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haartemis · 5 months ago

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BIG EGO | Kylian Mbappé

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: people say you and kylian are the perfect match; both of you confident, unstoppable, and drawn to each other like magnets. when one evening you loyally defend him against snarky online critics, kylian shows his appreciation by proving once again that while his ego might be big, there’s something else of his that's even bigger...

warnings: smut!!! its all smut

a/n: this song feels like kylian so much lol, i figured i had to write something based on it. writing smut is still so hard *no pun intended* 🥲 feedback is welcome

you know kylian better than anyone else.

he’s kind, funny, smart, but above all, he’s confident. he doesn’t downplay his talent or pretend not to notice the greatness everyone else sees in him. instead, he’s matter of fact about it, and you find that quality of his charming, magnetic, and infuriatingly sexy. why?because you’re the same.

you know your worth. why move through the world being fake humble? you’re aware of who you are, what you’re capable of, and you don’t see the point in pretending otherwise. there’s no reward in dimming your light to make others feel comfortable. it’s not arrogance; it’s confidence. but for many men, especially those you were romantically involved with in the past, your confidence often intimidated them, and they ran away.

not kylian, though.

when you first met him, a meddling stranger had warned with fake concern that kylian was 'too full of himself' and therefore bad news. yet from the very first conversation it was like seeing yourself reflected in someone else. the same drive to succeed in your careers, the same unwavering self assurance. where others saw you as a threat, he saw you as an equal partner, and he didn’t shrink away from you. instead, he was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. or more accurately, like fire meeting fire. together, you bring out the best in each other.

"what a beautiful couple!' people usually exclaim at weddings, birthday parties, or any social gathering. they admire the way you hold yourselves, the way your personalities mesh in such a perfect way. you understand why it works: you see the best in yourselves, and you see it in each other too. and sometimes you play up the cockiness people project onto you two, just cuz it's fun. especially in the bedroom, when its just you two and you can bask in each other's love.

but sometimes, that projection can get under your skin. tonight is one of those nights.

you’ve just gotten back home after an evening game at the bernabeu, a game the team won. it feels like he’s hitting his stride again, growing sharper and more confident in the white shirt he’s always dreamed of wearing. he scored a nice goal, yet the trolls online still seem determined to tear him down.

kylian has never really minded it. whether praise or criticism, he’s used to people talking about him. he knows football fans can be fickle and reactionary, so he usually doesn't put much weight onto whatever they say. in fact, he makes a point to stay offline most of the time, to disconnect from the craziness of twitter. but you? you're very online, and sometimes you can’t help but want to bite back on his behalf.

you’re scrolling through your twitter timeline, sitting on your bed waiting for kylian to come to bed so you can call it a night, when one tweet catches your eye: “the dictator is destroying the locker room”

you roll your eyes. you scroll down and find another: “he’s so arrogant, always calling himself one of the best players in the world”

the audacity.

before you can think twice, your fingers are already typing away. “he talks like this cuz he can back it up!” you hit send, satisfaction coursing through you at having shut up one more idiot spewing nonsense on the internet.

“what are you doing?” kylian’s voice pulls you back to reality.

you glance up, and your breath hitches. he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, having just emerged from the walk-in closet wearing his usual bedtime attire: absolutely nothing but a pair of tight black boxers. your gaze involuntarily slides over the sharp planes of his abs, to his bulging crotch where you can see a hint of a curve beneath the waistband, then finally to his powerful, sculpted thighs. you swallow hard at the sight.

“nothing” you say, a little too quickly.

his eyebrows lift, and he steps closer before sitting down on the bed beside you, taking the phone from your hands. his eyes scan the screen, and his smirk widens. “defending my honor online huh?”

you fold your arms, suddenly defensive. “they were saying ridiculous things and you’re too chill about it”

he shakes his head, chuckling softly. “ma chérie, people have been talking about me for years. i don’t care what they say. why do you?”

“because you deserve better” you say, your voice firm. “they act like it’s a crime that you're confident. it pisses me off”

his expression softens. he cups your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “i don’t need anyone to fight my battles” he says, his voice low. “but it’s cute that you want to”

you glare at him half heartedly. “i’m not cute. i’m right”

“you’re both” he says, leaning his head in the crook of your neck. “and just so you know, i love that you’re always in my corner. i think it's really hot”

he presses his lips to the soft curve of your neck, breathing you in before pressing slow kisses, lips dragging a trail of shivers in their wake. his fingers find the thin strap of your camisole, sliding it down your shoulder as his hands begin to roam from your shoulders to your waist, before tracing the curve of your hips and gliding over your thighs.

then his lips move to yours, his tongue slipping past your lips with ease. your hands move instinctively, one cradling the back of his head, while the other grazes the nape of his neck with your nails. you know exactly what that does to him, the way it sends a shiver rippling through his body. his sharp inhale against your mouth tells you you’ve hit your mark, and it only encourages you, pulling him closer as the kiss grows even more heated.

“that skirt you wore tonight…” he murmurs against your lips, his hands slipping under the hem of your pajama shorts and gripping your upper thighs. “you knew what you were doing, didn’t you? showing off these legs. in the tunnel when you were waiting for me, all the guys there were staring at you”

you break the kiss. “jealous?”

“no" he says calmly. “there’s no one better than me"

you know he means it. and it turns you on.

he continues, “they can try, but they’ll never make your head turn, because no one compares to me”

your hand wanders to his bulge, and you hear his breath hitch as you rub him through his boxers.

“such a huge ego” you tease.

he just shrugs in response, a proud smirk playing on his face. the same smirk he has in press conferences when he’s outsmarted a slick journalist fishing for a soundbite to twist out of context.

you lick the palm of your hand and slide it inside his boxers, eagerly pulling him out. his hips involuntarily jerk at the contact, and you smirk. you swipe your fingers over the fat, swollen head, admiring the sight of what's in your hand. he’s so warm, so so hard, so smooth. and all yours to play with.

“y/n” his voice comes out rugged. “fuck that’s good”

you like watching all of his control dissolve. love replacing that smirk on his face with an agonized look.

“tell me what else is good” you murmur as you slowly stroke him, tightening your grip.

kylian groans, his head tipping back.

“being inside you. that’s the best” he breathes, his voice rough with desire. “but you already know that”

your smirk widens as you lean closer to him. “i do” you tease, your lips brushing against his ear. your tongue peeks out and sensually drags over his lobe before you bite it, eliciting a breathy sigh from him. “but I like hearing you say it”

you keep stroking him, and the faster you jerk his dick, the more he falls apart. soon he’s moaning, catching your wrist with one strong hand, begging you, “no more. don’t make me come before i get inside you”

you pout before slowing your movements, running your thumb over one thick vein running up the length of him.

“y/n” he groans, his hips jerking once again. unable to resist, you press a chaste kiss to the place where the vein meets the head. your mouth is watering for him.

but just as you're about to get down on your knees so you can finally put him in your mouth, he suddenly moves, his hands slipping under your thighs to lift you effortlessly and laying you back against the bed. his body hovers over yours, and his gaze locks onto yours, intense and dark with arousal.

“i was about to suck you off” you whine.

he grins. "you'll get to, any time you want. its all yours. but i want to taste you tonight"

his mouth moves to your neck, his lips brushing softly before his teeth scrape against your skin. you let out a contented sigh, his words making you very excited for what's to come.

his hands slide under your camisole, pushing it up and over your head in one fluid motion. the cool air meets your heated skin, and his eyes lazily glide over your naked form. he tweaks one nipple, and you shiver.

his hands go lower, and he gently lifts you up by the hip so can he slide your shorts and panties off you.

