#and like a year and a half in the second? sure

[yamumsyadadd]

when the bird sings

reader has selective mutism. Some talks of death, blood, nothing too graphic. Wrote it in a few hours and now I’m off to sleep.

Everyone had their little quirks, things that made them different from everyone else. There were the obvious ones, different finger prints, a unique DNA sequence. But then there are the less obvious, their childhood, their culture, their routines and personalities. Yours was different to anyone you knew. 

Selective mutism. 

It started after your mum died. A lot of things did. You weren’t always mute. When you first moved to Lyon, after two years at PSG, you became mute again. It was something you tried really hard to get out of, but when you were anxious or overwhelmed, it just happened. 

The older players at PSG took care of you. Irene and her partner Lucinda, Christiane and Luana. When it was announced you’d be leaving for the cross country rivals Lyon. They made sure to talk to Wendie and Ada. Christiane, who was also joining Lyon, promised Luana and Irene that she’d take care of you. 

For the first few weeks, you didn’t say a word to anyone on the field or during whiteboard sessions. Everything was new and scary but overtime you settled in. Ada was always there, holding your hand when you were getting overwhelmed. Wendie made sure to report back to the PSG girls. 

You were only 16, so incredibly young compared to the rest of the team and sometimes they forgot about how young you really were. They were reminded during the celebrations of the Champions League in 2021, while they were all getting drunk and dancing, you were sat quietly in your cubby watching along. 

Truthfully you were glad that you couldn’t go out. It was an exhausting game, somehow you’d managed to get the ball off the Alexia Putellas and score the opening goal. That was a memory you’d have in your mind forever. 

For the next two years you were comfortable. The mutism only really occurred on the anniversary of your mums death or during big games or when you were having a hard time. 

A few weeks before the champions league final against Barcelona in Bilbao, you were told that Lyon weren’t going to offer you a new contract. It was a hard pill to swallow. Immediately your agent reached out to other teams, Barcelona, Chelsea, Bayern and even a few teams in north and South America. It was a lot to think about and because of that, you went mute. 

The game itself wasn’t that different to other times. It could’ve been a repeat of the 22 season but it wasn’t. The first half was pretty equal but then Aitana Bonmati opened the scoring for Barcelona in the 63’ minute. From the on it felt like a never ending battle. 

When Alexia Putellas came on the field in the final few minutes, the entire stadium went crazy. It was then that you realised the game was over. As soon as she was on the field, everything changed and less than 90 seconds later she scored. Nailing the final nail in the coffin. 

Barcelona has just bet Lyon for the first time. 

It was well after the game that Ada pulled you into her side. She had just been talking to Alexia and her family, alexia had mentioned you and Ada had offered to introduce the two of you. But before she had the chance, she had to give her a quick warning. 

“Y/n, is a bit different. She’s got selective mutism so she probably won’t talk. She is a big fan though! Huge! You’re definitely her favourite player.” Alexia laughed and Ada went off to find you. 

If you weren’t mute before Ada presented you like an award, you would’ve been after. 

“Hola y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” All you could do was nod your head and smile. Slowly she introduced you to her family and her girlfriend. When Irene and Lucinda came over you visible relaxed. Happily listening to everyone chat about trivial things. 

You were about to say something, finally feeling comfortable enough to talk, And then you heard it. Something you’d been hearing all your life, Alexia’s little sister making a comment that to her wouldn’t mean much, but to you it would send you spiralling. 

“She’s weird no? Doesn’t talk just stands there hitting her leg. Her mami didn’t teach her manners.” The tapping ceased immediately. You probably weren’t supposed to understand her but with your Spanish lessons ramping up thanks to the soon to be announced move to Barcelona, you understood. 

All it took was one look from Irene and you felt your eyes start to fill up. 

“Y/n…” you shook her hand off your arm. 

“No no. Do you- do you think I like being this way?” Your voice was shaky, worse than normal thanks to the tears, “this isn’t fun for me. I don’t want to be weird, I don’t want to be this way but I am. I may be weird, but you, you’re a horrible person and I think that’s worse.” You were fully crying now. Alexia and her mum were confused, they hadn’t heard what Alba had said. 

Ada grabbed your hands, unclenching the fists you had made before you could realise. “No don’t touch-touch me. Leave me.” 

Both Irene and Lucinda turned to Alba, both taking in turns to yell at her. Ada ran after you and followed you to a random supply closet. You hated that you were this way. No one usually said anything to your face, sure there were whispers from other teams or fans but your teammates were always there to put their foot down. 

Everything became too much. Breathing, blinking, crying. Your usual post game exhaustion had been multiplied. 

After that game, something changed inside of you. Over the summer you moved from France to Spain. Distancing yourself from your now ex-teammates. Thankfully, a lot of them were in the Olympics or on holidays in various countries so you didn’t have to reply much. 

All summer your brain was in an anxiety faze. You knew you had Irene on the team to help you, but that was it. Irene was older, a captain who had to go off and do extra duties. She wouldn’t be able to help at all times and that scared you. 

Albas words buzzed through your head, “she’s weird” expect it wasnt alba saying it, it was all your new teammates. The club had been given a full rundown of what had happened in the past, and the psychologist was a lovely woman. But it didn’t help much. 

You wanted to go home, to be with your mum but that wasn’t possible. So you carried on the way you knew how. Not talking, not making eye contact, being in a state of fight or flight. 

As the preseason continued on, the girls who competed in the Olympics slowly made their way back. Everyone took the time to introduce themselves but a few in particular stood out. 

After a weird landing, your ankle was a bit sore so you followed the directions Pere had given you and ended up in the medical room. Vicky and Cata were in there getting their preseason checks. 

You spoke quietly to the medical staff, explaining what happened and where it hurts. Thankfully it was nothing more than a sprain and all you had to do with ice it. 

“Hola! I’m Vicky.” She plopped herself down on the bed next to you, “alexia says you don’t talk much but that’s okay because I can talk enough for the both of us.” And boy did she talk. You liked listening to Vicky, her voice was soothing and she was funny. 

After a week, Vicky invited you to hang out with her and Jana. Jana was polite and very caring, she talked a lot too. Slowly but surely more people were invited to the hang outs and you became friends with them all. They all told you their secrets, probably because they knew you wouldn’t say anything since Irene was the only person you spoke to. 

When Christmas rolled around you were finally talking a bit. Not lots like you used to, especially not when you were in training or a big group, but when you were with Jana or Vicky, you talked more than they could imagine you would. 

Just like every new year that rolls around, so does the anniversary of your mums death. You don’t talk about it and no one asks. Irene was in PSG when it happened but she kept the details tight lipped. After all, it wasn’t her secret to tell. 

A pair of cleats to the ribs was enough to keep you out for a couple of weeks, making the time round the anniversary even worse. unfortunately for you, the progress you made had all but disappeared. To those around you it was worrying, but Irene assured them it would be okay in a few weeks, that this was what happened. 

What you didn’t account for was both Patri and Alexia to be injured at the same time. Meaning all three of you were in the gym doing rehab together. For the last seven or so months, you avoided Alexia. 

It wasn’t necessary her as a human that you were avoiding, more the feeling of the months following what her sister had said. Every time she tried to talk to you, you simply walked away. If it was about football you’d listen but anything else was a no go.

“I’m glad you have found yourself some friends on the team.” Patri was off doing her own thing, while you were stuck being Alexia’s partner. “We haven’t really had a chance to chat have we?” 

You stayed quiet, not because you didn’t have anything to say. The complete opposite. It wasn’t Alexia’s fault that her sister’s stupid comment struck a nerve or that you were injured, or for global warming but you just had the urge to scream at her. 

“Irene and Lucinda talk highly of you. Matteo too. They came over for dinner a few nights ago.” Silence. She raises an eyebrow at you but continues on, “when I was 19 my papi died. He was my best friend, biggest supporter. I miss him every day.” Not even that for a reaction out of you. 

Not that it would. You didn’t know your dad, too young to remember him when he left you and your mum. She was your best friend, your biggest supporter. 

Alexia continued to ramble on about her life, to be completely honest you weren’t really listening until she started talking about her sister. You could feel yourself getting frustrated, the memories from that day in the tunnel coming back. 

“She’s a primary school teacher. She’s-“

“Respectfully, I don’t give a fuck.” You walked off, leaving both Alexia and the Physio in shock. Neither had heard you talk much so hearing you swear was crazy. 

You knew that alexia would report back to Irene and you’d get an ear full but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to hear about how her sister was a primary school teacher, that she was patient and caring, because to you she wasn’t. A stupid comment from her sent you spiralling for months. 

Irene did in fact corner you later in the day, but she wasn’t alone. Alexia was stood in the corner like a shadow, with one look from Irene you knew you had to apologise. 

“Tell her.” You shook your head at her demand, feeling like a defiant child. “Tell her or I will.” 

“Irene it’s-“

“No. Enough is enough. Alexia, you didn’t do anything wrong. Alba did.” 

Now alexia was even more confused, “what did alba do?” 

“She said I was weird.” You mumbled out. It was like a lightbulb went off in Alexia’s head. 

That day in the tunnel, Irene and Lucinda pulled Alba away from the original group. No one would tell them what was said no matter how much Alexia pushed. With the Olympics and the new season she had completely forgotten. 

“That’s not all. She said her mum didn’t teach her manners.” Irene’s face softened slightly, knowing she was now needing to tread lightly. 

“She’s dead. My mum.” 

“I’m sorry..”

“Do you want me to keep going?” She knew this was hard for you, but also knew that Alexia needed more information so she could fix this. You nodded slightly, putting your hands over your ears to bring you some relief. Instead of doing it in front of you, Irene led Alexia out to the hallway. 

“Four years ago her mum was murdered in a robbery gone bad. Y/n came home and she was laying on the floor. She tried to stop the bleeding but she couldn’t do that and call for an ambulance. After that she became developed anxiety and the selective mutism. She’s got a few other quirks too.” 

“The hand tapping?” 

“Sometimes she’s convinced she can feel the blood on her hands so she taps to prove to herself that she doesn’t and sometimes it’s just a nervous tick.” 

“How does this relate back to alba?” 

“She said to Olga that y/n was weird and that she wasn’t taught manners. Maybe it was meant as a joke but to her, it derailed everything. She worked hard for years and she knows it’s weird. It struck an insecurity, and my guess is that it also embarrassed her because she looks up to you.” 

“I can fix this right? I can make Alba apologise and talk to her.” 

“I think from you, reassurance is enough. She thinks the girls think she’s weird too. Maybe avoid bringing Alba up.” 

Over the following weeks alexia’s determination never faulted. Everyday she would try and have a conversation with you, even if it was telling you about her dinner or that her girlfriend was home from Madrid. Slowly but surely you became more relaxed around her. 

Because you didn’t have your license, you were often passed around by your teammates. It was alexia’s turn to drive you home and you’d gotten used to her so you didn’t complain. 

It was only five minutes into your drive that you spoke to her, actually spoke to her. “How did your dad die?” She looked over at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that.” 

“Do you ever google your teammates?” 

“No that’s weird.” 

“He had a heart condition. He went into heart failure and ended up passing away from it.” You hummed. Not really sure what else to say. 

People carrying grief differently you realised. Alexia doesn’t talk about her dad much, and you don’t talk about your mum but Vicky does. She talks about her mum a lot, Irene talks about her brother. Sometimes people need to express their grief and sometimes people need to bury it. 

“I need to apologise to you.” To was your turn to look at her with your eyebrows furrowed, “my sister said something unkind to you and I didn’t do anything. If anyone, a teammate, someone from the other team, or even a fan, says something to you that is unkind or makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me. I know you have Irene and Lucinda, Ada and Wendie, but having one more person in your corner couldn’t hurt.” 

“Thanks.” You nodded your head, wiping your sweaty hands on your track pants. 

While you found yourself struggling with grief the following week, you were never alone with it. Mapi and Vicky could go head to head in a yapping competition, Irene and Marta continued to make sure you were fed and hydrated, and then there was Alexia. 

On the bad day, she sat on the floor in the locker room holding your hands, soothingly rubbing over them after she walked into your rubbing them raw. 

When Easter arrived, the entire team and their families gathered on the back fields for a lunch and Easter egg hunt. There were lots of laughs and while you had gone mute, everyone was incredibly patient and friendly. 

There was one person, or really group of people, you were actively trying to avoid. It worked until Lucinda dragged you over to Alexia’s family. The tension was rife, alba looked like she was going to burst and all it took was one look in her direction for her to. 

“I am so so sorry y/n. You were right, I was horrible. I am horrible. I didn’t mean what I said and I don’t think you’re weird at all. I think-“

“Thank you.” It was all you could muster up but everyone looked like they could finally relax. “I was wrong. You’re not horrible. You said something horrible but that doesn’t make you horrible.” Irene wrapped her arm around your shoulders, giving it a squeeze. 

There probably wouldn’t be a time that you could ever talk in front of the cameras, or do general media things. But with a little more time you were able to contribute during training. The days you didn’t speak left everyone feeling a little down, they missed the sounds of your laugh or your imitation of Marta with a fake high pitched voice. 

You never once felt weird, or as an outcast because the team simply wouldn’t let you. To them, you were family. And they were your entire world. 

[girlgenius1111]

grey november

leila ouahabi x reader r moves to manchester to be with her girlfriend, leila. manchester, however, is very different from barcelona where r grew up. it's an adjustment, and one that's taking it's toll on r. leila notices, and tries to make it better any way she can think of.

basically r has seasonal depression. very light angst, mostly fluff and leila being the sweetest girl in the world 🥰🥰

—

Manchester was very grey. Of course you’d known that, but the reality of living it was something else entirely than hearing about it. Rainy and overcast could be cozy. Spending the occasional rainy day inside wasn’t something you minded living in Barcelona, but your move to Manchester had increased those rainy, overcast days. 

It was your first winter there, the first time you’d be spending an extended period of time in Manchester. The first two years Leila had spent in England, you’d remained behind in Spain. Mostly because your career, your family, your whole life was in Barcelona. Except… it wasn’t. Two years passed of flying to Leila, and her flying to you, and you never got used to it. Never got used to waking up most days alone in the bed you used to share, cooking breakfast in the kitchen alone where she’d used to sing off key every morning. And after two years, and no indication that Leila was coming back anytime soon, you’d realized life was too short. There would be plenty of years in the future, after football, that you could spend with Leila in Spain. For now, though, you ached for her every day. For her infectious laugh, the lines by her eyes when she’d smile, the way she slept with her head shoved under her pillow instead of laying on top of it. 

Leila had wanted you to come in the first place, yet understood it didn’t really make any sense for you. But as much as you missed Leila, every second of every day, she missed you more. She’d never ask you to move for her, but she needed you. 

She’d cried when you told her you’d be moving to Manchester. 

It was the end of May, one of the biggest months for your girlfriend and her team, and you’d taken time off work to go see her. The idea of moving to her had been swirling around in your head for a few weeks, and it slipped out one morning as she tried to extract herself from your embrace and leave for training. 

 “I just want to be with you. All the time,” she’d murmured. 

And with very little grace and absolutely no planning, you’d replied. 

“What if I moved here?” 

First, it was disbelief you saw on her face. And then, when she was sure you were serious, large tears welled in her eyes as she tackled you back down onto the bed, shoving her face into the crook of your neck and repeating over and over that there wasn’t anything she wanted more than that. 

Leila had been late to training that day, and you’d made the move in July. 

The first month was perfect. August and September, as well. October brought colder weather, more rain, more clouds. November was where it really started to go downhill. Leila was away with City and with the national team for what felt like half the month, and you were just… there. 

There, in Manchester, with only your job to keep you busy. Very few friends outside of Leila’s football ones. It seemed lonely, more than anything. You didn’t realize what it really was until it was already happening, until you’d slipped back into a place you hadn’t been in since you were an overly angsty teenager. 

Every day was harder than the last, the ones without Leila being the absolute worst. But you couldn’t let her see, couldn’t let her know. Your sweet, sweet Leila would be crushed with guilt. She’d try to move teams or scientifically alter the climate in England. You didn’t want her to feel bad; it wasn’t her fault the weather had an alarming impact on your mental health. 

So, when Leila was home, you were fine. You were good, because you had to be. You laughed at her jokes and let her put on a film in the evenings after dinner knowing full well she would start kissing your neck within 10 minutes, and the movie would be forgotten. 

