#and the way some are worded were difficult to adapt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bingbongsupremacy · 8 days ago

Text

The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don’t move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn’t look at you. He rarely does. You aren’t a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You’ve been chosen for something… special."

You don’t speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. “We’re calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

Still, you say nothing. You’d learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can’t stop your stomach from sinking, can’t stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?

“We’ve selected the optimal pairing. Your mind—remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence—and his… well. You’ll see.”

You frown. “His?”

He finally smiles. “Yes. We’re combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You’ll be carrying a child.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” you croak. It was the first time you’ve spoken in weeks.

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. “Your body will serve as the host. We’ll be implanting within the next week.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes wide. “You can’t—please. I don’t want—”

Dr. Johns leans in closer. “Want?” he echoes. “You don’t get to want. This isn’t about you.”

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week was hell.

You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn’t even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it was over.

And you were left in a cell, aching, hollow, and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly—slowly—something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.

Just… life.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

“Hi,” you whisper to the silence. “I’m your mom.”

This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don’t care anymore.

You name it in secret—just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

“You’re barely holding together,” a guard snorteds. “Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options.”

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don’t you dare touch my baby.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.

You don’t know who the father is—not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.

That was likely the case.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.

What kind of life will it have?

You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.

-------

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. “Please—let me hold her—just once—please—!”

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

You don’t move for days.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

“You’ll get to see her,” Dr. Johns says smoothly, “once a week. But only if you behave.”

You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.

“…Okay,” you say. At least you can check if she was okay.

-----

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can’t help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)

You nearly drop it.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.

Your heart breaks—not for yourself, but for him. He doesn’t know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn’t know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don’t tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die—there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

----

The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don’t move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. “Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?”

She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.

“You’re safe with me,” you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. “Just for now. You’re safe.”

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

------

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to—but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest—her tiny hand wrapped around your finger—you pray time will freeze.

“Sleep, baby,” you whisper. “Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can’t give you.”

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There is one day, she is quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t moving.

“Is she sick?” you ask the guards, voice rising. “What did you do?!”

“No questions,” says the same monotone response. “One hour. No more.”

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.

Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes—a beautiful shimmering brown—blink up at you.

Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.

“You scared Mommy,” you whisper into her soft curls. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

Your voice cracks.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-----

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream. You fight. You are drugged.

And when you come to—bleary, arms strapped down in your cot—you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn’t a guard.

It was no one.

A soft creak. A hiss of released air.

You wait.

No commands. No threats.

You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.

You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.

Lights flicker.

No soldiers.

No scientists.

Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.

And then—

A sound.

A baby crying.

Your baby crying.

Her.

You run harder than you ever have in your life.

Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.

The lab is a maze. But your instincts—your love—cut through the fog.

You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.

You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.

“I’m here,” you sob, rocking her. “I’m here. I got you. I got you.”

She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.

You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.

And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.

You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.

You don’t know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you’d try.

You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.

You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.

---

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.

You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.

Then one day—it all shattered.

You hear footsteps.

Not like before. Heavier. Measured. Careful.

Voices. English. Not Russian.

You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.

She starts crying.

Too loud.

You hush her frantically. “Please, baby, shh—don’t cry, don’t cry, they’ll hear you—”

Too late.

Footsteps speed up.

Voices bark orders.

Then you turn a corner—and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall.

Red hair.

Black suit.

Eyes wide.

She doesn’t raise a weapon.

“Hey,” she says, holding up both hands. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You back away, toddler clutched tight. “No! Don’t touch her! Don’t take her!”

Others come. Bigger. Bulkier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark—hear a metal suit hiss.

You turn. You run.

But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

“Don’t kill her!” you cry, collapsing to your knees. “Please—I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—please—!”

The redhead approaches slowly. “We’re not here to hurt her,” she says gently. “Or you.”

You shake your head, body trembling. “Liar. You’re all liars—she’s just a project to you. She’s all I have. Don’t take her.”

“We’re the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

You cling tighter to your baby.

“Please,” you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. “Just let me keep her.”

The redhead crouches beside you.

“You will.”

------

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking.

Everything feels like too much.

Too bright. Too fast. Too real.

You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don’t trust—none of it felt safe. You don’t feel safe.

No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother’s instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

“She won’t let go,” Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. “Even when she’s asleep.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Bruce says softly. “Not after what she’s been through.”

They don’t think you can hear them.

But you did.

You heard everything.

They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean—but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.

“I’m just going to take a look at you,” he says gently. “Both of you. I promise I won’t touch her unless you say it’s okay.”

You don’t move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.

You pull her tighter against you.

“She’s mine,” you say. Your voice cracks. “No one touches her.”

Bruce gives a small nod. “Of course. I just want to help.”

You don’t believe that.

But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches—to your eye level.

“May I scan you from here?”

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.

The scan was quiet. No pain. No poking. No restraint.

“She’s malnourished but stable,” Bruce says, looking at your daughter. “You’ve been feeding her from rations?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. “You did an incredible job.”

Your throat closes up. You tried.

You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.

You’ve done something right.

“You’ve been through serious mental trauma,” Bruce continues. “I think your system’s still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We’ll give you space, but if you ever want help—therapy, or medication, or even just rest—we’ll be here.”

You don’t answer.

You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.

But no one moves.

They are waiting for you.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.

When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.

You don’t know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.

You sit, awake, staring at the door.

And then it knocks.

“Hey. It’s me. Natasha,” comes the voice from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.

“I just want to ask you a few questions,” she says quietly. “Is that okay?”

You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.

“What’s your name?”

You lick your dry lips. “Y/N.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Her expression softens. “And how long were you in that facility?”

You look down at your baby. “Since I turned 18.”

A beat of silence.

Natasha’s jaw tightens—just a bit. “That’s a long time.”

You don’t respond.

She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.

“What’s her name?”

You hesitate—but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

“Daisy.”

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. “That’s beautiful.”

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. “Can I ask about her father?”

Your whole body tenses.

Your eyes drop to Daisy’s face again. So small. So innocent.

You swallow thickly. “I don’t… I don’t know him,” you admit. “I never met him. Not really.” You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha’s gaze flickers, and you see it—just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly. “No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way.”

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You toke a shaky breath.

“They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength.” You brush your fingers across Daisy’s head. “I didn’t even know whose DNA they used. Not at first.”

“You found out?”

You nod slowly. “They left a file out once. I don’t think they meant to. I saw his name.”

Natasha doesn’t speak.

“They called him… the Winter Soldier.”

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell him,” you whisper. “I was scared. I thought maybe he’d take her. Maybe he’d hurt her. Or… maybe he didn’t know. I couldn’t risk it. I had to protect her.”

You looked up at Natasha, terrified.

“I swear I’m telling the truth.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her face said everything.

----3rd POV----

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.

Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.

Sam glanced at Clint. “Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?”

Tony frowned. “HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn’t have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding.”

“She doesn’t know he’s here. What's there to gain from lying about him?” Bruce said quietly. “I don't think she’s lying.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?” he said, voice rough.

Bruce nods. “If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby.” He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."

“We have to tell him.” Clint looks around at the group of men.

“Who’s going to do it?” Sam asked.

“I will.” Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me.

----- 3rd POV -----

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.

Sweat dripped from Bucky’s brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles—flesh and metal—were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That’s how he liked it.

Alone. Focused. Empty.

This was the only place where the memories didn’t claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces—bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn’t name. Faces he’d hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he’d done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.

So he hit the bag.

Over and over.

Like he could punch his past into silence.

His metal arm whirred with each movement—controlled and brutal. He wasn’t training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn’t guilt.

But then he heard it.

“Buck.”

Steve’s voice.

He didn’t stop punching. Didn’t look.

“I need to talk to you.”

Still, he didn’t stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.

Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. “What is it?”

Steve hesitated.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“There’s a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility.”

Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. “Okay…”

“She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She’s been in there since she was eighteen.”

Bucky stiffened.

“I… I wouldn’t be telling you this if it wasn’t important.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice a warning. “What are you not saying?” Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve’s throat bobbed.

“She has a daughter.”

Bucky frowned. “Okay? So?”

Steve took a step closer. “We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck.”

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

“What?”

“She didn’t know at first. She found out later. The girl—her name’s Daisy—is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you.”

Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not—That can’t be—”

“I know it’s a lot,” Steve said quickly. “I know. She didn’t lie. She didn’t even know you were here. She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone. All she’s done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want.”

Bucky stared down at his hands.

His right hand—flesh and bone—trembled. His left hand—metal, inhuman—hung limp at his side.

“A kid?” he whispered. “My kid?”

His vision blurred. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t even know,” Bucky rasped. “I didn’t even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again.”

“I know, Buck.”

He turned away, eyes wild. “I don’t—What if I’m just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if—”

“She’s not,” Steve said, voice firm. “She’s sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she’s the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck.”

Bucky’s throat closed.

And then the question clawed its way out:

“Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “She doesn’t even blame you. She said she thinks you didn’t know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn’t tell anyone because she was scared. She’s just trying to keep her daughter safe.”

Bucky sank to the floor.

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.

A kid.

A real one.

A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn’t, because of him.

And he didn’t know if he had the right to see her.

-----

The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn’t feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one—soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha’s idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

Your own comfort? That was a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn’t need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You’d learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.

But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.

You turned—and your breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you’d been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.

The Winter Soldier.

No—Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

His face—oh, his face.

He isn’t the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how.

You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.

Bucky notices.

“I—” he starts, voice rough like gravel. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You don’t answer.

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just…”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.

“She’s mine?” he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.

“I didn’t know. They didn't tell me,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.

His eyes—startlingly blue, filled with pain—finally meet yours.

He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: “Did I—did I hurt you when she… when she was…” He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. “I hoped I wasn’t capable of shit like that but… I don’t know. I never know what they made me do. Not really.”

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.

You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

“No,” you say softly. “You weren’t even in the room.”

His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.

“It was in vitro,” you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn’t know until about a year after Daisy was born.”

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features—brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.

"Still, I'm very sorry."

You look at him again—really looked at him—and realize something that unsettles you.

He's just as scared as you are.

And just as broken.

There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."

Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."

He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.

Then Daisy stirs.

She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. “Mama?” she whispers.

You smooth a hand over her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.

He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

“She’s… beautiful,” he says, voice cracking.

Your throat tightens. “She is.”

“How old?”

“Almost two and a half.”

He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. “God…”

You see him glance toward her again.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn’t.

And that matters more than anything else—he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

“I’ll stay back here,” he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. “Just wanted to see her. That’s all.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.

Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.

“He good guy?” she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again.

The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

“I think he’s trying to be,” you said quietly.

----- 3rd POV -----

Bucky didn’t remember walking back into the compound.

He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it was a blur.

Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the damn wall if you keep that up."

Bucky didn’t stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."

Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. “You went to see her?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. “Yeah.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just waited.

Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. “Y/N, she’s scared of me.”

“She’s been through hell,” Steve said quietly.

“I know that,” Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. “I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to—”

He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare her.”

Steve walked closer. “You didn’t mean to have a kid, either.”

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. “No, I didn’t. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her.” Bucky was pissed and guilty.

He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. “You know what’s messed up? For a second—I was terrified I’d hurt her. That they made me violate her...” He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. “But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn’t even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn’t hurt her.”

“That’s not messed up,” Steve said. “That’s human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her.”

Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. “She said she’d seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon.”

Steve sat beside him, not too close. “You were being used as one.”

“It doesn’t matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Did you look at her?”

Bucky glanced sideways. “The baby?”

Steve nodded.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She’s got this laugh—she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?” His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.

“I don’t know what to do. She’s scared of me. Rightfully so. I don’t even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “But you’re here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too.”

Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. “What if I mess this up?”

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. “Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace.”

------

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.

The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn’t earned.

You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he’d crouched like he wasn’t sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.

And you got none of it.

You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.

You shiver at the thought.

You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he’d walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.

Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.

And tenderness.

He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.

Your heart twisted.

You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn’t been in the room. He hadn’t made the choice. He hadn't known.

Neither had you.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, “You should be honored. He’s the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece.”

You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn’t even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.

And now he was real.

So painfully real.

You weren't ready. You wanted to be—but you weren't. Not yet.

But the way he’d looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

A flicker of trust.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next. Didn’t know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe—just maybe—Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe they all could.

------

It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm—doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter’s hair—short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don’t dare name yet.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Um… hi.” The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter’s hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now—open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.

You stiffen slightly, but don’t pull Daisy into your lap the way you might’ve just a few days ago.

He notices.

“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. “I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit.”

His voice cracks slightly on the name.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

“I wouldn’t—” Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. “I wouldn’t touch her. Or scare her. I’d just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that’s okay.”

There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.

You look at him—really look at him. He isn’t trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.

And yet… he's still here.

Still trying.

“Yeah sure. She’s just playing,” You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can sit. If you want.”

The relief that passes through Bucky’s body isn't loud—but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly—just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.

Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.

She tilts her head.

Then offers him her porcupine.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.

“That for me?” he asks softly.

Daisy nodded solemnly. “His name’s Pokey.”

He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. “Pokey, huh? That’s a good name.”

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter’s hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.

“She likes you,” You say after a beat. “I can tell.”

“She’s brave,” Bucky says, watching her. “She’s got your smile.”

The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.

You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.

Careful. Quiet.

Present.

----3rd POV----

Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime—the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.

He hadn’t moved for nearly an hour.

The image of Daisy—stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine—played on repeat in his mind.

She didn’t know who he was.

And still, she smiled.

Still, she trusted him—instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.

It was unbearable in the best and worst way.

The door behind him opened softly.

He didn’t look back.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.

Bucky took one without a word. It was warm—chamomile or something equally Steve-like.

They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.

Steve finally spoke.

“How’d it go?”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose.

“She let me sit,” he said. “That’s more than I expected.”

“She trust you?” Steve asked gently.

“No. Not yet,” Bucky murmured. “But she didn’t flinch when I talked. She didn’t grab Daisy and run.”

Steve nodded. “That’s progress.”

“She looked scared of me,” Bucky said finally, softly. “Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look.”

Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.

“And Daisy?” he asked.

“She gave me a damn stuffed animal,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Bucky said, almost too quietly. “A kid. Even just… knowing there’s someone out there who’s part of me.”

Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.

“You didn’t get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you.”

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.

“I want to know her,” he said. “But I don’t wanna push Y/N. I don’t wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late.”

Steve looked at him, steady and kind.

“You being cautious already tells me you’re not gonna mess it up. You care. You’re trying. That counts.”

Bucky exhaled deeply.

“I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that,” he said. “Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I’m walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters.”

Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “She’ll see it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.

----

The compound was quiet again.

You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy’s soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep—tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn’t, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.

Still shared her toys.

You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.

It was all so different from the concrete cell.

From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.

And yet you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn’t stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn’t stop glancing at the exits.

One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.

His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn’t want to breathe too loudly.

“Did I… did I hurt you…”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.

He’d been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn’t, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.

He wasn’t the man who hurt you.

He’d never even been there.

And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.

But this Bucky?

This was someone else entirely.

Gentle. Broken. Kind.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn’t dare name.

Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…

Maybe you could learn how to name it.

----

Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days—never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.

And you two started to talk.

It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about their baby.

“She reminds me of Becca sometimes,” Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. “My sister.”

You tilt your head. “Was she older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, his smile widening at a memory. “Bossy. Tougher than I ever was.”

You smile back. “I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me.”

Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “I don’t even know if he made it.”

Bucky gives you a sad smile. “My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me.”

There was silence for a moment, not heavy—but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.

“You were only eighteen,” he murmurs. “I read your file.”

Your stomach clenches. “Oh.”

“No— I just…” He sits up straighter. “I’m not trying to dig into your past. I just—wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…”

His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. “It’s not fair. None of it.”

You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it’s still part of me,” he says. “HYDRA’s part of me. And I hate that.”

You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: “They tried to break both of us. But we’re still here.”

He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes—a kind of admiration you didn’t know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.

And you were beginning to feel it.

Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn’t let it show. Not yet.

You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. “That one’s me, isn’t it?”

You laugh under your breath. “Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything.”

He grins, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.

And that was new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

522 notes · View notes

thiefcatmoth · 3 months ago

Text

pac: how do people around you see you?

general reading. pick a pile, listening to your intuition. if nothing resonates, leave this pac behind.

pile 1

soft and sharp, warm and cold, changeable, but combining opposites so harmoniously. you have the ability to hide secrets inside and surprise others with little unusual bits of your personality. you have an inner stability, the ability to accept the twists of fate and use them to your advantage. people think that in feelings you give yourself to the bottom, both good and bad. some people find you too authoritarian, but you have a natural ability to make (or advise) others to do what you need or want. despite the general impression, some see your fragile spiritual core, and some may even say that you give them your light. even if you do not plan to illuminate someone's life, it happens on its own. many people do not strive to see beyond the facade that you have erected and may not realize that you can hide wisdom, knowledge, depth of words behind jokes and light-mindedness, a mask that you deliberately put up for others.

pile 2

others see you as a loyal, hardworking person, although not without a hint of something… gloomy? not hostility, but something dark or gloomy. you work even when obstacles arise, your persistence is admired by others, maybe even became an example or a source of inspiration for someone. at the same time, a special feminine energy emanates from you - cool, fresh, even a little youthful. energy that attracts, like a flower in the morning dew, but not everyone likes it. in general, you give the impression of someone who is difficult to gain trust, you don't let everyone in your inner circle, some think that you are too difficult to find the keys to. I think they just do not realize that you choose people based on your emotions and your inner circle is so important to you in order to develop, learn and work on yourself.

pile 3

some people think that you are capable of doing anything with your own hands. every little bit of what you do - art, handmade, cooking, whatever - has a special uniqueness, everything is a meaningful masterpiece. people see great wisdom in you, even when your words are not liked or seem poisonous. in addition, you know how to use all your knowledge for good. some people think that you are overprotective? the energy of excessive care, maybe even an attempt to prove that your views on everyday life and the material world are the most correct. someone may think that you were greatly influenced by your ancestors, and that is why your advice, even when you talk about something modern, can be perceived as outdated, similar to ancient wisdom. they are never devoid of meaning. few will be able to understand that helping others and caring that you do is not your favorite thing or a way to show yourself. these are just intuitive actions.

pile 4

the energy of an intelligent but closed person. clearly with a mind of your own, with clear internal and external boundaries. do you like black humor or sarcasm? or maybe there are notes of healthy cynicism in you? people sense that there is a storm of energy hidden inside you, it seems to them that your inner strength and impulses are more than enough for your desires and goals. for the sake of your goals, you can be assertive, choose smart paths and apply your efforts correctly. but others think that you are too free with your time, as if you own it. and some catch too many flirting signals. there is something in your behavior that reminds them of a socialite. to someone you may even seem frivolous in those moments when you deviate from your mask and image. someone notices that you often change your habits, style, lifestyle, and not everyone will understand that this is not a burden, not forced. you are able to adapt to any physical changes, from food and apartment to clothes, workouts and weight. it's like you are changing subtly every day. just don't pay attention if someone ignorantly considers it insignificant.

thanks for the reading!

dividers by @strangergraphics-archive, all images are not mine

#free tarot #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a picture #pick an image #pick a pile

639 notes · View notes

matchatarot · 2 months ago

Text

Hello Bunny! There are a lot of beautiful things about you, but here are the ones your person adores the most. You can adapt the reading to a friendship or a romantic interest, just take what resonates! To pick a pile don’t overthink it and choose the one that draws you in the most while thinking about the reading intent.