“no one compares to you either, you know” he says, his voice thick with meaning as he shifts lower on the bed, his broad shoulders spreading your legs with ease. he pauses, glancing up at you with that infuriatingly confident wink. “not in this lifetime. or the next. or ever. we’re the same. that's why we're made for each other”

and with that, he dips his head, his mouth finding its rightful place.

you let out a quiet yelp as his tongue slides through your folds inquisitively, as if it hasn’t been there a hundred times before. it's warm and probing, and almost reverent, like you're a delicious meal he's trying to savor. his beard that you make fun of serves its purpose in times like these; it rasps against the tender spot where your thighs meet your ass, and the friction amplifies everything, every sensation sharper, hotter, better. you can't help but arch into him, craving more.

and then there’s his hand, his fingers working your clit in such fast, insistent circles that if he stops you might kill him. the intensity builds so quickly it’s almost unbearable, and you grip the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring you. you’re lying on a bed, yes, but his tongue is making you so weak you’re sure you’ll fall apart if it wasn’t for one of his strong arms wrapped around your upper thigh holding you in place. even then, you writhe and squirm, eyes shut in ecstasy, mouth repeating “yes, please”s and “oh my god”s and nothing else.

when you finally come, the pleasure rolls through you in waves, leaving you boneless and trembling. still, he doesn’t stop. his tongue stokes you through the aftershock, even as your muscles turn into liquid and your body feels like it’s floating.

he finally relents when you place your hand on his head and shake him slightly. he looks up, his lips and the tip of his pretty nose glistening from your wetness, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he’s got a smug look on his face. “see? who else could do this to you?”

you don’t answer him with words; instead, you let your body speak for you. wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him down to you, drawing his mouth to yours. the kiss is slow and languid, your lips moving against his as you savor the taste of yourself on him.

when your breath steadies and the aftermath of your orgasm fades into a warm feeling, you nip at his bottom lip, tugging it gently before pulling back. the smirk that crosses his face tells you he already knows what’s coming next.

because it’s kylian, and he knows you as intimately as you know yourself. because it always feels like he can read your mind, like your desires are two halves of the same whole. without a word, he rolls onto his back, sprawling against the sheets compliantly, leaving himself open for you to ride him.

you waste no time, sliding over him and straddling his strong thigh, the muscles beneath you flexing beautifully. his hands find your hips, steadying you as you position yourself. your bodies align perfectly, and as you sink down onto him, he slides home with ease.

there’s no painful friction, but there’s still a small pleasurable ache, the stretch that always comes with him. no matter how many times you’ve done this, your body always needs a moment to adjust, to accommodate him. the slight burn is part of the experience, a reminder of just how much of him there is. he groans low in his throat as you take him fully, the sound vibrating through your chest. "you're so big" you moan.

“you okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough but caring.

you nod, resting your palms on his chest as you steady yourself. “yeah” you whisper. "i can handle you"

his lips curve into a grin, his hands tightening on your hips. “i know” he says, his tone shifting “we fit so good. i told you, we're made for each other”

his words send a shiver through you as you rise slowly and sinking back down on him again. the drag of his cock against your walls sends sparks shooting through your body, and you bite your lip, letting out a soft moan. kylian’s gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes filled with heat and something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

“fuck, you’re perfect” he breathes, his fingers pressing into your skin as you find your rhythm.

you move with deliberate slowness at first, your hips rolling as you grind against him. the sensation is exhilarating, the way he fills you, stretches you, the way he watches you like you’re the only thing worth watching in the world.

leaning down, you press your lips to his ear. “you like watching me take you like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice dripping with confidence. “because I’m so fucking hot”

he groans, his hands sliding up your sides, over your ribs, until they find your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “you're so fucking hot” he agrees, his hips bucking slightly, pushing even deeper.

you pick up the pace, riding him with more intensity now, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. his hands guide your movements, helping you find just the right angle, and soon you’re both lost in the heat of it, in the raw, unending need for each other. from time to time you lean down to give him a better view of your breasts, the way you know he likes it.

when his hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, it’s almost too much. the added stimulation sends you over the edge, your head tipping back as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“ky” you cry out, your hands clutching at his chest as you fall apart around him.

“baby” he groans. he repeats his upward thrusts, holding you in place so you can do nothing but take it. again, again, and again, until you tighten yourself around him so much he has no chance of holding it off. his own release chases after yours.

finally he stills, his body tensing as he lets go, a deep, guttural moan leaving his mouth.

for a moment, neither of you moves, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high. then he reaches up, cupping your face and pulling you down for a kiss. It’s slow and tender, a contrast to the fire that had just consumed you both.

when you finally pull away, his lips curve into a lazy smile. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you smirk, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "of course i do”

you know he knows you mean it.

his laugh is soft, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. “god, i love you” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell.

you lean down, pressing your forehead to his. “i love you too, ky” you whisper.

slowly, you lift yourself off him, feeling the tender ache as you slide him out of you. you settle back onto the bed beside him, the sheets cool against your hot, sweaty skin. for a while, you both just lie there catching your breath.

“what was that tweet you saw about me earlier?” kylian asks a little later, after you’ve taken care of the mandatory post sex clean up routine and gotten back in bed.

“hmm?”

“earlier,” he repeats, turning his head to look at you. “i saw your reply, but I didn’t see the tweet you were replying to. what did it say?”

“oh that” you giggle. there’s still so much endorphins rushing in you that you can’t even find the anger you felt earlier when you saw the tweet. “it said you’re destroying the real madrid locker room”

kylian arranges his face into a mock scowl. “nonsense” he says, lips twitching. he pauses for dramatic effect, and you know what he’s about to say. “the only thing I destroy is this pussy”

you both burst out laughing.

tags: @idontknowwhatthisvis555 @nowrosesaredead @iuoiyr @acarolnzinhaa-03 @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @loonworld @whateveryouloser @greyishbach @ajsboys @kyliansonlygf @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @heartbreakylian @cleverwinnermaker @creampuff07

#kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappé x reader #kylian mbappé smut #football fanfic #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappé one shot #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappé x you

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mrchiipchrome · 1 year ago

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Work

W.C. - 1.2 k

a/n: I’ve been having so much fun dealing with migraines, a break up, exams and getting an eye infection that I’ve totally forgot to write, so take this as a sort of apology:)

———————

It wasn’t hard to be the best footballer in the world’s girlfriend. All things considered, life with Aitana was pretty good, amazing even, if it weren’t for Aitana’s incessant need to ask people if they were employed.

It started small, when Aitana first met your family in Sweden, she had asked your brother whether he worked or not, happy when he started raving about his work, happy to find someone as passionate about their work as her.

Since that interaction it seemed like she searched that passion out in every interaction she had, going as far as to climb over rows of seats in order to speak to people.

She was nothing short of a social butterfly, and you were her anti-social caterpillar. The Swede in you was drawn to the Spanish affectionate nature even if it was vastly different from your own.

Your tiny girlfriend was as much of a magician on the pitch as she was off it, her ability to simply vanish the second you took your eyes off her was quite impressive, but not very enjoyable on your part. You almost had to invest in a private investigator to figure out how she did it, the way she always fooled you simply driving you crazy to the point of oblivion.

Still, you loved her strange habits simply for the fortune of having her, having her in every way imaginable.

You loved getting to hold her even as she squirmed to get away, kisses raining down on her face after a long game, using your substantially taller frame to put some space between her feet and the ground so that she wouldn’t be able to get away.

———————

Your muscles ache as your feet thump against the ground, the last game before a small break one of great performances, you yourself slipping 4 goals past the keeper, all of them assisted by your wonderful girlfriend.