When she was gone, you let yourself crumble. Staying in bed longer than was socially acceptable, wallowing in the oppressive weight that had settled on your chest. And when she’d get back, you’d make yourself pull it together. It was a cycle, one that began in November, and by December, one that you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of. 

The thing was, you were so busy acting fine that you forgot to make sure Leila actually believed that you were. 

—

Leila had been gone all weekend. An away game in London and an issue with their return trip kept her gone an extra day, but finally she was due home. The weekend for you had been… well, what had become averagely terrible. Most of it had been spent doing absolutely nothing, all the while your mind raced with all the things you should have been doing. You simply didn’t have enough energy for any of those tasks, though, the exhaustion you felt bone deep and paralyzing. 

A few hours before Leila was due home, though, you dragged yourself off the couch. If there was one motivator, one thing that could get you out of your head, it was that Leila couldn’t find out. She just couldn’t. 

You weren’t sure she’d get it, to start with. Leila was… Leila. Sunshine and smiles and laughter, all the time. Even when you weren’t dealing with depression, Leila’s social battery could long outlast yours. She’d go out and do something social with friends every day if she could. You’d never been that way, needing time to recharge between work and… work the next day. 

Before Leila, you didn’t do things on weeknights. But Leila brought you out of your shell, and you found yourself craving more time with others, as long as she was there too. 

So as much as you were beyond sure that your girlfriend would work tirelessly to understand where your head was at, you didn’t think she could. You didn’t think she’d be able to listen to you explain what was going on and not try to fix it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Leila’s help; it was that you knew she’d give you a million suggestions that you wouldn’t physically be able to bring yourself to do. And she wouldn’t get that, you were sure. 

Leila couldn’t fix this, so there was no reason to burden her with it at all. As much as you wanted her comfort, you couldn’t push your problems on her when she wouldn’t have the answer. 

So, you cleaned the whole house in two hours flat. Changed the sheets, vacuumed behind the couch, and made dinner. By the time Leila arrived home, the house was perfect. Nothing out of order, nothing to suggest you’d spent the whole weekend on the sofa crying or sleeping or just staring at the wall. 

Of course, Leila could see it on your face the moment she saw you. The bags under your eyes, the way you seemed to drown in her clothes. 

She swept you into a hug, tucking her face into your neck and felt you sag against her. 

Your hair was damp and smelled like her coconut shampoo, and you were mumbling something about dinner and watching a movie, but all Leila could think about was the way you melted into her hug, and the look in your eyes as she’d come through the door. Relief, and exhaustion. Deep, all encompassing exhaustion. 

Gently, she nudged you back a little, her eyes locking on yours as she studied you. 

“Are you okay, my love?” Leila asked softly, her expression warm and inviting. 

For a second, Leila thought you might tell her what was going on. Your expression wavered a bit, but you blinked hard and forced a smile, leaning in to peck her lips. 

“I’m fine! Excited to have you back.” 

It was a lie Leila could see right through, but if she knew anything about you, it was that you were too stubborn for your own good. Leila could push and push, ask and ask, but you wouldn’t tell her what was going on until you felt ready. There wasn’t anything she could do about that, so she just nodded, pulling you back in by your wrist and kissing you much more fervently. 

By the time you broke apart, there was a dazed look in your eyes, but a different kind from before. Satisfied, your girlfriend tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Did you say something about dinner?” 

It took a minute for the question to process, your mind suddenly overcome with the softness of Leila’s lips, the little sliver of abdomen peeking out from her crop top, her slightly tousled hair. She was so pretty. You never got used to it. 

“Uh… yes. Yes, dinner. I made dinner.” 

With a grin, Leila grabbed your hand in hers and pulled you towards the kitchen. 

“It smells so good, amor. Like the best thing I have ever smelled!” 

You rolled your eyes at her enthusiasm, heading towards the stove to take the pot off the burner. As you rounded the kitchen island, though, you stumbled, foot catching on the trash bag sitting on the floor. Leila was across the room like she had super speed, steadying you before you could really come close to falling. 

The trash. You hadn’t taken it out earlier like you’d meant to. The house wasn’t perfectly in order. And god, neither were you. The façade you were putting on crumbled within a second, all the time you’d spent making sure you seemed fine meaningless.  

It wasn’t really a big deal, that you’d forgotten to take the trash out. It was just the last straw of an horrible, overwhelmingly emotional weekend. 

“I’ll take this out, if you want to pick a movie?” Leila said easily, oblivious to the way you were about to fall apart next to her. 

Leila grabbed the bag, her back to you, pausing when you didn’t reply to her. Then, she heard a small sniffle. She knew that sniffle, knew it from when something bad happened to an animal in a movie and you tried not to openly weep. She dropped the trash bag, turning around with a furrowed brow. 

“Cari?” Leila prompted softly, moving closer as she saw your lip begin to tremble. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

It was as if the question had unlocked a floodgate inside of you, and before you could even think to stop yourself, you were stumbling forward into Leila’s open arms, burying your face in her shirt. 

“Hey,” she murmured, wrapping one arm tight around your midsection, and resting the other on the back of your head. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. Everything’s okay.” 

Wordlessly, you shook your head against her, clinging on tighter because you honestly weren’t sure what would happen if she let go. 

Leila wasn’t letting go, though. She tugged you in even closer, squeezing as she rocked the two of you back and forth gently. “I love you. I love you so much.” Her voice was barely a whisper in your ear, but it was exactly what you needed to hear from her. Because, god, you didn’t love yourself in that moment. 

The tears began to stop much sooner than you were expecting, and Leila was turning off the stove and leading you into the living room within a few minutes. You moved away from her to sit on the sofa, but she shook her head, sliding onto the couch and pulling you to lay directly on top of her. 

One of her hands slipped up the back of your shirt, fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin. She cradled your head with her other hand, making sure you stayed as pressed close to her as you could be. Leila held you like she could make everything better just by doing so. 

For a few minutes it was quiet. That was one of your favorite things about Leila; she was talkative and loud when she wanted to be, but she was also content to just… be with you. Just sit and let you gather your thoughts, no matter how long it took. Leila waited, more patiently than you thought you deserved. 

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sorry.” 

Leila scoffed, and you were sure she’d have flicked you if you hadn’t just been crying. 

“I do not accept, because you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“You just got home and–”

“And nothing, baby,” 

“ –and I fall apart because I’m a disaster,”

“ You aren’t a disaster!” 

“ –and you have to deal with me and you shouldn't have to,” you finished despite Leila’s interruptions. You pulled away from her embrace, sliding off her body onto the soft next to her. 

Her lips were pressed into a thin line when you looked at her, frustration radiating off her. It was such a departure from her normal temperament that you forgot entirely if you had anything else to apologize for. Instead, you just stared into her deep brown eyes, waiting for her to say something. 

“I… I don’t deal with you. You are not a problem I have to solve. I love you, it isn’t a burden for me to be there when something is wrong, when you are upset.” Leila’s voice was practically trembling with conviction, so you reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. It was obvious that it hurt her for you to feel this way, for someone she loved and cherished to put such little value in themselves. 

“I know that, Lei. I know, I’m sorry. I’m just not myself.” 

Your girlfriend softened, then, her spare hand tugging at the ends of her ponytail like she always did when she was nervous. “Why aren’t you yourself, hmm? What’s going on?” 

And though you’d spent the whole weekend thinking about it, the whole month practically wallowing in it, there weren’t any words in your head that would convey the weight that you felt resting on your chest. 

“I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to say it.” 

“Is… do you want to break up?” Leila asked quietly, the tremble of her voice matching that of her chin when you snapped your head to look up at her. This was always what she defaulted to, and you should have known better than to speak so ambiguously. Leila loved so hard, so deeply, she often worried it was too much. She worried it would drive you away from her, as if you’d ever grow tired of her adoration. 

“Leila, no. Never. It’s not that, you’ve not done anything wrong.” You reassured her the best you could, brushing a soft strand of pin straight hair away from her forehead. Leila released a deep breath, concern returning to replace fear in her eyes. 

“Then what is it? You’ve been off for weeks.” 

You shifted uncomfortably, hating that you hadn’t been as good at hiding it as you thought. “I think I’m depressed.” You admitted finally, staring down at your hands as you began to pick at your cuticles. Leila’s hand covered yours almost immediately, her other gently tilting your chin until you had no choice but to make eye contact. 

“You think?” Leila pressed. “Or you are?” 

It was just like Leila to make you be as vulnerable as you could be, but you couldn’t deny it was one of the things you loved about her. The way she always saw through your futile attempts to write off your emotions as only partially valid. 

“I am.” Voice no more than a whisper, you shrugged helplessly, tears stinging your eyes once again. “I don’t really know what happened. I haven’t felt like this in years, but suddenly I’m here and it’s– I don’t know.” 

Leila’s eyebrows furrowed. “Here? Do you think being here has something to do with it?” 

At this, you averted your eyes entirely, pulling your hand out of her and staring at a spot on the rug, where the design swirled into several different colors. 

“Amor, you can tell me.” Leila implored. “Please. Is it England? Being away from your family? Your friends? Your new job? Do you not like the apartment?” 

Finally, you raised your eyes back to your girlfriends, finding a desperate need to fix looking back at you. Exactly what you hadn't wanted. 

“No. I mean, I miss my family and my friends but I’m so happy to be here with you. I like my job, I love our apartment. It’s…”

“What, baby?” 

It suddenly felt so ridiculous. So stupid. What were you supposed to say? The clouds are making me sad, Leila. The rain makes me want to curl into a ball in our bed and never get up again. The weather in this country is draining all the happiness from my body. 

“It’s the weather. The clouds and the rain. And the cold. I just… I never want to leave the apartment. I never want to go anywhere because it’s terrible out, so I don’t go anywhere and then I feel terrible about myself. I miss the sun, Leila. It’s so stupid, that it’s having this much of an affect on me, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m losing myself.” 

“Oh, baby.” Leila sighed, uncrossing her legs so she could pull you in close to her chest. “That’s not stupid, not at all. That’s a real thing, a completely real thing that you are dealing with.”

And though you’d known that, it felt like a weight off your chest to hear Leila say it. You allowed yourself to relax into her, allowed yourself to feel the weight of your emotion in her presence in a way you hadn’t in a long time. 

“There are so many things we can try to help you. We can find you a psychologist, and get you back to Spain for some sun more often. We’ll fix this, amor, I promise. We’ll get you back to yourself.” 

Leila’s words were mumbled into the top of your head, and you found them more comforting than you were expecting. Even if you’d known she’d try to fix it… even if you hadn’t wanted that. Leila was going to help you, and that was a massive comfort. You nodded into her chest, gripping tight to her shirt in a way you hoped would convey how grateful you were to her. 

The two of you sat there in silence for several minutes, wrapped up together so tightly you weren’t sure where you ended and where Leila began. It all felt less heavy just then, more manageable. You knew, though, that telling Leila what was going on was only the start of the process. 

—

The next day was a good one; the sun had emerged from its cloud prison for the first time in weeks, and you’d gone for a run. As much as you hated to admit it, the exercise helped, as did the sunlight. Leila had been gone before you’d woken, though you thought you remembered waking just barely to a soft kiss pressed to your head and sweet words whispered into your ear. 

It was a recovery day for Leila, and she was meant to be getting treatment down on her calf anyway, which had been giving her some trouble. She should have been home just before noon, just as you’d arrived home from your run. As it was, you’d had time to shower and make the two of you lunch before Leila walked in the door, a full hour after she was supposed to get home. 

You weren’t suspicious or anything, mostly just curious where she’d been. The question didn’t even have time to leave your mouth before it was answered, though, Leila practically bounding into the kitchen holding a bulky box in her arms. 

“Hi my love!” She grinned, putting the box down on the counter and sweeping you into a hug. Leila spun the two of you around, pressing kisses all over your face as you laughed, the flutter of her lips tickling your skin. 

“Hi, Lei,” you replied, Leila finally halting her attack on your face so she could kiss you once on the lips. 

“Hi.” She murmured against your mouth. “I missed you.” 

“You were gone for like… 4 hours.” You chuckled, winding your arms around the back of her neck and pressing yourself closer to her even as you teased her. 

“Still missed you.” Leila smiled, her face overwhelmingly earnest and adoring. “I got you a present!” 

“No, did you?” You teased, nodding at the large box sitting just inches away from you.

Leila just rolled her eyes, shoving you lightly as she reached for the box and tore it open. 

“It’s a light therapy box! You sit in front of it, and it shines on your face, and it’s supposed to feel like the sun!” 

Leila was so excited, yanking the rectangular light out of the box and presenting it to you with a flourish. Your heart melted, knowing then that Leila had stayed up long after you’d gone to sleep, doing research to try to figure out how to make you feel better. 

It was funny, that you’d been worried about her trying to fix you before. Leila wasn’t trying to fix you, and you weren’t sure how you’d thought she'd do so. Your girlfriend just wanted to help. Help wasn’t fixing. It was just what a good partner did. 

“Thank you, Lei. Really.” 

Leila blushed adorably, pushing hair out of her face as she smiled at you. “Do you want to try it?” 

Lunch sat on the counter behind you, but it wasn’t getting cold, and the hopefulness radiating off your girlfriend was enough to have you nodding enthusiastically. The next second, Leila had to light in one hand, and your hand in the other, yanking you towards the living room. 

For just a second, you thought that if her love could cure you, you’d never have gotten to this point. But you had. Love couldn’t cure you, but it could help. And Leila was determined to help. 

—

The light therapy box wasn’t the only thing Leila got you, but her other gift wouldn’t be ready for a few more weeks, until the two of you were home from spending Christmas with your families in Spain, before returning to England for New Year’s Eve. 

The time you spent in Spain was perfect. More than perfect. You got to see your family, got to enjoy the warmth. Well, it wasn’t warm by some standards, but it definitely was now that you’d spent time away from Barcelona. More than anything, you got to spend pretty much every second with Leila. No football to interrupt, no media commitment, no national team. Just you and Leila, spending every day together however you wanted to. 

As such, your mood had improved. It wasn’t perfect; you could still feel the echo of the deep exhaustion lingering in the peripheral of your brain. You were deeply dreading going back to Manchester and falling back into the pit of depression you’d found yourself in not too long ago. It terrified you, that things could get bad again and you wouldn’t be able to fix it. That this was just how you were now, how you would be for the rest of your time spent in Manchester. 

You could go to therapy and let Leila sit you directly in front of the light box as much as you wanted. There were certain aspects of your life in Manchester, though, that just meant loneliness. And that was what got you more than anything else. 

Unbeknownst to you, though, Leila had been considering this exact point. The two of you had talked it over, talked it to death why you were feeling the way you were. You maintained that it was just the weather, but Leila could tell you were lying. Could tell that her unavoidable absences at times were really taking their toll on you. 

And, ever the helper, Leila had come up with an idea.

—

“Shh.” Leila whispered. “Stop meowing, you’re going to spoil the surprise.” 

While you slept in, Leila allowed herself to be impulsive, something she often fought in the name of being a responsible adult. It was mid morning, the day after you’d arrived back in Manchester from Spain, and Leila had snuck out to retrieve her idea. 

A small, white and black kitten, with ears too big for his body and the biggest eyes Leila had ever seen on a kitten. She’d almost cried when she saw him for the first time, the sheer level of adorableness emanating from the little kitten. Leila had known in an instant he was perfect for you, a little buddy to be here when she couldn’t. 

She’d gone to get him while you were still asleep, picking him up from the shelter and stopping to buy about half the pet store on her way back. The kitten would have no shortage of toys or treats, that was for sure. But now, as she crept into the house with the kitten curled up in her arms against her chest, she began to get nervous. 

What if you didn’t want a cat? You loved your friends' cats, had talked about getting a pet before, but… maybe you’d changed your mind? She should have asked you first. 

It was too late now. Mostly because she’d already adopted the kitten, and partially because she was attached, too. This was her kitten, even if they’d only really known each other for an hour or so. All she could do was pray you thought this was a good idea, or she’d be stuck with a kitten she adored and a girlfriend who was furious. 

The small kitten mewed again, and Leila froze, just a few feet from the partially shut bedroom door. 

“Shh, pequeño. We have to make sure she likes you before she finds out how noisy you are.” Leila whispered, peppering kisses onto the top of the little guy’s head. He pawed at her face in response and she giggled, before slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Lei? Are you… laughing to yourself?” You called, having woken just a few minutes prior and heard your girlfriend mumbling to herself. “And did you meow?” 

