#but if they didn’t oil it before they sent it out i guess i can see how this would happen

[millyh23]

Bound By Trust

word count: 11.9k

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Y/N stood at the centre of the pitch, the sun setting behind the Emirates Stadium casting a warm, golden hue over the grass. Training had just wrapped up, and most of the team was heading back to the locker rooms, laughing and chatting about their plans for the evening. But Y/N lingered, stretching her legs as she replayed the day’s drills in her mind, the passing patterns, the defensive shape—everything that made Arsenal such a well-oiled machine.

As she bent down to tie her laces tighter, she heard footsteps approaching. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Leah Williamson’s presence was always familiar, a quiet confidence that seemed to wrap around the team like a safety net.

“You’re pushing yourself harder than usual today,” Leah said, her voice gentle but with an undertone of concern.

Y/N straightened up and turned to her, shrugging lightly. “Just trying to get better.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she stood next to Y/N. “You’re already good enough. That’s why you’re here.”

Y/N smiled but didn’t respond, shifting her gaze back to the now-empty field. She had always been hard on herself, always feeling like she needed to prove she belonged at a club as prestigious as Arsenal. The standards were high, and even though she knew she had the talent, there was always a nagging doubt at the back of her mind.

“I’ve noticed something,” Leah continued after a moment of silence. “You don’t trust yourself on the ball as much as you should.”

Y/N glanced at her, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

Leah sighed, stepping closer so they were facing each other. “You hesitate. When you’ve got the ball and space in front of you, you hesitate just for a split second. It’s like you’re second-guessing your instincts.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but Leah cut her off with a knowing look.

“I know you,” Leah said softly. “You’re smart, and you’ve got great vision on the pitch. But if you don’t trust yourself, you’re going to hold back, and that’s going to affect the whole team. We need to know that you’re confident out there. That we can trust you.”

Y/N swallowed, her throat tightening. Trust. It was such a simple word, but it carried so much weight. She had always been the type to put immense pressure on herself, to not let anyone down. But maybe, in doing so, she was forgetting the most important part—that the team trusted her, and she needed to trust herself too.

“I’ve been working on it,” Y/N admitted quietly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “But sometimes it feels like I’m not enough.”

Leah’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You are enough. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

The sincerity in Leah’s words sent a wave of warmth through Y/N. She had always admired Leah’s leadership, the way she could read the game and her teammates like a book. And in that moment, Y/N realized that Leah’s trust wasn’t just a given—it was earned, and it was genuine.

“Thanks, Leah,” Y/N murmured, feeling the weight in her chest ease just a little.

Leah gave her a small smile, squeezing her shoulder before stepping back. “We’re all bound by trust on this team. We have to be. Otherwise, none of this works. And you’re a part of that, Y/N. So trust yourself as much as we trust you, alright?”

Y/N nodded, a new sense of determination settling within her. She knew it wouldn’t be an overnight change, but she could start small. Trust herself with every touch, every pass, every decision. It was the only way forward.

As the two of them walked off the pitch together, the stadium lights flickered on, illuminating the path ahead. Y/N felt lighter somehow, the pressure she’d placed on herself fading in the presence of something stronger—trust. The kind that wasn’t just given but built over time, through sweat, grit, and shared goals. It was what made Arsenal more than just a club. It made them a team.

And Y/N was ready to live up to that trust, bound by it in every way.

The hum of the crowd filled Y/N’s ears as she stood in the tunnel, heart pounding in anticipation. Today was the day. A crucial league match, with Arsenal needing three points to maintain their title race. After weeks of hard work, she had started to trust herself on the pitch. Leah’s words had sunk in deep, and her confidence was growing, game by game.

She could feel it during training, during drills, and in every touch of the ball. It wasn’t perfect, but the hesitation that once plagued her was beginning to fade. She was making quicker decisions, pushing forward with more certainty, trusting her instincts. The team noticed it too, and there was an unspoken understanding between them now—a bond forged by trust.

As the whistle blew and they stepped onto the pitch, Y/N took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to shake off the nerves. The Emirates Stadium was packed, fans chanting, banners waving. This was her stage, and she was ready to play her part.

The first few minutes of the match went by in a blur of energy and movement. Arsenal controlled possession, and Y/N, stationed in her usual role on the wing, felt alive. She darted in and out of pockets of space, always aware of her surroundings, always thinking two steps ahead. Her first few touches were crisp, and when she drove forward, she did it without hesitation, pushing the ball past defenders with newfound confidence.

But then came the 30th minute.

A sloppy pass from the midfield found Y/N in an awkward position. The ball came at her too quickly, and her first touch was heavy. She chased it, but the opposing defender was faster, sweeping the ball away with ease and launching a counterattack.

The groan from the crowd hit her ears like a wave, but Y/N shook it off. Mistakes happened. She just needed to recover.

Except, they kept happening.

Five minutes later, she found herself in space on the edge of the box. Leah played a perfect ball through, setting Y/N up for a chance to score. All she needed to do was shoot. But the hesitation she had worked so hard to shake off crept back in at the worst moment. Instead of firing, she took an extra touch, allowing the defender to close her down, and her eventual shot was blocked.

Another groan from the crowd. Louder this time.

Y/N clenched her fists, her mind racing. Focus. Get it together.

But the game seemed to spiral out of control after that. Passes she usually nailed were going astray, her positioning felt off, and she couldn’t seem to get her rhythm back. It was as if all the progress she had made in trusting herself was unraveling before her eyes.

Then, in the 60th minute, disaster struck.

Arsenal were pushing forward, trying to break down the opposition’s defense. Y/N received the ball deep in her own half with pressure mounting. The opposing forward was closing her down fast, but instead of playing the safe pass back to the keeper, she tried to dribble her way out.

It was a mistake.

She lost the ball in a dangerous area, and within seconds, the opposition capitalized, scoring on the break.

The stadium fell into a stunned silence for a moment, and then the boos started. Low at first, then rising to a deafening roar as the frustration from the fans became tangible. Y/N stood frozen, staring at the scoreboard as the opposition celebrated.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She could feel her teammates' eyes on her, but no one said anything. The boos continued to rain down, sharp and relentless. She had never heard anything like it before, not directed at her. It was suffocating, crushing her from the inside out.

Leah was the first to come over, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, but the words she said didn’t register. Y/N couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the crowd, the disappointment echoing in her mind. Every cheer from the opposition fans felt like another knife twisting in her gut.

When the final whistle blew, Arsenal had lost 2-0. And Y/N, the player who had spent weeks clawing her way toward trusting herself, walked off the pitch with her head down, drowning in shame.

The locker room was deathly quiet. The team sat in silence, the tension heavy in the air. No one wanted to talk, especially not Y/N. She sat in front of her locker, staring at the floor, replaying every mistake over and over again in her mind.

She could still hear the boos ringing in her ears. She’d never been booed before—never been the one fans turned their backs on. But today, she had been.

Leah sat beside her, not saying a word, but her presence was steady, like an anchor Y/N didn’t feel she deserved.

“I messed up,” Y/N whispered, breaking the silence.

Leah exhaled softly, tilting her head to look at her. “It wasn’t just on you. We all had a bad game.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling up inside her. “No, I cost us the game. I froze. I… I didn’t trust myself out there.”

Leah frowned, her gaze soft but serious. “One bad game doesn’t erase everything you’ve worked for. You’ve come a long way, Y/N. Don’t let today be the end of that progress.”

Y/N wanted to believe her, but the weight of the boos, the mistakes, the disappointment—it all felt like too much. Trusting herself had been hard enough. Now, it felt impossible.

“I don’t know if I can bounce back from this,” Y/N admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Leah leaned in, her voice steady and sure. “You can. Because we trust you. That hasn’t changed.”

Y/N didn’t respond, unsure of whether to believe her. The road to trusting herself had been rocky, and now, after a game like this, it felt like she was back at square one.

But Leah didn’t leave her side. And maybe that was the first step—trusting that even when everything fell apart, her teammates would be there to pick her back up.

Y/N jogged onto the training pitch, the cool morning air biting at her skin. It had been a few days since the disastrous match that left her confidence in tatters. The boos from the crowd still echoed in her mind, replaying whenever she found herself in a moment of stillness. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let that one game define her.

Today was a fresh start, a chance to rebuild.

As warm-ups began, Y/N fell into the rhythm of the routine. Simple passing drills, weaving between cones, sprinting back and forth. Everything was familiar. She kept her focus, pushing away the doubt, reminding herself that she was good enough to be here. Leah’s words���we trust you—echoed in her head.

But as training progressed, something felt off. Something small, subtle. Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it at first, but a creeping sense of unease began to settle in her chest.

It started with the passing drills.

Normally, she was involved in the tight passing circuits, where quick, sharp ball movement was key. But today, when the ball came her way, it felt… hesitant. Her teammates weren’t passing to her with the same confidence they usually had. They took an extra second before sending the ball her way, as if second-guessing whether she was the right option.

She brushed it off at first, telling herself it was just her imagination. But as the session wore on, she couldn’t ignore it. When she called for the ball during a 5v5 game, her teammates would glance at her and then look away, choosing to pass to someone else instead.

She saw it with Leah too, which hurt the most. Leah, who had always been her biggest supporter on the pitch, was opting for safer options, choosing to play the ball back to the defense rather than through to Y/N in midfield. It was small—barely noticeable—but once Y/N spotted it, she couldn’t unsee it.

The next time Y/N found herself in a shooting drill, McCabe lined up beside her. They were supposed to take turns firing shots on goal. Katie usually threw her arm around Y/N’s shoulder, making some cheeky joke to lighten the mood. But today, she didn’t say a word. When Y/N stepped up for her shot, she felt Katie’s eyes on her—watching, almost like she was expecting her to mess up.

Y/N’s shot went wide, skimming past the post, and Katie muttered something under her breath before quickly taking her own shot without looking at Y/N.

It was nothing obvious. No outright blame. But Y/N felt the growing distance, the subtle shift in the way her teammates interacted with her. They weren’t angry, not openly. But there was something in the way they moved around her now, a hesitation in their movements, as if they no longer fully trusted her to make the right decision on the ball.

When Y/N joined the next possession drill, Alessia caught her eye. Y/N raised a hand, signaling for the pass. She hesitated, her body language stiff, before turning and passing to Katie instead.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. There it is again, she thought. It was happening more frequently now—little moments of hesitation, like they didn’t believe she could handle the pressure. And it wasn’t just Alessia. Kim, the ever reliable captain, even showed a flicker of reluctance when Y/N was in a tight spot.

It wasn’t malicious. No one was purposefully shutting her out. It was more instinctual—an unconscious decision to avoid risk, to play it safe. And in their minds, Y/N was starting to represent that risk.

As the training session wound down, they moved into a full-pitch game. Y/N was determined to prove herself, to shake off this creeping doubt and show her teammates they could trust her again. But every time she tried to make herself available for the ball, there was an invisible wall between her and the rest of the team.

At one point, she found herself in acres of space on the left flank. She waved her arms, calling for the ball. Stina had it, and Y/N was the obvious option. But instead of playing the pass, she turned in the opposite direction, playing a shorter, safer ball back to the defense.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling her chest tighten. It wasn’t just hesitation now. It was avoidance. They didn’t trust her.

The game continued, but Y/N couldn’t focus. Her mind was racing, replaying every moment from training. It was like a million tiny fractures forming around her, each subtle action another crack in the trust she had been working so hard to build.

By the end of the session, Y/N was exhausted—not from the physical exertion, but from the weight of what she had noticed. The trust her teammates had once shown her so freely was no longer there. It was fragile, slipping away with every subconscious decision they made on the pitch. And they probably didn’t even realize they were doing it.

As they walked off the pitch, Y/N lingered behind, staring at her boots, her mind swirling with doubt. She could feel the distance growing between her and the rest of the team, and she wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap.

She thought back to Leah’s words from before—we trust you—but now, those words felt hollow. The truth was staring her in the face. The team didn’t trust her anymore. And the worst part was, she wasn’t sure if she trusted herself either.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror in the Arsenal locker room, her hands gripping the edge of the sink as she stared at her reflection. Dark circles lingered beneath her eyes, a testament to sleepless nights spent agonizing over every touch, every mistake, every moment where her teammates had chosen to pass to someone else instead of her. The subtle rejections, the subconscious actions that screamed they didn’t trust her—it was all too much.

She had tried to brush it off, to tell herself it wasn’t a big deal. But the doubt festered. She had poured her heart into this team, but they had slowly started pulling away from her, treating her like she was a liability, not an asset.

Not anymore.

Today, something snapped inside her. She was done waiting for their approval, done trying to rebuild trust that had crumbled in ways she couldn’t even control. If they didn’t believe in her, she would show them exactly what she was capable of without needing their validation.

She shoved her locker closed with a loud clang, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way by a few of her teammates. Leah looked like she was about to say something, but Y/N didn’t give her a chance. She strode past her, pulling her jacket tighter as she headed out to the training pitch. There was no room for conversation today.

No room for anything but cold, ruthless focus.

From the moment the whistle blew to start the warm-up, Y/N was a different player. Gone was the hesitation, the doubt that had clung to her every movement. Instead, there was a sharpness in her eyes, an edge to her game that none of her teammates had seen before.

During possession drills, she moved with precision, cutting through defenders like they weren’t even there. When the ball came her way, she didn’t wait for approval. She didn’t care about making the safe play. Every pass was crisp, every touch was purposeful, and every shot was hit with venom.

Katie, usually quick with a joke or a snide remark, felt the sting of Y/N’s newfound intensity. During a one-on-one duel, Y/N drove past her with ease, leaving Katie stumbling in her wake. Instead of the usual banter that followed, Y/N didn’t even look back. She kept moving, eyes focused on the next target.

"Alright, Y/N, calm down," she muttered under her breath, but there was no real heat in her voice. She was unnerved, like the rest of them.

It wasn’t just Katie. In a scrimmage, Alessia found herself outmuscled by Y/N, who bulldozed past her to fire a shot into the top corner. Alessia frowned, jogging back as Y/N turned away without celebration, her expression icy.

Even Leah, who had always been Y/N’s closest ally, noticed the shift. When she tried to give a piece of tactical advice, Y/N brushed her off, barely sparing her a glance. “I’ve got it,” Y/N said flatly, cutting off any attempt at friendly instruction. Leah blinked in surprise, unsure of what to say.

Training became a battleground, and Y/N was at the center of it all—uncompromising, ruthless, and unwilling to let anyone stand in her way. She played every drill as if it were a final, every duel as if it were personal. And it worked. Her teammates, once hesitant to pass her the ball, started giving it to her again—but it wasn’t out of trust. It was out of fear.

By the end of the session, the team gathered around the coach for final instructions, but Y/N stood apart, her arms crossed, eyes distant. She could feel the unease settling in around her, could see the way her teammates exchanged glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. They were confused. They didn’t understand where this version of Y/N had come from.

The truth was, she didn’t care if they understood. They had pushed her aside, made her feel like she didn’t belong. Now, she was taking control.

As they broke for the locker room, Leah jogged up beside her. “Y/N, you alright? You were… intense out there today.”

Y/N didn’t slow down. “I’m fine,” she replied curtly, her voice lacking any warmth.

Leah frowned, clearly unsettled by the change in her demeanor. “Look, I know things have been rough, but we’re a team. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N stopped, turning to face her with a cold, hard stare. “A team?” she repeated, bitterness lacing her words. “Funny, I didn’t feel like part of the team when you all stopped passing to me. When you decided I wasn’t good enough.”

Leah opened her mouth to respond, but Y/N didn’t give her the chance.

“Save it,” Y/N said, her voice low and sharp. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your trust anymore. I’m done waiting for you all to decide I’m worth it.”

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Leah standing there, speechless.

The next few days passed in a blur of cold stares and silence. Y/N threw herself into every training session with the same brutal intensity, shutting everyone out. The team, sensing the shift, began to tread carefully around her. The friendliness returned—Alessia tried striking up conversations, Katie offered her usual teasing remarks, and Leah went out of her way to compliment Y/N’s play. But Y/N ignored it all.

She was done playing their games.

During a team meeting, Kim passed her a bottle of water with a small smile, but Y/N took it without even acknowledging her. The tension was palpable. The more Y/N distanced herself, the more her teammates tried to reach out—but it was too late. She wasn’t interested in their sudden friendliness, not after they had shut her out when she needed them most.

On the pitch, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with. No one dared question her decisions anymore. She was playing with the kind of confidence that didn’t require validation from anyone else. But off the pitch, she was unreachable. Every attempt to joke, to lighten the mood, was met with icy indifference. She had built a wall, and she wasn’t letting anyone through.

The team, once so close-knit, was beginning to fracture, and Y/N could see it in their eyes. They wanted things to go back to normal. They wanted the old Y/N back—the one who laughed with them, joked with them, leaned on them.

But that Y/N was gone.

The next game came, and Y/N walked onto the pitch with the same cold determination she had carried into training. She didn’t hear the crowd, didn’t see the banners or feel the weight of the expectations. All she knew was that she was there to do her job, and she would do it without looking back.

She didn’t need their trust anymore. She had her own.

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as Y/N stepped out of the tunnel, the familiar roar of the crowd hitting her like a wall. But this time, the noise wasn’t for her. It was against her.

Booing.

Loud, relentless, and piercing. The sound echoed in her ears, like a knife twisting in her gut. As Y/N walked onto the pitch, her heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the searing burn of betrayal.

It wasn’t just the boos. The fans were chanting, harsh words spilling from their mouths, voices full of venom. She could hear it all.

“OVERRATED!”

“BENCH WARMER!”

“WASTE OF MONEY!”

Her jaw tightened, but she kept walking, eyes forward, refusing to let the weight of their hatred drag her down. It wasn’t the first time she had felt like an outsider. But this time, it stung worse than ever, because these were supposed to be her fans. The ones who had cheered her name when she first arrived. The ones who had celebrated her goals. Now, they were tearing her apart.

Her teammates exchanged nervous glances, clearly feeling the tension in the air. Leah moved closer to her, like she wanted to say something, but Y/N brushed past her. There was no point in talking. Not anymore.

She didn’t need anyone’s comfort. Not from her teammates. Not from the fans.

As the match kicked off, Y/N felt the tension in every muscle, like a coiled spring ready to snap. The ball zipped across the field, but for the first few minutes, it was hard to focus. The boos still rang in her ears, cutting deep. She could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, waiting for her to slip up, waiting for her to prove them right.

But she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

It started with a subtle shift—a quick turn on the ball, shaking off a defender with ease. Then, a sharp pass that split the midfield open, setting up a dangerous attack. And then, when the ball came her way again, she sprinted down the wing, faster and sharper than she had in weeks.

She was done playing with doubt.

By the 30th minute, Y/N had transformed the game. She was everywhere—breaking up play, threading impossible passes, cutting through defenders like they weren’t even there. Her touch was magnetic, pulling the ball toward her with a kind of grace and aggression that no one could ignore.

The crowd’s boos had softened. She could feel it—the shift in the atmosphere as the fans started to realize what they were witnessing. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t playing for them.

With ten minutes left in the first half, Y/N found herself at the edge of the box, surrounded by defenders. The crowd held its breath as she glanced up, eyes scanning the field with laser focus. And then she made her move—one swift cut to the left, leaving two defenders trailing behind, before curling a shot around the keeper and into the far corner of the net.

The stadium erupted into cheers, the same voices that had been jeering her now roaring her name.

But Y/N didn’t react. No fist pumps. No celebratory screams. No running toward the fans like she might have done before. Instead, she stood in place, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths as the noise washed over her.

And then she turned to the crowd—slowly, deliberately.

With one hand, Y/N pressed her index finger to her lips in a quiet, commanding gesture. The "Speak Now" celebration. Silence. She was demanding their silence.

The fans, mid-cheer, faltered, the shift in her expression unmistakable. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a statement.

She had heard them. She had felt every one of their insults, their boos, their taunts. And she had answered with her performance.

But she didn’t need their approval. She didn’t need their cheers now that she was winning.

The second half began, and Y/N played with the same intensity. The crowd was fully behind her now, cheering with every touch, every pass, every sprint down the wing. But she didn’t acknowledge it.

She didn’t need their validation.

Another assist, another goal, and yet she never once lifted her head to thank the crowd. Even when her teammates tried to pull her into celebrations, she shrugged them off, cold and distant. Her focus was razor-sharp, her mind locked on the game.

The final whistle blew, and Arsenal walked away with a hard-fought victory. The crowd was on their feet, chanting her name now, the same fans who had booed her at the start of the match. They wanted her to soak it in, to smile, to give them the satisfaction of seeing her return their admiration.

But Y/N didn’t even glance their way.

She walked off the pitch as if the noise didn’t exist, her face a mask of stone. Her teammates crowded around her, full of congratulations and praise, but she barely acknowledged them.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her team’s efforts or the win. It was that everything—the trust, the loyalty, the connection—felt hollow now. The boos had cut too deep, the doubt too heavy to shake. She had proven her point, but there was no satisfaction in it. Not from them.

And so, as the cheers rained down from the stands, Y/N kept walking, never once looking back.

The atmosphere in the press room was electric as journalists shuffled in, eager to catch the latest buzz about the upcoming friendly match between England and the USA. Y/N and Sarina sat at the long table, flanked by the team, but she could feel the tension in the air. The media had a way of inflating situations, and today was no different.

Emma Hayes, the newly appointed head coach of the USWNT, sat on the other end of the table Y/N, a self-assured smile on her face. Y/N had always respected Emma’s coaching prowess, but today she could feel the underlying edge in the air, especially as Emma turned her gaze toward her.

