#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.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.” 

[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!

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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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[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.

[tropes-and-tales]

Shadow and Light: Chapter One

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x F!Reader

WC:  2258

Other Pieces:  This is part of a larger miniseries that can be found here.

CW:  Slow-burn; plot-building.

The Mandalorian knew every square inch of the Razor Crest.  The old gunship wasn’t the fastest, but she was sturdy, and the Mandalorian was aware of every creak and groan it made.  He knew that one warning light – the one for leaking coolant – was faulty.  He knew the one landing ski took a second longer to engage than the other.

He knew that the door between the cockpit and the rest of the ship made a rusty little squeal on its track before it opened.  He had meant to oil it but kept forgetting, and it was the only thing that gave you away now.

He had just set the course for Arvala-7 and was swiveled in his pilot’s chair to rest a bit before landing.  There was no sound in the rest of the ship that he wasn’t familiar with, but when the door made that little squeal….well, he wasn’t the one who had set it off.  Someone was on the other side.

When the door finally slid open to reveal you, that annoying kid from Nevarro, the Mandalorian was ready for you.  You were wrapped in that same dun-colored cloak, everything hidden but your eyes, but he wasn’t focused on that.  He was focused on the bo-rifle in your hands, the end sparking and crackling with a blue electric current.

It happened so fast:  your eyes widened a fraction to see the Mandalorian charging at you in such tight quarters, and he kicked the weapon from your hands so that it turned off and clattered uselessly to the floor.  Then, like in Nevarro, he grabbed your wrist and twisted it behind you until you were pressed against the wall of the ship, and though he wasn’t exactly gentle before, he was less so now.

The same question as before though.  “Who sent you?” he asked, his voice tight with anger even through the modulator in his helmet.  You shook your head, replied “no one,” and the Mandalorian responded by clamping both of your hands in magnetic cuffs behind your back.  He spun you around and scanned you.

Gods, you were loaded with weapons.  Other than the bo-rifle that lay on the floor of his cockpit, through the scanner in his visor, he counted at least five other weapons:  two blasters holstered low on each hip, two knives tucked away in each boot, and a mean-looking knife, toothed and serrated for maximum damage sheathed on your belt. 

He sighed and started searching you more thoroughly.  He removed your cloak first, and it revealed that you weren’t a kid after all – even in the dusty black pants and grey shirt and vest, the Mandalorian could make out your curves.  Your hair was braided and pinned up, but a few strands had worked themselves loose, framing your face. 

The Mandalorian pushed aside all the questions of who you were and why you were on his ship, and he focused on the more pressing question:  why weren’t you talking now?  Most people – bounties, enemy combatants – pleaded for their lives when he had them dead to rights.  Babbled out promises of riches, begged for mercy, tried to explain their convoluted reasons….you only gazed at him as he removed each weapon from you.  Silent.  Completely calm too.  He didn’t sense any trembling or increased heart rate.

In fact, when he reached down to pull the knives out of your boots, you shifted your weight and twisted each leg a little to make it easier for him.

When he was done and your weapons were in a neat pile on one of the co-pilot’s seats, he pushed you into the other seat and towered over you.

“Who are you?” he asked.  “And what are you doing on my ship?”

When you hesitated a moment to long in answering him, he added, “I can always shoot you out an airlock if you don’t feel like talking.”

“I wanted to go to Arvala-7 with you for this job,” you replied simply.

“Why?  You’re not in the Guild.”

You shook your head at this, and the Mandalorian took a guess.  “But you want to join the Guild?  You need reputation credits.”

“Y-yes.  I, uh, overheard the Guild Master at the cantina talking about this job.  I thought if I helped with this one, single job, it’d be enough to get me in.”

The Mandalorian huffed at this.  “I told you no on Nevarro.  I work alone.”

“I can help.”

He looked you over pointedly, from the top of your head all the way down to your feet.  Without the cloak covering you, he would admit that maybe you weren’t a complete novice.  Your arms and legs were toned from work, and you had been armed to the teeth.  And the bo-rifle was a sophisticated weapon from a race of elite warriors, though he wasn’t sure if you were any good with it.

You took his silence as an opportunity to continue.  “I know I don’t look like much, but I can help.  I can fight, and I’m a good shot from a distance.  I’m very good at blending in and sneaking around.”  You mouth twisted into a half-smile.  “If you maintained your ship properly, I would have had you.  That cockpit door shouldn’t squeak like that.”

“You want to partner up, but you were going to electrocute me first,” he replied sarcastically. 

“I wasn’t.  That was just to…encourage you to listen to me.”  He fixed you with a glare, which you couldn’t see, but most people found a silent Mandalorian just as intimidating.  You just kept talking.

“I won’t take up any space or get in your way, and I listen to whatever you say.  And I’m good with ships.  I know that this is a pre-Empire gunship.  I could tear it down and rebuild it for you, and it’d run as good as new.  Better, even.”

“I don’t need the Razor Crest torn down and rebuilt.”

You nodded, and for the first time, you looked a little uncertain.  He could see you swallow hard.  “Sure, but if it breaks down, I can fix it.  And I don’t need any cut of the credits.  I just want the, uh, reputation credits.”