“Um… I have a surprise.” Leila called back, still not moving any closer to the bedroom. She was using the voice she used when she spilled an entire mug of coffee on the white carpet in the living room, and you were suspicious instantly. 

You sat up, eyes wide with surprise. A surprise… that meows. It didn’t take a genius. 

“Come in here and show me.” 

It was silent for a moment, before Leila took a deep breath and moved closer, gently pushing the door open. 

“Oh… oh my god.” You breathed, scrambling out from under the covers and moving closer to your girlfriend. “Is that a cat?!” 

Leila nodded nervously, holding the kitten out to you with both hands. “Surprise?” 

It was clear to you that Leila had not entirely thought this through, the anxiety on her face speaking for itself. Expression still unreadable, you took the kitten into your arms, almost cooing at how he snuggled into you, apparently sleepy from giving Leila a hard time earlier. 

“I… I know I should have asked you first. But I also know you hate being alone here, and I’m gone so often right now, and I just thought not being here by yourself might help. I should have asked first.” Leila spoke rapidly, hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. 

You weren’t really sure what to say. Leila was known to do impulsive things, absolutely more of a ‘don’t ask permission, ask forgiveness’ kind of person, but you’d never expected her to do this. On the other hand, though, Leila was right. Absolutely right, and you’d been thinking about how to bring the idea of getting a pet up to her. Apparently, you hadn’t needed to worry about it. 

In your arms sat the sweetest, most adorable kitten you’d ever seen in your life, purring softly as you gently rubbed his head. And standing just across from you was the sweetest, most thoughtful person you’d ever met in your life; how could you be mad at her? 

“You should have talked to me first.” You began, softening as Leila cringed and nodded, quiet apologies spilling out from her. “But this… this is kind of perfect, Lei. I was thinking about asking you how you felt about getting a pet. And this guy… he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Leila exhaled, relieved as if she’d been told the world had narrowly avoided a nuclear crisis. 

“Oh thank god. I don't know what I was thinking. one second, I just wanted to help you feel better, and the next… I was buying a cat.” 

Your girlfriend seemed genuinely baffled at her own actions and you couldn’t help but laugh, tucking the kitten under one arm and lifting the other, gesturing Leila closer. She scooched in, slouching herself down so she could tuck her face into your neck. 

“I love you.” She murmured. “I just want you to feel good, to be happy.” 

You tilted your head so you could kiss her temple, overcome with how very loved Leila made you feel. 

“You make me very happy, Lei. Thank you.” 

Leila just held you tighter, thinking she’d buy every cat in the world if this was your reaction. She’d buy anything, do anything, to see such a happy smile on your face. 

—

[jburrgf]

Champagne Coast, JOE BURROW.

“Finishing 8 or 9, tell me what’s the perfect time. I told you i’ll be waiting hiding from the rainfall.”

◦pairing: ¡long hair!joe x ¡college student!reader

◦summary: fwb, no attachment relationship, attachment problems, forbidden type of love. +18 readers only!

◦description: academic pleasure is your thing, and that means that you put nothing over your education. literally nothing. but when a long-haired football player that just got transferred from the north just pops in front of you, it’s too hard to say no to him.

◦n/a: i’m doing this for my latina girlies (like me! <3). she has curly hair and slightly tanned skin.

Mornings were always the hardest.

Not because I wasn’t a morning person—I was, to some extent—but because they reminded me of how much I had to do and how little time I had to waste.

My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. sharp, vibrating against the nightstand with a persistence I could never ignore. I didn’t allow myself to hit snooze. I couldn’t afford to. Instead, I threw the covers off, stretched until my spine cracked, and made my way to the tiny bathroom in my apartment, eyes barely open as I turned on the sink.

The mirror reflected my exhaustion back at me. Dark circles had made a home under my eyes, the evidence of another night spent hunched over my laptop, working through notes, assignments, and emails.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tied my hair back into a loose ponytail before heading to the kitchen. Breakfast was always a rushed affair—black coffee, a piece of toast if I wasn’t running late. Today, I had just enough time to spread some butter over it and let the warmth seep into my fingertips before taking a bite.

As I stood there, leaning against the counter, I flipped open my planner, its pages filled with neatly written notes, deadlines, and reminders. Between classes, assignments, and shifts at my internship, every minute of my day was accounted for.

But today felt different.

Excitement buzzed under my skin as my eyes skimmed over a note I had scribbled down the night before: New project meeting – 2 PM.

My internship had been one of the best things about this year. It was demanding, sure, but it gave me a sense of purpose. The chance to work on something real, something tangible. And today, I was finally getting assigned to a project I had been hoping for.

I double-checked the details, making a mental note to grab an extra coffee before the meeting. If I was going to impress them, I needed to be on my A-game.

After slipping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a navy-blue sweater, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped outside. The crisp morning air bit at my cheeks, the sky a soft, muted blue, but I barely had time to appreciate it. My days ran on a tight schedule, and I had no room to fall behind.

The walk to campus was second nature by now. I moved on autopilot, weaving through streets and past coffee shops, my earbuds in, music humming softly as I mentally prepared myself for the day ahead.

By the time I made it to the library, my coffee was already half gone, but the caffeine was finally kicking in. I settled into a seat by the window, pulling out my laptop and opening the file I had started last night. I had about an hour before my first class—plenty of time to go over my notes, make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

This was my routine.

And I liked it this way, but today, my friends had another plan. Rachel and Nathan have been keeping me busy about every single gossip on this campus, and the new one was The transferred quarterback from Ohio State. And of course, the whole campus needed to celebrate.

I wasn’t planning on going to the party that night. It was the kind of LSU house party that smelled like cheap beer and desperation, packed with sweaty, screaming students all trying to forget their midterms or bad decisions. But my roommate, Rachel, had another plan.

A few hours earlier, I had been sitting in my psychology class, half-listening as the professor droned on about the power of love in humanity. It was some philosophical tangent about how emotions, particularly love, played a crucial role in human development and scientific progress. I struggled not to roll my eyes. Love, to me, had always been a concept romanticized beyond its worth. Sure, it made for great literature, but I had never been convinced that it held any real power beyond that.

When class finally ended, I packed up my things and headed to the campus diner, where Rachel and a few other friends were already gathered in a booth, their laughter rising above the chatter of the busy place. Jess, my best guy friend Nate, and his roommate Lucas were already deep in conversation when I slid into the seat beside Rachel, who immediately pushed a menu toward me.

"Are you actually eating or just here to mope about your long, miserable week?" she teased.

"Neither," I replied, scanning the menu without interest. "I just need a drink."

"That’s the spirit!" Jess cheered, raising her iced coffee like it was something stronger.

"So, you’re coming to the party tonight?" Lucas asked, drumming his fingers against the table.

I sighed. "Yeah, but I’m not really in the mood for it. I just need to blow off some steam."

"That’s what parties are for," Rachel said. "Besides, have you heard about the new transfer? Joe Burrow?"

Jess wiggled her eyebrows. "Apparently, he’s not just good. He’s supposed to be the guy. Like, NFL material."

Nate scoffed, leaning back against the booth. "Everyone’s acting like he’s a god or something. He’s just another quarterback."

I shrugged, uninterested. "I’m sure he’s good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he’s obnoxious."

Rachel smirked. "So, you’re saying he’s just a great professional player who happens to be really good?"

"Pretty much. I don’t get why everyone acts like he’s the second coming or something."

"Because he might actually be," Jess said with a dramatic sigh. "And you, my dear, are going to meet him tonight."

Nate chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you two can talk about quantum physics and see if he can keep up."

I rolled my eyes, but I knew there was no escaping it now. The party was happening, and whether I liked it or not, Joe Burrow was about to become part of my night.

[…]

I got to the party slightly late. My friends were already over there, bouncing over songs that we used to listen to together and talking louder above the speakers. To me, that was irritating. I love parties, but after a long week of work, the last thing I wanted to do is partying all night on a friday.

The music thumped through the walls, a steady, pulsing beat that rattled through my ribs as I wove through the crowd, my plastic cup clutched loosely in my fingers. I wasn’t even sure what was in it anymore—some neon-colored mix of whatever they had at the bar—but I had taken exactly two sips and decided I didn’t need more.

I was about to turn around when a voice cut through the noise.

“You’ve been standing there for a while.”

I looked up.

I turned, expecting one of my friends, but instead, I was met with someone unfamiliar. He was tall—really tall—with messy blond hair that fell over his forehead, and sharp features that the dim lighting only made more defined. His sweatshirt hung loose on his frame, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he had just come from somewhere else, and the cup in his hand was barely touched.

“I was just—” I hesitated, glancing at the dance floor. “People-watching.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Just the usual: drunk freshmen, a couple making out in the corner, a guy who’s definitely going to regret that keg stand tomorrow.”

"You don’t look like you’re having fun," he said, his voice cutting through the noise of the party.

I raised a brow. “And you’ve been watching me?”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just noticed. Everyone else is either dancing, drinking, or trying to do both at the same time. You, though? You’re just… here.”

I huffed, half amused. “I guess I’m not very good at parties.”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing wrong with that.”

I turned my head, surprised he was talking to me. "That’s because I’m not."

He smirked. "Then why are you here?"

"Peer pressure."

"Same."

I looked at him, doubtful. "I find that hard to believe. Isn’t this your crowd?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I’m still figuring out who my crowd is here."

I hummed in response, not sure I believed him. He was too comfortable, too effortless in the way he carried himself.

"What’s your major?" he asked.

"Psychology," I replied. "And you?"

"Consumer and family financial services.”

I raised a brow. "That’s oddly specific."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I like numbers."

"So, you’re actually smart?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“But I’m here cause of football.”

I raised a brow. “Of course, you do.”

He chuckled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “You have that whole… football player look.”

He looked vaguely amused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” I took a sip of my drink. “I just feel like I already know your whole deal.”

Joe leaned in slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? And what’s my deal?”

I pretended to think. “Cocky, thinks he’s smarter than he is, probably way too competitive.”

“You don’t know me at all. He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made something flicker in my chest. He stepped closer, but at a safe distance "I like to think I'm smart. Want to test me?"

I leaned against the counter, intrigued. "Alright, what’s the capital of Lithuania?"

"Vilnius."

I blinked, impressed but unwilling to show it. "Okay, what’s the powerhouse of the cell?"

"Mitochondria. Come on, give me a hard one."

I bit my lip, thinking. "Fine. Who wrote ‘Pride and Prejudice’?"

He didn’t even hesitate. "Jane Austen."

My mouth parted slightly. "Huh."

He grinned. "Not what you expected?"

"Not even close."

He tilted his head, studying me. His blue eyes went all over me, starting at my face and getting down all over my body. "What about me gave you the impression I wasn’t smart?"

I hesitated, but he was looking at me with genuine curiosity. "The hoodie, the wristbands, the fact that this house is a frat-football house. And, no offense, but most guys like you care more about throwing balls than reading books."

He let out a breathy laugh. "Fair enough. But I promise you, I’m more than that."

I found myself wanting to believe him.

“Oh, I bet.”

The night stretched on, and we kept talking. The party faded into the background. He told me about growing up in Ohio, about transferring to LSU for a fresh start. I told him about my dream of being a psychologist, working with kids was my whole goal.

At some point, we ended up outside on the porch, sitting on the steps as the humid Louisiana night wrapped around us. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until my phone buzzed with a text from Rachel: "Where r u???"

I looked at him, his hair messy from the night, his blue eyes watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I should go," I said reluctantly.

He nodded, but there was something in his expression that made my pulse skip. "I’ll see you around?

I hesitated, then smiled. "Yeah. See you around."

As I walked away, I felt his gaze linger. And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong about people like him.

[…]

The city buzzed with the hum of conversation and the scent of freshly brewed coffee as we walked the familiar route to our usual spot. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. It was the kind of late afternoon that felt like a soft exhale after a long day, the air thick with the scent of summer and distant laughter from students scattered across the campus.

Rachel, Jess, Nate, Lucas, and I had just wrapped up another draining day—classes, internships, and the slow crawl toward graduation looming over us like a deadline we weren’t ready to meet.

"I swear, if I have to listen to one more professor drone on about case studies, I might actually drop out," Rachel groaned as she linked her arm with Jess’s.

"You say that every semester," Nate teased, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"And yet, here I am. A survivor," Rachel shot back, flipping her hair dramatically.

I trailed slightly behind, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. My internship at the counseling center had been particularly draining today. A few tough sessions had left me with more questions than answers, the complexities of the human mind unraveling in ways I hadn't yet learned how to piece back together.

"I don't know how you do it, Y/N," Lucas said, as if reading my mind. "Listening to people’s problems all day would drive me insane."

I smirked. "That’s kind of the point. Psychology is about understanding people, not just fixing them."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved. "Just remind me never to tell you my problems."

We finally reached the café, a cozy little corner of campus life where we had spent countless hours avoiding responsibilities. The scent of espresso and fresh pastries welcomed us as we pushed through the doors, greeted by the comforting hum of low conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes.

Sliding into our usual booth by the window, we settled in, each of us instinctively knowing our roles in the ordering process. Rachel and Jess debated over which overpriced latte to get, while Nate and Lucas argued about football stats neither of them would remember in an hour. I, meanwhile, busied myself scrolling through my phone, half-listening to their conversation.

That’s when the notification popped up.

A follow request.

Joe Burrow.

I frowned slightly, the name unfamiliar for only a second before my memory caught up. Joe Burrow, the new player. Why was he texting me like that?

And then, a message.

“Finally found you. Do you know how hard it was to track you down?"

I blinked, confused.

Then another message appeared.

"It’s Joe—the guy you thought was dumb. We met at the party last Saturday."

The guy I met at the party.

Joe Burrow, the quarterback.

The transferred dude and the new quarterback were the same person.

My stomach did a weird little flip. I had spent the entire night talking to him, intrigued by the way he had effortlessly thrown back every challenge I gave him. I had walked away thinking I’d never see him again.

And yet, here he was.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Earth to Y/N?" Jess’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up, realizing they were all staring at me.

"Who’s got you looking like you just saw a ghost?" Rachel asked, sipping her drink.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over my phone.

"No one," I said, too quickly.

But the smirk on Rachel’s face told me she wasn’t buying it.

And truthfully? Neither was I.

I stared at my screen, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t explain.

And he texted me again.

"So, did I pass your intelligence test?"

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

Then your eyes land on her.

Ellie.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then—

She smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle.

You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence

Then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't.

She steps closer, “no?”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

But you don't.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

You kiss her.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement.

Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move.

You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost made you roll your eyes, wasn't the whole situation obvious enough?

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm.

She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory.

You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else.

When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you.

Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

And for now, that's enough.

[bunni-v1]

smilk winning the pettiest jealous bitch award every year until beast yeast 8 cuz the man dead ass is just "yeah doll it's just a test :)" but the second you start getting close to truthless recluse he's just ">:( no I don't like this anymore"

we're just befriending your other half bro!! u wanted this and you're mad about it!! little bitch (affectionately)!!

i love my petty husband-

(also, your honor, was the "remembering who you belong to" thing a hit to jealous intercourse?? 🙏 cuz i love that 👀 love to hear more about that if ur in the mood, if not, ignore this lmfao)

MDNI!!!

Ohhhh, Shadow Milk is a jealous petty little bitch, and he knows it too! He really wants you two to get along, it’s great! Until it isn’t…

Oooo seeing you being so sweet on Truthless Recluse really makes him feverish. You were his little dolly, so why were you so sweet to some other cookie? You should be giving him all that attention! It’s not right! You know who you belong to, don’t you?

You’ve got that bite on the back of your neck, is that not enough? The tug and burn of his annoyance should’ve reminded you, but… Well. If you need the reminder, he’s more than happy to give it to you! Just be a good little cookie and he’ll take care of you <3

But seriously, he doesn’t really cause a fuss, mostly pouting and grumbling, UNTIL you touch Truthless Recluse. Just a brush of the hand was all it was, nothing with any meaning, but oh did it set him off. He was patient! Kind! Benevolent even! But you crossed a line with that one, and he won’t tolerate your actions any longer.

You are swooped up off your feet and transported to your shared bedroom within a fraction of a second. Having been with him for so long, you already know where this is going, so you don’t bother fighting him. But jealous sex with Shadow Milk Cookie is something entirely different than the norm.

What you think will be a regular session turns into something else entirely. Not only does he intend to remind you just who’s you are, he means to show Truthless Recluse that as well.