“Y/N, your recent performance against Arsenal has sparked a lot of discussions,” one journalist began. “Emma, do you think her confidence is misplaced, given how she has been booed by her own fans?”

Hayes leaned forward, her expression sharp. “Look, I think she’s a talented player, sure. But let’s not kid ourselves. Those goals she scored were lucky. Cockiness doesn’t win matches. We’ll see how she performs against a team that’s been world-class for years.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle, her laughter echoing lightly through the room. The tension seemed to dissolve for just a moment as she leaned into the mic. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she replied, a playful smirk on her lips. The journalists exchanged glances, half-amused, half-nervous at her nonchalance in the face of Emma’s sharp words.

As the day of the match arrived, the stadium was packed with fans from both sides, the buzz of excitement palpable. Y/N stood in the locker room, her heart racing—not with anxiety, but with determination. She was ready to show everyone, especially Emma, that her skill was no fluke.

The whistle blew, and the game kicked off. From the first touch, Y/N felt the rhythm of the match, moving fluidly with the ball at her feet. The USWNT players were fierce, but Y/N was more than prepared. The first half was intense, with chances flying from both sides. Y/N was quick, agile, and fierce, darting past defenders like a shadow.

Then it happened.

In the 30th minute, Y/N found herself on the edge of the box. The ball came to her, and with a quick glance at the goal, she unleashed a stunning strike that soared into the net, leaving Naeher no chance.

The crowd erupted, and Y/N didn’t just run to her teammates. Instead, she turned to face the USA bench, locking eyes with Emma. A wide smile spread across her face, and she raised her arms in a triumphant celebration, soaking in the cheers of the fans while pointedly ignoring the coach.

“Lucky shot!” Emma mouthed from the sidelines, but Y/N just waved her off, a confident grin on her face.

The game continued, and Y/N was in the zone. Her movements were precise, her decision-making sharp. She danced around defenders, threading through the tightest spaces. And soon enough, she added another goal to her tally—a beautiful header from a corner kick that flew past the keeper.

With each goal, she celebrated more emphatically in front of Emma, reveling in the chance to prove her wrong. After her second goal, she took a moment to blow a kiss toward the US bench, her laughter echoing across the pitch.

“Still lucky?” she mouthed playfully, her heart racing with adrenaline.

The score was now 3-1, and the game was slipping away from the USA. Y/N was relentless, and with fifteen minutes left, she found the ball at her feet yet again. This time, she maneuvered past two defenders before slotting the ball into the bottom corner of the net, her third goal of the match.

The crowd was deafening, a mix of cheers and chants for the England team. Y/N turned to Emma once more, her finger to her lips in that familiar “shh” gesture.

“Guess I’m just lucky,” she called out, a playful wink accompanying her taunt.

By the end of the match, Y/N had scored three goals, leading England to a convincing 4-2 victory. As the final whistle blew, she couldn’t help but beam with pride, the weight of Emma’s earlier comments now nonexistent.

Walking off the pitch, she was met with applause from teammates and fans alike. As Y/N approached the USA bench, she stopped in front of Emma, who looked slightly taken aback by the impressive performance.

“Did you see that, Emma?” Y/N asked, her voice dripping with playful confidence. “I guess my luck worked out today.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms but unable to hide a smirk. “Well played, Y/N. But don’t get too cocky; there’s always a rematch.”

With that, Y/N turned away, laughter bubbling up inside her as she walked toward her teammates, the thrill of victory fueling her every step. She had come to camp to show that she could rise above the doubts and criticisms, and she had done just that—proving, without a doubt, that she was a force to be reckoned with.

The training ground buzzed with excitement as the England team prepared for their next match. Y/N stood a little apart from the others, a mix of anticipation and caution swirling in her stomach. Being back in the camp meant being around her Arsenal teammates, and while she had felt the thrill of victory just days before against the USA, there was still an unspoken tension between them.

After that game, Y/N had celebrated her performance and her ability to rise above their earlier doubts, but deep down, she knew that her relationship with her teammates was still fragile. It was easy to brush off the boos from the crowd, but the weight of her teammates’ previous actions lingered like a ghost at the back of her mind.

“Y/N! Come join us!” Lucy called, her voice bright and inviting as she waved her over to a small group gathered around a table.

Y/N hesitated. Memories of their earlier interactions flooded back—how they had once seemed so united, and how quickly those bonds had frayed. She could see Leah, Alessia, and Beth chatting animatedly, laughter spilling from their lips, and for a moment, Y/N’s heart ached to be part of it. But the echoes of doubt reminded her to tread carefully.

“Hey, just grabbing some water!” Y/N called back, forcing a smile as she took a step away from the group. The last thing she wanted was to fall back into old patterns, to let herself get too close too soon.

After training, Y/N found herself lingering at the edge of the pitch, watching as her teammates shared inside jokes and playful banter. Leah caught her gaze and smiled, her expression warm and genuine. Y/N felt a flicker of longing but quickly smothered it. They had all said things—things that had hurt her—and trust was something that would take time to rebuild.

“Y/N!” Leah jogged over, her breath coming in quick bursts. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

“Maybe later,” Y/N replied, her tone light but her heart heavy. “I want to go over some drills first.”

“Come on, we’d love to have you!” Leah pressed, her eyes hopeful.

Y/N knew Leah meant well, but the offer felt suffocating. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite the smiles and apologies, her teammates were still subconsciously doubting her. “I just need a bit of space to clear my head,” she added, trying to soften the rejection.

Leah’s smile faltered for a moment, but she nodded. “Alright, but we miss you, Y/N. Just remember that.”

As Leah walked back to the group, Y/N felt the familiar mix of guilt and resolve. She missed them too, but keeping them at arm’s length felt like the only way to protect herself right now.

Later that evening, the team gathered for a meeting in their accommodations. The atmosphere was light, filled with laughter and chatter as the coaches outlined their strategy for the upcoming match. Y/N sat at the back, her heart racing as she tried to focus on the plans laid out before them.

When the discussion shifted to team bonding, Alessia looked around, her eyes landing on Y/N. “What about a game night later? We could all use a bit of fun!”

Y/N felt a surge of warmth at the suggestion, but she quickly reminded herself of her boundaries. “Sounds great, but I might skip out tonight,” she said, forcing a casual tone. “I have some things to catch up on.”

Tooney tilted her head, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. “You’re always ‘catching up’ on something, Y/N. Come on, just for a little while?”

It would be so easy to say yes, to slip back into the comfort of friendship and camaraderie. But Y/N felt the walls she had built around herself tighten, the need for self-preservation overshadowing her longing for connection.

“Maybe next time,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “I just need a bit more time to get settled.”

As the night wore on, Y/N lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt torn—wanting to reconcile with her teammates but still needing to shield herself from further hurt.

After a while, she heard laughter and chatter in the hallway outside her room. It was her teammates, gathering for their game night. The sounds were inviting, but she remained resolute, knowing that jumping back into the fold too quickly could lead to old wounds reopening.

Yet, in that moment of solitude, she also felt a flicker of hope. Maybe there was a way to navigate this new dynamic—rebuilding trust slowly, one step at a time.

The next morning, during breakfast, Y/N made a tentative decision. She could at least acknowledge her teammates without fully immersing herself in their camaraderie just yet. As she joined the table, she greeted them with a smile, feeling the warmth of their presence.

“Hey, how was game night?” Y/N asked, her curiosity genuine.

“It was hilarious! You missed out on some epic moments,” Alessia replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/N allowed herself to laugh lightly, feeling the tension begin to ease. “I’ll catch the next one, promise.”

Leah beamed, and Beth leaned in closer. “Good! Just don’t leave us hanging next time, alright? We need our star charades player.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a flicker of warmth spread through her chest. The distance she maintained was still there, but it felt a bit softer. Perhaps she could find a balance—a way to keep her teammates at arm’s length while still allowing for the possibility of healing.

As the meal continued, Y/N remained engaged, listening to their stories and sharing light banter. She felt the barriers she had built slowly start to shift, the cracks allowing for a fragile connection to grow.

Maybe reconciliation didn’t have to mean complete vulnerability. It could be a dance, a careful waltz where trust was rebuilt step by step, and for now, that was enough.

---

The fluorescent lights of the Arsenal training facility felt harsh as Y/N entered the lounge, her mood buoyed by a solid training session. The sounds of laughter and chatter greeted her, but today, an unease settled in her chest. She had been meaning to talk to Leah, but every time she tried, the words got stuck in her throat. There was still an invisible barrier between them, one that neither seemed to know how to cross and Y/N missed her friend.

Y/N grabbed her phone, scrolling through her notifications absentmindedly. A new tweet caught her eye, and curiosity got the better of her. She clicked on it, her heart sinking as she recognized the page that had been gaining traction online. It was a cruel account that thrived on negativity, targeting players with biting insults and relentless mockery.

“Can you believe how overrated she is? Just one lucky game against the USA, and suddenly she thinks she’s the star of the team. Please.”

Y/N felt her stomach churn as she read through the comments, each one more brutal than the last. They mocked her skills, her personality, and her place in the team. It was disheartening, especially when all she wanted was to be seen and valued.

As she scrolled, something caught her attention. One tweet mentioned a moment that only one person knew about—something deeply personal she had confided in Leah during one of their late-night talks. It was a painful memory from her childhood, one that she had kept locked away, sharing only with someone she thought she could trust.

“Funny how she thinks she’s a part of this team when she can’t even handle the pressure. Remember that time she almost broke down after a practice? Guess she just can’t take the heat.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Anger surged through her, hotter than anything she had ever felt. How could someone know about that moment unless they were there? And the only person there was Leah.

“Leah?” Y/N whispered, her heart racing as realization dawned on her. The only person she had ever opened up to was Leah. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Was she behind this hate page? The betrayal felt like a sharp knife twisting in her gut.

With trembling fingers, she clicked on the profile. It was anonymous, of course, but the account had a familiar rhythm and tone, one that she recognized all too well. Her heart sank further as she began connecting the dots. Leah’s laughter, her playful teasing—it all felt different now, tainted by this newfound suspicion.

Y/N’s mind raced. Was Leah really behind this? Was she laughing at her, too?

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Y/N tried to focus during training, but every time Leah’s voice rang out, her blood boiled. She could feel Leah’s eyes on her, and it made her skin crawl. Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal looming like a dark cloud.

After training, she made her way to the locker room, determination settling in her bones. Y/N needed to confront Leah. She needed answers.

As she entered, the atmosphere was lively, with teammates joking and chatting, but Y/N felt like an outsider. Leah was at her locker, chatting animatedly with Katie, but when she noticed Y/N, her expression faltered slightly.

“Hey, Y/N! Great session today!” Leah called, forcing a smile.

Y/N felt a surge of anger at Leah’s false cheer. “We need to talk,” she said, her tone cold and flat.

Leah’s smile faded, replaced by confusion. “Uh, okay? What’s up?”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. “I saw that page again.You know the won that keeps going viral with the troll tweets. And there was something in there… something I only told you.”

Leah’s brows knitted together, " I don't kn-" but before she could respond, Y/N pressed on. “You know what I’m talking about. How could someone else know that, if it wasn’t you? Either your telling someone and their writing this or your the dick behind the page. So, which one is it are you a gossip or are you just a bitch?"

The locker room fell silent, the laughter and chatter abruptly cut off as all eyes turned to them. Leah’s expression shifted from confusion to something deeper, a flicker of guilt that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Y/N, I—” Leah started, but Y/N cut her off, unable to bear the thought of excuses.

“No! You don’t get to explain. How could you? After everything we’ve been through, how could you betray me like this?”

The air was thick with tension. Y/N could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the embarrassment of her feelings laid bare in front of their teammates.

Leah stepped closer, her voice low. “I swear I didn’t—”

“Then how? How could they know about something so personal unless you had something to do with it?” Y/N’s voice cracked, anger mixed with hurt.

“Y/N, listen. I would never do that to you,” Leah insisted, her eyes earnest. “You have to believe me. There are people out there who will twist your words, but I’m not one of them. I’ve got your back.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. “Do you? Because it feels like you’re just another person trying to bring me down.”

Leah’s expression shifted to frustration. “That’s not fair! You’re pushing me away, and now you’re making it seem like I’m the enemy when I’m just trying to help.”

Y/N shook her head, a mix of anger and sorrow swirling inside her. “You don’t get it, Leah. It’s hard for me to trust anyone, and especially someone I thought I could confide in.”

Silence fell heavy around them, and Y/N could see the hurt in Leah’s eyes. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving just the two of them and the pain that had grown between them.

“Y/N, I swear I didn’t say anything. Please believe me. We’re a team, and I want to be there for you,” Leah pleaded, stepping closer.

But Y/N took a step back, the distance between them feeling necessary. “I need time. Time to figure things out.”

With that, Y/N turned and walked out of the locker room, leaving behind the laughter and camaraderie that once felt like home. The weight of betrayal hung over her, and as she stepped into the cool air outside, she felt more alone than ever.

In the days that followed, Y/N struggled with the heaviness in her heart. The hate page was still active, and the words stung more than ever. Each cruel tweet felt like a dagger, but knowing that Leah could have been involved made it unbearable.

She maintained a distance from her teammates, especially Leah. While they tried to include her, Y/N kept her walls up, her trust shattered. The once-strong bonds felt like threads about to snap.

During training, Y/N poured all her anger into her performance, her determination becoming a shield against the hurt. But even as she excelled, the shadows of doubt lingered, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Leah had betrayed her trust.

Maybe reconciliation would come with time, but for now, Y/N knew she had to protect herself, even if it meant facing the world alone because no matter what she knew she could only rely on herself.

---

The cool breeze swept through the streets of Barcelona, wrapping around Y/N as she stepped off the plane, her heart pounding with excitement and apprehension. It felt surreal to finally be here, ready to begin a new chapter of her life with FC Barcelona Femení. After months of heartache and distrust at Arsenal, she had made the easy decision to leave, believing that a fresh start was exactly what she needed.

As she arrived at the training facility, Y/N could feel the energy buzzing in the air. The place was a hive of activity—coaches shouting encouragement, players laughing and teasing each other as they prepared for the upcoming season. It was a stark contrast to the tension she had experienced at Arsenal, and Y/N felt a flicker of hope ignite within her.

“Welcome, Y/N!” a voice called out, and she turned to see the familiar face of her new coach, Pere Romeu. He approached her with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “We’ve been waiting for you. You’re going to love it here.”

Y/N returned the smile, feeling a sense of belonging start to settle in her chest. She had seen glimpses of the camaraderie within the team through videos and social media, but experiencing it firsthand was something entirely different.

As she entered the locker room, the atmosphere was lively. Teammates greeted her with open arms, welcoming her as if she had always been part of the squad. Each hug and friendly smile chipped away at the walls she had built around herself.

“Y/N! Finally!” said Aitana, pulling her into a tight embrace. “We’re so excited to have you here!”

“Yeah, it’s about time you joined us,” said Ingrid with a teasing grin. “Barcelona’s been waiting for your magic.”

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling with warmth. This was a team that valued her, and it felt refreshing after everything she had endured. As they settled into the day’s training session, Y/N found herself blending seamlessly into the rhythm of the squad. The drills were challenging yet invigorating, and the players pushed each other to be their best, encouraging her along the way.

During a break, Y/N sat with her new teammates, feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. The conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a long while, she felt at ease.

“So, what do you think of the city so far?” asked Jana, the young winger with a vibrant smile and infectious energy.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N replied, glancing around at the bustling atmosphere. “I can’t believe I’m finally here. It feels like a dream.”

“Just wait until you see the Camp Nou,” Jana said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “It’s incredible. The fans are amazing. You’re going to love playing there.”

As they chatted, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Jana’s laughter made her heart race. There was something special about the way they connected, and Y/N felt a warmth bloom within her. But she quickly reminded herself to be cautious. After everything she had been through, it felt risky to let her guard down again.

The weeks rolled by, and Y/N continued to settle into life at Barcelona. The team had embraced her wholeheartedly, making her feel like an integral part of their family. She found herself laughing more, training harder, and genuinely enjoying the game again. It was a refreshing change from the suffocating atmosphere she had left behind.

Jana became a constant presence by her side, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. They shared jokes during training, worked together on drills, and celebrated each other’s successes. Y/N found herself looking forward to their moments together, her heart fluttering whenever Jana flashed her that brilliant smile.

“Hey, do you want to grab dinner after training?” Jana asked one day, her tone casual, but Y/N could see the spark of hope in her eyes.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Y/N replied, feeling a rush of excitement. “I’d love to.”

That evening, they found a cozy little restaurant tucked away in the streets of Barcelona. Over delicious tapas and laughter, Y/N felt the last of her walls crumble. Jana’s easy laughter and genuine curiosity about her life made her feel seen and valued in a way she hadn’t experienced in far too long.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re here,” Jana said, her voice softening. “You bring something special to this team.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the sincerity in Jana’s words. “I’m glad to be here too. I was nervous about starting fresh, but everyone has made it so easy.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, and Y/N felt a surge of emotions rushing to the surface. Could she really let someone in again? Could she risk the possibility of heartbreak?

“Y/N,” Jana began, her expression turning serious, “I know this might be too soon, but I feel like we have a connection. I like you, and I want to get to know you better. Would you—”

Before Jana could finish, Y/N felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. “I like you too,” she admitted, her heart racing. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it.”

A wide smile spread across Jana’s face, lighting up the dimly lit restaurant. “Really? I thought I was going to have to convince you.”

Y/N laughed, her worries dissipating. “No convincing needed. I just… I was scared. But I want to see where this goes.”

They continued to talk, the evening slipping away unnoticed as they shared stories and dreams, laughter echoing through the air. As they walked back, hand in hand, Y/N felt a sense of hope and excitement. The walls she had built around her heart were finally crumbling, replaced by something beautiful and promising.

The next day, Y/N stepped onto the pitch at Camp Nou for the first time, her heart swelling with pride and anticipation. The stadium was a sea of blue and garnet, the fans chanting in unison. The energy was electric, and as she took her place among her teammates, she felt a rush of belonging.

With every touch of the ball, Y/N felt freer than she ever had before. The love and support from her new team poured into her, fueling her performance. Each pass, each run, felt like a celebration of her new beginning.

As the game progressed, the cheers from the crowd washed over her, a stark contrast to the boos she had once faced. This time, she was embraced by love and acceptance, and it felt like coming home.

After scoring her first goal, Y/N couldn’t help but run towards the stands, raising her arms in celebration. The crowd erupted, chanting her name. In that moment, she knew she had made the right choice. She was no longer defined by her past, but by the love and trust she was building here in Barcelona.

As the final whistle blew, Y/N joined her teammates in the center of the pitch, laughter and joy filling the air. Jana wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. “I knew you’d shine here,” she said, her voice filled with pride.

Y/N smiled, feeling the warmth of friendship and love enveloping her. “Thank you for being here, for believing in me.”

They stood together, basking in the joy of the moment, surrounded by teammates and fans who had welcomed her with open arms. Y/N had finally found her place, her new family, and with Jana by her side, she was ready to embrace whatever the future held.

---

The atmosphere at the Emirates Stadium was electric as Arsenal prepared to face FC Barcelona in the UEFA Women’s Champions League. Fans filled the stands, a sea of red and white waving flags, and the air buzzed with excitement and anticipation. For Y/N, it was a match fraught with mixed emotions. On one hand, she was thrilled to be back at the stadium where she had spent so many seasons; on the other, she knew that her former team was about to face a Barcelona squad that had embraced her fully since her transfer.

As the whistle blew to start the match, Y/N took her position on the pitch, feeling the weight of expectations from both sets of fans. Arsenal’s supporters had always been a source of pride, but she could feel the tension building among her former teammates. The first half was grueling, with Barcelona quickly demonstrating their dominance. Y/N played fiercely, but it was clear that the synergy of her new team was unmatched.

With each goal that slipped past Arsenal’s defense, Y/N felt a pang of sympathy for her old teammates. The score climbed higher, reaching a staggering 10-0 by the final whistle. Y/N scored three goals herself, her joy tempered by the sheer humiliation of the scoreline. The cheers from the Barcelona fans were a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped the Arsenal supporters.

As the teams shook hands after the match, Y/N noticed Leah Williamson, her former friend, standing a few feet away, looking utterly defeated. The tension in the air was palpable. Leah’s eyes flickered over to Y/N, and for a moment, there was a mix of resentment and longing.

Y/N approached Leah, her heart racing. She had spent so long trying to rebuild her self-worth, and now, in the aftermath of such a humiliating defeat, she felt a surge of confidence. “Looks like you could use some practice on the pitch,” Y/N said, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “I mean, ten goals? Even I didn’t think you could be this generous.”

Leah’s expression shifted from surprise to anger, her fists clenching at her sides. “That was a team effort, Y/N,” she replied sharply, her tone laced with frustration. “Don’t think this is all on me.”

Y/N’s smirk widened, sensing Leah’s vulnerability. “But you were the captain, weren’t you? I guess leading your team to a double-digit loss really takes a toll on your leadership skills.”

The words stung, and Y/N saw the hurt flash across Leah’s face. For a brief moment, she regretted her harshness, but the adrenaline from the match kept her bravado intact. Leah opened her mouth to retort, but Y/N cut her off.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect much from you. But hey, at least I finally got to officially score a few goals against you,” Y/N added, the edge in her voice almost triumphant.

Leah’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. “You think you’re so clever now, don’t you? Just remember, you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

“Touché,” Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess this proves that the grass really is greener on the other side, doesn’t it?”