He only stared at you, and you squirmed a little under the force of the glare through his visor.

Finally, you added, “I know that they kept sending people to Arvala-7.  Stormtroopers, at first, then mercenaries and bounty hunters.  None of them ever come back.  Whatever that asset is, it’s dangerous.”

“So I’d be facing danger in front of me, and have you behind me with a rifle pointed at my back?”

You shook your head.  “No, not at all.  Like I said, I’d do whatever you say.  I could be a lookout, or cover you with my rifle.  I promise I’m a good shot.  And if I have to, I can fight.”

The Mandalorian considered your offer.  He had worked alone since his falling out with the crew of mercenaries he used to run with, and it was better that way.  No personal ties, no entanglements.  Nothing but him and his Mandalorian Creed. 

He’d never concede that it was lonely.  He’d never admit that sometimes he let his retrieved bounties stay out of carbonite for the part of the return trip just to hear another’s voice, even if it was pleading for its life. 

More immediately, he admitted that you had a point.  This job felt wrong from the start – off the books, an immense payoff, no chain code – so your intel about it being dangerous felt accurate.  He tilted his head and studied you a little closer as you gazed back at him.  Maybe you were all the things you claimed to be.  A good shot, a good fighter, a good mechanic.  You certainly were good at blending in, as he’d found out twice now.

Maybe a partner would be okay.  Just for one job, enough to get you those reputation credits, then dump you off on Nevarro and never see you again.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and the expression on your face was indiscernible.

“Lyra San,” you muttered, and he huffed in irritation.

“Your real name,” he demanded.  “Lira San is a legend.  Make believe.”

You sighed, and a blush broke out across your cheeks.  You looked away from him as you answered.  “I don’t know my name,” you said.  “My real one, anyway.  I was named for their legendary homeworld when the Lasats found me.  I was a child when the spacecraft I was on crashed on Lasan.  I was…am…an orphan.  A foundling.  But they raised me.”

The Mandalorian would never concede that it was your admission of being a foundling that made him decide not to shoot you out of an airlock after all.  Deep down, though, past the armor and the Way and his own hurt and trauma – he already felt a connection to you. 

*****

It was partially luck that saved you – this Mandalorian seemed a bit more willing to listen before acting.  You knew there were others of that sect that would have happily put a hole in your head before letting you get a single word out. 

You’d been on Nevarro long enough to learn of the covert there, and you were sympathetic to the Mandalorians.  Your own adopted people, the Lasats, had suffered the same under the Empire.  You understood why only one Mandalorian was ever out at one time, but you didn’t know why it worked – even in their anonymous armor, you were able to tell one from another.  One was heavier, one was shorter.  One walked with a clomping gait, another walked with steps light as air.  Maybe people were too wrapped up in their own lives to notice that an entire group of people lived underneath them.

If the job had gone to any other member of that covert, you would have come up with another strategy.  But you’d observed this particular Mandalorian to get a sense of him.  Some might call it intuition or second sight.  Your foster mother called it a gift from Ashla, the personification of good in the universe.  Either way, you were good at reading people, and this Mandalorian seemed…different from the rest.  He had the same dark thread that all warrior species did, but there was a bit of light too.

It all ended up fine.  A little humiliating, being disarmed so quickly and then receiving a thorough pat-down as he took all your guns and knives from you (though he missed a few, you thought with an inward smirk).  Humiliating too to have him retrieve your pack and then go through it in front of you – your extra clothes, your small toolkit, your store of extra rations and medicines.  Your small bound leather book that you filled page by page with your observations from your travels.  The Mandalorian rifled through those pages, and your blush deepened that he might be reading your innermost thoughts.  He didn’t comment on them, though. 

Then he laid down the rules.

“You tend to your own needs,” he said.  “I won’t spend a credit to feed or clothe you.”

“That’s fair.”

“You do exactly what I say without complaint or question.”

You paused.  “Also fair.”

“We retrieve the asset and return to Nevarro.  I get paid, you get the credits, and we go our separate ways.”

“Obviously.”  You flexed your hands, still cuffed.  “Can I get these off?”

He tilted his head at you, then gave a single nod and removed them.

“Thanks,” you said.  You clenched your hands into fists, released them, shook the feeling back into your numb fingers.  “Can I get my weapons back?”

“You get those back when I can trust you.”

That made you laugh, and he tilted his head at you again.  “Aren’t Mandalorians famously distrustful?”

“Then you’ll get your weapons back on Nevarro.”

“What if we run into trouble on Arvala-7?”

He didn’t answer.  He just turned and sat in the pilot’s chair, and a moment later, you sat in the co-pilot’s seat.  No matter how much you traveled, you never got tired of the sight of space – the stars streaking past you, the distant nebulas of stellar explosions.  It made your heart ache in the best way to think of the vastness of the universe, all the different planets and people, all the things to explore.  You leaned back and rested your head against the seat, and you felt the past few tense hours grow heavy on you.  You tucked your legs up – he hadn’t returned your cloak to you either – and let sleep start to draw you in.

