as he struggles to formulate a sentence without breaking into moans.

“nngh, it feels so good wonwoo, so big, s-so good,” you were mind-fucked. having his cock in you deduced your brain to having no thoughts but him. crying out for him with no other care in this world.

“my pretty baby, wanna see you cum for me again, need to feel you cum around my cock for me, can–ah fuck–can you do that for me?” with an arm around you playing with your tits, and another arm suddenly reaching towards your exposed and swollen bud, you feel all hairs stand and being the most stimulated you’ve ever been.

“argh! wonwoo.. fuck,” you wail out his name, feeling so close to that eureka moment once again as your boyfriend rubs sloppy yet tight circles around your clit.

“mm baby, its okay, just cum for me hm? come on, cum around your cock, cum for me, cum cum,”

with him voicing his encouragements right behind you, you feel your abdomen reach its tightest point, before you feel the tipping point pour over, letting the waves of ecstasy wash over you, trembling underneath your boyfriend. squeezing the life out of his cock, you hear him groan.

“good girl, fuck, so fucking good, gonna cum for you now baby,”

soon after your release, you feel wonwoo’s body lurch and fall atop yours as his cum fills you up to the brim, and you moan at the warm liquid blanketing your cunt and its walls.

wonwoo steps back to admire his cum dripping out of your swollen cunt for a good minute, before you whine out for him - needing your after-fuck hugs and kisses.

he obliges, but whispers as he nibbles on your ear lobe, "don't think i'm done with you yet baby, you've got a loooong night ahead of you,"

a/n: hit the reblog if you've enjoyed this my loves! thank you so much for reading <3 sending love and kisses to everyone!

#wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo headcanons #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo fics #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic

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princesssmars · 3 days ago

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so...we can all agree vi is an ass girl, right?

modern!au. 18+ content ahead. post contains lesbian sex and dry humping. inspired by this video from love and deepspace. i didnt know they got down like that. wc : 3.081.

she didn't show it often before, but lately violet could quickly become so achingly desperate for you.

she didn't show it often, but violet could become so achingly desperate.

at the start of your relationship, she tried to play off her need for you in a casual way, brushing it off as just being a very attentive girlfriend. you never had a problem with, always open and accepting of whatever little bits of attention she would give to you.

but then one day she slips, and she can feel your dynamic shift as soon as it happens.

she was away visiting her family for the holidays, body snugly tucked under the covers in her childhood bed as she held her phone above her face. the house was quiet, the air was cold, and she was having an internal battle with the reasonable part of her that told her to call it a night and drift off to sleep already...

and then there was the other side. the one that suddenly brings to her attention the steady heat that’s been building beneath her stomach after you sent the prettiest photo of you all dolled up in your parent’s guest bathroom. the one that made her bite her lip as she observed every inch of you through the screen before instantly liking the photo and sending back a flirty message. the one that now gravitated her fingers to calling your phone in the middle of the night and hoping and praying you’d pick up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you did.

"vi? are you alright?"

loaded question, she thinks to herself. in perfect health? of course. of sound mind? debatable, but for the most part yes. alright? no, definitely not at the moment.

"yeah, yeah, i’m alright princess. just wanted to talk to you."

"aww, you're such a sweetie. how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

and yes, she does appreciate and silently adore the sweet sentiment. but the sound of you cooing at her with just the tiniest hint of a rasp in your voice from tiredness only cements her fate, having to use all of the rational energy she has left to stop whimpering.

"tell me how your trips been. wanna hear your voice for a little longer."

"no problem. well im fine, everyone here is good. besides my aunt nat, she's still moody because no one allowed her in the kitchen again-"

you go on about your family and their shenanigans, and she cant help but quietly laugh along when you giggle about some of the stories and memories you've made. but the 'conversation' takes a turn when you start to talk about her.

"you know i miss you, right?"

she feels a subtle pang in her chest, half longing and half desire. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. rolled over in bed this morning and kept trying to find you till i realized where i was. it's weird not waking up with you."

she hums, hoping you cant hear her stuttered breaths through the receiver. she doesn't know why hearing about you subconsciously looking for her embrace is what does it for her, but she can only give a short response as one of her hands trails down into boxers.

"wish i could've been there with you, baby."

"mmm, me too. missed your warmth, swear you're like my own personal heater. wish you could be here with me now."

her breathing stops and her eyebrows raise. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. missed your hands, too."

fuck, fuck fuck fuck. she's taken off guard, mind racing at your words and tone and before she knows it she has two fingers stuffed inside of herself while she quietly whimpers for you to keep talking to her.