With that, Y/N turned on her heel, walking away from Leah, leaving her former vice-captain standing alone amidst the chaos of post-match interviews and congratulatory shouts from her new teammates. She could hear the echo of Leah’s frustration behind her, but she didn’t turn back.

As she joined her Barcelona teammates, celebrating the victory, Y/N felt a mix of satisfaction and sadness. The rivalry was fierce, but she had finally stepped into her power, leaving the past behind her.

---

It was that time of the year again international duty and the atmosphere at England’s training camp was usually vibrant, filled with laughter and camaraderie as players prepared for their upcoming matches. However, today felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and brewing animosities. Y/N and Leah had been circling around each other all week, their past unresolved and emotions simmering beneath the surface.

During a break in training, Leah made a comment that set Y/N off. “You know, if you spent half as much time focusing on the team as you do on your Instagram following, maybe we’d actually win something,” Leah said, her tone dripping with disdain.

Y/N whipped around, eyes blazing. “Oh, please. At least I have accomplishments to celebrate. You should try winning sometimes instead of hiding behind your club legacy like a shield.”

Leah stepped forward, her frustration palpable. “You think it’s easy? Being the one everyone looks to when things go wrong? You’re just too wrapped up in your own world to see that.”

“Wrapped up? Is that what you call it? Because I call it self-preservation,” Y/N shot back, her voice rising. “I mean, let’s not pretend like you haven’t spent your fair share of time trying to tear me down behind the scenes. How’s that secret hate page working out for you, Leah? Oh wait, you wouldn’t know. It’s not like I told you about it.”

Sarina, looked over from where she was chatting with another coach. She noticed the escalating tension and approached the two players. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice calm yet firm.

“Nothing,” Leah snapped, crossing her arms defensively.

Y/N scoffed. “Oh, it’s definitely something, Sarina. Leah here seems to think she can criticize my focus while she’s been busy playing the victim. I mean, it must be exhausting being the team’s emotional punching bag.”

“Emotional punching bag? Really?” Leah’s voice shook with anger. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry the weight of this team on your shoulders. You think you can just waltz in, score a few goals, and suddenly you’re god?”

“Waltz in? That’s rich coming from you. How about I just return the favor for all the snide remarks and backhanded comments you’ve thrown my way? This is what you wanted, right? A little taste of your own medicine?” Y/N countered, a cruel smile on her lips.

Sarina stepped in, sensing the need to de-escalate the situation. “Both of you, enough. We’re here to prepare for our upcoming matches, not to air grievances. Y/N, Leah, take a step back. You’re both valuable players, but this isn’t helping anyone.”

Y/N folded her arms, refusing to back down. “I’m just calling it like I see it, Sarina. Leah acts like she’s so above it all, but the truth is, she’s just petty. She has no right to throw stones when she’s living in a glass house.”

Leah’s cheeks flushed with anger, but she remained silent, clearly struggling to find a response. Sarina continued, “Y/N, if you have an issue, you need to address it in a constructive way. Leah, you need to step back and consider how your words affect your teammates. This isn’t just about you anymore.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her defiance softening slightly. “Constructive? Like how Leah constructs her little narratives about me? I’m just giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

“Enough!” Sarina said sharply, drawing the attention of the other players nearby. “You both need to put this behind you. We’re a team, and right now, it seems like you’re more focused on tearing each other down than working together.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, finally stepping back. “Fine, whatever. I’ll keep my distance. Seems like that’s what you want anyway, Leah.”

Leah glared, but the fire in her eyes began to dim. “I didn’t ask for this, Y/N. You’re the one making it personal.”

“Personal? Oh, it’s definitely personal now,” Y/N said, a bitter smile crossing her lips. “But don’t worry, I won’t let your insecurities ruin my game. I’ll just make sure to keep winning while you wallow in your own self pity.”

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, the tension still thick in the air. Sarina watched her go, a frown etched on her face. The camp had enough challenges without internal conflicts tearing them apart.

As Y/N walked away, she could hear Leah muttering something under her breath, but she refused to turn back. This was her moment to stand her ground, even if it meant losing a friendship in the process.

“Good luck carrying that weight, Leah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

The atmosphere in the England camp had been tense since the blow-up between Y/N and Leah. Sarina had taken time to consider the situation, and the repercussions were about to unfold. As players prepared for the upcoming friendly against Spain, the weight of unspoken tensions lingered in the air.

Y/N was sitting in the lounge, scrolling through her phone, when Sarina entered the room with a serious expression. “Y/N, can I have a word?” she said, gesturing for Y/N to follow her to a quieter corner.

“Sure,” Y/N replied, her stomach twisting with unease.

Once they were away from prying ears, Sarina crossed her arms. “I’ve spoken with the coaching staff about your altercation with Leah,” she began, her tone firm but not unkind. “While I understand your frustrations, your behavior was unacceptable. I need to maintain a cohesive team environment, especially as we head into an important match against Spain.”

Y/N felt her heart race, the earlier argument replaying in her mind. “So what? You’re just going to punish me and let Leah walk away scot-free?”

“Leah is the captain. She was trying to keep the team united. She’s been through a lot and is trying to lead,” Sarina replied. “I’m giving you a one-match suspension. You won’t be playing against Spain.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You can’t be serious! This is ridiculous! Leah instigated it! You can’t just let her off the hook like this.”

“Y/N,” Sarina said sharply, “This is about maintaining discipline. You can choose to see this as unfair, but I need you to focus on the team. This is not just about you.”

Feeling a surge of anger and betrayal, Y/N’s voice dropped, her words laced with resentment. “Fine. If you think I’m the problem, then I’ll take my problems elsewhere.” Without waiting for a response, Y/N stormed out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest.

An hour later, as the team gathered for the pre-game meeting, Y/N made a decision that shocked even herself. She would withdraw from international duty entirely. She sent a quick message to Sarina and the coaching staff, stating her intent to leave. She packed her belongings and headed out of the hotel, her heart heavy but resolute.

As she stepped into the bright lights of the stadium, she found a spot among the crowd, far from the field where her teammates were warming up. She pulled on the Spain jersey that Jana had gifted her during one of their dates, the bright red fabric feeling both foreign and comforting. It was a bold statement, and she felt a rush of defiance as she settled into her seat.

The match kicked off, and Y/N watched with a mix of emotions. Her former teammates were battling on the field, and every time Leah made a play, Y/N felt a pang of conflict—anger mixed with a sense of longing. The fans around her cheered and jeered, the energy of the game intoxicating. Yet, she felt strangely detached, her heart pounding not just for the game but for what she had left behind.

As the game progressed, Y/N couldn’t help but cheer for Spain even though she loved playing for England, England didn't love her. But she loved Jana played for Spain and Y/N loved her and she loved Y/N. It was exhilarating to be on this side of the field, free from the pressures of being in the squad. Every goal scored by Spain felt like a release, and she found herself shouting and celebrating as if she were one of their players. The rush of adrenaline filled her as she threw her arms up with the crowd, feeling a sense of liberation wash over her.

Throughout the match, she caught glimpses of Leah on the field, the captain doing her best to rally her team. But as the minutes ticked by, Y/N felt the bitter taste of betrayal lingering in her mouth. It was not just Sarina’s decision that hurt, but the realization that Leah, who had once been a close friend, was now part of a system that had betrayed her.

By the time the final whistle blew, signaling a hard-fought victory for Spain, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions. She had made her choice, but now she was left with the consequences. As she watched the celebration unfold on the pitch, she knew that this was a pivotal moment for her—one that might change the course of her career and friendships forever.

“Looks like I made the right choice after all,” she muttered under her breath, the vibrant red of the Spain jersey standing out against the sea of England colors around her. “Let’s see how they handle this.”

With that thought, Y/N settled back into her seat, ready to embrace whatever came next.

As the final whistle echoed through the stadium, Y/N felt a rush of exhilaration. The Spanish team was celebrating their well-deserved victory, and she was ready to join in the festivities. She spotted Jana, her girlfriend, amidst the throng players calling friends and family down to the field. The sight of her made Y/N’s heart swell with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

With a grin, Y/N pushed her way through the jubilant crowd, joining Jana and their friends. “Did you see that goal?” Jana laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I swear, I could have scored that one blindfolded!”

Y/N chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes. “You mean like Y/N did with Arsenal last season?” Salma quipped.

“Hey now, let’s not dredge up old traumas,” Y/N replied with a mock frown. “Today is a day for celebrating my favourite team, remember?”

“favourite team, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Jana teased, nudging Y/N with her shoulder. “I think I like the sound of that.”

As the Spanish players began to gather for photos, Y/N felt a sense of belonging that had eluded her for so long. She joined in, posing with Jana and their friends, all laughter and smiles. The atmosphere was electric, filled with camaraderie and joy, a stark contrast to the tension she had left behind with the England team.

But just as Y/N was about to snap a group selfie, she caught sight of Leah across the pitch, flanked by a few other English players. Leah’s expression was a mix of anger and disbelief as she watched Y/N embrace her new life so freely. Y/N felt a thrill of defiance course through her.

“Hey, look who it is,” Y/N called out, raising her phone in Leah’s direction, a cheeky grin plastered on her face. “Do you want to join us for a picture? I’m sure you could use a few tips on how to have fun!”

Leah’s face flushed with irritation as she marched over, her teammates trailing behind her. “Y/N, this is pathetic,” Leah snapped, her voice rising above the celebrations. “You’re acting like you're actually on that team. You didn’t even give us a chance to explain.”

Y/N crossed her arms, maintaining her playful demeanor. “Oh, come on, Leah. You can’t be this upset over a little fun. Don’t you have your own fans to focus on?” She gestured to the scattering of England supporters still lingering near the bench.

Leah stepped closer, her frustration boiling over. “This is serious. You think it’s easy to see a teammate celebrating with the enemy? You’ve turned your back on us!”

“Teammate? Is that what we were?” Y/N shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Seems more like we were just coworkers who barely knew each other.”

Just then, Alexia approached, her presence commanding. She had been watching the exchange with an amused smile. “Oh, Leah,” she interjected, her tone playful yet authoritative. “You should know by now that if a bird wants to leave the flock, you don’t chase after them. You let them fly, especially if they’ve found a better nest.”

Leah opened her mouth to retort, but Alexia continued smoothly, “Besides, you wouldn’t want to throw a tantrum in front of the fans, now would you? That’s a pretty bad look for a captain.”

A hush fell over the surrounding group, and Y/N couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “That’s right, Leah. Maybe take notes from a real captain on how to handle this gracefully,” she quipped, relishing the moment.

Leah’s expression turned to one of barely contained fury, and she took a step back, realizing she was outmatched not just by Y/N but now by Alexia too. “Whatever,” Leah finally muttered, turning on her heel and marching away with her teammates, who looked just as bewildered.

Y/N watched Leah retreat, her heart racing. There was a strange mix of triumph and sorrow in her chest. “Wow, Alexia,” she said, grinning. “That was amazing.”

Alexia shrugged with a smirk. “Just watching out for our own, right? And besides, you deserve to celebrate the win without the baggage of your old team.”

Jana squeezed Y/N’s hand, her eyes shining with admiration. “I knew you’d fit right in with us.”

With that, the group burst into laughter again, the earlier tension fading into the background. Y/N felt free, unburdened by the shadows of her past. She was ready to embrace whatever came next, knowing she had found her place among her new teammates—and in Jana’s arms. Bound by more than trust, bound by love.

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The End

[garbinge]

Secret's Safe

Jax Teller x Ortiz!F!Reader Juice & Sister!Reader 30 Day Fic Challenge

Word Count: 3k A/N: I had more thoughts to make this more of a Juice fic but then.... Jax LOL.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of blood, murder, death, assault, secrets, lying, trauma, abuse.

Word Count: 3k SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

As you opened your eyes, they squinted quickly as the bright sun hit them immediately.  After blinking a few times, they tried to take in your surroundings. You were in the passenger seat of your car, the green signs on the highway were moving extremely quickly past you. It took you a minute to focus to see what was on the signs but soon enough you caught one that said Stockton 75 miles. That meant you weren’t too far off from where you were headed before you ran into the person at the wheel of your truck currently. That thought made you immediately snap your head over to see the blond haired man, hand on the steering wheel, white knuckled, his reaper hat holding back the oiled hair from the sleepless night prior. 

“You look like shit.” You spoke up, clearing your throat as you did, placing his jacket that he had draped over you on his backpack. 

It was the statement he had said to you when you ran into him at the truck stop last night. It was meant to be humorous but once he got a good look at you, he realized it held way more truth than he expected. The genuine concern is what brought him to load his Harley in the bed of your truck, and continue your drive out to Charming for you. 

Staring at the smile growing on his face sent you back to the days you were falling in love with Jax Teller. Back when he had the kutte without the weight of the office patches. 

“Didn’t want you to feel left out.” His voice sent a shiver through your body. It had been half a decade since you last saw him. It made you look him over more closely. His hair was longer, Jax always sported the long blonde look but this was a lot more lengthy than before, like something had happened that led him to forget to get it cut. As you looked at his beard, you thought maybe that was more the sign that things hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing for him. Your eyes moved down to his kutte, despite being new to you, the vice president patch on his right was dirty and worn. 

“You think we could stop somewhere for me to freshen up, I don’t really want to jump scare my brother.” You started to look through your backpack for your toiletries as you spoke. 

“Was planning to go to my place first, I know how you are with him.” His knuckles tightened on the wheel as the sentence left his mouth.  

You weren’t sure whether you were annoyed or comforted by his statement. You knew exactly what he meant, and it was unreal to you that despite the insanity of this situation, you could still fight about the same things you fought about then. 

“And how am I with him?” It was said in a way that you both knew the answer, but you wanted Jax to humor you, or maybe you just wanted to finally win this fight. You stopped your search for whatever in your bag and looked at him, eyebrows raised waiting for an answer. 

“Cautious.” He spoke the word immediately and you felt the argument practically line up in your voice like it was muscle memory. 

Keeping your relationship a secret was ultimately what broke you both up. And that’s what made you move back to the east coast where you and your brother grew up. 

Jax followed up his statement quickly before you could let out a syllable of your argument. “For the record, I get it now. I think I was still a stupid young kid wanting to flaunt my girlfriend around.” 

This was completely new to you. 

You looked him over again and despite the distressed look to it, you caught the fresh stitching. The patch was not only new to you but new to him as well. 

“I guess being the second in command makes you mature.” 

“Makes you see what people can handle, too.” His voice was firm as he spoke, eyes still on the road. 

“He wouldn’t have been able to handle it.” You agreed knowing your brother well. He was fun-loving, caring, hilarious, but he had demons. And if anyone else’s found their way to him, you knew it’d break him because he’d try so hard to take them on his own. Not saying Jax and your relationship was bad, it was surprisingly one of the better ones you’d been in, but you knew by having that, you’d be taking away the one thing that kept your brother stable. 

“He gonna be able to handle what brought you out here?” 

That snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes said it all but he didn’t even need to be looking at them to feel your shock and need for explanation. 

“I saw the blood in the bed of your truck when I was loading my bike. Thought I’d taught you better than to leave behind evidence.” 

“That’s mine.” It was so pointed how you said it. 

That made Jax’s brow arch in curiosity. As fucked up as it sounded, it was relieving to you to be talking to someone who wasn’t shocked by the possibility of mysterious blood or being on the lam from a crime. To be talking to someone who almost found curiosity in the thought of the situation. 

“I got mixed up with this group of friends out east.” He didn’t need to pry the information out of you, this was never an issue between you, sharing your thoughts with each other, talking through everything, was never the problem. Telling other people was. “Real party kids, you know, we were drinking, doing drugs, having a good time, until we weren’t.” You took a deep breath before getting into the depths of the story. 

“We were hanging out on the front porch of someone’s house, it was late, or early, however you wanna describe it, and someone rolled up, I guess someone brought a friend who knew some not so great people.” 

Jax had a feeling he knew where the story was going but he wanted to hear it from your account.

“I got stabbed.” This part of the story was so straight to the point compared to the rest. The context here didn’t matter much compared to the lead up. 

“Still missing the part where you got blood in your truck.” Jax was only saying this because you stopped talking and he knew there were pieces of the story missing. 

This was where it was hard to say what happened, partially because you couldn’t believe how stupid you were to let this happen to begin with, but also since it was traumatic. 

“They tossed me in the bed of the truck and left me there to die.” 

Jax’s grip got tighter against the wheel and he sucked his lips into his teeth, the anger rising as he thought about it. 

“Obviously I didn’t.” You tried to lighten the mood. 

“And you decided to come back here.” Jax nodded, fully understanding the story. 

“After I killed the person who left me to die. Who just happened to be the one who stabbed me.” Again, the words came out with no lead up, just the point. 

Jax’s eyes darted to you when you said it. Funny enough, it was what he expected the situation to be. An ex got abusive, it ended badly, or maybe an accident when you were drunk, but the thought went out once you ended your story. 

“Did–” He was beginning to ask how you handled it, you knew that was what he was wondering. 

“I handled it. No trace. I was coming back here just because I needed my family, needed a familiar face.” 

“Sorry this familiar one looks like shit.” Jax was now trying to lighten the mood. 

“It was an unexpected one too. I wasn’t even going to come to the clubhouse, was going to go straight to a motel and then right to Juice’s.” 

“No love lost, I see.” He let out a laugh. 

“More like too much love lost.” You leaned back in the seat and placed your feet up on the dash. 

__________

You pulled back the shower curtain and wrapped the towel around your body, turning to wipe the fog off the mirror and stare at yourself. The shower brought some life back to your face, but the only thing that was going to make you look well rested was rest. 

As you opened the bathroom door, you started to talk loud, calling out and asking if you could take a nap but your words got cut off as you slammed right into Jax whose hand was raised to knock on the bathroom door. 

“Sorry.” He chuckled and stabilized you by wrapping his hands on your bare arms. 

It was at that moment that the both of you realized this was the closest you’ve been in years. You felt Jax’s breath on your face, it smelt like coffee which made you smile inside. Something about the domesticity of him in his home drinking his morning cup of coffee. 

“I was coming to see if you wanted french toast or waffles.” There was that domesticity again. 

“Jax Teller, who used to burn eggs, is offering me french toast or waffles?” The water was still dripping down your skin as you spoke. 

“Alright.”  his head twisted to the side as he laughed and then looked back at you, his finger now on your shoulder catching one of the stray drops before retracting his hand and looking back at your eyes. “They’re pre-made in a package from the freezer, was just gonna toast ‘em, not get all fancy.” 

“I’ll take both.” 

“Both it is.” He was turning around to go back into the kitchen and you felt your breath exhale the moment he turned. 

You both never got a chance to eat together, he came back to ask you about coffee or orange juice and ended up in his bed. Breakfastless and clothesless. 

As much as it broke you to sneak out, you did it. Sneaking out like this reminded you of what you were trying to leave behind, but now, you had to remind yourself of how safe you felt being here. With Jax. You stepped into the kitchen and saw the toaster housing the burnt french toast accompanied by the burnt waffle in the slot next to it. You laughed and grabbed both, they’d still be better than the junk you were eating on the road. Grabbing a pen you left a note on the table for him. 

Thanks for everything. Taking your burnt breakfast and heading to my brother’s. See you around. xx

With that, you were leaving. It was late afternoon now, meal times didn’t really have a time clock when you were traveling with no sense of time. Driving to your brother’s at this point was like muscle memory, you didn’t have to give it any thought and before you knew it you were there. 

One thing about Juice was that he’d always welcome you with open arms and no questions. Okay some questions, but none that ever felt forced or pointed. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” He was so chipper and genuinely excited to see you as he opened the door. 

“Refugee looking for shelter.” You smiled back and brought him in for a hug. 

“Come in.” Juice pushed the door open completely and with his free hands moved to grab your bag out of your hand. 

Immediately you felt like a piece of scum in his pristine apartment and you hadn’t even had the grime of the ride on you anymore. “You live here or just showcasing the place?” You teased him. 

He sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and made a clicking noise. “I like to keep things neat.” 

“I know we lived in the same house together for years.” You looked at the art on the walls, the only sign that someone made a home of this place. There were pictures of you both, pictures of Juice with your childhood dog, pictures of the club, SOA flags and Harley memorabilia. 

“Hey I have this in my bag.” You smirked and moved to grab your backpack from his hands, he still hadn’t dropped it anywhere likely because he wasn’t sure where it’s place was in his sterile home. 

You pulled the photo out from the side pocket, it was wrinkled and folded, the complete opposite of his. 

“It’s before I started sponsoring, when I just worked at the shop.” He smiled, grabbing the photo from your hands. “You brought me and the guys homemade turkey sandwiches.” 

“You always left your lunch at home.” You shook your head at the memory, “I hated coming by with just food for you.” It was true, you’d make a sandwich for the 4-5 guys that were working that day. It became a sort of bit, the guys were crossing their fingers that whenever Juice was working with them, he’d forgotten his lunch. It helped that you came with a bag of chips and a 6 pack along with the sandwiches. That’s what the picture was. You, Juice, Jax, and Lowell eating turkey sandwiches and washing it down with a beer. 

“Everything okay?” Juice’s voice got solemn as he spoke, still looking down at the photo. 

“It is now.” You nodded with a smile. 

“You need my help with anything?” This time his voice raised an octave, in a more happy way. 

“Just a place to crash.” 

“Second room’s all yours.” He waved his arms in the direction of the room because he knew you were well aware of where it was. 

“I’ll be sure to disinfect my bag before putting it down.” You teased him with a slight push and made your way to the room that used to be yours years ago. 

