#and i want to finish it and feel proud of it

[tbaluver]

S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

[kbsd]

the legend of ron speirs

roland aimed his thompson gun he didn't say a word...

[f-imaginings]

I would like you to know that you are iconic.

“Knowing me knowing you” is one of the most gorgeous pieces of fiction I have ever had the please of reading. The beginning of the story is lovely, the middle is transcendent, and I cannot wait for the end. I truly cannot put into words how much that fanfiction has changed me- every character has their own likeness and personality, you write them all incredibly well and it feels like being immersed in a world beyond imagination. Whenever I first read the fic I was completely obsessed and I still am.

Some parts that stand out to me are 1) the lovingness in the beginning. They truly did care for each other beyond belief and the way that you wrote the toxic yet beautiful relationship has enraptured me in ways I didn’t think were possible. 2) The falling out portion was written with such utter skill that I am surprised anybody was able to do it so masterfully. And finally, the recent years. 3) everything with the pines kids and the family was done so well.

I am fond of the line “Stanford Filbrick Pines, my old flame” because it carries so much in the way that you wrote it. Simply replacing the word “pal” with flame in the sense that they once carried it for eachother… I cannot describe how much it itches my brain. The thought that they carried this relationship and all the loving and bitter feeling that came with it for so long, and then dropped it to leave in the past is a lovely form of description that you have hit in the head.

Then, the word count. It is rare that I see a fanfic over 200k words, so the fact that you have had this one going for so long and it’s just gotten better &better is immaculate. Not only that, but the feat of accurately chronicling Stanford’s life with Bill along with EVERY canon event is something that is unheard of. Your writing skill and the way in which you bend stories to your whim is compelling and intriguing in ways that I cannot describe, and I truly wish you the best as you finish this incredible piece of work.

Once more, thank you.

Literally me reading this gorgeous message ^^

You are amazing, you just came into my inbox and gave me these beautiful words that made my day just casually! You are amazing! Spectacular! Showstopping!! Thank you so much!

I'm so glad you enjoyed the fic! I feel like I say that a lot, but I mean it, that ppl can enjoy something thats been bringing me so much joy is all I ever wanted. Bill and Ford as a pairing is complicated, messy, conflicting and satisfying and I'm so happy that people have been enjoying the progression of that relationship with me as we now approach the story's end.

Writing this fanfic has been something that's been sustaining me for the past 8 years, and even when I had writers block after 2020 being able to get back to it last year and finish the story is all because of lovely people like you who take time out of their day to encourage me. Writing this story has made me so happy, and I'm glad it can do the same to the readers as well!

Because the fic is finishing soon (chapter 66 will be the last one) I feel oddly bittersweet about it, and I want to do it justice for everyone who has been waiting for weirdmageddon. Fingers crossed I'll make you laugh (probably make you cry) and bring it back around for the sequel Its The Best I Can Do when its all over!

[a-pute11as]

represent - leila ouahabi

word count - 1.5k | summary - leila finally gets her opportunity to play at wembley

MDNI 18 + - suggestive themes

you stood on the pitch as you watched your girlfriend on the sidelines, a proud smile tugging at your lips as you tried to stay composed. you knew how much this meant to her, playing at wembley was a big deal for any player, but for her, it was even more special. representing her country at a stadium like this after everything that had happened, it was everything. 

leading up to the match she had made you share every little detail of what a game day at wembley was like, from the layout of the players' entrance to the location of the away dressing room. her favourite story being when you’d retell of the day of the euros final, telling her how surreal it had been to represent your country in such an incredible game at a legendary stadium.

you caught her gaze, her bright red kit a reminder of the fact she was now your opposition. a quick smile flickering across her face before it disappeared as she focused back on the substitution that was taking place. 

the spanish fans in the away section erupted into cheers as she stepped onto the pitch, ready to do what she does best. you held back the overwhelming emotional effect the situation had on you as your eyes stayed on her, as you took in your girlfriend in her natural element before you were forced to forget about your sweet girl who loved her hair being played with and focus on the tall spanish defender who had a list of tricks that could take the ball from under your feet. 

the whistle restarted play as you immediately locked in, focused on putting another goal in the net. 

the rest of the game was a battle, every player was doing everything they could for the game to fall in their favor but with england holding the advantage, spain struggled to find their equaliser. even with a beautiful attempt on goal from leila, hannah was able to keep england in the lead. 

a corner was set up, knowing this could be your opportunity to try and get onto the scoresheet with just a few minutes left, you lined yourself up the best you could. but it wasn’t long until your girlfriend’s hands laid a distracting touch on your lower back, as you fought to stay in the zone it was difficult to ignore the familiar presence.

“ten cuidado, princesa” she murmured into your ear, her hand moving from your back to your waist as her hands gripped onto you for a second, an all too familiar sensation. (be careful, princess)

you used your shoulder to push her back lightly, putting only an inch of space between the two of you to keep the distractions at bay, “go away ouahabi” you teased, the slight smile on your lips denying you any form of seriousness. 

before she could respond something that was either sarcastic or incredibly inappropriate, the ball came flying in your direction, your foot tapping it just shy of the empty space as it met cata’s hands safely. 

soon enough the game was over, finishing at 1-0, jess park’s goal being the only difference. breathing a sigh of relief knowing you had held your own against some of the best players in the world. but playing against your girlfriend at this level? that was a different feeling. 

as people made their way around each team, your eyes searched for leila. as quickly as you could, you shook hands or hugged every player you came into contact with until the one you really wanted to see was in front of you. 

a smile instantly lit up both of your faces, your hands wrapping around her neck as hers wrapped tightly around your waist, your head instantly finding comfort in the crook of her neck. 

“you played so well amor” you commented, pulling away and looking up at her with a wide grin across your face. 

“me? no no carino, you played incredible!” poking her finger into your chest with a smile. 

pressing a few kisses onto her cheek, you remembered how you had just seen your girlfriend represent her country at wembley “i am so proud of you, you’ve achieved your dream”, you announced, holding her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly as if you were snapping her back into reality. 

her face softened at your words, “gracias princesa” her voice full of sincerity, “i’m so glad i was able to do it with you on the pitch with me”, then reaching out as pinching your cheeks as she spoke “even if you won”. 

saying a brief goodbye, you continued making your way around the pitch before joining your teammates in a group huddle. sarina gave her usual winning speech, celebrating the goal but highlighting where we needed to improve on the next camp. the team made their way around the stadium, thanking the fans that had supported you so loudly over the last 90 minutes.

standing talking to ona and lucy, you felt a familiar set of arms wrap around you from behind, followed by a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

“do we swap shirts now or later?” leila whispered seductively in your ear, you could practically feel the smirk that was plastered across her face as your cheeks flushed deep red. 

“you’re very brave saying that on a pitch in front of all these people”, turning in her arms so you were facing her, your hands resting on top of her shoulders, your eyebrow raised as you tried to maintain a serious expression.

“yes and?” she dismissed, “dámelo” she added, pulling on the hem of your shirt. `(give it to me)

rolling your eyes, you pulled away from her as you began taking off your t-shirt, your girlfriend making no move to take hers off too, “lei, take off yours too”.

“lo siento, me distraje” she said, flashing a sweet smile, but you knew she was more focused on seeing you semi-naked than actually swapping shirts. (sorry, i got distracted)

the two of you switched shirts, leila withholding her shirt above her head for a moment, allowing her some time to take in the sight of you, holding onto yours in her opposite hand. you did what you could, jumping a few times to try and reach it, which only spurred her on as she continued to hold it higher until she finally handed it over. 

you stayed on the pitch for slightly longer, having conversations with players your girlfriend had introduced you to as well as your teammates, before making your way back into the changing room alongside your teammates. 

completing your post match routine, you said your goodbyes before walking out to your girlfriend who had been waiting not so patiently for you. 

“oye finally! you always take so long” she said, rolling her eyes as she stood up, adjusting the watch on her wrist.

“sorry lei, had to take a winners shower” you replied with a cocky grin, earning a playful groan from her.

“ahhh so you must not want my reward for winning then?” she teased, tilting her head to the side daringly.

“wait no! i didn’t mean it like that” you half pleaded as you looked up at her with wide eyes. 

“it’s okay amor, i forgive you because you’re pretty, not because you’re english” she reasoned, patting your cheek gently.

your eyes widened at her cheeky response, thinking for a moment before you fired back “so you don’t want your reward for playing at wembley either then”.

she thought for a moment, before grabbing onto your arm “vamos, to your house!” she cheered, pointing in the direction of the exit before grabbing onto her suitcase in one hand and your arm still in the other.

you watched as she dropped your hand, charging into the direction she thought your car was in, standing for a moment as she surveyed the car park in front of her, you let her continue walking onwards to what she thought was your car before you decided to speak up. 

“leila” 

“si?” she turned around, now facing you, stood at the passenger door of some random person’s car. 

“my car is this way” nudging your head in the opposite direction, you could help but let out a slight laugh as she redirected herself in the actual direction of your car.

walking significantly faster, she stood next to your car with her hand on hip, as you laughed at her slightly frustrated face and sassy posture, “sé rápido, i want my reward”. (be quick)

“so impatient, my love” you shook your head and laughed as you made your way over, sitting in the drivers seat. 

you’d only been driving for a few minutes before leila’s hand had traced up your thigh, as you stopped at a red light, she reached over, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “you know we could pull over and you can have your reward now”.

you playfully hit her arm, pushing her away in the process as you laughed, “you really are so impatient”.

a/n - im 50/50 on whether i like this or not so feedback is always appreciated x

[kawhh]

Omg that temporary tattoo thing got me thinking about how in one tree hill when Hayley gets a 23 tattoo above her ass for Nate…

oh dark!quinn wouldn’t be able to think about anything else when he sees your reach up high for something and your shirt lifts up and he gets a peek of the 43 above your his ass.

He would ask you about it and when you wouldn’t admit it right away he would bend you over and he would fuck you from behind. You don’t get to finish because you lied but he cums over your back and swipes it across the 43 tattoo to further claim you, proper tattoo care be damned. Yeah that’s hot

My ask turn around time needs to be studied. There'll be a day when I catch up with them all and it doesn't take me a month lmao.

I gotta put One Tree Hill on my watch list now? I've always seen it talked about a lot but I've never actually seen any of it.

Warnings: Quinn losing his mind, nails sinking into skin, biting, blood mention, ripping clothes, rough fucking, cum play.

You'd done it as a cute little gesture. You adore him and you're oh so proud of him, it'd been the easiest tattoo choice of your life. You'd wanted it somewhere he'd be able to see on you, wanting it more for him than for you.

You hadn't fully considered the impact of it until it was etched into your skin, until the scratching had stopped. Flushing heavily in the car coming back from the studio. Embarrassed about how he'd react when he saw it, knowing it's permanent now.

Hadn't considered how he'd feel about the fact that you were a little undressed for the artist, laying there with their hands on your skin, touching above and around your ass.

Hadn't considered that it might make him more feral, you'd been high on the feeling of wanting to show him how proud of him you are.

You'd tucked your shirt into the back of your jeans as you walked into his apartment, needing more time to think of an excuse, a reason, before he saw it. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you for long.

It's a shame you'd immediately forgotten the plan, distracted by him asleep on the couch. Rushing around the kitchen to make him food ready for when he wakes up, worried about how exhausted he clearly was after practice. Guilty you weren't here for him when he got home.

Hadn't heard him stirring, hadn't heard him creep towards you, fixated on the little inch of your bare skin visible to his eyes as you reach up. The emotions battling for control in his eyes - the confusion, the savage need to claim you, to fuck you. The disbelief. His pupils fully dilated, his arms shaking.

You don't hear him kneeling behind you, needing to get a better look or he feels like he'll die. Your startled gasp as he reaches out to grab your hips, the way your cute little jump exposes even more of your skin.

The way his nails dig into your skin, his eyes wild, resting his forehead above the tattoo. Tensing up when you feel his hot breath against your skin, sending shocks up your spine.

"Sweetheart.. you gonna fucking explain?"

The way his nails dig in further when you don't answer, when you don't even offer an excuse. Just whimpers coming out of your mouth. Your gasp of pain when he bites around the tattoo, making a circle. A ring of bloody possession around his mark on you. You're even more his now. You can't go back from this. You've made this choice.

His veins burn with the need to be buried in your cunt. His nails no longer still - clawing into you, dragging them down your ass. Leaving a stinging trail that makes you hiss, softly crying out his name. Pleading for something. Needing something.

Your cries pushing him over the edge, rising to his feet, throwing you over his shoulder. He needs you now. Needs you bent over his fucking couch right now. Needs his cock in you. Needs to make a mess. Needs to stare at his mark on you when he rails you.

He's not gentle about throwing you on the couch, cradling your head from the harsh impact. He's not a savage after all.

He has no care for your clothes, viewing them as a barrier to what he needs and wants. Doesn't care to gently take them off you, doesn't care if he knows they're your favourite. These fucking jeans. They might make your ass look like a buffet but they're keeping him from your cute little cunt and it's illegal.

He doesn't need them fully off, just down enough. Yanking them down your thighs, restraining your legs with them around your knees. He has room. He'll make it work. Warming you up, pushing his aching head against the wet spot on your underwear, pushing the material into you, watching as you grip the couch and tremble. Lazy little thrusts, pushing it into you further, eyes narrowing on the tattoo.

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip as he rips your underwear, laughing as you squeak in protest at the slight burn.

Doesn't hesitate when he has a clear shot, sinking balls deep inside your cunt instantly, pushing his weight against you, forcing you to bend further over the couch, restraining you even further. Gripping your hip with one hand, resting his fingers against the tattoo, needing to physically feel it.

He's a machine fucking into you, slamming you further over the edge of the couch with every thrust, slamming you back down against him when you creep forward too far. Making you scream at the brutality.

Begging him to slow down, whining about all your adorable little choices. You're just making it worse. He wants you ruined. He wants you to make a mess, to be a mess.

Spanking your clit while he pulls out, teasing you, pretending that he's giving into your demands, before he's slamming back in even harder. Feeling your walls clench down on him, feeling your pussy sucking him back in. How it's desperate for him to be inside you, even if you're vocally protesting.

He's chanting, whispering to himself about how badly he needs to cum on every thrust, tossing his head back, losing himself in the feel of your cunt. You're his. You're marked. He can do this every day. Fuck, he can fuck you every day. He can stare at the mark and make you cum every single second of every single day.

Moaning as his speed picks up even further, no longer even focused on your reactions, just needing to cum. Needing to cum. He's gotta cum. Fuck, he's gotta cum. He's so close.

Forcing his head back up so he can watch the tattoo bounce on every thrust, feeling like it's taunting him, violently pulling you back and thrusting, giving it every single percentage of energy he has, shocks going down his spine, his thighs cramping with the strain.

He can't resist pulling out as he cums, drowning your back in his seed. Panting as it drips down your back, aided by gravity. How it covers the tattoo, his hips jerking like he's cum again, the sight making his brain break.

He's collapsing against your back fully, the hand on your hip spreading it over the tattoo, trying to rub it into your skin. To mark you further. Running his hands through the rest of the cum, reaching up to force it into your mouth.

He'll keep you both here for a while, too exhausted to lift off you.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR DIRTY HANDS ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; from the corner of a dim-lit host club, you catch the gaze of a handsome monk.

word count; 12k

contents; suguru geto/m!reader, cult leader!geto x host!reader (<- non-sorcerer), reader is described as considerably smaller than geto, the host club culture in this fic is kind of butchered / twisted to suit my own agenda i’m sorry :’3, friends with benefits, bittersweet hurt/comfort (emphasis on hurt), angst, open ended, very suggestive (constant sexual tension; vague dirty talk; very light nipple play; sex is alluded to and briefly shown both in passing and in present, though the descriptions are vague and no explicit terms are used. basically: sexuality and eroticism are present all throughout the fic, but actual smut is evaded.) reader has implied mental health + self-image issues, geto is in denial and repressed and kind of mean, you both refuse to admit what you really want and suffer more for it. heavy satosugu implications + switching povs. unrequited love (but not really.)

a/n; this is the closest any of u are getting to smut. from ari... this fic is not at all typical of me (both with the suggestive /borderline explicit tone, m!reader and a part of geto’s character i don’t often focus on) but still very much up my own alley of tastes and queer longing; i feel like i was born to write this fic …. in a way. and i’m proud of myself for finishing it!! hopefully it’ll make your heart ache in the most pleasant of ways <3 dedicating it to my lonely soulcrushed gays i hope you look at the sea tomorrow without wishing you could wade right in

spit it out, darling /

quietly exposing a double-layered facade /

so, that’s the kind of person you are.

everything you see before you — belongs to you alone.

golden lights, dim flickers of neon, an elysian field of artificial luminescense. music that thrums under your skin, beats along with your heart, crawls up your windpipe with erratic thump, thumps that have the hair on your nape standing on end. there's alcohol in your system, tobacco clouding your mind, a giddy smile on your face. bright lights, loud music, men's voices clouded in deceit. yes, all of this is yours.

every nerve in your skull dances along to the devil's waltz you're in. excitement, lust, pure adrenaline. sweet, so sweet, you could lap it up from the floor.

"why don't you sing us a song, sweetheart?"

you're tipsier than you should be, when you're still on the clock. you can barely recognize the voice, barely tell if it comes from the handsome bartender or your boss or one of the regulars — it doesn't matter, either. your lips grow into a grin.

"sure, sure."

it's a fever dream, a haze, stumbling up to the stage with blood pumping in your chest. your skin feels hot and cold at once, but it's a good feeling, fuzzy, your head stuffed full of cotton. bliss. your hair is tousled, your tie undone, adam's apple bobbing as you grab onto the mic — as your bleary eyes grow focused on the video screen up above. you feel like a beautiful mess, but your vocal cords remain intact.

the music stops, comes to a halt, changes tune. someone shuffled the playlist and now another song is playing. familiar, a heavy baseline, and —

you start to sing. it comes to you naturally, you scarcely need to look at the lyrics.

golden lights, grinning men, your own voice in your frazzled ears. it comes out with a rasp, quickly peeled away, stripped, silky vowels sifting from the base of your throat. you've yet to lose your touch, a sound so beautiful it stops belonging to you the moment it's left your lips. the world looks mesmerizing, when it's confined to a raunchy indoor sunset; your world. center stage, all eyes on you, greedy, lapping at your exposed skin, the smudges of lipstick on your neck. shining under dusty starlight.

everything feels so possible, from here.

this is — vaguely, partially, at the very least in spirit — why you do this. not for the back-alley rendezvous, rough hands pulling at your flesh, the blooming of hydrangeas on your injured skin. not for the alcohol, or the money. actually, you're lying to yourself, it's all of that combined — but this is where your heart lies.

this is where you spit it out for all to see.

their gazes feel good, on your neck, your chest, your waist and your hands. the attention is fuel. you feel like a spectacle, like someone else entirely, shedding skin, just for a couple minutes. you meet their stares, you're sure you're smiling, gleaming through the fog of it all. the chorus melts on your tongue, as your eyes glide through the lounge. all-seeing.

in the corner of the room, a lone shadow flickers.

(and the beating of your heart halts at a pitfall.)

you sing, despite the interruption. meeting the golden, shimmering gaze, catching his eye. the man is seated at a lone table, no host to entertain him. it's hard to see, from here, with the lights and the haze and the whiskey in your veins, but you can make out his figure — wide, clad in heavy garments — just the barest contours of his face. handsome, though, you can tell, can see it in his gaze and the way he's sitting, comfortable and poised. elegant. a beautiful, beautiful jawline.

lowlidded eyes staring deeply into yours.

the song continues, lyrics rolling off your breath, perfectly timed with your overlapping gazes. for just a moment, something sinks its jaws into you.

darling, vague complaints and fridays

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

you think you catch the hint of a smile, on that shadowed face. the lonesome man raises his glass, brings it to his lips. you hope he’s drinking you in just the same, gulping you down, devouring you.

the moment splits in half. another gaze, another man. you're content, to perform for as long as your lungs will allow — until you hear the first clap of hands after a job well done. when it comes, you can only pant into the mic, savour the strain on your throat. the room is spinning. you think you need to sit down, for a while. everything feels like a blur.

"aghh, my shoulder is killing me…"

slim, pretty hands pass you a glass of water, cool against your heated fingertips. you accept it, swirl it around for a moment, just to hear the satisfying clink of ice cubes colliding. slumped against the headrest of a leather sofa, maroon, blinking sluggishly as if to rouse your mind into a working state.

"shouldn't have tuckered yourself out so early. the night is still young."

"i know, i know," you hiss, digging the heel of your palm into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. it stings, like someone pressed the butt of a cigarette against your naked skin. when you tilt your head back, a thank you on your tongue, the host is already gone, off to entertain a guest. you're pretty sure someone just asked for a champagne bottle to pop. ah, the noise is bound to grate you…

a raspy sigh pushes past your lips, as you empty the glass with one big gulp.

"what a beautiful voice you have."

a different voice. not one of the hosts. when you look up, still keeping the rim of the glass against your lips — you see a sliver of gold.

for a moment, you wonder if it's…

— nope. it's a tooth.

a big, bulky man, clad in a sleazy red suit, lips curled into a similar grin. your eyes glide across his features, tallying the damage; blonde hair, fat biceps, chest hair exposed… a big nose, that's not bad. the gold tooth is certainly a choice. you wonder if he's going for dirty rich, or classy poor. you're half tempted to ask what bank he co-owns with his father.

instead, you smile.

"ah, you flatter me." the glass clinks when you put it down, scooting over to make space, not-so-subtly. you tilt your head, angle your body until you feel the fabric of your undone blouse start to slip down your shoulder. his eyes drink it in, a moth to a flame. "are you here to spend time with me, mister…?”

a part of you wants to laugh, at how successful the pure, youthful flower schtick is to men like him. it's how you make money, though — you lie successfully.

and he takes the bait. "i think i just might be, yes,” he plops down next to you, legs comfortably spread — his elbows finding purchase on the headrest.

"i'll have to make it worth your while, then, won't i?"

a rumbling chuckle. the man fishes a cigar from out of his pocket, hands you the lighter and waits. you need no instruction, leaning forward, flicking your fingers against it until the bottom catches ablaze. he puts it in his mouth, fat and thick, the scent almost overpowering. you've built up a resistance, but you still need a moment to exhale, withholding a cough. maybe that would appeal to him, though…

he keeps it between his lips, exhales through his nose before pulling away to speak. "well, i pay good money for your company. i'd say it's only fair."

a breathy chuckle. "that's true…"

there's a hunger to the way he looks at you. a kind of gaze you've learned to associate with filth, desire. he's still smiling, too wide, that golden tooth gleaming in between the yellowish-whites. smells of gin, underneath the tobacco, and something else. vodka? it's hard to tell. his size advantage is stark, when you're thigh to thigh like this — he looks like he could snap you like a twig. looks like he’d want to. one of his hands slithers around your hip, suddenly, squeezes the flesh and lingers just to feel you shudder. his grin widens when you can't withhold it.