"fuck, just a little more baby, please, 'm so close-"

"aww, you're such a good girl for me, aren't you violet?"

she swears she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds when she cums, walls clenching around her fingers and eyes rolling back into her head as she reaches her peak while you talk her through it.

the next week when she picks you up from the airport she can see it, a glimmer in your eye and quick in your smile that wasn't there before. she tries to ignore it when she pulls you in for a long-awaited embrace but then she just gets so enveloped in your warmth, your smell, the feeling of your body pressed hers. she's only yanked out of her lovestruck stupor when you whisper a sly little comment in her ear about how long and tight she's been holding you.

"call me crazy but if i didnt know any better i'd say you're feeling a little desperate for me."

so the cats out of the bag. she's super attached to you, so what? it's not like you ever complained about it, instead constantly using her neediness to your advantage to get what you want from her. you'll likely never have to beg and convince her to get up from bed to change the thermostat again, only needing to graze your hand across her chest and press a lingering kiss to the space beneath her chin before she's leaping out of bed and speedwalking down the hall.

and don't even get her started on her libido. the both of you had an amazing sex life already, able to almost instinctually tell what brought the other the most mindblowing pleasure possible. but ever since that night, it's like her desire for you only increased tenfold, barely able to go a day without getting her hands on you or vice versa.

it only reached a head when you decided to truly test her limits.

she had taken up a later shift to help out loris who had a date, which meant by the time she returned home she was too tuckered out to have her way with you. but during times like these, she could always count on the early morning sun waking her up just in the rich window of time for morning sex. but when the light rays peek through her bedroom window and she uses her arm to pull you closer she finds you absent, your side of the bed cold.

after a brief search through the house, she opened her text messages just to find your sent a sweet text only an hour before she’d woken up to tell her your friends had invited you on a last minute girls day around the city the night before, and you didn’t want to wake her from her sleep since she seemed exhausted when she got home.

vi groans and falls back into the pillows, lousily texting you back a short message to tell you she loves you and hopes you have fun with your friends. she’ll be alright, she can go a few more hours without you near.

but only an hour later after she’s showered and eaten a quick breakfast she feels the ache start to build in her chest, eyes darting up to the clock on the wall and groaning when realizes just how long this day is going to feel.

everything she tries to do to keep her mind off of you fails miserably. doing chores? she's thinking back on the time when the both of you first split up household duties when you moved in together, feeling giddy at sharing something so menial with the girl she was enamored with. making herself a protein shake for the gym? now she's stuck in a daydream about all the times you've been in this kitchen together, sharing sweet baked goods and sweeter kisses as you settle into domestic bliss.

she has got to get out of the house.

jayce understood her problem as soon as she called inviting her down to the gym for a few hours to work off any ‘pent-up energy’ she’s currently... unable to get out in her preferred method.

it works for a while, the familiar smell of sweat and the slight ache in her muscles grounding her back into reality as she makes casual gym talk with jayce. she's just starting to feel like the absence of you is off of her mind when she hears your text notification on her phone, accidentally leaving her place as jayces spotter to open up her phone.

as soon as her brain registers that you’ve sent her pictures she makes up some lame excuse to get to the bathroom, tuning out her friend's groan of disapproval as she speed walks to the restrooms and locks herself in one of the stalls.

the first few messages are sweet, little selfies of you and your friends as you enjoy your day together as you get some sweet treats together at one of the malls concession stands. a lovesick smile involuntarily grows on her face, always happy to see you smiling and enjoying yourself with the people who care about you. but her eyes start to squint when you start to send pictures of you trying on various outfits from some of the outlet stores, posing demurely in front of the trying room mirrors.

but then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when suddenly shes getting photos of you in her vagina's favorite enemy - lingerie.

even before vi started acting so eager about your body, it wasn't hard for you to catch on to the fact that the woman was so clearly an ass girl. even on five hands, you wouldn't be able to count the number of times you’d caught her staring or sneaking small glances at your behind, not to mention how she thought she was being discreet about her affection for it with the numerous times she’d slap it when walking by you. she tried to laugh it off when you brought it up in conversation, assuring you that she loved each and every part of you and could never pick a favorite.

but now you were determined to really see how much she wanted you, using every dirty trick in the book you could think of. she feels her face get hot as she looks down at her phone, the image of you in lacy lingerie, back facing the mirror as the magenta fabric (nearly the same shade as her hair, jesus christ,) stretches across the swell of your ass and crisis crosses across your back.

her brain short circuits. before she can think about it she’s saving the pictures to her phone and calling you at the speed of light.