By the time the two of you caught up, you leaving out the big details that you easily shared with Jax, it was nighttime. He brought you to the clubhouse, excited to share your arrival with the guys, and just happy to have his sister back in town. 

You were plopped on one of the picnic tables as some of the club sat around you, laughing about some joke Tig just said, most of you laughing at him more than with him. Your beer was nestled in your hand as you sipped slow on it, not really feeling like getting drunk much these days. 

“You’re nursing that beer.” Happy’s gruff voice alerted you. It was soft enough that only you heard him. 

“Long drive cross country, it’s making me more tired than anything.” You explained, it was partially true. 

But Happy saw through it. 

“You killed someone.” 

If you had been drinking the beer you would have spit it out by the abruptness of his comment. 

“Excuse me?” You frowned and looked at him, you probably met this member a handful of times but you didn’t know him like you knew some of the other crew. 

“I can tell, you got that vibe.” He nodded his head, his voice extremely raspy. 

“That vibe?” You raised your brows. 

“Yea, that life ain’t hold the same innocence vibe.” He answered you quickly. 

“How would you know what that vibe is?” You were playfully asking now, knowing that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if anyone here knew what you did, but it wasn’t something you were just blurting out. 

He laughed at that and didn’t answer the question. “Don’t worry your secret’s safe with me.”

“You freakin’ out our guest, Happy?” Bobby was walking out from the clubhouse, followed by Juice with a new beer for you despite you still not having this one nearly finished. 

“Happy?” You frowned and looked at Juice as you grabbed the beer. 

Happy grinned and lifted his shirt up to show his abdomen littered with smiley face tattoos and suddenly with no explanation at all, every question you just asked in the last 5 minutes was answered. 

“Oh.” You grabbed your nursed beer and finished it off quickly before moving to the new and cold one. 

Before the conversation could continue, the sound of two motorcycles cut the sound of voices out completely. Your eyes moved to see who it was, even though based on who was here now, the options were limited. You caught a glimpse of his long locks when he took the helmet off. Instinctually your eyes jumped to the movement of the person who came in behind him, tall and burly, and despite him still being far back in the shadows, you knew it had to be Jax’s friend Opie. With ease, your eyes moved back to Jax as he brought his hand through his hair. It was oily again, or still, which had you starting to wonder what his day looked like after you left. 

“Jax!” Juice called out from behind you and it brought you back to the current moment as Jax approached, taking off his riding gloves with a big smile on his face. “Look who's back on the west coast.” Juice was beyond excited to tell Jax, the thought of bringing back the days when the group of you would hang out clearly driving his enthusiasm. 

“Yea, I–” Jax was about to say how he ran into you the night before, you knew it, but your eyes went wide and your head shook just ever so slightly as a hint to let him know you didn’t want Juice to know. Luckily you were behind Juice on the picnic table so he wasn’t able to see it but Jax did clearly. 

What wasn’t clear was how he was taking your action. He seemed a little upset, but also he had a slight smirk on his face. 

“Yea, I see that. It’s good to see you.” He changed his sentence, his eyes staring at you. 

Behind him was Opie who clearly was aware of what happened between the two of you and was trying to hide his smirk from the awkwardness between you and Jax that only you three hopefully could feel. 

Jax took a step forward and you moved off the picnic table to stand. His arm raised to bring you in for a hug. 

“Thank you.” You whispered and squeezed him a little extra. 

“No worries, as always, secret’s safe.” 

[thelov3lybookworm]

Delusions?

Summary: New guard duties and a free eye candy

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 888 (heheh)

Warnings: none <3

A/n: honestly idk why this took me this long to write 🥲 BUT IT IS FINALLY HEREEEE🥳based on this request <3

anyways, enjoyyyy!!

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Y/n?"

She paused, the rag in her hand stilling on her shining blade as she looked up, brows furrowed. The voice of the male sent shivers down her spine.

In a good way, she thought.

Her section leader walked over to the tall male who stood over the ground entrance like a menacing gargoyle with a mission. He wore his cloak’s hood low over his eyes, and his head tilted downwards to talk to the captain. She decided it was best she packed up the cleaning supplies before she had to leave.

At least, that was what she was guessing.

It took her a few moments to throw the rag into a bin and put away oils and cleaners, then return to the captain, who walked over to her.

Being one of his best soldiers, she found it pride worthy that he knew her name even. Most section leaders didn’t bother with soldier’s names unless they were sure they wouldn’t die during a fight. Makes it better for the conscience, Y/n assumed.

"You up for a guard position, girl?" He questioned as soon as she was within hearing distance, and her eyebrows rose.

"Sure, who am I protecting?"

"The Queen sent a summons for you. Think she got the previous guard killed or something. Maybe she’s got a new guest visiting who she wants to take care of." The older man jerked his chin at the male who had called Y/n’s name. "Brute refuses to give more information."

Y/n’s peered over at him, then straightened the moment her eyes landed on his figure. He seemed to be watching her too. She pondered, then shrugged. "Sure, I see no problem."

Her captain grunted. "Don’t get ya’self killed, girl. You’re one of the only good ones here."

Y/n smiled. It was rare to get a compliment from the closed off captain, but when someone did, it was only because they were genuinely good.

She ducked her head. "Thank you, captain. Should I pack my things?"

He waved a hand in the air. "The brute said the queen just wants to talk first, and then if she approves, she will send someone to collect your things."

Y/n nodded, then waited until the captain walked away before making her way towards the male. She felt his gaze on her the entire time.

"You… are Y/n?" Were the first words he uttered as she stepped up to him.

She raised a brow. "Why? You expected a man?"

He shook his head, the hood swaying with the motion. "It’s just… you look a little less fit than what I expected."

Her lips parted in shock. She waited for him to apologise, or something, but he simply turned on his heel and walked away.

Did he expect her to follow him like a dog? She scoffed and dug her feet in, wrapping her arms across her chest and watched him walk away. Only after a long moment did he pause and look back. She could see his stance change even though she couldn’t see his face.

Silent moments passed, and he reluctantly ducked his head, tilting it to gesture to her to follow him. And she did.

The two walked for almost an hour in silence before they reached the palace. Once they were within the walls, he pulled off his hood, and Y/n’s jaw dropped open.

He. Was. Majestic.

She had figured he’d be pretty handsome, considering his height and muscles that already peeked out of his slightly unbuttoned shirt, but she hadn’t expected…this.

The long hair, the sharp jaw, the skin even. It was making Y/n drool.

"Stop staring." He grumbled.

She looked away, clearing her throat and swallowing as blood made its way to her neck. "I-I wasn’t-"

"I can almost see water dripping from your mouth."

"Why, wish it was something else dripping from me?" Y/n countered without thought. When she replayed the words in her head, her whole body flashed cold. She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she watched him turn and stare at her in disbelief.

And maybe Y/n was being delusional, but she could swear his ears looked red.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to overstep."

He said nothing, just paused at a set of wide doors. She could not look away from his muscles, the way they flexed, the way his hair swayed. His hips.

She swallowed again and looked up to see him staring at her, his hand on one of the door’s handles. She figured she had to go inside, but she didn’t want to leave his presence. It was intoxicating, even when he had barely said any words.

"A shame, really."

Y/n blinked, trying to figure out what he meant. And then she realised that he was responding to her apology.

Oh.

Oh.

"I-"

"She’s waiting for you."

Y/n stopped, both grateful and annoyed at the opportunity. Grateful because she knew she would say something stupid if she spoke, and annoyed because she had to look away from the art that he was.

She nodded, then walked inside.

And maybe she was being delusional again, but she could feel his gaze on her back, raking fingers of awareness down her spine.

Just delusional… of course.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@olives-main @hijabi-desi-bookworm @dnfhascorruptedme

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Four

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. mentions of abuse/violence, implied SA, aftermath of the Sangravagh attack, Tamlin is mentioned, mention of death, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairings: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your first day of training with Azriel ends with you helping priestesses heal after an attack on their temple.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue - One - Two - Three

After hours of training, you went down to the dining room with Azriel to eat lunch. “I think my legs might fall off.” You muttered as you sat down, wincing slightly as you adjusted your wings. You spent the whole first half of the day learning how to balance for a fight and then practicing fighting stances. You didn’t even make a fist until the last hour, and barely got into punches and jabs before Azriel called it for lunch.

He chuckled, sitting down across from you. “It can’t be that horrible, but if it is, I’ve got some good solvents for you to add to your bath. And a few oils.” He said.

“Are you suggesting you can give me a massage, Shadowsinger?” You teased, leaning forward on the table. Azriel flushed and his eyes widened. “Relax, I’m kidding. But I might take you up on those oils.” You said and started to dig into the food that appeared in front of you.

You glanced around, curious as to how none of the others were here. “They’re in a meeting right now.” Azriel said, as if he knew what your question was going to be.

“Oh… don’t you need to be in it?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Rhys will tell me what he needs to.” He said and looked at you for a few more seconds, frowning slightly. You could tell his shadows were talking to him, telling him something.

“I’ve gotta go.” He said and stood up.

You rose your eyebrows and looked at him. “Do you need-“ you started but he already vanished. Sighing, you slumped in your chair and started to eat again. You didn't even think to ask your shadows what was the matter.

Not even thirty minutes later, chaos erupted in the house. Dozens of priestesses were in the dining room, being healed by anyone who had the magic or the knowledge on how to do it. You helped bring clothes and water over, using some tonics and oils to help heal their wounds. None of them spoke and only whimpers and screams from the wounded could be heard.

Rhys said that their temple was attacked by Hybern soldiers, who successfully got what they came for. And left almost all the priestesses dead or badly wounded. And worse. So you did what you could to heal the wounded, using the training and your years of being the village healer with Sirona as best as you could.

Hours later, almost all of them had been taken back to the temple. Where they would heal and rebuild as much as they could. Mor was sent there with Amren to survey the damage and clean up everything they could.

Expect for one. An auburn haired acolyte who you saw Mor carry in. One of the first ones to arrive. You shot Azriel a look as if to question what happened and if she was okay, and he only shook his head in return. You saw Azriel’s jacket around her and guessed what happened.

She was the last sitting in the living room, new clothes and a blanket wrapped around her. She was still shaking even with the fire blazing. You brought a glass of water over to her, making sure to use heavy feet so you didn’t scare her as you set the glass down on the table next to her.

“If you’d like water, I brought some..” you said quietly. “Or I can have some tea made for you, it wouldn’t take long.” You offered and looked at her for a few moments. She blinked and looked at the water, reaching out for it slowly before taking a sip.

“Whenever you’re ready, I can show you to the library where a priestess will show you to your dorm.” You added and she took a deep breath.

“I- can you show me? I don’t… I don’t want to see anyone else.” She said and you nodded.

“Of course. Let me see where you’ll be staying.” You said and stood up.

“Can I… have tea, too?” She asked and you gave her a small smile.

“Is it okay if Mor brings it?” You asked and she nodded.

“It’ll be right out.” You said and walked over to where the rest of the Inner Circle were in Rhys’s office. “Mor, can you get tea for the acolyte in there?” You asked and she nodded, going to grab it.

“Rhys.. do you know where she’ll be staying?” You asked and he nodded, showing you where it was and giving you a basket of things that all the new priestess got. Robes, other clothes, towels, and a small pamphlet that let them knew their options for support and work.

“Thanks for helping, you were really good with all of them.” Rhys said and you nodded as you made your way back up to the living room.

“I used to help Sirona with healing at the village… and sometimes the Illyrians that came through weren’t too kind to the females. I treated more than I would have wanted.” You said and looked at the basket. “This program is amazing. I can’t imagine how many priestesses you’ve helped.” You said to him.

“They’re my responsibility to protect. And when I fail, it’s my responsibility to help them through it. And make them feel safe in their home.” He said and you smiled.

“You’re a good High Lord,” you said and patted his arm before heading to the living room, not noticing how stunned Rhys was as he watched you approach Gwyn and helped her to the library.

“Everything okay?” Cassian asked and nudged Rhys.

“She said I was a good High Lord. After everything she’s seen me do. She said I was good.” He said and Cass smiled.

“You are good, Rhys. Everything you’ve done was to protect your people. To help Prythian.” He said and squeezed his shoulder. “No wings tonight?”

“No… sometimes it’s too intimidating. I don’t want to scare the females further.” He said, Cassian leading him back to the office.

When you came back to join them, Gwyn, you learned was her name, settled into her dorm for the night, you saw the stark faces.

“Whatever the Hybern soldiers stole… it wasn’t good, was it?” You asked. “I know I’m new here, so if you don’t want to talk about it around me I can leave-“

“It was a part of the Cauldron.” Amren said and you frowned. You heard stories of what happened to the Cauldron. How it was broken into pieces so it wouldn’t be used again.

“I- what?” You asked.

“We believe Hybern wants to reform the Cauldron. And they just got closer to doing it.” Rhys said and you took a seat in one of the chairs.

“That’s not good at all..” you muttered. “What can we do?” You asked.

“Not a lot. We can try to locate the other pieces. But even I don’t know where they are. Az has his spies looking now.” He said.

“And we’ll have to come up with a plan on what to do if the Cauldron is brought to full power.” Azriel said and you looked at him, noticing that his shadows swirled around him more than ever now. And that his face was almost just that, a shadow of what it normally was.

“Can I do anything?” You asked and Rhys glanced to his Inner Circle.

“For now, keep training. I may ask you to fight with us if it comes to that. And… while you’re in the library, see if you can find anything on the Cauldron and its power….” He said and you slumped slightly. You thought he’d offer something more… useful. But you were new, and you didn’t have the same powers as the others in the Circle. You didn’t even have a Siphon or killing power.

“Alright, I can do that.” You said and nodded.

You sat through the meeting, each of the Inner Circle getting assigned tasks throughout. Each of them left to start that night.

“Rhys…” you said before he could leave. “You… you haven’t mentioned Feyre since we got back. And you haven’t called in your bargain for her.” You said and he sighed.

“I can’t call it in… I’m letting her enjoy the time with… Tamlin... She deserved to be happy.” He said and you nodded.

“Like I said, a good High Lord.” You said and stepped closer to him. “But a better male.” You stated before making your way to the stairs so you could get some rest. You had to be up early for your training tomorrow anyway.

A/N: Oof... this one was hard but I feel like it's important to highlight that the reader is also a healer and she knows how to help those who have been hurt. Also, I love her and Rhys's relationship sooooo much. Hopefully the timeline is correct, I’m going off of one I found on here when I started writing. If anything doesn’t add up, consider it a necessary change for the plot lol.

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HOUSE OF BALLOONS | JJK

01 - The Party

warnings: party party party yea, jk is a dickhead oops, drug/alcohol use, reader just wants to leave (someone help her pls), shitty parents, min yoongi is a saint <3 nepo baby reader !

w/c: 2.9k

!minorsdni! // masterlist

✩ ₊ ˚. ⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊✧

Seven. That's exactly how many times you have passed the same shitty run down house at the end of a sketchy cul-de-sac.

The bass of the music blares, the thumping so loud you can feel it in your chest from a few streets away. The door opens and closes, people flowing in one after another, all too familiar with this place. Red lights bleed through the windows.

Dressed in a pale purple Hervé Léger, direct from the archive of their 1996 Spring Summer collection. White pumps and a small Chanel handbag to match, tucked under your shoulder.

You stand in the line down the driveway, each person before you dropping a $5 bill into a tin bucket being held by someone who looks like they could have been hired to bodyguard you at premieres. You reach to grab a note out of your handbag, offering a small awkward smile to the broad shouldered man beside the door.

“Nah, it’s a tenner for you,” he says, his eyes locked straight ahead, the smirk on his face shows he’s clearly amused.

Truth is, you only had a hundred-dollar bill to offer, struggling to recall the last time you carried anything less than that.

Your face tightens slightly. You don’t look like the others—those who stumbled in before you, or the ones who will after you.

You drop the bill into the bucket, the crisp note fluttering down to rest atop the crinkled fivers. The man guarding the door watches it fall, letting out a scoff and shaking his head ever so slightly, as if to silently remind you that you’re not quite one of them.

You step inside. The hallway is cramped, leading you into a living room bathed in the harsh glow of cheap LED lights, taped along the ceiling trim. The red tint paints everything—walls, partygoers, the air itself. Black and white balloons litter the floor. The stench of burning cigarettes and pot is so thick, you can taste it. You’re certain you’ve lost at least three years off your life just by stepping inside this shit hole.

Fifteen minutes and two shots of cheap vodka that burn your pride more than your throat is enough time to realise this was a mistake. You need to leave.

You squeeze through the packed crowd of sweaty bodies, the exit finally coming into view. You swear you can almost feel the air getting cleaner with each step.

That is, until someone grabs your wrist, yanking you back so hard it feels like your arm might just rip out of its socket

"The fuck?" you almost squeal.

"No fucking way, the fuck are you doing here?"

Min Yoongi. He rubs his eyes, double-checking as if you’re some sort of hallucination from a bad batch of laced coke.

You don’t look any less shocked than he does. You came to this ‘party’ because of Yoongi. You knew he’d be here. Wanted to see him. That was until you had the very smart, very wise realisation that you do not belong here.

"Fuck kid, what the fuck? Are you like… Lost?" He is almost laughing at you, before he stops. "Don't tell me they sent you here for me?"

It's been 2 years since you last laid eyes on Yoongi in person. 2 years since he realised what you are slowly beginning to realise for yourself about the reality of your life.

Yoongi upped and left his trust-funded, posh, shiny life two years ago. His parents didn’t approve of him pursuing music instead of taking over the family’s oil business. They told him if he even considered it, they’d cut him off. It wasn’t until his dick of a father took a baseball bat to his beloved sampler and sequencer that Yoongi realised it was time to get out.

"Actually came here on my own account" you almost gag out. "Not here to kidnap you back to your tower. Came to see you though, I guess?"

Yoongi's brows are pinched together so harshly in confusion that you think he might earn himself a permanent wrinkle.

"How the fuck did you find me here?"

Truth is, his big mouthed cousin after a bottle or two of red told you Yoongi was having a 'psychotic breakdown' and ran to the slums of Daegu after daddy said no to him for the first time.

Which was a surprise to you, because his parents had told everyone he was in the States taking care of one of their many overseas companies.

Only took you two more glasses for her to tell you exactly where he was and what he had been up to.

You shrug, "People talk. You know how it is."

You try to excuse yourself, but Yoongi isn't really in the departing mood. Can't believe you are here. Isn't going to let you go without getting you a little fucked up, wants to see you down something that he knows you would never look twice at due to the lack of zero's on the price tag.

Yoongi had you down 4 shots of vodka, you had been surprised to see a bottle of Grey Goose calling your name on the table that's filled with red solo cups and cheap alcoholic bottles. Until you downed it and realised it was in fact, not Grey Goose, just a bottle that was refilled with something that tasted like pure fucking burning ass.

Yoongi had almost pissed himself from laughing at you, the look of disgust on your face as you realised.

Two full red soda cups of vodka lemonades later, and Yoongi was leading you toward a corner of the house. Four beaten-up leather couches formed a makeshift VIP area—exclusive, but still near the chaos of the party. Three men were sprawled out on the couches, girls draped beside, behind, and even on top of them.

A small coffee table center of the couches. Covered in red solo cups, packets of cigarettes, rolled bills and tiny ziplock bags filled with coke.

You sit beside Yoongi, your cup resting against your lips as you take in the scene before you. How the fuck was Yoongi living like this? Did he do this every weekend? Every night? Did he even enjoy it?

“I want out, Yoongs.” You glance over your shoulder at him, avoiding the daggers the girls send your way, dancing mostly for the guys on the couch. You stand out like a pair of dog balls.

While you’re dressed in a pale purple, fitted designer dress with white heels to match, they’re in black mini skirts, bras as tops, and fishnet stockings that should’ve been thrown out five holes ago.

“Hm?” Yoongi almost has to force his eyes off one of the way-too-fucked girls to look at you. “Oh, shit, yeah, of course, I’ll walk you out.”

You shake your head, biting the words back like they’re stuck in your throat, harder to get out than Yoongi had to tear his eyes away from the girl shaking ass just an arm’s reach away.

“No. I mean, I’m done. With them. With the rules, the fucking fakeness—all of it. Want out. Need out.” It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, and it feels stupid now. If Yoongi ended up here, what fucking hope do you have?

“Oh, fuck, Bee, you for real?” Yoongi barely believed you, though there was still a trace of surprise in his voice. He’d always known you to enjoy the lifestyle you both were raised in—boat parties, private jets to islands for weekend getaways, never having a limit on what you wanted.

Bee. The nickname echoed in your head, almost drowning out the DJ in the center of the living room, blasting ‘Baby By Me’ by 50 Cent, constantly yelling for people to “put their fucking hands up or get the fuck out.”

Bee. A nickname you scored when Yoongi gave you your first blunt. He’d found his father’s sneaky stash and dragged you to the river by his parents’ Lake House one summer when you were 16. It felt good—until you got so paranoid that bees were swarming you. That’s when the nickname stuck.

"They want me married, like, married-married." You felt your stomach flip and turn itself inside out at the memory of the conversation.

"Honey, this could be really good for us. For you, too. Taehyung is a lovely boy, and we all know he's been in love with you since you guys were kids." Your mother sat opposite to you in the media room, a martini in hand.

Your father had nodded in agreement, "Think about it, his family owns the most luxurious hotel chain across the globe, you would benefit from it. We all would."

They can't be fucking serious. Surely not. Marriage? Me? Taehyung? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

"Taehyung and I aren't even a thing. He's a friend. I'm not marrying someone just because it would bring motion to your businesses."