He’ll tie you up and blindfold you, which isn’t strange by any means. He likes forcing you to use your sense of touch, heightens the experience and really makes you squeal like he wants. All the while he’s playing it nice and cool, jealousy not quite bubbling over for the sake of the performance.

He runs his hands all across your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His mouth following to leave marks all across your pretty dough, nipping a few bites where he can. He pointedly avoids touching you where you need him most, though. Knowing better than to give you what you want right away, lest he ruin the fun for himself.

He gets you positively squirming beneath him, then, he stops. Not only does he stop, leaving you whiny and flustered, but he leaves. He leaves you tied up and dripping and alone. It’s a cruel punishment you’d never experienced from him before, and it nearly makes you cry until you hear his pleasant little giggle.

“Ohhh, did you think I left you all alone? Poor thing… you know better than that, dolly~” He’ll coo, returning right back to where he was before.

He’s a bit more aggressive about his ministrations now, leaving bites that leak jam and are sure to scar. Licking up the wounds with a kindness that gives you whiplash, until finally that sinful mouth of his reaches right where you need it.

With practiced precision, he swallows you whole, forked tongue working over you like a dream. It knows all the right spots, moving across your most needy areas and leaving you weak and breathless. He goes and goes until you reach the edge, and then he pulls away like he always does.

He lingers a moment longer, though, and you feel his eyes burn into you from his place. You wonder if this time he’ll just give you what you like, but instead you feel a sharp pain shoot up from where he just left. A shout of surprise forces it’s what out of your lungs, and before you can process what he’s done, he’s already licking away to soothe the bite on your most sensitive areas.

“Did you just bite me?” You accused.

He snickers like a delighted kid, “What? Not into it?”

Aching and huffy, you grumble out a ‘no.’ Though it was certainly more pleasant than you’d like to admit, you’d prefer to be told before he tries something like that.

“Well…” He purrs, and you feel him crawl onto the bed, positioning himself nicely between your legs. His eager member is already free, and like it has a mind of its own, is rubbing against your inner thigh in a sort of apology. “Lemme make it up to you then, hmm?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he is pushing into you. It tears a moan out of your lips, never quite used to how odd he feels the first time he enters. You swear he can expand the damn thing on command with how it fills you, rubbing all the right places at all the right times.

He’s kind enough to let you adjust, though you know he doesn’t have to be. The damn thing squirms excitedly inside you anyway, negating the whole point of his waiting. Maybe he just liked watching it press up against your stomach, or maybe… something else was going on. Before you can mull on it too much, he moves his hips in a brutal thrust.

It nearly knocks the wind out of you, pushing yet another surprised noise from your mouth. He giggles to himself at the sound, making his next thrust even harder to draw it out again, and again, and again, and again, until you can’t think straight. Each harsh thrust is another reminder that he’ll be carrying you around all of tomorrow, and your raspy throat tells you speaking won’t be much easier either.

He leans over you at some point, though you’re not exactly sure when. His body covering you from the cool air of the spire. He uses the closeness as an excuse to leave more marks across your neck and shoulders, happy to scar you up for everyone to see.

His dick twists in a way that has you seeing stars, throwing your head back into the sheets to cry to the heavens. He has every intent to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight tonight, and just as you think he’ll let you cum, he pauses his rough pace. You nearly whine, but stop when the blindfold stars to be undone.

He’d turned off the lights, so your vision adjusts much faster, and you are met with his sharp toothy grin. He seems satisfied with himself, so you smile weakly at him.

“Awwwwh, you’re so cute! Aren’t they cute?” He coos.

It takes you a second to realize he is talking to someone else, blinking in confusion a few times before you follow his gaze across the room. You meet dull ones, seemingly uninterested in the affair unfolding before them. Your jam freezes, jerking in your restraints in surprise. Why was Truthless Recluse here? How long had he been watching? Why was Shadow Milk okay with it?

“Oh, nonono, you’re not going anywhere!” He purrs, rubbing his cheek into yours like your attempt at escape was cute, “Don’t you like the surprise I made for you? It seemed like such a good idea, don’t tell me you’re upset!”

It’s hard to keep up with him, so all you manage is a very stupid, “What?”

He giggles with good nature, “Well, you seemed to like Vanilly’s attention sosososo much, that I thought it would be fun to have him watch us! And I was right, you’re never this vocal… it’s a little annoying honestly. Y’know, I’m getting the impression you like him more than me!”

You shake your head adamantly at him, and you mean it too, even though you’re fucked out and stupid you still manage to understand what he’s saying. You can’t come up with a good argument against him in your state though, petrified eyes unable to focus on staring at him or hiding from Truthless Recluse. It seems to make him happy, but he doesn’t stop his teasing despite the satisfaction.

“You do know who you belong to, don’t you dolly?” His words are accompanied with a thrust, a gasp forcing its way out as you nod, “Use your words pretty~”

Another thrust and you manage, “Y-you.”

“Mhm~ What’s my name, c’mon. You’ve still got some brain left up there, dontcha?” He teases, tapping on your forehead. If you weren’t so horrified you might’ve laughed.

“Sha~adow Milk— shit.” You manage between the steady smacks of his hips against yours, the tip of his dick rubbing your g-spot each time making things all the more difficult for you.

He smiles proudly at you, as if you were a pet he’d broken in. You certainly felt that way right now, not that you’d complain too much. His hand grabs your face tightly, jerking your head to the side with a smug smile.

“Tell him who you belong to.” He commands, and there is not room for debate.

“I belong to Shadow Milk Cookie,” You cry out to the silent cookie. He seems… unsure of the sight in front of him, whether he enjoys it or not, but Shadow Milk pulls your face back to his before you can make it out.

“Good job! I’m so proud of you! Now,” He squeezes your face tight in his grip, smiling cruelly at your struggle, “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t make me have to remind you again, alright?”

You nod dumbly, only verbally responded when he raises an eyebrow, “Of course, I’ll be good.”

He giggles, pressing the kindest kiss he could muster to your lips, “That’s my dolly~”

[milessunflowers]

This came to me in a dream but imagine.

Max Verstappen x MotoGP!male!reader. They're very similar, both started very young, they both have four championships and they're both Dutch. But Max is well, Max and reader is an absolute sweetheart and cinnamon roll.

Thank you!

just read all abt motogp and didn't realize how fucking cool it was until now so ty for that! gonna start watching it this season!

max verstappen x motogp!male!reader

synopsis: two racers, both alike in dignity, in fair motorsports, where we lay our scene- you and max are very similar in a lot of ways yet so different that you guys just make it work

author's note: motogp, i was not familiar with your game. but srsly i have to start watching bc just reading and researching on it had me so pumped up at 11:45 last night bc i forgot to rest up 😅 worth it bc AHAHAHAJDLLWWN <- that's how im feeling abt motogp. hope you like it!

you guys are so similar before you even knew each other

you both started around the same time, being the youngests to ever race in your respective sports

fans were quick to point out the parallels between the two of you

you won a good set of races (even if it's hard to do) and max was dominating the f1 world

plus you guys were both dutch

so everyone's all like "what the hell do they feed those motosports kids in the netherlands?"

you guys meet in like some random gp, maybe yours maybe his but either way a random gp

im thinking cota lowkey before daniel was booted (rip king)

so like daniel sets you guys up practically

turns out you got along amazingly, followed each other on instagram and like added each other on whatsapp and stuff

like you guys really hit off

you talk and get to know each/build a stable friendship for like a year and half before you ask him out

he says yes of course, claiming he was just about to do it and you stole his spotlight

you don't care because you are just happy to have date with someone you've come to care a lot about

you go on this date, probably to the beach because you still aren't sure what he wants to eat and when

you guys start being official shortly after

skip forward and you have won your second championship and max as one so far so you guys are out celebrating and stuff

fans spot you, ask for some pictures and notice how drastically different your personalities are

like you seem all cheery and happy all the time while max only seems to enjoy himself when he's with you or other people he likes

but they also realize how perfect you guys are and how much you counter balance each other

like one gets too overwhelmed the other is taking them home and obviously vice versa

and you guys are so so supportive

like if your bike decides not to work and you have to quit mid-race, max is there to support whether actually at the circuit or over facetime

if max has a particularly bad race, you are supporting him in anyway you can to make sure he knows how talented and amazing he is

you guys don't fight a lot, but when you do you guys are both lowkey overdramatic and realize like ten minutes later how stupid the argument was and then make up/make out over it

anyways

anytime you guys can, you support each other

like if there just happens to be the races on the same day, you make sure to tell max before and after your race how amazing and proud of him you are and max makes sure everyone knows what an amazing boyfriend you are

also championship celebrations are insane

like drunk asf, waking up sire the next day

you guys are just happy you got to celebrate them together

even if max is a little overprotective

not as much as you though, because some guy looked at max the wrong way at a bar one time and you just about punched out his lights

look, you're sweet and all but you love max and don't want people to judge that

plus you are a max defender til the day you die

you tried getting max to ride your bike that you have a home, but he almost broke his arm and you almost got berated by horner

but horner's opinion doesn't matter to you because he's horner—pretty self explanatory i think

you guys will sometimes go karting together but max always wins (you jokingly accuse him of cheating to win but he just has a cheeky smile)

its always fun because you guys really just like to battle on track

though you are less aggressive both in your motogp driving and on the kart

max, well, you guys know how max's driving is

also i feel like you would drive him around, if that makes any sense

like he screams passenger princess to me and i don't really understand it but you know what, fuck it we ball

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[softlypaintedseafoam]

23:59

synopsis. march 2, 23:59. 1 minute and counting until his birthday has passed.

pairing. vinsmoke sanji x f!reader

word count. 0.4k | masterlist

content warning. timestamp (happy birthday sanji), established relationship,written with this reader in mind (this fic can be enjoyed without it), fluff, plus-sized reader in mind (but read as you like)

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

i wasn't initially planning to write anything for sanji week because i already have wips i'm working on... but i figured why not? the straw hat chef deserves a little something for his birthday and it's his week!... technically another gift for @hash-slinging-slasher-trash leave me alone hehehehe

There's little time that remains of Sanji's birthday.

March 2, 23:59.

1 minute and counting until another birthday has passed and the cook is 1 year and 1 day older. You press into Sanji's side with a satisfied sigh, too tired to do much else but too awake to sleep like the blonde next to you. He might share his birthday with three others but there is only one Black Leg Sanji to celebrate on this day.

Brook and Luffy led their dynamic rendition of the Happy Birthday song, Usopp fashioned a fantastical tale of the great Sanjiland even Zoro's usual quips were a touch kinder.

Only a touch.

Then there was you, the only Sanji even remotely trusts in his kitchen. You were on kitchen duty; who lets the birthday celebrant cook on their special day, after all.

"I can't wait until next year," you murmur, fingers carding through blond hair. "Next year, I'll take you to the All Blue. Hopefully." Never mind that that had been your hope for this birthday.

Everyday is a step closer to the One Piece; sadly it hadn't been this year.

"But next year is going to be the year it happens," you vow loosely, half-expecting this to be what you'll say Sanji's next birthday. "We'll have found the One Piece. That's probably where the All Blue is, you know. Roger just didn't talk about it before because he didn't know how important it was." Or maybe he wanted to leave that a surprise too. You're sure that's what your captain would insist. "No one wants to go on a boring adventure, after all."

Next year you'll find the final island and you'll see Sanji's eyes light up like a thousand cut gems like he's a child all over again. "It's real," he'll breathe, grinning ear to ear. "I told you it was real," he'll swoon like you ever doubted him for a second. It'd be real; Sanji said it would be.

"And if it doesn't exist, I'll make it for you," Somehow with your small hands and your non-existent fishing skills. You'll find a way to weave the ocean into something more connected than it already is. In world full of monsters and unknown seas, anyone can make miracles happen. "Even someone like me, right Sanji?"

When you feel a hairy arm tighten around your waist, you nearly jump out of your skin. "Hey, how long have you-" there's a sleepy grunt followed by a soft snore and you giggle. "Never mind, you," you press a light kiss on Sanji's jaw. "Keep on dreaming," a yawn passes through your lips. Just keep on dreaming.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyy, So this is a post made with the help and suggestion of @villainmirabelmadriga so go check them out and now to the post! }~

•God-Queen•

Diana and has been invited by the God-Queen to heavens.

This was a great surprise for Diana as unlike the legends would say her stepmother adores her husbands children and often gives them her support the only reason for her reputation for hating her husbands children is because when she finds out she beats the hell out of Pariah while his children watch.

And speaking from one of the lucky children who have gotten to see it for herself it is amazing and definitely not with the added pluses of eating the sweets that her stepmother gives and petting her peacocks while talking with Lord Ares and Lady Eris who also like watching their “Father” get his ass beat.

Anyway Diana is certainly excited to visit her stepmother and she could ask why her father has been quiet for so long.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

It has been over 300 years since Danny home-world has been eaten by their sun and over thousands since Danny himself had fully died by the hands of his parents and the G.I.W.

When Danny had first died he was a mess and was never able to fully recover from his death when he had to start fighting the over ghosts and beating the G.I.W but the second time around Danny was much better prepared for it and he got the hang of being a full ghost very soon as it’s not that much different from being a half-ghost.

And he was mostly left alone unless it was his children Dawn and Dusk who he absolutely adores and his afterlife was calm until the Observers decided that with Pariah Darks madness mostly worked its way through that he was able to become king again but for everyone’s safety and to make sure this didn’t happen again they needed a Queen who would be able to put down any and all attempts for domination.

So Danny was chosen to become Queen as he was the only one able to beat him down and shove him back into his tomb so now Danny was the Queen.

And his life was good apart from having to kick Pariahs ass every few years it was fine especially when he got the most adorable Stepchildren out of this.

Speaking of stepchildren maybe he should invite Diana and Marvel over.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The Gods often change gender so for Diana to see her stepmother as a man it is normal

•Danny has no romantic feelings for Pariah Dark, he mostly just beats the shit out of him for his lack of respect for women and putting his children through shit

•Dusk is Ares and Dawn and is Eris (mostly for the chaos part)

•Danny keeps on saying “Don’t worry about it sweetheart here have some [Insert Greek sweet]” whenever Diana asks where her father is

•In the past Pariah Dark kids would go to Danny when their father would be an asshole and watch as their stepmother beat the shit out of him and it was Glorious

•Captain Marvel has met Danny and Danny treats him like he does his stepchildren,And Marvel isn’t complaining he likes the sweets Danny gives him before he goes to beat Pariah back into submission while yelling “RESPECT WOMEN YOU BASTARD”

•Pariah Dark is still around Danny just throws his ass in the nap-time box when he pisses him off

•The reason the legends say that Danny hates Pariah Dark kids is because when he beats his ass they mistake the hate for the kids instead of him

•Danny is the Ancient Of Marriage and Family

•Dawn goes to pick up her little half sister and brother with some good old ghostly bonding and the JL think that Eris kidnapped her for Hera :)

•Dawn and dusk know Billy’s not their actual brother but their mother likes him so honorary little brother!

•~{The DC part is in Diana’s pov because even if I have no clue how to write her I’m worse that writing Billy}~

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny

[I wanted to put him into the 70s type thing but I couldn’t find one I like so you gremlins get this]

Dawn

Dusk

[^One for when he’s fighting and one for chilling^]

~{ And that’s it! Hope you gremlins like it byeeee }~

[cryptid-doodles-212]

Mirrors | Stanley and Stanford

A short piece I wrote based on headcanon I have that Ford has suffered from "Wax Stan problem" (seeing his brother's face everywhere), as much as Stanley did, during their lives apart

special thanks to @we-stan-the-stans-27 for helping me brainstorm writing Ford properly, as he's one of the hardest to write characters I've encountered

tw minor mention of blood (1 shaving injury and 1 shoulder injury) and a mention of a bar fight that took place offscreen

☆ ☆ ☆

The first time it happens, Stanley Pines is young.

Eyes stinging from the dust sticking to his face from the cargo boxes, he finally took an advice from a senior colleague, along with a pair of his old glasses. They aren't much - rims outdated and far too thick for someone Stan's age, with a piece of tape hanging sadly on one of the handles. But the glass is thin and doesn't distort Stan's vision; not that he would admit that he actually sees better than he had in years.

Younger than the El Diablo he's sitting in, younger than the duffel bag sprawled on the back seat, full of remnants of life he had just a few months ago. Shirts he wasn't particularly attached to, underwear that has seen better days, his brother's toothbrush. A testimony of how little his family knew him.