(… ough, you lament. one of the brutes.)

with a muttered sigh, underneath your breath, your lips drag themselves up — it's voluntary, takes effort to push back the urge to run from his grip. a perfect smile, sweet and coy, still leaving much to the imagination. a hint of mystery, intrigue —

a glint in your eye.

no room for mistakes. your shoulder still aches, but it's bearable. you’re just about to part your lips, cozy up to him, say a pair of sultry, well-picked words, when —

”may i have him, for a moment?”

a smooth voice cuts in through the fog.

deep, velvety tones, rubbing against your ear drums. sweet and saccharine, honey dripping down your chin; it sends a shiver down your spine, heat to the back of your neck. he blooms in your mind before you even tilt your head to meet his dark gaze, sharp and low-lidded. you can picture him before you even see him. voices carry weight, they always do, but his is special. you haven't heard anything quite like it.

wine and tequila. oil and water.

two voices speaking, all at once.

a tall man is standing just before you, hands tucked into the long sleeves of his haori, gazing down at your touchy customer. it’s the strange, shadowy figure from before. up close, he looks more like a monk; a gojogesa wrapped around his abdomen.

you were right, of course.

he is handsome. 

with greed, you etch his features into your mind, lap it up. a sharp jaw, nose, well-defined cheekbones… obsidian eyes, with flecks of tinted gold, though you can hardly see them under these dim lights, with their narrow shape. pretty, pretty monolids, crescent moons. his hair is the real kicker, though, silky locks that flow down his back and shoulders, stop around his waist. looks like it’s been pampered, oiled and brushed, how lovely. one of his hands slip out, to dust off his sleeve, and fuuuck, they're —

— a grumble resounds to your left.  

”i have him for the next hour. you can piss off,” spits the wild boar next to you, abandoning your hip to curl possessively around your neck. and uh oh, that doesn’t feel too nice. would he get hissier if you pulled away? ”fuckin’ monk.”

catching tells is a skill that takes honing. observing, attention to detail, a reward for one’s attentiveness. you like to think you’re good, very good —

though you only barely catch the twitch of the monk’s left brow. the way his eyes coil into slits.

a hum buzzes in his throat. 

then he’s leaning forward, one big, beautiful hand coming to rest on your customer's shoulder, like he’s using him as a step stool. bending forward to look you in the eye. two abysses, gazing into you.

swirling gleefully.

his lips curl up into a sly smile. ”i’ll pay you double,” he whispers, for only you to hear. ”what do you say?”

for a moment, your breath stills in the back of your throat. that same halting of your heartbeat as before, enraptured by his gaze, hook line and sinker. because he’s close, you can nearly feel his body heat, almost pick up on his scent, warm and rich.

(and, well —)

”… sounds good.”

he rewards you with a smile. crescent-eyed.

”wonderful.”

(you’ve always been weak to a pretty face.)

the man on your left grows silent. stunned, you think, and — oops, he looks pissed. a booming voice spills out, the smoke from his cigar still fattening the air with toxins, making your eyes water. ”hah? that’s not how this works, you gold digging —”

”leave.”

a flick of his wrist. his robes sway, with the motion, like a curtain being drawn shut. the gesture itself is a command; elegant, there's no need for shouting. the way his voice drops says enough, exudes casual dominance, ripe as golden fruit on heavy branches.

a shiver, a phantom hand counting the vertebrae on your spine.

and, naturally — what you expect is a brawl. a very angry customer, one very injured customer, none of them a blessing upon your paycheck this month. casual dominance is sexy, sure, but not much else — it won't save you from a fist kissing your teeth. and, well, just going by the size of their arms alone —

… the man on your left stands up.

and leaves.

you watch, blinking owlishly as he heads for the exit, steps measured — controlled — as if guided by a puppet string. the thought makes your shoulder itch. the bell rings out, across the lounge, a pleasant chime. he's gone, he actually left. just like that.

one moment of silence, and then a breathy exhale.

"i hope you don't mind," comes a tender voice, softening, woven with silk. "but you seemed a little… uncomfortable."

the stranger takes the now empty seat, but keeps his distance, hands still tucked comfortably inside his sleeves. robes fluttering with the movement, spilling across the leather cushions and draping down to the floor. they look expensive, well made, not cheap cosplay or an elaborate joke — is he actually a monk? at a host club? sounds like the headline for a trashy porno. black hair frames his face, a single silky bang, and you can't even really call it odd because everything about him is already so out of place.

your mind spins with questions. but he's handsome, and he chased away what you're sure was the beginning of a really bad night —

a smile slips onto your lips, cheshire-esque. your eyes crinkled at the edges as you breathe out a chuckle. "no, not at all," you purr. "thank you, kind stranger."

smoothly, you cozy up to him, your thigh ghosting his own, hand about to curl around his bicep — just to feel his build, from under all those layers. he doesn't let you. doesn't say a word, but his brow twitches, a silent tell to back off.

so you do.

(maybe he's one of the look, don't touch types? some kind of power fantasy?)

you don't mind. smile still sweet, your expression doesn't falter. it's fine, this distance is tantalizing in its own right. like he's a painting on the wall, or a holy sculpture — something you'd get in trouble just for smudging with your fingerprint.

the handsome monk remains silent. watches as you fix your blouse, absently, it's in your nature to adjust to the whims of whoever you're servicing. a few buttons are undone, the fabric only covers one of your shoulders. exudes anything but elegance. your fingers curl around the fabric, ready to fish it back up.

that's when he speaks.

"do i not strike you as the promiscuous type?"

it's half a question, half a jest. there's a gleam in his eye when you meet it, something like a silverfish in a pool of dark water. an amused smile on his lips. his voice is light, and you can't help but mirror his expression — something slightly devilish.

"oh, are you?" you grin, tongue swiping against the back of your teeth, tasting the faded cocktails, a spark of syrupy flavours. "i'll leave it as is, then."

your fingers part with the soft linen, reaching instead for the empty glass on the table. putting it to your lips, sipping up what little has melted off the ice cubes, excess. then the clink, and you're turning towards him, smiling with a tilt of your head.

"what would you like to order, handsome?"

a quirk of his brow. "saké," comes his answer, flat.

"classy."

"is it, now?" he doesn't seem impressed. gazing at you with something familiar, but you can't pinpoint it. even though it's right at the tip of your tongue.

no matter, no matter. the sensations of this world have already tainted what remains of your common sense. "and can i get a name, with that order?" you ask, instead, raising yourself up into a standing position; ready to go grab his drink.

"geto," is all he says. smiling, but it's surface level; almost mocking. "just geto."

夏油. summer oil.

you think of autumn, bleeding sunsets. bottles of whiskey poured into a boy's waiting mouth.

(suddenly, you feel like weeping.)

"that'll do, that’ll do.” you give him a wink, before heading for the bar. before you know it, you're pouring the saké into his cup, the scent of fermented rice soothing the sting of tobacco still biting at the back of your throat. old and expensive, your nose picking up a roasted fragrance, fruity undertones.

geto didn't seem intimidated, by the price. you suppose he wasn't joking when he said he'd pay you double.

"how is it?" you ask, maintaining a distance while watching him drink. his eyes are closed, in what you hope is contentment, lips cupping the rim as he sips.

"… good," he hums, appreciatively, swirling the cup in a controlled motion, a gentle vortex. "no, not bad at all. i suppose money really does pay for service…"

another sip. your gaze drinks in his hands, practically dwarfing the cup, thick fingers keeping it safe and steady. would he hold your hips, like that? make sure you stay afloat? or would he drop you to the floor and watch you shatter…?

"are you really a monk, geto-kun?"

"san," he corrects, a cut of his tongue. he's smiling, though. it's hard to tell if he's genuinely bothered by the prefix. "and yes, i am. does that surprise you?"

"a little," you admit, pouring the beverage into your own cup. you watch it fill, swirl around and shimmer, letting out a humoured breath. "i mean, it's not often i get to service a holy man…"

a low noise, almost a snort. eyes of burning cedar flit to your face.

"mm, i see. your usual customers are more of the barbarish kind, are they?" he leans back, keeping eye contact, voice like the weights of a scale, judging. he tuts, quietly, a click of his tongue. "that's not good, you know. men like that don't know how to treat what's fragile."

"fragile?" you laugh, can't help it, teeth gleaming under dim lights.

"yes."

teasing words die on your tongue. something like, maybe i can take more than you think? but no, it's gone, sputtered out somewhere between your gums. because geto says it like he's talking about the weather.

like it's not a challenge; like there’s nothing to prove.

like it's fact.

(you're fragile. you'd break under pressure.)

"… if you say so. anyhow…" you lean forward, a pang of heat flashing against your nape when you catch his lips twitching upwards. "what temple?"

geto breathes out a chuckle, sweet saké on his tongue. "why?" he asks, raising a brow, hand coming to rest against your skin. you remain still, as he drags a thumb against the smudge of lipstick right below your throat. the sudden contact does something to you, makes you pliant, like a kitten being lifted by the scruff. "you don’t strike me as the devout kind. could it be you just want to see me hard at work?"

dark eyes crinkle with mirth — your heartbeat sputters like a firefly crushed under a boot. ah, his voice is like a balm to your ears. honeyed vowels, spinning a sticky web in your mind, just the slightest hint of a rasp underneath. it sneaks into his speech, makes him sound like a sexy dad, and you're screwed, you realize — totally and completely.

"maybe," you say, playing coy. "can't i?"

"i'm not sure how my congregation would feel," he hums, gazing down into his cup again. tapping his fingers against his knee, rhythmic, from forefinger to pinkie. "a little thing like you, hanging off my arm during a sermon…"

another hum, as if he's tasting the thought on his tongue, but you get the feeling he's mostly trying to tease you. a perfectly still smile on his lips.

"i suppose you'd make for good eye candy."

"oh, i’d be honoured to."

this time, his smile feels somewhat genuine, the golden glow of the bar lighting his eyes on fire, makes you think of his name and all its flavours. honey, whiskey, bramble berries eaten under summer shades. he grins, just barely, and your shoulder aches again. pangs of pain, sparks of pleasure. makes you want to lean right in.

makes you crave more.

you drink with him, or more like you watch his measured sips, because for once you don't want your mind completely sullied, want to remain at least slightly lucid, enough to hold a conversation without embarrassing yourself. it pays off. geto is intelligent, well-spoken, an intellectual. absolutely morbid. he stays for an hour, take it or leave it, but it feels like dusk has already bled into dawn by the time he’s gone, everything blurring together until he's all you can see. his pretty lips, the cupid's bow above it. silver tongue peeking out with every syrupy word.

when he stands up, you’re expecting him to ask you to accompany him. tempted to ask yourself. but he tells you of business he must attend to, with graceful poise, as if cutting a firm line between himself and this establishment. him and you. you know that tone, it's like a boyfriend telling you to not be clingy while he's working. a sense of overstepping.

another smile, and then he's leaving. you get the feeling that it falls as soon as his back is turned. call it a gut feeling, but liars know each other like the back of their own hand — and so-called perfect men are always wearing one mask or another.

it doesn't matter, either way. your heart still clenches pitifully, when the bell of the store sings its tune. you watch his back until it's no longer visible.

and then you exhale a sigh. left alone, with a half-full bottle of saké and a strange sensation in your bloodstream, something that pulls and tugs restlessly at the nerves of your brain. muddied, but somehow clear, the room not so blurry anymore.

you feel cold.

(the pain in your shoulder is gone, too.)

fingertips trail along plasticized polystyrene.

cup ramen, stacks of surimi sticks, and a can of beer. you eye the products in your arms, silently counting up the price. it's dark out, the lights of passing cars and the city illuminating the world beyond your local konbini; occasionally, the store's bell will ring, but otherwise it's silent. you're spent. you need this, an unhealthy midnight treat, you deserve it after all the drinks you poured last night.

this world, the real world, is different from the host club. less flashy.

depressing, really.

your feet carry you to the freezer, to eye a bundle of honeydew popsicles. you could eat one on the way back, but by then it'll have melted — you could eat it before slurping up the ramen, but that would make you feel even more like a mess. hair a mess, face a mess, bags under your eyes and a hoodie draped around you, sweatpants and sandals. you can't be bothered to perform on a day off. couldn't be bothered to put on makeup, give the cashier anything more than a vague nod on the way in.

there's no one here to see you like this. no one to see you at all. you're allowed a moment's respite.

"my, my."

…

a voice rings in your ears. you stiffen, standing by the freezer, staring at popsicles and tubs of ice cream; a shiver trailing down your spine. a familiar, familiar voice — honeyed, the slightest hint of a rasp.

and when you look up, you see them. eyes of rusted gold.

sharpened into crescents.

"what a pleasant surprise." he tilts his head, bangs gliding along his skin. "out shopping this late?"

fuck, it's him, it's actually him. of all the people —

"sure am," you exhale, smiling wearily. peering up at him through droopy eyes; fatigue clinging to your voicebank. "are you stalking me, geto-san?"

a chuckle bubbles past his lips. he's still wearing the same robes, eyes gleaming, lips curling up and exposing pure white teeth. "ah, you caught me."

you can't even tell if he's joking. but you breathe out a matching chuckle, as he steps to the side, walks towards another aisle, passing you by. your eyes follow his broad back, trailing after him — ice cream can wait for another day — until you're taking up the empty space at his side. his hand slips from out his sleeve and reaches for a wakaba brand pack of cigarettes, cream-coloured, his fingers flexing as they curl around it. a blink, your lashes fluttering, ravens taking flight from a lamppost outside.

"… you’re a smoker?"

an absent hum. "oh, yes. occasionally."

when geto walks up to the counter, you follow. still carrying your hastily chosen snacks, digging up your wallet from the pocket of your sweatpants, ripping it open with your teeth. you give him a glance while the cashier scans your items, one after the other. "isn't that, like… against buddhist values, or whatever?"

"i'm not buddhist."

beep, beep. you swipe your card, still staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

"… huh."

he clicks his tongue. "i dabble in… a religion of my own making," he adds, smiling. "one could say."

the cashier bows. you return it, gathering your products, turning on your heel to scope out the tables by the windows. not one seat occupied, that's good. you walk towards them, a hum on your tongue.

”sooo… you're a cultist?"

just a joke, to lighten the mood. geto only chuckles, doesn't answer — when you turn your head he's looking at you like you just said something funny.

it shouldn't put you ill at ease.

(you’re fascinated.)

the view from where you plop down to stretch your weary legs is soothing, familiar, twinkling stars dimmed by light pollution and cars whooshing by, blinking street lamps, a river running farther ahead; from the old train station to a faraway clearing of woods. the night sky is vast and wide, the moon hidden behind a cluster of blue clouds. a word sits on the back of your tongue and stays there, heavy like lead, you swallow it while tearing the plastic off your ramen — geto takes a seat besides you, rests his elbows on the table and watches you, chin poised against the heel of his palm. robes hanging off the small chair, meeting the floor. a puddle of ink.

a minute passes. you pour hot water into the cup, crack open the can of beer, exhale when your fingertips meet cool condensation. then you take a swig, throat bobbing gently. geto watches. waits.

"did your business go as expected?" you ask, finally, peeling back the lid of your meal as steam wafts into the air. smells of shrimp and tom yum, the noodles swimming in foam. just about done.

"it did, yes," geto responds, closing his eyes. "did i leave you wanting?"

the bell jingles. a glance in the direction of the entrance tells you it's a group of schoolgirls, out past their bedtime. anxiety swirls in your gut, gnaws at your fragile ribs, little fish nipping at strings of seaweed. they shouldn't be here this late, but what can you do? nothing but stifle it, chew at a surimi stick while breaking apart your chopsticks — the moon peeks out, briefly, paints the city blue.

and, well.

he did, but that doesn't mean he has to say it.

"you wish," you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

”hm… should i be flattered?"

you bring a mouthful of noodles to your lips, slurp them up with fervour. a series of beeps resound behind you, idle schoolgirl chatter having died down into hushed whispers. you can't see them, your back turned, but you could wager a guess as to what, or who, they're whispering about. it makes you chuckle through the bite, which makes geto stare at you.

a quirk of his brow, his upturned lips. he tilts his head, lazily, a wilting bud.

"it's just —" you swallow, failing to stifle a humoured breath. leaning forward, to sip at the beer can, just to feel the burn at the back of your throat. imagining yourself and him, from an outside perspective — a shady, hooded guy eating cheap ramen with a monk. "this probably looks like an intervention."

geto hums. doesn't laugh along.

"it could be."

a spark of body heat, hints of bergamot and incense. he's leaned closer, close enough that everything else feels like a shadow, you're encapsulated in his gaze, hidden by the curtains of his robes and silky hair. it sticks a pin inside your heartbeat. falls to the floor with a clatter. he's close, and he smells good, and you're sleepy.

and his voice ghosts the nape of your neck.

"do you need a cleansing, my dear?"

a deep, rumbling purr against your ear. there's the rasp, the baseline, the moment where your mind shatters on the konbini floor. it echoes, thrums under your skin, makes heat gather in your abdomen. for once, he's being serious, you know what people sound like when they want you to be theirs for the night. when you meet his eyes, it's even more clear.

deep pools of desire.

geto stands up. dusts off his robes with steady hands, gives you crescent eyes and a sly smile before turning on his heel. broth clings to your lips, the taste of beer, you've barely touched the surimi. your limbs feel tied up in knots, strung along by a puppeteer.

and you follow. 

he could be a murderer, for all you know. a serial killer. maybe he'll take you to some shady love hotel, wrap his hands around your neck, say something about sin before twisting with all his might — you think of all the threats you've heard over the years.

but he’s handsome. beautiful, like this, when you’re a little tired, a little too sloppy to act well. a mess, you must look pitiful, but he wants you. he wants you, he's fascinating, looks like an angel when the light hits just right. if it brings his hands upon you, would sinning be so bad? it's too late, you've already stood up, there's no need for a wager when the loss is just as sweet. you follow; follow him outside, to where the stars barely twinkle and crisp air cups your cheeks, follow him until your heartbeat is racing so fast you can scarcely hear his voice.

messy sheets, steady hands, golden eyes.

that’s the first time you sleep with him.

geto is… an odd guy.

a month has passed since your first meeting. a handful of nights spent under covers, or dim lights, at a host club he's become something of a regular at — though it never takes him long to bring you to a different, emptier bar. he waltzes in with his fancy robes, pays no mind to any of the other hosts — you know they're jealous, too bad for them — and calls you over. doesn't even need to speak, the moment your eyes meet his you're already walking his way. he pays well, buys expensive bottles of saké, brings you with him when he's gotten bored of sneering at the other guests. it’s always just a matter of time.

everything about him spells disaster — spells out something like poisonous berries, or rotten cadavers on an open fire when you’re on the verge of starving.

something a little too good to be true.

he's good in bed, for example. very good. if the monk shtick wasn't already so ridiculously out of place, you're sure it would have shocked you even more — how he knows exactly what to do, where to touch, how to explore the crevices of your body like a lock skillfully broken into, solved, elegant twitches of metal before the door knob loosens. geto is weird, probably a cult leader, but god, is he good at sex.

it's been a while since you felt so truly satiated. every part of your body tended to, filled, ruined and stitched back together again; your mind successfully turned off, painted blank, only blissful clouds and cotton left in your skull by the time he's done. when he steps into the dim-lit lounge, you know you'll be sleeping well into the morning. you know you'll get to see the way his biceps flex and twitch, the tattoos on his back and shoulder, paintings of ink, red flowers and white dragons — that you'll get to feel his weight and see into his brown eyes and paw at his chest, plush and fat, gape at the thick set of scars carving an x inbetween them. the body is a temple. you've never truly understood that, not until now.

not until him.

and it's silly. stupid, naive; it's never good to get a crush on someone who's made what he wants from you abundantly clear. your little arrangement is set in stone — no will he won’t he, no second guessing.

but no one has ever treated your messed up body with that kind of reverence.

so, forgive you for having a bit of a crush on the weird, perverted monk guy. forgive you for being deliriously predictable and easy. for being a little enamored by the way he keeps his distance, how your wants fit together so perfectly — bodies pressed together, minds lodged apart. no strings attached, only sweat and sex and chemicals making a mess of your muddled brain. he wants nothing more, you want nothing less. he pays no mind to the pills on your nightstand, you don't ask about the scar.

it's a silent give and take. he's handsome, takes only a little more than he's given every time. you've found you don't really mind. he's not insatiable, just greedy.

and, well. you've always been eager to excel.

(always the type to get caught up in a backdraft.)

"goddd, that fucking shift…"

a wince twists your throat, spills out when you crane your neck and stretch your limbs above your head — waiting for a crack that never comes. try as you may to get the knots out of your joints, the ache remains — your nerves frazzled, wrists bruised from one too many rough grips, fatigue sticking to your bones. geto sits on a couch in the corner, watches as you slump onto the bed, limbs like dead weights.

"… i need a raise."

a breathy chuckle. "do you, now?" he asks, a glint in his eyes like the cityscape outside. this view isn't bad, your hotel room a few stories high, overlooking the empty streets. ”and here i thought my tips would be more than enough to keep you afloat…"

"well, afloat…" you murmur, shutting your eyes for a moment — voice carried by a sleepy rasp. "i'm afloat. but don't i deserve more than that?"

"do you?"

you can practically hear his smile. he loves that, answering a question with another question. you think it's insufferable, and somehow still enough to have heat twisting in your gut. "i do," you groan. "believe me, i do."

geto hums, absentminded. you can hear the turning of paper-thin pages, a newspaper left for guests to flip through. with a sigh, you raise yourself up on your elbows. "and god, that dick… i swear he tried to throw me under the bus today.”

flip, flip. "who?"

"you've seen him… you know, the tacky guy?" weary limbs move across silken sheets, help you into a sitting position, so you can gaze at him properly. black hair, firm facial lines, big, beautiful hands. that's your geto. "cheap dye, piercings? looks like he's got a rich daddy?"

"what kind?"

his wry response pulls a chuckle out your lips. "both, probably." you mutter. "ungrateful little shit…"

finally, geto lifts his gaze. pools of amber, sloshing summer oil, burns on your hands and neck. he meets your eyes with a calm glint in his own, setting the newspaper back on the table in front of him.

"i don't know who you mean," he smiles, and you think he must be lying, trying to avoid work talk — either that, or he really does only pay attention to you. the thought is sweet, intoxicating, too good to be true. ”but i take it he's giving you a hard time?"

a scoff.

"understatement of the century…"

slowly, he uncrosses his legs; lets his sandals meet the carpented floor, and stands up to his full height, before walking over to your place of rest. you watch him, lazily, eyes never parting from the swooshing of his heavy robes, the way that he moves, like he's following a path carved just for him. you've met men who take up space, who do it like it's easy, like it’s their birth right — this is different. his steps are not heavy, loud, nor flashy. he moves quietly, like a serpent, a mesmerizing slithering across the floor. geto stops in front of you, and tilts his head; slips a smile onto his lips. crescented, a half-moon.

”would you like me to take care of him for you?”

(it lights up his expression.)

”… take care?” you echo, blinking sluggishly. ”what, you gonna kill him?”

”would you like me to?”

…

a hum. you stare off into space, for a moment; feeling his gaze weigh you down and split you apart, he doesn't need his hands for that. it's a tantalizing proposition — you can't tell if he's joking, but you know he likes it best that way. you also know your job would be a whole lot easier without a little brat messing up your monthly quota. ”kind of.” it slips from out your lips, a deadpan reply.

and a chuckle rumbles in his throat.