“hey, violet. how’s your day?”

“you are so… evil. amazing and beautiful and evil.”

your giggle rings through the receiver, melodic and teasing. “what's the problem? you don't like the set?”

“don’t even joke. when are you getting home?”

“mmm not till late, the girls wanted to go to a club tonight.”

“oh you’ve got to be kidding me-”

“do you want me to send you the address?”

vi hasn't been to a nightclub in months, at first harshly avoiding the hard party scene in favor of her sobriety before feeling no need to indulge in the party scene once her life became more stable, especially after she met you. but she never stopped you from going out and having fun with your friends, tagging along once in a blue moon to sip on a mocktail while she chatted up the bartender and stared at your ass while you danced.

tonight was an extremely necessary blue moon.

the air is hot, and the feel of her drink burns her throat as vi waits at the bar, blue eyes wide and aware as she stares at the club’s crowded entrance like it owes her money. the bartender asks if she’s alright, scared she’s waiting for someone to arrive to jump them before she assures them she’s fine. they slowly nod and get back to making drinks, nearly dropping a glass out of fright when she slams her glass on the bar and quickly makes her way over to you.

if she wasn't so laser-focused on finally getting her hands on you she might've been a little cocky at the fact that you look like you were about to salivate at the sight of her, knowing she made the right decision to wear the tight pants she knew you loved on her. in only a second she’s got her hands settled on your waist, not caring that your friends are laughing at her clear excitement over seeing you in your club outfit, a tiny dress so she can see the wide expanse of your legs, your arms, your shoulder - fuck, the straps of the pink bra aren’t even hidden by the strapless dress-

“wanna dance with me?” your voice is nothing short of flirtatious, and you already know your answer by the way you start to walk past her to the dance floor, already predicting how she follows you like she’s on a leash.

as the both of you grind and dance in the middle of the club every thought racing through vi’s head is centered on you, physically and mentally unable to focus on anything else when she finally has you so close again after what felt like years. she feels a familiar sense of euphoria when her palms glide up and down your waist, smirking to herself when she feels you shudder when her hands reach up to cup and discreetly squeeze your breasts. she’s feeling happy about finally starting to turn the tables back on you before you arch your back into her, your ass pressing into her as your hand reaches up to her head, nails dusting along her cheek before reaching into her hair and pulling.

it’s only to be expected that that’s her breaking point, dragging you through the dancing bodies and into the back of the building until she can find anywhere to get you alone, thanking any god that exists above that she finds an open storage closet and drags you inside, pressing you face first towards the door. a little voice in her head reminds her not to be too rough with you, but it’s quickly silenced when she sees just how much you crave it, how your back is yet again arching and your hands are clenching into fists from their places on the wooden door.

it's nice, to remember that you want her as much as she wants you.

in only a few seconds she’s given into it, pressing you further into the door by pressing her body against yours and grinding her crotch into the fat of your ass, eyes lidded and head dropping to rest on your shoulder from the rush of pleasure she feels below.

“vi, oh my god-” your voice is light and airy, every word almost choked out as you struggle to prevent yourself from moaning out and alerting every person in the bar about what the two of you were up to.

“i know, fuck, I know, baby. i just-” she cuts herself off with a groan when she lets her hand travel down your front and under your dress to your panties, face running hot when she feels just how wet you’ve gotten. she’s all but rushing to ruche up your dress, mind going fuzzy yet again at seeing the pink fabric covering your ass and how it feels under her when she begins humping you yet again.

“nngh, knew it. knew you were an ass girl.” you giggle.

“god, please stop talking-”

whatever snarky little comment you were going to make dies in your throat when her arm comes up and around your neck to hold your jaw, turning your head around and smashing her lips onto yours. you whimper and moan into her mouth, violet greedily eating the noises of your pleasure as she takes you up against the door.

you pull back for a few seconds to catch your breath, both of your eyes drifting to the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips together.

she can feel it, then. an almost electric charge that runs form her body into yours. you lean into her touch, arch into her further like you’re trying ot merge your bodies into one. when her other hand tightens around the pushed-up fabric of your dress and she gets that absolutely adorable scrunch between her eyebrows you know what she’s asking, and you gently nod your head.

and so she presses her lips back to yours, her crotch further into your ass, and rides you in the cramped nightclub storage closet. she's grateful that you seem to be enjoying it just as much as she is, her mind completely focused on getting closer and closer to her peak. she can feel it building quickly, a growing heat below her stomach reach to burst at any moment. all it takes is you, sucking on her tongue before mumbling muffled words into her mouth begging for her to finish against you. she cums with a stifled moan into your mouth, only amplified when she feels you shudder and go loose in the legs beneath her.

you’re both panting, sweaty, and tired as you stare at each other. it’s a comfortable silence as you help each other adjust - vi fixing your dress and you attempting to put her hair back in her signature style.