Not his mother, no. But him.... he was like that since Stan could remember.

The first time it happens, Stan is back to the driver seat of his temporary home, fresh from a 14 hour shift at the docks of Glass Shard Beach. He can't leave that place still; the pay is low but the chances of running into anyone he knows are low as well. Parked in the back of the warehouses after sharing the last valuable thing he had with a night guard (a watch that will take a while for Filbrick to notice is missing from one of the bottom drawers of the old desk in the pawn shop), he glances at the rearview mirror.

After all, if Filbrick believed he passed the test with a 20/20 vision, and Stanford loved the agenda with soft silk bookmark thread, there was no harm in not disclosing where the money went.

He wasn't much of a reader, anyway, he told himself. On a tight schedule with long hours, Stan only had time for the most basic hygiene - this meant that his once neatly slicked back hair had grown slightly, and the curls that graced his brother's head started to break through on him as well. Disheveled, his father would say.

The only thing he had to have time for is shaving, which he was starting to regret.

The bespectacled face, half covered in curls, neatly shaved, stared him back from the rearview mirror. It was like a gut punch. The next morning, while the sun has barely risen on the docks and the fog has not cleared out yet, Stan makes sure to throw his razors as deep into the trash can as possible.

☆ ☆ ☆

The second time it happens, Stanley Pines is on the run.

It was just a job, cheap job, low risk (or so he was told); he's breathless, clutching the box he was told just needs delivering without asking too much.

And now there are four patrol cars in front of that building, and he's shaking. It's middle of June and he's shaking to his bones in an alleyway, listening to the persistent sirens. The sound of his own heartbeat almost muffles the footsteps down the street, getting dangerously close to his hiding spot.

Then, they stop.

The sudden silence makes him look up, up and ahead at the dirty glass of a closed electronics store; full of dark and empty TV screens. On one of them, he sees it. Not even the thick beard can hide it, or the lack of glasses. Hair wet from rain sticking to his temples, now a lot longer than what it used to be the last time he saw that face looking back at him at the beach, smiling.

Eyes gleaming in the sun reflected on the surface of the shallow water, breaths heavy from swimming, knowing that the time to go home is nearing before their father comes looking for them.

Sirens from the police cars coming back to life make the memory burst away. But the footsteps are getting farther and farther; until the street is empty again.

Throwing the box into the pile of garbage bags by the wall, Stan takes a breath and makes a beeline for the only place with a sign still lit at those deaf hours. The store is stuffy, and the static coming from the radio is too loud, but he is in a trance making his way through the single small aisle.

Industrial scissors in hands, and what was supposed to be breakfast money on the counter, Stan exits the place. After a few sharp turns and another alleyway, far from the crime scene (he is not a fool), he leans onto the brick wall. Soft strands in hand, he starts cutting; the hair is falling onto his shoulders, his jacket, his hands, but he doesn't stop.

Lost in a rhythmic sound of the blades working, he lets his heartbeat slow down. Without a mirror, he only stops when he's sure that he looks like no one in particular anymore.

The change left over from the business done was spent on a new frame, as the long ago loaned glasses had fallen apart by now. The new ones help sometimes, as much as he hates to admit, and keep him from making any kind of paperwork mistakes that could cost him his freedom. Again.

☆ ☆ ☆

The third time it happens, Stanley Pines has changed so many faces, he forgot what his own looks like.

The life on the run has not been kind to it - scars covering most of his nose, stray cuts from endless changing of his facial hair, bags under his eyes reminding him of the last time he slept for more than few hours in a row. The last... job he was on, Stan even played with bleach and dyes - resulting in his head now being a curly bush of grey from the humidity. It aged him even more, but it got the job done. They will never find the man responsible for the check fraud, and he, in return, will have a roof over his head for the next 6 months.

Now, the face looking back at him from a dirty motel mirror twists something in his stomach. And he can't put his finger on it.

Fresh out of another disposable persona with a long hair and a beard, he removed the facial hair from the center of his face first; which left him with lenghty sideburns, reaching to the bottom of his earlobe, as dark grey as his hair is. Everywhere but on the sides of his head, where the bleach decided to set in heavier and left him with a lighter halo.

Stan steps back. It doesn't click still.

Mildly annoyed, he turns the volume down on the radio - the muffled tune feeling too loud in his brain to think, accompanied with the downpour outside. He makes his way back (a few steps) into the bathroom, carefully skipping one of many broken tiles, and looks at the reflection again.

Nothing.

Back home, on a shelf full of pawn shop's finance books, there was a heavy album. Stanley remembers skimming through it one day with Stanford, during summer holidays. As much as he tries to call back to every photo in his mind, he cannot find this face in it. Only for a second, the image of his brother flashes and disappears. Stanford would have liked this guy, surely; resembling one of the many heroic figures in his nerdy fantasy books.

The stranger looks almost dangerous in his appearance, decades older than Stanley, his own eyes almost unrecognizable under the bushy dyed eyebrows. Dangerous, but comfortable in ways he can't explain. He would trust this man with his life.

There is another job waiting for him in a week; lot of clean straight cash. He could just stay as he is, saving time on coming up with another ridiculous cover up (he hated the heavy mustache and corporate cut). But, his stomach turns again.

The man in the mirror touches his own face, mesmerized. It takes a minute for Stanley to realize he's doing the same. He fights the urge to grab the cracked polaroid he has in his bag and trap the stranger. Instead, he grabs the razor again, and with one last effort to remember this face, he starts shaving further.

Any other disguise will do. Just not this one.

☆ ☆ ☆

The first time it fails, Stanford Pines is crying.

Alone in the bathroom of his home, cursing under his breath at the face in the mirror that refuses to grow proper facial hair that would leave him with a five-o-clock shadow. At the hair that has now been practically butchered, shorter strands protruding on one side, and almost shaven on the other.

He should have gone to the barber instead of acting like a fool at 2am. His father would let him, he lets him do so much since Stanford came home beaming with another scholarship offer.

Stanford wonders if he would notice the resemblance, as the thick gel falls off his hand onto the tiled floor, before he desperately tries to scoop it. His eyes sting, and his face is now wet and full of stray hairs.

Comforting himself while frantically stripping so that he can run the stain under the cold water, he looks in the mirror. A laugh escapes him, bitter one; despite his best attempts to replicate his brother's face he only half succeeded at it now that he hurt himself.

Would he remember that he had another son?

It doesn't matter, Stanford remembers; he doesn't want to forget, and he is terrified that he will. That's why, when his father grabbed the empty boxes and started filling them up until the bedroom was only Stanford's, he trembled as he pushed as many shirts under his mattress as he could. Sleeping in them every night.

Even now, one of them is on him, covered in hair gel and evidence of a horrible haircut. Still unwashed. Stanford is becoming slowly aware of the smell, but there is no one to notice. Mother is busy with Shermie as it is, meaning that the house has a lingering baby powder scent and dirty diapers at all times, and all his father cares about is that Stanford is leaving the house neat and proper.

He read somewhere that shaving more often will help the hairs grow thicker; reluctantly, as his vision is still blurry under the heavy glasses, he makes the first smooth movement of the razor across his jaw. And another. Far too late, Stanford realizes he's rushing himself, eager to see that face again, and he has to bite his lip to not scream out. He went too high, confirmed by a thin cut on his face right next to his ear. Now, along with the hair and the gel, there is blood dripping onto the shirt.

He only remembers Stanley bruised, hair a mess, bleeding. All of those hits that were meant for Stanford ended up on him. A while ago, now feeling like forever, he remembers an offhanded comment Stanley made after a house party he was dragged to; it was a pleasant night as they ended up grabbing a pizza after Stanley's multiple failures to get any girls' number, and sat on the hood of the El Diablo by the shore.

Stanford spent most of the time in the stuffy living room of some guy who was a friend of a friend of Stanley's, well, next to Stanley. He made sure to point out that dragging your twin brother while trying to flirt someone up may not have been the best first impression. Later at the shore, Stanley scoffed and laughed at this, saying that maybe Stanford should have tried instead; to which Stanford shrugged.

"Well, you're the pretty twin, Sixer. I got that rugged charm that not everyone can appreciate, y'know."

Now, looking at the injured reflection, Stanford knew how wrong his brother was.

☆ ☆ ☆

The second time it fails, Stanford Pines is covered in remnants of what was possibly the worst inter-dimensional bar fight he took part in.

Not even the shards stuck into his now bare shoulder hurt as much as his dignity; his fault for not checking his back and expecting that no cowardly moves will be made on him. He's getting reckless after 20 years.

Slumping into a makeshift chair, in a den turned hideout somewhere in the hills of this unforgiving dimension, he looks up at the broken floor length mirror hung on the wall across from him. What he sees, lifts his spirits if only for a moment.

When it caught his eye on a cluttered caravan wagon, he told himself it's for the experiments. Nothing else. Given the price he paid, the locals apparently valued it just as much, but he paid anyway.

And now it shows him how long his hair had grown; almost past his injured shoulder. He made sure to keep a close eye on the top, so that it doesn't grow too long and meet the bottom strands. The layers seemed almost perfect. Almost, as the rest of his face refused to cooperate. Despite being well into his age, his beard never truly grew gradually; not as thick as he wanted it to. Not shaving for a few days made his facial hair either be non existent or just sprout into a full cover like someone flipped a switch. He even tried testing the water and all other substances he got into contact with, in order to find a reason for this and control it.

The chair creaked as Stanford got up and crossed the room to stand before the mirror. As slowly as he could, being mindful of the injury, he stripped until he was shirtless.

Twenty years of brawling the creatures far beyond his imagination, sculpted his torso and arms - he could not escape the passing time but he grew stronger and it showed. Not that he needed to see it - his survival was a proof of his physical strength enough; but now he had someone to compare to. Covered in scars and ink, his body was a stark contrast to his face; untouched and smooth, lined only with unstoppable wrinkles. His window into another life. He touches the lower strands of his hair fondly, as if they will break any moment now.

No matter the brawl he's in, Stanford always covers his face; especially now that his hair had grown, and his arms got bulkier. He scoffs at the reflection, and the differences he still sees. It will take more work, but what were only glimpses of his brother before, are now coming together into a full image. In a way, they are growing old together.

But he will never let that face get injured, again.

☆ ☆ ☆

The third time it fails, there is blinding light everywhere around Stanford Pines.

His eyes are covered but he swears he feels the light searing through his skull. It burns until there is nothing but the darkness. And out of that darkness, once Stanford can see, comes that face.

The face that never would have occurred to him to try and replicate; and it hurts. It hurts so much that he scowls, seconds stretching into hours as he looks back at the man speaking to him, to the dark room with high ceilings, to the metal shards scattered on the floor from the impact of the portal.

It's not even the wrinkles and the graying hair, or the shabby clothes; it's the slumped shoulders carrying far too much weight in a lifetime. The discoloration from scarring in so many places that should not be visible from this distance. The soft lisp distorting the lips as the man speaks, be it from injury or loss of teeth. Stanford looks up and away. He tried so hard to replicate that face, to see him again in all of his unappreciated rugged charm as Stanley called it; and he never got it right.

Because the life he felt responsible for has shaped his brother with fists.

☆ ☆ ☆

The fourth time never came to be.

There was no more blinding light.

Only the man staring back at Stanley Pines, in flesh and blood, the way he did all those decades ago from the dirty motel mirror.

☆ ☆ ☆

[ray935sworld]

5 and ½ years

(Alex & Marc, marcmarc)

"Is 5 and a half years a lot?" Marc asked. He had spend the last 5 minutes sitting opposite it his brother, gathering courage for what he was about to tell him.

It wasn't bad. Or horrible. Or life changing. Maybe life changing. He really wanted that. But it was probably still too early to say that. And it wouldn't be in a bad way but in the best way possible.

Alex eyed his brother for a moment then shrugged. "Depends on the context. For a uni major? Used car? No. I don't think so. Years in prison? Time without a shower? Yes. Absolutly." He gave him a smug smile, showing the older one clearly that he enjoyed playing with him like that.

"Idiot." he shot back. "I was talking about age gap and you know that" "Again. Context? If you're 18 and she's 13? Yes. That's bad. I'm calling the police. 32 and 37? No." he admitted, his voice neutral, at ease. He didn't gave any judgment away.

His face then twisted. If showed surprise and slight confusion. He clearly just had an idea about who the question was he really lacked a poker face. Marc twitched on his seat, hoping the expression that could only be discrimbed as - gentle displeasure mixed with confusion wasn't direct at the righf person. "Wait did you and Dovi started talking again?" But he had the wrong idea.

"Not really." Their relationship had been easy and good. But there was a reason why they kept their dating in the past and looking at his current love, he was more than happy to do so.

"Then? Who is it?" Alex urged. "So he'd be 37? 38?" "Ehm, no... No, not excatly" "What?"

The two Spaniards just stared at each other for a few seconds. Alex because he honestly hadn't expected that. Every relationship the other every had - that he knew off - was with older men. He just didn't expect anything other. Going for older seemed as set in stone in his dating expectations as that his partner would be male.

Marc stared at him to gather some more courage. He wasn't even sure why he was so scared to tell him. He knew he wouldn't mind. He knew he didn't care. And his boyfriend wasn't so bad. Even if he belonged to the academy mafia, he was perfect. And he was worth it. So much. He would go through so much worst than facing Rossi.

And he was making him happy. Really happy. Happier than any win or championship, happier than racing ever could. He was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He wanted to have him on his side and stay there for as long as he was allowed to. Because he surely wouldn't be the one leaving.

He titled his head slight and took a deep breath. He smiled softly, suddenly realizing why he was nervous. It wasn't that he was unsure about his relationship or that he was scared about his brothers reaction. Not even his parents.

But saying it, would make it real. If he told his family he had to stand by it. No more hiding. This was real. This was their new reality. They would officially be dating in private. Not secret. No more denying to a small circle of people that respected their privacy. They would be made real, not just a secret get away. They were real.

He smiled at that realization. "He's younger" he announced. "YOUNGER? Marc - Marc if he is 5 years younger - DUDE he is younger than me?!" Alex replied. "I know" he replied more sheepish.

Right, they had been talking about the age difference, one of the few things Marc was actually worried about in their relationship. Sure 5 years were so much but whenever he thought about it, it gave him a slight ick.

He had been a motogp champion when his boyfriend was in - what? 9th grade? He didn't thought too long about it. And that didn't really calm him.

"Oh holy shit. Who?" Alex pressed. His voice didn't hold any disgust and he hadn't slapped him across the face yet, so he took that as a sign that it wasn't THAT bad. "Just - is it too much?" he repeated his original question.

"So he is... 26?" "Yeah." "Okay. I mean - 26 is - it's okay. Sure he is in his 20s, you're in your 30s but he isnt like early 20 or something. Mid 20s is... It's hard to judge without knowing his character. He could still be completely naive and childish. But I guess everyone could always be naive and childish, regardless of age" Alex said, his thoughts trailing off. Just like Marc, he had a habit if babbling when he wasn't sure what to say.

"He... He.... Fuck that sounds even worst" "What?" "He is - He isnt childish per se . he just likes to make jokes" "Marc, please who the hell-" "It's Marco Bezzeccchi" he quickly said, unable to really hold it in anymore. A smile he couldn't stop creeped over his face, just like always when he was thinking about him.

"Bezzecci?!" Alex asked, his eyes wide. "Yes." he nodded. The younger one blinked. Once. Twice. He was quiet then asked in a very high voice. "Bez?!" "Yes." he repeated. "The Italian?" "Do you know a Spanish one?" "No but.... The devils student? The defender of the pizza popes honor? The-" "Yes Rossi's student" he interrupted the mass of nicknames they had come up for the former motogp rider.

"Didn't he came to yell at you like - last year? Didn't he hate in like whole 2023? HOLD UP" he yelled, raising his hand. "Did he stop insulting you cause he developed a crush on you?!" "It's eh...." he said to give himself a moment to think.

He remembered the conversation he had with Marco after Thailand. He had still been high on his race win and the 1-2 with his brother. He had been so happy, still was. That moment, lifting his little brother up in Parc ferme, after watching him lead a grand prix and seeing how he collected two Nr 2 plates in 2 days, was perfect.