"he really is bothering you." his smile splits itself further, white teeth showing for a second before he laps over them with his tongue. "i suppose i'd be doing you a favour."

you snort, raising a practiced brow, meeting his gaze head on. "what, did you think i was exaggerating? lying? i'd never."

”of course you wouldn’t.” he exhales, a husk to his breath — amusement buzzing behind closed lips. "there'd be no need. you're easy to read, after all."

(ouch.)

the comment has you wanting to laugh, call him a dick, roll your eyes in a show of discontentment. what a callous thing to say to such a dedicated actor.

then again, you haven't been doing a very good job of it, recently.

to geto, you must be nothing more than a fruit wanting to be peeled. he undoes your layers with ease, and it's humiliating — irritating — has warmth blooming under your bones. grime doesn't dissuade his appetite, after all. there's no real need for acting. not when he looks at you just the same regardless. not when you're fairly sure he wouldn't so much as stir, even if you killed someone in front of him; he'd listen to your reasons, your motives, not saying a thing. he'd look into your eyes without flinching.

geto probably knows how empty you are. you don't think he minds; think he might even prefer it. you think you could tell him anything, but you won't.

(you have some pride, after all.)

”i think you’re the only one who can see through me at all," you admit, words coming out softer than you meant them to. a slip of the tongue.

for a moment, you regret your words. avoiding his gaze, though you feel it searing into your skin, the tip of a cigarette burning tender flesh. the hotel room is quiet, the cityscape glitters and gleams, sways softly in a dark night, a shattered mirror world. geto hums.

”keep it that way.”

his voice drops, an edge to it — a jolt down your heartbeat. there it is, the edge of a kitchen knife making itself known. the words make your throat run dry, a few seconds where you can only feel the air leave your lungs, enter, leave again. but you plaster a smile onto your lips and meet his eyes. perhaps a little too cheery to be convincing. ”… yes, sir."

you're being studied. your flesh is being cut into. soon, he'll dig into it with hands and limbs, more than just his eyes — soon, your ribs will split apart to make room for him. and his gaze carries all of this, it's like he's telling you himself. eye to eye communication. his cornea tells you there's nothing you could hide from its all-seeing gaze. you're inclined to believe that; doesn't make any it less terrifying. exhilarating.

geto seems pleased.

when he leans in, you aren’t ready. a stutter building in your throat. close, close, now you can smell the green tea off his breath, dried leaves and boiling water, like the pools in his eyes, rising steam, his breath ghosting your lips. he's going to kiss you.

how rare.

”easy to read," he repeats, voice a quiet whisper, gravelly against your ear. "and easy to trick."

a gasp. a sharp jolt, a spark of pain burning down your spine, your chest — your mind works overtime to catch up to the sudden sensation, lost in his voice and his gaze and his warmth — he just pinched your fucking nipple. the burn blows your eyes open, parts your lips, his thumb and forefinger applying pressure through your thin shirt. it hurts, not letting up.

and geto smiles. light and easy.

”… and sensitive.”

it's a dull remark, like he's still reading from the newspaper, listing off this weekend's weather patterns. heat blooms in your gut. you feel like something small, molded just to fit his hands, waiting to be exposed and split into halves. it's humiliating, to be seen, you're not sure if you want to flee or stay right here — if just the weight of his palms make up for the sting accompanying them.

”… just for you,” you hear yourself speak. a hitch of your breath, yet you force the words out, mustering a smile — sleazy, flimsy, as long as it looks convincing it’s fine. you won't make it easy for him. not today.

but geto smiles. the corners of his eyes crinkle like ginkgo leaves, melted gold, like he knows something you don't. a slow, delighted exhale. "idle flattery won’t save you, this time.” he tuts, and twists, waiting for a jolt. ”not when it’s so obvious.”

a strangled wince claws at your lips, but you swallow it down — inhale, exhale, try to steady your breathing, try not to shiver or pull away from his cruel grip — geto watches your silent endeavors, your attempts at staying afloat. you expect him to laugh.

instead, he cups your chin. tilts it up, up, up, until you're looking into his abyssal eyes, baring your bobbing adam's apple, your vulnerable throat.

he looks admonishing.

"tsk, tsk. whatever shall i do with you?" he clicks his tongue, a chastising purr to his voice. "so careless with your body, but dishonest about what it wants. are you ashamed just to live, darling?”

an involuntary gulp. the question makes your heart constrict, a guilty twist. sends a pang of pain into your veins, a downward tug at your lips, has you falling silent.

a moment where you cannot fully hide the pain in your expression.

(shah mat.)

geto tilts his head, then, silky bangs across soft skin, a flicker of satisfaction in eyes like golden fruit. ripe for plucking. he graces you with a smile, the branches of his lips curling up, up, blooming like a grotesque flower — like he knows exactly what you're thinking. like he knows you, in and out, like he's already seen every ghost in your skull, tasted them on his tongue and taken them down his throat.

there's no scaring him off.

at last, he lets you go — takes a moment to get seated on the edge of the bed, and pats his lap. a heavy hand, a silent cue. you lick at the back of your teeth, savouring the burn his fingers leave behind.

"come here," he croons, as if taking pity on you. ”let me give you some relief.”

he doesn't have to ask you twice.

so you end up beneath him — you always do — his weight bearing down on you, big hands dwarfing your hips, heated pants and the creaks of a worn out mattress echoing in the empty hotel room. a cacophony of filthy noise, skin on skin, bone on bone, you've done it all too many times before. he's so close you wonder if you've morphed together. so close you don't know where he ends and you begin.

geto inhales, heavy, a dark look in his eyes.

"maybe i should just buy you off," he rasps, breath hot against you, sweat dripping down his brow, "keep you at my temple… always within reach."

any ability to speak has left you, at this point, any coherent method of speech. you can't say anything — not, hey, that’s a pretty fucking strange thing to say, or — you would have me entertain a bunch of monks? seriously? not even yes, yes, please, i don’t want anyone else to ever see me like this again. i don’t want to be ruined by anyone but you.

only a breathy whimper makes it past your lips. it makes him chuckle, into the hollow room.

(and he’s gone again, the morning after.)

geto would not consider himself a fickle man.

every action has a consequence. every choice must be weighed, considered, carefully plucked apart.

there is value in the act alone. weight is synonymous with heart, and geto, despite himself, cannot help but cling to his; worn out as it may be, soiled with fingerprints. there is weight behind his every action, care. choice means being human. choice means weight, which means heart, which is all he needs.

all this to say — geto suguru does not bet on losing dogs.

how he ended up in the corner of a dim-lit, shady host club is honestly beyond him. a grotesque sort of happenstance. the air smells of champagne and cologne, handsome hosts and guests chattering at every table in sight. all of them vermin.

what would his family say, if they knew what he was doing? ask if he's come down with a fever, no doubt. he can practically hear their voices — geto-sama, with a bunch of monkeys? willingly? no way. he could barely take the train to osaka last week! they'd be right, that's what grates him — that he's sitting there, and people-watching, still entirely uninterested in choosing his host for the evening. uninterested in drinking. cheery voices, sultry whispers, the popping of bottles and buzz of a karaoke machine. everything is loud, everything sparkling with the mere illusion of glamour.

disgusting. but he stays, only crinkles his nose and soothes his senses with the scent of his own robes, mellow incense. tries not to picture the walls red.

that's when he sees you.

a stumbling, giggling figure, clad in flimsy clothing, reaching for the mic. you're pretty, he can tell even at this distance. but stained, with lipstick and alcohol, a rotten smile on your face — rotten in the sense that it's so obviously hollow. it's only when you part your lips and sing that he is pulled out of his stupor, that his eyes narrow in an attempt to focus on anything else. your voice rings out, like the chime of a bell, clear and bright — the song doesn't match your vocals, doesn't do it justice. you stand on stage, a spectacle, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

(that's how it starts. the beginning of his fixation.)

geto finds himself thinking that he likes the way you look like this. sparkling, glowing, golden rays surrounding you — it creates a crescendo of light, from where he’s sitting, something like a halo, makes you look almost holy. makes him want to laugh, because that couldn't be further from the truth. you're a bug. a bug that gets paid to be of service.

pitiful, he thinks. you're pitiful. you're swaying like a drunk angel.

but your voice carries a longing he finds impossible not to indulge. to gaze at, silently, until your eyes happen to fall across his own, splatter on his brow — a flicker of light, in the middle of a too-small stage. he captures them. keeps them there.

and he swears your smile grows brighter.

(jaws snap against his ribcage. a spider weaves a web of silk.)

darling, vague complaints and fridays. he tastes the lyrics off your tongue, white noise. has already sicked the curse on you, almost on autopilot, call it morbid curiosity. it curls around your shoulder, and yet you do not falter. do not flinch. can you not feel the sting?

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

a smile splits his lips bloody.

everyone else has their eyes on you, follows your swaying, your shimmering skin. he wants to kill them, itches to. leering leeches. but that would surely make you stop singing, so he allows his fingers to twitch without purpose, makes no move to call on another wretched little puppet. listens to you until the song is over, until he can see the pain in your expression. does it hurt, little one? do you finally feel it?

he wonders. but he doesn't ask, even when he has you seated beside him, tipsy, shirt nearly slipping off your shoulder — he pictures your skin smudged, soiled, bite marks and bruises. it does nothing but add to his growing revulsion. his first night with you is over in the blink of an eye; a failure, on his part.

before he leaves the bar, he swipes his thumb across the back of your neck. watches the curse unclench its jaw, unlatch its decaying gums, a sickly purple against your ruined skin. leaves behind sticky saliva, droplets dribbling down your collarbone. filthy. he can scarcely remember why he came, why he stayed. to satisfy his curiosity, his mind supplies, only part-lie. to fill the gap. to see what it's like — men with men, dim-lit glamour, icecubes swirling in glasses half-empty — a useless endeavor. it's cheap, he feels nothing. no real desire. not the burning kind he used to fantasize about, tangled limbs and spit.

… not until you say that.

"you wish," he watches you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

he wonders why that's what makes his patience snap. bug on bug, the thought of something rotten catching you between its teeth. the knowledge that you don't mind — that you want it. filthy, pitiful, he feels sorry for your bones and your skin, at the mercy of your heart, swaying to and fro without a thought. feels sickly at the thought that it exists, that it beats.

that the same bundle of flesh slumbers beneath your ribs as his. heavy, weighty; a bleeding lump of flesh.

so he takes you to bed. out of practice, it’s been a while, but if you notice you're a better actor than he gave you credit for. he feels your heart beat against his own — yes, it's there, right there, squirming around. disgust. exhiliration. a way to pass the time.

that's what you are. what this is. he tells himself, in a soothing voice, that it means nothing; that it's not a betrayal, not if he's just using you.

not if you're just a source of warmth on nights his hands feel cold and need something to tend to.

he’s gentle, the first time you sleep together. not as much the other times, but you need it, don’t you? he can tell. you get this look in your eye. like you enjoy being along for the ride, having all thoughts pushed out of your body. it would not do, for him to leave you unsatisfied — sorcerer or not. would not do for his pride, the satisfaction he feels when you bloom in front of him, shatter and curl into yourself like a rhododendron in the precipice of summer.

what you are is a distraction.

(but you're beautiful, when he unmasks you.)

no, geto certainly is not a fickle man. he weighs his options with care; he calculates; he does not bet on losing dogs. your whines are sweet, though, your mind a lid he wants to uncap. it feels good, to be above you. to see you in your entirety, knowing the other men you sleep with don't get the opportunity, don't care to in the first place. wouldn’t want to.

you haven't been loved properly. he can tell.

"please don't go…"

words aren't necessary. your limbs, wrapped around his waist, say enough. the dew at your lashline says enough. you aren't lucid; it's the most primal part of you, clawing its way out. that says enough.

he soothes you before leaving. makes sure you're sound asleep.

you're his, he thinks, watching your poor body seek solace in silky sheets. feels it seek out his touch when he runs a hand over your hip. you're beautiful, and you're his. those other men don't know how to treat you, but he does. he knows what you need. little things like you should be treated like glass, spoiled —

then broken into splinters.

they don't understand. how could they? horny, mindless apes. he should kill them. slaughter them, for having laid a hand on what he owns. what he bought. he should wrangle their corpses for every set of handprints they've left on your delicate wrists.

he should. he will. their time will come.

one last glance, before he leaves for the compound. when you're bathed in moonlight, sick thoughts cloud his mind; when he wraps his gojogesa around heavy robes, and watches you slumber in the king-sized hotel bed. a dangerous indulgence.

it's something in the way you move. maybe he's always sensed it, maybe that's why he wanted you, the thought often eats him alive after you've slept together. something in the way you move, yes — your disposition, the way you carry yourself — like nothing could hurt you, even though it already has, the world has left its mark on you, he can see it in your eyes. try as you may to conceal it. rot knows rot.

even now, he sees it. something in the way you glow under dim lights. when all that surrounds you is gold, blinding white — he can almost delude himself into thinking that your hair is the same. strands of white, like a summer sky — pink lips and a clear voice —

it reminds him of someone.

honestly, suguru… i think you're the only one who understands me at all.

(he crushes the thought before it can shatter him.)

what you are is a distraction. he repeats it, chews it between his teeth until it tastes like nothing at all. a way to spend the time. wish-fulfillment, maybe, at best — there is no room for anything more. no room to think thoughts like if only you weren't what you are, if only you were like him — no room for second guessing or digging himself deeper into the ground.

he's already slipped deeper than he would have liked.

a shake of his head, and the thought is vapour. he scrubs the image of your sleeping body from his mind; reminds himself, dully, of what you are.

he thinks he can go on, like this. just like this.

there is no danger in the web he's weaved you.

”i wanted to be a singer.”

a gentle breeze, clouds covering the sky. you say it so casually, he’d think you were mentioning the weather if it wasn’t for the sadness in your voice.

you fail to keep it out.

bathed in salty air, clouds of smoke, facing the sea with a forlorn gaze — your elbows rest on the railing overlooking it. a cup of bitter coffee stands on the cafe table behind you, abandoned, left to cool. espresso steam blends with roasted nicotine. tobacco stings your eyes, he’s sure; would you blame your glassy eyes on that, were he to point it out? 

(oh, how he wonders.)

”is that so.”

geto lights his own cigarette. one, two flicks of his thumb before orange sparks at his fingertips — he delights in the jolt of his nervous system, the way it burns. delights in the rush of dopamine that follows, when he inhales, feels it flood his lungs and sting his windpipe on the way out. a heavy exhale, his trail of smoke mingling with your own, in the crisp and solemn morning air. he can't tell which is which.

the world is quiet, here. like you’re the only ones awake. hidden under a bleak sky, murky blue, nearly gray. he likes it better when it bursts with colour, but this is just fine. you look pretty when your eyes lack light.

geto flicks the butt of his cigarette, ash crumbling on his thumb. his voice comes out with a rasp, laced with thick smoke, but it doesn’t waver, deep and silky even still. the air smells a little like disease, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. finds he likes the contrast. polluting an air that smells too much of summer. ”well, you certainly have the vocals for it.”

you let out something like a scoff. it lingers, in your throat, drags against the walls of flesh. 

amused. 

when you turn your head to meet his gaze, eyes just slightly red, smile dipped in sardonicism — he thinks you’ve never looked more lovely. not even beneath him, satin sheets spread out like an altar of worship. 

or an altar of sacrifice. 

sweet as the bite of a ripened peach. 

”do i?” you ask, irony tinged on your tongue. wearing a flimsy smile, that seems to fade the longer he looks at it. he watches your cupid’s bow sway, the drag of an arrow. ”you’ve worn them out, you know.”

a breathy exhale. he hides it with his cigarette, takes another drag just to feel the burn at the back of his throat. he smiles, though, can’t help it. 

”… you’ll live.” and he exhales, air rushing to flood his lungs, greedy. the salt burns more than the tobacco. ”you still have time. it’s not too late to try again.”

a sudden, eerie silence.

”… i don’t know about that.”

he thinks he could love you, just like this.

"i think i might be out of time."

there's a sad, sad look in your eyes. it makes you look older than you are, more weary, like a pillar of salt left to face the sea. hair swaying in the air, gently, tousled locks and pursed lips, a painting just for him. you look tired. you look exhausted, broken down.

something about it makes him soften.

"do you feel hopeless?" he chuckles, a breathy noise, it scatters into the open air and then disappears. "you haven't seen the world. in that sense, you might as well be a child."

smoke slithers from the butt of his cigarette. everything is silent. no scoff, no click of tongues or scraping of nails against ceramic cups. nothing fake, about this moment. time is all you have, he wants to add. there's no escaping it. but he hesitates, for a moment too long, taken by the suffering in your gaze — geto wonders what you're thinking about, with such a blank expression. wonders what kind of pain you must be feeling. you look like you could shatter where you stand, just a sheet of broken glass, or a fish out of water — a lost soul, flecked with seafoam and cigarette smoke — a pretty little thing, watching the sea like you’d like to wade right in. like there is nowhere you belong, nowhere on this earth.

nowhere to seek solace.

he could love you, when you look this fragile. could allow himself a moment to taste it on his tongue, dip his toes into the first syllable. just to feel the chill.

(even just for a little while.)

you don’t bite back. neither of you speak. only the dull scraping of ocean waves fills the empty air.

”i love you.”

you are the first to step over that boundary.

it’s whispered into his neck. broken, quiet, more of a shallow breath than a sentence. so small, so quiet he thinks he must have heard you wrong. words get lost on both of you, when blood is pumping in your ears, through your veins, when skin meets skin. you’re too tired to speak properly, speak at all. he’s being hard on you tonight — couldn’t think clearly, only saw one of your other regulars try to cop a feel, and, well —

that doesn’t matter, now.

”i love you…”

— there it is, again. 

the breathiest, most silent little whimper he’s ever heard. 

(geto inhales. curses himself.

a lump forms in his throat.)

you aren’t coherent, you don’t know what you’re saying. he knows that. of course, he knows that. you’re just trying to stay afloat in whatever way you can. just babbling nonsense into his ears like it'll make him go a little easier on you, like you just want his affection —

he thinks he might throw up. 

moonlight flits in through the window blinds, illuminates his back, lotus flowers blooming where ink meets skin on his left shoulder. the dragon curls around his back, coils up in anger, disgust. curses crawling in his stomach, hot with irritation.

this was supposed to be a distraction. he was never planning to keep you, you're no human — certainly no partner. the tremors of his heart mean nothing, it's all chemical, all a masquerade. you are nothing.

once the fun has run its course, he'll kill you.

that's what he's been telling himself. he'll slaughter you, etch the sight of red blood against satin sheets into his memory, taste the excess dripping down your waist — he’ll drink it in and throw it up.

but you love him.

(you love him.)

geto wants to hate you. 

what he hates most of all is that those words disarm him. peel his skin away, leave only the flesh. he can’t help it, though he tries — a futile endeavor —

”you’re okay.”

a tender, tender, whisper, spilling from his parted lips. when did they part? when did making room for you become as natural as breathing?

”you’ll be okay.”

a weak whimper, nestled against his throat. arms go slack around him, your body peeling itself of guarded skin, allowing him to do as he pleases. so good, so pliant.

(his poor, poor boy.)

geto tastes iron, bursting hot and heavy on his tongue. sinks his teeth into his lower lip, as far as they can go, until the sting itself fades away. keeps going until you pass out, softly, silently, tenderly. kisses your neck, shushes your cries. keeps a big palm on the back of your neck the entire time. rocks you to sleep, as if it's muscle memory.

tender, he reminds himself. when someone tells you they love you, you treat them tenderly, suguru. 

(a burning, rotten memory. his mother’s voice.

he feels like dying.)

once all is said and done, he watches you slumber under blue light. dim, it casts a shadow over your features, but he can still see it clear as day; the creases on your face, the lines of your jaw and cheekbones and the way your chest rises and falls.

for once, he doesn't leave.

instead, geto tucks himself behind you, drags forgotten covers over his frame, pulls you against his warm chest, a mother to her newborn — your sniffle-like breaths safe in the boundary between his throat and sternum. he holds you, and closes his eyes. your heartbeats soften, gradually, in tune with his own, clammy skin sticking together. he wants to clean you. wants to give you a bath, scrub the stains away.

you look so very fragile.

he swallows the bile, and keeps his eyes shut. he can allow himself a moment of pretending.

(but this farce will have to end, soon.)

some days, geto doesn’t miss him at all.

some days, hues of cherry pink and bright-sky blue remind him of nothing more than fruit and summer. on even better days, fruit and summer don’t remind him of boys biting into ripe peaches, or napping in the sun, or tickling his ribs while on the back of his bike until they both tumble to the ground.

some days, geto doesn’t linger in the past. 

(most days, it’s all he does.)

you’re lying in bed, on your side, curled up with your knees against your chest. naked and unguarded, a newborn fawn. he thinks of how your legs shake after a particularly rough session. almost cracks a smile, but he's too tired, mind too tangled up in knots; he didn't sleep a wink last night. can only watch you from across the room, in silent contemplation, map your features into his mind. he feels fondness for you, like this, only like this. (especially like this.) when you’re entirely bare. a freshly plowed field, a peeled fruit, ready to be carved into halves, willing to be split. breathing very softly into sheets left dirtied.

the world has yet to wake, outside the window.

in moments like this, he indulges in the thought. not enough to suffocate, just sting. he pretends that your hair is white, like marble flooring, like specks of dust collecting light. pretends you're in another country, another life, with no weight on your shoulders. the thought tastes sweet — tastes like bramberries and sunlight and whiskey, tastes like a breakfast well-served. a life where meaning frames the world.

but that sunlight makes its way through your shut blinds, one way or another. no matter how tightly he closes them. and, in turn, your lashes flutter apart.

geto closes his eyes, and pretends he cannot see their colour. pretends that they’re blue, blue, blue, a blue so staggering it makes the sky look white.

a blue that dyes the whole world monochrome. 

(if it was him — would he be like this? sleeping soundly, satiated, nuzzled into his chest instead of a pillow? would he be as good as you? as willing to be ruined?

would he want to ruin anyone but you?)

”… geto…?”

you sound surprised. voice a broken tune, raspy and high, like splintered glass. he's bewildered that he finds it charming. that it makes him feel anything at all. you raise your hand to rub at your eyes, groaning softly, twitching like you're having trouble just to move your limbs. geto stands by the door, rests his back against the wall, and watches you. isn't sure how long he's stood there and contemplated leaving.

"… you're still here?"

hope. he can practically taste it, off your breath.

a low click of his tongue. he takes a step forward, towards your bedside, sunshine gliding across his skin, his robes. he's fully clad, no sight of scarring or tattoos, the barest of marks you left when you nipped his neck in your sleep. he won't let you see it.

and he towers above you like a scarecrow on a hayfield.

doesn't say a word. only reaches out to grasp your jaw, palm flat against your chin, trails his hand down your neck. two fingers, dragged between your fragile ribs. neither rough nor gentle. you're pliant, there's no fight in you, a lamb making itself soft for the blade of a dagger. you let him explore you, while a frown threatens to break through his pursed lips — thick brows furrowed together. you don't jolt, or yelp. you trust your body with him. silly, stupid, naive.

can't you see what he's made you into?