Still, despite your obviously tired appearance, you were still ushered away to the corner of the pitch for an interview, being handed a man of the match award for your efforts during the game. This meant that your girlfriend was left unsupervised, your tired mind mixed with needing to seem professional before the camera completely taking up all your attention, meaning you didn’t immediately notice your girlfriend beelining for the stands.

“So, how does it feel to be back in the squad after the hamstring injury?” The reporter looks at you intently, trying her hardest to stare into your soul, or that’s at least what it seems like.

“Yeah, I mean it’s always special to be part of this squad, I’m not even going to lie and say that it’s been easy sitting on the bench when all I wanted was to jump on the field and score again but ultimately I got through it. I’m really happy with the performance as well, my beautiful girlfriend assisted all my goals so that makes it even better.” You smile widely when you mention your girlfriend, seeing through half-lidded eyes as the reporter's smile drops before she plasters it back on.

‘No need to be unprofessional now’ you think to yourself, looking away from her in search of that girlfriend to see if she could save you from the creepy situation.

But in your attempt to catch your girlfriend’s attention, you see her about to climb over the railings to talk to fans. You know that it’s dangerous, not only because of the altitude, but also because you never knew the intentions of some fans.

Somewhere in the background you can hear the reporter speaking to you, but you don’t pay her any mind, simply getting more anxious the longer you are standing there.

“It has to be special to be back with your teammates-”

“Perdón!” Is all you’re able to get out before you take off in Aitana’s direction, your legs no longer aching thankfully enough.

Your hands latch around her hips, tugging her softly away from the railing like you would a cat that had burrowed its claws into the couch. Aitana yelps as she looks back at you suspiciously, her hands coming down to rest on your shoulders when she realized that she didn’t have any plan of escape, seemingly just accepting her fate.

There are multiple cameras pointed at you, including the social media manager’s, so you just know that the interaction would find itself on the internet by the time you would be sitting in the bus.

Strangely enough, you didn’t mind that fact all that much, liking that the world would see how much you loved your girlfriend, maybe it would discourage reporters from trying to shoot their shot with you.

“Hey there pretty lady, whatchu’ doin’?” Aitana smiles at you innocently, acting like she totally didn’t try to climb over the railings. She presses a quick kiss to your cold cheek, enjoying the way your face darkens a few shades, the red spreading up your cheeks like food coloring in water.

It leads her to continue, kisses soon being placed on every single space on your face, with you soon blending in with the tomatoes you were growing in your garden.

“You are very cute.” She whispers lowly, her eyes flitting over your face as she smiles, keeping the words between the two of you like it was a secret only meant for your ears. Perhaps it was, you never knew with Aitana.

“And you are trying to distract me from the fact that you were totally trying to climb up into the stands. You’re lucky to be adorable, because Jona is one more abandoned interview away from benching me.” You boop her nose, shifting her body around so that your left arm was the only thing holding her body up, her arms still around your shoulders.

Walking back towards the interviewer, her professional smile drops from her face the second she sees Aitana perched on your arm, but nonetheless you approach her civilly. Aitana smiles brightly at the camera soon pointed at her again, media training mixed with the attention she’s getting from you being the perfect situation for the camera.

“Hola, lo siento, this one was getting herself into trouble. Had to get her out, don’t want the gaffer to bench the superstar now do we?” You motion towards Aitana with your head, the girl still sitting perched atop your arm slapping the back of your head lightly. Switching her around again, you quickly put her down back on her own feet, Aitana’s arms coming down to wrap around your waist tightly, almost possessive in a way.

“Thank you for today, that was all we needed. Here’s your man of the match trophy.” You get handed the trophy, turning to your girlfriend to brag, only to find her gone once more, her small body shooting across the pitch to get as much space between you two as she could.

It was almost as if you could see into the future as she jumps up and throws herself over the railings, giggling madly along the way.

You start to laugh too, the high speed chase the biggest highlight of the day, because not even scoring 4 goals could overshadow spending even a second laughing with your girl.

And even though Mapi would be teasing you for weeks about the absolute lovesick actions that day, you wouldn’t have it any different, besides you had more than enough ammunition to be able to blackmail her for eternity, so it didn’t really matter anyways.

#woso #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #woso imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader #stay tuned for the Alessia fic it’s currently at 9.6 k words:)

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cup1drul3z · 20 days ago

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★ — Only a vampire can love you forever | CH 10

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | 7.4ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

CW : Dark!sevika, age gap, private school, toxic, forbidden love, mentions of blood, hopeless lesbians, TEACHER X STUDENT, porn with plot, oral sex, reader is a virgin, innocent reader, theres like a 500 year age gap, courruption, masturbation, cheating, odd love triangle?, READER IS STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUNCH OF ATRACTIVE VAMPIRES

A/N : welcome back to cupid is running out of banners and now she has to recycle her old ones

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

The whistle blew, sharp and sudden, slicing through the air like a jolt of electricity.

You blinked, your eyes snapping away from the stands where your father's seat still sat empty—third row up, right side, the one your mom always saved for him even when she knew he wouldn’t come.

"Y/N!" someone screamed from the field. "Focus!"

You jerked your head toward the sound—Mel Medarda, your best friend since fourth grade, arms waving like crazy from across the field. Her braids were coming loose from her ponytail, sweat glistening on her forehead, but she was smiling—sharp and determined, like she always was when she wanted you to wake up and win.

Right. The game.

Your heart kicked into high gear as you turned back toward the ball, the mud under your cleats slick from the morning rain. The opposing team was already closing in, but the field stretched open before you like a track begging to be run.

Your coach's voice echoed faintly from the sidelines—Go, go, go��

And then you were gone.

Your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up—legs pumping, the wind slicing past your cheeks as you sprinted faster than you knew you could. You cut through the midfield like a blade, weaving past defenders who barely saw you coming.

You were the fastest on your team. Always had been.

They said it was natural talent. Said you had “gifted genetics.”

But no one ever explained why you healed faster after a fall. Or why your vision sharpened just before a goal. Or why your chest barely burned even after the longest run.

You didn’t question it. Not then.

You just ran.

And the crowd was on its feet now, roaring—parents, teammates, people you didn’t know. Except one voice cut through it all:

“THAT’S MY GIRL!”

You glanced to the left as you neared the goal—

And saw your mom, standing in her hoodie and faded jeans, wrapped in a scarf even though it was barely chilly. She looked paler than usual. A little thinner. But her smile was huge.

You didn’t need your dad.

Not in that moment.

Because she was there.

You struck the ball with a clean, powerful kick—and it soared into the net just as the goalie dove the wrong way.

The whistle blew again.

Goal.

Your teammates screamed, running at you. Mel got to you first, nearly tackling you in a hug.

“You’re a freaking blur out there,” she laughed. “You sure you’re not cheating?”

You laughed too, breathless and beaming. “Just fast.”

Mel rolled her eyes, ruffling your hair. “Remind me not to race you ever again.”

You looked back at your mom.

She was clapping, still smiling, her scarf fluttering in the wind. But her eyes looked tired. Red-rimmed.

You would learn later that she had pushed herself just to make it there. That she lied to the nurse and told her she was “feeling strong enough” today. That she brought snacks even though she could barely hold the bag.

But right then?

She was just your mom.

The one who showed up. The one who screamed your name when you scored. The one who smiled like you were everything.

You didn’t know how much you’d miss that smile.

Not yet.

The game had ended over twenty minutes ago, but the field still buzzed with leftover energy. Kids darted between backpacks and coolers, soccer balls rolling along the grass as parents gathered up gear and handed out juice boxes like medals.