A scoff earned from your mother, an eye roll from your father.

"What would Taehyung think? Both our parents putting us in an arranged marriage?" Your eyes dart from your father to your mother.

"He's the one who suggested it. Why do you think he's been visiting so often?" Your father cocks his eyebrow, almost challenging you to question him.

You shake the thought from your head, feel dizzy, might vomit that cheap vodka that should definitely be taken off the shelves if you think about it any longer.

"Who's the newbie, Min?" A voice calls huskily. He's sat on the couch to your left, a girl under his arm fiddling with the buttons of his loose black fitted shirt, sly smirks on both their faces.

He's sports a buzzcut, two lines by his temple just a tad shorter than the rest. A blunt between his fingers and one tucked behind his ear, two dimples peeking out when he talks.

“Didn’t have to hire someone, Min. We got plenty of company around here,” Joon smirks, his voice low and lazy, too faded to bother raising it.

“Fuck off, Joon. Don’t be a cunt,” Yoongi almost warns, lighting a cigarette before exhaling, his voice cutting through the air. “This is Bee, a friend of mine.”

Joon leans back, passing the blunt to the girl beside him, who’s still sizing you up. “You ain’t from these parts, huh, Bee?”

“Nah, do most of my whoring in the city.” You shoot back, your voice dry. “Out of your budget though, sorry.

The words come out a little sharper than intended, defensive maybe—but it’s the first time anyone’s implied that you might be a prostitute.

Yoongi chuckles, as does the pouty blonde on the couch to your right.

“Joon couldn’t afford you even if you gave it up for free,” the blonde says, his eyes barely open from the amount of whatever his substance of choice is. “Can barely afford fuckin’ ramyeon,” he continues, only to have Joon peg a lighter at him.

“Fuck up, both of you. She ain’t a fuckin’ hooker. We grew up together,” Yoongi says, leaning back into the couch but not before nudging your shoulder slightly.

You spend the next hour or so sitting stiffly on the worn, cracked black leather sofa, mostly talking to Yoongi, but every now and then, you throw a few words toward Jimin—the pretty blonde you’ve learned goes by that name.

You watch Yoongi hit the bong, once, twice, thrice. Joon’s tongue is tangled with the girl glued to his side. The party roars on around you, balloons being slapped through the makeshift living room-turned-dancefloor. You finish three more cups of vodka lemonade, the alcohol providing a small buzz that helps ease some of your discomfort.

Yoongi excused himself about ten minutes ago, mentioning something about a runner waiting for him outside. Jimin, who’d taken it upon himself to keep Yoongi’s seat warm, had to clarify it was a dealer, not some jogging partner.

You’ve been meaning to take advantage of the Yoongi-free space to make your escape—head home, and really think about whether you want to leave behind the life so many people would kill for.

But of course, your luck had gone to shit ever since you stepped inside this house. Jimin won’t stop fucking talking, rambling about how you look like you belong in some high-end museum in Paris, not a rundown, seedy weekend hotspot in the slums of Daegu.

Charming, sure. A sight for sore eyes, but honestly, you’d rather he pop a Xanax and pass out than snort another line, just so you can slip out unnoticed.

Yoongi returns, dropping a black plastic bag onto the table, earning a few excited whistles and whispers. And then, just like that, he’s gone again—girl in tow, disappearing upstairs.

That’s your cue. The small group around you all focused the black bag, oblivious to the rest of the world now. You go to stand, ready to slip away before Jimin decides to continue to yap. But just as you move, the one person you’ve barely registered catches your eye.

He’s been there the whole time, opposite you, but always hidden behind the girl on his lap or his head low, in his own little world.

He’s sitting upright now, practically shoving the girl off his lap as soon as Yoongi dropped the black bag onto the table. His eyes lock onto it like it’s the juiciest fucking steak and he’s the lion, ready to devour it.

A slow, deliberate lick of his lips, then his arm—now visible with tattoos that wrap around his skin—extends toward the table. He dumps the bag, and the contents spill out like a treasure chest: dozens of tiny ziplocs filled with coke.

You can't help but fucking stare. Think your mother would have begged him to be a model for her clothing lines. Gorgeous. A shaggy mullet framing his face, which he's now tying up into a small sprout at the back of his head.

He eagerly lowers himself to the floor, grabs a rolled up bill and a card. Carves out equal lines of the coke, you don't know shit about coke other than half the people in the high society you're surrounded by daily need it to keep themselves sane.

As he focuses on the lines, it’s like watching someone in a trance—completely in control, the movement fluid and natural. He brings the rolled bill to his nostril, blocking the other side with his finger, then snorts down the line.

Then, repeats.

You can barely make out the details of his face from where you’re sitting, but the red lights catch the glint of a lip ring on his lower lip, catching your attention for a second. He rubs his face, then slides back into his seat.

This time though, his head isnt hanging low. It's pointed directly at you. Expressionless, zoned out as he stares you down.

Jungkook had noticed you long before you even stepped inside. He saw you lingering outside, pacing back and forth. At first, he thought you were some kind of undercover cop, but when he saw you talk to Yoongi after trying to slip out unnoticed, it all made sense. You were just another pampered, stuck-up rich bitch from Yoongi’s past.

He watched you, though, took note of everything. The way you eyed the cheap alcohol like it was beneath you. The way you stiffened when Joon made his comment, like you were trying to hold yourself together. Thinks if you were a hooker, maybe he’d pick up an extra shift at the restaurant. He noticed you turn down the blunts Jimin kept offering, like you were too good for that too.

You didn’t belong here. People like you never did. Jungkook doesn’t want you here, doesn’t want anyone who’s tied to the life Yoongi left behind. He fucking hates it. Hates the reminders, hates everything about it. Decides he hates you, too.

His stare doesn't falter, eyes locked on you, steady and unblinking. He wants you uncomfortable. Wants you out. Hates the way your dress is too colorful. Hates the gold jewelry, delicate and shiny around your neck and wrist-he prefers silver. Hates the way your legs have made him hard. Out. Get out.

"Want one?" He drawls lazily, that cocky grin tugging at his lips as he tilts his head toward the coke.

You glance at the last line on the table, then back at him. He holds out the rolled-up bill, smirking.

You shake your head, "All good, thanks."

"What? Too good to snort from a fiver?" He laughs, tossing the bill to Jimin without taking his eyes off you.

Jimin cuts his own stack of lines, less organised than Jungkook's were. Snorts one and stands up, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes dart around for Yoongi, if the vibe of this shit box wasn't enough, the man sitting opposite sending you snarky remarks and eye daggers definitely was.

You know you don’t belong here. You didn’t need the overgrown, practically bald one to remind you that you look like an expensive fuck, or the band-tee-wearing asshole who’s probably three lines away from a collapsed septum to tell you the same.

As you lean back into the couch, counting the minutes until you can wish Yoongi a goodbye and a “good fucking luck,” another man stumbles into the closed-off section. He trips over your legs, collapsing down at the coffee table.

“Watch your fuckin’ step, Hobes. We can’t afford to scratch up the girl. Probably has leg insurance or some shit,” Joon snorts, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

He turns to face you, "Sorry darlin', don't sue me, I can only afford to pay in mixtapes" He chirps, giving your leg a once over.

Ah, the DJ. The one who was screaming for everyone to put their fucking hands in the air. Who now has his hands in the air feigning defence.

You roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh at his more positive nature, feeling slightly eased by his lightheartedness.

But what really bothers you now isn’t the trust fund, nepo baby jabs. It’s the pair of narrowed, dark eyes glaring at you from the couch opposite.

Unwavering. Harsh. Piercing.

✩ ₊ ˚. ⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊✧

[hannahssimblr]

Later, in bed, I toss about. There are too many throw pillows. Astrid’s childhood bedroom is unexpected like that. Floral wallpaper and painted storybook style furniture painted soft green. Fabric lamps printed with delicate petals and trimmed with lace. The bedroom of a fictional princess. 

I’m bothered by the pearl earrings, back in their box on the side table, lit faintly by moonlight through thin curtains. Replaying the scene by the Christmas tree over and over. Coming at it from different angles, all of which I come out looking like the idiot who doesn't know his own girlfriend.

“We all know you love Pat Conroy,” said Mia, when she handed her that book. Does she? Does she like Pat Conroy? She never mentioned it to me. I could have bought her a Pat Conroy book. I could have bought her all his work if I had known that. How is it I’ve seen her read dozens of books, but never thought to ask her about them? Every one of them might have been Pat Conroy, and I was too idiotic to check, assuming she'd turn her nose up at such humble a gift as a book. Not even a new book. It was second hand, with a red discount sticker on the back. She loved it.

And Pernille, with that lavender pillow spray. “Do you remember,” she said, “when you were a teenager and you had that terrible bout of insomnia? You couldn’t sleep for weeks, and eventually it was lavender oil that helped you. Such a simple thing, wasn’t it? How funny.”

The socks from Gitte. Colourful stripes on them. “Ha!” I thought when Astrid unwrapped them. “She won’t wear them.” But I was wrong. She wore them all evening. Took pictures of them and sent them to friends. Look! So cute! She wrote. There they are now, on the chair in the corner of her room, ready to be worn again tomorrow. I toss a throw pillow onto the floor and turn over. The little bed creaks. 

“Mmph,” Astrid murmurs. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Are you okay?”

“I just can’t sleep.”

“Oh. Do you want my pillow spray?”

“It’s fine.”

A minute passes. Two, maybe, and she might have fallen back asleep, but I’m compelled to speak through the silence. “Did you like the earrings?”

She turns, the silhouette of her sloped nose outlined against the window. “Huh?”

“Did you really like the earrings, or were you just being nice? I want to know. You can tell me.”

“Yeah, of course. I think they’re beautiful. Why are you asking me this?”

I pull the blankets under my armpits and stare at the ceiling. Stickers there of woodland animals. “I don’t know, just the things your family got you… they weren’t things I would have ever imagined you would like. I've been second guessing myself.”

“Of course they got me things I like. They’re my family. They know me.”

“Well, I didn’t know you liked certain novels, or that thing about your insomnia, for example. As your boyfriend I'm supposed to know you, too.”

“Oh, well, I suppose those things never came up.”

“You never told me. You never mentioned the insomnia.”

“When have we ever discussed insomnia specifically?”

“Well, never, but I’m sure there’ve been opportunities where you could have included it in some conversation, like for example if I ever said I didn't sleep well the night before, or we watched a film with an insomniac in it, you could have been like, 'oh, that reminds me of this one time', or whatever.”

She gets onto her elbow and stares at me. “Are you angry with me because I never told you about something that was happening for six weeks when I was sixteen?”

“No, I’m confused.”

“Confused.”

“Yes.”

“It is confusing to you? Like I don’t seem the kind of person that would suffer from insomnia?” She’s kind of laughing at me, but it isn’t funny. No, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to have insomnia. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to have any ailment or condition, be it insomnia or athletes’ foot, bronchitis or an under-the-skin pimple on the side of her nose. 

“Astrid, I feel like your family were bringing up stuff about you, and telling stories, and I had this moment in the room down there where I felt exposed. As if I don’t know you at all.”

“You think your gift was inappropriate because it wasn’t related to my past?”

“I'm worried you’ve been pretending to like the things I get for you, or something.”

Her hand comes to my hair, combing gently my scalp with her fingernails. “I don’t pretend. I like that you choose them for me.”

Incredulous. “You like that I choose them.”

“Mm. It’s a window into the way you see me.”

With a surge of emotion, I inhale loudly through my nose and her cool palm moves to my face. “What?”

“The way I see you,” I repeat. “What if I want to see who you actually are?”

“Well, you do. This is who I am.”

“What’s ‘this’?” 

She pauses. “Who I am at home and who I am with you… it’s just different sides. I like getting your gifts. I like the jewellery, because I like being who you want me to be.”

“And I want you to be…?”

“A woman who wants expensive things, reads mysterious books, and never had insomnia.”

I groan. “Is it?”

“Yes.” 

“But I’ve just realised I couldn’t even imagine you being sick at all, you know? I was with girls before who would go on about periods and shit, but you’ve never brought that up with me.”

“I don’t get period cramps.”

“Okay, well, you see my point.”

A low laugh. “I think if I did, I wouldn’t discuss it with you.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason. I don’t think you want me to have ailments and aches and pains. It’s not who I am with you.”

I cover my eyes, dizzy with a mild headache from the effort of our conversation. “Ugh!” I manage. It’s so late, and my stomach is still so full from dinner that I wish I’d just be sick to ease the discomfort. My frail mind cannot handle this discussion.

She comes closer, rests her head in the curve of my neck. “You know, this is special. Having you here on Christmas.” A strategic subject change, not gone unnoticed, but allowed, given the circumstances.

“Hm?”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend over in years. Since I was at school.”

“Oh. Should I feel honoured to be the first guy in your bed?”

She chuckles. “No. My boyfriend from school was here first, sorry to say.”

“Your mom was alright with that, was she?”

“Yeah, sure. I told her I was going to lose my virginity with him and she lit candles and left a box of condoms and some chocolates and things in a basket on the table. She was very supportive.”

“Oh, God, okay. You lost it in this very spot, and your mother knew about it while it was happening.”

“I think she would prefer here than somewhere dirty or unsafe.”

“Very progressive of her.”

“And what place did you do it?”

“Hm. Not at home. Never did anything there. Would have been too weird. I used to just do it anywhere I could find some privacy. On the ground, and stuff. Then eventually I got a car and graduated to the passenger seat.”

“Do you think your parents knew?”

“Nah, they think I'm a virgin.”

“I don’t think so.”

I nod. “Anyway, what I’m picking up from all this is that your weird little princess bedroom is not off limits? She’s already seen it all?”

“Not it all, but some. Tame things.”

“So we’re allowed? Gitte isn’t going to burst in with a bucket of water halfway?” I roll over to deliver a playful bite to her neck. “What type of woman are you, Astrid? The type to fuck a guy in her childhood bedroom while her family sleep in the other rooms?”

“If you say so,” and turns automatically to put her face into the pillow for me, but I halt her, whispering, “No, I literally couldn’t tonight. I feel too horrible from all the food. I just like knowing the option is there.”

“Sure,” she replies. “It's whatever you want.”

I know that already. This is what I want now. To kiss her temple, pull the covers over her, and let her drift off in my arms.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[darkintothedawn]

DAY ELEVEN || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Day eleven of 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Night time cuddling with Stiles turns into an overly emphasised retelling of an encounter with an 'evil' raccoon when Scott texts Stiles. Ft. Stiles' exaggerated hand movements.

11. Thou shalt not judge thy boyfriend for excessive hand gestures during storytelling.

Memo— You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 4415

Warnings — Fluff.

The room was a sanctuary of warmth and quiet, the kind of stillness that seemed to exist only in the dead of night. The faint silver glow of the moon filtered through the curtains, painting soft, shifting patterns across the walls and the bedspread. The world outside felt far away, muted, like it didn’t dare intrude on the bubble of comfort you and Stiles had wrapped yourselves in. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the blankets as you shifted slightly and the rhythmic rise and fall of Stiles’ breathing.

He was draped over you like a human blanket, all gangly limbs and unexpected weight that should’ve been uncomfortable but wasn’t. His arm looped around your waist, the pads of his fingers brushing lazily against your side in a way that sent soft shivers up your spine. His head rested on your chest, his messy hair tickling your chin, and you could feel the faint puff of his breath against your skin. It was like he was trying to mould himself to you, to tuck every part of himself into you until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

Your hand moved in slow, deliberate strokes up and down his back, feeling the warmth of him seep into you. His t-shirt was soft, worn thin from years of use, and it smelled like him—a mix of cheap cologne, spearmint gum, and the faintest hint of motor oil from his hours spent tinkering with Roscoe.

“You’re so comfy,” he mumbled, his words soft and slurred with the weight of impending sleep. He nuzzled further into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your skin in a way that sent a lazy warmth spreading through your chest. “I could stay like this forever. No world-ending disasters, no Scott freaking out… just us.”

His voice trailed off, but you could hear the smile in it, feel the curve of his lips against your collarbone. It wasn’t his usual grin—the bright, boyish one full of mischief and sarcasm. This was softer, quieter, the kind of smile that felt like it was meant just for you.

You tilted your head slightly, pressing a kiss into his hair. It was soft and slightly mussed, still holding the faint scent of whatever shampoo he used. Your heart swelled at the sheer peace of the moment. This wasn’t Stiles in the middle of chaos, cracking jokes to keep everyone’s spirits up or throwing himself headfirst into danger because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting hurt. This was just Stiles. Your Stiles. Warm and sleepy and so utterly yours.

“You’re so sappy when you’re sleepy,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He huffed out a soft laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. “I’m sappy because I’m in love. Deal with it.”

The words hit you like a warm wave, and your fingers stilled against his back for a moment before resuming their slow, soothing motions. “I guess I can handle that,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the quiet of the room.

His other hand, the one not wrapped around your waist, found yours and laced your fingers together. His thumb brushed lazily over the back of your hand, the motion absentminded but grounding. He let out a soft, contented hum, the sound vibrating against you like a purr.

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, his voice dipping into that half-asleep, half-awake zone where everything felt a little softer, a little truer. “You’re the best thing ever. Better than curly fries. Better than Roscoe.”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were weighing the gravity of the statement. “Okay, maybe not that much better than Roscoe. But if you’re a ten, Roscoe’s, like, a nine-point-nine-nine.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you, your chest rising and falling against him. “Wow. I feel so special right now.”

“You should,” he said, his tone almost defensive, even as it grew sleepier. “You’re my person. My snuggle person. My everything person.”

The words were simple, even a little silly, but they landed like a punch to the heart—in the best way. You tightened your hold on him, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “And you’re mine.”

He let out a happy little sigh, his body melting further into yours like he was trying to become one with you. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t think I’m letting go anytime soon.”

“Didn’t think you were,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you rested your cheek against his hair.

The quiet settled in again, wrapping around the two of you like a warm blanket. Stiles’ breathing evened out, his body growing heavier against yours as sleep finally claimed him. You stayed awake a little longer, though, your fingers threading through his hair as you watched him.

He looked so beautiful like this, his face relaxed and free of the usual tension that came with his endless overthinking. His lashes rested softly against his cheeks, and his lips were slightly parted in sleep. It was the kind of vulnerability he didn’t let many people see, but you felt so honoured that he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

You ran your thumb lightly over his knuckles, memorizing the feel of him, the weight of him in your arms. This was home. Not the walls around you or the bed beneath you, but him. Stiles Stilinski, with his ridiculous humour, his relentless loyalty, and his boundless, all-encompassing love.

The stillness of the night had wrapped itself around the room like a comforting cocoon, broken only by the steady hum of Stiles’ breathing. He was draped over you in that perfectly imperfect way he always managed to pull off—his head resting heavily against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, and his legs tangled with yours as though he couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. You let out a quiet breath, one hand tracing lazy patterns into his back while the other tangled in his hair, the strands soft and unruly beneath your fingertips.

This was your favourite kind of moment—the kind that felt stolen from the chaos of your usual life, like the universe had decided, just this once, to hit pause and let you both exist in peace. It was rare for Stiles to be this still, this quiet. Most of the time, his mind was running at a million miles per hour, his words tumbling out in rapid-fire bursts that barely kept up with his thoughts. But now? Now he was just your Stiles, sleepily clinging to you like you were his anchor.

"Y'know," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke into the quiet, "I think we’re really good at this whole domestic thing. Just lazy nights, you falling asleep on me, me playing with your hair. It feels… right."

A soft hum vibrated through him, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he shifted slightly. “We’re already acing it,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “I’m, like, an A-plus boyfriend. Top-tier material. Could write a book on it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your chest shaking just enough to make him grumble in mock annoyance. “Oh, no doubt. But I think you might have to go up against quite the competition.”

His lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, though his eyes remained closed. “Debatable,” he murmured, his tone playful despite the obvious pull of sleep still weighing him down. “But I’ll allow the idea—for now.”

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his temple, your hand sliding from his hair to rest against his cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to keep testing the theory.”

“Mm, deal,” he muttered, his words slurring slightly as he burrowed himself deeper into you, his arm tightening around your waist. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the weight of him pressed against you made it feel like time had stopped entirely.

You couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of it all. Stiles Stilinski, the boy who could rarely sit still, who was constantly caught up in the whirlwind of danger and responsibility, was here in your arms, utterly and completely at peace. He made you feel like the world outside didn’t matter, like this moment was all there was.

And then, of course, the universe decided it had been too kind.

A sharp buzz from the nightstand shattered the quiet, the phone vibrating insistently against the wood and casting an unwelcome glow into the room. Stiles groaned loudly, his face pressing into your chest as though he could physically block out the interruption.

“No,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “No phones. No Scott. We’re in the middle of peak domesticity, and I refuse to let him ruin it.”

You laughed softly, your fingers gently combing through his hair. “It might be important, you know.”

“It’s Scott,” he grumbled, still refusing to move. “It’s always important. Or, at least, he thinks it is.”

The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time, and with a dramatic sigh that made you roll your eyes, Stiles finally sat up. His hair was a mess of chaos, and his hoodie had shifted awkwardly on his shoulders, but the sight only made your heart swell.

He reached for the phone with one hand, the other scrubbing over his face as he squinted at the screen. “Yep,” he muttered, his tone resigned. “It’s Scott.”

You leaned back against the pillows, watching him with an amused expression. “What’s he want now?”