“The guild master calls you ‘Mando,’” you said tiredly.  “Is it okay for me to call you that too?”

The Mandalorian turned a little in his seat then gave you a nod.  You nodded back and started to reply but was overtaken by a giant yawn.

“Don’t worry about the weapons,” you told him.  Your voice was thick with sleep, and you could barely hold your eyes open any longer.  “If I can’t fight, I can just disarm the enemy with my charming personality.”

You didn’t hear his response because you drifted off, and besides, it sounded different through the modulator of his helmet…but the Mandalorian laughed.

You also didn’t see him turn in his seat to watch you sleep, and you wouldn’t realize until morning that he shook out your cloak and settled it over your sleeping form so that you wouldn’t get cold before he retired to his own quarters.

[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.

[ravenrune]

Quick and simple Carlos x reader fic. No warnings. Domestic fluff. 739 words.

Enjoy?

Sorry, no title. I couldn't think of one.

Carlos was sitting at the table, staring outside. He was bored beyond belief, and you wouldn’t be home for another half hour. He had the day off, but everyone he could’ve been hanging out with was at work, so he just spent the entire day alone.

He’d already cooked and cleaned the kitchen, and now he didn’t know what to do.

Feeling a bit restless, he got up and walked upstairs. Maybe there were some chores left unfinished, and he thought it would be nice to have them done before you’d get home. At least then, you two would get to spend the evening together without having to worry about boring housework that had been left unfinished.

After he had made his way into the bathroom, an idea popped up in his head. Carlos knew you’d be tired when you got home. He knew your feet would be hurting because you’d be walking a lot at work today.

So, what could be better than taking a nice, hot bath after such a long day at work?

He wouldn’t mind taking a bath himself, either. He hadn’t been too busy, but the mission he’d been sent on about a week ago still had his muscles aching on random occasions.

Pleased with himself, he turned on the hot water and allowed it to slowly fill the tub. Considering the size of the tub, Carlos figured it should be done and sufficiently warm by the time you’d get home. After pouring in a little bit of lavender-scented bath oil, he went back downstairs and headed into the kitchen. Dinner could probably wait for an hour or two, but he did want you to have something to drink and snack on in the tub because you’d probably be ravenous.

You returned home while Carlos was upstairs, still setting things up.

“Carlos?” You yelled. “You home?”

“Right here, babe,” his voice came from upstairs. “You had a good day?”

You took off your jacket and dropped it on the couch. You’d put it away later. “Kinda?” You replied as you watched your man come downstairs. “It was rough, though. Way too much walking for a job like that.”

“I thought so,” Carlos said, walking up to you and pulling you into a warm embrace. “It’s nice to have you here again. I was getting so bored.”

“Hey, I just got back, I probably smell bad!” You protested, trying to step away from him.

Carlos laughed and didn’t let go. “Don’t care,” he muttered, burying his face in your hair. “Buuut if that bothers you, I got just the thing to make you a little less stinky!”

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Well,” Carlos stepped away and smirked. “I bought a pressure washer, so I guess I can try it out on you.”

“What? Do you know how cold that water is and how powerful those things are? We’re not doing that! I need my skin, you know?”

He laughed again. He loved teasing you; it amused him to see your reactions to the nonsense he’d sometimes come up with. “Nah, just kidding. I prepared you — I mean us — a bath.” He grabbed your hand and started dragging you towards the stairs. “Let’s go. It should be done by now.”

Glorious; after such a long day at work, that’s how it felt to get into the hot water. The warm water made you feel a bit sleepy, and you leaned your head against Carlos’ chest. “This is great,” you sighed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Carlos smiled and placed his hands around your waist. “I figured you’d need it.”

“I guess I did.”

“Do you want a snack? Figured you’d be hungry, too.”

You laughed, looking at the snacks on the little side table next to the tub. “In a minute, I want to snuggle a bit first.” You hesitated for a second. It always felt a bit uncomfortable to bare your feelings to him, even though you knew he loved it whenever you did so. You always seem to know exactly what I need for some reason… I don’t really know what I’d do without you anymore.”

Carlos smiled as his heart filled with an overwhelming sense of joy. “Good thing you’ll never have to do without me then, huh?”

[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.

[pagerspages]

Professionalism and Neurodiversity

I’ve been working since I was 15 years old. I worked a summer job at a cherry processing factory the summer between my sophomore and junior years, the summer between my junior and senior years, and the summer after I graduated high school. I went straight from working at the factory to my first full-time job working at a gas station. I worked at the gas station for four years. I then moved to a big box retail store working in their automotive department doing oil changes and tire work. I worked then as a service writer/adviser at the same shop, and then I moved inside the store to work as a sales associate.  

All of these times I have had ‘problems’ with my brain. I had severe anxiety when I first started working at the gas station. I almost quit a week into it because working with money stressed me out. I also got a talking to from my boss for not being personable with the customers and at least greeting them. The customers really didn't want to talk to me either but that's neither here nor there. I did not know the extent of my Neurodiversity until way after this. 