"... maybe i should cut your heart out," he breathes, surprised by how sincere he sounds, the shadows that covet his voice. "save us both the trouble. hm?"

that makes you scrunch your nose. eyelids too droopy, too weighty to keep themselves up, they just flutter shut again. oh, whatever shall he do with you?

"… my heart…?" a soft sigh, a noise in the back of your throat, like a cat awoken from its nap. you're mumbling, he has trouble hearing you, isn't sure if you're fully lucid or if you think this is a dream. a yawn spills past your lips. "y'can have it…"

… bare. unguarded. heart ripe for plucking.

any man could steal it. rob it from its branches. you don't seem to understand your own appeal, your true appeal; it's aggravating. your ribs are so easy to peel apart. when someone speaks softly to the confines of your heart, they just fall open, all on their own.

so very guarded, yet trusting even still. so, so eager to let the right one in.

”… you remind me of a friend.”

the words have already left his lips. it's too late, now.

sundrops splatter against your nose, the corners of your bottom lip. he could picture them crimson, camellia and spider lily, grows sick at the thought, a macabre twist of his guts, like he just swallowed something terrible. sunshine frames your expression, the way it shifts in the light, shadows passing by and painting your teeth when you speak. pink gums, pink tongue, swollen from abuse. a flicker of knowing, of remembering, when your pupils dilate; coil into slits.

"… friend?" you echo, a breathless mutter. "or boyfriend?"

geto twitches, from the tips of his fingers. still resting just where your ribcage ends.

they leave your skin, his thumb brushing gently against your navel before parting, a tender feather-like flick. you're sensitive, there; he knows your body like the back of his own hand, sees the shudder that slithers through you before he feels it.

sometimes, he wonders if you know him just as well.

silence. only quiet, quiet breaths. any answer geto could give stays clogged at the base of his throat, full peaches blocking his windpipe, keeping the words from bubbling up and erupting. fuzzy fruitskin against red flesh. he wants to taste the nectar. wants a lot of things he can never have, not in this life.

hey, suguru. peel it for me.

… huh? what's with the attitude?

"it’s complicated, huh."

geto swallows.

"… i suppose it is," he breathes, eyes straying from your own. deep cedar, bright honey, enclosed in globes of amber, finding solace in your sullied bedsheets. will you clean them? would you keep them as is, if you knew you'd never see him again?

what was he hoping for, all this time?

an exhale. you're smiling, you're sleepy, he wonders if your body is still blissed out enough to save you from the heartache. "am i the rebound?" you ask, a hint of humour, stretching your limbs out like a sleepy feline.

a sigh.

"… essentially."

the soft rustling of sheets. your skin is dyed golden, by the silent sun, illuminated against pure white. an altar, marble flooring, specks of dust and sodium light. you let out a little noise, something like a hum. as if struck over the head. a moment passes, and you still, eyelids falling shut. a chuckle breaks your silent death.

"it hurts that you’re so straightforward." sincerity always brings nothing but pain, he wants to tell you. if you'd never opened your heart to me, you wouldn't be feeling this way. if i had never held it in my palms, perhaps i wouldn't be feeling so empty. this is the price humans pay for loving so callously. "you're a pretty cruel guy. has anyone told you that?"

geto smiles. he closes his eyes, and steps away from you; voice a quiet breath of air.

"just once."

there is nothing to be done about a heart of stone.

geto turns on his heel, and does not look behind him.

he will leave. leave, and leave no trace, leave your home untouched, only purple marks smudged across your nape to prove his greed, to prove he ever sunk his claws into your tender flesh. imprints of teeth on your chest. fingerprints on your hips. marks will remain, and fade with time. soon enough, you'll forget about them. he will make his way past the second street, and think of neither you nor satoru.

he will not think of blue eyes, or summer. he will not think of your eyes, bleary with forgotten dreams, lost potential, speckled with what he knows to be love — a word so heavy he wishes he could spit on it. a word he wishes he did not revere.

he will not think of you, even as he crosses the main street with the fountain you like, glittering under a sun just about to break the world into halves. even as he watches a man play the violin by the train station, listens to the thin strings bend and bow just like your vocal chords under the dim lights of a trashy bar he’d never have gone to if it weren’t for you. he will not think of the way you glow.

he will think of nothing, and no one.

"… see you, geto."

(he thinks he’ll be okay.)

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — curing nostalgia

summary — post-grad is lonely. your boyfriend attempts to help.

warnings — fem!reader, angst, fluff, self-indulgent because post grad is slowly killing me, some random names used for friends, so sorry if i use yours on accident!

note — sorry for being MIA. depression has been kicking my ass ugh :( anyways! i’m back! and this is to help push y’all over while i’m finishing maintaining professionalism part 6.

tags — @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @jburrgf @wickedfun9 @hotburreaux @softburrow @kazsbrckkers @iosivb9 @ebsmind @burrowdarling @blairsworld22 (comment/send an ask if you want to be added!)

YOU FLIPPED THROUGH PHOTO ALBUMS. The pictures of you and your friends, the memories that rushed to the surface. You gently lined the page with your finger, remembering the moments illustrated on the pages. You remembered loving physical photos in case something happened and all of your digital photos were erased. You cherished these moments, and you wished you could go back and live that life again. You lived so far from your friends, living on different paths. You were proud of them, but you wanted to see them.

Life in cincinnati was bliss. You lived with your boyfriend, and you made friends with some of the WAGs, but nothing filled the hole that was left after college. You shoved it aside for a couple of years, but every now and then, seeing your college football team play, it would churn up memories. The cups of overpriced alcohol. The upsets. The hugs from friends. You still had the jersey your mom bought you for your birthday one year.

But you were living a different life, now. Your friends knew that, too. You didn’t tell Joe, though. What would you tell him? That everytime you drove on the highway, you got flashbacks to driving to school? That you still grieved the loss of your college years?

You turned a page as footsteps came into the living room. You looked up and saw Joe walking in, sitting next to you. He looked comfortable with his sweats and his baby pink sweatshirt. His eyes were soft, holding yours in his.

“What’s that look for?” you asked him, a smile blossoming on your face.

“You only pull out the photo album when you’re feeling nostalgic,” he gestures to the album. He understood how hard it was for you. After college, you uprooted and moved back home, and then moved in with him. Because of the distance, you’ve not seen your friends in a long time. Your schedules weren’t exactly on the same timeline either. He knew you thrived off of your friendships. He also knew you missed them, and it’s been especially hard.

“Yeah well, guess i’ve been feeling nostalgic,” you joked. It’s only been two years since you graduated, but it still felt weird. You should be back there, with your friends, eating sappy dining hall food and too-sweet campus coffee. It didn’t help you still followed your college’s football team on Instagram, silently watching and hoping for wins, despite not being there.

Joe leaned against you, gently placing his chin on your shoulder, looking over and observing the pictures. He remembered some of these moments, he remembered you telling him about them. One picture in particular stuck out to him, the one with you at the coffee table in your apartment, homemade tacos in front of you and your friends.

flashback

“I’m so nervous, Joey, are they going to like them?” You were on the phone with Joe while ground beef browned in a pan.

“Y/N, babe, you’re an amazing cook. They’d be crazy not to like your food. Plus it’s tacos, you can’t go wrong with tacos,” he assured you. Doing long distance was hard, but you made it work.

“You’d be surprised,” you chuckled, continuing to stir the ground beef around.

“Your heart for your friends is evident, love, and they should see that over whether or not they like your tacos,” he told you. Joe saw the heart you gave to everyone, and he was lucky enough to get just a slice of that.

“You’re right you’re right,” you sighed after a few moments. There was a knock at your apartment door, and you turned to walk to the door.

“Sounds like your guests are here,” he hummed.

“They are, I’ll talk to you after?” you suggested before you unlocked and opened the door.

“Of course, I need to know how those tacos tasted. Send me pictures!” he told you, sounding like his mother.

“I will,” you giggled, opening your apartment door and greeting your friends with open arms.

end of flashback

“Have you talked to any of them recently?” Joe asked as you turned a page.

“I talked to Leslie the other day about one of our other friend’s engagement, but I haven’t spoken to her since,” you replied. Leslie was one of your closest friends, but she worked hours away in a different state. Getting together was hard; you could barely manage phone calls.

“You should plan a trip to see them,” he suggested. As much as Joe loved coming home to you, seeing you here with him, and just being around you, he couldn’t deny you the human need for friendship. What kind of person would he be if he did that? A bad one, that’s what.

“I just don’t know when. They all have very different schedules and I’ve tried to get with them, but it never works,” you sighed, closing the book. It sounded pathetic, but you yearned for the friends you made in college. You weren’t diminishing the friendships you made in ohio, especially with some of the other WAGs, but you didn’t have as deep of a relationship with them as you did with your college friends.

Joe wrapped you in his arms, bringing you into his lap. You cuddled into him, taking in his scent and his touch. You loved him, and you loved being around him. He was your best friend all while being your boyfriend, but there were some needs he couldn’t fulfill. He knew that, and you knew that.

As he held you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, an idea came to life in his head. What if your friends came to you?

a few days later

You shuffled around the kitchen, your fingers flitting over the brownies you were making. Joe told you that his parents were joining you for dinner, so you decided to make brownies.

You spread the chocolate concoction in a glass, buttered pan, humming along to soften music that played through your phone. The kitchen was warm, the heat prickling your skin as you slid the pan of brownies into the oven.

Just then a knock echoed through your home. You wiped your hands on a towel as Joe stood from the couch.

“I got it,” he grinned. It was the kind of grin that crinkled his eyes, that lit up his face. He loved his parents, but his brightened expression told you that he had something up his sleeve.

You watched the entryway wearily, your view obscured by a wall. Your ears strained for voices, the door opening and voices sounding through the hallway.

“She’s in the kitchen,” you heard Joe whisper. Why was he whispering? Your heart slammed against your chest, your palms sweaty with your nerves. What the hell was going on?

He wasn’t the one to come back into your field of vision. A shorter woman was, and your eyes widened. Your body froze as Leslie’s eyes lit up, as she ran to you, enveloping you in a bone-crushing embrace.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you saw the rest of your college roommates file in. You wrapped your arms around Leslie, your chest stuttering with the breaths that you took. Warmth spread over your body, your limbs numb from the sheer joy that lit your face.

Your friends were back. After years of being apart and seeing each other through a screen, you finally had them again. Your other roommates encased you, the four of you standing together in the kitchen. Their arms were a fortress, a place to go for refuge. You held onto them, and as you pulled away, Leslie held your cheeks in her hands.

“Didn’t think you’d be living in a mansion,” she joked, and you laughed. You wiped your watery eyes, giving individual embraces to each of your friends. Each embrace was intentional, filled with your longing and a display of how badly you’d missed them. You finally pulled away from them, wiping your eyes with shaky hands.

“This is crazy,” you chuckled, feeling tears burn your eyes again. These were your friends, your people, and they’d found their way back to you.

“What’s crazier is me getting a DM from your boyfriend a few days ago,” another friend, Sam, spoke up. Your eyes narrowed, intrigue dawning on your flushed features.

“What?”

“Yeah, Joe messaged us on Instagram a couple days ago asking if we were available to come visit. Luckily we were, so he booked us flights and we found ourselves in a castle of a home,” Leslie spoke up, making you chuckle. Your eyes flicked to Joe, who leaned against the doorway. He’d definitely snapped photos, something else to add to your photo album. But he was just happy to see you happy, to see the tears in your eyes from sheer joy.

You parted from your friends, walking up and throwing your arms around Joe. He welcomed the embrace, wrapping his arms around you. He buried his face into your neck, his heart clenching in his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his neck, your heart warm and steady. Your stomach was full, but it growled with the desire for brownies.

“Don’t thank me,” he hummed against your neck. He pulled away, cupping your face into his hands. His eyes were soft, filled with affection and a warmth that only he had for you. He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there.

“Go and have fun, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you come back,” he promised. Seeing joy fill your chest was something he’d never get tired of seeing. He’d never get tired of being the one to make you happy, even if he brought the joy to you. He knew you needed your people; he wasn’t the only important person in your life.

“Ok,” you smiled, the bubbles of excitement and a foreign yet familiar sensation of giddiness making you giggle. You kissed him sweetly on the lips before you returned to your friends. They had plenty of thoughts on your intimacy with your boyfriend, to which you blushed and argued back. Joe just watched for a moment, watching you indulge in the friends that made you.

He pushed off of the wall and walked up the stairs and into his office. He could hear your laughs from his office, and it only served to make him smile. He knew you’d always come back to him, but right now, he knew you needed your girls.

[https-kittyx3]

pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 6

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: making out sessions getting interrupted :(

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 |

..

When the convocation of Australia, England and Spain came out Y/n was alone in the physio room at Arsenal while her other teammates were out on the pitch training,

It felt bittersweet.

She saw the names of her dear friends, and she saw Kyra’s name, which made her so proud, but she didn’t see her name. And she wasn’t going to. It would take more than just getting back into shape after her tibia had completely healed.

Y/n would have to work harder and train harder to prove she was even better than before to have another chance of being called into her national team.

Before, being in the squad had been a certainty in her life because of her great performance as a defender.

Now it wasn’t.

But she realised she wasn’t as sad as she thought she would be. Seeing Kyra’s name on Matilda’s squad was enough for her for now.

Y/n just had to learn to stay on the sidelines and, for the first time in her life, enjoy the football experience without being a player. Y/n would now begin her work as a hyper girl. As soon as she finished her exercises in physio she would look for Kyra and wish her–

“Oh, there you are!”

A voice said from the door of the physio room, ruining Y/n plans.

Y/n turned her head to the side and saw a man with a camera in his hand. It was Greg, the head director of Arsenal Media. He was a sweet middle-aged man, but the look on his face said he wasn't having the best day.

“Oh, hi, good morning,” Y/n said, tilting her head at him. “Can I help you, Greg?”

Y/n looked around the empty room, and then back at Greg.

“Oh yes,” he said bluntly. “We’re filming some content today, for YouTube and Instagram.”

“Okay? I think all the girls are out doing drills, they’re not here–”

“The team’s filming a Q&A with Russo, Williamson, and Wälti today,” he continued, completely ignoring Y/n.

“But the Wälti’s cat died so–”

“Lia's cat died?!” Y/n interrupted, her eyebrows raised as she sat on the physio bed. “That’s terrible.”

Damn, Lia loved that cat. Y/n should call her and ask if there’s going to be a funeral.

“Yeah yeah, whatever” Greg waffed. “She said she’s not coming to Arsenal today, so that's why we need you.”

“Me?” Y/n swallowed and pointed at herself.

“Yeah, Williamson said you'd be a good fit, she said you liked being in front of the cameras.”

Fuck you, Leah.

Y/n had been pretty ‘low profile’ since her injury. She hasn’t given any kind of interviews or statements. She hasn’t been to any Arsenal games to watch the girl. Nothing. She hasn’t even posted on her Instagram stories.

She used to like it. The cameras. The interviews. The attention. But not anymore. Y/n didn’t want people to see her injured, to think that she was any less of a player now. She didn’t want people to feel pity or sorry for her.

“Plus, we don't have anyone else,” Greg said, pinching his nose.

The man was stressed.

“How can you not have anyone else? There are about 25 people on this team.”

“We need someone with a personality, and you’re the least bad option I have at the moment.”

Y/n pointed at her leg. “I can guarantee to you, Greg, I’m not much fun to be around right now.”

“Yeah but–”

“Come on Y/n, don't give Greg here a hard time” Leah walked unexpectedly into the room and patted Greg on the shoulder.

Alessia was standing next to her.

“She doesn’t want to do it,” Greg said.

Snitch, Greg, that’s what you are.

“Of course, she doesn't want to. But she will,” Leah said smiling. “Because we need our charming, funny, and charismatic defender back on media day.”

“Are you on drugs right now? You’ve never complimented me before.”

“I'm trying to be nice,” Leah said, the smile on her face changing to a frown. “Alessia told me to be nicer to you.”

“It's scaring me,” Y/n said.

“See Alessia, I told you, being nice isn't our thing,” Leah said, pointing at herself and then at Y/n.

“Can't you two interact without bumping heads?” Alessia asked, looking like a mom who was tired of seeing her children fighting over and over again. “Just for one day, please?”

“No,” Y/n and Leah said in unison.

Alessia rolled her eyes and ignored them.

Alessia sat down by the physio bed, next to Y/n and wrapped her arms around her. “It’ll be fun, Y/n, I promise! It’s just me, you and Leah.”

“I just know one of the questions will be about my recovery” Y/n said, looking down. “I don’t feel like talking about it yet.”

“It’s been what? 2 and a half months since you got injured?” Leah asked. “You can dodge the questions forever, it’s better to talk about it while we’re doing some stupid card game rather than to give an interview. You can’t hide forever.”

Leah was right. But Y/n wanted to hide forever, at least until her bone grew back, at least. If it wasn't for Kyra and her patience and support, Y/n wouldn’t even be leaving the house.

“I just hate looking like this,” Y/n said, pointing at the cast, “I don’t feel like an athlete… I feel useless.”

Guess it was time to talk about feelings. Uhg.

“You’re no less of an athlete because of an injury,” Alessia said, patting her back. “If people didn’t see you as a player anymore, they wouldn't be asking for you to give interviews, or for you to come to our matches.”

“You make it sound like people only care about you when you’re active and playing, and that’s not true,” Alessia continued. “You mean something to Arsenal, you’ve been here for years. Not as much as Leah, of course, she’s been here since the year dot–”

“Hey!” Leah huffed.

Alessia ignored her. “What I’m trying to say is, that the Arsenal fans miss you, you pretty much disappeared from the public eye after your injury.”

Again, Alessia was not wrong.

“Come on, let’s go, I'm not as patient as Alessia and I miss having you at media day.” Leah nonchalantly picked up Y/n’s crutches that were leaning against the wall and handed them to her.

“I. Don't. Want. To” Y/n said slowly, marking each word as she pushed the crutches away from her face. “Get Kyra or Vic to do it.” Y/n pointed her finger in the air as if she had a eureka moment. “Get Beth! Beth loves to talk.”

“I don’t like listening to Beth!” Leah bit back. “She never shuts up”

“It’ll be fun!” Alessia, said, interrupting the bickering again. “It’s just a questions game like we used to–”

“She’s literally one of our best friends, Leah,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “You should try to be nice to her, not me–”

“Before I broke my bone?” Y/n completed.

There was a moment of silence.

“Yeah!” Alessia said innocently, smiling.

Alessia took the crutches from Leah, wrapped one hand around Y/n’s body and helped her to her feet. Y/n had no choice but to take the crutches so she wouldn't fall.

“Russo.” Y/n said in a warning, standing up and squinting her eyes at the blonde. “You’re even worse than Leah. Traidor.”

“ filming starts in 15 minutes,” Greg said impatiently from the corner of the room. “Wear your full kit, please.”

The man left the room. Poor Greg, he had to listen to her, Leah and Alessia yapping non-stop. His day had probably just got worse.

“I hate you all,” Y/n muttered but followed the girls as they left the physio room and headed for the changing room, just a few doors to the left. “Just wait till I get my leg back together, I’ll destroy you both in training…”

The two players ignored Y/n.

They entered the changing room and each of them went to their own lockers to pick up their change of clothes.

“They just want an update on how you’re doing, ” Leah said, a few lockers on her right, putting on her Arsenal shirt and looking in the small mirror on the wall “It’s not that hard.”

“They could just read my medical report, then,” Y/n said, picking up her own shirt.

She hesitated for a moment. She hasn’t worn an Arsenal shirt since her injury. It felt wrong, somehow, wearing it and not playing. Especially as the shirt had been in her locker since her injury, she hadn’t brought it home to wash it, it had a faint smell of dust from being in the locker for two months.

Y/n ignored her rambling thoughts and finally put the goddamn shirt on. Red always looked good on her, but today the colour felt off as if it was mocking her.

“Why are you being so difficult? It's just another video for media day,” Leah said again. “Nobody likes media day, we just have to do it”

“I like media days,” Alessia chimed in from the corner, putting her hair in a low bun. “At least we get to skip some parts of practice.”

“Why do you care if I’m in the video or not,” Y/n asked Leah, ignoring Alessia’s comment. “When you were injured you weren’t on media day duties.”

“Of course I wasn't, I was so snappy they gave up on trying to film me,” Leah said as she sat down and put on her boots.

“Oh, so that’s how you got away with it!” Y/n said, “I guess I’ll be snappy too!”

Y/n remembered when Leah got injured some seasons ago. The woman was completely impossible to be around. For a whole month, she could only talk to Leah on the phone because she refused to meet in person. Of course, Y/n, Alessia and the other girl stayed by her side until she got better.

Now it was Leah and Alessia’s turn to stand by her side. Y/n wasn’t so sure if she liked it.

“If Lia’s cat had just held on a little longer, I wouldn’t have to do this,” Y/n mumbled, “How old was he anyway? I feel like she had that cat forever”

“15 years,” Alessia said. “Poor thing had a whole life ahead of him,”

“No, it didn't. It was a geriatric cat,” Leah said. “But don’t tell Lia I said that she’s very sad it died.”

“Don’t call him it, Leah!” Alessia complained.

“Maybe we could come to Lia’s house later today,” Y/n suggested. “Check up on her, see how she’s doing.”

Lia was a sweetheart to her, it was the least Y/n and the other girls could do.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alessia agreed. “We can stop somewhere and bring her some food, too.”

“Alright, sounds nice!” Y/n said. “Kyra can drive us, we just have to wait until she’s done with the drills and training.”

Y/n didn’t even ask Kyra if she could drive them to Lia’s or if she wanted to go to Lia’s, but Y/n was sure she wouldn’t mind.

“You know, I was living for the day I would see you as a passenger princess,” Leah teased. “Now tell me, is Kyra that much of a good driver?”

Y/n took a boot from the cubby next to her and threw it playfully at Leah.

“Shut up, man!”

Leah nudged the boot and threw it back at Y/n. She aimed it at Y/n and it hit her right on the head.

"Wow. Hitting a disabled person. New low, Leah." Y/n pouted, patting the sore spot where the boot had just hit.

Leah shrugged, “You started it.”

“Can you two stop throwing things around?” Alessia asked, picking up the boot from the floor, scared Y/n would retaliate. “And that's Kim’s boot, she hates people touching her things.”

“She shouldn't be leaving her stuff scattered around, then,” Y/n said, chin up.

“Bro you took it out of her cubby,” Leah chimed in.

The door suddenly opened and one of the girls from the media said they had everything ready to start. The girls nodded and said they’d be right out.

“Wow, I thought that was Kim for a second,” Alessia said, putting her hand on her chest.

“Me too, I was afraid I was going to get hit twice today,” Y/n said, smiling as Leah nudged her shoulder playfully.

“Come on, the quicker we do it the quicker we finish it,” Leah said, helping Y/n on her crutches as they headed for the media room.

“Here we go,” Y/n said, not very enthusiastically.

..

Y/n, Alessia and Leah sat at a table with cards in the middle. The mediator of the dynamic was behind the camera, telling the girls that he would chip in when needed.

Arsenal had asked for a natural, chatty video, so that’s what the three girls would do.

The camera was rolling and Y/n was nervous. But she didn’t want people to know that, so she played it cool.

Alessia read the first question on the card and aimed it at Y/n and Leah.