You scanned the crowd, eyes bouncing over teammates hugging their parents, laughter bubbling up from every corner.

Then— You saw her.

Your mom stood near the edge of the field, arms folded over her stomach, scarf still wrapped tightly around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed with the afternoon sun—or maybe the effort of standing so long—but her smile hadn’t faded one bit.

You didn’t even think. You just ran.

Your cleats thudded against the soft grass as you sprinted toward her, your heart still beating hard from the game. You practically launched into her, arms wrapping around her middle as you buried your face in her scarf.

“Did you see that?!” you beamed, muffled by fabric.

She laughed—quiet and warm—and wrapped both arms around you, holding you close despite how sweaty and grass-stained you were.

“Of course I did,” she said, her voice a little breathless but strong. “You were flying out there, sweetheart. I could barely keep track of you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at her, your face flushed and grinning, eyes shining with pride. “We won.”

“I saw,” she said, cupping your cheek for a moment. “You were amazing.”

You leaned into her touch instinctively, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mel says I should be tested for rocket fuel,” you joked.

Your mom raised a brow, smiling through tired eyes. “Well… you have been running circles around everyone since you could walk.”

“Do you think I’m, like… mutant-fast?”

“I think,” she said, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, “you’re just my little supernova.”

You giggled.

And for a moment, the world felt perfect.

No illness. No silence in the stands. Just you and her and a warm breeze that smelled like grass and orange slices.

You didn’t know it would be one of the last times she came to a game.

Didn’t know this hug would replay in your head years later like a prayer.

You only knew she was there.

And that was enough.

You stood at the top of the stairs, still in your grass-stained uniform, socks half-peeled off your ankles and cleats dangling from one hand.

The glow from the kitchen lights spilled up the stairwell, flickering faintly with the movement of shadows below.

You hadn’t meant to listen.

But you’d come down for water, and then—

“—you missed it, Mark.”

Your mother’s voice. Frustrated. Tired. More cracked than usual.

There was a pause.

Then your dad’s voice, low and defensive. “I told you I had to work. I can’t keep asking for days off. Do you want to pay the hospital bills with handshakes and good intentions?”

“She scored two goals,” she shot back. “She kept looking for you. I could see it in her face.”

Another pause. This one longer. He didn’t respond right away.

“She doesn’t know,” he said finally, more quietly now. “She doesn’t know how bad it’s getting. That’s what we agreed on, remember?”

You froze on the top step.

Your fingers tightened around your cleats.

“I know,” your mom replied, her voice smaller now. “I know. But—what if I don’t get to see her next game? Or her birthday? Or her first dance?”

Your stomach twisted.

You stepped back, slow and silent, like the floor might give out beneath you if you moved too fast.

“I just want her to remember me there. Not hooked up to machines. Not in some white room where the nurses forget my name.”

“Don’t say that,” your dad said, sharper this time. “You’re going to get better.”

“She deserves the truth.”

“She deserves a mother who survives.”

The silence that followed was thick. Unbreathable.

You turned and walked back to your room without a sound, eyes wide and throat burning.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

You just sat down on the edge of your bed, journal still clutched in your hand from earlier. The pages fluttered slightly from the open window.

You stared at them.

But all you could hear was your mother’s voice, echoing like a crack in the wall.

“She doesn’t know how bad it’s getting.”

You knew now.

And it was already too much.

The locker room buzzed with noise—shoes squeaking against the tile, bags unzipping, jerseys being tossed around, and someone’s Bluetooth speaker blasting a pop song that half the team sang along to, off-key and unapologetic.

You sat in front of the mirror, still in your undershirt and spandex shorts, your cleats half-laced but forgotten. Your teammates joked and danced around you, but their voices were muffled—like you were underwater.

You stared at your reflection.

You hadn’t slept.

Every word from last night echoed in your head, each one layering on top of the other until it was a dull roar. Hospital bills. Prognosis. What if I don’t make it to her birthday...

You blinked at your own face, wondering if you looked different now that you knew.

“Earth to Y/N.”

You blinked again.

In the reflection, you saw her approaching.

Taylor. Blonde. Loud. A year older. Never let you forget about sixth grade.

She leaned down, right next to your ear, her lip gloss overly shiny and voice too sweet.

“You still staring at girls in the locker room?” she said under her breath. “Or is it just yourself now?”

You flinched slightly but didn’t move. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

She smirked and straightened, holding up a silver cross necklace and dangling it in front of your face like it was garlic and you were something unclean.

“Thought you should see something holy, just in case you forgot how gross you are.”

The words hit sharper than usual. Maybe because today, you were already cracked. Maybe because last night had already hollowed you out.

You opened your mouth, unsure if you were going to speak or sob.

But you didn’t get the chance.

“Back off, Taylor.”

Mel’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Taylor turned, that same smugness still plastered on her face, but it slipped when she saw Mel Medarda standing behind her, arms crossed, still tying her jersey into a tight knot at her waist.

Mel stepped closer, chin raised. “Funny, coming from someone who begged to braid my hair in sixth grade and cried when I said no.”

A couple girls nearby laughed.

Taylor flushed.

Mel leaned in, tone lowering. “You come for her again, I will remind this whole locker room of how obsessed you were with me before Y/N even figured herself out. Try me.”

Taylor scowled and turned on her heel, muttering something under her breath as she stomped to the other end of the locker room.

You finally looked away from the mirror.

Mel sat next to you and handed you your jersey like nothing happened. “She’s always been a trash bag wrapped in lip gloss.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

She nudged you lightly with her shoulder. “You okay?”

You nodded.

Lied.

“I’m fine.”

But the way your fingers trembled when you took the jersey told her otherwise.

Mel didn’t press.

She just stayed beside you as you changed.

And for a little while, the silence between you felt like armor.

The team lined up on the grass, forming messy rows as they stretched and warmed up. The sun beat gently against your skin, just warm enough to make the back of your neck damp with sweat. Sneakers thudded against the field, balls passed back and forth, and someone yelled “heads!” before a stray ball went flying across the turf.

You barely moved to dodge it.

“Alright, bring it in!” Coach’s voice called out, loud and scratchy like he’d already blown his whistle one too many times today.

The team jogged in and took a knee around him, a mix of shin guards, scuffed cleats, and ponytails bobbing as everyone settled into the circle. You dropped down last, wiping your hands on the sides of your shorts, your eyes unfocused.

Coach launched into his usual pre-scrimmage talk—something about being proud, the effort everyone’s been putting in, how today was about communication and teamwork and not just showing off your footwork—but his voice blurred at the edges.

Your gaze drifted, almost on instinct, toward the bleachers behind the field.

The stands weren’t full—just scattered groups of parents and siblings, chatting and pointing, some with sunhats and iced coffees.

And there, like always, was your mom.

Wrapped in a big cardigan, sunglasses perched on her nose, a water bottle in hand she probably wouldn’t finish. She looked so small sitting there, a blanket over her lap despite the warmth, but she smiled when she saw you were looking.

You raised your hand in a little wave.

She waved back—slow and soft, like even that took effort.

Your stomach twisted.

Because the spot next to her—your dad’s seat—was empty. Again.

Coach’s voice faded further.

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked down at the grass. Picked at a thread unraveling on your sock.

Your chest ached—not with heartbreak, not with fury. Just that dull, sinking kind of tired that settles in when you stop expecting people to show up.

Someone nudged you lightly—Mel.

You looked up.

She didn’t say anything.

Just offered a small smile, the kind that said I saw. And I’m not going to make you talk about it.

Coach clapped once, loudly. “Alright, let’s show them what we’ve been working on!”