I thought it would be just a silly funny thing to do if I took the RAADs Autism assessment. (I will at no time during this post claim I have autism because I have not been officially diagnosed.) This funny silly little thing to do really sent me down a rabbit hole when I scored 140. To put that in perspective no Neurotypical would score above a 64. I’ve shared this with friends and they haven’t been very surprised? I guess I haven’t always masked as well as I thought I have.

Anyways working while being Neurodivergent sucks. I consider myself lucky because I can work. I even enjoy working sometimes. Other times I just need to leave and I can’t. There have been times where I’ve literally had to tell a customer on the phone to hold so I could just close my eyes and ears and block out all the noises. The phone is right next to the window out to the shop as well as the register. There are times where my coworkers are ringing someone up and talking to them, the techs are making loud noises and there’s an announcement going on the PA system all while the customer is trying to get me to give them a price on tires and I just can’t fucking handle it. 

I am a people pleaser. I don’t like to tell people no. I think this has a lot to do with my anxiety thinking that people won’t like me anymore if I tell them no and I’m no longer useful to them. I think it’s also become part of my mask. My mask is this really helpful guy that knows what he’s talking about, does his job well and will help others do their job and whatever is asked of them with minimal complaining. And yes I see my mask as a male even though I now consider myself nonbinary, idk why. 

I’ve been asked before what career I want. No one likes it when I say I don’t want one. Like literally my only big goal in life is to be happy. I stupidly said this during a job interview once and unsurprisingly didn’t get the job. I don’t want my whole life to revolve around trying to get a better and better job and unfortunately for me in this stupid ass economy that really doesn’t work.  

I’m not sure what this post was supposed to be tbh. Maybe I just want to rant. Maybe I want someone to find this and read it and relate to it so we both know that we aren’t alone in how we feel. Maybe I just want validation from strangers on the internet. Who knows why I do anything at this point. I sure as hell don’t. 

[magnoliacharmed]

Little Death

18+, Randy Orton x Roman Reigns one shot

[Also available on Archive of our Own!]

Tags: bottom Roman Reigns, vampire Roman Reigns, vampire bites, blow job, slight religious guilt, feelings

Word count: 3502

Summary:

Roman and Randy have their little arguments, but after spending another night together realize they truly do have feelings for each other.

A red rash bloomed at the base of Randy’s neck. His skin wept some sort of indiscriminate clear fluid around the flaky bits of skin that were attempting to heal across two pinprick sized holes. It was gross, gross enough that the makeup girls didn’t even want to get near him. He was a lost cause not worth ruining tubes of concealer over according to their gossipy whispers. Whenever he touched anywhere near the vicinity of his neck, pain radiated up into his skull and sent blood rushing downward to his dick. It felt good enough that the dull pain didn’t deter him from touching near the sore spot repeatedly. If it wasn’t oozing so much he’d probably be prodding and poking at it even more just for the thrill, so it was probably for the best that he couldn’t. He wasn’t in the mood to discover he had a penchant for pain. 

“Yeah, you’re lucky I can’t see your reflection. You'd better be looking happy after tearing my fucking neck up like this. All smiles over there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A small, smug smile threatened to tug at the corners of Roman’s lips. All Randy had to do was turn around to see just how happy he really was, but he was so busy looking at his bite wound that Roman knew he’d have a few seconds to pull himself together. 

“Oh, you 'don’t know what I’m talking about'. Look at this shit, man.”

Randy finally turned away from the mirror and stomped over to Roman. He angled his neck up into the bright white lighting of the locker room to point at the spot Roman was quite familiar with. 

“I thought vampires were supposed to be able to heal people.”

“We can, I guess it just didn’t work on you this time.” Roman shrugged as he tied up his sneaker. He was proud of himself for not chuckling too loudly at Randy’s whining. 

“Are you— are you laughing? I know you’re not laughing right now.”

“I promise I’m not,” Roman stifled himself. “Wouldn’t want to upset you.”

“I’m way past upset.” 

Randy moved into Roman’s space, blocking out the light above him. These little fits of anger were normal for him, Roman had come to realize. For Randy, being around Roman made his emotions get even more volatile than usual. In fact he only got more pissed off seeing that Roman never shrunk down in fear whenever he approached him in one of his moods. Unfortunately for Randy, Roman seemed to get a lot of amusement out of seeing him frazzled.

“I’m sorry. What will it take for you to forgive me?” 

Randy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 

“You can suck my dick.”

“I was planning on doing that anyways.”

“Look, I just don’t believe that your healing doesn’t work on me. It worked before, kinda.”

“I think you want me to heal you so I can be at your neck again. You’re not slick.” 

Annoyance rolled through Randy in a light wave. “Why the fuck would I want you back there when you did such a sloppy job in the first place? Isn’t biting your whole thing? I don’t understand how you’re so bad at it.”

“Okay, okay fine. What about—“

“Don’t say my thighs either. Trunks.” 

Randy gestured towards his exposed legs. They were still a little shiny from his pre-match oiling up and Roman wasn’t shy about taking a long look at them. He let his mind drift back to the one time Randy let him plunge his fangs into the supple skin. The way Randy yelled out his name and collapsed on the floor when he came had been ingrained in his memory ever since. Roman didn't mind getting cussed out something serious by Randy after the fact. It was worth it to see him so weak and open.