“Y/n, how does it feel to be off the pitch for so long, and Leah, how do you feel as a captain when a player gets injured?”

Alessia gave Y/n a sad look, knowing the girl didn't want to talk about the injury, yet it was the first question that was drawn on the card.

Y/n hesitated, she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

So much for playing cool.

Y/n looked at Leah, a silent cry for help.

Y/n gave Leah a grateful look and nodded as the captain spoke.

“I’ve been in Y/n’s shoes before with my ACL, as you guys know. I was out of the pitch for 9 months, so a whole season and it was very hard,” Leah said, patting Y/n’s leg behind the table as if saying I got you.“Surgery is hard, physio is hard, being off the pitch is hard, seeing yourself without football is hard.”

“It’s more mentally challenging than people think it is,” Leah continued, as Alessia nodded at her as well. “And as captains, we have to help our players by being a safe place for them to talk when they need to, and of course, give them a little push if necessary,” Leah smiled at Y/n.

“When I got injured, having Kim as a captain by my side was very important for my recovery. She pushed me more and more and that’s one of the reasons why I’m here today, so yeah, we captains are annoying but I’d say we’re necessary.”

“And Y/n, do you think your teammates are a vital part of your recovery process?” The man behind the camera asked, clearly wanting Y/n to address her injury somehow, not just Leah.

Y/n hesitated again, but this time she pulled herself together and formed actual words and sentences.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Y/n said, her hands shaking slightly.

Why was this so hard to talk about?

“They’re more than my teammates, they’re my friends,” Y/n continued. “Leah and Alessia have been a big part of this recovery, they always try to push me so I can be in the best mental and physical state possible.”

“We’ve seen you get closer to other teammates as well after your injury too, right?” The man asked.

Fuck, that was one of the few questions Y/n absolutely wasn’t prepared to answer. She had to turn this around somehow.

Y/n blushed, she just hoped it didn’t get on camera. But for the looks Alessia and Leah gave her, her embarrassment was very clear.

“Hmm, yeah, I mean, they all are all my support network at the moment, since my family is in a completely different country.”

Y/n tried to dodge the question. She knew exactly the answer the man was looking for, but she didn’t know if she should be mentioning Kyra. Again, it was not a secret they lived together, but Y/n didn’t want everyone to pry too much into their lives.

“But there’s one particular teammate who’s been helping you out more. You even moved in with her? Cooney-Cross?” The man continued.

Y/n could kill this media guy.

If Y/n’s blush had been subtle, it wasn’t now.

Y/n went silent, but the man behind the camera urged her to speak.

“Yeah, I mean, I needed someone to help me around, and my mum couldn’t come live with me, so Kyra offered and—uh—she drives me to physio, and we watch films sometimes—uh, a lot actually—like, not all the time, just—uh—yeah… and we cook sometimes, but not in a weird way, I mean, obviously not weird, just…”

“This is painful to watch, you’re embarrassing,” Leah murmured under her breath, enough so that only she and Alessia could hear.

“Medicines! She reminds me to take my medicines and she—uh—makes sure I don’t fall over in the shower.–”

“What she’s trying to say is that Kyra is very supportive,” Alessia said finally, looking at Y/n, her eyes screaming ‘Shut up, right now you’re making a fool of yourself’.

Leah was a decent friend and cut Y/n’s suffering short by picking up the next card.

The camera continued to roll. The next questions were less personal and more professional, based on actual football rather than Y/n’s private life, so she relaxed more and answered the questions without sounding stupid.

When they were finished the man behind the camera said they were free to go on with their day.

“Was that bad?” Y/n asked the girls as they left the media room.

“It was horrible,” Leah said.

“I bit, yeah. Sorry.” Alessia said.

“You and Kyra need to figure out whatever it is you guys have going on, you can’t freeze up and start rambling nonsense every time her name comes up!” Leah said, rolling her eyes.

Y/n blushed, again.

“Me and Kyra have nothing going on– we’re just good friends and– best friends even and we–”

“See! Rambling!” Leah pointed out.

“Look, I know you’re private about your love life, and I get it, and so do I,” Leah continued. “But me and Alessia have known you forever and we can tell that you’re in love, so there’s no need to try and keep it from us.”

“Besides, Kyra kind of told me she liked you a few weeks ago, so there’s no need to hide that from us,” Alessia added.

There was a moment of silence.

“Kyra said she liked me?” Y/n asked, trying to sound casual.

Y/, and Kyra had been living together for two months now, they had a well-established routine and from the outside, it looked like they had been dating for years.

They kissed and made out all the time. But still, they haven’t had the talk about what they are, because it just didn't feel necessary. Maybe they would never have that conversation and that was more than okay for Y/n. They were just living in the moment.

But to know that Kyra liked her enough to go and tell Alessia? It felt amazing. As if she was sure now that it wasn’t one-sided. Kyra felt something for her, she liked her.

Kyra wasn’t kissing her or spending time with her just because she felt sorry for her. She actually liked Y/n.

Kyra liked Y/n, and Y/n liked Kyra back very much.

Y/n wanted their relationship to be private, not a secret, so it was nice that at least Leah and Alessia knew about it, even if only superficially, so she didn't have to sit down with them and have an awkward talk about it.

Especially with Leah. The girls were closer friends, but they did have a hard time talking about feelings. The last time Leah had told Y/n she was seeing someone she had said she felt like someone was squeezing her chest. Y/n had told her it was love.

“You’re grinning,” Leah said. “Keep that to your lover girl, please. It's disgusting.”

See? Feelings.

Y/n and the other girls walked down the corridor of Arsenal, and when she turned left, Leah and Alessia turned right.

“Where are you guys going?” Y/n asked, confused.

“Oh– we have pitch training right now with the defenders and other forwards,” Alessia said softly as if she didn't want to upset Y/n. “The midfielders just finished their training so–”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Y/n said, faking a smile. “Go on, good training.” She said before turning around and heading for the changing room.

It didn't matter how hard they tried, Y/n still felt like an outsider because of her Injury. She felt like the only kid whose mum wouldn't let her go to a sleepover when the girl had to go to the pitch to play.

Y/n opened the door to the changing room and was more than surprised to see Kyra sitting on one of the benches with her back to her.

Y/n’s sad face quickly turned into a grin when she realised that Kyra was shirtless, just wearing her sports bra and training bottoms.

“Oh hello there,” Y/n said as she walked closer to Kyra. “It’s so hot in here, isn’t it?” Y/n said, waving herself cheekily.

Kyra turned around, smiling. “Hey, gorgeous. Come here.” Kyra patted her own tight.

Y/n put the crutches on the bench and carefully Sat cross-legged on Kyra’s lap. Y/n kissed her face.

“You smell like grass,” She said

“Good thing it's grass and not sweat.”

“Well since you bought it up, sweat too, I was just trying to be nice,” Y/n laid her head on Kyra's shoulder.

“You’re never nice to me,” Kyra said, a fake pout on her face.

“I am, I'm always very–” she kissed Kyra on the lips. “–very nice to you.”

“Try harder,” Kyra said, enjoying the kisses.

“Okay,” Y/n kissed Kyra more deeply, slipping her tongue into her mouth.

“It's it nice enough?”

“I'll think about it and I'll let you know,” Kyra teased.

“You're annoying, no more kisses for you,” Y/n mumbled but still pecked Kyra’s cheek.

“Please? A few more just because I’ve called to the Matildas?” Kyra asked.

Ym smiled and kissed Kyra's nose, then her chin. “Just because you got called up and I'm so proud of you.”

“I was so nervous I wouldn't get in,” Kyra said, stroking Y/n's good leg. “I was in the gym when Steph and Caitlin told me we were all in, it was like I could breathe again.

“You deserve it, baby, Y/n said, wrapping her arms around Kyra's shoulder to balance herself. “You've worked very hard.”

“How’s your day so far? I haven’t seen you on the bench on the pitch today,” Kyra said. Y/n’s breath was warm against Kyra's neck, her fingers tracing small circles on her back.

“I was at physio, and then I had to do some media bullshit,” Y/n mumbled. “Just so you know, don’t watch the next YouTube video on Arsenal’s channel, okay?”

Kyra laughed. “Why? Why did you say that?”

“Well, they brought you up and my brain just froze and I started rambling, but Alessia and Leah pulled me out of my misery as soon as they could.

“Oh? You rambled? Kyra said teasingly, kissing Y/n’s cheek. “You get nervous talking about me? That’s cute.”

“Don’t say it like that, come on” Y/n blushed. “I just wasn’t prepared for them to talk about living together, it caught me off guard.”

“I'll watch the video, just so you know.”

“No, you won’t not.”

“I will, we will be watching it together actually, I wanna see you squirm.”

Kyra’s hand slipped up Y/n’s leg, now almost to the end of her tight. The touch sent shivers down her spine. She pulled back slightly pulled back, her lips brushing Kyra’s ear.

“There are different ways you could make me squirm, you know.” she said against Kyra’s mouth. “fingers, tongue, str–”

Y/n wasn’t a sex freak, but oh God did she want to take the cast off completely so she couldn't finally have sex with Kyra.

Kyra put her palm over Y/n’s mouth. “How are you so blunt?” she said whisper-yelling and looking around the room.

“I just am,” Y/n whispered-yelled back. “why are we whispering there’s no one here, everybody’s…”

The door to the changing room cracked open, and for a split second, it seemed as if the universe was playing a joke on Y/n and Kyra. The girls’ heads turned at the sound of the doorknob.

Beth walked in, her innocent eyes trailing the room until they landed on Y/n and Kyra.

Kyra went pale as Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Beth froze when she saw Kyra and Y/n, a grin on her face replacing the innocent expression from before as she examined the position Y/n and Kyra were in very carefully.

“Am I interrupting something?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows. “You two look very comfortable.”

Y/n and Kyra looked at Beth like a deer caught in headlights.

“I got a cramp in my good leg,” Y/n said quickly and defensively while trying to leave Kyra’s lap. “so I had to– hm– sit down.”

“And there weren’t enough benches so she had to sit –on, hm– my tight,” Kyra finished, blushing hard. “Yep, that’s pretty much what happened!”

Beth looked at them like they were idiots.

“One, two,” Beth counted, pointing to each bench available in the room. “Three, four and five. Five branches available for Y/n” She said, smirking. “You’re a bad liar Cooney-cross, it causes me physical pain.”

Y/n struggled but was eventually able to sit down next to Kyra, but she kept a very safe distance.

“I’m not lying!” Kyra stammered, blushing even more. “I just offered my injured friend a place to–”

“Injured friend?!” Y/n turned to Kyra. “Are you serious?”

“What?!” Kyra shrugged in confusion.

Before Y/n could open her mouth, Beth was already speaking.

“You know what, I’m going to spare you both from whatever the hell that was,” Beth said, walking straight to her cubby “I just wanted to grab this,” she pointed at her shin pads now in hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment.”

Y/n wanted to slap the grin off Beth’s face. She was enjoying herself far too much. The girl breathed in and out, trying, trying to think of how to handle the situation or rather, how to handle Beth.

“We can just never mention it again,” Y/n suggested, trying to sound chill.

Yn looked at Kyra out of the corner of her eye and it pretty much looked like Kyra was silently panicking. She was looking at the ceiling, not making eye contact with either Beth or Y/n, while her hands tapped anxiously on her own tight.

So much for trying to act cool.

“Oh no babe, I’m never letting this go.” Beth replied with a mischievous smile “I’m saying I’ll spare you both now because I'm late for the drills.”

“But we’ll talk about this on the way to Lia’s house,” she continued, the grin on her face stronger than ever, “ Leah tells me Kyra is driving you all to Lia’s, do you have a seat for me?”

“Yes, we got one last spot,” y/n mumbled, looking hopelessly at Beth.

Her plan to keep her relationship with Kyra on the download had just gone down the drain. Beth was an amazing friend, but the girl couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. She would eventually let it slip what she had seen in the changing room to the other girls. Beth just couldn’t help herself.

“Great!” She walked to the door. “Bye, lovebirds!”

Kyra's hands immediately shot up to cover her flushed cheeks “Oh God, that was so embarrassing!”

Kyra didn’t mind being seen with Y/n. To be honest she wanted the whole world to know it already. But at the same time, she wanted to keep what they had private. She wanted the affection and the sweet touches to stay in between them.

The less people knew the less they could pry on them. Although Kyra knew it wouldn’t last long, the Arsenal team was very close, they were more than a team, they were a real family.

Fortunately, there was no taboo about dating among players, especially at Arsenal, one of the clubs with the most couples.

Y/n smiled and reached over, gently pulling Kyra’s hands away from her face. She kissed the back of Kyra’s hand. “It’s okay, baby.”

“They’ll know eventually,” Y/n said softly but firmly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

Kyra’s tensed body slowly relaxed at Y/n's touch.

“Hey,” Y/n said, lifting Kyra’s chin so she was looking at her. “It’s not a big deal, okay?” She planted a gentle kiss on Kyra’s cheek.

“But you were straddling me,” Kyra murmured.

“So? It still could be a lot worse, trust me.” Y/n said with a warm smile, trying to reassure the girl. “Katie and Caitlin were much worse, don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah, and Beth and Viv didn’t know what personal space was,” Kyra chuckled, before turning serious again as the realisation set in.

“Bloody hell Steph and Caitlin are going to tease the hell out of me, just like I did when they started their relationships.”

Kyra looked devastated. It was cute.

“Karma, baby,” Y/n joked, trying to ease Kyra’s nerves. “You’ll get through, yeah?”

“Whose side are you on?” Kyra asked grumpily.

“Yours, always.”

Y/n leaned back against the bench and picked up her crutches. “Don’t worry about it, yeah?” her tone was reassuring. “We'll figure it out. But now I have to go to my medical exam, I think the doctor is already waiting for me… you make me lose track of time,” she grinned at Kyra.

Before Y/n could walk away, Kyra grabbed her hip. “Hey, what was Beth talking about before? About going to Lia’s house?” Kyra asks, confused.

“Well, as my favourite driver, you were chosen to drive me, Less, Leah and, now Beth to Lia’s, her cat died,” Y/n said, patting Kyra’s cheek.

“Her cat died?!” Kyra asked, eyebrows raised. “Oh damn, I’ll have to pay Katie.

Y/n furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“I bet the cat would last another year,” Kyra admitted, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Katie said it would be dead within a few months.”

Y/n was silent.

“It was Katie’s idea!” Kyra said, holding up both hands defensively.

“You bet on Lia's cat’s life?” Y/n said, her mouth hanging open. “That’s like so fucked up, mate.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Of course it was, and you just went along with it, didn’t you?”

Kyra gave her a cheeky smile. “That’s correct.”

“Hm, you pest,” Y/n muttered, giving Kyra one last kiss. “We’ll go after the drill is over, yeah? We can meet in the car park.”

“Okay, I’ll wait by the car,” Kyra said.

“You don’t mind driving us, do you?” Y/n asked just for the fun of it, she already knew the answer. “I didn’t even ask you.”

“Nope, I don’t mind as long as you sit in the passenger seat,” Kyra said teasingly, her thumb caressing Y/n’s skin.

“Good girl,” Y/n said with the same teasing tone. “Now please put your shirt back on or else I won't answer for my actions.”

“You are a pervert,” Kyra said, rolling her eyes, but doing as she was told.

“Yes, that's me!” Y/n said, before blowing a kiss and leaving the room. “See you later, babe.”

..

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 |

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[roguishcat]

What books don't teach you (or how to date a wickedly charming vampire if all you know about dating is purely theoretical)

Summary: Unfortunately, having enough smutty fiction to sink a ship did not prepare you for dating (were you even dating?) Astarion. A shy/inexperienced Reader x Astarion fic where both do everything wrong but somehow end up getting it right. Set in Act II (before Astarion's confession).

Rating: Exlicit (MNDI)

Tags: MNDI, 18+, NSFW, Humour, Romance, Angst, Smut, Smut with feels, Smut with some plot, Oral (Male receiving), Masturbation (female), Vaginal Fingering, Praise kink, They are bad at communicating, Inexperienced Reader, Astarion is bad at feelings

Pairing: Astarion x female Reader (You)

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It's spring cleaning time, so let's get those WIPs done! 😊 This is my first finished WIP for @thekindredcollective BG3 Spring Cleaning! Should have spent more time on this before posting, but my laptop is acting up again and I want to post the story whilst I can still use it (I hate writing/editing on my phone). Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated. Please tell me if you notice mistakes and typos! Hope you enjoy the story! ❤️❤️

You wanted to put him in your mouth. There. You said it. Well, admitted it to yourself silently in the dead of night whilst completely hidden under the blanket. Which was pretty much the same thing. Sort of.

You and Astarion had already done... it. The horizontal tango, that is. Twice even!

And you were very proud of how cool, smooth and put-together you were during those times. (Astarion immediately saw through your act, of course, but that was beside the point!)

Because no matter how inexperienced you were, you remembered both nights with hot cheeks and gentle warmth blooming to life in your chest every time you thought about the time you spent enjoying each other. Prior to meeting Astarion, you had no idea that bodies and tongues could even be used in such a manner. You read about it, of course. And being a voracious reader, especially when it came to certain literature, you had a general idea of what happened between consenting adults in the bedroom. And forests, beaches, caves, country houses, castle dungeons and so on.

But to actually experience it yourself! No matter how much you let your imagination run wild, to actually have someone, and a very handsome someone at that, outdo anything you imagined had been life-changing. You had a wonderful, toe-curling, lip-biting, earth-shattering, amazing time. And you really, really wanted to reciprocate.

And therein lay the problem.

The one and only time that you dared to go down on someone, you were told quite explicitly that you were completely shit at it. Absolutely talentless. Beyond terrible. And that put you off trying something like this with anyone ever again. Or so you thought.

Because when you looked at Astarion as he lay on top of you, making you tremble and shake with every movement of his hands on your skin, it made you wonder. Wonder how he would taste. You looked at Astarion and ached. Craved to hear him gasp and moan. Watch him unravel from the skill of your tongue and hands. Because surely if others could learn to do that to other person’s orifices then you… could probably manage to be okay at it.

The thought of your late-night musings becoming reality had your cheeks burning in seconds. You sighed and hit your head on the pillow, knowing that it was an awful, terrible idea.

Astarion was experienced, beautiful, and confident. You were not. Whatever it was that made him decide to be with you in the first place would surely be outweighed by the spectacular way you would screw this up.

You sighed again, this time a deep, long sound almost emptied your lungs.

You wondered if you could just ask someone. You were sure that at least one of your companions could give you a pointer or two. But Astarion's pointy ears seemed to catch every bit of juicy gossip, every little whisper. He would know of the full extent of your inadequacy and promptly dump you.

No. You needed to keep your embarrassing secret to yourself.

And then you had a eureka moment. Because you realised that you didn't need to ask anyone at all! What you needed was to get Gale distracted enough for you to steal one of his books. Because you were more than certain that recently Gale had come into possession of a very filthy tome that he quickly squirreled away before anyone could notice. The tome that would be your salvation.

And with this comforting thought finally allowing you to relax, you soon found yourself in the arms of Morpheus, your sleep untroubled and filled with pleasant, if a little racy, dreams.

Astarion was... concerned. Yes, he wasn't worried exactly, though he was slowly edging towards that territory. And why? Well, because their level-headed leader started acting in a manner that one could politely refer to as eccentric.

This group was already full of weirdos, and you were pretty much the only one of the lot that one could call the voice of reason. Except lately you seemed to abandon all reason and instead chose to act like a woman gone mad as you made attempt after attempt to steal something from the wizard.

You were so bad at going about it in a discreet manner that it was almost amusing. Gale did not seem to notice, but Astarion knew that the cleric and the gith did, as did Karlach. He was sure that Shadowheart and Karlach had some kind of bet going on, although he did not care to find out exactly what the terms were.

Initially, he had a fleeting thought that you were trying to get into Gale's tent for amorous reasons. That you decided to take a new lover. Astarion tried not to examine the sick feeling that twisted his gut at the thought of you leaving his bedroll cold to frolic into another person's tent. Because there wasn't any sick feeling in the first place and even if there was, he could quite reasonably blame it on indigestion.

But then he realised that you tried to sneak into Gale's tent only when the wizard was otherwise occupied, usually right about the time he was preparing meals and seemed to be engrossed in whatever he was trying to make edible.

Either way, Astarion was confused, bewildered by why you doggedly chose to pursue something that the wizard had come to possess. Your tenacity and grim persistence would be amusing had it been anyone else that was acting batshit crazy. Alas, it was the one companion that Astarion bet on to stay sane throughout the whole ordeal. And that just wouldn’t do. Not that he cared, per se. But you being predictable would definitely make things easier in the long run. Astarion had a plan, after all, and he was sticking to the said plan no matter what.

A smile curved the elf's lips as you once again failed to infiltrate enemy territory and were forced to retreat rather hastily - and inelegantly - almost smashing into a nearby tree as you made your escape. That didn't go unnoticed by the cleric, who whispered something to Karlach, making the tiefling almost spit her drink out as she tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh.  

It was at that moment that Astarion decided that he would help your poor pitiful self to steal whatever it was that you wanted to get from the wizard's tent. Because it would probably take one or two more failed attempts for Gale to notice, and that would mean that you would abandon your plan, and Astarion would never find out what it was that was worth all this trouble. Not that he cared as such. But it could be some powerful artifact, or a tome filled with nefarious spells. And if he knew what it was, he was almost certain he could convince you to share.

Later that day, as you positioned yourself strategically just outside Gale's tent, Astarion strolled up to the wizard with an air of casual boredom. Gale was busy preparing supper, chopping away at some vegetables and whatever else they managed to scavenge. Astarion snorted his disapproval at the scents emitting from the cooking pot.

"Something on your mind?" Gale chose that moment to speak up.

"Hm? Oh, no. Pay no attention to me whatsoever. I'm just pondering a dilemma of mine, and I am afraid I might not come up with an answer."

"I see, well, may I be of assistance?"

Inclining his head ever so slightly, Astarion could see you slink towards the open flap of Gale's tent, taking a step back to be swallowed up by the darkness.

Astarion smirked.

“I am not certain that you can, wizard. You see, this issue of mine would need a mind that is truly voracious. A certain someone that can unravel the unravellable. Solve the unsolvable.”

“And are you insinuating that I am lacking in this department?”

“Oh, no! I would never insinuate anything.”

Astarion heard something crash, the sound followed by a serious of muffled curses and something that that to a keen ear would seem like you fell over and were now struggling to extricate yourself from something or another. This level of clumsiness was so you that Astarion felt something akin to fondness.

Gale was about to turn his head when Astarion said, “I would not insinuate anything that I could state outright.”

That did it. Because Gale could take needling and teasing when it came to anything except his intellectual prowess.

“I’ll have you know that back at Blackstaff Academy I was often consulted on all matters of things! And often my council was the only one worth listening to! Now, tell me exactly what is troubling you. I am more than certain that I will solve whatever issue this is.”

Astarion saw you emerge with something hidden under your shirt. He didn't know why you bothered, it was more than obvious that it was a book of some sort. Though perhaps you were hoping to conceal the cover. Astarion's nostrils flared.

You were excited, embarrassed and a little aroused. An interesting combination to have to some light reading. 

“Astarion? Are you listening?”