The team stood as one.

You followed.

But your eyes flicked to the stands once more.

And though she looked tired, your mom was still smiling.

Still there.

And that was the only thing keeping your feet moving.

The whistle blew, sharp and piercing, and the scrimmage began.

Your team wore red vests pulled over their regular practice jerseys, while the other side—Taylor’s side—kept to blue. You tugged your vest tighter over your shoulders as you jogged into position, mud already streaked across your knees from warmups.

Mel gave you a quick nod as she passed by. You got this, her eyes seemed to say.

You tried to believe it.

But the second the ball hit the field, Taylor was on you.

Every time you got close to the ball, she was there—shoving a shoulder too hard into yours, stepping on the back of your cleat “accidentally,” using every petty middle school trick in the book.

At first, you gritted your teeth and brushed it off.

Then came the trip.

You went down hard, sliding into a shallow patch of mud, your palms scraping against wet grass as the breath was knocked out of your lungs.

The whistle didn’t blow.

You looked up, eyes locking with Coach’s—he was watching now, but hesitating.

The game kept going.

You pushed yourself up and caught Taylor’s smirk as she jogged past. “Oops.”

A few parents in the stands leaned forward. One even murmured, “Is that the same girl who—?” but their voice was drowned out by shouting from the field.

You stayed focused. Tried to.

The next time the ball came near you, Taylor didn’t even go for it—she went for you.

Another shove, this one square to your shoulder. You stumbled but stayed upright.

“Maybe you should go cry to Mel again,” she hissed under her breath. “Is that your girlfriend now, or are you still hung up on me?”

You whipped your head toward her, eyes wide with disbelief.

The ref—who was just another teacher helping out—still didn’t say anything.

“Taylor!” Coach finally barked from the sideline. “Cool it!”

Taylor raised her hands in mock innocence, backing away. “What? I’m just playing hard.”

You stood still, chest heaving, heart pounding—not from the game, but from the white-hot embarrassment creeping up your neck. You could feel everyone watching now.

The parents.

Your teammates.

Your mom.

Your fists curled at your sides.

Mel jogged over and placed a hand on your back lightly. “Hey,” she whispered, “Don’t let her take the game from you.”

You nodded once, eyes still locked on Taylor, who now looked like a lion circling for her next opening.

But the whistle blew again, and you reset.

The field had become a pressure cooker—too much heat, too many eyes, and too much unsaid.

Your jaw was clenched tight as your team reset. The ball rolled your way, a perfect pass from midfield, and for a moment, everything else dropped away.

You took it.

Your cleats dug into the turf as you sprinted down the left side, cutting through the defense with ease. The wind bit at your face, the red vest fluttering at your sides, and the goal was within reach—

Then Taylor was there.

She crashed into you shoulder-to-shoulder, nearly sending you off balance as she fought for control. You didn’t flinch this time. You held your ground, both of you sprinting full-speed now, side by side, every footstep like thunder in your ears.

She managed to swipe the ball.

And then you were chasing her.

You didn’t think.

You just moved.

And in one flash of instinct—or maybe rage—you pulled a move you saw in a movie once. Something dirty. Something that worked.

You dropped to your side, your leg shooting out at the perfect angle.

Her shin collided with your ankle mid-stride.

Taylor flew.

She went airborne—arms flailing, cleats off the ground—before slamming into the grass hard. A wet, sickening crack echoed across the field as her leg twisted unnaturally.

Then came the scream.

High. Piercing. Shattering.

Everything stopped.

The ball rolled away unnoticed.

The whistle shrieked.

You sat up slowly, dazed, your hands braced in the mud. The world narrowed, muffled voices rising like smoke. Players from both teams sprinted toward Taylor as she writhed on the ground, sobbing, clutching her leg where—

You saw it.

Bone.

Pale and jagged, jutting through skin that was already slick with blood.

Someone screamed again—this time a parent.

Coaches ran across the field, waving their arms and shouting for everyone to back up.

You rose to your feet in a daze, hands covering your mouth, your heart pounding in your ears. The nausea hit first, then the cold.

You took a step forward, unsure of what you were even doing—

Mel looked up from where she knelt beside Taylor, her eyes snapping to yours.

Her face was pale.

Not angry.

Not accusing.

Just… concerned.

Like she didn’t know whether to run to you or away from you.

And the way she looked at you?

You weren’t sure you knew either.

The field was chaos.

An ambulance had been called.

Taylor’s screams echoed across the bleachers long after she’d been wheeled off the grass, her sobs muffled only by the sound of panicked parents and the wail of sirens approaching from the street.

You barely heard any of it.

You stood near the sideline, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your cleats still caked with mud and grass. A sharp sting was blooming along your elbow where you’d scraped it sliding—but it didn’t hurt half as much as the twist in your stomach.

Everything was numb.

Coach spoke to a woman in a windbreaker, someone from the school’s administration. Her eyes kept flicking toward you, her expression unreadable. You caught bits of their conversation: “reckless,” “not intentional,” “what do we tell the parents?”

Then Coach turned to you.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, “you’re coming with us. We need to talk to the principal.”

You nodded.

You didn’t ask if Taylor was okay. You already knew she wasn’t.

The walk to the office was silent. The woman didn’t speak, just walked ahead while you trailed behind, your footsteps squelching slightly with every step down the hallway. Your hands were starting to shake, and your palms itched with dried mud.

When you entered the front office, the air-conditioning blasted cold across your damp skin. Everything smelled like disinfectant and laminated folders. A secretary looked up from her computer with a raised brow, eyes narrowing slightly when she saw your jersey and the splatter of dirt across your face.

You were led into a side room—small, windowless, a round table with three chairs. A box of tissues sat untouched in the center like some kind of offering.

The administrator motioned for you to sit.

“We’re just waiting for someone from the district,” she said calmly. “And your mother is on her way.”

You sat.

The chair creaked beneath you.

You stared at your hands in your lap, dried mud under your nails.

There was no clock on the wall, but you felt every second drag like it might never end.

You weren’t sure if you were in trouble. You weren’t sure if you even deserved to be.

All you knew was that your ears still rang with the sound of Taylor’s scream.

And for the first time in your life— You weren’t sure if you were still the good kid anymore.

The clink of a fork against a plate was the only sound in the room.

Dinner sat half-eaten. Your mashed potatoes untouched. The chicken cold. Your mom picked at her food in slow, tired motions, while your dad scrolled through something on his phone, the screen casting a blue light over his face.

You sat at the end of the table, shoulders hunched, staring at your plate but not seeing any of it. The silence between the three of you was thick—too thick. The kind you could choke on.

Then he spoke.

“So… how’d the scrimmage go?”

You didn’t look up.

Didn’t move.

You blinked slowly. Once. Twice.

Then your jaw tensed.

Your fork hit the plate with a metallic clang as you shoved your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the tile.

You stood. “Seriously?”

Your dad looked up, confused. “What?”

“You’re asking now? After everything?”

Your mom’s head turned slowly, eyes wide and weary.

Mark furrowed his brow. “I’m just trying to ask—”

“You weren’t there!” you snapped, your voice shaking now. “You’re never there. And don’t act like you care when you can’t even show up to the one thing I’m actually good at!”

“Y/N—” your mom tried gently, but you couldn’t stop.

“You two argue about me like I’m a problem to solve. Like I’m just some expense or distraction. I heard you. Last night.”

Mark froze.

Your mom went still, lips parting slightly.

“I was on the stairs. I heard everything. The bills. The prognosis. The fact that you didn’t think I could handle it.”

Tears were forming in your eyes now, hot and fast.