Love, Matcha ♡

☆ masterlist

Pile 1 ₊˚.༄

You’re such a sweetie. Your person sees that you’re someone who has been through a lot. You’ve lost a lot and had to go through life-changing emotional challenges that gravely impacted your mental health. The thing they love the most about you is how you’ve alchemized that energy and transformed into a loving and compassionate being. You still find emotional fulfillment out of life, you’ve kept the ability to give and receive love even through it all. They are completely enamoured by you and they want you to know that they will always be there to help you. They love it when you ask them for help if you need it or they wish you did. They might have a little bit of a saviour complex when it comes to you. They think that you can be hesitant when it comes to relationships, that you’re wary of people’s intentions and that you wouldn’t just spend time with anybody. They love that you’ve decided to let them in your life despite this. If you guys are in some sort of union, either romantic or friendly, they feel extremely proud that you chose them, it gives them an ego boost honestly. They adore that you’re someone who follows your intuition, you might have anxiety but you still make the effort to rationalize your anxious thoughts when possible and manifest. Your faith is one of their favourite things about you. They also obviously love how beautiful you are! They think you’re so pretty and that you have pretty privilege, because they don’t understand how anyone could get mad at someone with a face like this, at least stay mad for long. Honestly, they see you as adorable, they want to take care of you. Since you’ve been through so much they wish they could give you enough love to kind of make up for it. They also like how you’re someone who can admit your flaws and your errors. They love the sound of your voice and the words you use, they think you have a good vocabulary. Their favourite thing about you is that you bring light into their world, they see your soul as so pure. They think you’re so angelic, that your presence is a blessing.

Queen of Cups

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

Pile 2 ⊹˚˖ ☆

You’re so cool. You’re a go-getter, you’re not scared to take action. Their favourite thing about you is how determined, grounded and strong you are. You take care of yourself and your life. They love how you’re responsible, you’re someone they trust. They love how you’re not scared to philosophize, think and discuss difficult topics. Their favourite thing about you is how smart you are and how you teach them things. They really love how you always want to do better and bigger. You’re no bullshit when it comes to challenges. They love your ability to stay true to your decisions. Sorry if it’s cringe, but they think you’re not like the other girls or any gender. They think you’re better than the rest. They love how you give nymph vibes. Most people who chose this pile probably asked for a romantic relationship because they’re clearly attracted to you… If it’s not that type of relationship disregard that but I see that they want you. If you’ve been having sex they love it and it’s one of their favourite part of their relationship with you. They get a lot of pleasure from it and they love that you seem to love it too. They love the way you look naked. If you’ve been seeing other people they’re super jealous. If you were asking for a friendship, they’re also jealous of your other friendships. They want to always be the one having fun with you! You’re the person they have the most fun with! If they ever did anything that hurt you they’re so sorry, when you fight they want to go back to you right after. Maybe you guys sometimes fight and then make up and they love when you’re willing to forgive them and have a discussion. You’re not scared of being the bigger person, but you don’t judge them too much. They feel like they can be themselves with you. They see you guys being in each other’s life for the long term, they hope for it. They admire you, your looks and your mind.

Queen of Pentacles

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

Pile 3 ‧₊˚ ♡

They’ve never met anyone else like you. Their favourite thing about you is that you’ve offered them a new way to see life. They love how you’re free-spirited and spiritual. They love how you’re a leader. You lead by example. You guide people around you, they feel like you bring them clarity. Their favourite thing about you is how you offer love and compassion. They love how you are a peaceful person. You’re only in a competition with yourself, but even then you practice detachment. You’re patient and you have a strong mindset. They love how you manifest the things you want in your life with this powerful attitude. They want you all for themselves. They love when you want to see them and when you claim them as your person. If sometimes it’s time to stop hanging out and you say things like “No please stay!”, they love that. They love partying and having fun with you. They think you’re the life of the party and that you’re good at bringing people together. They love how you don’t care about what people say about you. You let them talk. You might have had to cut off family members, your person thinks you don’t care what your family think about your lifestyle and they admire that. You inspire them because you have a lot of general knowledge. You’re the type to know a lot of fun facts. They like the way you tell stories and how many stories you have to tell. They’re scared of losing you. They might have nightmares about you guys fighting and it stresses them out. They feel youthful and free with you. When they’re with you, they feel like it’s the universe giving them an other chance. Perhaps they had a lot of endings before you. If it’s about a romantic interest and you’ve never had sexual encounters they’re ready for that step. They’re in general ready for the next step in your relationship. They want to be able to try out a lot of new things with you. They think that if they stay with you they’ll feel young forever.

High Priestess

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

decks used for this reading: l’oracle du chemin spirituel by Valérie Defour & Valérie Saussez, modern witch tarot deck by Lisa Steele, amor et psyche oracle by Georges Barbier, les vampires oracle by Lucy Cavendish, mystical wisdom by Gaye Guthrie, oracle of heaven and hell by Travis McHenry

#daily tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a picture #spirituality #relationship #free tarot #pac tarot #tarot witch #tarotblr

535 notes · View notes

hotchnerwrites · 1 month ago

Note

Hi hi hi my babyy🤍🤍

First I want to apologize for appearing until now, life has become severely difficult :( How have you been? How is everything going?🫂

So now I'm someone's controversial young girlfriend🙇🏻‍♀️(it's not as many years difference as it sounds) and that gave me an idea with my favorite man🫠

What if Hotch and the reader have this mutual desire but Hotch doesn't approach the reader because her's younger and the reader doesn't approach him because her's afraid of rejection But one night maybe they share a kiss or a light touch that makes Hotch close himself off more and discourages the reader:( and finally when they go on a case the one from the head office who is Hotch's age flirts with the reader and she reciprocates first because she is single and second because she really loves that her couples are older 😮‍💨 and Aaron gets really jealous because he 'thought he was the only one' and that tension finally falls apart when he confronts her and she simply tells him that the head of the department is some kind of distraction about her crush on Hotch 🫠

The truth is that in the end I didn't know how to develop the idea, I'm sure you can do it better, I hope it was understood. 😭🙏🏻

As always take it only if you feel comfortable (and understand it) I send you all my love, I'm excited to be here again I'm not going to lie about it!!🥹💗💗

xoxoxo

-👩🏻‍🦰

Unspoken

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: SFW, jealous!hotch, mutual pining, angst, sort of happy ending, making out, no use of (y/n),

A/N: HIIII LOVELY, missed seeing you in my requests. things have been crazy on my end ngl 😭 moved cities, broke my teeth, med exams etc. god is testing me rn smhhhh. and congratulations on your new relationship!!!! so happy for you <3 (totally not jealous 😔/s) anyways, kind of went crazy on this request, LOOOOVED the idea so much. i wanted this man suffering in the fic lmaooo. anyways, here you go!!! hope you like it, and it's what you wanted!!! sending u all my love 💚

PS. Let me know if the formatting is off. It's wonky on my laptop but not my phone for whatever reasons.

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

There had always been something there.

Unacknowledged, simmering beneath longing glances and fleeting touches. An almost magnetic pull between you and Aaron— felt by both, acted on by neither. It existed in the quiet spaces between conversations, the way he positioned himself beside you during briefings, in the way his hand would almost touch the small of your back before withdrawing at the last second.

But that something was fated to remain unspoken. Unmentioned.

And that had been Aaron’s choice, not yours.

You never pushed him. Not when you caught his gaze lingering, not when he brought you coffee and no one else, not when he gave you his coat on cold nights without a word, not even when— after a particularly hard case— you had found yourself in the dimly lit hallway of a motel, wrapped up in his arms, listening to his uneven heartbeat like he was battling something within himself.

For a second, you had let yourself hope. This had to be it. His breaking point.

But then he had pulled away.

And the next day? He shut you out completely. He didn’t meet your eyes in the briefing. He stopped those wordless gestures you had learned to find comfort in. His usual attentiveness toward you, the way he always ensured you were comfortable… was gone. He was probably more attentive towards Reid.

So, it became obvious. You adapted like you always did. You drew the line in the sand and stuck to your side. The conversations became strictly professional, words clipped but polite. You stopped bringing him a cup of coffee if he lingered in the bullpen late at night. On long flights home, he stopped offering you the seat next to him.

Even the team noticed.

Rossi had given Hotch a Look more than once, his stare heavy with disappointment. JJ asked if you were okay, and even Morgan had thrown out a casual, “What’s going on with you two?”

You vehemently denied everything. Everything was fine. Everything was normal.

What else could you have said? That you wanted Aaron? That you had spent months convincing yourself he had wanted you, too? That, in the end, he had rejected it— no, he had denied you— not even with words, but with distance?

You knew you deserved better. You deserved someone who would be proud to love you. Someone who wasn’t scared of the possibility of a relationship.

So, you moved on.

———

Then came Baltimore.

Michael Keating was confident, charismatic, and older. He was the Chief of the Baltimore Division, respected and soft-spoken. He carried himself with ease, joked about the growing silver streak in his hair, and greeted everyone by name. He made people laugh and asked about their day.

And he noticed you.

It started small. A compliment on your profiling. Deferring to you when asked about the unsub.

You hadn’t meant to encourage it. But then again— why refuse yourself? You had spent too long pining for something that wasn’t meant to happen. You were single, and you wanted a change. And Michael was perfect.

Keating was different. He was direct in a way Hotch never was. He didn’t hesitate to place a hand on your lower back as he showed you around the precinct. He leaned in when he spoke to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. He smelled like the ocean— sea salt and sandalwood.

But there was something about Michael that reminded you of Aaron. The little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name. The way he listened— giving you his rapt attention, something Hotch always did, but only ever with you.

Nevertheless, Keating wasn’t Hotch. And you weren’t going to let yourself draw baseless comparisons. So you let him flirt with you. It felt good to be seen. When he brought you your morning coffee, you accepted gratefully, smiling up at him. When he leaned in and said something low and teasing, you laughed.

That was when you felt it.

A prickle at the back of your neck. Someone watching.

You didn’t deign to turn, but you knew.

Aaron.

For a second you felt suffocated. But the feeling was gone as swiftly as it had come. When you finally joined your team, Hotch was talking with García, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

For the rest of the day, you pretended that it hadn’t affected you as much as it did. You maintained your professional façade, breaking only once when Michael slid you a sticky note with a silly doodle on it. Everything went well. Or so you thought.

Hotch brushed past you with nothing more than a curt “Excuse me” as he entered the meeting room. His voice held a subtle undercurrent of knowing, but you brushed it off. It just wasn’t your problem any longer.

But when Keating pulled out your chair for you, you felt it again— the prickling.

Hotch walked out of the room.

Emily noticed.

“Whatever it is,” she muttered as you watched Hotch’s back disappear down the hallway, “you two need to sort it out before it affects the case.”

You know she’s right. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. What was there to say?

Aaron had no right to feel this way. He had his chance. If he wanted you, he should have said so. But he didn’t, instead, he turned tail and ran.

And you weren’t going to sit around waiting for him to come to.

————

The bar had emptied, the rest of the team long since in their rooms. You had stayed a bit longer, letting the bite of your drink settle into your bones. You needed it after the week you’d had. Michael had apologised profusely when you’d invited him; he had to meet with the prosecutor. After the initial sting of disappointment, you were glad that he wasn’t here. You needed some space from it all. You let your mind disconnect from the world, letting the faint hum of the music take over.

Which is why you weren’t prepared when Aaron cornered you.

“Keating?” His tone was level as if asking you about the weather. But the way his hands were clenched tight told you a different story. “That’s who you want?”

Your stomach twisted, almost painfully.

Not this. Not this conversation, not after months of silent torture, months of being ignored, months of being treated like nothing.

“What does it matter to you?” You retorted, rolling your eyes. Fatigue seeped into your voice that had nothing to do with the case. “You don’t get to ask me that, Aaron.”

Something flickered in his eyes when you said his name. Maybe it reminded him of how you used to say it with warmth.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “Didn’t think he was your type.”

A short, humourless laugh escaped you. “My type?” You shook your head vigorously. “I didn’t realise I needed your opinion on that. You’ve barely acknowledged my existence this month.”

Hotch’s shoulders tensed. “That’s not—”

“Not what? Not fair?” Your eyes burned, “You pushed me away. You didn’t even ask how I felt. You chose for both of us and now you’re— what? Upset I’ve moved on?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Enlighten me, then,” you snap, anger hiding the fact that you were begging for an answer, one you knew he’d never give.

Nothing. As expected. The silence between you stretched on. You didn’t know what you had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. All of a sudden, the atmosphere of the bar became a little too much. The stench of stale beer overpowered your nose and the tinny audio from the jukebox irked you. You slid off the barstool and threw a couple of crumpled bills on the counter.

Then, barely above a whisper, you heard him rasp, “I thought I was the only one.”

A punch to your chest might have hurt less.

Your breath stuttered, heart aching at the confession that settled in the space between you. He was falling apart, and you could see it—the way his brows drew together, the way his throat bobbed as he tried to force out something he wasn’t ready to say.

And for the first time, you saw the truth for what it was.

Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried too much. Who loved too hard and too quietly. Who convinced himself that his feelings were a burden he couldn’t afford, even when he was faced with the enormity of it.

But he wanted.

God, he wanted.

And it terrified him.

A bitter laugh escaped you. How could he? No, how dare he expect you to hold on to the idea that you were his when he kept you at a distance further than the rest of the team? That no one else could want you the way he did?

“You could have been, Aaron,” you responded, the weight of the world suddenly crushing you. “But you were the one who made sure you weren’t.”

Something in him shattered. You could tell. The way he flexed his hand, the way his posture stiffened like he was dealing with a blow he wasn’t ready to receive.

“Why are you doing this, to me?” Hotch’s voice was hoarse, thick with emotion— anger, regret, longing and want all tangled together.

“I’m doing this to you?” Your voice wavered, and you hated yourself for it, “Hotch, do you even hear yourself right now?”

He stepped closer, crowding your space, eyes dark with something desperate. “I tried—” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, “ I tried to stay away. I thought it was the right thing.”

“Right thing for who? It sure as hell wasn’t right for me,” you jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest, ignoring the slight tremble, “You shut me out. You acted like nothing was there, like I had imagined everything.” Your voice cracked, “And now I get to deal with you being jealous because Michael actually sees me? Because he’s not afraid to show me wants me?”

A muscle in Aaron’s jaw fluttered as he repeated, “I told you, it’s not about that.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” you cried, anger building, “You wanted me to wait for you? To exile myself in the dark and hope that maybe one day you’d stop being afraid of us? That’s not fair, Aaron. I can’t do that to myself. I deserve better.”

“I know.” His voice cracked on the words, and for the first time, you saw the raw emotion on his face— all of it. The weight of it, the struggle in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he had the right.

The anger ebbs out of you, replaced with something numb.

“Then why? Why didn’t you—”

Aaron moved then. He reached for you before he could stop himself, finger ghosting over your wrist before settling there, gripping gently. The heat of his fingers burned, like something he had been starving for but denied himself for too long.

“Because… I wanted you. Too much,” he admitted, voice grating like it pained him. His grip tightened on your wrist, thumb tracing the delicate skin. “I was afraid that if I let myself have this— you— I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

It was cruel, really. How he could unravel you with his words, make you forget about the months of pain and anger and hurt you’d endured. Even the way he looked at you like you were someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Aaron—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed up by his lips on yours.

It wasn’t anything like the countless times you’d imagined it. You had always figured he’d be gentle, taking his time.

But this wasn’t soft, nor was it careful. This was desperate.

Like he was a man at his breaking point, like someone who had wasted time denying everything, only to give in all at once. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing across your cheeks as he tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He was pressed flush against you, sandwiching you between the barstool and his body like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers like sand. In the back of your mind, you faintly registered the whir of the jukebox as it changed the track.

You gasped against Aaron, and that tiny sound undid him. He groaned softly, tilting his head to chase you, to taste more, to lose himself in a way he had always wanted but never permitted.

You breathed in his scent, bourbon and coffee, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You were anchoring yourself because this was everything you had been waiting for.