Ah, the wizard was still talking. How he loved listening to the sound of his own voice! Honestly, some could really benefit from working on their people skills.

“You know, perhaps being in the presence of such intelligence was enough. I just thought of what to do. No advice needed.”

Gale blinked.

“I see. I’m glad that you are no longer troubled.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. We are all a little troubled around here. Anyway, must dash.”

And with that Astarion was gone in a flurry of silk and smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. Making his way out of camp, he pursued his target with predatory skill. It wasn’t like you were making it difficult to find you. A broken branch here, a piece of fabric snagged on a twig there. Astarion soon found himself on the riverbank, you not noticing his approach as you were deeply engrossed in your reading.     

"Hm.. Where is the part about.. Aha! Here we go. 'His throbbing member brushed against her skirts'. No, I must have skipped too far ahead."

Astarion bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. This is what you were after all this time? Stealing a dirty, scandalous novel? Surely he provided you with enough entertainment for you not to require that type of books? Who knew you were such a deviant underneath that prim and proper facade? How absolutely wonderful.

"Yes! Finally! 'She took him into her shaking hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his pulsing shaft, her eyes asking the question her lips could not form.'"

Your eyes shone with a victorious if somewhat maniacal glint, there was a leaf in your hair, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you read the next passage with feverish intensity. 

Perhaps it was time to make himself known. Astarion stepped on a tree branch, putting some force into it to make it snap. 

You squeaked and whipped your head around to look at him, eyes comically round and large, cheeks flushed and rosy. And it was at this moment that you lost your grip on the book, making it slip out of your fingers. You tried grabbing it but it was too late. Whatever escapades the Duke and the debutante got up to were lost to you, swallowed up hungrily by the river. 

"Well, I suppose now we will never know if he sheathed his sword to the hilt. Though perhaps it was more of a dagger?"

Astarion did not expect a pathetic little sob to be your reply.

"Darling?"

He crouched beside you, thumb wiping a stray tear that rolled down your cheek.

"It was supposed to be a surprise for you," you whispered, making a point not to look at him.

"Dearest, this is not the first novel of that sort that I've read and I am sure that it won't be the last."

"No- I- I wasn't talking about the book. I was trying to use it as a guide, of sorts."

"Well, I'm not sure if taking one too many bumps to your lovely head affected your memory, but we've already had sex. Twice, in fact."

"Yes,” you wiped your face with a swift, jerky movement, “but I wanted to do something. And I wanted to do it well."

Astarion chuckled as he realised what you were talking about. He had his suspicions when he had his wicked way with you, seeing the way you'd eye that particular part of his anatomy before quickly looking away. The elf lowered himself gracefully onto the ground and sat beside you, pulling you towards himself and letting your head rest on his shoulder.

"You've never-"

"Once. It wasn’t good. I mean I-I wasn’t very good," you admitted with a wince.

Astarion knew that he had to tread very, very carefully. It was glaringly obvious that you were inexperienced when it came to sex, even if you tried to act confident when you slept together. When he had stepped out from behind the tree the night when he bedded you for the first time, you walked towards him like a newborn doe, legs unsteady, hands shaking, a bright blush on your cheeks. You were excited and nervous in equal measures, and that made him both irritated and intruiged.

Therefore, Astarion chose not to tease you but took a deep breath, swallowed whatever witty comment was on his tongue, and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your temple.

Bringing his lips to your ear, Astarion spoke in a low tone, "Darling, make of it what you will, but a student is only as good as their teacher."

Hearing your heartbeat speed up, Astarion smirked. You turned so you were looking straight at him.

Fingers clasping your chin, he pulled you up enough to brush cool lips against your own, tongue flicking out to wet soft flesh.

"Would you like me to teach you?”

“Yes.”

“Then be a good girl for me and follow my instructions.”

Having spotted a rock with a deep indent that would allow one to take a seat somewhat comfortably, Astarion rose and moved towards it, motioning you to follow.

“On your knees, my sweet,” he purred, undoing the laces of his trousers as he took his place. Looking up, Astarion’s eyes widened as he found that you were completely bare from the waist up, your exposed breasts level with his crotch.

"Feeling a little warm?" He cleared his throat.

"No. This is plan B."

"I need you to explain your thinking there."

"Well, if you don’t enjoy my mouth, these might come in handy."

After all, you've read enough fiction over the years to know how one can make use of this particular part of your anatomy.

"You mean-"

"Yes."

"I see."

Astarion felt himself grow harder still and willed his rebellious cock to cool it. He was supposed to be the one doing the seducing. Not the one who was most certainly a virgin mere weeks ago. Except suddenly you seemed to turn the tables on him and he, the suave and experienced rogue that bedded thousands, wanted you to touch him. The fact that he did not feel the usual wave of self-loathing and disgust was odd yet very welcome.

Your hands brushed against the skin of his thighs, so warm and gentle. So unlike the touch he was used to. Astarion looked into your eyes and felt himself relax at seeing the genuine excitement you were trying to be less obvious about.

It was sweet. You were sweet. You wouldn’t hurt him, or force him, of belittle him. And knowing with the utmost certainty that you'd stop if he asked you to made Astarion put his hand on top of yours. His cool hand gripping yours gently, Astarion delighted in the way you swallowed nervously when he slowly guided your hands up.

"Start gently. No teeth."

"Wasn’t going to use them."

"Don't try to take it all in at once."

"Don’t think I can anyway."

"And darling?" Astarion said, noticing the intense resolve on your face. "Please don't overthink this."

"Okay," you nodded.

And then you put your tongue on him and licked a long, wet trail, giving the tip an experimental suck. Astarion's brain promptly short-circuited. The second suck was a touch more insistent, Astarion making a strangled sound that was most definitely not a whine. Emboldened by his reactions, you took more of him in, moving your mouth up and down the shaft, trying to establish a pace.

Astarion's eyes slammed shut and he bit his bottom lip. He had forgotten how good this could feel. Hells, he could not for the (un)life of him remember the last time someone offered to pleasure him in such a way. His experiences of sex, at least from what he could remember, were all about giving at best. At worst? Well...

Astarion scowled, willing himself to stay in the present, focusing on the licks and sucks, and your hand stroking the base. The sensitive head pulsed from the attention. Astarion groaned when he felt your fingers wrap around the base, stroking back and forth along the section where your mouth couldn’t reach. His eyes rolled upwards, his hips moving involuntarily to meet your mouth.

And then his dick hit the back of your throat, making you gag. It was then that Astarion remembered that he was meant to be instructing and you, in your eagerness, had to be guided enough not to hurt yourself. Perhaps your attention had to be otherwise occupied.

"Darling," Astarion purred, pushing you back gently, making his cock slide out of your mouth with a wet sound. "There is something else I'd like you to do for me."

"Sure, I'd do anything to you."

"You mean for me?"

You shrugged, making him bark a surprised laugh. Oh, you were fun! Perhaps not always on purpose, but still. Much more fun than most, at least in his experience.

"I'd like you to take the rest of your clothes off and touch yourself."

At your dubious look, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'd enjoy seeing you pleasure yourself whilst you pleasure me."

"Um..."

"Good girl."

You obeyed, undoing the ties with shaking fingers and taking your clothes off, nervous yet giddy with excitement. Looking up, you saw Astarion watching you intently, a lazy half smile on his face.

He thought he was all that, did he? Well, you read enough naughty novels that you purchased from Sharess' - hood on, not making eye contact and trying to get out there as fast as possible - to have plenty of theoretical knowledge about how these things got done! And sure, perhaps you didn’t have lovers before Astarion. But you had years to explore your body well enough to know what got you going.

Astarion watched as you placed your hand on your breast and then trailed your fingers down, the descent slow and teasing. As a rule, Astarion didn’t enjoy seeing others pleasure themselves. He enjoyed feeling what little power he had over people, enjoyed how they would grovel and writhe just so he'd grant them a moment of bliss, enjoyed seeing them say and do whatever it was that he wanted because please, please, please.

Sex was a tool. Sex was a weapon. Sex was a way to get what he wanted. And he would damn well use all the tricks in his arsenal to have you where he wanted you.

Except a peculiar thing happened. He actually wanted you. Which was becoming more apparent by the second as your fingers pushed your underwear aside to bare yourself enough for Astarion to be getting quite a show.

He could see, smell and all but taste the way your body reacted to touch and to being watched. It made his fangs itch. And then you threw your head back, baring your neck ever so deliciously as you let out a wanton moan. His body jerked towards you, and it took all his willpower not to sink his teeth into inviting flesh.

No, he'd always ask before biting.

"Darling, may I?" Astarion said in a guttural voice he barely recognised.

Your 'yes' came out as an almost plosive sound that was half breathed and half forced out. He sighed appreciatively, so close to getting what he craved. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he put his hands on your shoulders and leaned in, nose trailing along your neck, tongue lapping at the twin marks that would most definitely become permanent. The thought had his hips thrusting forward, cock hard and leaking.

Not wasting another moment, Astarion sank his fangs into your neck, pulling you towards him. He could feel your approaching orgasm, taste your pleasure, making it his own.

"Astarion," you whispered, eyes fluttering shut, the hand not working you into a frensy rising to brush back soft curls. Your feather-light touch on his ears made him groan as he drank, a trail of blood escaping and trickling down between your bodies.

"Astarion I-" the rest was swallowed by his mouth as he crashed his lips against yours. You could taste your blood and then felt his fingers join yours before dipping into you and-oh.

Strong, and sure, and experienced, his fingers had you panting and gasping into his mouth. He moved and you tried to grind against him, but steady hands kept you in place. Your orgasm hit you hard, Astarion not relenting as you rode his fingers.

You two broke apart and Astarion grinned. Yes, judging by your glazed eyes and swollen lips, his plan was working as brilliantly as he hoped.

"Was this fun, my sweet?" He let your head fall onto his shoulder, watching your chest rise and fall as your breath escaped you in wheezing puffs.

"Very," you nodded and licked your lips, trying to steady yourself. "And now it's your turn."

Astarion blinked.

"Mine?"

"Yes. I mean, unless you didn’t like it."

Astarion found that for the first time in his life he was unsure what to say. Because he didn’t actually expect you to continue. Because he was absolutely certain that you just wanted to play with his cock for a while before chasing your own release.

"I did like it," he admitted, looking away in a manner that could be described as uncharacteristically shy, "but you don't have to-"

"I want to," you interrupted. "I wanted to for a long time. If you allow it, that is," you murmured into the elf’s ear, sending a delicious shudder through him.

Your earnest expression had Astarion considering it. That and the fact your parted, moist lips looked wickedly inviting. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, applying gentle pressure as you gave it a few slow teasing strokes.

"You up for it, lover?" You teased.

"Hah! That’s terrible. Don’t do puns, dear.”

“Because you’d much rather I do you?”

“You know that terrible jokes account for one in two murders?”

“Is that a real statistic?”

“It might as well be.”

Looking at you, Astarion felt a wave of something that another, better emotionally equipped being, would call fondness. And then he felt a wave of something that he recognised all too well. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the way your hand moved over his hardness. And then he felt warm heat of your mouth and your appreciative sigh as you were finally given free rein, getting to do whatever you wanted to him as Astarion submitted to your ministrations.  

He knew that he wouldn’t last long. Not with your blood coursing through him and the warmth from your mouth seeping into his flesh and electrifying his nerves. He tried not to arch his back, seeking more friction, more of you, just more of it all. Because- hells!

You chose that moment to palm his balls, rolling them teasingly as Astarion fought with himself not to thrust and roll his hips. His breath caught in his throat and he released a needy, half-chocked sound as you slowed to trace a lazy path up the spit-sleeked hardness, sending already sensitive nerves into overdrive.

“Darling, I won’t last long,” Astarion whimpered.

Your hum of appreciation just about sent him over the edge.

And then you went faster, as if getting greedier by the minute. Astarion’s words came out as whimpering pleas that did not make sense to his own ears. He gasped and whimpered as his pleasure built.

Whimpers turned into groans and those turned into silence as his mouth opened, deadly fangs flashing,  as your other hand ventured further to find that spot and pressed into it with each movement. His orgasm swelled and broke, Astarion not even having the chance to ask where you’d want him to cum. You tried to swallow, but were rather unprepared, almost chocking then pulling back enough to let what you couldn’t manage trail down your hand and his body.

Astarion took greedy gulps of air that he didn’t need, eyes still closed, feeling boneless and lazy, and not wanting to move. He could feel you shift and next you started wiping him clean with a soft cloth, movements slow and careful. This wasn’t the first time you cared for him in such a way, but he still didn’t expect you to want to do something like that, not really sure how to react. And so Astarion chose to just stay silent and enjoy it while it lasted. Because for one reason or another, he was certain that whatever this was would not last.

“Did- Did I do well?”

He chuckled, “Isn’t it obvious? Or perhaps you’d like me to sing praises and commend you on your skill like they would in those novels you like, hm?”

One ruby eye cracked open and Astarion gave you a slow, languid smile.

“If you were in my novel, you’d definitely be more gallant,” you huffed.

“Apologies. I’ll try better next time.”

“Next time? You mean I get to do it again?”

“Can’t imagine why you are the one excited about it, but yes. You get to do it again.”

Your victorious, brilliant smile had him looking away, the tips of his ears tinged pink. He felt conflicted about the attention, confused as to why you’d feel so obviously happy at him being satisfied.

Astarion did not like not being able to figure people out. Not being able to predict what one would do, not knowing what came next had the elf stiffening involuntarily.

Red eyes watched you intently as you put your smallclothes on. The vampire was eerily still as you stumbled about, suddenly bashful and trying to cover yourself up as quickly as possible as you threw furtive looks in his direction. Then he took a breath, as if suddenly remembering that some would deem it a necessity and willed his body to obey him. Lips curving, a smile plastered on his face, Astarion rose in a smooth, elegant movement, still completely bare and seemingly not bothered by being nude out in the open.

A finger under your chin, he turned your head and pecked your lips.

“Thank you, darling. I had a simply marvellous time. How good of you to treat me so.”

His words didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of melting into a pile of feminine goo, as one should have done when being in the proximity of a gorgeous creature, you frowned and nodded.

“Yes. I’m glad. But I think I have to go.”

“Really? Have to?”

“No. I want to go.”

Astarion let his hand drop and watched you retreat with surprising haste, confused about what had just happened. It felt as if he had crossed some unspoken line, but he was unsure when and where he did so. Astarion dressed quickly, with jerky movements, tugging his shirt on angrily. Anger came naturally. Anger was easier. He did not know who he was angry at – you or himself – but somehow it made him feel better. Taking a different path to the one you chose to make your retreat, Astarion ran. Hunting something down and tearing into its throat with his fangs. Watching it thrust about as he bled it dry. He needed to at least sate his hunger if he couldn’t settle his mind.

Evening came and went with neither you nor Astarion uttering a word to each other. The next day was much the same. You communicated through others, but never directly.

On day six, you approached Astarion. He was reading, casually reclining against a tree, the wind playing with his curls and making them dance so beautifully that you almost missed a step and had to quickly catch yourself. Falling forward and kissing the ground would definitely put you in a state not conducive to having any conversation at all.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to just go for it. There was very little you could do to make the situation worse.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out.

"Beg pardon?" Astarion looked up with a cold expression on his handsome face.

Not a good start, but you decided to soldier on.

"I want to apologise."

"Do you know what you are apologising for?" Astarion closed his book and set it aside without breaking eye contact.

"I'm not sure exactly. I don't know what I did that day by the river, to make you look at me with such disgust-"

Astarion made a noise at the back of his throat which could be interpreted in many ways, and you took it as confirmation of your worst fears.

"And I don't know how to fix it! And maybe a simple apology isn't enough, but I couldn’t come up with anything better."

You had thought of how this conversation could go at length, tossing and turning late into the night. You had hoped to sound less pathetic, less needy. But perhaps being honest was the best way to go about it.

"I envy your easy confidence, you know. I never had that. Not once in my life. And it's not about my looks. I just don’t feel like I have the guts to talk about my wants. And I've never felt that I even wanted to… until you. And I'm not asking you to understand or to accept it. But I can't bear you to look at me that way again, like you can't wait to get away from me. So, I want to apologise. But I need you to tell me what happened,” you swallowed nervously, “please."

There was an awkward pause, a moment where Astarion didn't know what to do, what to say when faced with such sincerity and raw emotion. How would he even begin to explain what happened when he had spent centuries trying to avoid thinking about it for his personal sanity?

"I can't,” he began carefully, brows furrowed, fingers twitching. “At least I'm not sure if I can. But,” he paused, word coming out breath-heavy, “that, whatever that was, had nothing to do with you."

"Oh.” You looked away, whatever courage you summoned earlier used up at this point. “I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions."

Astarion rose in one swift movement. You were a breath away from each other, and yet not touching.

"I meant what I said that day. I did enjoy it. Being with you feels... like something else. Something new."

Untarnished, unspoilt.

"But it did bring up some less than pleasant memories."

"I'm sorry."

"Will you stop apologising, infuriating woman?" Astarion demanded sharply.

"I'm so-"

Astarion knew only one effective way of silencing you, so he pressed his lips firmly against yours, one hand finding itself in your hair, the other on the swell of your hip. You felt a tingle dance up your spine when Astarion coaxed your lips to open, his tongue slipping in to tangle with yours. You moaned into the kiss, the tension and worries of the past six days melting away until you felt like you were floating.

Remembering that you did, in fact, need to breathe, Astarion broke the kiss.

"No more apologies," Astarion admonished you gently. "Especially when you've done nothing wrong."

You nodded silently and quiet enveloped you both, Astarion looking at you with warm intensity as you ran your fingers through his soft, silver curls.

"And now, my dear," Astarion decided to finally ask you the question that has been on his mind for the past six days, "I believe we are overdue for a discussion of a different type. Because I simply can't go on another moment without knowing where you learned of plan B."

And this was when you told Astarion about your most prized possession - the library in the basement of your home with enough tomes to sink a ship. Astarion had never been more eager to get back to the Gate.

He simply had to survive long enough to see this. And then have you read to him from each one. Preferably naked.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9, @hellethil,

@nyx-knox, @vividiana, @khywren,

@maeryls-journal

[bruthaewwwww]

Sharp Shooter (1)

A/n: Hi so i got to writing and i just finished editing this so please tell me if u like it or not. im really trying to make all my stuff longer and more interesting. Please send requests!!!!! (BTW azzi is injured in this)

Themes: Injury, drinking (not really tho) and fluff

words: 6.3k

The sound of applause echoed around the stadium as the final buzzer blared, signaling the end of the game. Azzi sat on the bench, her leg propped up on a cushion, the pain in her knee sharp despite the adrenaline from the win. Her teammates were already jumping to their feet, rushing onto the court, but Azzi remained still, her crutches leaning against the bench beside her, the weight of her injury pressing down on her in a way she couldn’t ignore. The doctors had told her she wouldn’t be able to play today. A torn ligament, a sprain—whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She was out.

But even with the pain, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as she watched her team celebrate. They’d worked so hard for this moment, and as much as it stung not being on the court with them, she was proud. They were her family, the girls who had been by her side through everything—the highs and the lows.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi reached for her crutches, the unicorn-shaped handles familiar in her hands, a small bit of levity in the midst of everything. She slid them under her arms quickly, not wanting to miss out on the moment everyone else was sharing. She had to be there with them, even if she couldn’t run the court.

Carefully, she pushed herself up, feeling the familiar strain in her knee. She wavered for a moment, but she steadied herself, determined to join the celebration. But as she took a few tentative steps toward the group of girls, something unexpected happened.

Her crutches slipped slightly on the polished floor, and Azzi felt her balance falter. Her heart skipped in her chest as panic crept up, but before she could fall, she felt it—a warm, steady touch on her back.

Azzi didn’t need to look over to know who it was. She could feel it in the air between them, a subtle shift, a warmth that immediately grounded her. Paige. It was always Paige.

Paige’s hand was firm yet gentle against her back, steadying her, keeping her from losing her balance. The air around them seemed to shift, and Azzi could feel a spark of something in the touch, something unspoken, something more than just a teammate helping her out. It was a familiar feeling, but tonight, with the win still vibrating in the air and the quiet tension between them, it felt different.

Without saying a word, Paige shifted her hand, her fingers sliding lower, coming to rest at the small of Azzi’s waist, guiding her forward. The warmth from her hand lingered, spreading through Azzi’s body like a small, quiet fire.

Azzi took another step, leaning a little into Paige for support, and though her knee throbbed with every movement, the touch of Paige’s hand somehow made the pain seem more distant, like it didn’t matter as much in the moment.

“You good?” Paige’s voice was soft, just loud enough for Azzi to hear over the celebration around them. There was something about the way Paige said it, something more than just concern—it felt like an invitation, like there was more to the question than her injury.

Azzi nodded, her smile small but genuine. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Paige’s hand didn’t leave her waist, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Azzi could feel the steady warmth of Paige’s touch like it was a lifeline, grounding her in a way nothing else could. Her heart pounded in her chest—not from the excitement of the game, but from something else. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name yet.

“Come on,” Paige said after a moment, her hand gently urging Azzi to keep moving. “We’ve got a victory to celebrate. You’re part of this, too.”

Azzi hesitated for a fraction of a second before she allowed herself to lean a little more into Paige’s side, their steps in sync as they made their way toward the rest of the team. The cheering and laughter around them swirled in a blur of voices, but for Azzi, all she could focus on was the feel of Paige beside her, the warmth of her touch, and the quiet connection between them that seemed to say more than words ever could.

They reached the center of the court, and the team gathered around, pulling Azzi into the huddle. Her knee still throbbed, the sharp reminder of her injury never far away, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Paige’s presence at her side was enough to make the pain fade into the background. There was something in the air between them, something unspoken, and Azzi couldn’t help but feel like this was just the beginning of something more.

The celebration continued around them, but Azzi didn’t need to hear the cheers anymore. The spark between her and Paige was more than enough to keep her grounded.

***

Lying in her bed, Azzi scrolled through her phone absentmindedly, her thumb flicking across the screen in a half-hearted attempt to distract herself. The screen lit up with photos of her teammates celebrating the win, their smiles wide and infectious. Some were posting photos of the party they’d planned for after the game, a night filled with laughter and drinks to celebrate their hard-fought victory. Azzi could almost hear the music and feel the heat of the crowded bar through the pictures. It sounded tempting, almost too tempting to pass up.

But then she remembered. Her knee throbbed even now, despite the painkillers she’d taken after the game. The doctors had warned her not to overdo it—no heavy drinking, no late nights. And hobbling around the bar with her crutches? That didn’t sound like fun at all. She had to admit it, even though it felt like a weight in her chest: It wasn’t worth it.

Still, the thought of missing out on the celebration made her stomach churn. She had been part of every practice, every drill, every game, and this win meant just as much to her as it did to anyone else. She deserved to be there. But as the minutes ticked by and the night wore on, Azzi found herself alone in her room, lying in bed, scrolling through Instagram, watching everyone else go on without her.

Her thumb froze on the screen when she saw a post from Paige.

Paige. She was sitting at a booth at the bar, looking carefree, laughing with a few of the girls from the team. Azzi’s heart sank a little. Paige had left for the bar before the rest of the group, slipping out of the locker room with a smile, one that Azzi had secretly hoped was meant for her, but now… she wasn’t so sure. The voice in Azzi’s head started to whisper, that quiet voice that always seemed to find her when she least wanted to hear it: She’s not your girlfriend. She’s not required to be there.