“so,” your voice lilts up as vi’s busy fixing her jacket, debating if she wants to take it off to cool down or not, knwoing she’ll probably just wrap it around your arms outside anyway. “you gonna admit it yet?”

she rolls her eyes, looking at you with an exasperated but fond look in her eyes that makes your stomach flip. “you just love being proven right, don’t you?”

“absolutely.”

“fine, you were right. are you happy?”

“very. now, let’s go home annnd maybe,” your fingers hook into the loops of her pants and tug her closer,”you can show me a little more just how much you need me, yeah?”

maybe, vi would show her neediness for you more often. just a little.

#shaboingboing #3k words...drabble right...#arcane #arcane x reader #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x reader smut #vi smut

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copper-16 · 1 day ago

Text

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias.

Resilient.

Warm-hearted.

Protective.

Optimistic.

Mysterious.

Grounded.

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air.

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t.

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors.

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking.

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break.

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers.

Everyone expects something of her.

Everyone wants a part of her.

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time.

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat.

It can’t be?

Could it be?

After all of this time?

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels.

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right.

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air.

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment.

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you.

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her fathers job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand.

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment.

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh.

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you.

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon.

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t.

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time.

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body.

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you.

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home.

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the caléndulas.

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia.

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her.

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion.

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football.

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea.

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity.

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime.

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye.

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help.

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it.

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail.

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football.

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief.

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are.

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out.

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways.

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus.

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part.

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls.

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage.

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be.

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back.

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face.

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend.

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this.

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends.

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face.

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees.

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.”

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened.

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together.

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life.

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else.

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it.

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch.

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you.

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess.

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices.

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.”

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were.

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you.

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger.

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth.

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment.

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way.

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow.

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own.

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment.

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow.

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer.

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself.

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you.

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly.

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future.

She loves football dearly.

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much.

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.”

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you.

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia.

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away.

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best.

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you.

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless.

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid.

She comes back home to you.

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you.

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too.

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend.

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it.

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks.

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before.

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time.

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment.

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. .

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace.

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school.

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense.

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication.

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice.

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer.

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint.

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch.

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here.

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her.

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more.

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters.

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for.

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for.

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek.

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you.

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide.

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously.

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot.

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand.

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed.

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation.

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands.

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?”

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise.

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen.

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time.

The first is that her father dies.

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest.

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy.

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend.

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room.

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now.

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone.

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable.

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing.

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her.

It always has been.

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time.

What is there to say?

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing.

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need.

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her.

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude.

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts.

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way.

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team.

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences.

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them.

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together.

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it.

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind.

At least, it had been a fool proof plan.

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face.

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house.

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say.

“I…I can’t come to Madrid with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said.

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly.

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless.

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly.

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder.

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on.

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–” Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her.

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat.

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you.

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.”

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple. You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you.

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it.

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself.

If it meant losing you, it had to be important.

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen.

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name.

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming.

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better.

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered.

Was it worth it?

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly.

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term.

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you.

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost.

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more.

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of.

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly.

But suddenly here you were.

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her.

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been.

“Hi…hi there,�� the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. .

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips.

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games.

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size.

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily?

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before.

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose.

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question.

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake.

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more.

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well.

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget.

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door.

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind.

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand.

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything.

She thought she would never see you again.

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense.

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering.

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were.

Was any of this even salvageable?

Did she want it to be?

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy.

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further.

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life.

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia.

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation.

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?”

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise.

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort.

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged.

Was her career worth losing this, losing you?

Had she lost you?

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes.

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say.

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion.

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek.

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently.

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.”

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you.

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card.

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand.

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle.

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried.

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk.

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind.

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

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