“And you know what? Maybe I can’t handle it. Maybe I’m just a stupid kid who can’t even get through one game without flipping out. But you should’ve told me.”

The words fell out like they’d been waiting in your throat for weeks.

“I deserve to know if my mom is dying.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your dad sat frozen, guilt flooding his face in slow waves. Your mom’s hand trembled around her fork before she set it down with care and reached across the table.

But you stepped back.

“I don’t want lies anymore,” you whispered.

Then you turned and walked out of the dining room, not waiting to hear who followed.

The house was dark.

Still.

Silent—until it wasn’t.

The sound hit you like a crack in the night.

Yelling.

Your father’s voice. Hoarse. Raw.

You sat up in bed, your heart already pounding, sleep falling off you like a broken coat. The air felt cold. Heavy. Like something was wrong before your feet even touched the floor.

You padded down the hallway, each step slower than the last. The yelling had stopped, but something in your stomach twisted tighter with every breath.

Your parents’ bedroom door was open a sliver, light spilling out faint and gold onto the hardwood.

You pushed it open with trembling fingers.

And your world stopped.

Your father was kneeling beside the bed, crying—really crying. His hands clenched in the blanket, knuckles white, his face buried against the side of the mattress like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare.

Your mother lay still. Too still.

Her eyes were closed. Her lips parted. One hand resting gently on her stomach, the other limp at her side.

You stood there for one second. Then two.

And then you screamed.

“Mom?!”

You ran across the room and dropped to your knees beside her, grabbing her wrist, her hand, anything.

“Mom—wake up! Please—wake up! Mom—please!”

Tears blurred your vision instantly, hot and stinging, pouring down your face as you shook her shoulder. Her skin was still warm but unmoving. Her chest didn’t rise.

You pressed your head to hers, sobbing into her hair, your cries turning ragged, panicked, desperate.

“No—no, no, no—don’t leave me. I’m not ready—I didn’t—you said you’d be there. You said—you promised.”

Your father had his face buried in his hands now, silent again except for the sound of his grief.

And the room filled with everything she wouldn’t say anymore.

The things she wouldn’t see.

Your next birthday.

Your first love.

Your future.

She was gone.

And all you could do was scream into the quiet.

Everything after that night blurred together like smudged ink on a soaked page.

You didn’t remember the exact day of the funeral, just that it was overcast, and the sky looked like it wanted to cry but didn’t. Like it was holding back out of politeness. You stood next to your father in black that didn’t quite fit right, staring at a coffin too small for how big she’d been in your world.

People gave you cards with doves on them. People you didn’t know hugged you too long. People whispered things like “she’s in a better place,” as if that helped you feel any less left behind.

You stopped hearing them after a while.

Flowers came by the boxload. Lilies. White roses. Vases lined the house like a memorial that never got cleaned up.

You started sleeping in until the sun was down.

You forgot to eat. Or you remembered and just didn’t care.

Your father tried, for a little while.

Then he stopped trying.

And then Karen started showing up.

Smiling in pastel sweaters. Laughing too loudly in the kitchen. Her voice was like glass clinking in your skull. She touched your dad’s arm too easily. Brought muffins. Started leaving her toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom.

You barely spoke to her.

Then one day—months, maybe—Karen’s kids were there too. Chloe and Harper. Harper peeked into your room and said it was “boring.” Chloe never spoke to you directly.

You watched your home shrink around you until it didn’t feel like yours anymore.

And still, the grief stayed. Heavy and constant. Like a fog you didn’t walk through so much as drown in.

Then—

One afternoon, your father knocked on your door.

He didn’t ask if you wanted to talk.

He just opened it.

Karen stood behind him, her smile tight.

“We need to speak with you,” he said.

You followed, barefoot, numb.

You sat across from them in the living room, knees pulled to your chest.

It wasn’t a moment of healing. It wasn’t a warm heart-to-heart. It was short. Simple.

“We’re sending you to an Academy in the north west.”

That was it.

No: How are you feeling? No: Are you ready?

Just we’re sending you away.

Like you were a thing to manage.

Something they could ship off and not have to deal with.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves.

And something inside you cracked—not like thunder, but like glass.

That was the first time in months you really felt anything.

Not sadness.

Not loss.

Just rage.

And it woke you up.

You woke with a soft gasp, the remnants of your dream—her voice, that living room, the weight of those words—still clinging to your chest like humidity.

The guest room was filled with golden light, the sun just starting to peek through the curtains, painting soft stripes across the floor. Your phone was still clutched in your hand, open to Caitlyn’s contact, the message screen mostly empty but somehow comforting.

Beside you, your journal lay open, pages slightly wrinkled from where you'd dozed off mid-entry. You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you sat up, hair sticking up on one side and your mouth tasting like sleep and silence.

You glanced down at your phone again, the screen lighting up with a soft buzz as you pressed the side.

1 new message.

From Caitlyn.

“The earliest flight we could get you is tonight.”

You whined, flopping back onto the pillows for a brief, dramatic second before accepting the reality. “Figures,” you muttered to yourself.

You dragged yourself into the bathroom, flipping on the light and squinting at your reflection in the mirror. Puffy eyes. Messy hair. That old sleep shirt that clung awkwardly to your curves.

You reached for your toothbrush and began brushing in slow, tired motions.

Your phone buzzed again on the sink.

You glanced down, expecting another message from Caitlyn.

But it wasn’t her.

It was an unknown number.

And it read simply:

“Meet me at Red Fern Café. 1pm.”

You froze mid-brush, staring at the screen, toothpaste clinging to the corner of your lip.

You didn’t recognize the number.

You didn’t know the café.

And yet something deep in your gut said this wasn’t random.

This was for you.

The Red Fern Café sat at the corner of an old brick intersection downtown—wedged between a bookstore that hadn't updated its window display since 2003 and a boutique that only seemed to sell gray scarves and overpriced coffee-table books.

It was quiet when you stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling with a light, eerie chime that didn’t feel quite welcoming. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and something older, like the wood of the booths had been soaked in stories too long to forget.

You glanced around.

There were only a few people inside—an older couple near the front, a girl studying with headphones in…

And a man in the corner booth.

Alone.

Pale skin, gray-green like marble, and a sharp suit that looked too expensive for a place like this. He sat with his legs crossed, one gloved hand wrapped around a mug that he hadn’t taken a sip from. His other eye—the only one he had—was piercing.

The right eye was missing. A scar trailing through it.

You froze just inside the doorway, something flickering in the back of your brain.

You’d seen him before. In the park. Back at the cemetery. That figure watching you from afar before vanishing into the trees.

Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t wave you over.

Didn’t call your name.

But he looked at you—and tilted his head slightly, like he already knew you’d come.

You didn’t move right away.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag.

But eventually… you stepped forward, each footstep feeling heavier than the last, like the air around him was thicker. Charged.

You stopped in front of the booth.

He smiled—thin and measured. Like a knife being unsheathed.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and smooth like smoke. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You sat down across from him slowly, your knees brushing against the underside of the table as your fingers tightened around the edge of the seat.

He didn’t speak. And neither did you.

The café continued on around you like nothing was happening—milk steaming behind the counter, the distant clink of a spoon in a ceramic cup. But your skin prickled with the weight of his gaze, like he was measuring something beneath your bones.

Minutes passed.

Your mouth was dry. Your jaw locked.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“I imagine,” he said softly, “you have questions.”

You stared at him.

He smiled—cold and patient.

“But I didn’t ask you here for your curiosity. I asked you here for the truth.”

You blinked once. “What truth?”

Silco’s good eye narrowed slightly, the light catching in its sharp green hue.

“I knew your mother,” he said.