“Well, I guess I can never bite you again since nowhere works for you.”

Panic rose very suddenly and violently within Randy. Maybe he'd gone too far with the back and forth. He was never very good at the whole banter thing. It always got too real on his behalf, leading to some kind of fight that he ended up instigating.

“I think you should try healing me one more time.”

It took one flash of movement from Roman to be nose to nose with Randy, the swift movement causing cool air around them to rush by. Looking into his eyes with a focus so intense it couldn’t be human, Roman bit down into his wrist. Thick, shiny droplets of blood beaded up at the puncture marks. Randy couldn’t help his heart beat rising at the sight of it even though he knew Roman would be able to sense it and subsequently make fun of him. Never in a million years would he have thought the taste of blood would be appealing, but here he was craving it like nothing else. Slight embarrassment prickled at him as Roman held his wrist up to his lips, but it just as soon faded into an energetic pleasure while he consumed deep drinks of the sweet, sort of rusty flavored liquid. Something always died in him when he drank Roman's blood. He wasn't much of a religious guy, but the feeling of being pulled into the darkness intensified with every drink.

“You can have as much as you want, Randy,” Roman breathed. The sensation of having blood taken from his body was weirdly painful but not entirely awful. It reminded him of when he got his balls pulled on too hard during head, something Randy liked doing to him every once in a while when he was in a bitchy mood. “You can have all of me.”

Randy inhaled deeply. It took an amount of willpower he didn't know he had to release himself from Roman’s wrist, but he managed to separate himself. The blood coursed through his veins in a rush. It always felt like the tail end of a great orgasm, leaving him wanting more even though he was never sure if he should have it. His hand automatically reached up his neck to feel at his newly healed skin. It was strangely smooth and tight. 

“I’ve got my match in a few minutes.” Roman adjusted his pants to hide away his erection as he took note of Randy's slightly disturbed expression. Randy needed some kind of release and he needed it now. He pushed thoughts of burning in hell for eternity to the side for the moment-- there were more important things to focus on.

“You’re a fucking tease. And a masochist, you freak. You're gonna go out there hard?”

“First of all, I think you’re projecting there. You’ll be okay until the end of the show. Secondly, I can will it down before I get to gorilla.”

“The end of the show? That’s a whole hour from now,” Randy gritted out.

“Don’t be a baby, that's not that long. Am I coming to your room?”

“Yeah, just hurry up when you’re done here. I know you like to stand around and shoot the shit, especially when I’m waiting for you.” 

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special.” Roman rose to his feet and clamped a strong hand down on Randy’s shoulder. If he wanted to, he could crush his bones with one small squeeze. He instead gave him a featherlight caress before walking away. 

—-

Roman was such an asshole. 

Even knowing how badly Randy wanted him, needed him, he still took his sweet time leaving the arena after the show. He took a long shower until the water ran cold, talked to everyone in the locker room, the asshole even stood by the catering table taking tiny bites of food when anyone with half a brain already knew he was a vampire. Randy paced back and forth across his hotel room for what felt like hours. Just as he pulled out his phone (only to check the time and text John to see what he was up to, not to hover his finger over Roman’s phone number for the hundredth time), Roman entered the room without a care in the world. 

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“No, just a whole hour and a half.”

“God that must have felt like forever, huh?”

Randy rolled his eyes. He had something smart to say right on the tip of his tongue, but it died away at the sight of Roman taking his hair out of his ponytail. Long luxurious dark locks spilled out across his shoulders and filled the room with the scent of fresh shampoo. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t even fuck you tonight. You’re being more of an asshole than usual and I’d hate to reward that kind of behavior.”

Roman’s laugh was so loud that it filled the suite. As if he could ever be denied. 

“I think we both know that you’re gonna fuck me. I don’t even have to glamor you to guarantee that.”

Randy hated being thought of as easy. He hoped that that opinion wasn't shared by the rest of the locker room.

“Whatever.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. Let me make it up to you.”

Roman playfully batted his lashes up at Randy as he moved to sit on the edge of the very soft king sized bed. Randy sighed at the all too familiar way the night was playing out. All it took were a few cute looks and he was at Roman’s bidding in an instant. What annoyed him about the whole situation was that he was sure that he would still fall for this act if Roman wasn’t a vampire too. This wasn't weird vampire love magic shit… for Randy, it was real. Deep down, knowing that made him feel a lot less pathetic and damned. At least no one could call him a fang-chaser.

“Don’t scrape against my dick.”

It was Roman’s turn to roll his eyes. “Never that, baby. Only if you want me to.”

Randy shivered at the thought of Roman's fangs dragging down his dick. “Freak.”

“You’re projecting again.”

The groan Roman was always chasing after hit his ears like a perfect melody when he began to hollow his cheeks around Randy’s cock. His length shocked him every time he saw it— how he managed to arrange himself in his tiny trunks every show was a mystery. Drool leaked out the side of Roman’s stuffed mouth messily causing him to hum while he continued sucking. 