And laying in his boyfriends arms that evening, exhausted but happy, smiling about the little kisses he got from the Aprilia rider, he had made a decision. He would tell Alex about them. He had just burst it out "I wanna tell Alex!" and the Italian had blinked at him, then nodded.

"Of course, if you want to." "Really?" "Yeah. He's your brother. You love him. It'd be an honor if you think of me as important enough to introduce me - well as your boyfriend" "OF COURSE YOU ARE!" he had almost yelled. A shiver ran down his spine, afraid that by not telling Alex he had made the younger think he didn't treasure their relationship as much as he did.

Bez had just laughed and kissed him again, reassuring him that he hadn't meant it like that. He had agreed that Marc could and should tell Alex but he hadn't agreed to tell Alex about all the struggles Marco went through when he had to admit that the small crush was more of a strong love thing. Not to mention the whole Rossi issue.

So he wanted to keep it vague. "More or less" he told his brother. And yes he confronted me in Valencia 2023. I mean I crashed him. And like you said... Well he came" He answered with a smirk.

He enjoyed thinking back to their little not so hate fuck. Bez had confronted him, accused him of a few things and after some twisting of his words Marc managed to have him excatly where he had wanted him. Right against the wall.

"IIIIIIGGHHHH TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" Alex yelled. Marc chuckled. He decided to explain some more. "We had an on off thing for - most of the 2024 season but now we're like - actually dating. For a few months. And I wanted to see how the winter break would go. You know? Check if it's only race dating or also... Domestic"

Alex nodded understanding. "AAAAH, you're secret meetings?" he asked, referring to all the times Marc had made a few trips, stayed longer in the Ducati factory or asked Alex to spent a few days away too.

"Yep. My secret meeting." "So... You and.... Marco?" he asked and grinned. There was no heat. He approved. Or at least not disapproved. It felt like an immense pressure got lifted of Alex as he nodded. "Me and Marco"

"I don't know him that well. Franky told me a little bit about him in moto2 I think. He seems like a good guy" "He is. Alex, he really is. He's perfect." Marc highlighted. "He's everything and more I always thought I wanted. He's perfect. I love him. I really, really love him. I can't screw this up"

Both knew that soon Marc would be comfortable to talk regularly about Bez. And then Alex would definitely get annoyed. But that's how they worked. For now they were just happy. Marc was happy in his relationship and Alex was happy for Marc.

"You're happy?" Alex asked, softly. But he knew the answer already. "Very much." "I know. You haven't looked that happy since you won the championship." "What?" "What? It's true. You look happy. You're actually grinning and it lasts. Not just - short term"

He smiled in relief before his mind circled back. He felt his face heat up. "You don't think the age gap is weird?" he asked just for some reassurance. "He's only 26. That seems so young. Like when I was 26-" "When you were 26 there were still dinosaurs around"

He made a faked gasp, clutching his chest. "Autch. I wanted to say I was teammates with Lorenzo." "See? Same thing! Dinosaurs around." Marc chuckled about the jokes.

His little brother nudged him in the side. He was smiling. It was a good sign. There was no heat in his expression. They were good. He really didn't mind.

"You know I'm gonna give you a hard time for banging the one that was always the hardest against you, right? It's almost funny" "Yeah I know... And just so you know, he's still the hardest against me"

Alex shrieked, covering his ears. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Fuck you. It would have cost you nothing - NOTHING! - not to say that!" Marc was too buys to break a cracking laugh.

"Yes it would have! It would have cost me so much. Especially that horrified look in your face!" "OH fuck off! I actually wanted to play nice and make a few good comments about him to mama and papa but not now! No! Have fun telling them you're having sex with an Italian!"

"Ey! Fucker! Don't you dare!" He argued back. He took one of the cushions and play hit Alex with it who immediately started laughing. He tried to wrestle a little bit, dodge a few punches and hold against it.

"EY EY EY EY EY! OKAY! OKAY, PEACE!" he yelled. "Okay, okay, I'm gonna be nice! He probably doesn't even deserve an asshole like you as his boyfriend" "Asshole?!" "Yes. Or do you want me to tell your little lover that his sweet kind boyfriend is beating up his little brother over a joke"

"OH he's gonna join me if he hears the whole story!" Two laugh, rich Marquez laughter was echoing through the room. "And don't you dare ever call me a baby again. You're boyfriend is younger than me." "That's not the same!" he argued back. "You're always gonna be my baby!" Even if Alex denied that.

[popcornforone]

Bunked Up

A Mr Ben Fan Fic

I gave you a vote & you overwhelmingly chose Mr Ben as this weeks fic. This one I’ve had completed in draft since the end of November but then I had Christmas writing then the January & February challenges, so it been patient waiting for its turn.

Synopsis:- You are need an extra teacher for your field trip, your new boy friend mr Ben agrees to help.

Word Count:- 3000

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV unprotected sex, swearing, muffling, orgasms, established but secret & new realationship, lover colleagues, PDA, bed creeping, small bed scenario.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, I hope you enjoy this, it’s been a very fun write.

“Free for a second Ben” you poke your head around his class room door. “I need to vent & you always love to tell me to calm down” in you stroll, youve only been back at school 3 days teaching & are already stressed. Being the new head of geography is already proving hard work. Bens busy reading a the new poetry anthology he needs to get his 15 year olds to work on. His feet are up in the desk. He slowly lowers his book & his glasses & eyes pop up from behind it. Instantly making you calmer. Who could ever be angry at such a handsome face.

“Couldnt this wait until later” he groans, but he knows from your tone this needs to be off your chest now, you both like to try & leave work at work.

“Ben!”

“What”

“You’d rather I talked about this when we go out for dinner tonight?” It’s Thursday & you’ve decided to make tonight your date night. You’ve been seeing each other for the last 6 months & are soon going to have to have that chat about where you see this going.

“No you’re right sorry” he puts his book mark in & closes the anthology. You know he’s read this at least once, he took the book with you when you went on your mini break in the summer to the Hamptons.

“So you know George,”

“Yes”

“Well his wife now needs to be induced for the triplets they are having” Ben wonders why this affects you.

“Okay so…”

“The date they have been given in October 4th”

“&…”

“It’s when our field trip to Florida is happening, to take the kids to the keys just before storm season”

“So….” Ben can’t see the point”how does he having his babies effect your trip, he doesn’t teach Geography”

“No but he’s a man & he has always volunteered for trips to be the spare man if one is needed.” Ben sees your issue. “Me Jenny & Scott are all the geography teachers & we have to leave 2 teachers behind to teach the rest & set supply, so we need another man on the field trip”

“Okay yes” you look bemused.

“What do you mean yes”

“Yes I’ll do it…” your jaw drops.

“Ben… I…I… I wasn’t expecting that”

“Why not”

“Well you don’t even teach a humanity & no one cares if a Religious study’s teacher goes away for 5 days, but your head of English”

“Did you just want 5 days without me?” He says & takes his glasses off & bites the end of them. You dampen your panties instantly. That always makes you want to jump his bones.

“Ben stop it”

“Make me” you lean across his desk & pull at his dark blue tie. He groans. His lips that you kiss every day feeling more plump today for some reason. He holds your neck gently, cradling it.

“You sure you want to come on a boring geography field trip. I only came in here to have a moan…”

“You’ve done that in both respects” he giggles.

“Ben”

“What” you playfully dig him in the ribs.

“I’ll need to go clear this with the principal, but if you really did want to, then it would be a huge help then me having to email everyone in the school tomorrow morning”

“If it’s okay with the head, I’m in”

“Ahhh” you squeeze him “my hero & don’t worry all you need to do is be a chaparone, we will do the teaching, we just need a male teacher.” He hugs you back.

“It’s geography, what could go wrong?”…

Ben wasn’t happy when you got to where you were staying for the field trip. Yes he got his own room but it was a half double bed & a little basic. He was upset you weren’t on the same floor as him. But he put on a happy face as the wind & rain blew at him as the kids collected data each day. You are built for these field trips. You can stand in the winds & speak to kids, you’ve been doing it for years, the cold doesn’t get to you until at least the last day of each trip which is why now as head of department, you’ve organised for the last day of the field trip to be either organising the data the kids have collected or going to a museum so your not all frozen. Ben however usually takes kids to plays or to readings or lectures. When you packed him lots of waterproof clothes & thermals he laughed, now he wished you’d packed more.

He stands there as the kids are busy measuring the long shore drift. You’ve told him he can have a break for a few minutes. So he’s sat on a sea defence, desperately clasping to a flask of coffee he brought with him to keep warm. You look up & see this & mouth to Scott to keep an eye on everyone & walk across the beach to Ben. He try’s to man up straight away the second he senses you walking over but you can tell he’s not enjoying this.

“Told you these weren’t for the faint hearted”

“I ain’t volunteering next year no way, thought you said this would be fun”

“It is”

“Since when”he scoffs struggling to undo the top of his flask, his hands shivering in his gloves. you sigh & take it from him & undo it straight away. A seasoned professional at how to survive the elements.

“Ben I promise you that we have one more day here on the beach after today taking data then it’s class room based & a museum & no more wind & rain & sea breeze okay” you rub his hat ruffling his hair under it.

“You’re made of strong stuff you know” he says a small smile forming on his face after sipping his hot drink. The colour coming back into his face.

“Years of doing this Ben, be glad we’re not doing this in December”

“Well I wouldn’t be here” he say & you look concerned. “Those triplets would be almost 2 months old by then” you both laugh & you slowly take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze.

“I know I say this a lot, but I really am thankful you did volunteer to do this” this makes him smile too.

“Anything to make my girl happy”

Tomorrow you are all off to a museum before flying back to New York. The kids you’ve all been looking after & who haven’t been in bed before 1pm no matter how hard you all tried every night, are finally all knackered. All in their rooms by 11pm. Clearly they have reached exhaustion, because no matter how many brave faces you & the teachers have put on, you’re all spent too.

Jenny has agreed to man the corridors tonight if there’s anything that goes on. She hadn’t done it for the first 3 nights of the trip at all & had got the most sleep. You slip into your jammies & sit on your half double bed which squeaks & is hard & sit there with a mug of hot water, reading your romance novel. Finally some you time as you hear the rain clatter on the window. Or so you thought, a polite knocking happens on your door & you grown. The kids know to not talk to you unless it’s a complete emergency tonight, you slink out of bed & grab your Hoodie to put it on over your top, it’s not completely see though but it’s not the best for a kid to see. You yawn as you open the door.

“This had better…” the door is pushed open. Large familiar hands engulf you in second, kicking the door shut behind the large man. Your lips peppered & your neck caressed.

“Oooh baby”

“Ben” you moan your hands all up in his hair. You can feel his erection through his bottoms. “Baby we’re on a field trip”

“Couldnt sleep, have only had about 6 hours sleep since we got here”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me” you say & hold him back a few seconds. His puppy dog eyes filled with sorrow & tiredness.

“Didn’t want my girl to have something else to worry about”

“Ben you should have told me” you caress his face. He smiles at your touch. “I’d have got you another mattress or”

“It’s not the same, you weren’t there to wake up to”

“I’m not always there for you to wake up to”

“But your here in this building, sleeping the floor bellow, it’s ached not being able to touch you or kiss you or pleasure you” he closes the gap between you both again. Little kisses around the base of your neck. He loves to do that. His hand slips inside you jammies.

“Ben please”

“Why not” he relaises you have no underwear on.

“No Ben you misunderstand” his eyes dilate as you smirk”oooh Ben please” your own hand going into his trouser, teasing his erection.

“Oooh fuck baby” he yanks down your jammie bottoms & the two fingers that were on your clit slip inside your sex. You grab onto his shoulder & whimper.

“Fuck Ben”

“Just getting you ready baby, want my girl to enjoy it all as we have no lube”

“Any condoms” you hadn’t brought your birth control tablets with you.

“Erm….” He looks embarrassed.

“Ben there’s solutions in pharmacy’s.” You tug off his T-shirt as the rain gets heavier outside. He pushes you on your bed which creeks & takes off your hoodie & top. Looking at you already on the edge of bliss just by his fingers taking you.

“Your fucking needy baby”

“Only cos you like it.” You wrap your legs around him & get your feet in the back of his waist band. You both wriggle so his penis springs free, rubbing your skin just above your clit, getting some of your pubic hair on it. He takes his fingers from inside you & sucks.

“Fucking delicious” he moans before his fingers grip his length. Pre cum drips across your sex. The way you groan when he slowly Edges all the way inside you. It may have only been a couple of days where you hadn’t had sex, but this felt needed by you both. His eyes wide, as he sinks deeper into you & the way his moustache curls has you feeling even more in heaven than you already are.

“Fuck Ben” his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhhh the kids below” he reminds you. His first thrust powerful. You grip his skin. The bed creeks louder than your moan.

“Ben” you whimper “the bed will give us more away” he giggles with you. “Can you do slow & sensual?” So far all your sex sessions have been rough & passionate. No holding back, you both feel like you’ve had a work out by the end of it. He raises an eye brow.

“I can try beautiful” he whispers before then kissing all around your ear. His next couple of movements slower, rubbing your walls, hitting your spot as you hiss in pleasure trying to be quiet. “But when you look as sexy as this, it hard to control myself”.

No matter how hard you try to be quiet & he try’s to be slow, noises fill the room. The bed even slow creeks, the headboard hitting the wall. You moan every 3 thrusts fuck out loud. Eyes time you do he sucks on your breasts & then you squeeze his bum making him whimper. Feeling him raw always makes your eyes roll, his length knows what to do as you grip onto him. Your legs still wrapped around him. You’re squeezing him too, pushing him deeper, making him feel bigger, the pleasure unmatched. As your collective climax approaches, he gives up. His large hand no longer over your mouth. The bed rocking & rolling with you as you both pant & swear. The air turning blue.

“Fuck fuck b..” before you can scream Ben snogs you. He knows how loud you screech his name when you cum & he knows hearing it will make him reply back with your own name. His tongue taking over sets you off, your body jolting through your climax. As you clamp around you, his own high hits, filling you up with his seed. He always digs his hand in hard to your hip when he finishes. He pants, lying flush on top of you. You ruffle his hair eventually when your lips separate. His sweaty body warming your though. The bed no longer creaking as you both lie in silence as the rain stops & you both fall asleep in each others arms.

You both slept so well. Just being near each other made you both feel safe & secure. Your heat radiating. It was the perfect way to end your school trip. Or so you both thought.

Ben crept out of your room like he was a naughty school boy at about 5am after peppering you with kisses as an apology for not staying the whole night & went back to his bed. You both made sure to shower before joining the other teachers & your students in the canteen for breakfast. You walked in first & grabbed a coffee & a pastry. A few kids looked your way but not too many. But when Ben walked in the whole of your field trip turned to face him & then back at you & then him. Ben was never good at poker faces, he turned bright red instantly as the room filled with loud gossip. His name on everyone’s lips. He slowly went to get his breakfast & then sat down next to you at the teachers table like he had done every morning, with his hand on your thigh.

“Slept well Ben” Jenny asked.

“I did” he sheepishly replied.

“Probably too well that you almost stumbled up the stairs this morning” said Scott. He shot looks between you both.

“Fuck did you see”

“No” Scott said “but we all heard her bed creek for 20mins last night, the walls are thin” you both look at each other. You look a little more mortified than Ben. Ben then takes the hand from you thigh & locks it around your fingers, rubbing across your knuckles.

“What can I say” says Ben now proud of his night time activities “she’s the love of my life & not sharing a bed with her this week has been torture” you drop your cutlery in shock at what he just said the whole canteen falls silent.

“You… you love me?” You say not realising the whole room can hear you.

“Yes baby, I do” your face lights up.

“Good cos I love you too” you both forget you are in a room full of high school students & tenderly kiss. His lips soft & full of the love you both just declared.

A collective awwwwww from all the students fills both your ears & you remember where you are.

“Alright you lot just shhh okay” says Ben.

“You know they’ve been shipping us for a while Ben”

“Really” he raises an eyebrow, you know that smile to well.”well then let’s given them something to talk about”. Ben leans in & presses a lingering kiss to your temple before turning back to his breakfast, acting like he didn’t just declare his love in front of a room full of teenagers. You, on the other hand, are still reeling, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. Jenny smirks over her coffee.

“Well, at least it’s official now. The worst kept secret in the school.”

Scott shakes his head, laughing.

“You two really thought no one knew?” Ben feigns innocence, taking a bite of his toast.

“We were subtle.” He proclaims, this makes some of the students near bursts into laughter.