The kiss lingered, months of tension evaporating between you, the space that had existed suddenly gone, replaced by something breathless and real. You pushed back against him, ready to get your heart’s desire. Aaron didn’t stop; he was kissing you as if it was the last thing he would ever do. He tasted heavenly, much better than you’d ever imagined. Every thought eddied out of your mind as you let the feeling of his lips against yours wash over you. Even before the moment was over, you knew that this memory would be branded into your soul.

When Aaron finally pulled away, he didn’t go too far. You sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed your eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven too, and you could feel the warmth of it against your lips. Then, slowly, his hands dropped from your face. He took a step back— reluctantly— just enough to reach up and loosen his tie.

His fingers scrabbled at the knot for a moment before he wrenched it down forcefully. He then ran his hands through his hair again, mussing it in a way you’d never seen before, and let out a breathless laugh. For a split second, memories of the night when he had held you close flashed before your eyes. He had loosened his tie then, too, before enveloping you in his embrace.

“I don’t want to be the one who let you get away,” Aaron whispered, his voice bringing you back to the present.

The pain in your chest throbbed. At how broken and hopeful he sounded, all at once.

“Aaron,” you murmured, letting his name rest on your tongue for a moment too long.

“I—” he stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. This wasn’t where he had thought the night would go. You watched Aaron carefully, his chest still rising and falling too quickly. You reached for his hand, squeezing it once.

“Aaron,” you uttered his name again, tone firmer, hoping to bring him back to you.

He looked at you then, chocolate brown eyes hardening with resolve. He started, “This… us…”

You cut him off, then.

“Aaron,” you repeat, brushing your fingers over his jaw, “You need to choose. Me, us. Everything. You have to choose to stay.”

He glanced off to the side somewhere. Then, a slow exhale. A quiet moment of realisation.

He met your gaze again, almost bashfully this time, “If you’ll still have me.”

You laughed then, disbelieving because, of course, Aaron would say that, as if your heart hadn’t been his since the first time you saw him.

Neither of you spoke then. The past, the hurt, the hesitation— but also the possibility— swam through the charged atmosphere.

The choice.

“Okay,” you said simply.

When Aaron pulled you into his chest, you let him.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

426 notes · View notes

elysiansparadise · 10 months ago

Text

With the gentle caress of Neptune's blissful hand, a dreamy aura evolves. In the dawn's soft embrace, and twilight's whisper, pisces paints the sky with a suspire.

Pisces Rising: Divine Charm

They look mysterious and distant but their gaze, like the ocean, deep and profound, reflecting the emotions untold. A wise mind and soul, with a gentle and caring heart, remains protected from the dangers from outside. Many of them tended to isolate themselves, as the tensions of their early environment could be difficult to deal with. They seek calm, and would love to live in a world where they felt at peace and free to be who they truly are. They have the ability to adapt to their environments and the people they meet, making the number of people with whom they truly feel like themselves very small. Their beauty lies more in delicacy, like angels fallen to heaven, their skin is soft, their gaze slightly sleepy and many of them give an unapproachable vibe.

From a young age they learn to achieve things on their own and we can attribute that to Aries in the 2nd house. They greatly value their independence, being able to do things their own way, because these natives highly value their independence and that clearly includes financial independence, which is why they like to make their decisions for themselves when it comes to money. Some of them may have a tendency to be somewhat impulsive with their spending, especially if Mars is making tense aspects to Jupiter or Neptune. Ambition to find stability in their lives, they fervently desire to feel powerful and not with respect to others, but with themselves and the management of their lives. They are people who have that entrepreneurial spirit, since they were young, they may have defined what they want to achieve, be it a certain status, economic position, or simply a set of things to have in the future. Some of these natives are prone to becoming demotivated quickly if they do not perceive or have tangible results, so it is necessary for them to find a way to motivate themselves. It is a kind of challenge to be more constant and persistent in your productive projects. They may possess a certain level of competitiveness and winning and/or achieving things can increase their self-esteem, especially if Mars makes tense aspects to Sun or Jupiter. It is possible that at some point in their lives they feel that to be valuable they have to achieve or have things, they may equate success with the idea of "I have to create or do something.”

Talking to them is one of the most comfortable things in the world, they are responsible for not only talking to you and giving you their point of view, but also listening to you carefully, and we can see that with Taurus in the 3rd house. These natives take their time to process what is happening around them, they do not jump to conclusions, they are observant, capable of sensing when things are not as before, when there are changes around them, nothing goes unnoticed, no matter how minimal the change may be. They like clarity, that people speak with bluntness, that is, without losing tact if the situation requires it. They have a very attractive and soothing voice, and their way of speaking, the words that come out of their mouths can be a caress to the soul. They are sensible, rational and patient. They calm others with ease with their words and voice, there is something simply magnetic about them. Talent for singing and taste or interest in music. They have a great facility for creating and generating ideas, and not only that, but they also materialize them. They have aptitudes for poetry and any genre that allows them to express their feelings through letters. They may have hands-on skills, from sculpture, drawing or any form of design. They are constant people when it comes to learning something that catches their attention. They easily move the people around them, as they seek to say what they genuinely feel and think. They tend to be somewhat reserved with their thoughts at first but when they express them, they will not express them abruptly or shouting. They take their time to learn, they like to do things at their own pace and not feel pressured, as they are susceptible to stress. It is difficult to change their mind, because even if they listen to yours, it is likely that they will not stop thinking the way they do.

Since they were children, these natives questioned everything, from what surrounded them to the actions or behaviors of those who accompanied them. Pure and present curiosity for as long as they can remember, a clear representation of Gemini in the 4th house. A desire to understand others at a deep level because of the feeling of never having been understood themselves. Many of these natives experience constant changes in their home, from moving to issues of family dynamics. They may have grown up in a chaotic or changing environment; one parent may have been emotionally distant. It is likely that since they were children they have had problems, whether it be excess mental and/or physical energy, nerves or anxiety in some cases. They may have closeness and constant communication with a particular member of their families. They are very reserved people with their past and emotions, they hardly feel that they can talk about it with others. They do not enjoy small talk much, they tend to prefer deep and more meaningful conversations. These natives are fun, spontaneous and very expressive, but due to circumstances and experiences, they have learned to hide this side of them. They prioritize fluid communication with those with whom they have an emotional bond; they will always seek to make the other person comfortable to speak freely about what they feel. They may have had tense experiences in their childhood, such as dealing with people who were hypocritical or overly critical of them. They find comfort in the idea of learning new things, yes, but most likely these natives have comfort series, books or movies that they return to when they don't feel well. Many of them express their discomfort, or in general any type of emotions through writing. Journaling, making poetry or simply writing can be activities that allow them to feel better and more liberated.

These natives are incredibly romantic and attentive in their relationships. They look for a relationship that allows them to be emotionally vulnerable and that is related to Cancer in the 5th house. Love with them feels like a warm blanket, which gives you warmth, protection and reaffirmation. For them there is no better sign of love than dedicating time, energy and devotion to the other person. They nourish their relationships a lot and always work on them, making necessary changes both in the dynamics of the relationship and in their love language, since they adapt to their partner's to make them feel loved. They prioritize the comfort of both themselves and their partners. Its beauty and appeal lies more on the tender, tender and soft side. They usually have attractive and sweet faces, as well as expressive eyes. Regardless of how they show themselves to the world and how they decide to face it, in their relationships they are softies, and they tend to attract people who become attached to them. They attract mysterious and reserved people with their emotions who have a huge heart. For them, a relationship equals comfort, unconditional support and a deep connection. Their partners' past matters to them as a way to understand them better. Caring and being cared for is important in the dynamics of romance for these natives to enjoy.

With Leo in the 6th house it is very likely that the native has excellent creative and/or artistic abilities. These are people who can gain a lot of recognition through their work or a skill they have worked on for a long time. In the work area they may be very loved or appreciated, they are seen as talented, capable and charismatic, however, that natural brilliance that they possess can attract envious people or people who want to steal some of their light. They are generous people par excellence, they will never hesitate to help, support or share with those they love. Having a strong work ethic, being responsible, honest and devoted are values that have been instilled in them since they were young. It is likely that from childhood they were taught to work hard and value not only their own efforts but those of others. Many of these natives tend to prefer to be given compliments about their abilities, the way they do things or their results, not forgetting to mention that they can be modest or dismissive with other types of compliments, not knowing how to react to them. They like to do things that they can put their whole heart into. They need to see the importance behind a task to want to do it and will not waste their time on things that they do not perceive as genuinely useful or important to them. They have this way of doing things well or not doing them at all, they can be very demanding of themselves and of seeing tangible results. Many of these natives may experience pain in the chest and/or back if they are subjected to a lot of stress. For them it is crucial to truly love their job, because they feel that hating their job is no longer bearable for a little more money. Passion is important for them when starting a project, so if the passion runs out they will not hesitate to drop the task in question.

With Virgo in the 7th house we can observe what these natives look for in their relationships, especially those they want to maintain long term and this is reliability and mutual support. They are so used to giving a lot to others and supporting them fully no matter what, they are extremely devoted and giving to those who have the place of their heart, but it is highly disappointing when that is not given back to them. They tend to be so hard on themselves, overly self-critical of their actions in a relationship. If Mercury makes tense aspects, it is very likely that after breakups they will think that they are guilty or have a feeling of responsibility about it. They will always seek to improve their relationships, frequently asking their partners about how they feel more comfortable or how to make them feel more loved. They are looking for a reliable partner who supports and motivates them, someone who looks after their well-being and who accepts them without conditions, someone who makes them feel sufficient and happy with who they are. With this placement the natives will have a future spouse dedicated to them and the relationship, someone modest who will work hard and know how to appreciate the natives' efforts and intentions. It will be a relationship that will emerge little by little, they will get to know each other more and more and along with this, not only love but admiration will grow more and more. Both will try to resolve any issue that arises, knowing how to listen to each other and proposing solutions. Both will arrive at a point in each other's lives where they are focused on themselves whether it is improving, healing or working.

Giving and receiving equally is an internal desire that lies in Libra in the 8th house. That longing to show oneself completely to their special one and fully know the other, that fervent yearn, the need to be transparent with someone willing to be genuine with them. There is a set of internal conflicts between wanting that intense, passionate and extremely devoted connection with the fear of being vulnerable, the fear of becoming dependent on someone or that someone becomes too absorbed with them. The fear of giving everything and being betrayed. It is difficult to trust opening up and there is nothing that terrifies them more than the risk of doing so to the wrong person. Having them as a couple is an experience like no other, not only because of the passion and sensuality of these lovers, but also because of the intense and genuine devotion that they give you. They are able to love you completely, to form a connection that feels real, one in which you do not pretend to be someone you are not or one in which you do not feel like you have to be someone else. They experience great transformations during and after their relationships, they have a tendency to seek or attract deep relationships where there is a strong bond between them. They are fascinating lovers who manage to make you feel desired with a look, who through their touch transmit the whirlwind of emotions that you provoke in them. They love intensely, there is no doubt in them, all or nothing, I love you or I don't love you. They think a lot before entering a relationship, and once they are in one, they immerse themselves completely.

These natives are constantly searching for a deep meaning to the world around them, something beyond the visible, and that need to see beyond what simple sight allows them to do is thanks to Scorpio in the 9th house. They feel a growing attraction for complex topics that mark them in some way or leave them introspective, since they spend a lot of their time in their heads, analyzing and trying to understand what seems intriguing to them. A desire to investigate topics that seem mysterious to them, inclination for spiritual topics, psychology or solving mysteries/riddles of all kinds. A lot of transformation through travel and chances of traveling to distant lands. Physical and spiritual journeys, many feelings of epiphanies throughout their lives. Fascination or fixation with a specific type of culture. A complex relationship with religion, being either very devoted to their beliefs or having experienced complex things thanks to the religious beliefs of their parents or family. Inquisitive minds, however they do not make it obvious that they know many things, they are very humble people regarding their knowledge, but they firmly trust in what they know. In them there is more knowledge than what is seen, they are very astute and although they seek to see the bigger picture, it is difficult for the details to go unnoticed, since they have the mixture of perception and strong intuition, which makes them perceive things that can be subliminal.

Natives with Sagittarius in the 10th house are curious souls by nature, people who aspire for great things and constantly dream of obtaining, achieving and being. They look for jobs that allow them to expand, intellectually, or expand their joy and emotional well-being. Many people tend to see them as genuine people who are easy to work with and people who, regardless of whether they are introverted or extroverted, will always be cordial. They can become very influential people in their work, since Jupiter, the planet of luck, rules this house, making them prone to finding success at work and easily moving or influencing people. They are likely to travel constantly and come into contact with foreign things thanks to their work. These people aspire to do good, to do the right thing and in many cases to contribute positively to the lives of others through their work. Some jobs for these people are teachers, artists, journalism, international relations, human resources, work in travel agencies, lawyers. In the eyes of the public they have charm, as they have a mixture of charisma, ambition and authenticity. Despite wanting to be recognized for their abilities, many of these natives can find it overwhelming to have a lot of attention, so they need that balance between alone time and public time.

Precisely because of their energy and sensitivity to other people's vibes, they are very selective about who they surround themselves with. Capricorn in the 11th house makes them accept their friends as they are and seek to give them a lot of support, but it is difficult for them to give that title to anyone. They prefer closed and stable circles, they take friendship seriously and can be very devoted to them. These natives have a tendency to attract friends with greater maturity or age, and they will admire the maturity and abilities of the natives. Friendships with long age differences. They may see it as a strong support for a friend/certain group of friends, finding a sense of family more in them than in their biological families. They can have great economic gains thanks to their career, from having high or important positions, or even a lot of prestige in their work. They aspire for big things and it is not enough for them to just dream, they like to make them come true and work hard to achieve them. Contrary to what one would believe with this placement, they are very ambitious and hardworking dreamers, as they will always be thinking about how to materialize everything that they have always longed to have. They believe in the power of hard work and many of them are not naive or excessively overzealous as they are projected.

The noise out there has become overwhelming, the looks of some have become heavy, all those times you felt judged, underestimated or left out for being your precious self has led you to lock yourself away, that beautiful and enormous heart and everything. That which makes you unique in a small world, where you can be safe from being viewed with disdain. People with Aquarius in the 12th house are reserved with certain sides of themselves, be it their thoughts, hobbies or in some cases feelings, on some occasions they may feel separated and different from others, the feeling of being an outsider can be common with this placement. In them lies a creative mind and an accepting soul, which seeks to know others deeply and remove from their lives everything that is superficial. They always seem very perceptive of their environment and those around them, they even generate interest in everything that allows them to know themselves and others better, as a result of a feeling of not having been understood. They have a high creative potential and can excel enormously in a hobby or one of their passions, but they may fear criticism and little acceptance from others. These people fear rejection from people, especially from those they open up to, thinking they are different. They have an open personality, they do not run away from or criticize minds other than their own, they will always try to understand and accept people. They feel that impulse in them to accept and include others because of the wound of not having been accepted themselves. In these natives lies a beautiful being, with unique ideas and emotions, who will hardly show himself completely to others, only those who inspire true confidence. Their longing and desire is to be free from these internal chains and cages that hold back those sides of their being that they feel will be judged.

#pisces #astrology #pisces rising #pisces ascendant #natal chart #birth chart #pisces in the 1st house #astro note #pisces asc #rising #ascedant #astro notes #astro observations

986 notes · View notes

telephoniii · 2 months ago

Text

HEARTSHAPED CHOCOLATES

☆彡 in which you gift jamil a valentine and things get complicated

jamil viper x gn!reader

word counter: 3.1K

warnings: reader is prefect, possible ooc, miscommunication (kinda), descriptions of servitude

a/n: i wrote this at 2AM but i think it's really cute. i’m definitely biased because jamil is my favorite and i do NOT have any valentines this year whatsoever 😭

i hope you enjoy!! :>

Jamil wiped down the counter with a frustrated sigh. Kalim had, once again, gone behind his word and threw a last-minute party. One that Jamil had to do a majority of the work for. And now here he was, cleaning up after the incompetent boy.

Nothing he wasn't used to, but upsetting nonetheless. Though, he supposed that he’d be lying to himself if he claimed it was the only reason he felt bitter. His eyes flickered toward a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall of Scarabia.

Tomorrow, it’d officially be Valentine's Day.

Now, most NRC students were as single as could be for a variety of reasons— being a celebrity, focusing on grades, etc. Jamil fell under the category of being too busy. So many, much more important matters were always fighting for his attention. And a lot of them are related to Kalim in some way or form.

Being a destined servant to the Al Asim household wasn't an ideal situation. Plain and simple. Especially when it came to romantic relationships.

In middle school, young Jamil had a few girls he was interested in. However, all hopes of those crushes blooming into anything more died when they witnessed Jamil and his family bowing down to Kalim.

It's difficult to explain his role to his peers. Of course, the older he got the easier it became. But for most of his childhood, it was extremely embarrassing to have to say that he was to devote his life to serving the Al Asim family forever.

It was humiliating, giving leeway for others his age to look down on him. Now it wasn't just Kalim who he was lesser than. It was everyone. And it was hardly fair. Jamil was smarter than all of them combined.

He caught on to things quickly and was easily adaptable. When learning magic, his movement was calculated and precise. Yet, because of his last name, the respect he deserved was never given… Needless to say, he never pursued any more crushes.

By the time he was enrolled in NRC, romance no longer seemed plausible for his lifestyle. He wouldn't be able to devote so much time to another person other than Kalim anyway. That man-child can barely do anything on his own to save his life.

Jamil was convinced he’d spend the rest of his youth alone, only really finding a potential partner once he was free from the chains of servitude.

…And then you showed up at NRC.

You and your stupid soft eyes; that genuine empathy you carried on your sleeve. It's idiotic, really. You were bound to get taken advantage of in a school like this. Against his better judgment, Jamil felt drawn to you.

Despite being magicless and from a whole other world, you seemed to understand and empathize with his struggles better than those he had grown up with. And you weren't just all bark, no bite. You helped out a lot.