He tapped the screen and scanned the message, his brows furrowing. “Something about a new problem. Something about pack business. You know, the usual ‘we can’t have a normal night because Beacon Hills hates us’ thing.”

You let out a sigh, already missing the peaceful bubble you’d been wrapped in. “Guess you’re back to saving the world.”

Stiles groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for his shoes. “I swear, if this ends up being something stupid like a raccoon in his backyard again, I’m gonna kill him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “To be fair, that raccoon was kind of cute actually. With it's paws and all.”

Stiles froze mid-step, spinning back toward you with wide, incredulous eyes. “Cute? Are you seriously siding with Scott on the raccoon thing? He was the one who called it cute first! Because, no offense, if you are, that’s betrayal at the highest level and you've already done that twice. Twice! That was not just a raccoon—it was a demon in a fur coat, and I stand by that.”

The intensity in his voice alone was enough to make you stifle a laugh, but it became nearly impossible to hold it back as he began gesturing wildly, his hands slicing through the air like he was fencing an invisible opponent. His pacing began in earnest as he launched into the most Stiles-esque retelling of the infamous raccoon incident you’d ever heard.

“Do you remember the size of that thing? It wasn’t normal. Like, I’m 90% sure it had been exposed to radiation or bitten by a radioactive spider—or raccoon—or something. This wasn’t your standard, run-of-the-mill trash panda. No, this thing was straight out of an animal horror movie. It had… intentions, okay?”

“Intentions?” you echoed, arching a brow as you bit back a grin.

“Yes, intentions!” he exclaimed, his hand flying to his chest as if offended that you’d even question him. “Don’t give me that look. I could see it in its beady little eyes. It was plotting. Like, ‘Oh, there’s Stiles. That guy. I’ve been waiting for him.’ And then it hissed. Do you know what it’s like to be hissed at by something that looks like it eats fear for breakfast?”

“Stiles—”

“No,” he interrupted, jabbing a finger in your direction. “You don’t get to talk yet. Because this raccoon? It didn’t just hiss. Oh no, it lunged. It went straight for me. And you know what Scott was doing while I was out there, defending my honour? Laughing. Laughing. He was just standing there, eating his Doritos, like, ‘It’s just a raccoon, Stiles. A cute raccoon. Calm down.’ Calm down? Are you kidding me? I was fighting for my life!”

By now, you were clutching your stomach, trying not to double over as the mental image of a full-on Stiles vs. raccoon showdown played out in your head. He shot you a sharp look, pointing accusingly as he continued pacing. “Oh, you think this is funny? You think me, potentially being mauled by a feral mutant raccoon, is amusing?”

“I mean…” you started, only to dissolve into laughter as he threw his arms up dramatically.

“This! This is why I don’t open up about my trauma!” he exclaimed, his voice rising as his hands flew in all directions. “Because instead of support, I get mockery! You’re mocking my pain, my suffering!”

You tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your eyes as you grinned at him. “I’m not mocking. I swear. I’m just… appreciating. There’s a difference.”

“Appreciating,” he repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what it looks like when you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. God, you’re even breaking rule eleven right now.”

“Rule eleven?” you asked, genuinely confused for a moment.

He groaned, gesturing so emphatically you half-worried he was going to smack himself in the face. “Thou shalt not judge thy boyfriend for excessive hand gestures during storytelling! It’s right there in the code, and you’re over here, just blatantly disregarding it.”

You snorted, covering your mouth as he pointed at you again. “See? See that? That’s judgment. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not judging,” you said between giggles. “I swear. Your hand gestures are very… expressive. And informative. Truly.”

Stiles stared at you for a long moment, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back toward the jeep.

“And yet, you love me,” you teased, trailing after him.

He stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heel to face you. “I do,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “For reasons that escape me in moments like this.”

You reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a hug before he could retreat into the night. “I promise I’ll take your raccoon stories seriously from now on,” you said, your voice soft as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You better,” he replied, though his tone had lost all its earlier sharpness. He leaned into you for a moment, his arms wrapping around you as he sighed. “Because if another one shows up, I’m sending you out there to deal with it.”

You laughed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Deal. But only if you promise to tone down the hand gestures. I don’t want to get smacked while you’re defending my honour.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder as you laughed again, your teasing met with a reluctant smile. No matter how much chaos life threw at you—or how many mutant raccoons decided to terrorize him—Stiles always managed to make you laugh. Even when he was being dramatic about it.

Soon enough, Stiles pulled away staring at you like he was expecting a sly comment, a tease, anything that would throw him off. But when all you gave him was an encouraging smile, his shoulders relaxed, just a little. Still, he pressed on with his rant, though now there was a deliberate effort to keep his arms at his sides.

“So anyway,” he began, the energy in his voice betraying his attempt at restraint, “It’s not even about the fact that the raccoon was clearly bred in some top-secret lab for the express purpose of terrifying me—because, let’s face it, it totally was. It’s the principle of it, you know? I’m out there, bravely confronting this feral beast, doing my part to keep the world safe from rabid wildlife, and Scott—Scott—has the audacity to just stand there and laugh like he’s at some open mic night!”

One of his hand twitched at his side, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to let it loose to properly demonstrate whatever indignation was brewing in his chest. But at the last second, he clamped his fingers into a loose fist and tucked it into his hoodie pocket. The motion was so abrupt it made him pause mid-rant, blinking as if even he didn’t know what to do with himself now.

“And another thing—” He tried again, but now his voice had lost some of its momentum. His other hand hovered at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like it was physically painful not to gesture. “It’s just—ugh, how do people even talk without using their hands? This is so weird!”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, watching as he visibly fought himself, his hands fidgeting like they had a mind of their own. The sight was adorable—Stiles, in all his unfiltered, frantic glory, reduced to this awkward bundle of energy because he thought you might tease him again.

Before he could work himself up even more, you reached out and caught his free hand in yours, threading your fingers together. He froze at the contact, his breath hitching slightly as his eyes flickered down to where your hands met. His palm was warm against yours, his fingers curling instinctively to hold on tighter.

“There,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Problem solved.”

Stiles looked up at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you. His lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he glanced back down at your hands, his thumb now idly rubbing circles against your skin. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, and his voice, when it came, was quieter, softer. “You’re just saying that so I don’t look ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

For a moment, you thought you had him, that he’d accept your solution and let the conversation die down. But of course, this was Stiles. His free hand was already betraying him, darting into the air with a sharp, swooping motion as he launched back into his rant.

“Okay, but listen—if you think for even a second that—”

And there it was, the full Stiles Stilinski hand-flailing experience, on display once again. His free hand moved in chaotic, exaggerated gestures, punctuating each word as his voice climbed in both pitch and urgency. He didn’t even realize he was doing it this time—his brain was too caught up in his storytelling.

You tried to keep a straight face, you really did. But the sight of him, standing there so passionately, waving one hand like it held the answers to the universe while you still held onto the other, was too much. Your lips twitched into a fond smile, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Stiles paused, his train of thought briefly derailed as he glanced at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just—I really like this.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing again. “Like what? The part where I almost got mauled by a genetically enhanced raccoon while Scott laughed at me?”

“No,” you replied, your voice softening as your smile widened. “I mean… this. You. The way you talk, the way you can’t tell a story without flailing around like a maniac. It’s… it’s really endearing.”

For a split second, Stiles just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if he didn’t know how to respond. Then, the corners of his lips curved into that lopsided grin you loved so much, and he gave a small, almost bashful laugh.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, “Don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for laughing earlier. Rule eleven is still a thing, you know.”

You snorted but didn’t let go of his hand, watching as his other one waved around, now completely unchecked. You could have teased him for it again, but you didn’t. Instead, you just smiled, holding his hand a little tighter and letting him continue. Because honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing about him.

Stiles barely got two words into his next sentence before you tugged him forward, catching him completely off guard. His breath hitched as he stumbled into your space, his body going tense with surprise, but you could already see the shift happening—the way his eyes widened for a second, his brain struggling to catch up, and then the tell-tale flicker of realization as he clocked exactly what you were doing.

His gaze darted between your eyes and your mouth, back and forth, quick and a little frantic, like he was running a mental checklist of what had just happened and what was about to happen next. His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he might just give in without a fight, like he might lean in and close the distance without thinking.

But then—because he was Stiles Stilinski, and of course he had to make this as difficult as humanly possible—he suddenly leaned back just enough to clutch his chest in dramatic offense.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice laced with exaggerated scandal, as if you had just personally insulted his entire family lineage. “I am in the middle of telling you about my near-death experience at the hands of a genetically engineered murder raccoon, and you—you—think now is the time for seduction?”

You blinked up at him, completely unbothered. “Yes.”

He let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and an actual gasp, his free hand flailing for a second before he pointed at you accusingly. “Oh my god. Unbelievable.” He shook his head, as if you had shattered his entire worldview in an instant. “This is how I die, isn’t it? Not from the raccoon. Not from some supernatural horror. But from you, completely derailing my train of thought with your—”

He gestured vaguely at your face. “That.”

You arched an eyebrow. “My face?”

“Yes! No! I mean—” He floundered for a second, words tangling up as he tried to make a point he hadn’t fully figured out yet. Then, realizing he was spiralling, he groaned dramatically and threw his hands in the air. “You know what I mean!”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “Do I?”

His mouth opened like he was about to argue, but then he froze—because now you were really looking at him, with that teasing little smile, with that quiet, knowing confidence, and suddenly, whatever words had been forming in his brain just disappeared.

You could see it all over his face, the way his bravado cracked, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly in your grasp. His free hand hovered for a second, like he didn’t know whether to keep flailing or to use it to pull you closer.

“You’re evil,” he muttered, almost breathless now.

“And yet,” you murmured, your voice softer, your head tilting the tiniest bit closer, “You still haven’t kissed me.”

He inhaled sharply, his hand clenching into a fist before flexing open again. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and for the first time in the last minute, he was completely, utterly silent.

It was almost cute, the way his brain seemed to short-circuit, the way he clearly wanted to keep up the theatrics but couldn’t quite manage to form a coherent response anymore.

Then, finally—desperately—he let out a heavy sigh, dragging his free hand down his face like you were physically exhausting him.

“Fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes like you had just forced him into this. “If that’s what it takes to get you to respect the sanctity of my storytelling—”

And then, before you could say anything else, he finally gave in.

The moment his lips met yours, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just warmth, deep and consuming, like he had something to prove, like he was trying to pour every ounce of feeling into the space between you. It wasn’t some quick, flustered peck, wasn’t something fleeting or uncertain. No, this was something else entirely. Something sure. Something that made your chest tighten and your fingers curl instinctively around his, like holding onto him was the only thing keeping you grounded.

His hand, the one that had been stuffed in his pocket moments ago, lifted like it had always meant to be there, fingertips brushing your jaw before settling against your cheek. His thumb skimmed over your skin, slow and deliberate, the soft drag of it making your breath hitch. The tenderness in that small motion, in the way he held you, sent a shiver down your spine, a sensation that had nothing to do with the temperature of the night air and everything to do with him. There was something so painfully gentle in the way he touched you, like he was mapping out every inch of your face, memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingertips as if you could ever be anything but right here with him.

And maybe that’s why he held your hand a little tighter, his fingers curling more securely around yours, like he knew you weren’t going anywhere but wanted to make damn sure of it anyway. His grip was firm, steady, grounding—but not in a way that restrained, not in a way that demanded. No, it was the kind of hold that spoke of trust, of certainty, of the simple fact that you were his person and he was yours. Like if he could keep you here, in this moment, just a little longer, then maybe he wouldn’t have to put words to the ridiculous, overwhelming love that was so obvious in everything he did.

Because that’s what this was. That’s what he was telling you without saying a single thing.

I love you in stupid amounts.

And honestly? He was failing miserably at making it about anything else.

[hp-hcs]

PART 3 OF PANSYS BROTHER YANDARE!THEO I BEGGGG

LIGHTHOUSE (Chapter Three of Pansy’s Brother) — yandere! psycho! theodore nott x ftm! parkinson! reader

WARNINGS: abduction/kidnapping, possessive/obsessive behavior

short as fuck but wtv

requests open

it’s a real place! tourlitis lighthouse, just off the coast of andros, greece. absolutely gorgeous, huh?

it’s technically a fully-automatic lighthouse, so there’s no real living quarters inside but yk what i write gay fanfic about wizards on tumblr i can do whatever i want

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You fought against your captor, but their grip was unyielding. They dragged you from the library, ducking into a small alcove before the loud crack of Apparition filled your ears.

Apparating was already an uncomfortable method of travel, but even more so with someone holding you painfully tight from behind. Your captor’s nails dug into your skin as they tightened the hand they had pressed over your mouth, and you could feel your panic begin to rise.

All of the swirling, churning motions of Apparating suddenly stopped, and you would’ve stumbled if hadn’t been for your captor’s firm grasp around your torso.

“Woah- careful, darling. You’re alright. Calm down.”

The stranger’s voice was decidedly male. He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, wrapping it around your waist, over top of his other arm.

It was like a really fucked up hug.

Would’ve been sweet of you hadn’t just been, y’know, kidnapped.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You were too stunned to do anything. The reality of the situation hadn’t even hit you yet.

The stranger buried his face into the back of your neck, his warm breath tickling your hair. You shuddered, cringing at the odd display of… affection? Obsession?

You resolutely ignored the man behind you and instead took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings.

You were indoors, a very small space that appeared to be round. The walls were whitewashed brick, and the front door, just mere feet away from you, was a dark, solid wood. There was only one window, papered over with yellowing Muggle newspapers.

Dim light filtered through the window, but most of the room’s lighting came from a few oil lamps hanging on the walls. The lamps illuminated a teeny tiny kitchen, with a teeny tiny fridge, and a teeny tiny kitchen table which, by the looks of it, folded up against the wall when it wasn’t being used.

A ladder bolted to the wall ran up into the ceiling, where you could catch a glimpse of a fuzzy blanket in what was, presumably, a loft bedroom. The oddly cylindrical house was rather quaint, in a weird way.

“I’m going to let go of you now, darlin’,” the man behind you suddenly breathed into your ear, startling you.

You held your breath as your captor pulled his arms away.

The second he let go of your waist though, you made a break for the front door. You sprinted across the room, yanking it open.

He made no move to stop you, and you only realized why once you took just one step out of the house.

You were on an island.

No, the word island was generous. You were on a rock.

A sharp crash of a wave on the rock below sent sea spray into your face, immediately drenching your uniform.

You ignored the biting chill, instead electing to look around.

There was a short flight of steps cut into the rock that led up to the front door of the house-

The house.

You turned around, unsure of what to expect.

A fucking lighthouse was not in your top one hundred guesses.

“Y/N!”

You glanced down from the light at the top of the building to the doorway, where your captor stood.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking rather unbothered by your laughable attempt to escape.

“Where am I?” You demanded. “Who are you?”

“Aw, you don’t recognize me? That’s a shame.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait…you’re Pansy’s friend, aren’t you? Th- Theodore…?”

His face lit up and he broke out in a beaming grin. “You remember! Now, come back inside before you freeze.”

You scoff, fully intending to ignore him. But at that exact moment, a huge wave smacked against the rock, splashing up and soaking you all the way through.

You gasped at the chill. Theodore rolled his eyes and caught your wrist, tugging you back inside with surprising gentleness for the dude who’d just violently kidnapped you.

Shutting the door behind you both, he turned back towards you, frowning when he saw your school uniform dripping all over the floor.

“Wait just one second-” He scrambled up the ladder bolted onto the wall with surprising ease, returning just a moment later.

He held out for you to take: a way too oversized sweater, and sweatpants you were sure would never fit you.

You didn’t take them, stubbornly refusing even though you were shivering quite a bit. “Where. Are. We?”

“Italy,” he responded without hesitation.

You gaped at him.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

[whynotshaveme]

The Contract With Mr. Razor

For many years, Samantha Danielson had boring hair. It was chestnut brown, and she kept it no shorter than her shoulders but no longer than her breasts. One late night, while browsing through the Craigslist gigs section, she stumbled upon the ad that would change her life: “Seeking a woman to shave bald. Must be willing to keep head shaved for one year.”

Intrigued, Samantha clicked for more details. The author was a man who went by Mr. Razor, who outlined his desires in elaborate detail. He sought a submissive woman that, once shaved bald, would follow a strict contract to maintain her baldness or face dire consequences. There would be no money or sex involved. After days of deliberation over emails, Samantha agreed to his terms.

The day came for the initial shaving. It would be early in the morning. Mr. Razor would be meeting Samantha, who he called promiser samantha, at the barbershop. He sent a car to bring her there. The barbershop was a small old-fashioned barbershop at the heart of the city.

Mr. Razor and the barber, an older man, exchanged a few words before the barber motioned for Samantha to take a seat in the waiting chair. As she sat down, Mr. Razor stood beside her, his phone posed to capture the moment as her hair came off.

The barber draped a cape around Samantha. "Where do you find these women, boss?" he asked.

Mr. Razor laughed. "Craigslist. This one isn't as pretty as the last one, but, still, it's going to be fun having her under my thumb for a year. I suspect that she may not be able to resist trying to break the contract."

The barber laughed. Then he turned on the clippers. Samantha stayed silent as their buzz filled the room. The first pass of the clippers sent long strands of brown hair cascading to the floor. Samantha watched as her identity as a free woman seemed to fall away with each stroke. Her cheeks burned in shame and arousal.

"Oh, look at her now," said Mr. Razor, "what a downgrade in looks."

“Yeah, she definitely needed that hair,” the barber said with a chuckle. “Oh well! But I guess that’s what you wanted, huh? Another bald bitch?”

Mr. Razor smiled. "One of many."

After the clippers did their job, the barber applied shaving cream to Samantha’s scalp and shaved her smooth. She remained still the entire time, fearful of the straight razor. Once the barber finished, he rubbed her head vigorously with a clean white towel and then massaged a little bit of baby oil into her scalp to give it a shine. Samantha hardly recognizing the bald woman looking back at her.

“Look at you,” Mr. Razor taunted, slapping her bare scalp. “I know that you want to hide under a wig until you grow back your hair, but that's not allowed, promiser samantha. You signed a legally binding contract to look this way for an entire year. No matter how ugly you ended up.”

Samantha’s heart pounded with a mix of humiliation and excitement. “I understand, Mr. Razor,” she managed to say.

Over the next few months, Samantha adhered strictly to the terms of her contract with Mr. Razor, sending every Monday photos of her freshly shaved head and a self-attestation that she didn't wear wigs to cover her bald head, just caps and scarves. Every time that she sent in this documentation, she would reward herself by furiously masturbating afterwards. But five months in, life got hectic, and, one Monday, she forgot.

The following evening, there was a knock on her door. Samantha opened it to find Mr. Razor standing there, a briefcase in hand. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes conveyed his displeasure. She knew what was coming. Punishment.

“You forgot,” Mr. Razor said, “You know what that means, promiser samantha.”

Samantha let him in, and he set up his briefcase on the kitchen table, motioning for her to sit down. From his briefcase, he took his phone and a tripod. Her punishment would be recorded for his pleasure. Then he took out a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream. “You knew the consequences, promiser samantha of the first missed Monday because it was spelled out in our contract,” he said coldly. “No eyebrows for the rest of the year.”

Samantha did know. She allowed him to smear shaving cream over her eyebrows and shave them off. I agreed to follow the contract, she thought, trying to not to cry, every part of it. I am not a free woman. When he was done, he pulled out a mirror from his briefcase. Samantha stared at her new reflection. Oh, she thought, the tears finally escaping, I'm even uglier now.

“Why are you crying? You brought this on yourself.” Mr. Razor said sternly.

She felt a surge of arousal at his harsh words. “I did, Mr. Razor. Thank you for reminding me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“For the rest of the year, no eyebrows,” he reminded her, “and don't miss another Monday, or the laser hair removal treatments will have to begin."

Samantha shivered in anticipation. "Yes, Mr. Razor."

(Note: Inspired by today's conversations!)

[myveryownfanfiction]

Chapter 5

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, period accurate sexism and misogyny, bigotry

After taking me out cruising around Castle Rock, Ace had backed off slightly. I went back to work and Ace tried not to hang around all the time. I looked up from the register as Eyeball came into the shop.

"Hey." I said as he walked over. He smiled at me.

"Hey." Eyeball handed me a piece of paper. "Ace didn't think he'd be able to come in today." I noticed the second piece of paper tucked behind the first and looked at the top of it. In Ace's neat handwriting was his reason for not coming himself. He thought he'd blow my cover. I ducked my head to hide my smile as Eyeball chuckled. "Sent me with the list."

"That busy today huh?" I asked as Gary came out onto the floor. Eyeball wasn't a stranger to the shop, but Gary really only tolerated Ace. The other boys he seemed to have a vendetta against.

“yeah. I finished my car pretty quick so ace said to come get the shit we need.” Eyeball said, eyeing Gary who was skirting around the edge of the shop. “He said stop by the office for rent on your way to the apartment.” I nodded as I grabbed the stuff off the list. Ducking behind the counter, I folded up aces note and shoved it in my pocket. I grabbed a can of oil and slid it onto the counter.

“alright that’s all of it.” I said. “I can bring the paint that came in when I get off. I know those cars aren’t coming in until next week.” Eyeball nodded and handed over the money.

“see ya later (Y/B/N).” Eyeball said as he lugged everything out the door.

“I still can’t believe you live above that shop.” Gary said, standing at the window and watching eyeball head into the garage.

“It was cheap and clean.” I shrugged. “Ace isn’t a terrible landlord and our hours work out. By the time I’m here, they’re opening. When I’m going home, they’re closing. I can’t complain much about that.” Gary shook his head.