Azzi closed her eyes, trying to shake off the feeling, but it only made the disappointment settle deeper in her chest. It was a selfish thought. She knew that. Paige had her own life, her own friends, her own reasons for doing what she wanted. She wasn’t obligated to stay behind just because Azzi had to sit this one out. She wasn’t hers, after all.

Still, the pang of loneliness that gripped her was hard to ignore. She clutched the blanket tighter around her, burying her face into the pillow, her mind racing. What if Paige had stayed with her? What if she had chosen to be here, in this quiet room, instead of going off to the bar with everyone else?

Azzi’s heart gave an involuntary twist at the thought, and the sadness that followed made her feel small, like something she didn’t want to face. She loved Paige. She had loved her for so long that it had become a part of her, a constant, even if she’d never said the words out loud. Paige was everything to her—supportive, kind, funny. She had always been there for Azzi, especially when things got tough. They had grown close in a way Azzi couldn’t fully explain, the bond between them stronger than just teammates, stronger than friends. It was something deeper. Something more.

But the fact remained: Paige wasn’t hers. The reality stung more than she wanted to admit. No matter how much Azzi wished she could go to the ends of the earth for her, it didn’t change the fact that Paige had the right to make her own choices. And tonight, those choices had led her to the bar, to the rest of the team. Not here, with Azzi.

She stared at the ceiling, fighting back the frustration that bubbled up in her chest. You can’t keep waiting for something that isn’t coming, the voice reminded her. She’s not yours to keep.

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Her love for Paige felt like a quiet ache inside her, a place that no one could see but her. She wanted to believe it could be more, that maybe someday Paige might see her the way she saw her, but tonight, as Azzi lay alone in her bed, the distance between them felt impossibly wide.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes, staring at the notifications on her phone. Everyone was having a great time, laughing, celebrating, posting the best moments of the night. And there was Paige, glowing, surrounded by people. It made Azzi’s heart ache, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking, even though she knew it would only make her feel more distant.

In the end, Azzi couldn’t change what was happening. Paige was where she wanted to be, with her teammates, at the bar. And Azzi? She was stuck here, nursing her injury, nursing her unspoken feelings, and feeling more alone than she cared to admit.

She reached for her phone, locking the screen, and set it aside, closing her eyes again. She wasn’t sure if the sadness was from missing the party or missing Paige, or maybe both. All she knew was that the ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away.

Azzi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing despite the exhaustion weighing on her. She had tried everything—closing her eyes, adjusting her pillows, adjusting her leg to get comfortable—but sleep felt like an impossible task. The images of her teammates celebrating, the loud music, the laughter echoing from the bar... none of it could drown out the thought of Paige. Every time her mind drifted, it inevitably went back to her—the way Paige had looked at her earlier, the warmth of her touch, the way they always seemed to understand each other without saying a word.

Azzi rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin, but even the soft fabric couldn’t comfort her. It was the waiting that gnawed at her. The space between them that felt so much bigger now that she was lying here alone in her room while Paige was out with the rest of the team.

Unable to quiet her thoughts, Azzi reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she unlocked it. She opened up the messages app and stared at Paige's contact, her thumb itching to type something—anything.

After a brief hesitation, Azzi typed out a message:

A: Can u come back?

She paused after hitting send, her heart skipping a beat as she thought about how needy it might seem, how much she hated feeling like this. But then she immediately typed again, hoping to soften the tone, or at least make it sound more casual:

A: I’m sooo bored.

Azzi stared at the screen, biting her bottom lip as she waited for the response. Her mind raced through a hundred different scenarios. Would Paige be annoyed? Would she think Azzi was being ridiculous? But before she could second-guess herself, her phone buzzed, and the reply appeared almost instantly.

P: Ofc u need anything?

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected her to respond so quickly, or so eagerly. A grin tugged at Azzi’s lips, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. Paige was always there for her—maybe she didn’t know how deep Azzi’s feelings went, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. The simple fact that Paige had responded so quickly made Azzi feel a little less alone, a little less... empty.

She felt a rush of relief, followed by a playful idea. Azzi smiled to herself, typing her next message with a little more energy.

A: Can u pick up some more ice cream?

Her thumb hovered over the send button for a moment. Ice cream was a classic—something silly, something that would lighten the mood. But the request was also an excuse, a reason for Paige to come back, for the two of them to have a moment together. Just the thought of it made her stomach flutter.

A few moments later, the phone buzzed again.

P: yeah i gotchu

Azzi’s heart melted at the ease in Paige’s response. That was all she needed to hear. Paige wasn’t just coming back—she was coming back for her. Even though the words were casual, there was an undertone in them that made Azzi’s chest ache with hope.

She set her phone down and leaned back against the pillow, her leg throbbing slightly under the blanket. The room was silent, but there was a warmth building in her chest, something she couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just the ice cream she wanted—it was the time with Paige, the moments that seemed to slip away too easily when they were surrounded by other people.

Azzi closed her eyes, letting herself imagine the knock on her bedroom door. Paige standing there, holding out a carton of ice cream, the quiet smile that always made Azzi’s heart skip. She’d ask about her leg, probably—she always did. They’d chat for a little while, maybe watch a movie, just like they used to during their late-night talks. But this time, there would be something different in the air, something Azzi couldn’t quite name yet, but she could feel it in her bones.

As the minutes ticked by, Azzi's mind wandered again, not to the celebration at the bar, but to the quiet moments she'd shared with Paige before. She didn’t need grand gestures or loud parties. She just needed moments like this—simple, unspoken connections that ran deeper than anything she could say out loud.

The soft hum of the world outside her room seemed to fade, and the only thing Azzi could focus on was the quiet anticipation building inside her. Paige would be back soon, and in that moment, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

Azzi's heart raced when she heard the knock at her door. She had been lying in bed, her mind swirling with thoughts, the anticipation growing as she waited for Paige’s arrival. Even though she had been expecting it, the sound of the knock still startled her. She glanced over at her phone, checking to see if there was another message from Paige. Nothing had come through, but the moment she heard the soft thud on her door, Azzi knew it was time.

She quickly pushed herself up from the bed, her injured leg giving a slight twinge of discomfort, but it didn't matter. She'd been waiting for this moment. The excitement was tangible, buzzing through her chest like electricity. Azzi grabbed her crutches and hobbled to the door, taking a moment to steady herself before pulling it open.

There stood Paige, holding a container of ice cream in one hand and a carefree smile on her face. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of concern and warmth as they met Azzi's.

“Thank you for coming, P,” Azzi said, her voice coming out a little drier than she expected. She hadn’t been talking much since she’d been alone, and her throat felt tight from not using it. She swallowed before continuing. “Really. I appreciate it.”

Paige’s smile softened, her gaze lingering on Azzi as she stepped into the room. “Of course I came, Az. You know I wouldn’t leave you hanging.” She held up the ice cream with a playful grin. “Got the goods—your favorite.”

Azzi’s face lit up at the sight of the ice cream, but it wasn’t just the sweet treat that made her smile. It was Paige, standing there in front of her, making this simple moment feel special. She felt the warmth of Paige’s words wash over her, but there was something more—something in the air between them that made Azzi’s pulse quicken.

Paige stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. “How’s the leg?” she asked, her voice gentle, as she looked Azzi up and down, concern flashing across her features.

“It’s okay,” Azzi replied with a shrug, though she couldn’t quite hide the way her leg ached with every movement. “Just trying to take it easy. You know, the usual.”

Paige’s eyes softened. She walked over to Azzi’s bed, carefully placing the ice cream on the nightstand before turning back to face her. “I hate that you're stuck here. You should be out there celebrating with everyone.”

Azzi sat back down on the edge of her bed, her crutches resting beside her. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true. The team’s celebration felt distant, like something she couldn’t reach from where she was sitting. But then again, being here with Paige didn’t feel so bad.

Paige smiled, her eyes glinting with something that Azzi couldn’t quite name. She sat down next to Azzi on the bed, her knee brushing Azzi’s in a way that sent a flutter through her chest.

“You don’t have to go through this alone, you know?” Paige said softly, her voice low but full of meaning. “I would do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Azzi’s breath hitched in her throat, the words striking her in a way that made her heart stumble for a moment. It wasn’t just the sentiment, though it was more than enough to make her feel warm inside. It was the way Paige said it, like it was something she meant deep down, something that went beyond simple friendship. Azzi’s chest tightened, the space between her heart and her throat feeling like a physical weight.

“Anything?” Azzi whispered, her voice barely above a breath. She turned her head to meet Paige’s gaze, her heart racing as she searched for something in Paige’s eyes—something that might confirm what she was starting to feel.

Paige looked back at her, the soft curve of her lips fading as she studied Azzi closely. The playful energy that had been there moments before seemed to settle into something deeper, more sincere. She didn’t look away, her eyes holding Azzi’s with an intensity that made Azzi’s breath catch in her chest.

“Anything,” Paige repeated, her voice almost a vow. “You know you’re not alone in this, Azzi. I’m right here. Always.”

Azzi swallowed hard, the words striking something deep inside her that she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. She wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension in the air, but her voice failed her. She felt like her whole body was on fire from the weight of Paige’s words, the quiet sincerity that hung in the room.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the world outside the room. Paige, ever the calm presence, finally broke the silence with a small, gentle smile.

“Want me to put that ice cream in the freezer before it melts?” she asked, her tone light again, though there was still that underlying warmth.

Azzi blinked, a little startled by the shift, but it was a welcome one. She nodded quickly, her voice thick with emotion as she replied, “Yeah, please. I—thanks for doing this, P. Really.”

Paige stood up, grabbing the ice cream and walking to the small fridge near Azzi’s desk. As she opened the door, Azzi couldn’t help but watch her, her heart still racing from everything that had been left unsaid between them.

Paige turned back around after putting the ice cream away, her eyes soft as she met Azzi’s gaze again. “Anytime, Az. You know that.”

Azzi smiled, feeling a quiet warmth spread through her chest. Anytime. It was everything she needed to hear, even if it wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t ignore the way her feelings for Paige had been growing, but in this moment, the simplicity of their connection, of Paige being here with her, was enough.

As Paige sat back down beside her, Azzi leaned her head against her shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. “Guess we can’t let this ice cream go to waste now.”

Paige chuckled softly, her arm brushing against Azzi’s. “No way. You’re going to help me eat it all.”

And for the first time that night, Azzi allowed herself to relax, savoring the quiet moments with Paige, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. But for now, it was enough.

Azzi let out a small laugh as Paige reached for a spoon, her fingers brushing Azzi's in the process. “You sure you want to share with me? I’ve been known to finish a whole pint on my own,” Azzi teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Paige smirked, giving her a sideways glance as she twisted the spoon in the ice cream. “Oh, I’m well aware,” she shot back with a wink. “But don’t worry, I’m not one to back down from a challenge. I’ll match you bite for bite.”

Azzi grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Is that a challenge, Paige?”

“Oh, it’s definitely a challenge,” Paige said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I hope you’re ready for me to out-eat you.”

Azzi snorted, leaning back against the pillows. “Oh, I’m ready. You don’t stand a chance.” She grabbed her own spoon, holding it like a weapon, prepared for battle. “You better be quick, though. I’m not here to mess around.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Azzi’s sudden competitive edge. “You do realize I’m probably the fastest ice cream eater in the history of mankind, right?”

Azzi scoffed. “Please, Paige. I’ve got years of experience. I’ll finish this before you even get through the first bite.”

They both dug into their ice cream with exaggerated speed, scooping up spoonfuls and shoveling them in like it was some high-stakes competition. The room filled with laughter as they both struggled to keep up, their spoons clinking together with each bite.

“Okay, okay, I admit defeat,” Azzi said dramatically after a few minutes, dramatically dropping her spoon onto the bed. “You’ve officially out-ice-creamed me.”

Paige laughed, her voice rich and light. “I knew I’d win. But I’ve gotta admit, you gave me a run for my money.”

Azzi grinned, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “What can I say? I’m a professional.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” Paige teased, tapping Azzi’s knee with the back of her spoon. “I think I’ll let you win next time. Just to keep your pride intact.”

“Aw, how considerate,” Azzi said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I guess I’ll have to thank you for your generosity.”

Paige shot her a playful look, winking again. “Don’t mention it. But next time? No mercy. I’ll take you down.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “We’ll see about that.”

There was a beat of silence, the playful atmosphere lingering between them. Paige took another bite of ice cream and leaned back, glancing over at Azzi with a soft smile.

“So, how are you really doing?” Paige asked, her voice quieter now. “I mean, with everything… how’s the knee? How’re you holding up?”

Azzi glanced over at her, the playful energy slipping into something more grounded. She paused for a moment, considering the question. “Honestly? It sucks. Not being able to play... it’s hard,” she admitted, her voice a little softer than before. “I miss being on the court with everyone. I miss feeling like I’m contributing.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she set her spoon down, giving Azzi her full attention. “I get it, Az. I really do. But you are contributing. Even when you're not on the court, you’re still a huge part of this team. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you, injury or not.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “I appreciate that, P. I really do.” She met Paige’s gaze again, the weight of their shared history and understanding hanging between them. “It just feels like I’m missing out on all the fun, you know?”

Paige nudged her gently with her elbow. “You’re not missing out on anything as long as I’m here,” she said, her tone light and comforting. “You’re stuck with me, Azzi. Ice cream dates, bad jokes, and all.”

Azzi laughed, the heaviness in her chest lightening just a little. “Well, if I’m stuck with you, I guess I’m not complaining.”

Paige smiled warmly, reaching for the ice cream again. “Good. Because I’m sticking around. You’ve got me, for better or worse. Ice cream battles and all.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered at the simple sincerity in Paige’s words. For a moment, she allowed herself to just enjoy the quiet, the easy companionship they shared. It wasn’t just about the ice cream or the playful banter—it was about this, the comfort of having Paige by her side, no questions asked.

“Alright, alright,” Azzi said, breaking the silence after a few moments, her playful grin returning. “But next time, I’m totally winning this ice cream challenge.”

Paige raised her spoon, as if preparing for another round. “We’ll see about that, Azzi. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

They both laughed, the sound filling the room as they went back to the ice cream, the playful energy returning between them. Neither of them knew what the future held, but in that moment, with the ice cream and the quiet banter, everything felt simple, everything felt right.

The ice cream was nearly gone, the carton now half-empty, and the two of them were sprawled on Azzi's bed, laughing and still poking fun at each other over the ridiculous movie quotes they kept tossing out. But after a while, the laughter faded, and the warmth of the room began to settle over them. Azzi found herself yawning, stretching her sore leg out beside her, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. Her mind had slowed, no longer racing with thoughts of the game or the team, but instead focused on the quiet, comforting presence of Paige beside her.

"Okay," Azzi said with a sigh, dropping her spoon into the empty ice cream carton. "I think I’m done. No more food for me tonight."

Paige chuckled softly, glancing over at her. “I think we’ve both had enough sugar for the night. I don’t want to be the one to deal with the aftermath of that in the morning.”

Azzi snorted. “Fair point. But hey, at least we didn’t make a total mess of it. I’m impressed by how well we managed to destroy that pint.”

“Exactly,” Paige agreed, her voice light as she settled back into the pillows, her eyes flicking over to the TV. The screen was still showing the opening credits of Frozen. “But now... we’ve got Frozen to deal with.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously putting on Frozen right now? You’re killing me.”

Paige smiled slyly. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to hear Let It Go one more time. Or maybe you’re just scared of Elsa’s voice.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but a playful grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. I secretly love this movie.” She lowered her voice into a dramatic tone. “But only because of the soundtrack. Who doesn’t want to belt out Let It Go in the shower?”

Paige laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, I’m sure you’re really good at that.”

Azzi nudged her gently. “You have no idea.”

Paige smiled softly, reaching for the remote and hitting play. The screen flickered, and soon the soft music filled the room, the familiar opening tune of Frozen wafting through the air. Azzi snuggled back into her pillows, her eyes fluttering slightly as she allowed herself to sink deeper into the comfort of the moment. Paige was beside her, their shoulders brushing occasionally, the light glow from the TV casting soft shadows over their faces.

It wasn’t long before Azzi’s eyelids grew heavy, the gentle lull of the movie paired with the quiet comfort of Paige’s presence making her feel safe and at peace. She yawned again, stretching out her leg as she sank further into the pillows.

Paige, noticing the change in Azzi’s energy, turned toward her, her voice soft as she whispered, “Hey, you okay?”

Azzi nodded, her voice sleepy. “Yeah, just... tired, I guess.” She shifted slightly, her crutches still resting beside the bed, her injured leg propped up on a pillow. “I think I’m ready to sleep, actually.”

Paige smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face, her touch gentle. “You should rest. We can finish the movie another time.”

Azzi gave a small laugh, her eyes already closing. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay with just... this.” She shifted again, now leaning against Paige’s side, her head finding a comfortable spot on her shoulder.

Paige was quiet for a moment, her arm slowly wrapping around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her in closer. “You’re sure? You can go to sleep now if you want. I’ll stay with you.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest as she heard the sincerity in Paige’s voice. It wasn’t just a casual offer—it was a promise. Azzi let herself relax into the feeling, allowing the softness of Paige’s presence to soothe her.

“Yeah... I want to stay with you,” Azzi murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as she shifted her head to rest on Paige’s chest. “This is... perfect.”

Paige smiled, her fingers softly brushing through Azzi’s hair as the movie played on in the background. “We’ll be right here, okay? No rush to go anywhere. Just... us.”

Azzi nodded sleepily, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion. The rhythmic sound of Paige’s heartbeat was comforting, steady, and it made Azzi feel safe in a way she hadn’t known she needed. She breathed deeply, her eyes fluttering shut as she allowed herself to drift off to sleep, the warmth of Paige’s embrace the only thing she wanted to hold on to.

Paige, feeling Azzi relax into her, shifted carefully to get more comfortable. With one arm around Azzi, she turned her attention back to the movie, though she didn’t really watch. She found herself content just in the quiet, in the stillness of the moment.

As the movie continued to play softly in the background, the two of them found a quiet rhythm, the world outside fading away. Paige’s fingers traced small, absent patterns along Azzi’s arm, her mind quietly drifting, but her focus entirely on the girl in her arms. Azzi’s breathing was slow and even now, her chest rising and falling in time with Paige’s gentle touch.

The night slipped by unnoticed, the two of them nestled in each other’s arms, surrounded by the quiet hum of the movie and the soft warmth of companionship. Neither of them needed to say anything else—everything they needed to know was there, in the silence, in the shared moments. It was enough to simply be together, wrapped up in the security of each other’s presence. And in that moment, they both fell asleep, the world outside their little bubble forgotten for now, the simple act of being together more than enough.

The morning light streamed through the crack in the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room. Azzi stirred first, her body still warm and comfortable in the embrace of the night before. She blinked slowly, trying to push away the lingering fog of sleep, but the sun’s bright rays were already nudging her awake. The warmth of the blankets felt inviting, but there was something else too—the comforting weight of Paige’s arm around her, holding her close. For a moment, Azzi just breathed in the peace, savoring the quiet of the morning.

As her eyes fluttered open, the harsh sunlight caught her directly in the face, making her squint instinctively. She groaned softly, shifting her head away from the window, but the light seemed determined to keep her awake.

She glanced down at Paige, still fast asleep beside her, her blonde hair sprawled messily across the pillow. Paige’s face was soft and peaceful, her lips slightly parted as she slept soundly, unaware of the morning sun’s intrusion. Azzi smiled to herself at the sight, but the sunlight was becoming unbearable.

Without thinking, she carefully slid her arm out from underneath Paige’s, careful not to wake her, and grabbed the edge of the blanket. She then gently draped it over Paige’s face, blocking out the light, the fabric soft against the blonde’s skin. Azzi watched as the light receded from Paige’s face, and she sighed in relief.

"Much better," Azzi whispered to herself, trying to stifle a yawn.

She looked over at Paige again, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her sleeping so peacefully. The way Paige’s face softened when she was asleep made Azzi’s chest feel full in a way she couldn’t quite describe. She was glad they had spent the night together, even if it had been without saying much. There was something so calming about just being in each other’s presence.

After a few moments, Paige’s eyes fluttered open, and she groggily squinted at the blanket covering her face. She grumbled, lifting it off her head with a sleepy frown.

“Ugh… what time is it?” Paige mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one hand, still not fully awake. Her voice was rough from sleep, and Azzi couldn’t help but smile at the way she looked so cute, all disheveled and half asleep.

Azzi chuckled softly. “About time you woke up.” She grinned mischievously, her voice teasing. “I blocked out the sun for you. You’re welcome.”

Paige blinked a few times, still trying to adjust to the light. “Oh my god, I’m going to need coffee. And maybe a lot of it.”

Azzi laughed at Paige’s dramatic tone, shaking her head. “Yeah, you looked like you needed a little extra help this morning.” She nudged her with her shoulder playfully, still lying comfortably in bed. “I didn’t want you to be blinded by the sun, though. You were looking way too peaceful to wake up like that.”

Paige groaned again, her voice muffled as she tried to snuggle deeper into the blankets. “You’re such a sweetheart, Azzi. I’ll owe you one for this.”

“Yeah, you will,” Azzi teased back, giving Paige an exaggerated wink. “But we’ll work out the terms later.”

Paige finally sat up with a long stretch, the muscles in her arms and back visibly stiff from sleeping, and Azzi couldn’t help but admire the sight. There was something about the way Paige moved, so fluid and carefree, that always caught Azzi’s attention. When she finished stretching, Paige reached over and flicked the light switch on the bedside lamp, casting a soft light over the room.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake. But for real, where’s the coffee?” Paige said, her eyes still heavy with sleep, though her smile made it clear she was just as content as Azzi was to be in the same space.

Azzi snorted. “I think I need coffee more than you do. I’m pretty sure my head is still in a fog.”

“Don’t worry,” Paige said, playfully nudging her as she swung her legs off the bed. “I’ll get you coffee. You did save me from the evil sunlight, after all.”

Azzi leaned back into the pillows, letting herself relax. “I’m holding you to that. And... thank you for last night. It was... really nice. Just hanging out. I needed that.”

Paige turned back to her, her eyes softening. “Anytime, Azzi. You know I’ve got your back, right?”

Azzi smiled, feeling her heart warm at the sincerity in Paige’s voice. “Yeah, I know.”

Paige grinned before standing up and stretching again, her arms reaching toward the ceiling. “Well, I’m off to find that coffee. Stay here, try not to get too cozy while I’m gone.” She smirked, already heading toward the door.

Azzi gave her a playful look, calling out to her as she walked away. “Just don’t be too long. I’ll have you know, I have plans for us today. The day isn’t going to waste on just coffee!”

Paige turned around with a knowing smile. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll make the most of it. But first—coffee. And then... who knows what kind of trouble we’ll get into?”

Azzi chuckled, her heart still fluttering from the soft moments they’d shared. “You’re on.”

As Paige disappeared down the hallway, Azzi let herself settle back into the pillows, her thoughts drifting back to the simple moments of the night before—how natural everything had felt. She couldn’t quite explain what was happening between them, but it felt like something real. Something worth exploring.