Many can just say that they feel sorry for Jamil, yet stand idly by as he served Kalim. You, however, saw him through his overblot. Instead of moving on, you forced him to communicate with Kalim about how he was feeling. It would've been so easy to fall back into the status quo, yet you stayed and improved his life for the better.

He’ll never quite get how one person could leave such a big impact.

You eased his worries about servitude. Being around you was naturally calming. It didn't feel like he had to babysit when he spent time with you. In fact, he felt as though he was learning new things— about both himself and others— every day with you.

The feeling scared him to his soul.

It was terrifying to be this addicted to another person’s presence. He wasn't used to having someone to look forward to: someone he wanted to be around all the time.

Jamil didn't know whether or not to pursue you. The last thing he wanted was to drag you into more of his messes… however, you seemed to frequently do that yourself, choosing to be involved for his sake. He was truly infatuated.

Despite it all, he refused to make a move.

You weren't from this world and all too soon he was sure you’d find a way back to where you were meant to be. It’d be selfish of him to pursue you, trapping you in a place you didn't belong. He knows the feeling of being trapped all too well after all.

There were no telltale signs you’d be interested in him back anyway. You were friendly with all and close to many. Who’s to say one of those fancy princes or endearingly dumb freshmen isn’t the one who’s captured your heart?

He purposely doesn't stand out, unlike some other students. Jamil assumed this put him at a natural disadvantage.

Assumed being the keyword.

Of course you, always breaking his expectations, had to crumble his thoughts by gifting him chocolates.

“Jamil?”

His eyes moved from his textbook to you in a second. He raised a brow as he watched you stare at him with an unrecognizable glint in your eyes. “Did you need help with something, Prefect?”

Those words made you perk up, grounding you back in reality. “No! No. I’m fine. Just…”

Clearing your throat, you put down your pencil. The homework in front of you was long forgotten as you focused your attention mainly on Jamil— much to his confusion.

“Do… Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day?” You cautiously asked, looking at him intently.

He furrowed his brows at the question, thinking it over. “Kalim will most definitely want to throw a party for the occasion. I'll be in charge of the decorations, cooking, and— well, everything as per usual.”

Jamil answered truthfully, not seeing much of a reason not to. Yet, he felt like he answered wrong as his eyes met your deflated gaze.

“Got it… Yeah, that makes sense…”

Before he could invite you to the party— you’re one of the only people he’d happily cook for— you messily started scouring through your bag.

He observed you curiously, mentally noting that he should help you clean out your backpack sometime. I mean, the amount of loose papers you have in there is absurd—

“Here.”

His mind goes quiet as you pull out a small, heart-shaped box and slide it toward him. Jamil looks at you like you are crazy, making you chuckle.

“I was hoping to give it to you on Valentine's Day, if you're busy then, I’d rather do it now and save you the trouble.” How thoughtful of you… His shock was transparent as he struggled to form words.

You didn't know whether or not to take that positively or negatively.

“Uhh—” It was awkward, the air was tense as you swiftly stood up. You flashed him a nervous smile. “I should go check up on Grim… Good seeing you?”

Jamil had never felt more scatterbrained. So many thoughts racing at once. Yet so little came out of his mouth.

“Good seeing you too, Prefect.”

He never did invite you, did he?

Jamil sighs at his ridiculousness. In the back of his mind, he tried to justify it.

The party wouldn't be ideal for you to come to anyway, he’d be working the majority of the time. He doubts you’d enjoy yourself. It might be awkward for you to even come after that exchange.

However, deep down, he knew he should've said something. Anything. Instead, he just let you leave with unsure thoughts.

Jamil didn't want to leave this be. He wanted to make it right. But with so little time, he was stuck.

Valentines arrived unreasonably fast, causing him to frown. The students of Scarabia could sense something was wrong, but no one had the guts. Well, no one except…

“Jamil? Are you mad?” Kalim innocently asked.

Although you made Jamil talk out a lot of his issues with Kalim, the white-haired boy’s voice still irked him to his soul.

“No. What makes you say that?” The Viper responded, keeping his tone neutral and calm.

Nonetheless, Kalim squinted at him with a pout.

“Is this about the Prefect?”

He nearly choked on his spit. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you guys like each other, right? Did you fight over something? Aww, I’m sorry if an argument broke out right before Valentine's.”

Jamil shook his head with an annoyed scoff, giving Kalim an unamused look.

“No, what—? Rewind. What makes you think we like each other?”

Kalim tilted his head like a lost puppy. It only served to frustrate Jamil further.

“Is it not obvious? You’re way happier around them than anyone else!”

Not that anyone pointed it out, but Jamil would undoubtedly deny the way his cheeks heated up at that statement.

“We’re not seeing each other romantically. Neither do we think of one another that way…”

He regretted letting his sentence trail and thinking aloud. Whenever it came to you, he was much less organized than he liked.

“…Well, sort of.” Although he merely mumbled these three words, that was all it took for Kalim to spring up ecstatically.

“Oh! So you like them but you haven't confessed? You can do it at today's party! I’ll invite them right now!” “What! No— Kalim, slow down!”

Jamil had to physically grab the other hot by his shoulders to keep him from bouncing away.

“I'm not ‘confessing’ at this party today, or any time soon.”

That lost puppy looked returned to Kalim’s face. Although he had seen it a few minutes ago, it still pissed him off all the same.

“Why not?”

Because he didn't know how to; plain and simple. Jamil for sure didn't want to have his ‘confession’ be too big. He’d hate for himself to come off as ingenuine to you.

Not to mention, Kalim and his antics have more or less ruined any big, dramatic gestures for him. Jamil can't help but find them corny and tacky now.

However, he didn't want to do something too small. A simple note won’t cut it for him. You deserve more. What exactly that entailed, he didn't know.

“Because I don’t want to.” Jamil unenthusiastically answered. He cut off Kalim before he could speak up. “No more questions.”

Not wanting to entertain this conversation any longer, Jamil walked away. Right. He had other, more pressing matters to worry about. Party preparations.

Food, decorations, music, lighting…

Damn it, why won’t you leave his mind?

The party, thankfully, went smoothly. Guests were enjoying themselves, there was enough food for everyone, and Kalim was too distracted by a few people to bother him. Letting out a relieved sigh, Jamil leaned against the wall behind him. His eyes wandered around as he started people-watching.

It was important to stay alert when it came to the people at these parties. He had to make sure no one had harmful intentions towards the young Al Asim. Though, as he should've expected, there were many couples here tonight.

Seems like a lot of Scarabian students brought their off-campus lovers here. Jamil can only hope Crowley doesn't chastise them too harshly for doing so.

He perks up as a slow song plays over the party. The lights are adjusted to dim and soon enough, practically everyone was on the dance floor. Couples, friends, strangers, talking stages— you name it.

It’s no surprise Jamil seemed drawn to the dance aspect of this part of the night. Even if he tried to hide it at times, his passion for the art of dancing always had its way of shining through. He glanced through the crowd to see if there was anyone without a partner.

Thankfully for him, it wasn't too hard to spot someone. These types of parties were always bound to have a few wallflowers. As he made his way through the crowd toward the one he had his eye on, he couldn't help but hear a couple of voices over the music.

“Ace, you little—!” That was all Jamil could make out before he felt a person suddenly collide with him. It didn't hurt or anything, and Jamil had enough sense to gauge it was most likely a mistake—

“Uh, hi.”

He didn't expect to turn around and be met with the sight of you. An embarrassed look sat upon your face as you fidgeted with the ends of your clothes.

“Hey.” Jamil curtly replied.

You gave him that stupid little smile of yours that made his heart race. A hopeful hum left your lips.

“Are you busy?”

He couldn't help but chuckle in response, giving his genuine answer.

“Nope.” He stuck his hand out, pretending that his mind wasn't going fuzzy from being in your presence. “May I have this dance?”

He felt you place your hand on top of his.

“Of course.”

With your permission, he let one hand fall to your waist as he gently guided you in a waltz-like manner. He was more experienced than you, precisely moving as the two of you dance.

You couldn't help but feel endeared. Jamil was pretty from close up. Unfortunately— or fortunately— he caught you staring. He gave you an amused look in response.

However, he didn't expect you to abruptly frown and glance away.

‘You couldn't get your hopes up,’ Your mind reminded you, recalling his reaction to your gift. It was for the better you don't get too attached.

Jamil seemed disheartened by the disconnect. His hand on your waist lightly tightened. Shortly after, a mischievous grin found its way on his face.

Suddenly, Jamil’s movement quickened. You gave him a confused raise of the brow.

“Jamil—?”

He doesn't give you time to finish your thought as he spins you, swiftly catching you in his arms afterward. Taken by surprise, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.

You've never seen Jamil look more proud of himself as he gave you that smug little smile of his. He barely gave you time to react before he was moving the two of you again.

What you didn't expect was for him to dip you so, so low. Instinctively, you squealed. Your arms clung onto him for dear life.

“Jamil—!”

He let out a laugh at your reaction. “What? It's not like I’m going to drop you or anything.”

Your grip tightened after hearing those words. “Great sevens— you better not drop me!”

He playfully rolled his eyes. Jamil leaned in closer, his voice taking a lower tone as he whispered, “You trust me, Prefect, don’t you?”

You didn't respond to that, instead letting your small glance to the side paired with an embarrassed expression speak for itself.

In the next few steps, he taught you some more advanced footwork. He couldn't help but admire the way you’d smile as you caught onto it quickly. Jamil then spun you once more, this time it was less abrupt.

Prepared, you were able to smoothly go along with it. The boy let out an impressed hum, giving you a satisfied look. His eyes practically told you what he had planned next. Another dip.

The dip was more nerve-wracking than the spin. However, Jamil didn't intend to dip you as low as he did before— thankfully.

Your hold on him still tightened like it did before as he dipped you. Unlike before, Jamil let the pose and moment linger.

You’d gaze up at him, admiring the determined glint in his eyes. The way his hair naturally fell, framing his face, was just the cherry on top.

Oh, and how could you forget those breathtaking lips of his...

His thoughts were eerily similar to yours, taking in your features before letting his eyes roam over your lips. Jamil leaned closer, bringing his face mere inches from yours.

You swung your arms around his neck, making it easier for him to get closer… and closer… and…

Just as the two of you closed your eyes, about to connect, you hear the slow music turn to an upbeat, party song. Next thing you know, you felt your body swiftly being pulled up.

One moment, you and Jamil were so close, the next he was acting as though you were toxic. His hands left your hips as he cleared his throat.

It looked like he was planning on saying something before a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Jamil! Come dance with me!” The two of you both heard the young Al Asim shout.

You frowned. Right. He’s busy tonight with duties and whatnot. Although you felt disappointed, you gave him a tired smile and nod.

Jamil’s brows were furrowed, his eyes flickering between you and the direction Kalim’s voice came from.

Tonight seemed full of surprises as Jamil’d hand shoots out to your forearm and hurriedly guided you outside in the opposite direction of Kalim.

You were in shock as he pulled you outside, shutting the door behind him with a sigh.

“…You’re not gonna—?” “If anyone asks, you were nauseous from dancing and went outside with me for fresh air.”

Jamil was dead serious as he spoke, looking at you for confirmation. You nodded your head.

“Uh, got it.”

Silence soon filled the atmosphere between the two of you, the only sound being from the night’s wind. It was oddly tense. You were the first one to break the quiet.

“I’m sorry.” Jamil’s gaze immediately snapped up to yours, narrowing in confusion.

“Sorry?” He repeated, looking for clarification.

You fidgeted with the ends of your clothes. “Sorry for the chocolates. That was probably uncomfortable for you since that kinda gift is usually reserved for couples and all…”

Jamil’s expression softened the more you talked.

“Don’t be. It was a lovely gift.” His hands slowly make their way to yours, gently holding you.

“I reacted the way I did because…” Jamil sucked in a hesitant breath. “…Well, you’ve made me feel things. Feelings that I thought I was incapable of feeling.”

He carefully pulled you closer to him, allowing you to back away if you wanted to. You didn't. You just stared back into his gaze as he continued.

“Around you, I feel unburdened by my responsibilities. I feel… alive.” If you maneuvered your hand right, you could feel his pulse practically beating out of his body.

“I adore you like no other. When I received those chocolates, my mind melted. You… you turn me into such a mess.” He lightly scoffed with a small shake of the head. You can't help but chuckle.

“Nonetheless,” He gave your hands a gentle squeeze. You squeezed back.

“I’d never wish this feeling away. Never in a million years.”

Jamil’s hands momentarily left yours as he fiddled with his jacket. He was looking for something…?

“Although it’s long overdue,”

After a few moments, Jamil pulls out a small, red rose. You recognize it as a part of the decor from the party. He slips it into your hand effortlessly, his eyes staying on yours.

“Will you be my Valentine?”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x you #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst fanfic #twst wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil viper x yuu #jamil x you #jamil x yuu #valentines day fic

375 notes · View notes

inuyashaluver · 1 year ago

Note

Hi lovely I love ur stuff 🩷 I have a little request/idea - obviously feel free to ignore it

I was thinking R has a really thick accent (English - either Scouse (Liverpool), Geordie (Newcastle) or West Country (Devon/Somerset/Farmer) or Aussie or something really thick like hard to understand from native speakers let alone anyone else) but R plays in Barca and has a crush on a Spanish player (Maybe Patri? maybe Ona? Maybe Alexia?) and is tryna talk to them more and maybe ask them out but they just get looked at funny and they walk off and she goes to Kiera and Lucy and is like what have I done? Do they all hate me? And [Crush] overheads them and goes round to their house after training and is like I really wanna get to know u, I think you’re really pretty etc but I cannot understand a word that comes out of ur mouth to the point where I am questioning whether it’s English

qué? - alexia putellas

alexia putellas x reader

description: in which your accent proves to be difficult to understand

warnings: LONG!! swearing, misunderstandings, spanish in bold italics

a/n: i love this woman, your honour!! i was writing alexia angst but had to put out the fluff haha!! thank you so much for the love and request, lovely!! ily and enjoy ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you never thought your accent would get you into trouble but you were entirely wrong. and we’re not talking about trouble like criminal, we’re talking romantically.

—

you’re from liverpool, your thick, scouse accent distinct in your dialect. at home in england, the accent was understood most of the time, with an occasional person asking for clarification about your words but you didn’t mind.

even some of your england teammates had to ask you to repeat yourself occasionally when you got overly excited or stressed, your accent proving to be the hardest to understand at those moments.

you often needed a translator for even native english speakers if you spoke too quickly, lucy and later grace helping out when people were truly confused.

when lucy and keira moved from manchester city, you moved with them, having played in the club for 2 years and desperately wanting a change. and so, when the contract arrived from barcelona for the three of you, you accepted it without a second thought.

you had supported barcelona in liga F, having a huge appreciation for the way the spanish players moved, the quick passes and the goals that came out of nowhere. you were excited to pick up those skills to adapt to your own play.

and through your extensive research, you grew a special appreciation for alexia. in your eyes, alexia was the definition of perfect, not only her football skills, but her as a whole.

you would watch her interviews and videos for ‘research purposes’, claiming it was to practise your spanish. and it was, until you zoned out hearing the gentle hum of alexia’s voice, getting distracted entirely but you weren’t complaining.

when you got caught making heart eyes at your phone during england camp, the teasing was so relentless it wasn’t even funny.

—

“our little (y/n) has a crush on la reina! (the queen)” lucy exclaims in the change room, you immediately turn off your phone and look up at her with an icy glare, only making her smile at you affectionately with a pinch to your cheek that you were quick to swat away.

“you’re not much older than me” you glare, “5 years is 5 years” she shrugs, moving away when you launched an empty bottle at her.

“go on, tell us about your crush” leah smiles, millie and rachel pretend to kiss each other while looking at you and you heat up in the cheeks.

“i’m only watching so i can pick up spanish” you defend, lucy laughs loudly, out of the three transfers, she was definitely the one who picked up the most spanish.

“excuse me, lucia, and everyone in here,” you scoff, “is it such a crime to watch a video of my future captain?” your accent was so heavy at this point, everyone cracked a little smile at you.

“so you were watching videos of alexia then?” leah smirks, you let out a frustrated groan, “leah, shut up man” everyone laughs, the teasing continuing until keira and alessia told everyone to stop.

during the whole of camp, it wasn’t uncommon you got caught looking at photos or videos of alexia, the teasing was so bad you thought you would explode.

—

when the time finally came for you to join barcelona, you were incredibly nervous. the fear of underperforming playing on your mind, only becoming worse at the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of a certain blonde you couldn’t take your mind off.

lucy and keira assured you everything would be fine, but you weren’t convinced, unsure of how you’d react when you finally saw alexia.

when you all walked to the change rooms, it was shocking how welcoming everyone was. hugs and kisses to the cheeks had you feeling so accepted amongst your new team.

and funnily enough, the last person to greet you was alexia, sending you a charming smile that had your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“(y/n), yes? bienvenida! (welcome)” alexia grins, her arms pulling you into a warm hug, her scent enveloping you and making you borderline dizzy.

“(y/n) is a big fan of you” lucy teases as alexia lets you slip from the hug after you mumble a quick hello. alexia gives a surprised smile, looking between a cheeky looking lucy and a sheepish looking you.

“you’re very good, too, I look forward to playing with you,” alexia’s hand moved to give your bicep a gentle squeeze and you swore your heart stopped, your cheeks were tinged with pink and you could barely formulate a sentence.

“yeah, i’m excited to play with ya” you breathe out, you move to your new cubby and get changed into the barcelona kit, feeling at home already even though it was your first day.

due to you busying yourself with avoiding alexia, you missed the way her gaze lingered on you as you changed, she was intrigued by you.

what you didn’t know was alexia had done her own forms of research. she had heard your name countless times in the media, a rising star in the making.

she respected the way you played, a midfielder who wasn’t afraid to take risks but also managed to avoid fouls frequently.

she wanted to get to know you as much as you wanted to get to know her.