“guess not.” He shrugged. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Relax for a bit.” I shrugged.

“sure. Why not?” I joked. I went in back to grab the paint and boxed it up. “See ya tomorrow Gary.” I called as I walked through the shop.

“take the week off! Consider it a perk of employee of the month!” Gary called back. I laughed and waved over my shoulder. I headed over to the garage and nodded at the guys as I walked over to the office.

“ace!” I called, leaning against the door and looking over the shop.

“out back smoking!” Billy called back. “Remind me to cut your hair tomorrow. It’s getting a bit long!” I saluted him before heading out back.

“hey handsome.” I said, walking over to ace. He smirked at me as he leaned against the building. “Gary can see us so don’t do anything.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, smiling at me as I leaned against the wall next to him. “Get my note?”

“yeah but I didn’t read the whole thing.” I said. “Gary cut me once eyeball left. Gave me the rest of the week off.” Ace nodded.

“sounds nice.” He said. “Got any plans?” I shook my head.

“not unless you wanna head to the next town over…” I hinted. Ace smiled at me.

“Sounds like a plan.” Ace agreed. He put out his cigarette and we headed back in. “Thanks for bringing the paint over.” I nodded and ace sat down on the couch, ushering me over. I sat down next to him and he threw an arm over my shoulders. “Feels nice to just sit for a minute.”

“yeah it does.” I agreed. “Remind me to have Billy cut my hair tomorrow. He said it was getting long.” Ace nodded before leaning his head against mine.

“sounds good. We can head out before he does it.” Ace said. “I’ll talk to him.” We settled into a comfortable silence. Ace grabbed my legs and pulled them into his lap. I laughed and kissed him softly. “Been wanting to do that all day. It’s why I didn’t go over there.” I nodded and kissed him again. “Why don’t you read my note?” I pulled it out of my pocket and unfolded it.

“Or you could tell me what you said?” I bargained. Ace chuckled before nodded.

“Well first off, you look very nice today.” Ace said, kissing my cheek. “And I explained that I couldn’t go in today because I didn’t think I could stop myself. I don’t know how I’m holding back now.” Ace teased. I smiled at him and pulled him in for another kiss.

“you don’t need to anymore ace.” I whispered. “We’re in your office. In your garage. You can kiss me all you want.” Ace squeezed my waist as he kissed me deeply. He hummed as I cupped his cheeks.

“you need to shave soon.” I said as I pulled away. Ace laughed before running his hand over his jaw.

“probably.” He agreed. “Wouldn’t want to grow a beard.”

“I like the stubble. But a beard would be a bit much.” I agreed.

“hmmm.” Ace smirked at me. “That gives me an idea.”

“what idea?” I asked. Ace picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I laughed as I grabbed onto his shirt.

“you’ll see.” He laughed as he headed up to my apartment.

[daitranscripts]

Skyhold Conversation

Cabot

Skyhold Masterpost

Cabot: Inquisitor.

PC: And you are?

Cabot: The bartender, Cabot?

PC: Just “the bartender”?

Cabot: You were expecting…?

Dialogue options:

General (Flissa alive): Where’s my old bartender?

General (Flissa died): More pomp and circumstance?

General: Nothing. I guess.

General: Welcome to the Inquisition.

1 - General: Where’s my old bartender? PC: I was expecting the same face from Haven. Cabot: It’s not a hereditary profession. I think Flissa—what was it? She joined the Chantry? I don’t understand the type, but that’s her business. So. Sooooo. [8]

2 - General: More pomp and circumstance? PC: More gravitas? This is the Inquisition, after all.

3 - General: Nothing. I guess. PC: I don’t know. I suppose nothing. [5]

5 - Scene continues. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Cabot: (Sighs.) I am a bartender. Like my grandfather before me, and my father before him. A lineage destined to draw me hence. Is that better? ㅤㅤ ㅤ Dialogue options:

General: Kind of, yes. [6]

General: No need for theatrics. [ 7]

6 - General: Kind of, yes. PC: Actually? Yes, yes it is. Cabot: Of course. Refreshments await yon Kings of Destiny. [8] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 7 - General: No need for theatrics. PC: Fine, don’t make a big production out of it. Cabot: As ye will it. [8]

4 - General: Welcome to the Inquisition. PC: Well, welcome to the Inquisition. Cabot: Thank you. Welcome to the tavern. [8]

8 - Dialogue options:

General: Where did you train? [9]

General: How is morale? [10]

General: Know any rumors? [11]

General: Goodbye. [12]

9 - General: Where did you train? PC: Where did you study? I assume you’re trained. Cabot: In bartending? I’m no alchemist. You mix the bottles that don’t taste like nug, and you pretend to listen. I suppose I trained at home, during Feast Day family visits. My specialty is ale. Old Antivan recipe. The secret is ale.

Dialogue options:

Special: If you’re so jaded, why join?

[Back to 8]

11 - Special: If you’re so jaded, why join? PC: You’re a bit of a hard-ass. Why are you here? Cabot: If I could fight, I’d be in a helmet. If I was a mage, I’d throw fire. And probably be dead. But I can’t do anything. Just like the hundreds of people who can’t do anything, who make sure the thousands who can do something, can do it. Besides, if you know a safer place than your castle, do share. [back to 8]

10 - General: How is morale? PC: What’s the current mood?

Cabot: Scorn.

Cabot: Ennui.

Cabot: Turgid?

Cabot: Obsequious.

Cabot: Hope in the face of reality.

Cabot: Spirited enlightenment. Also: drunk.

Cabot: Unlikely.

Cabot: Willful.

Cabot: Spritely.

Cabot: Thick with three of the four humors. [Back to 8]

11 - General: Know any rumors? PC: What’s the word out there?

Flissa died Cabot: Flissa had a family. Word is: they’re sad.

Trainers arrived at Skyhold The trainers you brought in are unnerving some of the other customers. It's kind of great.

Briala rules with Gaspard Briala is pulling strings in your favor. It's going over as well as you'd expect.

Gaspard rules alone Gaspard sent wine. And beer. And trophy heads from some sort of… punching expedition.

Celene rules The servants of the empress sent us a crystal glass full of rose petals cradling a single golden pear. I mean, I assume.

Completed Before the Dawn/Under Her Skin Cabot: Don’t tell Corypheus, but learning about his servants has affected how people view him. I think negatively.

After What Pride Had Wrought Events at the temple of Mythal have the Chantry fretting. Fretting! Will no one think of them?

PC in active romance Cabot: A few complaining that you’ve time to bed your allies. I don’t judge. Much.

Romancing Sera Cabot: Word is… that I hope you and Sera didn’t do it on my bar.

Romancing Blackwall Cabot: The horses are spooked. Strange noises were heard in the loft. Things going bump in the night.

Had roof time with Sera Cabot: Thieves made off with our stores of cookie dough. Now it’s personal.

After Blackwall’s quest, made Warden Cabot: Opinion on keeping Blackwall is mixed. Like oil and water.

Dagna recruited Your arcanist has peculiar tastes and a long memory. Don't let the giggling fool you.

Claimed the outposts in the Dales Cabot: They’re pouring in from the Dales. That’s good, I think?

General

Cabot: I hear the Arishok was replaced by the Arishok. But he’d better watch out. In the shadows, the Arishok.

Cabot: There's a vigil for the dead later. I'll be closed.

Cabot: They have heeded the call to power and are ready to raise arms at Chateau Crane du Gris.

Cabot: The admirals of the Felicisima Armada are disappointed the Inquisition is primarily inland.

Cabot: Seven people want your minstrel dead. They’d settle for smashing her lute, but they’re afraid she’d sing about it.

Cabot: Orlais wants war. Now talks. Now fashionable hats. Now they’ve seen something shiny

Cabot: Someone requested a dragon flagon. I threw him out.

Cabot: Heard someone spitting your name. Worked up a good one, too. (the plot flag for this is “bartender hate check”. Do with that what you will.)

All other dialogues exhausted Cabot: Quiet. Too quiet. No, wait. Just quiet enough.

[Back to 8]

12 - General: Goodbye. PC: As you were. Cabot: Inquisitor.

[i-heart-yellowstone]

45 - The not Spaghetti Dinner

Part 46

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Please leave comments and what you’d like to see ❤️

Two weeks later - Faith’s pov

Once finishing my last class of the day I borrowed my roommates car heading out to the rig site that my boyfriend had been working on day and night for the past two days, trying to clean out one of the major parts of the machine that pulled the oil from the dirt below it.  

Cooper’s father was standing in front of his son who was sitting on the tailgate of a white truck with the company logo on the side of it.  “Well…I want you to come see your mama.”

“She’s still here?” Cooper asked with knitted brows. 

He explained back to him.  “She’s gonna stick around a while.  We’re gonna give it another shot.” 

“Why would you do that?” My boyfriend shook his head with a gentle smile on his face. 

Tommy chuckled knowing he was being ridiculous.  “Cause that’s how fucking stupid I am - Son, I’m sorry for looking into her behind your back.  I just don’t think you should have dropped out and I was thinking maybe she could convince you-“ He glanced over his shoulder seeing me leaning against the car I had parked beside his work truck. 

Cooper lightly glared at his father, changing the subject instantly to the dinner.  “What time should me and Faith be at the house?” 

“You’re mama," said seven.  But you know it’s whenever we get the work done for that day.” Tommy explained before I pushed myself off the car and began walking over to the pair.  I was wearing an orange flower shirt, dark blue jeans and knee high brown boots.  

I sent his father a smile waving when I had reached the pair.  “Hi Mr. Norris.” 

“Hi Faith, I’ll see you two later.” He nodded, walking back over to his vehicle and leaving the oil site. 

Putting a hand on my hip I asked him simply.  “Are we going somewhere with him tonight?  I thought this was an unplanned date night since you’ve been working nonstop for the past few days.” 

“My mama is apparently planning a family dinner even though we haven’t ever had one in like the last ten years.  I would’ve told you sooner but he just told me about it tonight, so I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a half smile on his face. 

Rubbing my hands down my arms I slightly felt nervous at the thought of meeting the rest of his family.  I wasn’t sure how his father felt about me recently.  “It’s okay I guess.  I just hope they’ll like me.” The way I heard his father talk about his ex didn’t sound anything like my parents' relationship so I was terrified his mother wouldn’t like me. 

“I’ll still like you afterwards, Faith.  That’s all you need to remember when we have dinner with them.” Cooper responded by sliding off the edge of the truck tailgate, kicking up dust with his boots.  He raised his right hand tilting my chin upward so I’d look him in the eye.  “Cross my heart and hope horses are in heaven.” 

Chuckling, I scanned my gaze over his messy work clothes and stopped at the green hard hat that was sitting on his head.  “I like seeing you in uniform, Norris.” My mothers words ringing in the back of my head when he wore his cowboy hat he got from the gang back home. 

“I wouldn’t really call this a uniform, babe.” Cooper held out his arms looking over his dirty yellow shirt, blue jeans and boots he was wearing at the moment. 

Gently tugging him into me by the fabric of his shirt I wrapped my arms around his neck connecting his lips with mine.  “It’s a uniform to me.  Hey uh - are you done with work I was thinking we get out of here and return Caroline’s car a little earlier and have some us time before family dinner.” I smirked lightly with our faces almost touching the other. 

“Uh - sure we can do that.” He leaned down kissing me lightly getting the idea of where my head was at.  We made the drive out to Tech leaving her car in the parking space I had taken it from before I climbed up into the passenger seat of his truck. 

Crawling over his counsel I placed my lips over his and to my surprise he didn’t pull away.  My hands started to trace his form, I began to run his fingers up and down his chest softly while I began to feel his hand start to crawl underneath my shirt unknowingly. He removed his hand feeling me jump away from him, brown eyes filled with sympathy.  “Sorry-sorry I - I uh - we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

“I’m a virgin, Cooper.  I’m not rushing into anything physical.  Unless you want to..” 

His face turned bright red like a tomato.  “I’ve never had sex either.  I’ve - I’ve just kissed some girls before you but that’s all.” 

Running my freehand through his hair I noticed his red ball cap laying on the dash of his truck.  Picking it up I pushed it down onto his head, chuckling.  “Well then we don’t have to rush into nothin’ like my Aunt Beth thinks we have.” Cooper nervously chuckled, leaning in and reconnecting our lips for another kiss and we stayed there until it was almost dinner time. 

Cooper and I parked his truck in the doorway where he rang the doorbell hearing a loud squeal coming to the door before it got gently opened by a tall blonde woman in a red dress and high heels.  “Hey, baby, come here. Oh, my God, you're so skinny. God, you're filthy. Have you been playing football?” She hugged him, grinning brightly eyeing his clothes up and down. 

I gently push the door closed behind me, biting my lip, feeling my face turning red at her question. “I-I was - we - we were dropping her roommate's car off.” Cooper cleared his throat doing his best to not become a blushing mess in front of his family. 

They didn’t need to know what we were really close to doing in the backseat of his truck. 

Thankfully she didn’t notice how embarrassed we both were and asked her ex husband even though he didn’t seem to be the one running the dinner show. “Mm. Well...God, wash your hands. Oh, babe, take your boots off.  And do we have time for Cooper to take a shower?” 

“Hell, it's your show, honey.” Tommy responded by sending me a concerned look. 

“I'm not gonna take a shower.” Cooper didn’t agree with what she had suggested and rather intertwined my hand with his closest one introducing me.  “Uh mom - this is Faith Dutton, my girlfriend.  Faith, this is my mom Angela.” 

Angela gasped throwing her arms around me quickly, hugging me before she held my shoulders looking over my body.  “Oohhh she’s got some muscle to her.  Do you work out at the gym daily?” 

“I grew up working on a ranch my family owns out in Montana.  Ms. Norris.” I smiled lightly seeing she was still grinning at me so I must be making a good first impression. 

“That’s so fascinating.  Do you like do horse shows out there or ranch weddings?” 

Shaking my head no I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to her question.  “We don’t really do that sort of thing.” 

“Her family raises cattle that they eat type stuff, mom.” Cooper takes my hand in his eyes, seeing my whole body stiffening with nerves. 

“Here, come sit next to your sister.  Tommy, grab her a chair from the kitchen.” She gently pushed us in the direction of the table.   He got up from his seat, came back into the room and sat me beside his son. 

Cooper whispered to his sister taking the seat next to her.  “You smell like the beach.”

“You smell like a goat.” She challenged back. 

A larger guy who clearly worked with Tommy attempted to leave the room. “I'll see y'all after a while.”

“Sit.” Angela shouted and the guy came back sitting across from me at the dinner table.  Angela took her seat at the front of the table with her husband at the other end and a huge grin on her face.  “My whole family together for the first time in...it's been ten years. Sorry. I'm just so fucking happy.  Should we bless it?”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders.  “Why not? I can use anything I can get today.”

Angela grinned holding her daughter's hand.  “Grab hands.”

“I couldn't care less.” Intertwining my hand with my boyfriend and his father’s hand in my other I heard Cooper scoff and roll his eyes.  

“God cares.” Angela scolded her daughter who still wouldn’t hold her brother's hand for a minute.  “Ainsley, hold hands.”

His sister muttered under her breath, placing her hand over his.  “So gross.”

Closing my eyes I held in a laugh when she began the prayer.  “Lord, thank you for this day and thank you for bringing my family back together.  And thank you for Dale and Neal...and my son’s new girlfriend.”

One of Tommy’s other workers who looked to be an attorney corrected her.  “Nathan.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Nathan. Nathan, God. Course you know his name 'cause you're God, but I didn't know it. I know it now.Thank you for this food...which looks damn good, if I do say so myself...I found a butcher that imports wild boar from Italy, if you can believe it. If you're gonna make a Bolognese, it is by far the best to use wild boar

and not just ground pork.” She cursed looking up at the ceiling and I glanced over to my boyfriend with a very confused expression on my face at the way she was doing a prayer. 

Dale, the larger guy near Cooper’s father asked softly. “Are we still praying?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe she forgot.” Tommy opened his eyes, shaking his head. 

Angela finally got onto finishing her odd prayer so we could all start grabbing some food from the table in front of us.  “Help us to be mindful of those less fortunate. Help us to celebrate you by living our very best life. Amen.”

“Well this is definitely different from my family dinner.  Everyone is still sitting at the table actually eating, unlike my aunt Beth.” I whispered into my boyfriend’s ear. 

Cooper smiled in my direction responding with some food in his mouth.  “Trust me they’ll be fighting soon enough.  Then we can go and get ice cream or something afterwards if you want.” I swallowed the bite in my mouth feeling someone staring at me for a long time.  Shifting my gaze I eyed his younger sister who was giving me a disgusted look. 

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

[edenshiba]

Can you do a part 2 to the Jesse x Reader?

Meeting Him Again Pt.2

Character: Jesse x Reader

Summary: Running away isn’t a good idea. He found you.

Note: Sorry for taking too long to do this. I’m having a second thought to post since I love to reread my story and then contemplating whether I need to delete it or not. But enjoy!

Pt.2

Run

Run

RUN!

The word has been going around in your mind for hours after he left your apartment. You can’t be with him again, no. He is a criminal.

The one that has been sent to Rasen.

In S.W.O.R.D there are two types of prison, Rasen and Sun King. If you go to Rasen it’s bad enough but Sun King? Oh no.

You just got the news that he has been transferred to Sun King because of his behaviour and now he’s out from there. He wasn’t supposed to be out this soon.

Somebody pay his way out.

That is a good reason to leave S.W.O.R.D and starts your life somewhere else. Maybe Tokyo.

Or Hokkaido.

In a nutshell, anywhere is better than S.W.O.R.D .

The clock shows the time, it’s 7.45 am and you haven’t slept since he left. You were busy packing your things and called your friends to help and thank god your apartment are already empty by 6.40.

Carrying your backpack, you lock the door before heading downstairs. You wave at the taxi before opened up the door.

“Can you go to Asahina Garage?”

“Ok miss.” You silently thank the god.

You left your bike there, for maintenance. You look at your phone, trying to see the shikansen's schedule. Train to Tokyo left at 9.30 am. You still got time to get your bike, drop it at your friends place and go to the train station.

By the time you arrived in front of the garage, you gave the taxi driver a hefty amount of money without letting him to get the change.

You went inside, there he is.

“Yamato, is my bike done?” You asked the male.

He look up to you before smile.

“ Well, just the oil and I guess it’s good to go.” His words calmed you down.

You let out a relieve sigh before shaking the man’s hand.

“Thank you, I appreciate it. Here.” You gave him the money.

He count it before hitting it on his palm. Yamato went to the search the key. Suddenly, your phone ringing.

Koo

Your brow arched, why did he call you?

It’s no surprise that you are kind of close with the male but he never really call you in the morning.

“Koo, what happened?”

From the sound of his voice, you can say that the guy lost his calm personality.

“Rocky’s hurt?” You look at Yamato's direction before going outside.

“You mean to tell me that Rocky’s got beaten up?” You know this doesn’t concern you but Rocky is the best boss ever.

“Ok, take care.”

“Your keys.” Yamato’s voice shocked you.

“Thanks. Tell Cobra I say hi.” He gave you his usual smile.

You starts the engine before take off. Koo's words had been going around your mind. You look at the clock, one hour before the train leaves.

You decided to visit your boss at his club. Koo said that all the worker has been giving day off for today. You didn’t came to work once and numerous occasions already take places.

Arriving at the club, you quickly turn off the engine before going inside, your eyes caught the sight of the inside. The club is ruin.

You saw Rocky drinking his usual drink. His eyes widen and stands up once he saw you at the entrance.

“(Y/n) what are you doing here?” You hug his tall figure before take a look at the wound.

One on the forehead, busted lips and lots of bruises. Even thought he’s all bruise up, he still got his handsome look.

“Koo called. He said that someone broke into the club and beat you guys up. Do you know him boss?”

Rocky stay silent even after you forced him to spit it out. Eventually you gave up.

Suddenly you remember, you didn’t quit your job yet. You look at him, feeling guilty for what you’re about to say.

“Hey, actually....”

You took a deep breath, in five minutes you would be gone from this life. You already got the ticket to Tokyo and you will begin your new life there.

As you walk past the bento shop, you halted your movements to see the food. You found your favourite, omurice. You pay for the food before continuing your steps.

Your eyes caught a silhouette of someone. At first you thought that you were wrong but the who suddenly put his hand on your shoulder proves you wrong.

You are scared to look at him.

He found you.

“I told you not to run right?” Your breath hitched and your legs suddenly stops.

Jesse tilted his head to the side to see you. He uses his other hand to move your head, facing his face. He smiled at your reaction.

“Let me go.” Your words almost like a whisper. Jesse smirked before his grip on your shoulder tighten.

“Bunny, don’t make a scene here.” He whispered. You almost run from him but you felt something on your waist.

Something sharp.

You froze, Jesse took the opportunity to drag you with him. When you move a bit, you felt like the tip almost pierce into your clothes.

By the time both of you went out from the train station, you saw a yellow Lamborghini at the parking lot. You didn’t have the gut to ask if he stole that car.

He pushed you inside before opening the driver’s door. Without wasting any time, he starts the engine and drove off from the parking lot. Tears left your eyes after you hold it for long. Jesse took a glimpse at your face, he scoffed before wiping it. His calloused finger grips your jaw, not too hard but not too soft either. Enough to stop you from moving.

“Don’t cry bunny. You hurt me.” His low voice send chills down your spine. He let go of your jaw before making a turn.

How you wish you could run far away from him now.

Why you didn’t move far away when you got time?