“Sir no offense, but you literally stare at her like shes the star cheerleader in the team” one of the kids says, another chimes in,

“also she looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.” You glance at Ben, & he gives you a little shrug, as if to say, they’re not wrong. You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand under the table. Jenny sighs dramatically.

“So what happens now? A romantic wedding in the school gym? Matching ‘his and hers’ coffee mugs in the staff room?”

Ben grins, finally regaining his confidence.

“I was thinking something more low-key. Maybe just moving in together first?” You choke on your coffee.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs, pretending to focus on his breakfast, but the slight pink in his cheeks gives him away.

“I mean… it’s not like I ever want to wake up without you again. I want to be bunked up with you…” he gulps & then looks you seriously but softly in the eyes, love pouring out of them “…forever”

The students erupt into more cheers and dramatic awwws as you sit there, staring at him in stunned silence. Eventually, you shake your head, laughing.

“Well,” you say, nudging him with your knee under the table, “let’s get today over with & then when we get back tonight we can have a chat without additional ears” you caress his face. Ben smirks, leaning in just close enough for only you to hear.

“I’ll make sure when we get back that the only person that hears you orgasm is me” you blush crimson, for the first time in days, despite the exhaustion, the cold, & the chaos of chaperoning teenagers, you feel completely, utterly warm.

[femininenachos]

10 years of Clexa kisses (The Pursuit edition)

The Sanctum is decked out in surprisingly opulent style for an establishment this far out in the wilderness. The plush carpets and tasseled drapes, the crystal chandelier in the lobby, down to the snooty, crisply-uniformed staff manning the front desk could all be transported from a grand hotel in Paris or London. Or so Lexa imagines. The farthest east she’s been is Chicago, which is as near to a foreign country as she’s ever likely to get.

But that’s by the by. She isn’t here to admire the decor or the hospitality.

She has one singular concern in mind, and anticipation is coiled tight in her belly when she raps her knuckles against the door of the room at the end of the corridor.

Seconds trickle by.

While she waits, she leans a shoulder against the wall. Legs crossed at the ankles. Casual-like. Although inside her nerves are jangling like a gunslinger’s in the eerie lull before a quick draw.

She listens out for movement, hears some indistinct shuffling and scraping, then the faint patter of feet before the door is finally thrown open.

Without so much as a “howdy”, Clarke gets straight down to brass tacks. Pounces. Just grabs Lexa by the front of her blouse and yanks her inside the room, into a kiss so forceful it knocks the hat clean off Lexa’s head.

It’s more of a mauling than a kiss, but Lexa surely isn’t complaining. She’s always appreciated a girl with spirit and, heck, Clarke has it in spades. It’s only when they break for air that Lexa takes command. She spins them around and traps Clarke’s front against the closed door. Busies herself with the tiny fastenings on the dress while she sucks a possessive kiss at the top of Clarke’s spine, letting out a low growl when she can’t get the garment undone fast enough.

But Lexa triumphs eventually, shoving rough handfuls of silk from Clarke’s body, then she gets to work on loosening the stays of the corset. All the while Clarke is breathing heavily, half laughing at Lexa’s little grunts of frustration until at last she frees Clarke of the restrictive contraption, peeling it off and letting it land with a dull thud on the floor.

Lexa tugs Clarke back around by the elbow.

Only to pull in a soft gasp.

Because a perfect, narrow beam of sunlight is cast across Clarke’s features, catching her eyes and making them glow. Irises so astoundingly blue, they don’t seem real.

Lexa ain’t the religious sort, but Clarke in this light is verging on something holy.

She doesn’t know what her face is doing presently—whatever it is makes Clarke shake her head. “Don’t be looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you intend to court me.”

Read on AO3

[quitealotofsodapop]

Posting something silly before getting into some deeper AU stuff! >:3

Naming Ref.

"Six Monkie Kids" idea got away from me and I made this monstrosity:

Here's details of the boys going left to right!

Xiaotian/"MK":

The Eldest? No one is really sure tbh, but he takes responsibility like he is.

Just as obsessed with stories of the Monkey King. Tang used to read Journey to West, and other traditional stories to the kids to send them off to sleep - MK always tried the hardest to stay awake.

Though all the brothers can carry Ruyi Jingu Bang - only MK can wield and command it. They chalk it up to the Staff recognising birth (hatching) order.

The ADHD still kicking his butt.

Has a small crisis of identity related to being 1 of 6 brothers. Loves art, cooking, music like in canon, but isn't sure if he'd ever be able to persue his passions professionally.

Still self-sacrificing to a detrimental degree!

Has a half/heart shaped face marking like certain monkey demons.

Xǐ Qìng/"Porty":

Works as a DJ/host for a local anti-gravity bar, and does freelance gigs on the side.

Practically nocturnal. You ain't seeing this boy up at 8am for nothing.

Baby Porty had no sleep cycle At All. He was the baby who was jumping on the bed at 4am. Tang eventually found a work-around by sticking on a compilation of music videos for the kids to rock out to before bedtime (my parents did the same to us with a Gloria Estafan vhs).

Covered in piercings and a few tattoos. First time he got either of them was without permission. Pigsy nearly exploded on Porty when he found out about it - not just for getting a body mod without permission, but for not cleaning it correctly! This old rockstar raised you better!

Has an embarassing nickname for everyone. Half of his bros got their nicknames from him.

Facial marking has a spiky pattern.

Xìn Shǐ/"Delivery":

Happily eats his brother's + customer's leftovers if no one catches him. Is violently against food waste.

Is the most diligent worker of the family; hence his nickname. Hopes to take over the restaurant someday or open a second location.

Has inherited many physical habits from dear Dadsy. Instinctively reaches for the wooden spoon when angry/threatened.

The tallest of his siblings! Chalks it up to his appetitie.

Openly worries the most out of all of his siblings.

Indentified by his face marking having darker "blush stickers" on his cheeks.

Zhèn Jìng/ "Apathy" & "Backup":

Works as a busboy/cashier for Pigsy's. Isn't sure if he wants to be anything else.

Extreme Middle Child Syndrome.

Has Resting B_tch Face. Will ignore anyone telling him to smile.

Is a bit of an otaku. Whereas MK loves the literary Monkey King, Apathy loves him some Son Goku anime. Prized possession is a Dragon Ball noodle bowl he won in a giveaway.

When he's not working, he's online playing video games and chatting to his discord friends. Often has to be reminded to stretch his legs and eat.

Is the brother most often mistaken for MK; only physical difference is that his face marking is inverted.

Jié Zuò/"Artist" & "Arty":

Freelance artist. Works on commission mostly for local businesses needing their buildings touched up and/or new logo designs. Sold exactly one original painting in his entire life, and is still convinced that he wasn't finished.

Inherited his sense of perfectionism from Pigsy.

ANGER ISSUES. Has been working on mangement therapy with Sandy.

As a cub, every wall of the restuarant and the apartment was covered in his drawings. Pigsy agreed to stop washing them off as long as Arty kept to a theme. There's still crayon drawings of noodle ingredients on a wall of Pigsy's 15+ years later.

Face marking is a rounded butterfly, though it has white splotches from vitiligo.

Mòzhī/"Inky":

Working on a degree in Psychology, with a particular interest in the function of memories.

Biggest. Gossip. Ever!! Has the tea on everyone.

Has a pretty big friend group from college that he hangs out with. He's a little embarassed that he's the son of a noodle-maker and a "professional book nerd", since a few of his friends come from affluent backgrounds.

Might initially be a pile of ink from the Scroll of Memory that was used to make a baby monkey. (Nüwa was running low on materials).

Most visually distinct baby! Has black fur opposed to dark-brown. Face marking is "raccoon eyes"-shaped.

Bonus:

First time Pigsy found the boys, he thought he was being pranked or was dreaming. Who's kids are these?! Why are they all muddy? Sweet Guanyin, how is he gonna find clothes for all of them?! Eventually he calmed the babies all down (most were crying), and gave them their first ever baths and bowls of noodles. The resulting call to Tang was... eventful to say the least.

Pigsy got advice from his grandmother, and his other relatives, about how to wrangle so many piglets at once. Pigs do have large litters after all!

Pigsy and Tang got legally married when the boys were young, mostly so they could pool finances. Six little piglets aren't cheap!

Wukong treats MK's brother like his little monkeys. Since he's only the eldest brother's mentor, he's able to let his guard down more around them, albeit awkwardly.

Each brother had differing reactions to meeting the Monkey King; from anger, amazement, to indifference. Selfies were taken.

A number of characters initially think MK is using his duplication power when they meet his brothers for the first time. Red Son attempted vengence on the other 5 before he learned that they were all different Noodle Boys!

Since they are all still creations of Nuwa, at least two or three take after her as lil half-snake/naga demons! Delivery I feel has an unhinged jaw, while a few of the boys have slited pupils. MK is still the most monkey of the boys tho!

[alternate-real-ities]

I’ve been on a weight loss journey and I just found out from my doctor and nutritionist that I’m no longer overweight, I would love to see what happened to me in other universes.

First of all, let me just say congratulations on your incredible achievement! Losing weight is no easy feat, and the fact that you've managed to shed those extra pounds and reach a healthy weight is truly something to be proud of. I can only imagine how hard you've worked, how many sacrifices you've made, and how much dedication you've shown to get to this point. So from the bottom of my heart, well done! Now, let's talk about what might have happened to you in other universes...

I've found this universe where you're a total beefcake. Like, seriously, you're a walking, talking, muscle-bound Adonis. I guess all those hours in the gym really paid off, huh?

Every inch of your body is chiselled and defined, sculpted to perfection by hours of hard work and dedication. And let me tell you, it shows. I can almost smell the heady mix of sweat and musk rolling off your body in waves. It's intoxicating, making my knees go weak and my mouth water. Your skin glistens, a light sheen highlighting every ridge and valley of your sculpted muscles.

Don't even get me started on those arms - each one thicker than my waist, corded with power. I can just imagine how incredible they'd feel wrapped around me, crushing me against that rock-hard chest.

But it's not just your top half that's been blessed by the gods of gym. Oh no, you've got a set of legs on you that could make a marathon runner weep with envy. Those thunder thighs and that juicy, muscular bubble butt... fuck, I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it.

And as for what's nestled in those tight shorts? Well, let's just say that the outline of your impressive manhood is enough to make a grown boy like me drool like a puppy. I bet it's thick and heavy, swinging between your legs like a pendulum, begging to be freed from its cloth prison.

In this universe, you're not just a sexy beast - you're a god among men. A beefy, muscular daddy who could make even the most seasoned twink tremble with desire. And fuck, do I want to be the lucky little slut who gets to worship at your altar, tracing every inch of your glorious body with my tongue until you roar with pleasure and claim me as yours.

Also, I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I've stumbled into a parallel universe where you're a bit more of a lad.

Here, you're a bit different from the previous muscle beast we saw. Your muscular frame, honed by years of manual labour and football at the pub, is usually clad in musky Adidas gear that clings to your curves like a second skin.

Fuck me, but you're the epitome of a fit, rugged, working-class stud. The kind of bloke who could bench press me and fuck me silly all at once. I bet that cock of yours is thick and heavy, swinging between your legs as you strut around in those tight pants, just waiting to split me open on it.

And as you take a long drag from your cigarette, I can catch a whiff of your scent carried on the breeze - sweat, smoke, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that makes my head spin with desire. Your eyes, cold and calculating as they rake over my body, tell me you're not used to playing nice. This version of you takes what he wants, consequences be damned. And fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.

I can only imagine the filthy things you'd whisper in my ear as you pinned me against the wall, rough hands roaming my body, leaving marks on my skin. The way you'd grind your hips into mine until we were both aching and desperate for more. One can only dream...

In another universe, you've transformed into a total Japanese e-boy wet dream. Gone are the extra pounds that once slowed you down - your doctor and nutritionist just crowned you fit as fuck! And oh, how the multiverse has blessed you.

In this reality, you're sporting a lean, muscular physique that fills out your tight black hoodie in all the right places. Hell, even your glasses - stylish and sleek with black frames - can't distract from your smouldering good looks.

But it's not all about looks (even though, damn, could this guy be any more gorgeous?). Nope, your multiversal twin is packing some serious smarts too. You're a gamer god, fingers flying over your keyboard/controler as you dominate online matches in your cluttered yet cosy flat. The glow of your monitors lights up your handsome face as you grind on your opponents, and I bet that's not the only thing you grind on.

Wait until you see yourself in the reflection of your 4K screen - the way your hair falls messily over your forehead, the glint of sweat on your brow from intense gameplay, that mischievous smirk playing at your full lips. I bet people are surprised when they see a little nerd with such fit body. This alternate reality version of you is a total wet dream come true - gaming glory, cute boys falling at your feet, and a sexy e-boy body that has everyone drooling.

So there you have it, a glimpse into what might have happened to you in other universes. I hope you enjoyed the journey, and I wish you all the best as you continue on your path to health and happiness. Keep up the good work, and remember that you are strong, capable, and deserving of all the good things that life has to offer. Congratulations again on your weight loss, and may your future be filled with joy, love, and success. You deserve it.

[areanoodles]

Miraculous Ladybug Rewrite

Finally posting this. My rewrite for miraculous.

Ive been working on it for a while and just adding to it slowly. So, this is what I have for it so far. I'm deciding that I'm most likely going to make a second blog for just my rewrites (I currently have two I'm working on). So there will probably be a more polished version of this if I make the second blog.

Without further ado, here is my miraculous rewrite (so far..)

-

●Marinette and adrien are still both the main protagonist

●Adrien will actually have more of a focus, if not being more of the main character than Marinette

●Adrien's vocals will be added in the theme song as backing vocals (like in the full version of the theme song)

●Chloe will have a redemption arch

●Marinette and Adrien's romance will sort of be slow burn still, but will happen a lot faster in a way. Instead of dragging it on, they’ll start off having more of a friendship/some platonic banter, and as it progresses they’ll slowly start to realize their affection for one another

●In the umbrella scene (in origins pt. 2), we know marinette develops her crush on adrien from there, but, for this rewrite, marinette may question if she truly loves adrien. She may think she has a little affection for him, but, her crush for him will only slowly develop over time

●so, from the umbrella scene, she won’t actually have a huge crush on him

●adrien will actually be the same since the umbrella scene. He’ll consider Marinette a friend at first, but as time progresses, he’ll also develop a crush on her. He may not recognize it at first when he actually has feelings for her. Marinette will be more likely to detect her feelings for Adrien once she has feelings for him

●Zoe may be given a role in the show if I can properly give her development or any type of character

●not everyone of marinette’s classmates will be given a miraculous (such as Marc, Nathaniel, Ivan, Sabrina, max, Zoe, Kim, rose(?))

●Ladybug and Cat noir will still be the main super heroes. But if they develop a group over time, they’ll have queen bee (chloe), carapace (nino), and Rena Rouge (alya)

●temporary holders that will be recruited time from time will be, viperion (luka), ryuko (kagami)(?), purple tigress (juleka)

●bunnyx will always be a miraculous holders regardless since she has to deal with the timeline and time travel and her as a holder is a lot older (before current alix gets the bunny miraculous)

●Not sure how ill do lila’s (or cerise) character, but I want to figure out what I could do with her just like Zoe

● Gabriel (hawkmoth) won’t akumatize every single day. I think it would be better if he took time to pause from doing destruction, maybe trying to improve his powers during these times he’s not akumatizing, or just doing his job as a fashion designer, or any other lore that could be explored of the agreste family. I also feel like those episodes or times where he doesn’t akumatize anyone, could also give us time to know adrien and marinette better as main characters, can give them more exploration in their civilian lives

●Since I’m most likely keeping zoe in the Rewrite, I might have something that’ll make her more interesting(?)

●Chloe and Zoe don’t know about their existence before they actually meet

●Audrey purposely never told any one of them that they had a half sister in a complete different country

●Audrey was there for chloe, then left to new york

●I guess I’d like to go with the idea Audrey cheated on Andre (since it’s not really explained much in the show)

●Audrey has zoe in New York

●I think Audrey would’ve been flipping back and forth between going to new york and Paris for both of them (while also telling zoe and Chloe that she has to leave because of work and for fashion shows)

●zoe is more cold in this rewrite ●She holds a huge grudge towards audrey for leaving her all those years (and neglecting her for when she was there)

●Zoe for the most part cares less about Audrey. She feels there’s no need to care about something that hasn’t been there for her. Chloe on the other hand is pretty similar if not the same to her season 2 counterpart. She wishes for Audrey to praise her, to acknowledge her. She grieves the mother she wished she had.