—

weeks and months fly by and it was easy to say you felt comfortable amongst the team. your spanish was surprisingly getting better, being able to go through training without a translator most of the time.

the girls reciprocated you well, you’d go to team bonding nights and laugh and joke around with them. it was obvious to everyone except alexia that you were harbouring a crush on the captain.

the ways your eyes would follow her every move with pink cheeks honestly exposed yourself. and what made it harder was that alexia and you were growing closer each day.

—

one day you were chatting with mapi and ingrid, more like you getting teased while you begged them to stop before you were interrupted by a certain someone.

“do you want to be my partner?” alexia questions from behind you suddenly, making you choke on your own spit as she looked at you with a kind smile. “really?” you breathe out, she nods, nodding her head to the pitch for you to follow her.

you’d both been able to converse easily as the months went by, she’d have to ask you to slow down a couple of times when you both talked about something you had in common but it worked.

as you both trained together, you chatted and laughed, talking about random topics.

when you both got to shooting practice, alexia analysed your every move. she would give little nods of approval when you touched the ball, sending you an encouraging smile if you made eye contact, your heart was fluttering around her.

“you should put more weight into your hips when you kick” alexia corrects, you look at her questioningly, she huffs out a little laugh and comes to stand behind you.

her large hands place themselves on your hips and she turns them slightly to the front. her front was pressed against your back and you certainly weren’t breathing. she noticed you tense but chose to ignore it.

“focus here before you kick so it’s stronger” alexia says next to your ear, squeezing your hips gently before letting go of you. “try again, vamos! (let’s go)” she exclaims, you do as she says with her corrections and it was a much better result.

she smiles proudly, “buena niña! (good girl)” she laughs, coming up to you to squeeze your shoulders encouragingly, your cheeks were burning.

the entire team watched the interaction with big grins, ready to tease you for how sheepish you looked.

“gracias (thank you), ale” you scratch the back of your neck with an embarrassed smile, she shakes her head, “it’s nothing, thank me with a goal next game” she jokes, pinching your cheek teasingly before walking off to get some water.

you’re left there in shock, lucy and keira approaching with cheesy grins. “you’re in love” lucy coos, poking your shoulder teasingly while you shielded yourself in a hug from keira.

“i’m so fucking stupid, why can’t i be normal” you groan, keira laughs, her hand rubbing up and down your back. “you’re just shy, which is weird to see because you’re the complete opposite” she laughs, you pull back to throw her a glare.

“it’s cute” lucy chuckles, “i can’t wait to tell everyone about the development” she grins, her and keira share a hearty laugh seeing your face go pale, while you attempted not to scream.

“don’t you fucking dare” you grit out, “i won’t” lucy winks, unfortunately she did and by the time training was over, your phone was blowing up with text messages talking about the interaction.

you looked at lucy with a stone cold glare while she blew you a kiss, alexia watched how angry you were, she could practically feel it radiating off you on the other side of the change room.

“estás bien? (are you okay)” alexia walks up to you, holding a cold drink out to you. you take it after a moment of hesitation, “uh, yeah, sí” you smile, “lucia is annoying you?” alexia grins, looking over at lucy to see her and keira whispering while looking at you. “yes, she’s very annoying” you grumble, your eyebrows furrowing.

alexia smiles fondly at you, her hand moving to your face, her thumb smoothing out the crease between your eyebrows. “wrinkles” she tutts, your breath caught in the back of your throat as you looked up at her.

“are you coming tonight?” she says like she didn’t just make you flatline. she’s talking about a team bonding session at her house. “yeah, i think so” you smile at her, “think or know?” she teases, was she flirting with you?

“know, i’ll be there” you mock, she nods with a pleased expression, “hasta luego, lindura (see you later, cutie)” she winks, moving to grab her bag from her cubby and leave, making sure to look back at you another time with a soft smile before walking out.

you get pulled out of your trance once you hear your phone blowing up again, checking it to see lucy had recorded you watching alexia leave. you throw your head back in frustration but chose to avoid letting the older girl feel your wrath, you were still on a buzz from the thought of alexia flirting with you.

—

when you arrived at alexia’s house, you brought her a bottle of wine with a sheepish grin. when she opened the door for you, she pulled you into the warmest hug, both of you fitting together like a puzzle.

“finalmente! (finally) i was waiting for you!” she grins as she pulls away, taking the wine out of your hands and grabbing one of yours to drag you into the living room where everyone was.

her hand was so warm against yours, soft against your skin and you really didn’t want her to let go. “you look beautiful” alexia smiles before she ushers you to sit down, you barely had the time to tell her how breathtaking she looked, dressed casually but still looking like she could be on the front of a magazine.

you sit next to mapi and she immediately bombards you with questions, “have you kissed yet?” she questions, you slap her knee, “ingrid, your girlfriend is a bully” you huff, ingrid laughs, nodding along with you with an apologetic smile.

everyone was watching a movie while eating, alexia sitting beside you, the two of you would chat back and forth with small giggles and smiles shared between you.

by the time the night was ending, alexia’s arm was resting behind you on the couch, basically over your shoulder while you were in your own little bubble.

when you left that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about all the interactions you had with the catalan, you needed to do something about it. fast.

—

on a match day for barcelona, you decided it was time for you to tell her about your feelings. it was clear you were flirting with each other. confirmed during the game.

in the second half, you managed to get a goal, using the technique alexia had taught you a couple of days prior.

she was the first one to you after, the loud roar of the crowd drowned out when you felt alexia’s strong arms wrapping around your waist.

you both smiled so brightly as she congratulated you, placing you on the ground, giving you an affectionate kiss on the forehead and squeezing your shoulders. this told you everything. it wasn’t just her being friendly, it was alexia making a move.

at the end of the match, the two of you lingered in the middle of the pitch, you were fidgeting so much alexia was worried.

“(y/n)?” she dips her head to make eye contact with you, “estás bien? (are you okay)” you nod, opening your mouth to speak but nothing came out. “take a deep breath” she smiles, a hand on your shoulder offering you comfort but also stressing you out.

“ale” you start, she nods with an encouraging smile, “i really fancy ya, ale, i’ve been wantin’ to tell ya for a while” you blurt out, alexia’s eyebrows furrow, she looks a little confused.

the silence was loud, why hasn’t she said anything back. if this was her rejection, it hurt more than anything she could have verbalised.

“you know what, forget i said anythin’” you run off before she could say anything. “qué? (what)” she was about to ask you to repeat yourself, one - because you were speaking too fast, two - she didn’t know what fancy meant.

you heard her call out for you but you ran into the change room, knowing keira and lucy were in there. “keira!” you yell, “fucking check my pulse!” you shove your arm in her face and she looks at you in shock. only a couple of people were inside, and the ones that were were shocked at how you tumbled into the room.

“jesus, your heart is going so fast” keira says as she presses her fingers to the inside of your wrist. “fuck, why couldn’t you tell me i’m dead and this is a nightmare” you groan, your hands running over your face frustratingly.

“what’s wrong with you?” lucy says as she walks out of the shower to see you in absolute shambles. “everything!” you explain each and every detail and they look at you sympathetically, understanding now why you were so upset.

what you didn’t know was alexia was outside, ear pressed to the door as she heard you explain that you were trying to confess. she feels her stomach tighten, cursing herself for not understanding what you were saying.

“whatever, i’m going home, don’t follow me” you grit, tears pooling at your waterline as you rush out. alexia had moved out of eyeline when she heard you, quickly going into the change room and drilling lucy and keira for your address that they happily gave her with sly grins. happy to know it was all a misunderstanding.

—

that afternoon, you hastily wiped your tears away thinking about alexia. you had misunderstood her intentions clearly, you were disappointed with yourself.

you heard the banging from the front door and groaned, knowing your fellow england teammates were probably on the other side with ice cream and apologetic smiles.

“i told you both not to follow me-” you huff, the door opening to see alexia standing there, a bouquet of bright flowers in hand. “hola (hello)” she smiles, “what are you doing here?” you ask softly, “can i come in?” you nod, moving back a little so she could step inside. she hands you the flowers and you take them with a confused expression.

what type of rejection was this?

“i heard you speaking to lucy and keira before” she starts nervously, both of you walking to the kitchen so you could put the flowers in water, they were beautiful.

“it’s fine if you don’t feel the same” you shrink into yourself, brushing the petals of one of the flowers between your fingers.

“hermosa (beautiful)” she calls out, moving around your counter to stand directly in front of you. “me gustas mucho, y quiero estar contigo (i like you a lot, i want to be with you)” she says earnestly, speaking in her mother tongue and hoping you understood because she was speaking from the heart.

you freeze, each and every word quickly translated in your head. “amor (love), you’re very beautiful and nice but you speak very fast, i did not understand a word you said before” she laughs, you can’t help but laugh too, shaking your head at how fast you fled the situation.

“i’m sorry, ale” you grin, “don’t be” she dismisses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, relishing in the blush she just produced on your cheeks.

“me gustas mucho (i like you a lot), alexia” you smile, she gives you a dazzling expression, appreciating how you spoke her mother tongue to her so she really understood this time. “muy bien, preciosa! (very good, precious)” she coos affectionately, her hand cradling your cheek as she directed your eyes to hers.

“we will teach each other, sí?” she grins cheekily, you hum along with her words, “sí”.

she pulls you closer to place a sweet kiss on your lips, your stomach lurching at how soft they were against yours.

you both smile into it as she drew you closer, your arms wrapping around her neck while her free hand came to rest on the small of your back to press you against her.

she pulls away, not without pressing a few more kisses to your lips through the giggles and the small chatter between the two of you.

—

when you both came to training the next day hand in hand, sighs of relief were heard from everyone. lucy whipped out her phone as quickly as she could and sent pictures to the england group chat, your phone blowing up more than ever.

now that the team saw you interact, the teasing somehow got worse every time alexia would kiss you, or even hold your hand.

the pining drove everyone insane but the loved up versions of the two of you were insufferable. you were attached at the hip, just how you and alexia wanted.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill, just pretend it’s you xx

liked by keirawalsh and 44,232 others

alexiaputellas: mi niña (my girl)

view all comments

yourname: mami

↳ alexiaputellas: i didn’t teach her this

↳ marialeonn16: sureeeee

lucybronze: the most annoying couple ever

↳ yourname: shut up man

↳ leahwilliamsonn: there she is!!

↳ keirawalsh: she went soft but is still a shit head

↳ yourname: @/alexiaputellas bebé! defend me!

↳ alexiaputellas: you are soft

↳ yourname: the betrayal is unreal

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

950 notes · View notes

softidiotsposts · 2 months ago

Text

I Never Dreamt Before You

weird how strangers can pick up the broken pieces of a heart they don't really know

{Fair warning: heavy angst, explicit sexual content (18+), discussion of sensitive topics (suicide, toxic relationships, death), neighbors, some fluff and a somewhat happy end // word count: 8.5k}

masterlist

A twenty-five Euro train ticket will take you comfortably from Madrid to Barcelona but it doesn't take away the boiling anxiety nor does it make the journey easier. In fact it's harder that way, knowing that Madrid is only twenty-five Euro away makes it so much more difficult not to turn back.

Knowing that only twenty-five Euro will bring back a world of warmth that you wish you could bottle up.

Leaving behind a life to start a new one is difficult, even in your mid twenties you feel yourself being caught in the spider web of emotional attachment of a city. You know the ins and outs of Madrid- know it like the back of your hand, born and raised in the capital. So to move away to the coast, seven hours away from comfort is not easy.

Barcelona, the idea of it, feels like an old wound that has turned into a foreign world. So different from the ease of Madrid, like a whole new world that you've yet to discover.

One that you're frankly not a hundred percent you want to know, the move isn't one that comes out of want but necessity. It's one to pursue greatness in the grueling career you had chosen but the choice had not come without great deliberation.

Barcelona is... different, in many ways. The Catalonian city had its own customs, its own culture, even its own language. It worried you, made you afraid as if you were a child again, as if you were scared of the dark. But this time you had no one to hold you, to comfort you and tell you it's all okay- You had yourself now and that's it.

The train jitters from time to time as it slides along the tracks at such a pace that the outside world seems but a blur. You watch it happen, look out the window as the world mixes into a swirl of colors, the greens of the trees and shrubbery mixes with the beautiful colors of the flowers that you cannot clearly make out. It creates a piece of art that moves, like a painting that adapts each second you look at it. You smile slightly, appreciating the way nature casually crafts perfect art before your eyes then turn your head to glance at the table in front of you.

Pages of sheet music are scattered on the table, different pieces blending into one another as they are placed in an unorganized fashion without much care.

A half-drunk cup of dirt black coffee is in the far corner. It was about four Euros when you bought it at the station in Madrid and you could taste it. A half burnt mix that made you grimace each time you drank it but the water, standing not far anyway from it that rippled ever so slightly, had helped wash the bitterness off on your tongue.

You place a hand on one of the pages, the soft manuscript ever so rough under your dry hands, and pick it up to bring it closer to your face.

The lines and notations blur slightly into a puddle of black ink so you squint and suddenly find clarity, the music flows off the page as you find that it so often does. It's Chopin that you're holding, a poor man with far too many emotions and music that you find to be as heavy as an anvil.

You read over the page from beginning to end, you imagine the way your fingers glide over the keys- pressing softly before launching into an attack of grief. It's not the same as if you were playing in reality, you cannot feel the weight of the keys beneath your fingers nor their polished finish but it satisfies you for the moment.

It was deep into November and for Alexia that meant that outdoor training was becoming regularly more and more cooler as the days went past. Today was one of those days, the wind nipped at any exposed skin and fingers froze outside the comforts of a coat pocket.

Thus Alexia was forced to don her snood and gloves to the training pitch as did many others, all dressed in the same black kit with various winter accessories adorning necks and hands.

Alexia smiled and softly greeted the social media personnel, "Bon dia."

The filming of training had become a regular occurrence over the coming years, ever since the club had launched themselves on to the European stage, their presence had grown.

It filled Alexia with a strange mixture of feelings- there was the obvious excitement but also a nagging feeling of pressure. Pressure to perform, pressure to outdo previous achievements. It brought back that awkward feeling, the one that made her shutdown ever so slightly.

She waited on the sidelines for the rest of the team to arrive, deep in thought, looking at her shoes when a hand touched her shoulder. The sudden weight had her flitch ever so slightly and she turns to see Irene, the older woman furrowing her brow in concern.

"Are you okay, Ale?"

The tone is evidently worrying and Alexia clenches her jaw- there was no need to worry about her. It's actually the opposite, it is her job to worry about her team.

"I'm fine," Alexia forces a smile and walks away as the coach calls them over.

In reality, Alexia is far removed from the idea of 'being fine' when she probably should be: her team is at the top of their Champions League group, their start in the league had been as strong as ever and both Spanish Cups looked to be in the near distance.

Yet nothing is fine, Olga had broken up with her over the month of October and she was hurting- they hadn't been living together but the presence of stray belongings that had been left behind over time was missed, greatly. She had also not told a single soul, the idea being to focus on football. On progress, on being great in a way to get over the grief of the relationship.

Training itself had gone alright, they were solid like they had always been- making intricate plays and passing sequences right in the goal or shooting from range, curving the ball right past the keeper and into the back of the net.

Cold training was followed by a session in the gym, one where the cool of November was traded for sweat and pumping blood. The small space of the Barcelona gym crowded with most of the squad, each taking turns at the stations set up and the yelling on the football pitch had been swapped for the electronic gym music and friendly chatter.

"Doing anything later, capi?"

It's Mapi asking as they both stretch out their hamstrings on the ground and Alexia considers her answer for a moment. In theory, she is not doing anything later- her plans are simple, go home and wallow in her emotions while watching whatever game is playing on TV.

"Sorry, María, I'm taking Nala to the vet."

Alexia cringes at herself the second it leaves her mouth- she had not meant to use Nala as an excuse but there was no other viable explanation that would not warrant additional questioning.

Instead of asking further, Mapi launches into a story about Bagheera's last vet appointment and Alexia is grateful that she's taking all the air time for once.

Alexia leaves promptly after the team is dismissed for the day, all given time in the afternoon for either additional training or other activities they may have. She doesn't stay to practice free kicks with the others like usual, feeling the weight of the seasonal transition on her chest.

Instead, she drives home to her condo. It's fairly nice, not overly modern and has an open concept that satisfies her needs. The neighbors are mostly full-time working people or the elderly, no children or college students that disturb the peace which Alexia appreciates greatly.

When she arrives and takes the elevator up to her floor, she is greeted by the sight of a young woman. Dressed in half-formal attire- tailored trousers with a slight check pattern that hang loosely on her hips, an untucked crumpled white shirt with a black overcoat that rests on her shoulders with dress shoes that look well worn.

Alexia pauses for a moment. The woman is beautiful, that kind of beauty that is timeless, without an expiration date, that can be taken through time period after time period and still fit into every single one.

The woman's hair is slicked back into a bun and her thin fingers rest on a case as she stands in front of a door that is few down from Alexia's own. She had never seen this woman and to her knowledge, the apartment she stands in front of has been empty for a while.

Alexia wants to call out but before she can open her mouth to speak, the woman disappears into the apartment, the door softly closing behind her. Then Alexia is left alone in the hallway, standing in front of her front door in a state of shell shock.

You make it off the train and manage to avoid buying a ticket back to Madrid. The feeling of stepping into a station other than your city's is strange and you decide to ignore the itching feeling of fear and uncertainty before it can get the best of you.

You pick up your leather case with all your sheet music and make your way through the train station and into the bustling streets of Barcelona. The wind nips at you and you can immediately feel the coastal air, you half appreciate the fresh feeling that the sea provides but also feel the nausea of homesickness bubbling up.

You walk to your apartment, seeing as it's not far from the station and all your other belongings had been sent to the flat previously.