Roman blinked away the wetness that flooded his eyes. Lucky for him he didn’t need to breathe since Randy’s cock was choking him anyways. He let himself be soothed by the way Randy pulled his hair every which way. It strained his muscles but didn’t hurt him, not in the way he liked at least. 

“I’m gonna come if I keep playing with your hair.”

“On my face?”

Randy sighed. There was no one else on the planet with as much resolve as him, he thought as he removed himself from Roman’s inviting mouth. Though the very pretty idea of his come getting in Roman’s lashes and covering his full lips would be a sight he’d love to see, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He just liked to say shit like that to get Randy hot and bothered but he never followed through. Roman blew a kiss as he slid his way up onto the bed and started to maneuver himself for Randy to get behind him. 

“Nuh-uh, tonight I wanna look at your face. I want you to see what you could’ve had hours ago if you weren’t playing around so much.”

“That’s cute, Randy. What’s a couple hours when I have the rest of eternity to live?”

“A couple of hours is eternity when it’s the difference between me deciding I’m through with your shit or not.”

“You keep threatening me with no sex but you never actually withhold. I don’t think I take you seriously.” 

Roman let one of his fangs scrape lightly against his bottom lip at the first push of Randy inside of him. It was always so exciting to feel him go deep. Randy ran pretty warm, even for a human, and it reflected quite well in how hot his dick felt inside of Roman. Of course being undead and being lukewarm at his highest temperature made any human feel hotter, but something about Randy’s warmth felt like he was being burned inside out. A groan began to rumble in Randy's chest at how tight Roman was. He slowed his rhythm down and dragged himself in and out, causing Roman to take deep breaths with every stroke. His skin felt like it was leaving burns on Roman's.

“Already losing it? Thought I was gonna get you all night,” Roman whispered. He received a frustrated growl in response and it made him smile. 

Randy ignored the shit-talking and got right into Roman's ear. “I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours.” Roman let his lips part with a moan and opened his eyes slowly to look into the bright blue of Randy's.

When Randy first met Roman, he was unsettled by the clear gray of Roman’s irises. Most people couldn't look into them for any longer than second without getting uncomfortable and Randy wasn't any different. He slowly trained himself to finally be able to hold some kind of extended eye contact with him after months of practice. There was no way he was going to let himself get punked out by someone who called himself Roman Reigns, vampire or not. Roman had to respect his boldness. In all of his years, no one had stood up for themselves to him in that way. It didn't take long after that for Roman to ask to spend the night with Randy to see if he could handle him in the bedroom too. 

“Your hair’s gonna get tangled if you keep moving around like that,” Randy mumbled. He needed to focus on anything besides how good he felt. Roman shot him a glare that told him to refocus on his priorities or face the consequences. He was good about playing submissive most of the time, but occasionally he let the veil slip. He wrapped his legs tighter around Randy's waist and pushed himself down as far as he could onto his cock. Randy threw his head back, letting his eyes widen at being surrounded by Roman. It was the little things he did that made him the best Randy had ever had.

"You gonna bite me soon?"  Randy scraped out.

"Ask me nicely." 

Randy’s lips set themselves into a hard line. After being told to wait and doing it very patiently, Roman was still teasing him like this. If he wasn’t so turned on and desperate for an orgasm, he would’ve pulled out and given Roman the silent treatment until he left his room. The thought had crossed his mind what seemed like every time they fucked. In the end, he knew he never could do it. Roman could be as much of a jerk as he wanted and Randy would still put up with him. 

“I’ve been waiting all day for you, haven’t been able to get you off my mind. I get so fucking hard when I think about you and your lips and your hair and your eyes, God I love your eyes… Roman, please give me what I need.“

Roman's teeth grazed against Randy's neck. The taste of his sweat inflicted feelings of confusion, latent terror, and a deep affection within Randy. Affection… it softened Roman up just enough to--

Every muscle in Randy’s body tightened up like a guitar string ready to snap. When he felt Roman suck at the bite he’d just left on him, all of his body relaxed so severely and quickly he thought he’d actually died. It took a lot of effort to remember how to breathe, and actually doing it was even harder. The loss of blood made him feel loopy and dumb in a blissed out way. All he wanted to do was make Roman feel good. The urge to make him come was primal and animalistic, sending his mind into a frenzy that his body tried valiantly to follow up with. 

He gasped when Roman came away from his neck. The flush that reddened up his cheeks shocked him every time. He looked so alive— it was unsettling. When he licked his lips to catch the remaining drops of his blood it sent Randy back down to earth. His eyes glazed over for a few moments as Roman bit into his wrist again. 

Without a second thought, Randy eagerly took his own drinks of Roman and began to pump hard inside of him. Roman laughed and laughed at the increased vigor from his partner. It was always funny in an endearing way to see him get so worked up after having blood. His smile fell away and his hands clenched into the sheets when the tip of Randy started to brush against his prostate. He barely looked present as he thrusted roughly inside of Roman. 

“Should come all over your face for making me wait. Make you walk back to your room with it on you. Take you through the lobby, let the boys see you covered in me, fuck. Show ‘em you’re mine.”