For now, though, the day stretched out before them, full of possibilities. And with Paige by her side, Azzi couldn’t wait to see where it would go.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you.

you’re all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation around you, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[wlwsoccerfics]

Navigating Motherhood(GiuliaGwinnXMiedemaReader)

A/N: Hope you enjoy this cute little fic. Short but sweet.

Summary: you and your wife navigating life as Professional Football players and First time moms.

It has been two months since you and your wife Giulia became mothers. You have given birth to a beautiful Baby Girl named Florence 'Flo' Violet Gwinn-Miedema. You played for FC Bayern Munich, just like Giulia did.

Today was the first day you would get back into Training with the Team and of course the Girls had asked if you two could bring Baby Gwinn-Miedema with you. They wanted to see their little niece again.

Of course you agreed. You were quite happy to bring her along for the ride. In a few weeks you would take on Arsenal in the Champions League. Arsenal also happened to be the Club your Sister in law Beth played at. So you were excited to see her. Even though you wouldn't be playing in that game. Your sister Viv had just left after coming to munich for a few days to meet her Baby Niece and so you could see your nephew Gideon again. Your sister and your Sister-in-law had him two years ago. Viv gave birth to him.

It was a good thing you could always asked Beth and Viv for advice when it came to raising Florence. Cause your daughter and your nephew were close enough in age.

"Babe?" You hear your wife say. She was walking into the bathroom with Flo in her arms.

"yes liefje?" You asked.

"are you ready to go?" she wanted to know.

"i am! Just had to get my contacts in!" You informed Giulia.

When you were about to leave the house Flo started crying. You frowned softly. Knowing that she probably was hungry.

"someone is hungry!" You stated and gently took her from Giulia. Sitting down on the Couch with her.

"i will Text the group Chat that we will be a bit late to practice." Giulia said, kissing your head and then your daughters.

You gently stroked her tiny fingers while she was nursing.

"you are making mommies be late to work! Good thing you are so adorable so i will let it slide!" You told her with a soft smile on your face. Giulia laughed at your little joke.

"she really is the cutest." Giulia admitted.

"our daughter can't even talk yet, and still has us wrapped around her little fingers already!" You replied with a laugh escaping your lips.

After Flo finished nursing and got burped you changed her diaper before the three of you finally left for practice. Giulia was driving.

"are you okay, Love?" She asked you cause she could tell that you started to get nervous again.

"i am just nervous. It's the first time in almost a year that i will be Training with the Team again! And not do light Training!" You explained to her.

"you gonna do just fine Babe!" Giulia told you. "You already are Superwoman for staying active while growing a tiny human! Which by the way you didn't have to do. Cause carrying a Baby is work enough, but you still decided to have your own workout plan!" She added on. You appreciated how proud she was of you.

"thanks for saying that. also liefje, we need to work on our time management because you know i hate being late. Even when the reason why is our really adorable Baby Girl!" You told her.

You reached the FC Bayern Campus around 30 minutes after practice started. So you quickly got dressed and went out to the pitch. Giulia was carrying Florence in her Baby carrier. Needless to say that practice was on hold when you arrived cause everyone wanted to hold your daughter. You apologized for being late again and for crashing practice but no one seemed to mind.

"she is such a doll!" Lea told you. Looking at her with a smile while Tuva was holding her.

"thanks Lea, took 9 months to Cook her to perfection!" You said jokingly. All of your anxiety gone now. It felt good to be back and not just visiting.

You enjoyed practice. It was an amazing feeling. Only having two take a longer break to nurse Flo again. Other then that everything was just fine. You enjoyed every single Minute of practice.

When it was time to leave, Flo was asleep in her Baby carrier and Giulia was carrying her back to the Car. This time you were the one driving Home.

"how are you feeling?" Giulia wanted to know.

"honestly? Great but i think we have so much to learn and figure out. Making sure we are amazing parents cause this Is what our daughter deserves. And being great at our Job! Cause that's what our Team deserves." You said. "How are you feeling?" You wanted to know.

"good, i agree with you though! We have alot to learn and figure out, but we have eachother and so many people that can help is with it! We got this! Figuring out how to put our daughter and our in Order!" She answered. Good thing you really weren't alone and had a few people to always ask for help. and the two of you had eachother.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Goku + Vegeta when their spouse is away on a work trip headcanons

warnings: established relationship, husband/wife, fem!reader is taking Chi-Chi and Bulma's place as the Saiyan’s significant other in each separate, respective scenario.

If this does make you feel comfortable, please hit the back 'button' on your phone or laptop and do not leave any mean comments. This blog is a safe space for everyone to share their thoughts and enjoy fics.

Special thanks to @actuallysaiyan for being my beta-reader and cheerleader, this piece wouldn’t have been possible without her.

I would love to hear feedback on these types of scenarios for Dragonball/Dragonball Z and if I should continue them or what I should try writing next~!

divider by @cafekitsune

Son Goku

Goku would definitely be excited to have the house all to himself for an entire week because that meant he got to spend more time training to get stronger! Your sons would also be home while you’re gone on this business trip, so that’s a bonus right there!

As much as he loves to fight, he would like to make up for the time he had missed seeing Gohan grow up and get to know Goten more. Goku wouldn’t exactly be called the best father, but he had been putting in the effort after the Old Kai had given him another chance at life. He had an inkling just how hard you worked at your job to provide for the family from Gohan, but once you were out of the door? Totally different story.

Goku only knows how to cook simple meals, but he would wait until almost all the food you had meticulously prepared for your departure was almost gone. At least before he walked in the door one evening after a grueling session with Vegeta and he saw Gohan cooking in the kitchen with Goten clinging to his side. Not just what you would you normally eat, but the portions you always dished out that would fill him and the boys up.

Turns out that after he had died and his oldest son defeated Cell, you had developed a new routine in his absence: You would be up first thing in the morning, followed by Gohan, who had early morning classes. He would take care of making lunches while you did breakfast, then wake up Goten. Gohan would fly with Goten to West City to go to school, and you would leave for work. If you left work on time, then you’d come straight home and start cooking dinner. If you had to work a few extra hours, then Gohan would be in charge of the kitchen. Goten would help with setting the table, since he was still too young to do any cooking or handle sharp objects.

Once dinner was served and finished, you would clean up the kitchen while Gohan helped his little brother with homework or getting him ready for bed. Afterwards you would read Goten a bedtime story, then it was lights out for everyone until the next day arrived. Gohan would be an exception to the rule if he wanted to put in a few extra hours of studying.

This routine taught the boys not only how to do chores on their own, but also to be a little more independent. It was actually Piccolo’s idea; the Namekian had helped you with looking after them when they were younger on days when you would be stuck at the office longer than expected when Bulma couldn’t. She already had her hands full as the new president of Capsule Corp and being a mother herself.

You were more than happy to compensate for Piccolo’s time with jugs of high-quality water or a meal. It was no surprise that he became a father-figure to Goten as he had been to Gohan.

Hearing all of this from his oldest son stunned and made Goku’s chest swell with happiness and pride. He had sacrificed himself to save the world from Cell, but it wasn’t until after he arrived in the Other World that he realized he had left you all alone. It couldn’t have been easy, especially after Goten was born, but you all did it. He was very proud of you, and he wished you were here now so he could show you just how much he appreciated you.

But you weren’t here. You wouldn’t be back for another six days. Maybe that’s why it felt sort of lonely to go to sleep that night, noticing how cold your side of the bed was.

By the third or fourth day Goku will be whiny, constantly annoying Vegeta during their training sessions on how much he misses you and wants you to come soon so he could eat your cooking or worse, complains why you had to leave for this trip when you could have stayed home before the Saiyan Prince points out how many times he has left his family alone before promptly kicking Goku out of the gravity room.

On the fifth day, he was more than ready to fly wherever you were and bring you home. Unfortunately, the reason you had suddenly called the house right after dinner was because you wouldn’t be coming home like you had planned. Something unexpected happened with a major project at the office, and the higher-ups put you in charge of damage control. Right now you were looking for another day, maybe two days? You promised to keep him or Gohan updated, but Goku was not happy with the news.

He knows your job is important, but what about your family? Nope. You have already worked enough, someone else can handle the problem! You were coming home in two days, no ifs or buts.

You had better be prepared to get the shock of your life if you decide otherwise, because Goku will use Instant Transmission to be wherever you are and suffocate you with bone-crushing hugs and wet kisses. Don’t worry about the kids, he called Piccolo to watch them until the two of you got back.

Now, please give him some attention~.

Vegeta

Vegeta is an arrogant and stubborn-ass Saiyan, even if everyone else says he’s definitely calmed down a lot after getting married and having Trunks. This guy will never admit how much you have changed his life for the better.

Like Goku, he would be delighted to hear that you are leaving for a weeklong work trip; to him, this means he has more time to focus on getting stronger than being forced to sit with you after dinner to watch a show you liked and cuddle for a bit in bed before it’s lights out. It was also an excellent opportunity to get Trunks in the gravity room. He will not tolerate the idea of Kakarot’s younger son being more powerful than his heir apparent.

He would definitely rely on either the meals you prepared ahead of time because he cannot cook or takeout with the emergency black card you’ve left for them on the counter to use while you are gone. Vegeta is a hazard in the kitchen unless it’s warming up something on the stove and microwave.

Although he is technically a stay-at-home dad, Vegeta would quickly realize just how much you do around the house. Regardless of the extra hours you put in at the office, you had always made sure everything was spotless, there was plenty of food on the table, and spent time with him and Trunks. Vacation days? Used only to take four day family trips together or if you were sick.

On the third day, he wouldn’t spend it training from morning to late afternoon in the gravity room or spar with Kakarot. Instead, he scrubs the house from top to bottom once he’s dropped Trunks off at school; washing the dishes in the sink, throwing out expired foodstuff, and decimating the dust bunnies with the vacuum. Once the last load of laundry is done, he rushes to get his son.

He would make Trunks clean his own room. If it was dirty or didn’t meet his expectations of cleanliness? Extra thirty minutes of training or doing one hundred push-ups would serve as his son’s punishment. He did not raise a lazy son, thank you.

He would be more moody than usual in your absence and not realize until Yamcha or another Z-Fighter pointed it out at a surprise cookout at Capsule Corp held on the fourth day. Vegeta would scowl silently and not say anything, even if he took up Mrs. Brief’s offer to take home any leftovers.

As much as he wanted to use the new Instant Transmission technique and bring you home immediately, his pride prevents from doing so. He is the Prince of Saiyans. He is not a weakling to where he cannot handle you being gone for an entire week.

(He does not take it well when you call him on the day before you are supposed to be back that you need to stay for another day to work on a report for the higher-ups. Trunks had to remind him to breathe and loosen his grip on the phone or he’d break the damned thing)

Expect Vegeta to act like a grumpy and super clingy cat as soon as you walk in the door. He will literally follow you into the bathroom because he does not want to be left alone like that again. Do not even think about denying Vegeta the opportunity to take a bath or shower with him because he will have a hissy fit.

Trunks will have to wait to cuddle with his mother. A prince’s needs come first after all~. 

Taglist: @uninhabitedsworld-18 @nasty-redrum @zvmbieb0y @boonsmoon @mythoswarrior-23 @jadeprouductions @hoodiepandaninja16 @jurikuran86 @vegeta-bananabluish @fanboilingwriter

[rqsie63]

SHORT ROYALTY 💋 - Yuki Tsunoda.

pairing: yuki tsunoda x gf! reader.

summary: yuki's girlfriend finds a small tiffany box in the closet, but it seems yuki has no plans to get down on one knee.

warnings: probably bad english, swearing?. smau + a little written part. i have to improve the ig comments section thing, sometimes i don't even know what you put in there 😭.

face claim: sabrina carpenter and pinterest girls.

a/n✨: seems like i can't stop thinking smau ideas for my boys yuki and alex. so here's another post for the tsunoda love club! hope you enjoy it 💙✨

- texts between kika (francisca) and yn.

yourusername just posted.

liked by francisca.cgomes, yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux and others.

yourusername four years of love, here's to many many more 🥂❤️

view all comments...

user1: parents

yukitsunoda0511: ❤️

user2: i want what they have

user3: such a lovely dinner omg goals

user4: yuki boty = boyfriend of the year

yukitsunoda0511 just posted.

liked by pierregasly, alex_albon, carlossainz55, yourusername, francisca.cgomes and others.

yukitsunoda0511 first four years with my favourite person in the galaxy 🎆

view all comments...

user5: "first four years" 🥹

yourusername: love you cutie pie ✨

user6: oh to be yuki's gf on our anniversary dinner

user7: when is the wedding?

francisca.cgomes: your girlfriend is really pretty

yukitsunoda0511: go away

- texts between kika and yn.

yukitsunoda0511 just posted.

liked by yourusername, yukifan1, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and others.

yukitsunoda0511 so close to a podium finish!. suzuka you're next 🙏💙

view all comments...

user8: that was so close, let's go yuki!

user9: my heart almost exploded fr

user10: you're getting that podium in suzuka im manifesting

yukifan1: if he manages to get a podium with that car in suzuka.... i can only pray

yourusername instagram story.

[caption: suzuka you're always so good to me 🙏]

story's replys:

↪️ francisca.cgomes: i have a feeling 🤞

↪️ yourusername: don't give me hope 😭 it's been a month...

↪️ francisca.cgomes: have you considered having the m.c?

↪️ yourusername: the what now?

↪️ francisca.cgomes: the marriage conversation, where you discuss the possibility and details of a marriage...

↪️ yourusername: i don't think we need that, he knows im ready. right?

↪️ francisca.cgomes: right.....

f1 just posted.

liked by yourusername, yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, alex_albon and others.

f1 yukitsunoda0511 FIRST EVER FORMULA 1 PODIUM! and it's in his home race 🥹, congratulations Yuki and the visacashapprb team!

view all comments...

yourusername: let's goooooooo 💙

yukifan1: IT FINALLY HAPPENED

user11: LET'S GO YUKIII

user12: well deserved!!

user13: my god 🙏 i can't stop crying he deserves it so much

yukifan2: time for SOMEONE to start looking at yuki for real, this man has talent

- texts between yuki and yn.

yukitsunoda0511 just posted.

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others.

yukitsunoda0511 P3!!!! my first podium, feels pretty f amazing. thank you team, family and friends. let's go!

view all comments...

user14: sooo proud

yourusername: my man is really fast!!

yukitsunoda0511: 💙

pierregasly: well done mate! congratulations 💪

yukitsunoda0511: thank you mate 🙏

user15: yuki this doesn't change the fact that if you need a gun to make yourself appreciated in that damn team I'll give it to you

yukifan1: akkdkks me fr

yourusername instagram stories.

[1. 🥂✨ / 2. so proud ❤️]

- texts between kika and yn.

yourusername instagram stories.

[1. busy woman indeed 💋]

story replies:

↪️ yukitsunoda0511: having fun while I'm away?

↪️ yourusername: nothing is fun without you babe💋

↪️ yukitsunoda0511: miss you lots ❤️

↪️ yourusername: miss you more 💙

yukitsunoda0511 just posted.

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and others.

yukitsunoda0511 back on track after summer break, let's keep it going 💪

view all comments...

user16: praying for another podium

user17: great performance today yuki!

yukifan1: p9 was amazing

yukifan2: that helmet is sooo pretty

user18: you can tell he's not very happy about p9

yukifan1: well after a podium and several p5/6 i think it's fair that he's not happy

- texts between yuki and yn.

yourusername instagram stories

story replys:

↪️ francisca.cgomes: why am i getting the idea that you decided to take things with your own hands...

↪️ yourusername: because I did 💋

↪️ francisca.cgomes: spill???

↪️ yourusername: remember those shopping pics i posted? well, what else would i go to tiffany's for?

↪️ francisca.cgomes: GO GET HIM TIGER

yukitsunoda0511's instagram story.

[caption: goodbye im in heaven😵‍💫]

story's replays:

↪️ pierregasly: that looks delicious, have fun! 😌🤭

↪️ yukitsunoda0511: thank you?

*

'How is it?', you ask, taking another bite.

'Amazing, can't believe it's the first time you cook this', his soft giggle makes you smile.

'It's not something so elaborate, this was really a cooking book and a dream situation', you chuckle as you watch him eating like he's tasting the most delicious food.

'But what's the occasion?'

'Do i need "an occasion" to cook some dinner for my boyfriend?', you raise an eyebrow.

'No baby, of course not. But this is not just some dinner, there's rose petals everywhere and that dress you're wearing...", his jaw tightens as he watches you up and down.

'You can take it off me later, don't worry', she teases him.

'Babe...', Yuki tills his head. You know you can't escape the subject anymore. In a subtle move you put your utensils aside and sighs, trying not to break your smile. 'whats wrong?'.

'I found the Tiffany box in the closet like ages ago...', Yuki's mouth opens a bit and whispers a little oh god. 'I didn't say anything about it because i love romantic surprises, but it seems like that moment never actually comes'.

After a moment of silence you get off your seat, and so does him. You stand in front of each other, gaze to gaze, admiring each other. Yuki's chest pounding in pain, guilt.

'I'm sorry. I really wanted to do it back in Suzuka but my entire family being there..., i don't know i was such a coward an i-', Yuki tries to start his speech but you cut him off, wanting to be in control not only of the situation but also of your feelings.

'It's okay, don't worry', both shake your heads. 'but the truth is, i really want to get married with you someday because i love you, i want to spend the rest of my life with you, and i really hope you think the same'.

'Baby, of course i do.', he reaches for your hands.

Your smile goes even bigger, your eyes with a bliss he never saw in you before. 'If you're ready then, well...'

Yuki watches you as you kneel in front of him. The view is angelic; your dress, your pleading and perfect face, and those eyes..., you are truly majestic.

From one of the pockets of your jacket you take out a small red velvet box and when you open it in front of him the first couple of tears start to fall down.

'Yuki Tsunoda, love of my life', you chuckle between tears. 'Will you-'

In a sudden move, Yuki kneels himself in front of you, and also takes a small box from his pocket. The famous Tiffany box from the closet. Your litle gasp makes him laugh.

'Im sorry to interrupt you, but this is hilarious.', Your laugh makes him do the same, hands notably shaking. 'should we ask at the same time?'

You nod at him, 'I would love that, yes'. Your shoulders seem to relax as you giggle again.

yourusername with yukitsunoda0511 just posted.

liked by francisca.cgomes, yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, oliviarodrigo, alexandrasaintmleux and others.

yourusername these absolute masterminds just proposed to each other at the same time, can't wait to share life with you 💍❤️

view all comments...

alexandrasaintmleux: omg you two!!! congratulations ❤️

user19: WHAT

francisca.cgomes: finally!!!! congratulations cuties 🥹🥂

alex_albon: congrats mate! ❤️

oliviarodrigo: OMG IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU BOTH

yourusername: you next, i dare you 😉

user20: SHORT ROYALTY INDEED 💋

pierregasly: congratulations you two, it was a stressful journey

yourusername: for you too?

pierregasly: you have no idea...

yukitsunoda0511: stfu

lilymhe: the most beautiful lovebirds! congratulations ❤️🎆

charles_leclerc: congrats! 🤍

carlossainz55: amazing news! congratulations ❤️

user21: short king and his short queen omg we love our royal family

© rqsie63 - march 2025. ✨

[rekino2114]

27 with cancel yaxi and scarlet from shattered hope?

Cancel,yaxi, and scarlet walking in on you changing

Suggestive post

Prompts list

Cancel

Instantly becomes a blushing mess and closes the door

On the other side of the door she's still blushing and cursing herself that she wasn't able to predict this

Whenever you tell her you finished, she comes into the room still blushing and trying her best to act normal

She refuses to apologize and somehow finds a way to blame you, telling you that you should have closed the door

If you tease her, then she'll either just go away annoyed or end up on your bed. She can't say seeing you shirtless didn't turn her on at least a little bit after all

[Cancel opens the door and her eyes and sees you standing there shirtless. She blushes and stutters before closing the door]

"Tch...............dammit why am I blushing so much?"

"You can come in now cancel, I'm finished"

[She walks into the room, still blushing and avoiding your eyes]

"...........so"

"Not another word"

"Why? There's nothing to be embarrassed about if you wanted to see your boyfriend shirtless"

"I-i didn't do it on purpose! It's y-you who left the door open!"

"But shouldn't you have been able to know I was changing by seeing the future, just admit it already, you wanted to see me~"

"S-shut up idiot! I already told you that's not how my ultimate works, and as if I would have used it just to see you.......naked"

"Come on, you know I was just teasing, I know it was an accident.....but you did enjoy seeing me like that right~"

"I.........I suppose you're not half bad"

"Oh really, because I could have sworn that last night you said something much mor-"

"I TOLD YOU NOT ANOTHER WORD!"

Yaxi

Her smile fades, and her face becomes as red as her cape as soon as she sees you

She mutters an excuse and scrambles to get the doorknob to close the door, turns out it's pretty hard to do that when her only eye is completely fixed on your muscles

She's screaming on the inside on the other side of the door. Your shirtless self is basically burned in her mind, and she feels like she's about to have a nosebleed

Whenever she sees you again, she apologizes profusely, almost bowing, and says it was an accident over and over again until you verbally forgive her even if you didn't mind

"Hey y/n you wanna-"

[Yaxi opens the door and freezes. You two stare at each other for a bit before she turns red

"O-oh my.........I-I'M SO SORRY i-i swear I didn't mean to, it was an acci-"

"It's fine babe but can you.......go out now?"

"Y-yeah of course s-sorry I'm so stupid hehe"

[She tries to close the door but fails a few times]

"Y-yaxi"

"D-don't worry I got it"

[She eventually manages to and covers her face with her hands]

"......oh my God he's so hot"

"Oh thanks that's nice to hear"

"Ahhhh y-y/n!? Y-you could hear me?"

"Yeah don't worry though, I appreciate the compliment"

"I-i'm just telling the truth, with a body like that, you could become a boxer too"

"Oh please no, you're way more ripped than I am"

".........wanna compare who has the best physique"

".....like.....naked.....together?"

"I-i mean If you want to"

"Heck yeah!"

Scarlet

She probably did it on purpose, and even if she didn't, she's definitely not complaining

Immediately leans against the door and gives you her flirty grin while biting her lip

She starts to shower you in compliments and flirty comments, telling you how hot and handsome you look and all the things she wants to do with you. With how flirty she is you're proud more flustered than she is at this point

She eventually comes closer to you and starts touching you all over the place while continuing to whisper in your ear all the flirty comments

She already locked th door, and you are not leaving that room without you both going at it

"My,my hello handsome~"

[You look towards the door to sew scarlet giving you a flirty look]

"......hm, scar I'm changing can you leave?"

"Now why would I do that? There's nothing here I haven't seen before after all~"

".....scar-"

"Awww are you getter flustered honey? You look so adorable when you blush like that~"

".............."

"What's wrong sweetie? Cat got your tongue? You know I like it when you scream my name whil-"

"OK that's it"

[You start kissing scarlet, she's a bit surprised at first but quickly kisses back with just as much passion]

"I think it's only fair you show me how you look shirtless after what you did, isn’t it?"

".......so bold, I love it~"

[After a while you two exit the room with messy hair and marks all over both of you]