You treat this as an opportunity to gaze at the brilliant architecture of the famous Catalonian city, some buildings look modern while others share the intricate stone work that can only be done by hand- making them infinitely more wonderful than the polished creations that sit beside them.

Eventually, after walking several blocks, you make it to your apartment building. It's one of the nicer looking ones on the street and you enjoy the stone work, the different creams mixing with the red of some of the bricks, before entering it.

The lobby itself is nicer than you'd expected. After an initial door, you are greeted with a darker one that has a lovely wooden finish- you fish out your keys, just two stray keys in different colors without any keyrings keeping them company, you turn the key and open the door.

You decide to take the stairs, just to enjoy the view out of the windows as you go up for the first and final time since the elevator is probably kinder on your knees. The view, as you'd imagine, is quite magical- the sun is slowly setting, the giant fireball disappearing into the horizon, in its wake leaving a wondrous sky that is full of pinks, oranges and reds. You pull out your phone and take a picture with a hopeful aspiration to start fresh and new.

Next, you find yourself standing in front of your door, clutching the case in your hands tightly. You contemplate turning back and getting on a train, re-calling all your things back to Madrid and never leaving. You don't, instead you turn the key and enter with a sense of acceptance.

You do not notice the footballer standing a few doors away and even if you had there would be no recognition in your eyes, your vision had been forever tunneled in the opposite direction and never wandered towards sports.

The apartment walls are bare. Plain white, freshly painted for a new tenant and you try not to shiver at the unwelcoming color, you would have to paint over it- maybe a green? or sea blue.

You turn to look around- it's an open concept as you'd seen online, the kitchen overlooks the combined living and dining room with a small hallway on the main wall. It branches off into the singular bedroom and bathroom.

You sigh and glance at the grand piano that takes up most of the space in the living room. It's black with a polished finish and you had spent so many times sitting for hours at a time that you had memorized each scratch and nick that had been etched into it.

You ignore the instrument even though it calls for you to sit down after the tiring journey and you instead focus on more pressing matters.

Checking your watch, you let out a sigh of relief when the hands show that it is not late evening just yet- you had just enough time to put together the stray pieces of furniture and organize the place to your liking without disturbing the neighbors anti-social hours.

You build your bedframe and unroll the mattress, put your sheets on then methodically put together the drawers so that you may store all your clothing. After the bedroom looks somewhat complete albeit plain but complete, you turn your attention to the living space.

It's large and so open that you feel a little naked standing in it- you decide to change that by taking the cloth off the leather chairs and moving them so they face the balcony, giving them a kind view of the city. A bookshelf is against the wall to the right of them, filled with various songbooks and stray novels that you never seem to finish.

There is no sofa since the piano takes up much of the available space, so the TV is left alone on the unit without anyone facing it. You don't find the problem, you never watch it anyway. The old beat up dining table from your old apartment sits near the kitchen, right in front of the doorway, with four chairs that were probably going to be used in rotation by only you.

After the bulk of the apartment is set up, you add the finishing touches. Photographs of people that you rarely speak to from high school but still cherish, art that you purchased on a whim and coats that you wore often hung on the pegs near the entrance.

It is finally after finishing absolutely everything that you sit at the piano, you run a finger on the closed keyboard and a thin layer of dust gathers. You hadn't played for two days and it had already gotten dusty.

Alexia hears the music over the sound of Alba's complaining, it's soft and sounds like utter grief.

A wave passes through her, tugging her heart strings along with it. She has never been a big fan of instrumentals, instead finding a larger appreciation for voice and lyric than strings.

"Alexia? Helloooo? Oh my God, are you even listening to me-" Alba's voice calls from the phone and Alexia snaps out of the brief trance.

"Err yeah, yeah... sorry, someone is playing the piano, I think."

She hears a gasp through the speaker and Alexia rolls her eyes at it.

"Is it loud? Maybe you should complain?" Alba suggests and Alexia doesn't even consider it- she doesn't care about the noise, only that the melody sounds dreadfully sad.

"No- It's fine, actually, I have to go... It's time for Nala's walk."

"Oh okay, then- By-"

Alexia presses on the red button to hang up the call before Alba can even reply and she feels immediately guilty- She had used Nala as another excuse, two in one day. Maybe she should draft excuses for the next day now? Just so Nala isn't used as a constant reason.

Now that Alba is no longer on the phone and the Atletico game is now muted, the music is much louder and clearer. Alexia cannot name what it is but even though there is an evident sadness in the notes, it's played to utter perfection. Each note masterfully curated to fit the next.

Alexia decides that whoever is playing is immensely talented.

It's about a week until Alexia sees the woman that lives on her floor again- It's a Wednesday morning and she has had a slow start to the day. Alexia had woken up ten minutes before her seven o'clock alarm rang, so she stayed in bed and allowed herself to snuggle Nala until the shrill signaled the need to get up. She had dressed herself in the training gear she wore most days, walked Nala, ate breakfast, checked her emails and watched the news until it was time to leave for training at nine.

She grabbed her packed bag, said goodbye to Nala with a kiss on the head and walked out and into the elevator. Alexia pressed the button for the ground floor and the one to close the doors when a hand shot out to stop them from closing.

It was the same woman. This time dressed in a skirt in complete black with polished loafers, shirt pressed but clearly in a hurry since you can tell the imperfections in the white cotton, same overcoat thrown on her shoulders.

"Pardon me," Her voice rang out to Alexia.

It's soft, like cotton in her ears and she melts slightly into it. Then chastises herself, it had only been a month since her break up and jumping into another relationship did not seem wise.

"Going down?" Alexia's voice trembles slightly and she does not know why.

"Yes."

It's curt and Alexia presses the button to close the door, it prompts the elevator to go down. She takes the opportunity to look at the woman again, out of the corner of her eye.

She's fairly tall, about Alexia's height and holds a deep brown leather bag that looks to be full with papers. Maybe she works in an office? Or maybe she's an accountant? She certainly looks the part.

The ding of the elevator breaks the moment and Alexia is forced to exit but not before she hears a smooth,

"Thank you."

That feels like honey and makes her warm and fuzzy inside.

It's again after a day's work that she runs into the woman again. She's running a little late because Aitana spilled coffee on her and she hopes Nala will forgive her that their afternoon walk will be delayed due to a shower.

The woman holds the elevator as she sees Alexia running for it, she offers a light smile that Alexia has yet to see and is now eternally grateful she has. It makes her forget about the large burning coffee stain on the front of her shirt for a moment until the woman offers her a tissue.

"Would you like one?"

It's a typically plastic packet of cotton tissues that organized people carry about and Alexia takes one with gratitude, thanking her twice over as she wipes some of the coffee with it.

"Are you a fan?”

Alexia stops wiping the coffee off her top and looks at the woman with furrowed brows then follows to where an elegant finger points at her chest. The Barcelona badge is untouched by the coffee, still in immaculate condition.

Alexia feels herself flush and does not know how to answer.

"Err yes, yes I am. Quite a big one."

The woman lets out a laugh as she stumbles over her words and it's music to Alexia's ears, almost as good as the performance that she got to hear a week ago.

"Are you? A fan."

The woman shakes her head, "No, actually... I don't watch football or sports but I appreciate the sentiment of them."

Alexia doesn't know what to say- she has plenty of friends outside of the football sphere she surrounds herself in but her mind is suddenly blank on questions to ask.

The elevator dings and informs them of the floor. The woman goes to leave and Alexia desperately doesn't want her too but has no idea as to why.

They had barely spoken, she had only seen her three times but Alexia felt as though someone who she had been waiting for her whole life had just walked into her life. A crazed feeling of comfort washed over her each time the woman spoke and Alexia leaned into every time.

To Alexia's joy, the woman turns back slightly and looks at Alexia.

"I'm Y/N."

She introduces herself as Alexia steps out the elevator to let it close and carry it's journey between the floors. She has never heard a name so beautiful sounding but doesn't speak on it further, in hopes of staying somewhat cool in the others eyes.

"I'm Ale, I live here."

Alexia points at the door with twenty nine on it as she introduces herself.

"Is that short for something?"

Alexia is stunned into a brief silence because it's so rare that someone asks since the many people she talks to already know the ins and outs of her life better than even she.

"Alexia."

The woman chuckles light and flashes a smile, "Well, Alexia, I live in thirty one."

She points down the hall at a door that's identical to Alexia's and Alexia acts as if she didn't know.

"I'll see you around, Alexia."

Y/N smiles kindly and Alexia feels her face heat up as she watches her walk to her apartment, the loafers she's wearing creating a satisfying click with each step.

The next time they meet is two weeks later when Alexia hosts their monthly team bonding movie night. Most of the team are present and bundled in small huddles on the large sofa or floor in front of it.

Aitana sits with Keira practically cuddling with each other as they pay rapt attention to the film playing on the TV. They seem to be the only two who have not seen the movie before tonight.

Mapi is sitting in between Ingrid's legs on the floor in front of the sofa as she pays attention to the film with occasional snarky comments about the characters that Ingrid hums along to.

Lucy and Ona sit in the very corner of the sofa under one of the many blankets, acting as though they aren't holding hands even though it's fairly obvious to the rest of them.

The rest of the group are evenly spread out on the sofa and floor, with Alexia sitting on a pillow watching the film with sleepy eyes. What awakens her is the music that can be heard over the television, she has not heard that playing for three weeks and had wondered the possibilities as to why.

Had they sold the piano? Or installed sound proofing in their apartment so the rest of the floor could not hear them? Alexia doubted it was that- the walls are paper thin and even the smallest of sounds can be heard.

It's different from the last piece she had the pleasure of listening to, much lighter yet still with a slight tinge of grief. It's also three times louder and she wonders why the person insists on playing between six and eight.

"Is someone playing music or what?"

It's Patri who pauses the film and complains, there is a moment of silence from everyone as the music seems to reach its peak and then they hear the slam of notes before a continuation in playing. Alexia flitches at the moment of anger, she had yet to hear such an emotion from the mystery pianist.

"It's lovely," Frido comments and Alexia is inclined to agree.

Lovely is one way to describe it. The other is masterful, an artist pouring their heart into an instrument that sings a thousand unspeakable words to the world around it.

The music lays heavy on the heart in the most wonderful way and Alexia has yearned for it to come back ever since she had heard it. It's a beauty that she has no experience in but one that she craves almost as much as the pitch.

"It's ruining film night."

Both Patri and Pina whine like children causing Alexia to laugh and shake her head. It's true, the sound of the piano runs over that of the TV and it would seem that Alexia has been granted the opportunity to meet the mystery pianist that has captured a part of her heart.

You had been practicing your Rachmaninoff when a knock sounded at your door, your fingers stilted over the keys, not daring to press another key. You lift yourself off the stool and walk over to the door, taking a few deep breaths before opening it to be met with Alexia's face.

Alexia who had been disrupting your perfectly thought out routine by her causally kind comments that had been running through your head even two weeks later.

You feel embarrassed now, opening the door to the person who had practically been dreaming about every single day wearing worn sweatpants and a henley shirt that had quite clearly shrunk in the wash a few times over.

"Alexia-" You manage to start before she interrupts you.

"You're the one playing piano?"

It's not an accusation but a question full of surprise that you can't help but feel shocked about. Of course, you knew that the piano could be heard- even neighbors had told you how much they appreciated the music in the evenings but you had assumed that Alexia knew.

"Yes, it's me- Listen, Alexia, I'm really sorry about playing so late. I'll stop for tonight."

You try to explain, hoping that Alexia isn't angry but when you glance at her face there is no anger visible. Instead she looks to be in... awe?

"No- I mean, yes that would be nice... but I don't mind."

You raise your brows in shock because you hadn't expected that reaction- sure many of the older folks living on your floor had liked the music but you'd assumed it was because they were older.

Yet Alexia seems to be proving you wrong.

"Okay then, Alexia?"

"Yeah?"

"Have a goodnight, okay?" You say with a light smile and can make out Alexia's nod before you close the door.

You press your forehead against the door when you think it's safe to do so and bring your knuckles to your mouth and then bite down lightly to prevent you from screaming.

It's surreal, the effect the older woman has on you even though the two of you have barely spoken, you've thought about touching her- running your hands up and down her sides and you've thought about her hands on you.

It's difficult to say what you want- friends would tell you to go for it but your mother would be deeply against seeing someone older. All you know is that you want Alexia and have absolutely no clue as to why.

The next time you see her, it's evening and you're in the elevator going home from the opera when she gets in. Alexia is wearing a beautiful dress that clings to her in all the correct places and you cannot stop your eyes from wandering across her figure when she's paying attention to her phone.

She makes you feel underdressed in your pencil skirt, loafers and crumpled blue striped shirt. Every time you gaze upon Alexia it's as if you are looking at one of the paintings that hangs on your wall- she's crafted by renaissance painters that you cannot pronounce the names of and you no else you've met in your life compares.

"Y/N?"

You flitch when a hand clamps down on your shoulder- it's Alexia and then you realize that the elevator has reached your floor but the ding and announcement had gone unnoticed by you.

"Sorry- long day."

Alexia smells faintly like alcohol, but not the cheap stuff you get in the convenience store, and flowery perfume that tickles at your nose blissfully. You wonder whether she was out with friends... or maybe had gone on a date?

"It's okay, everyone has days like that."

Even Alexia? She seemed so perfect- utterly beautiful and spoke with complete intellect every time the two of you interacted.

"Thank you," You mumble out as you leave the elevator but Alexia doesn't let your shoulder go.

Instead, you can feel her fingers dig into the fabric of your woolen overcoat. You don't know whether she's grounding herself or you but you feel yourself begin to calm down either way.

You don't know why you do the next thing you do. Maybe it's loneliness or pure carnal desire that drives you to kiss her in the hallway.

You press your lips against Alexia's soft ones and feel her jolt then gasp into the kiss- you have no clue why she's surprised by your actions and you're about to pull away and apologies but are interrupted by her kissing you passionately.

Alexia kisses as if she were dying, teeth biting down on your lips and tongue prodding inside your mouth. She traces the inside of your mouth as if it were the most important thing on earth and her hands disappear from your shoulders and now rest on your hips.

She tastes like sweet champagne and strawberries and you cannot get enough- never.

You desperately kiss her back, after all you had been dreaming day and night about this moment- you moment where the dam would break and you would finally kiss her. Your hands trail up her back, taking in each curve individually.

The two of you pull away gasping for breath and you want her back straight away- missing the pressure of her mouth on yours.

"I want you, Alexia."

You mutter between the two of you- it's quiet but enough for her to understand and when you raise your head to look Alexia in the eyes, you see that they are filled with want.

You and Alexia barely make it past the door of her apartment, you trip over each other's legs as you refuse to break apart for a moment. You don't pay much attention to the interior- all you know is that it's nice enough that you don't feel cold and unwelcome.

As you kick off your shoes, you notice the little dog that has come over and pet it to say hello. Then suddenly, Alexia pushes your coat off your shoulders and grabs your hand in a tight grip- tugging you to the bedroom.

From then on, it's animalistic. You practically rip off her dress and she unbuttons your shirt with shaky hands then tugs the skirt off your legs to reveal your lacy panties.

It leaves the both of you in your underwear, standing in Alexia's bedroom staring at each other. Your eyes trace from her strong thighs to her tight abs then to her breasts before finally settling on her face- she's wonderfully gorgeous and want pools in your stomach.

You want her more than you've ever wanted anything else, your blood pumps through your veins at a million miles an hour and you feel as though you're high.

She steps closer to you and a hand reaches out to run a finger up your side leaving goosebumps in its wake, you shiver but lean into the touch.

"You're beautiful, cariño."

You feel yourself flush at the compliment and practically feel yourself getting wetter but the second. You swallow deeply and reach out to place a hand on Alexia's stomach- you feel her gasp and flex under your touch.

You crave out her name on her skin and you see her smile slightly as she follows your finger.

"Are you drunk, Alexia?"

You look at Alexia through your lashes and you see her eyes smile for a moment, it's something you wish you could capture and watch forever.

"I'm not."

You run your tongue along your teeth and suck in a breath.

"Good, I don't want you to forget."

You let both of your hands rest on the elastic band of her underwear, snapping it against her stomach- making her flitch slightly. You smirk and then her hands rest on your forearms.

"You first," You say in a hushed tone and take her hands off your forearms.

You kneel in front of Alexia and look up at her, pure rabid desire coursing through your veins. You unclasp your bra with one hand, letting it fall on the floor and Alexia looks at you with her mouth slightly parted at the sight.

You lick your lips as you rest your hands on her muscular thighs then grab the band of her underwear with your teeth and Alexia groans lowly at the show. You give your best performance, pulling them down all the way to the floor before placing your hands on her ass. You give an experimental squeeze and smile when Alexia lets out an airy moan.

You start slowly, licking up the insides of her thighs and place a hand over pussy. You want this to last, you want to remember and you want Alexia to remember even more.

"Please- I...need it..."

You smirk at her impatience, trying your best to stick to your pace.

"Alexia, what is it that you want?"

You trace a finger down her abs to her pussy, purposefully avoiding dipping your finger inside her slit. You instead watch her face contort as she groans again.

"You- only you."

You accept the answer and lick a strip up her cunt- tasting her and it's like nectar on your tongue. You moan as you stuck on her clit and the effect is immediate- Alexia's rough hands go to rest on your head, guiding you as you lick and suck.

You feel the sway of her hips in time with each stroke of your tongue and you revel at it. You want her taste forever, you want to be in this moment forever. Alexia uses you to chase her own orgasm and you look up at her as she does so.

It's not long before she comes with a loud moan and fingers digging into your scalp, you moan with her and can't help yourself from running your hands down her ass again.

After the high is worn down slightly she puts a hand on your chin, making you look up. You feel her trace her thumb across your cheek as she smiles down at you- your heart flutters and core tightens at her expression.

"Get up."