The words landed like stones in your stomach.

“I knew her well. Long before you were born. She was… bright. Defiant. Too clever for the life she was forced into.” His voice dropped just slightly. “We cared for each other. Until it became… complicated.”

You swallowed.

“She loved my father,” you said, unsure if it was a question or a protest.

Silco gave a small tilt of his head. “She tried.”

He leaned forward now, his voice lowering just enough to make you feel like the walls of the booth were pressing in.

“But she didn’t carry his blood.”

Your hands curled into your lap.

“You’re saying—?”

“I’m saying I’m the reason you sunburn so easily. I’m the reason you’re fast. The reason you heal too quickly. The reason you see too much.”

Your heart thudded once—twice.

And then he said the part that made it all colder:

“I’m the reason you were sent away.”

Your breath caught.

He kept going. “Karen’s loyalty was easy to buy. I gave her the money. A significant amount. Enough to convince your father that boarding school would be a fresh start. Somewhere far. Isolated. Safe.”

You felt like the booth tilted slightly beneath you.

“You—you paid them to get rid of me?” Your voice was shaking.

“I paid them to protect you,” he corrected, gently. “You were beginning to show signs. That night… the locker room… the broken bone. The girl with the cross.” He looked at you, unreadable. “You think that was a coincidence?”

You stared at him, frozen.

“Your instincts are starting to catch up with your bloodline, Y/N. And they needed to be contained before the wrong people noticed.”

You felt sick.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he added. “But you were never going to be normal. Not for long.”

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you whispered, “So what now?”

Silco’s lips curled, just faintly. “Now… we talk about what comes next.”

You didn’t speak.

Your knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the table, legs tense beneath you, eyes locked on him as if doing so would anchor you to something—anything.

Silco leaned back slightly, folding his gloved hands atop the table, as calm as if he were discussing weather patterns instead of rewriting the foundation of your life.

“You’re only half vampire,” he said simply. “The blood that runs through you is diluted—dormant, in a way. Your mother was human. Fragile, soft. But im—” he tapped his chest lightly, “—pure.”

You flinched.

The words shouldn’t make your stomach turn, but they did.

“I’ve seen what you are when you’re pushed,” he continued. “How you move. How quickly your instincts rise. But that’s only the surface. The awakening—the true inheritance—requires more.”

Your lips parted, barely whispering, “More what?”

“Blood,” he said plainly. “Pure blood. You’re caught in a halfway place. Mortal. And yet… not.” His gaze sharpened, cutting straight through you. “You’re walking the line between two worlds. But you won’t stay on the edge forever.”

You stared at him. “You mean… I’d have to be turned?”

He nodded once. “Not just by anyone. By a pure vampire. Not someone turned, not someone weak or reckless. Someone old. Someone of bloodline.”

A sick twist curled in your gut.

You thought of Caitlyn. Of Sevika. Of the pull you felt between them. The bonds. The dreams. The hunger.

“You’ve already bonded with two of them, haven’t you?” Silco’s tone was knowing, not cruel. “I can feel it on you. Like scent on silk.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

He sat forward now, and for the first time, his voice was gentler. “You don’t know what you’re becoming, Y/N. You don’t even know what you’re capable of. But if you stay in the dark much longer…” He tapped the table once. “Others will find you first. Others less patient than me.”

Your throat was tight. The café felt like it was closing in again.

“What happens if I don’t… if I don’t let it wake up?” you asked.

Silco didn’t answer for a long time.

Then, finally:

“Then you’ll die as something less than what you were born to be.”

You sat cross-legged on the guest bed, your journal resting in your lap, pen poised just above the page. The sunlight from the window had shifted golden, stretching long shadows across the floor. Your phone lay face down beside you—untouched since the café.

You hadn’t texted Caitlyn. You hadn’t texted Sevika.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because… this felt like something that needed to be said face-to-face. When they could see your expression. Hear your voice. Know you weren’t just spiraling.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and wrote:

I met him today. He told me everything. About Mom. About me. About what I’m becoming. He said if I want to be whole, I have to be turned by a pure vampire. I don’t know what to do with that yet. I don’t know what I am. But I know where I belong—and it’s not here.

Your pen paused as your stomach twisted.

You closed the journal and gently set it aside.

A knock tapped softly against the door.

You looked up.

Your father’s voice came through, hesitant. “Y/N? Can I come in?”

You hesitated.

“…Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and he stood there, hands in his pockets, looking older than you remembered. Tired. Like whatever had hardened in him after your mom died had finally started to crack.

“I know you’re leaving in a couple hours,” he said, eyes flicking from the suitcase by your bed to your face. “But… Karen made dinner. I thought maybe… we could all eat together. Just once.”

You stared at him for a beat.

You could tell he was trying. Even if it was late. Even if it would never be enough.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

A breath of relief left his chest. “Yeah? Okay. I’ll… I’ll let her know.”

He gave you a small smile and turned to leave.

But just before the door closed, he stopped and looked back.

“I know things got messy,” he said. “But… I’m glad you came.”

You didn’t answer.

Not yet.

You just sat there.

And when the door finally clicked shut again, you reached for your suitcase.

Time to go home.

Dinner was quiet at first. Almost eerily so.

You sat at the wooden and glass table, the same one your father had bought with Karen not long after she moved in. The glass top always seemed too fragile for a family dinner—like it was pretending to be something it wasn’t. Just like this house.

Karen had made some roasted chicken, a dry-looking salad, and potatoes that somehow managed to taste like nothing. She’d set the table like it was a magazine spread—cloth napkins, cheap gold-rimmed plates, a candle lit even though it was barely 6 p.m.

You sat stiffly, your fork pushing pieces of food around your plate. Across from you, Harper kept her head down, picking at her meal with barely-veiled tension. Chloe scrolled her phone under the table. Your dad tried to make light conversation, asking about your flight like he wasn’t the one who'd sent you away in the first place.

But Karen?

Karen had her voice turned up just enough to fill the silences.

“It’ll be good for you to get back into a routine,” she said, spooning more salad onto her plate, the metal clinking against the edge of the glass tabletop. “That school’s so strict. Maybe they can teach you how to sit up straight again.”

You said nothing.

She kept going. “And I hope they’re keeping a better eye on who you’re spending time with. You’re… at a sensitive age, and some girls don’t always know what kind of attention they’re attracting.”

Your fork froze mid-push.

Harper looked up sharply from her plate.

Karen sipped her wine like she hadn’t said anything wrong. “I mean, all this experimenting—it’s really a trend, isn’t it? It’s not natural. Girls kissing girls for attention, like that’s something to be proud of.”

You blinked slowly. Your heart beat once—twice.

Harper’s hands slowly curled around her fork.

Karen laughed lightly, as if amused by her own “insight.”

And then Harper stood.

So fast her chair scraped across the tile.

“Shut up.”

Karen blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harper’s voice shook. “Just shut the fuck up, Karen.”

Your dad opened his mouth, but Harper was already reaching across the table.

She grabbed the salad bowl—glass, heavy, still half full—and with a furious, tear-glossed scream, she slammed it into the center of the table.

The sound was instant and shattering.

The glass tabletop exploded beneath it, cracking like a spiderweb, shards flying in every direction. The bowl split in half, lettuce and croutons flying across the room.

You flinched, breath caught in your chest.

Your dad stood up in a rush. “Harper!”

But Harper was already storming out of the dining room, shoulders shaking, hands red from the impact.

The room was silent—except for the creak of broken glass and the soft drip of dressing sliding down one of the wooden legs.

Karen just sat there, stunned, her mouth parted.

You pushed your chair back.

And stood.

Without a word.