Randy buried himself to the hilt in Roman, completely pressed against his prostate. It only took seconds for Roman to shut his eyes and arch his back off of the bed when he came. The way he shuddered below him made Randy press his face into the bed and release deeply inside of him. Randy seemed stunned at Roman's heavy breathing and relaxed expression, surprised as usual that he was the one that made him come so hard. 

Several minutes after Randy pulled out of Roman and cleaned him up, he decided to ask the one question that he'd been wondering about for a while.

“What do you feel like when you take my blood?”

“I don’t know, I just feel good. I feel satiated and warm. Knowing that I have you in me forever coursing through my veins comforts me and turns me on like crazy." 

Roman knew that they weren't the sentimental conversation type. The uncharted territory made him nervous, a feeling that was quite alien for him. Randy on the other hand wasn't sure if he should be flattered or on edge. The implications of the sentiment scared him shitless. Forever was a long, long time. But if Roman was willing to do forever, he was more than ready to too. 

"Let me get the knots out of your hair." Randy began to attempt to untangle Roman's mane of hair. He didn't want to give himself another thinking headache.

“How does my blood feel for you? You start acting like a fiend whenever we can’t fuck for a while so I’m assuming it’s pretty good.”

“It’s like… it’s like… have you ever done coke? Or ecstasy? Or meth? It's like being on all three at once. You almost feel guilty from how good you feel. Shit is awesome, man.”

“Wait, you've done meth before?”

“On accident, yeah. Was with some guy, he asked me if I wanted to party, I didn’t know he meant like that.”

“You still could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, well.”

And that was the end of that conversation. 

—-

Roman watched Randy rub at his neck idly while he spoke to John. From the pinched expression scrunching up his eyebrows and squinting his eyes, John was probably ribbing him pretty badly. As big and tough as Randy was, he was so sensitive sometimes. It was cute when it wasn't annoying. Roman approached the two slowly so as to not scare an already cagey Randy.

"Oh hey, Roman. I think you've gotta stop biting Randal in the same spot every time. The makeup artists have to powder him down just right there--" John pointed a thick finger at the exceptionally shiny healed skin. "--and that's saying something 'cause he's already oily as fuck. Maybe you should go for his thighs." 

"I brought that up already, he told me no."

"You're both stupid, must be sharing the same half a brain. I wear trunks."

Randy pushed past the both of them to walk in the direction of catering. Having his blood taken made him even hungrier than usual. Yes, it was the blood being taken and not being worn out from the sex. His cheeks burned thinking about the previous night.

"Going to catering, sweetheart? You must have really worked up an appetite, your boyfriend here can barely walk."

"Shut the fuck up, Cena!" Randy yelled as he turned a corner. The laughs of his friend  and his lover (Boyfriend?) echoed irritatingly in his head. At least John wasn't a vampire, too. 

[souridealist]

FFxivwrite day 7: 'morsel'

[Elilona&Alphinaud, Elilona&Scions, Estinien/Alphinaud].

--

“Does it seem to you,” Alphinaud asks, “that Elilona keeps trying to feed people?”

“Hm?” Estinien lifts his face from Alphinaud’s hair, blinking sleepily. The aetheryte journey from Radz-at-Han takes a great deal of aether, even from him, and their bed is a warm soporific nest in a Garlean cold. “It’s a refugee camp. Of course she sent something.”

“Even she could hardly cook enough alone to feed us all.” He pauses. “She’d try, wouldn’t she? If we asked her to.”

“Most likely.” Estinien squeezes Alphinaud’s shoulder, gentle in the dark. “She’s doing well, I think. She looks… well.”

“Right, she’s heading out to you quite often, isn’t she?” Only Elilona could take an aetheryte from Gridania to Thavnair and back as if it’s no more effort than crossing a city.

“I think Nidhana’s teaching her how to… do something,” Estinien says. That’s actually quite encouraging — Elilona does better when she’s working with her hands — but Alphinaud does have a point here, brought to mind by the heap of sykon cookies that Estinien brought with him.

“It isn’t only us she tries to feed,” he says. “Urianger says that when he and Thancred were in Gridania they could barely move for peach tarts and lemon muffins, and she keeps sending Tataru and Cid these mixes for Thavnairian chai. Don’t tell me she didn’t send you with something for Y’shtola too.”

“More cookies,” Estinien admits. “And she kept trying to feed me these pumpkin things. I thought maybe someone grew too many pumpkins.” He pauses. “I think that terrifying woman at the Baldesion Annex mentioned they got sent a bundle of things, too.”

“When did you even talk to Krile?” Alphinaud shakes his head. “Ah, well, that’s good to know.” Doubly so since asking G’raha about Elilona seems unkind, just now. “I’m sure she’s sent Lyse something, too, and I believe I heard she was sending something to her friends in Ishgard.”

“Well, it hardly seems you needed to ask me anything,” Estinien says, laughing against Alphinaud’s cheek. “So, what, are you afraid she’s going to give it all up and become an official culinarian? Does Alisiae think you’re being a fool?”