You stand immediately and she pushes you on the bed then crawls to you like a predator to prey, straddling you on the bed and running her hands up and down your body. Occasionally squeezing your breasts making you arch off the bed slightly.

You feel so hot as if in an oven set to the highest temperature and Alexia's hands scald you- they leave behind pools of desperation that you so keenly want to get rid of.

Eventually, Alexia's hand finds its way into your underwear and you are reduced to a moaning mess. Arching off the bed and whining loudly as Alexia guides a finger inside of you while the palm of her hand is pressed into your clit.

It's euphoric, the pleasure runs through you each time Alexia thrusts her finger in and out of you- you claw at her back, desperately trying to hold onto anything. You leave behind red marks but Alexia doesn't seem to care, she lets you, even moans when you cement a hand into the meat of her shoulder.

"Fuck- Alexia, another, please... please!"

You beg even those she doesn't ask, you're too far gone. Alexia is grinding down on your crotch as she fingers and palms you, the idea of forming a thought is unavailable and all comprehension has left you.

Alexia humors you and easily slides another of her long fingers inside of you and you reward her with a long mewl that she smirks at. It's then that you realize that you won't last much longer- not with Alexia practically riding your lap whilst fingering you.

"Alexia- I'm gonna come, can I? Please?"

You don't know why you beg or ask for permission- you just do and Alexia smiles sweetly at you.

"Of course you can, cariño, you've been so good."

It pushes you over the edge and you let out a half yell as you come, shaking ever so slightly before going completely boneless in Alexia's sheets. You close your eyes as you breathe deeply- then feel Alexia slide off your lap and lay right beside you.

You feel her arm against yours and you turn to face her- your eyes meet her brown ones and you study them for a moment, committing them to memory. They remind you of freshly wet tree bark that smells like childhood in forests and you smile at the sentiment,

You raise a hand and trace the bridge of her nose then each cheek bone as if sculpting her face from scratch. You feel an ache in your heart as much as you do your legs... Alexia to you is a stranger. You know nothing of her and she knows nothing of you.

It's oddly comforting how there is no judgement, not when two strangers meet.

Alexia finds it hard to process the fact that you are in her bed. It's odd really, how peaceful it had been after the whole ordeal. You touched her face for a bit and she let you, leaning into it and then you had slipped under the covers and so had she.

You held her and she let you, leaning into the touch and in an ideal world she would wake up with you- cook breakfast for two and sit on the terrace with you as you laughed at her silly jokes.

Instead when Alexia wakes up the next morning, you are no longer holding her close and all your things are gone. A note in your place:

'Had to leave, Y/N'

Alexia sighs and picks herself up, walks Nala, cooks breakfast for one and eats alone at the kitchen counter.

She doesn't see you for a week and Alexia knows should have assumed that it was a one time thing but hope had been at the back of her mind; hope that you would knock on her door the next day with flowers or a card asking her on a date.

Instead, radio silence... well, almost radio silence.

She hears the piano for the first time that week on a Thursday evening. It's the same grief that is always sung from the instrument, just today it's louder. Louder than at the movie night and the slamming of keys creates an unnerving feeling inside of.

You play with anger, you're angry at yourself... angry at her- angry at grief. You slam the keys with no real talent, just pure rage. A knock brings you out of it for a moment but you don't care, you ignore whoever is at the door and keep playing until a series of loud knocks finally crack your shell.

You open the door and see Alexia, in a Barcelona sweatshirt and trousers. You feel a rush of guilt, you had ignored her- in good faith but still avoided her.

You hadn't meant to but still did so, bad habits returning like a disease.

"Alexia."

You greet her, it's short and it's so unlike the night you two of you shared last week. No passion, no want.

"Y/N? Can I come in?"

You sigh and survey the apartment, it's a mess- plates stacked up in the sink, stray cups far away from their home in the cupboard. Sheet music is everywhere, the floor, the table and kitchen tops but you sigh and open the door wider to let Alexia in.

She thanks you with a nod and does her own little sweep of the apartment- you think she's going to judge you or maybe give a snarky comment but instead she turns to you and you feel her hug.

It's soft, like your favorite bed sheets and you sigh into the hug- it's what you need. Alexia's strong arms around you, someone who doesn't know enough to judge, someone who just wants to be with you- in any way.

You pull away after a while, allowing Alexia to remove her shoes whilst you sit on the piano bench. It's weird, having another person in your new personal space but Alexia doesn't look out of place- she actually looks like the opposite.

You're lost in thought when you notice that she's stood right in front of you and you look up- Alexia doesn't look angry or disappointed, she looks concerned... an expression you know very well.

"You were gone for a week."

It's not a question and you don't treat it like one- You did disappear for a week.

"I was."

You slide to the right so Alexia can sit next to you on the piano bench, none of you say anything when she does so. You want to tell her everything but you've realized that you don't know Alexia- you don't know her favorite color, thing to eat, time of year... you don't even know what she does for work.

The two of you are strangers- neighbors that you know each other's bodies but not each other's hearts.

"I- can't... I can't tell you why, Alexia," You whisper, voice hoarse and dry.

You cannot tell her- it would break everything, break you and her- destroy the half built home you've made for yourself in Barcelona. You expect Alexia to demand an answer like most people would or maybe just walk out and never come back, instead you feel a hand wrap around your waist.

"I don't want to know, not unless you want to say."

“Just- don’t leave again?”

You face her and she's smiling- it's a little sad, that kind of smile you would see after a funeral service but you don't care and lean in any way. Kiss her slowly, like you never want it to end because you don't, you want her to stay in this moment forever.

Toeing the line between someone who knows too much and a stranger is right where you want her to stay.

"Stay?" You ask like a child does for a new toy and she grants you your wish.

The two of you walk to your bedroom and lay on top of the bedsheets facing each other as if you were twelve and gossiping about your classmates.

"Tell me about you," You ask her to fill the silence when you don't have the strength.

Alexia does so with comfort, "I'm a footballer-"

"So you aren't just a fan, liar!" You let out a laugh for the first time in a week and give her a little push.

"You never asked? I have a little dog, Nala... You've met her- and I'm here with you and I don't think I want to be anywhere else."

It's half sheepish and half confident, you can't help but smile at it.

"I don't want to be anywhere else either."

The next month is the best one so far since you've moved to Barcelona- you see Alexia practically every day, go out sightseeing (something you had yet to do), go to the grocery store together, sometimes sleep around each other's places and eat dinner together each evening. It's a routine you find yourself getting comfortable in, even catching yourself smiling more and more when you're with her.

One evening, when it's your turn to host dinner, you play the piano for her. You're used to an audience but when you're on stage everyone seems so small- inconsequential so that’s why, when you're sitting on the bench about to play with Alexia sitting in front of one of the mismatched chairs, you feel suddenly nervous.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

Immediately Alexia laughs and you frown.

"I won't, you know I wont."

You decide to ignore the nervousness stewing in your stomach and finally press the keys and play Franz Liszt, liebesträume. A piece you had ignored for so long because it hurt so much but Alexia is here with you now and she deserves to know what she means to you.

Your fingers glide across the keyboard and the emotion slips out unwillingly- the piece means so much to you, good memories, bad memories, arguments and makeups.

By the time you're finished and look up Alexia is crying- hot tears streaming down her face without control and you shoot up to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry," You don't know why you apologize but it seems fitting.

Between hiccups, Alexia says, "Don't- That... was beautiful."

After that you eat dinner with a small candle between you- smiling and chatting about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

This bubble the two of you built over the month grows by the day until it's burst one evening by reality.

It's just after Christmas and New Year when it happens- you finally get to see Alexia after she returns from visiting her family and the two of you fall back into that same routine.

Yet Tuesday is different, you sit at dinner in silence this time. Listening to Alexia talk about training and teammates with occasional hums that sounds like you don't really care.

You aren't paying attention, methodically taking bites of your food every so often when the clatter of a fork breaks you out of it. You look up to see Alexia staring at you with the same expression of worry.

You sigh and put down your own cutlery. This was a long time coming, you'd been walking a tightrope with Alexia- your hands out for support desperately trying to stay balanced and now your balance had been broken.

"Alexia."

It's an invitation to a conversation you would rather avoid altogether but it's been a long time coming... and Alexia has become more important to you than you'd intended. A crutch to your unstable life, some kind of stability.

"I'll tell you, if you'll listen," You offer in a meek voice, one that you don't normally find yourself speaking in around Alexia.

Alexia's eyebrows shoot up and you know that she knows what you're talking about- the reason for practically everything you do. Why you're in Barcelona, why you play, why you lean on Alexia- seek her out.

She nods and you sigh, preparing yourself to hold back scalding tears.

"My- my best friend... actually, my girlfriend or ex now... she was from Barcelona and-"

You pause as a lump forms in your throat, choking you and making unwanted tears form in your eyes. An anvil rests on your chest, thick and heavy grief passes over you in waves that you desperately try to hold back.

"She... died- and... and it was all my fault."

You're crying as you're saying it, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, ruining the makeup you had put so much effort in and making that heavy feeling looming over you into a storm.

Alexia jumps out of her seat and kneels next to yours, taking your hands in hers. They are warm and normally you'd find them comforting but here, now, they burn you with guilt. Guilt for finding her and moving on.

"No, that can't be true, cariño-"

"It is, Alexia! I... we fought a lot- over my career... and one day- she... she couldn't take it anymore- she.. she," You let out a choked sob that makes your throat ache.

You can't say it- you never have been able to. It's a pain that is so present yet never comfortable enough to process- it's the pain of losing a part of yourself as much as losing a friend.

You look down at Alexia and her facial expression is kind- something you don't expect, you'd actually expect the opposite; disgust, guilt on your behalf, maybe even hate. It makes you cry harder, knowing that she must be the only person that doesn't hate you for not stopping something so far out of your control.

She stands and you feel strong arms wrapped around you. They give you stability for a moment, awakening some kind of strength that you didn't know you possessed anymore.

"She- killed herself, three years ago yesterday and.. and I found her, Alexia."

Alexia's arms tighten around you ever so slightly and you feel her hand run up and down your back in an odd sort of comfort.

The two of you stay there for what feels like forever- an eternity that you wish were true. You want Alexia to stay forever, to forever hold you as you cry tears that have been marinating your years.

When she finally lets you go, she doesn't speak and you thank her silently, instead she wipes your tears with the back of her thumb- clears the table by herself and leads you to her bedroom.

You strip your clothes off quietly and so does Alexia until the two of you are in bed with your underwear on. This time, she holds you, arms wrapped around your middle in a way you didn't think you needed.

The silence is comfortable and you don't go to fill it as you normally would- there is nothing to say, nothing to explain because no questions are asked. Alexia asks nothing of you, no why, or how and it's refreshingly loving. She wants nothing but you, here with her and not reliving the past with her as a passenger.

The both of you stay like that for a while, laying together in the dark room, just holding each other as if you were the only people in the universe. You find yourself breathing without issue- the heavy weight of guilt slowly decreases.

You know it's never going to be gone and you don't want it to be, you want to remember her as best as you can but it feels so new to have so little guilt upon your weakened chest.

"Ale?" You check whether Alexia is asleep and a soft hum answers you, then a kiss on your shoulder solidifies her sleeplessness.

You sigh and wrap your arms around the ones on your waist, "I used to not be able to dream- never have I dreamt."

"Isn't that weird?"

Alexia answers softly, "Maybe... but maybe that's what makes you special."

You shake your head and crack the lightest of smiles.

"No, because I dream now, vividly- ever since I saw you in the elevator, I've been dreaming of what I'll be doing next... with you."

It turns out that twenty five Euros can buy you a ticket to Barcelona from Madrid but it can also guide you to a stranger that will eventually pick up the pieces to your broken puzzle with her own hands. Help you find your place as much as you help her.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #barca femeni

331 notes · View notes

seffen · 3 months ago

Text

It's been a long time since they've been here.In fact, I've been cold to them for a long time. But recently, at my leisure, I decided to remember them, it was nice.

It's been a long time and I've been able to rethink a lot of the stories, but the main points in the story remain, and I'd like to tell them. But I strongly doubt that I have the patience to draw it all.

Shamura is still one of my favorites. I wanted to make him the most controversial character. I drew his image when there was still no crown on his head.

I remember Shawmura saying he caught his crown in a net, this prompted me to headcanon that his crown was not meant for him. I've had this headcanon for a very long time, and in the early artwork you can see that Shawarma uses a regular spear and doesn't use the crown due to the fact that he couldn't quite curb it. But it's worth saying that later on he was able to curb it like no mortal would be able to. I can say that Sharuma had very high self-esteem when he was young.

Callamar, I think he's getting unduly neglected. And I don't like that he's portrayed solely as a coward. I like that he can be very cunning and very self-loving. And I wanted to revisit one point in his story. I wrote earlier that he was relatively at ease with the role of a mortal, but now I think that's not true. To explain, Kallamar as well as Leshy and Narinder were gods from childhood, from early childhood, because of this their adaptation was the most difficult and one could say unbearable. Imagine being on top all your life and losing everything in one moment, it's very difficult and the only happy moment is that Kallamar is alive.

And I can also see that Kallamar has various hobbies that would seem strange or creepy to many people and all of them would be about bodies and their insides. Given that Kallamar personified disease he had a lot of medical knowledge, simply because his region was the most commonly affected by it, and because Kallamar was very hard to please as a god. But we should not forget that he was primarily a god of disease, not medicine. Under him, in general, it is better not to bring up these topics at all or risk repeating the experience of Tom Cardy's poor guy from Red Flags.

I love Hekat. I share those who see her as strong, independent and very responsible. The way in the game itself she was ahead of all her brothers as if taking everything upon herself after Shamura received the head grass. Also, according to her headcanon, she received her crown like Sharuma already at a conscious age and she managed to live in the settlement and was a loyal follower. This experience, as for me, made her more down to earth, even though her character was hot-tempered.

If we talk about her life before the crown, then even before that Hecate was a respected woman. She was one of the students, and her word was very important. Because of this, she was also very popular among men, although none of her marriages were successful, and not because of bad relationships. Those years were very difficult times for the gods and this also affected the followers. You can say that there were difficulties with survival.

Now, you could say she is on a well-deserved vacation, although at first she helped her brothers adapt for some time, but still, despite how difficult it was for them, they are no longer children and she is tired of dragging them by the hand everywhere.

Well, and Leshy, the youngest. I can't say anything new. Those who have seen it before know that in my universe he has a daughter from a yellow cat. I would like to devote more time to his spouse. Something that I would also rewrite and change my mind a bunch of times. He is definitely not as simple as he seems. I had an idea with a breakup, but it is too large-scale and I repeat that I am not sure that I can implement it. I can say that the cat is not local and has not lived in the lands of the ancient faith for most of his life, he came from distant islands that are his native home. The main reason why he swam away from Tula is that he is wanted there and if he is caught, he faces capital punishment.

I guess that's all for now. I would write more, but there's already a lot of text here.

And there is no Narinder here. I just didn't want to draw him, maybe next time.

#yellow cat #cotl yellow cat #yellow catxleshy #leshy x yellow cat #cult of the lamb leshy #leshy #cotl #cotl leshy #cult of the lamb #cotl heket #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #cult of the lamb heket #cult of the lamb kallamar #cult of the lamb shamura

154 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months ago

Text

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.”

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

LOTR/The Hobbit Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Eomer Tag List:

@kmc1989 @eddie-munson-stories @thebiggerbear @lamaudite

#As Tradition Dictates #eomer x reader #lord of the rings #LOTR #eomer #eomer fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #the lord of the rings #two towers #eomer fluff #karl urban #eomer fanfiction #eomer of rohan #eomer eadig #eomer imagine #zepskies writes

299 notes · View notes

footballffbarbiex · 5 months ago

Text

player: Rúben Dias type: smut words: 1k+ warnings: hand jobs, tiddy sucking, light dirty talk

a/n: ok so while I was looking through the Dias tag for a pic of him for something, I saw this ask and it's fuelled this. thank you @yutofia for the inspiration and letting me adapt your interaction! (I realise that hers wasn't the only one sent and written but it was the first one that I'd seen)

you'd known the effect it would have on him the moment the soft fabric fell into place on your body. you'd wanted a summer dress like it for a while and when your fingers had danced along the racks of clothing in the store until they'd landed on this, the very last one in your size, it had seemed like fate. not only was it the perfect length but it hugged all the right places and still remained flowing for the other places.

Rúben had seemed incapable of keeping his hands off you as the evening ticked by and even though you'd left the villa wearing underwear, you'd been requested to remove these during dinner and they were now tucked into his back pocket. you listened with little interest as he made small talk with his friends before everyone was retiring to their rooms. your attention and thoughts fully on his fingers stroking over your ass, down to the hem of the skirt and gently caressed the skin at the top of your thigh before going back up to your waist and beginning the journey back down again.

he made it look so casual, a simple absentminded touch that no-one would think anything of but it was beginning to drive you crazy and keeping your features in check was proving more difficult with each passing exchange between each touch.

and yet, despite the way you craved him, you'd held your composure and hadn't jumped him the second the door had closed. you'd busied yourself, pretending that what he'd just done hadn't had the effect on you that the two of you knew perfectly well had been had.

Rúben sits patiently watching you from the sofa, his eyes never leave your body as you move. but as patient as Rúben is, he can't stay still for too long and his patience only lasts so long. "are you going to come over here or do I need to beg?"

"I don't think I've ever known you to beg," you tell him as you finish lighting some candles for a spot of ambience.

by the time you look back at him, there's a tent pitching at his waist and a look on his face that you can't ignore. "what's wrong Rúbe?"

"nothing,"

"no?" you push him for an answer, your voice dropping low and dare you even say sultry. you hum a little as you climb onto his lap and his hands reach your waist, thumbs stroking over as much area as they possibly can.

"no." he says with as much certainty as he can.