●Audrey was more in zoe’s life, but even then, was still neglected by her. Audrey barely paid any attention to her, and didn’t take any time to spend with her

●Chloe also didn’t have a parent to spend time with. Andre was always busy with something and barely took time to hangout with her.

●When chloe and Zoe do meet, they are kind of distant to each other

●Chloe holds a slight grudge towards Zoe cause she feels like she got the better end of the stick (having a mother figure with her, especially since all chloe’s ever wanted was for her mother to be there with her and acknowledge her existence)

●Though, she’s totally oblivious to how much Audrey has affected Zoe too, and that Audrey isn’t as great as much as she gives her credit for

●Zoe really left her boarding school because of the homophobia that she got

●The main reason why cockroaches were eventually put in her locker

●Master Fu dying

●Sometimes characters need to die, and maybe mater Fu being that one character during the time of the show

●I think this will really effect marinette even more than just master Fu losing his memory

●Maybe by the time Master Fu dies, the superhero group would be a thing (ladybug, cat noir, carapace, Rena Rouge, and queen bee), and it'll all greatly affect them

●this will take a toll on them, but marinette especially. The one mentor, the only mentor she had, is now gone, and she’s going through another mental spiral

●she began off in the series with no guidance, finding Master Fu, finally have some sort of guidance, now doesn’t have guidance anymore

●Maybe even the celestial guardian can be introduced this way. With Fu now dead, he presumes the miracle box is still out there, and then figures out a teenager is in possession of it

●this is obviously still close to in show canon, so its not too different

●But, instead, the miracle box isn’t passed down to marinette at all. So marinette’s put in this weird position where she has to take charge and care for the miracle box

●I do want to do something where Marinette/ladybug isn’t the only one taking care of these things, but also has adrien/cat noir to help

●I’ve also been thinking that at some point Zoe will know Chloe is queen bee (as well as the rest of the teams identities)

●Kagami will definitely know some how

-

Thats it. That's what I have so far, this is a really long post.

When I said earlier in the post that adrien will have his vocals added to the theme song, I was in the thought process of if this rewrite were to be animated.

Question marks are put near certain names because I might be unsure of my idea for them for the rewrite

If anyone would like to see more, I can definitely make another post for this rewrite. I do have some more ideas but I will be adding them on slowly

Thats all

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 13: Sunday Morning

“Negative,” Miss Hughes announced, snapping him back to the present.

The doctor—mid-fifties, thin to the point of looking fragile, with blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders—was the picture of composure. Fitting, really, that she was the director of this pastel-colored hellhole with its endless supply of potted plants, the place he’d been trapped in for five months.

She held the papers confirming his toxicology results.

No shit it was negative.

Beside him, his mother let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck in her throat for about thirty years—give or take, since the moment he was born. Aegon noticed how she almost glanced at him, her brown eyes flicking in his direction for a fraction of a second, even though she didn’t move her head.

He reached for her hand, a silent acknowledgment that he understood. But she stiffened instantly, so he let go.

“On behalf of the entire clinic, well done, Aegon.”

Miss Hughes’s voice was syrupy, overly sweet—so much so that Aegon could hear the insincerity dripping from it without even looking at her.

“He really didn’t use anything?” his mother asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

“No cocaine, no opioids, no amphetamines, not even cannabinoids,” Miss Hughes confirmed with that same artificial smile.

“Thank God…” his mother murmured, finally meeting his gaze—only to be met with resentment. Another reminder that she had never truly believed in him.

“Well, in that case, we can schedule the next follow-up in six months…” Miss Hughes began, addressing his mother, before suddenly catching herself and turning to him, as if it had only just occurred to her that he was, in fact, an adult. “…And if you’re ready, Mr. Dalton is waiting for you on the second floor.”

No, he wasn’t ready. He had no fucking interest in having his brain poked at by some shrink.

But then again, he had no fucking interest in being here at all.

The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he’d be out of here and back in London.

Mr. Dalton was younger than Miss Hughes. He still had all his dark hair—though Aegon, ever the cynic, wondered if he dyed it—neatly parted to the side in a way that looked ridiculous.

He sat slouched at his desk, the kind of studied casualness that screamed I’m cool, I’m young, I’m laid-back. But, like every other mannequin in this place, the reality was something else entirely.

“Miss Hughes said you’ve stayed clean,” he began, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Are you surprised?” Aegon shot back, just as lazily slouching into his own seat.

Dalton chuckled—because, of course, he couldn’t pass up the chance to seem even more easygoing by laughing at Aegon’s sarcasm.

“I’m not surprised—I’m proud, Aegon,” he corrected.

Mhm, Aegon thought, not quite sure if he bought it.

“What have you been up to lately?” Dalton asked next.

“I’ve been playing a lot…” Aegon replied absently.

“Good.”

“I’m working on an album. And this time, it’s actually going pretty well.”

“Great. Music’s a positive outlet—”

No shit, Aegon thought.

“—Are you picking up where you left off?” Dalton pressed, carefully choosing his words.

Aegon stared at him for a second, debating whether he even wanted to give him the details.

“…No. I started a new project from scratch. Switched up my whole team.”

Vic’s face flooded his brain like a tidal wave.

He shut his eyes for half a second, trying to push her out.

“We’re working on the arrangement for the single now. The producer pulled together some session musicians, including the bassist—she actually plays basically everything, also she’s co-writing the song, along with a bunch of others on the album. We’re supposed to debut it at the label’s Christmas party.”

Dalton nodded along with his usual brand of forced interest.

“Whoa, big debut at your dad’s party,” Dalton remarked.

Aegon cringed. Every word out of his mouth sounded like it belonged to someone who still thought groovy was cutting-edge slang.

“How do you feel about it?”

Aegon froze for a second, actually considering the question.

Awful. That was how he felt.

Anxious. Unsteady. Like he was balancing on razor wire.

“Sick,” he muttered.

Dalton pulled out his best attempt at a sympathetic frown.

“Well, that’s only natural. What does your brother think?”

“What the fuck would he think?”

“I know you two don’t get along, but he knows what your dad is like. Maybe talking to someone who understands that pressure could help.”

Right. Sure.

Having a heart-to-heart with Aemond. As if.

Aegon still didn’t fully understand why the grim reaper had even bothered backing him up when it came to convincing their father to produce the album—let alone why he’d suddenly start trusting him enough to talk about any of this.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing it with him,” Aegon said flatly.

“Anyone in the band you trust?”

Vic’s smile flashed through his mind. Her hair on his shoulder. Her eyelashes, damp with rain in Ruskin Park. The heat of her skin under his hands, pressed against a brick wall—

“No. No one.”

Dalton nodded, not pushing it. “Well, if it ever gets overwhelming and you need to talk, you have my number.”

Aegon nearly shot back with something sarcastic—Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely call you when I’m feeling down—but then he caught something in Dalton’s expression.

Something that actually looked… genuine.

For a second, he wondered if he was imagining it. Maybe just stepping into this place was making the withdrawal symptoms return, messing with his head.

Better not risk sticking around to find out.

He nodded, shook Dalton’s hand, and got the hell out of there.

His mother was waiting on one of the chairs by the door. She shot up the second she saw him, giving him something that almost passed for a smile.

“You did well,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I need to know what I can do to help you keep getting better.”

Aegon paused, thinking it over.

Yeah.

He had an idea.

The pub was crowded—not elbow-your-way-to-the-bar crowded, but busy enough that Aegon had to duck under a flying arm and narrowly avoid a pint glass to the face.

Not that he gave a shit. He wasn’t here for the atmosphere.

He was here for Sara.

Sara was talking to the other guy who worked with her—a scruffy-looking giant who probably hadn’t touched a bottle of shampoo since 2008.

And speaking of disappointments—

Vic.

She was leaning against the counter a few feet away, elbow propped up, looking thoroughly unimpressed with whatever the guy next to her was saying. Her eyes flickered to Aegon for half a second, then away.

He ignored her.

“Hey,” he greeted, riding a sudden wave of confidence.

“Hey!” Sara trilled, almost too enthusiastically, like she was grateful for an excuse to escape the giant’s attention.

“So, have you thought about it?” Aegon cut straight to the point, leaning on the bar and drumming his rings against the wood.

Sara smirked at him, but for some reason, he got the distinct impression that no, she hadn’t thought about it. She flicked a glance in Vic’s direction.

Aegon followed her gaze, rolling his eyes.

Vic must have felt them watching her because she looked over—just for a second—before quickly turning back to the customer in front of her.

Sara arched a brow at Aegon. “Have you thought about it?”

For fuck’s sake.

No, he hadn’t thought about it. If he was here tonight, it was exactly because he didn’t want to think about it.

Sara gave him one last deeply skeptical look, then—before he could even think of his next move—announced, “I have work to do,” and disappeared into the back.

Aegon blinked at the now-empty spot where she’d been standing.

Well.

That had been a record-time rejection.

He sighed, shifting his weight onto the bar—only to find a pair of brown eyes watching him.

Vic.

She raised an eyebrow. He raised one right back.

Then, with an exaggerated air of disinterest, she turned back toward the counter.

Aegon scoffed. “Yeah, alright. You’re dying to talk to me.”

She glanced at him again. “You wish I was dying to talk to you.”

“Oh, come on. I can practically hear you itching to ask what the hell is Cinderella doing out past curfew.” He smirked, propping his elbows on the counter.

Vic snorted. “Seems to me like you’re the one dying for me to ask, Cinderella.”

Okay, maybe she had a point—but there was a damn good reason for that.

She gave him a look, waiting. “Well?”

He tilted his head. “You keeping tabs on me?”

“Someone has to.”

“Cute,” he said. “Actually, I just had my check-in at rehab today.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice mock-conspiratorially. “Guess what? Clean as a fucking whistle.”

Vic’s expression didn’t shift much, but she paused—just for a second, just enough that Aegon noticed.

Then she shrugged. “Congrats.”

He scoffed. “That’s it?”

She feigned confusion. “What, you want a balloon?”

“Maybe a little more enthusiasm,” he said. “A confetti cannon. Fireworks. A marching band, at minimum—”

Vic didn’t even look up as she poured a pint for him. “I can grab a cocktail umbrella and stick it in your beer if you want.”

He smirked. “Wow. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

Then, just as casually, she said, “Well, I knew you’d be clean.”

Aegon paused for a moment.

He’d heard it all day—Hughes and Dalton repeating it in that irritatingly performative way—but somehow, hearing it from her, from that damn viper, despite the cold war still raging between them… it actually felt good.

That bitch sounded sincere.

Maybe he’d been wrong about the way he’d processed his fascination with her. She didn’t need a man; she needed an addict to sponsor.

Maybe Vic was a witch—like Stevie Nicks, blessing people through bodily fluids—and suddenly, not only could you resist the urge to snort a line, but you actually felt genuinely proud of yourself for it.

It was the only explanation he could come up with for the stupid boost of confidence he’d gotten from the way she’d said she knew he’d stay clean.

Aegon huffed a quiet laugh, half amused, half exasperated. “You really gotta stop hyping me up. It’s messing with my whole vibe.”

Vic smirked. “Yeah? What vibe is that?”

Aegon leaned on the counter, smirking back. “Tragic rockstar. Hopeless case. Miserable, self-destructive lost cause—”

Vic handed off another drink to a woman, then shot him an unimpressed look. “Maybe you need a new brand.”

Aegon scoffed, drumming his fingers against the counter. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a guy onstage strumming an acoustic guitar. His voice was decent, but nothing spectacular—one of those breathy, indie types who thought looking miserable while singing made them deep.

“Oh, come on,” Aegon groaned. “This guy gets a turn?”

Vic shot him a look. “It’s open mic.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She smirked. “And yet you sound offended.”

“I am offended. This guy sounds like he’s narrating his own funeral.”

Vic just shrugged, turning back to her work. “We let anyone sing. That’s kind of the point.”

They were both interrupted by the familiar sight of a horror movie scarecrow approaching the bar.

“This must be your lucky day, princess,” Aegon drawled, smirking. “Full house tonight.”

Aemond ignored him, stepping up to the bar—where Vic greeted him with a nod.

“Aemond,” she said simply.

Aemond nodded back. “Vic.”

Aegon couldn’t help but notice how Vic didn’t so much as blink. She didn’t look surprised to see him—if anything, it was like she’d been expecting him.

Interesting.

Aemond didn’t even glance at him before speaking again. “You’re playing tonight?”

She shrugged. “Later.”

Then, finally, he acknowledged his brother.

“How was rehab?”

Okay, that was weird.

It was one thing for Aemond not to look like he actively hated sharing air with the other eight billion people on Earth—who were, of course, all inferior to him—but to ask Aegon a personal question, and actually sound like he meant it? That was new.

Aegon hesitated for a beat before shrugging. “Fine.”

Aemond gave him a look. “Just fine?”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to say? They poked at my brain, asked how I was feeling, I said ‘peachy,’ and they let me go.”

“Brilliant,” Aemond deadpanned.

“I graduated,” Aegon continued, spreading his arms. “Finally unleashed, free to go out at night without a babysitter.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Does Mum know?”

“She practically suggested it.”

Aemond made a thoughtful mh, clearly skeptical.

Vic, who’d been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, a rag slung over her shoulder, smirked.

Aemond turned back to her. “Too much to ask for a pint?”

Aegon was probably hallucinating, because he could’ve sworn he saw his brother’s ears go red.

Vic brushed her bangs out of her eyes, smiling at him. “Not too much at all,” she said before disappearing toward the taps.

Aegon noticed she hadn’t asked what kind of beer he wanted.

Suddenly it all clicked.

“You’ve got a little crush.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Hey, no judgment here. She’s got that whole tortured, I-drink-myself-to-sleep-but-make-it-poetic thing going on. I can see the appeal.”

Aemond’s eye flicked toward him, sharp and assessing. “What did rehab say about your addiction to being a dickhead 100% of the time?”

Aegon’s smirk didn’t waver. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure for that.”

“Hm.” Aemond looked unconvinced but didn’t press. He stood, straightening his coat just as Vic approached with his beer. “Stay out of trouble tonight. Don’t make Mum regret that stupid decision she made.”

Aegon’s grin sharpened. “Stay out of her pants. Not very professional, is it?”

Aemond didn’t dignify that with a response.

Vic was making her way toward the stage now, guitar in hand, adjusting the strap as she went. The low hum of conversation around the pub dipped slightly, just for a second, just enough to make Aegon wonder how many of these people were regulars—how many had come here just to see her.

Aemond, for one, wasn’t going anywhere.

Aegon watched him take a seat at the table closest to the stage, posture perfectly straight, hands clasped together in front of him. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t looking at his phone—just watching Vic with a level of focus that made Aegon snort into his glass.

Unbelievable.

He leaned back against the bar, pretending he wasn’t watching.

Pretending it didn’t matter.

Jesus Christ.

Aegon turned his head, scanning the bar until he found Sara a few feet away, drying a pint glass. He leaned over.

“Hey.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re still here?”

Aegon ignored that. “What’s with my brother?”

Sara blinked. “What?”

He jutted his chin toward Aemond, who was still locked in like a soldier at attention. “The hell is that?”

Sara followed his gaze, frowning.

Aegon gave her a look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

She shrugged. “I mean, I knew he came here sometimes.”

Aegon scoffed. “Yeah, well, that—” he gestured vaguely at Aemond, who was currently staring at Vic like she’d hung the damn moon—“is something else.”

Sara narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head as she watched Aemond for a few seconds longer. Then she just shrugged. “Beats me.”

Aegon huffed, shaking his head. “Hilarious.”

Sara smirked and turned back to her work.

Aegon took another sip of his drink, settling in as Vic adjusted the strap of her guitar and tested a chord.

Her fingers moved easily over the frets, like she wasn’t even thinking about it. Like the guitar was just another part of her, something stitched into the fabric of her being.

And then she started to sing.

Aegon exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

Because fuck her.

Fuck her for this, for being so good at this, for making something beautiful out of nothing while he was stuck clawing at the edges of whatever the fuck was left of him.

Fuck her for looking like this, sounding like this—like something effortless, something whole.

And most of all—

Fuck her for that night.

For taking what she wanted, for leaving him like nothing had happened.

Aegon’s grip tightened around his glass.

Because the worst part?

He still wanted her.