“She doesn’t, actually,” Alphinaud says, not without smugness. It fades quickly, and he buries a sigh in Estinien’s chest. “I just… I hope she’s all right. I worry about her.” Such simple sentences, to hold every ledge he’s watched her stand at. He’s dragged her back from too many of them. “You didn’t see her, after Ysayle…”

“I know.” His arms are a brief, tight pressure around Alphinaud’s ribs, a silent apology for silence and lost time. “We’ll keep an eye on her. For now she’s happy enough.”

***

Alphinaud gets a chance to ask Elilona eventually, when he and Alisiae catch a few days to slip away and visit. Elilona’s house is rich with the smells of sugar and carrots, and she has flour dusted across her apron and perilla oil on the blunt bridge of her nose. She blinks at him once, twice, and then laughs.

“I guess I am cooking a lot, huh?” she says. “It’s been so long since I had anywhere enough to cook in, is all. Five or six years now, I think? Since before I came to Gridania, even. So it’s nice, to be able to do this again.”

Alphinaud’s mouth goes thick with the taste of regret, there and gone. There’s so much he regrets about those first days, with the primals on one side and the Garleans on the other and Elilona driven before them all. What an arrogant, blindered fool he was. So many things that so many of them should have said, and should have asked.

Elilona is smiling here and now, though, as she looks around the gentle colors of the home she has at last. Alphinaud swallows hard and steps forward to hug her as tight as he can, his arms only half reaching around her ribcage and his face buried against her ribs. She hugs him back without a question, her hands gentle on his shoulders. He is almost certainly going to come away with a flour-dusting of his own.

Funny, isn’t it, how these things go.

[observeroflaplace]

To the Flame

A Veena’s gloved hand passes over a stack of letters, fanning them outwards. His solemn gaze, lit by a warm, amber light in the deceptively cold night, lands on a few, spared the overlapping of pages from the loose scattering. Many fall to the dusty floor.

————

3rd Sun, 2nd Umbral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

I’ve arrived, for what it’s worth! I lost most of my baggage in the process, though.  If you’re wondering why I write on the 3rd sun rather than the second, that’s why.

The airship was forced to turn back, on top of me messing the first scheduled flight as you know.  Since the flights had to be mixed with the next one, our baggage had to be sent on a smaller, separate vessel… and I got separated from my papers, and some of my glassware didn’t survive the trip.

I’ve been granted some compensation, so that should tide me over for a little bit, but it’s embarrassing to have to dip into the stipend so soon for equipment I should have had with me.  I hope it gets sorted soon.

From Ada.

————

10th Sun, 2nd Umbral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

My funds from the compensation are running low, but I’m still hanging in there and fighting to get my luggage with my papers back!  Hopefully it gets sorted soon…. Pray for me…

Best wishes, Ada x.

————

11th Sun, 2nd Umbral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

Great news!  My papers are all here and I’m no longer scrounging Gil at the inn room.  Bad news is, they can’t put me up long term, no matter how much money I have, or so they tell me.  I need to start looking for alternative lodgings… and a practice to study under and do my research.  I’m sure I’ll find some volunteers soon.  It’s important work, after all!

All the best, Ada.

————

1st Sun, 3rd Astral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

I hope you’re keeping well!  I know you’ve got a pretty picky diet.  As for me, I’ve sorted out the clinic problem, and lodgings to boot!  It’s… at an adventurer’s guild.  Please don’t laugh.  You’re probably laughing right now.  I just hope they don’t expect me to wave a Conjurer’s stick.  I do longer term medicine!  Though I suppose potions and salves are an option… even if they’re a bit of an insult to the art.  Still, even student-level brews are bound to be better than the snake oil they sell here.

All the best!!  Ada x.

————

12th Sun, 3rd Astral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

You’ll never guess what!  I have a patient!

Well, I know that doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it’s nothing recent.  If anything, the existing scar tissue will be a challenge, but also an opportunity.  He’s an odd fellow, but for now he’s consenting to the procedure.  Now I just need to acquire materials and begin model and in vitro testing before I begin with him proper - and anyone else who might volunteer.

I hope things are going well on your end!  You must be busy with work and studying, so hang in there!  I’m rooting for you!

All the best!  Ada x.

————

24th Sun, 3rd Astral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

Are you okay?  I’ve not heard from you in a while.  How are things back home?  And your research?  I know you can’t really talk about it, but I just want to hear that it’s going okay.

On my end, I’ve found mention of a type of… sky snail?  Shellfish?  Which could help my research.  Supposedly it can help mend nerve damage; which is a good first step in restoring lost appendages.  I’ll let you know if I find out anything else of interest!

Stay safe!

————

Love, Ada x.

15th Sun, 4th Astral Moon

Dear Ilmari,

Please.  Write back to me.  You promised to keep in touch.  I’m sorry for pestering you these past few months but I just need to know you’re alright.  I just need to know that we’re still friends.

Please.

I beg of you.  I miss home.  I miss spending time with you.  Everything is so much.  I miss you.

Ada.

————

The Veena crouches down to pick up the scattered pages. And with one swift motion, tosses them aside. His eyes flicker, unblinking, at the faint light in the darkness.