"no?" you try again as your hand drops to your lap and though you barely grasp him through his clothing, you do swipe your thumb over the head of his cock and he groans. "I thought maybe you wanted something." you mutter to yourself as you peer down between your bodies, noting out of your peripheral vision the way his chest rises and falls a little faster than normal as your hand wraps around his shaft and squeezes just enough to feel him throb against your palm.

"I don't know what gave you tha-mmmmm, fuck" he groans and you feel his hips move beneath you as you dip you hand into his bottoms. he feels warm and thick in your grip and as much as you'd love to slip between his thighs, sink to your knees and use your mouth on him, you begin to stroke him, slow and steady in an even rhythm.

"you did." when you finally look up, he leans forward, trying to capture your lips with his own. a look of confusion twists across his features as you pull away and shake your head. "oh baby no. you thought you could tease me while we were out and that you could get your own way?" you ask him and frown at him as you shake your head. "that's not how this works."

with your free hand, you tug down the sleeves enough to be able pull the front of your dress down without resistance, exposing your boobs enough for your nipple to become visible. "if you want me to be good to you, you need to apologise." you say quietly, trying to hold back the smirk that threatens to twist the corner of your mouth upwards as he gets the message loud and clear. his hair brushes against your shoulder as his mouth searches for your nipple, his tongue eagerly swiping out and wets it.

you arch your back, allowing him slightly better access while enabling you to keep your hand stroking up and down. the buttery soft skin of his shaft glides through your fist as you near the velvety head and once there, you swirl and twist your hand over the head, stimulating the nerves there before dragging your hand back down again.

Rúben whines, the sound of it vibrating against your skin and directly onto your pebbled nipple. the longer he drags out the moan, his teeth close around your tight bud and his facial hair scrapes over your skin making you hum from the sensation. "that's it baby, let me know how good this feels for you."

the hand which isn't stroking his cock reaches up and runs the fingers through his short hair, occasionally tugging on the short strands just to make him growl and look up at you. had his fingers been deep within your pussy, he'd have made a comment about feeling you throb. even without his fingers inside you to make a mess between your thighs, you're certain that you'll be climbing from him and leaving a wet patch on his clothing.

"God I love that the closer you are to cumming, the harder and faster you suck. you give yourself away too easily baby," you mock. "maybe I should slow down," you comment and deliberately slow your pace, "or stop altogether."

"don't," Rúben's hand wraps around yours, covering it in it's entirety and forces your hand to resume the rhythm that you'd previously set. he keeps his eyes locked with yours as his tongue swirls and flicks over your nipple in ways that he would had his face been between your thighs. he knows this and so do you. the slight smirk that appears as your eyelids grow heavy as lust consumes you makes you grind your ass into his lap.

"some apology this is," you feign a huff and his smirk turns into a grin.

"you're enjoying yourself, don't lie." he says quietly, his mouth fully away from your skin unlike previous attempts at speaking where your breast would still be within lip distance. he pulls his gaze from you momentarily and lightly blows cold air over your wet skin, making your areola pucker tightly, your nipple to tingle which in turn triggers your core to clench hopelessly around nothing and the cold sensation to do exactly what he intended by making you whine a little.

"ah, ah." he says, shaking his head with disapproval. "denying it will get you nowhere. you've already been teased enough tonight which is why you're making such a song and dance about this. now, i can think of much worse ways to spend my evening than having my cock stroked while sucking on your nipples, but what I really want is to be able to go down on you, maybe give you one or two orgasms and then fuck you. so you have two choices, we can sit here, teasing each other for however long for whatever reason, or you can lay on the sofa here and let me fin-" he didn't need to finish his sentence. you'd heard enough.

your hands pull up your skirt as you climb from his lap, pulling up the fabric until it rides high on your hips and your pussy is exposed as your legs fall open.

"that, was the right answer."

#ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias smut #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias fanfiction #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias drabble #football imagine #football one shot #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #football blurb #football fanfiction #football fanfic #footballer fanfiction

156 notes · View notes

diejager · 11 months ago

Note

I have a fucking insane idea based on a DnD thing I saw once lmao. So basically, if someone went through an immense amount of trauma, it could sort of manifest into another being used for self defense. This being was literally only limited by their imagination. It could be a damn house cat or a fucking dragon. It was basically an extension of their body that was a result of a dangerous or traumatic situation. It could help with other tasks as well, but its main purpose is defense. I need to see the men react to this, I’m begging

Monster au. Plz

~🧋

Cw: trauma, inaccurate magic, tell me if I missed any.

They were familiar with all kind of magic. Be it Old Magics and Magiks, enchantments, hexes, curses, dark arts, and everything known to the world, yours was…. peculiar. Quite peculiar for a person without any ties to a magical lineage or prior knowledge of powers. You were just a normal human - as normal as you could be with all your fearlessness towards monsters and hybrids alike - with a few unique perks and qualities, but a human no less. You weren’t any different from your parents, your extended family or any friends. A mortal with soft flesh, resilient and persevering, wild imaginations and genial abilities to adapt and conquer, and yet, were so, so fragile.

They hadn’t expected it, with Farah - the only witch they personally knew - tied to Alex by the hip and always on the move, their repertoire of magical knowledge was lacking. So, there was a mass of confusion between them, one that made understanding your strange ability difficult, but not impossible. They had Laswell’s help to sift through all existing records, some confidential, hidden under red tapes and confidentiality regulations, and others public, open to any curious eyes and prying noses.

The black Maine Coon that seemed to follow you, her lumbering figure and elegantly, curled fur that stood out among patches of grey and military green and browns of the base brought many questions, but all shrugged away at the mere sight of those piercing green eyes, vibrant lime that seemed to glow in darkness. She could light up the room with a single glance. It was as odd as it was menacing, and she was fiercely protective of you, shadowing your steps, curling her tail around your leg, laying on your lap when you sat and glaring at anyone who tried to approach you.

A spirit animal someone had commented, a guardian in the shape of a cat another had hushed. She was all speculations and would stay that way until someone found out more about your Maine Coon, or if someone grew a pair and actually asked you rather than treating it like a secret mission conducted behind your back. A mystery to resolve, a like game they thought it be amusing to play until you found them out or someone gave up after grueling weeks of hitting a brocade —a dead end.

It was fun and all, at least while it lasted. They felt like they were so close to figuring it out by themselves - pride and ego, you’d cackle. You’d have a field day laughing at them for them, then praise them for holding out so long - and Soap went out and begged for an answer.

“I was wondering when one of you would crack,” you smiled, running your fingers through her fur, brushing away knots and tangles, “Took you longer than I expected.”

You had known of their investigation, but never spoke up. It riled them up, a thrill at finally being given the knowledge they’re hungered for, an adrenaline that pumped from their hearts to know the answer. And you stalled, teasing them with the pretty curl of your lips, taking all the time you needed to have them squirm in their seats and hang at every word that fell from your mouth.

“She’s a… trauma response, of some kind. I don’t really know how or why, but she just appeared one day while I was recovering. I was confused,” you laughed, nuzzling her scruff when she sat up to lick your chin, “Really confused. But I did some tests, experiments out of sheer boredom and discovered she came from my mind- or a product of it.”

“Your mind..?”

“You know humans have vivid imaginations, as physically unfortunate we are, our minds are a… strange thing, and she came right out of it.”

“So she could be… anything?”

You threw your head back, pulling her up in your arms as if she was the lightest kitten ever, your smile so wide it was infectiously making them smile.

“Anything that my mind can conjure up.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

364 notes · View notes

corner-in-corner · 2 months ago

Text

Noona’s hidden world

please don’t judge me 🥹

desc: Jinrang is jealous that boys from second gen know something about you that he doesn’t

jealous!Jinrang x reader, pure fluff, it feels like they’re married for 10 years.

craziest duo from Busan second gen I could ever imagined

“Noona!”

“Min Jihoon!” you and the successor of Hashik crashed in an enthusiastic embrace, as if years rather than days had passed since your last meeting. In Tuesday. Today is Sunday, the same week.

From his position at the head of the table, Jinrang watched you with carefully hidden displeasure. These higher-ups meetings had become a source of mixed emotions for him—pride in having you by his side, yet unease at how eagerly you anticipated these gatherings.

The way you held the young man, his head tucked against your chest (he even took off his cap), your face lit with unrestrained joy—it stirred something dark in Wolf’s chest, making his usual stoic expression harder to maintain.

“Hyukjin!” you waved cheerfully to Hwang Jungeak’s protégé, while still keeping Min Jihoon close. The three of you quickly found your usual corner, heads bent together in animated discussion.

Baek Sang, standing near Jinrang, felt the atmosphere grow heave. It was a familiar tension, one that surfaced whenever you attended these meetings. Everyone knew about Jinrang’s possessive nature—though it had mellowed somewhat over time, sparing the first generation gang members from his mood swings whenever you showed kindness to others.

But the second generation’s appearance, these successors who were strangers to him, seemed to reawaken old demons.

Jinrang refused to call it jealousy. He had worked hard to overcome those unreasonable rages, though in secret, he acknowledged it wasn’t true growth—just discipline, just self-control. Just fear of loosing you.

He adapted well enough with most of the members of Busan four crews, but something about your trio sparked a primal unease in him. The effortless closeness, the inside jokes, the way you lowered your voice when speaking to them—it all hinted at something kept from him, and that thought alone made his jaw clench.

---

That evening, Jinrang entered your shared bedroom to find you curled up in bed, smiling at your phone with barely contained excitement. The moment he approached, you locked the screen, tucking the device away.

“What were you watching?” he settled beside you, resting his head on your chest, his gentle gaze meeting yours with an intensity that belied his expresionless tone.

“Nothing important,” you deflected, running your fingers through his hard. He closed his eyes, releasing a quiet sigh.

Despite the years you’d spent together, there remained a boundary he couldn’t cross—a line you’d drawn and maintained with careful precision. You kept certain parts of yourself locked away, offering no key to solve these mysteries.

Your relationship existed in carefully maintained spaces. In public, you were his partner—present, but always slightly apart from his world. You attended some of their meetings, helped in business matters, served as a bridge between generations. But you never fully immersed yourself in gang matters, maintaining your own identity beyond his shadow.

In private, you shared a different dynamic. Jinrang softened behind closed doors, allowing glimpses of vulnerability that no one else saw. You were the only one who knew how he liked to be held after difficult days, how he buried his face in your neck when words failed him, how the old nightmares still haunted him. Yet even in these intimate moments, you kept parts of yourself carefully guarded.

So many years together. A shared life, a bed, a future.

Yet, never quite all of you.

It was a silent battle—his possessiveness urging him to uncover every hidden part of you, while you maintained those boundaries, ready to withdraw if he pushed too hard.

His patience wore thinner with each passing day.

His arms tightened around you, drawing a soft laugh. Lost in thought, you hugged him back fiercely, then lifted his face to yours with a smile.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“I’ll be busy next Wednesday.”

The brief statement—he knew from experience that if you didn’t share more information immediately, no amount of questioning would reveal your plans.

---

Wednesday was unusually hectic for the King of Busan. Business matters drew him across the city, everything demanding his personal attention

His next stop was the karaoke bar, where an innocent update sent his blood running cold.

“Min Jihoon took leave today,” Shin Arim reported. “He didn’t specify why, but it seemed important.”

Jinrang forced himself to remain calm. Coincidences happened. Beside him, Baek silently prayed this was indeed just a coincidence, though his prayers went unanswered.

“Park Hyukjin requested a day off a week ago,” Hwang Jungeak said, his expression neutral, but shift in Jinrang’s aura was anything but calm.

Jinrang’s teest ground together. Still, it could be fucking coincidence.

But then he saw the three of you.

Through a cafe window, you laughed with two younger men. You were focused on something in your hands, oblivious to his presents.

His mind instantly crafted bloody scenarios—dragging both boys into the Arena, bypassing their mentors’ protection, testing their worth firsthand. But the…

“Noona, you have to stop him!” Jihoon whined. “Or Jinrang-sunbaenim will throw us to the ring and break our bones!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle him,” you waved him off, too absorbed to look at him. “I can’t believe how beautiful my girl is! Absolutely divine!”

Jinrang frowned. What?

Hyukjin leaned in, examining the object. “She really is stunning. How does ORKA-nim keep improving the artwork?”

“I’m telling you, it’s like divine revelation!” you gushed. “It should be illegal to create something this magnificent!”

Jinrang finally looked—really looked—at what had captivated you so much.

It was a collectible card, like the ones Hyun Baekjin sold. But it was drawn.

He had spent years unraveling you, peeling back your layers with careful patience, only to realize he had missed something entirely. Would he ever have discovered this side of you f not for sheer coincidence?

”Why not invite Jinrang-sunbaenim?” Hyukjin asked, unknowingly voicing the question in Jinrang’s mind. “We love your company, but you always invite us instead of him.”

You froze.

”Absolutely not!”

Curious, Jinrang shifted closed to hear better.

“But why?” Jihoon presed.

“You think I haven’t dated before?” you ruffled his hair affectionately. “The only reason this relationship works is because he doesn’t know. As long as he’s unaware, I can control myself and we can stay together.” There was a guilt in your voice.

“I don’t understand…”

“Would he really understand this?” you gestured the card. “It’s always the same pattern—you share your hobby, get excited about it, start talking too much, and then the leave because of it. Every time.” your voice carried old pain.

Each word struck like a physical blow.

You had stood by him through everything. Through blood, fights, power struggles. Your had accepted his darkness, his flaws. And yet, this—this simple joy of yours—you couldn’t trust him with?

Had he failed as a parthner?

“But I found you guys!” you smiled. “Oh, take my picture by the standee!”

Before you could stand up, he stepped forward, taking your phone from your hands.

“Next to her?” he asked, voice unreadable as usual.

You face turned pale, shock making you motionless.

For a moment, Hyukjin worried you might faint.

One look of his and boys fled away, though they needn’t have worried—privately, Jinrang appreciated their role as your safe space.

You stood stiffly beside the standee, watching him for signs of judgement. Jinrang studied you, reminding the same reaction at early days of his courtship.

He studies you for a long moment. Then, he selected a bouquet from a nearby display and placed it in your hands.

“They suit you.” he said simply.

By this simple action, the tension broke. A blush crept across your cheeks, relieve flooding your features.

Standing beside the “divine beauty” girl, you outshone her in Jinrang’s eyes. The smile—not your public smile, not your private one, but something real and beautiful.

He took several photos, satisfaction settling in his chest at finally solving the mystery that had plagued him for so long.

Jinrang knew—he would learn every part of you and claim all of you—one step at a time.

---

That night, back in the warmth of your shared bedroom, you lay curled against him, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. You scrolled through the photos he took, selecting the best ones for your socials.

Jinrang watched you in quiet amusement, fingers lazily tracing patters along your arm. He had spent the evening processing everything—the secret drawers full of merch, the secret meet-ups, the way you had instinctively hidden that part of yourself from him. And yet, here you were now, nestled against him like always, the very embodiment of comfort and trust.

“When did you get so good at taking photos?” You turned the phone towards him, showing off a perfectly framed shot of you standing beside the life-sized character standee, your face radiant with happiness.

“It’s because it’s you,” he replied, tightening his embrace.

“I should make you my official photographer then.” you teased.

He smirked. “As you wish, Your Grace.” His voice imitating webtoon characters he had skimmed through earlier.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at him.

His arms around you spoke better than his words—protection, acceptance, love without condition.

But then, your laughter turned into something more hesistant. “You really don’t mind?” you asked, voice quieter now. The question was heavier than it seemed, carrying the weight of past rejections and failed relationships.

Jinrang exhaled slowly, as if breathing out the last traces of whatever resentment or frustration had lingered from earlier. “No,” he said simply. “Next time I’ll go with you”

You blinked, titling your head up to study his emotionless face. “Even if I talk too much about it?”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I want to know every part of you—even the ones you think I won’t understand.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “You might regret this when I start a character analysis”

He met your gaze, eyes filled with something steady and unshakable. “Never.”

After a bit, he added.

“Though I won’t be able to memorize the difference in K-pop generations”

“Why did you—”

“Hyun Baekjin is obsessed with this.”

---

Much later, you remained wrapped up in each other, scrolling through photos from previous events. Jinrang listened as you spoke about the stories behind the characters, the nuances of the worldbuilding, power dynamics. Your words tumbled out in excited rushes, only pausing occasionally—almost cautiously—to check if he got bored.

He never did.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you,” you murmured, voice full of guilt.

His arms tightened around you, grounding you in place. “Don’t apologize for protecting yourself,” he said, his voice low, firm. “But know you don’t have to. Not with me.”

You swallowed, the meaning behind his words settling deep. Then, shifting slightly in his embrace, you placed a lingering kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

Silence stretched between you—comfortable and understanding.

“You look hot in this costume,” Jinrang commented the photo from cosplay event. “Give me a show”

P.S.

The next morning, as you prepared coffee for both of you, Jinrang sat at the table, still half-lost in thought.

You placed a cup in front of him, watching as he took a sip. Then almost too casually, you added, “By the way… don’t bully the children.”

Jinrang frowned. He looked up. “When did I—”

“They are scared of you,” you said matter-of-fact, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. “They don’t know how to act around you. Don’t scare them.”

“I never did.”

“Especially Jihoon and Hyukjin.” you took a sip of your own coffee. “They were practically crying about how you were going to break their bones.”

Jinrang set his cup with a quiet clink. “They are my favorites.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Since when?”

“Since yesterday.” His expression was unreadable. “If I break their bones, it’s just to make them stronger.”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Never say this to children.”

They earned respect of the King of Busan. And, for better of worse, that meant these two would have to deal with him for a long time.

notes: let’s hope I didn’t messed up with names. I have zero explanation why exactly Min Jihoon and Park Hyukjin duo, if Shin Arim exists.

#lookism #lookism jinrang #jinrang #jinrang x reader #zero explanations from my sideee

115 notes · View notes