Why?

Before you know it, both of you arrived at their hideout. The white building stays the same even after six years. The same building and a bit secluded from others. Not your usual traditional Japanese house.

“After my pretty lady.” His voice shocked you.

You look up to him, his smile never left his face. You got out from the car. Jesse took your hand before going into the house. Despite every effort that you put to make him let your hand go, it never work. He tighten his grips as a warning for you to behave.

Loud noises calmed down once you entered the place. All of the people there stared at you for quite sometime, that was until Bernie started to run to you.

“(Y/n), is this you?” He said, amazed.

Bernie hug you and you froze. Back then, he loves to hug you as you are the only one who love to spend time with him. But now, you don’t know.

All of them are criminals, and you want nothing to do with them.

“ Welcome back.” You look at the man, Ice raise up his glass as a welcome gesture.

While all of them still fussing over your return, you felt empty and deep down you want to run away from here.

Jesse left you with Bernie, 9, Pearl, Diddy with his girlfriend and Sarah at the living room. He and Ice went somewhere else. This is awkward.

You kept drinking the alcohol and doesn’t even what time is it now.

“ Yo checked this out.” Bernie’s voice illuminates the whole room.

He started to play the beat and the next thing you know they started rapping all of the sudden.

Very Bernie and 9.

“How long have you been with Jesse?” Your head perks up.

Sarah, who was drinking earlier finally gives attention to you.

“Well, we met around seven years ago.”

“Yeah and they’ve been a couple since.” Pearl added, in which making your brows furrowed.

“Um, we broke up already.” Their faces dropped.

Sudden 9 and Bernie wasn’t paying attention to their song anymore and Diddy look at you like he’s seeing ghost.

“Are you kidding me?” Was the only thing that 9 manages to say.

Well, it’s not their fault. Jesse was crazy back then, and still is. No one and not even you dared to oppose him.

“I, where’s the toilet?” Before they get to say anything, this is the right time to run.

You still remember the house layout. The toilet is next to the kitchen, and the kitchen back door is always locked. But the windows aren’t.

You examine your surroundings before opened up the window. Thank god it’s big enough for your body to get through.

“Ranmaru paid already. Tomorrow we’ll destroy the Rascals.” You stopped your tracks at the voice.

Rascals? White Rascals?

You peek a little from behind the white wall, Jesse is talking to a group of guy.

“Do I need to go?” The guy with blonde hair asked.

“Well, he paid already. We should get the job done.”

Your fist clenched together.

So he’s the one who beat Rocky?

“What’s that?” You look on your left, two cats were fighting.

When you tried to shoo'ed them away, the blonde guy already appear next to you. His face shows no remorse.

He dragged you from behind the wall. Your eyes met Jesse’s. You quickly pulled your hand from his grip, before walking away from him. You stood in front of Jesse, staring deep into his eyes.

“Were you eavesdropping?” He asked. His face changed from smiling to serious.

“ I happened to be there. Now send me back please.” If you ever learned something from your relationship in the past, it is not to eavesdropped his conversation.

Jesse doesn’t like disrespect, doesn’t matter if it comes from his love one. But he tolerates it when it comes to you.

“ Go to my room and wait there bunny. I got business to settle.” He tucks the stray hair behind your ear and push you slightly.

Back then you would blushed, but now it’s all empty.

You obeyed his words. Running up the stairs, you saw Ice flirting with Sarah in front of his room. Both of them stop when they see you but you just wave them goodbye and went to Jesse’s room.

After six years, you still remember. The room is still white, with a little touch of brown. The furniture layout is till the same and the bed cover is still white.

Old memories started to flooding in your mind. The first day he brought you here, the second time both of you were having sex with every position possible in here and how he always whispered how much he loves you whenever both of you were stargazing at his balcony.

You took your jacket off of your body and hang it at the coat rack. You can’t lie, this place does feel like home.

After all these years running away from him you realized that you still in love with him. Jesse always put effort in everything. Even though your relationship with him is toxic, you still like him.

“Did you make yourself comfortable bunny?” His voice shocked you.

Your turned around, Jesse already hung his jacket and only left with his white t-shirt and jeans. He still doesn’t wear his shoes properly.

“I want to go home.”

“This is your home.” His voice is no way around mad or disappointed.

“This is not my home Jess.” You burst out crying.

Jesse stood there, like a doll. He doesn’t even tried to hug or comfort you.

Just stood there and do nothing.

“I should be in Tokyo by now, chasing my dream and not here, with you out of all people!” You pointed at him.

He is expressionless, like a robot that needs to be thought emotions.

He always like this

“Your dream is here bunny. Don’t you remember? You wanted to be by my side all the time.” You grabbed him by his collar, your (e/c) met his.

“No, no! You will not do this to me right now!”

Despite you grabbing him by his collar, which is something that he hate, he still acted like an Angel.

He moved leaning forward, closing the gap in between him and you before pulled you into a deep kiss.

He deepen the kiss whenever he felt like you were trying to get away from him. Without you realize, he already push you onto the bed. Both of you fell down before he broke the kiss.

He wiped the tears off your face slowly. He kissed all over your face, from your forehead to your eyes and both of you cheeks before ended it on your lips.

“Don’t cry bunny. You shouldn’t wasted your tears on me.” He whispered to you.

Your heart aches. You know that he tried to manipulate you, like the old time. But you can’t resist.

You love him still.

No, you are confused.

You are confused by his action. You spent years trying to forget and get away from him but now all the effort went to waste.

You still can’t leave him. You don’t even have the guts to do it in front of him.

“Let me go Jesse, please. I, I can’t do this anymore.” You begged.

“Shh, no, bunny. Listen to me, you only need me okay? Both of us need each other. Six years is enough okay? Let’s start over.” His puppy like eyes melted your stone heart down.

You can’t do this anymore. You push him aside but he soon trapped you again under him.

“Bunny, listen. We can fix this okay? Give me another chance. We can be happy, forever.”

The tears stars to streaming down your eyes. You lose.

You can’t push him aside, it’s too hard. You still love him.

“Let me in bunny, let me be in your life again.”

[i-eat-deodorant]

yeet these baals I need to know

[WIP ASKS]

Before he departed for the surface world, The One Who Waits had given him a very specific set of instructions. 

Head to the dilapidated lighthouse rising out of the ocean. Talk to the keeper, and extinguish all the lights whether they want to or not. At nightfall, follow what remains of the pier, to where wind-scuffed planks are eaten away by the ocean. Drop a single heretic’s head into the dark waters. 

(Lamb had been all too willing to provide the head–they seem to have those in excess, he thinks, and all pretty fresh too. He can see why his mentor was so pleased with them compared to all his other vessels–under the thin veneer of civility was a war machine that followed unerringly like a sheep and killed like a wolf.) 

The waters were thicker here, his candlelight only glancing off the surface of inky depths. With the low fog shrouding the pier, he could barely see what’s beyond his own face. The severed cow’s head Baal tossed in barely made any ripples at all as it sank to the bottom. 

Now all he had to do was wait for this Teeth in the Darkness to emerge. 

Baal didn’t mind taking his sweet time waiting. To feel the wind against this corporeal body, taste the saltiness of the breeze and feel the solidity of his sun staff against his paws, all of it was a welcome reprieve from the stifling atmosphere inside the Gateway. He appreciated his master for giving him and Aym a second chance to prove his strength as his right-hand men, he really did, but when you died on the cusp of puberty, spending the rest of the afterlife with a dating pool of your mentor and your brother got dull fast. 

Perhaps he’ll lie about the negotiations taking longer than usual. Find a nearby fishing town, flirt with a couple fishing boys before the heretics come to chase him out. What his master didn’t know won’t hurt him, although there’s probably a reason he sends Aym on these kinds of missions more often. His brother would rather get things done, then go home and sleep. 

Small bubbles were beginning to rise up to the surface. The Teeth in the Darkness rose slowly, water like black oil sluicing off their hooded form. Baal gripped his staff tight, hackled bristling. The only features he could see of the Ravenous were his snout and smile, teeth unnaturally sharp.

-

Baal bared his own teeth. “If you’re already aware, then cut the pleasantries. Master has far more power than a false thing like you can ever imagine. Tread carefully, or your gullet will taste the full force of my wrath. Sate that ravenous hunger of yours once and for all.” 

Fox let out hissing laughter, like wind whistling through bone chimes. “Haha! Bold words from someone so tasty. Very well, a deal is a deal. What does he wish for?” 

“Protection. Clean up. Surveillance.” Baal unfurled the map he had on hand, tapping an unsheathed claw on the places he and Aym had spotted heretics in and being careful not to draw too much attention near the portal to the Gateway.  “Master still retains some influence over the southwest lands claimed in his name, but recently there’s been an influx of heretics wandering into his territory. My brother and I are becoming recognizable, and he needs more discreet methods of dealing with the infestation.” 

“More heretics? Would it have something to do with a certain Lamb who has been taking the Old Faith by storm?” 

“You know of Lamb?” 

“Do I?” He smiled. “We’re well acquainted.” 

baal is sent to strike a deal with the fox. the fox agrees, but has a proposition of his own. and what proposition is that? well my friend that is a mystery it's smut it's smut if you haven't guessed already it's just smut. i think baalxfox is an incredibly funny crack ship ok

i wrote this... right before the relics of the old faith update, which kinda invalidated all my baal headcanons after it came out. he's written as very pedantic and abrasive here, which was fine with the base game dialogue but fell apart with the introduction of the dlc dialogue. yeah. perils of having your lore invalidated by updates, i suppose.

[francesminos-tt]

WEDDING NIGHT JOFFRON INSPIRED BY NUHON (it's your fault that made me addicted to this dynamic)

You know wedding night in this au is not gonna be happy!! You asked for it!!

Joffrey sat in his childhood room, alone, a deep forest green cloak draping over his shoulder. The fire was roaring in the hearth, making the room so warm that Joffrey was sweating in his wedding gown. He was exhausted, nervous, uncomfortably warm, but he didn’t dare to move. The headpiece on his head was heavily gilded, decorated with various gems and tassels, which made it so heavy that Joffrey couldn't move his head freely. The omega was confident that this headpiece sent by Dowager Queen Alicent was meant to torture him. So was his extremely stifling wedding gown. What other purpose could these unnecessarily extravagant outfit have, if not to put Joffrey through a hard time?

The Dowager Queen really didn't have to go such length to torture him, because being married to her son itself was the biggest torment. Joffrey remembered the conversation with his omega brother Lucerys earlier, when Lucerys came to help him dress.

“You are very beautiful, Joff.” Lucerys said, brushing Joffrey’s hair with scented oil to try taming the wild curls, “You will be the most beautiful bride Dragonstone has ever seen.”

There aren’t many weddings held in Dragonstone, Joffrey wanted to say, but eventually he decided to stay silent. He didn't want to embarrass Luke. Luke was the only one he could turn to in terms of omega experience. Joffrey could ask his mother, of course, or consult a maester about what was expected of him as an omega bride, but Joffrey was so scared that he might let his fear show. He couldn’t. He had to put on a strong face, for mother, for peace, and for the realm.

“I can’t believe my little brother is getting married.” Lucerys chuckled as he braided Joffrey’s hair to fit into the headpiece, “Are you excited, Joff?”

“I…” Joffrey paused, not sure what to say, “I don't know, Luke. It all happened so fast. One minute I was told that I presented as an omega, and the next I am getting married to Uncle Daeron.”

“It was a necessary decision,” Lucerys said, “doesn't mean it was easy.”

“I guess not.” Joffrey replied. Rationally, he could see the importance of this marriage, a symbol of union, of reconsolidation, of peace. Joffrey might be young, but he was not stupid. He had seen enough struggles and bloodshed to understand the importance of peace. The war needed to stop, or else the realm would go to ruin. If Joffrey’s marriage was what it took to stop the war, he would gladly accept his fate, no matter how gloomy the future seemed.

“If it will make you feel any better, I can assure you that Daeron is an honorable alpha.” Lucerys broke the silence again, now proceeding to apply some rogue on Joffrey’s cheek, “I have known him since before he presented. He is fiercely loyal to those who he loves. He will make a fine husband for you.”

Joffrey’s lip twitched, the question on the tip of his tongue, ready to slip at any moment.

“What is it, Joff?” Lucerys asked before Joffrey could open his mouth, clearly noticing Joffrey’s agitation. Lucerys was always so observant and smart, which Joffrey could never be.

“Does it hurt?” Joffrey whispered, his soft voice almost drowned out by the crackling fire.

Lucerys’s eyebrows raised in confusion, but his expression soon relaxed into a knowing smile.

“Maybe a little.” Lucerys replied, brushing Joffrey’s braids aside to expose the boy’s neck, “You know how it’s done, right? Daeron will bite your scent gland, right here. It might sting, but not too bad.”

“How does it feel?” Joffrey rubbed his unmarked neck nervously, dreading the fact that by the same time tomorrow, it would be scarred by a mating bite.

“It feels magical.” Lucerys said, “The union of an alpha and an omega is the most sacred thing nature can offer. Being claimed by your alpha doesn't mean you are conquered. It just means you and your husband are bond in blood and love.”

Blood, yes, but love? Joffrey wasn’t sure. He had only met Daeron a short time ago, but from what he learned, Daeron was obviously more interested in Lucerys than him. Joffrey hadn't spoken to Daeron after the betrothal, so he had no idea how Daeron felt about their union. Did Daeron accept the marriage because he had no other choice? Did Daeron agree to marry Joffrey as a way of showing loyalty to Lucerys? Did Daeron even remember Joffrey’s name?

Fortunately, Joffrey didn't have to worry for long. The bedroom door was pushed open, revealing a tall figure leaning against the door frame. A breeze of cool air rushed into the room, mitigating the stifling warmth just a bit. Joffrey lifted his head ever so slightly, and tried to make out the face of the intruder through silver tassels. He couldn't see it clearly, but he could tell the man was Daeron from the intense alpha scent. Burned incense, with a hint of honey. It felt like walking into a holy sept.

Daeron shut the door with his feet and walked briskly towards the bed. Joffrey closed his eyes instinctively, as if fearing Daeron would somehow hurt him.

“Good evening, my bride.” Daeron said cheekily as he sat down next to Joffrey, “Why are you still in that ridiculous gown?”

Joffrey didn't know what to say. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t dare taking off the gown because he had heard that alphas liked to strip omegas with their own hand. Did Daeron think he wanted to wear this gown? For fuck’s sake, he was soaking his undershirt in this warmth.

“I thought you might want me to leave it on.” Joffrey decided on the most unoffending words, “Husband.”

“Uh, by the Seven!” Daeron rolled his eyes, kicking off his own boots and climbing onto the bed, “No, get rid of it. I hate overly decorated stuff. And the headpiece, too. It almost broke my nose when I kissed you to seal the vow.”

It was true. They had some accident when exchanging vows, and Joffrey had been so scared that Daeron might stomp out of the door and annul the marriage. He couldn't let that happen. He needed to keep Daeron on their side. The war hadn't ended yet.

“Okay.” Joffrey nodded and began to take off his wedding gown. First the green cloak. It was customary for the groom to put the cloak of his house on the bride, a symbol of inclusion. The green cloak resembled House Hightower, and Joffrey hated it. He let the cloak fall to the floor before proceeding to his gown. The heavily embroidered gown joined the cloak shortly, followed by the headpiece, gloves, sashes, belt, inner petticoat, boots, a ruby brooch and a pearl necklace. Joffrey debated whether to leave his undershirt on or not. The shirt was soaked with his sweat, a large wet patch on both armpits and the back, undignified and filthy. He would probably be better off without it.

“Go on, take your undershirt off.” Daeron said just when Joffrey’s finger moved to the buttons.

Joffrey swallowed and did as he was told. Warm air touched his sweaty skin when the shirt slipped down his body, causing goose bumps to form on his torso. He wasn't cold, but he was so self-conscious that he couldn’t help but shivering.

“You look a lot like your brother,” Daeron commented as he got off the bed and wrapped an arm around Joffrey’s tiny waist, “but not as beautiful as him.”

Joffrey tried to remain calm, but the shivering just got worse. This time, it was from shame.

“Your eyes are not as big,” Daeron tilted Joffrey’s chin up and observed the boy, “your lips are not as fuller. You have nice skin, I must say, but I prefer a paler skin tone.”

“Like Lucerys?” Joffrey murmured, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, like Lucerys. How strange, isn't it? He never gets tanned even though he spent a lot of time in the sun on that island. He is very swift with his slender form, but you, you are stronger. Stronger than an average omega.”

Because I have been training my whole life to be a knight. Joffrey had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from saying anything stupid.

Daeron ran his hand down Joffrey’s chest, lingering at his pink nipples for a moment before continuing downwards. He cupped Joffrey’s breast, measured the omega’s waist and hip, parted the omega’s legs to inspect Joffrey’s omega parts, and finally, Joffrey’s neck. When he was done, he turned Joffrey around the pushed the omega onto the bed.

“You are untouched.” Daeron said matter-of-factly, as if Joffrey was some kind of cargo that needed to be scrutinized.

“Of course I am!” Joffrey couldn’t believe his ears, “Do you think I am a whore?!”

“No. I think you are pure and honest.” Daeron climbed onto the bed too and pressed one of his knees on Joffrey’s back to prevent the omega from struggling, “But I need to make sure, okay? Every term in our marriage pact is crucial to the realm, so I need to make sure they are met. It’s not personal. I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Let go of me!” Joffrey couldn’t handle the humiliation anymore. The way Daeron talked about him, compared him to Lucerys, handled him like he was a bag of potatoes, all infuriated him to no end. How dare Daeron treat him like he was an emotionless machine?

“Don't make it difficult for both of us, all right?” Daeron pressed harder, twisting both Joffrey’s arms behind the omega’s back, “Since I have proved your purity, we need to seal the pact. I am going to fuck you and bite you. It will hurt less if you stop struggling.”

“No!” Joffrey shouted desperately, “If you don't like me, why did you agree to the marriage? I will not let you claim me, you monster-”

“Don't make it sound as if you liked me.” Daeron scoffed. Even though Joffrey could not see the alpha’s face, he could picture Daeron rolling eyes, “The marriage is essential to stop the war, so I agreed to it. You have done your duty of staying pure and untouched, and now I am going to perform my duty too. As your husband, it is my duty to claim you and make your belly swollen with my child. In turn, it is your duty to stay obedient.”

“Is that what marriage means to you? Duty?” Joffrey asked, still fight the battle that he was destined to lose.

“Of course.” Daeron confirmed as he parted Joffrey’s buttocks to reveal the omega parts, two fat lips stubbornly closed, as if guarding the omega’s dignity, “Relax, or it will only hurt.”

Joffrey let out a pained groan as Daeron parted his lips roughly and inserted a finger into the place that had never been intruded before. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Daeron covered Joffrey’s body with his own, thrusting his fingers in and out of Joffrey’s pussy. Joffrey didn't have much slick to lubricate the movement, but Daeron didn't seem to care. He just carried out what he had learn in books. Find the right hole and put your cock in it.

Joffrey cried when Daeron’s cock entered him, the alpha’s teeth sunk deeply into the tender flesh of his scent gland.

It didn't feel magical at all. All Joffrey felt was pain, humiliation, and despair.

Their union was not sealed in blood and love. It was sealed by a twisted sense of duty and coldhearted indifference.

[planet-of-the-machines]

Dialogue 2

(In the WDF Elite Guard Division HQ on level 2)

Uzi: “So what if I snuck out to complete my railgun? Orion wouldn’t help me, and the previous power source blew up in my face!”

Prowl: “Ms. Doorman, we had this conversation a few days ago. This concerns whether or not you interacted with the Murder Drones while you were out there. Specifically the one that calls itself N. Or did you not fully read that text… blog… thing my nephew sent?”

Uzi: “…oh.”

Strongarm: “I assume that’s an admission.”

Uzi: “SHUT UP, I CAN EXPLAIN!”

Prowl: “Then explain yourself.” [[Frustration.MP3]]

Uzi: “Ugh… Alright.”

Prowl: “Strongarm, write down what she says.”

Uzi: “I had just found a power source for my sick as Hell railgun when [N] snuck up on me. I blew his head off. Should have killed him, I swear, but it just grew back.” 

Prowl: “And then he mauled you?”

Uzi: “No, not immediately. He thought I was a new recruit to his team. And I went along with it to get some info before returning home.” 

Prowl: “How long were you in… enemy territory?” 

Uzi: “About twenty minutes. Only left after N noticed his teammates returning from patrol.” 

Prowl: “And I’m assuming you found out about their, uh, intentional design flaw before that? That they need to kill us, otherwise they’ll fry their own circuits?”

Uzi: “Yeah, what about it?”

Prowl: “What did you tell him?”

3 days earlier…

N: “Other than ingesting their WARM, SWEET OIL to avoid overheating and dying? I guess I just wanna be useful. I was given a job, and I always wanna try my best.”

Uzi: “And look at all the respect it's gotten you, N! You really think the company isn't going to dispose of you once all the workers and their buddies are dead?”

N: “Oh my! You sure are rebellious! It's kind of exciting… but not as fun as… uh, following the rules.”

Back in the present…

Uzi: “Didn’t really seem to get the gears in his processor turning. Then his buddies showed up, I ran, and… um…”

...

Strongarm: “He caught up to you and created a trauma button. Got it.” 

Uzi: “I wasn’t traumatized! My near-death experience isn’t affecting my psyche at all!”  [[Denial.MP3]]

…

Prowl: “I think that will be all, Ms. Doorman. Exit's out the back.”