Your suitcase lay open on the bed, half-zipped and stuffed full of wrinkled clothes, your journal, chargers, toothpaste barely shoved into a side pocket. You moved fast—grabbing whatever was yours and tossing it in without care. You didn’t want to be here a second longer than necessary.

The glass table.

The sound.

Karen’s voice.

Harper’s scream.

It all buzzed around your skull like a wasp’s nest.

You reached for your phone charger and paused—your hand throbbing.

You looked down.

And that’s when you saw it.

A long, jagged shard of glass embedded in the soft flesh of your palm. Your breath caught in your throat. Blood had already soaked into your skin, but your adrenaline had numbed it until now.

You sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, wrapping your hand around it.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath. “Okay, okay��”

You pulled the glass out—slowly, wincing as blood welled up fast and thick.

“Shit,” you hissed, staggering slightly as you reached for the first aid kit on the dresser. With your good hand, you tore open a bandage, wrapping it around the wound with trembling fingers.

The door creaked open.

“Y/N?”

You turned quickly, startled.

Harper stood there, her eyes still a little red, arms crossed protectively across her chest. She glanced at your bleeding hand, then at your suitcase.

“I just…” she started, hesitating. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For my mom. For what she said.”

You stared at her for a moment.

Then shook your head, shoulders slumping.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, the bandage pressing tight against your palm. “It’s not your fault.”

Harper stepped into the room, looking like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“It’s not,” she said, voice a little firmer. “But I still hate that she’s like that. I hate that you have to leave because this house is… like this.”

You zipped your suitcase the rest of the way and offered her a small, tired smile.

“I was always going to leave,” you said. “It just… feels more final now.”

She nodded, then looked down at your hand again.

“You’re bleeding.”

You gave a half-laugh, glancing at the red already soaking through the bandage.

“I noticed.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, softly, Harper said, “I’m really glad you didn’t tell her about me. About the other night.”

You looked at her, something softer in your eyes now.

“I’d never do that.”

She nodded.

And for the first time, you thought maybe she believed you.

The low hum of the plane surrounded you like a blanket—steady, soft, and constant enough to almost lull you to sleep. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

You sat by the window, forehead occasionally resting against the cool plastic as clouds passed beneath you like slow, white rivers. The lights above the cabin were dimmed, and most passengers were already half-asleep, curled against their neck pillows or distracted by glowing screens.

You had your tray table down.

On it sat your journal, half-filled pages curling at the edges from how often you’d pressed the pen too hard. Your handwriting wavered with the turbulence, but you kept going.

He said he knew Mom. He said I’m only half of what I could be. That being turned would wake something up inside me. I don’t know if I want to be awake anymore.

You paused. Tapped the pen gently against the corner of the page. Then added:

But I miss them. And I need answers.

Beside your journal sat your copy of Pride and Prejudice—creased at the spine, the sticky notes Caitlyn had once lent you still sticking out from the top like multicolored feathers.

You turned to the chapter you’d fallen behind on.

It felt strange—normal—to be reading again. Annotating. Rewriting analysis in the margins. For a few minutes, it was just Elizabeth Bennet and long British sentences and the sound of jet engines in your ears.

But beneath it all, your hand still throbbed under the bandage.

And something inside you whispered that whatever came next... was going to change everything.

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #sissormetimbers #wuh luh wuh #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman

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mvrdermeharder · 3 months ago

Text

Anyone who says that kaisagi doesn’t make any sense and there’s no romantic chemistry is just saying shit at this point… like cmon are we reading the same manga?? Is your reading comprehension in the room with us?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s absolutely fine if you dislike/hate the ship bc it’s not to your tastes, or if you’re just not a shipper in general, i’m not talking about that…

I’m talking abt the ppl who refuse to acknowledge the FACT that their dynamics have a lot of homoerotic undertones, and keep yapping about how they clearly hate each other (very true) and that’s all there is between them (not true).

Like cmon, Isagi has been considering Kaiser his ideal ever since the first nel game, it’s hate mixed with admiration, respect and desire (for his skills). The desire to “be alike”, the desire to “be chased”, the desire to “destroy him”. All of these feelings are prevalent in competitive sports AND when it comes to crushes/romance/sexual desires.

And i’ll say it again: IT’S FINE if you don’t ship it!! It’s fine if you interpret their relationship solely in a “they’re just rivals” way!

But it’s such bullshit to act like there is absolutely no romantic subtext. It’s such bullshit to outright DENY IT.

Oh and don’t even get me started on Kaiser: he’s literally positioning himself to “be chased” when he first meets Isagi, gets totally obsessed with the need to crush him to the point where he literally abandons all rationality and other thoughts to his own detriment (unhealthy obsession at its finest), then realizes that playing against Isagi makes him better, makes him evolve, and playing WITH Isagi is… fun????

Like,, hello??? That is fucking huge??

We’re talking abt a guy who thought that he’s incapable of feeling joy except for when he’s tearing others down (past), and a guy who is wallowing in self hate and has no sense of self worth aside from when he’s scoring goals (present). So for him to feel joy just because he’s playing by Yoichi’s side and to OUTRIGHT ADMIT IT is fucking crazy.

And admitting it is very very important for his character: especially bc i don’t think it’s true that he’s incapable of feeling brief moments of happiness. He’s just not aware of how his own intentions of manipulating Ness had been mixed with the inevitable genuine feelings that spending so much time with someone does to you… cue the first and ONLY time we see his (imo) genuine smile (shower scene w ness).

And getting back on track. The incredible angst that is the recent two chapters… Kaiser breaking down bc he thinks that feeling joy/being affirmed as a human by Yoichi’s side is what made him lose at the end… if that isn’t some “love makes you weaker” ass villain shit then idk what is. (And anyways, he didn’t lose bc he allowed himself to feel good for once, like ffs Kaiser, babe, you lost bc of your constant mistakes when it came to understanding Ness)

And the sus dialogue isn’t there just for shits and giggles either, the mangaka is intentionally and deliberately making use of this language because he’s aware of the homoerotic subtext when it comes to sports manga AND sports in general. The sus dialogue is the author being self aware, regarding the tropes he writes, regarding how similar the power struggles are between competitive sports and sexual relationships. He’s pointing it out and making fun of it with all the ridiculous and downright outrageously gay bllk lines.

And yes, i will reiterate for the third time: it’s okay if you only want to focus on the kaisagi rivalry from a non-homoerotic standpoint. It’s okay if you’re not a fan of the romantic interpretation. It’s okay if the ship isn’t up your alley. IT’S OKAY TO HAVE PERSONAL TASTE.

But ffs don’t even try to argue that the shippers are delusional, bc the material for the ship is RIGHT FUCKING THERE.

CANONICALLY.

Oh and don’t even get me started on all the PARALLELS. Nuh uh, i’d be here for days if i were to yap about all of their contrasts and parallels (visually, in their storylines, regarding personality and psychology, etc etc), all of which that make their dynamics so fucking peak.

And with that, thanks for coming to my ted talk<3

#AAaA bUt tHey hatE eAcH otHer theY cAn’t bE iNloVe #bro.#have u seriously never heard of hate-fucking??#smh yall are either too young/homophobic/vanilla #lmfao #isagi yoichi #michael kaiser #kaisagi #isakai #kiis #iski #bllk #blue lock

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orangepeelknives · 11 days ago

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hello ms orangepeel knives, i went crazy thinking about will playing 4th line minutes but with just as much (if not more as he will play more games) points than macklin playing (WITH SIDNEY CROSBY) on top line minutes so I looked at the numbers!!!

Mack: played an average of 15 mins a game, spending around 0:45 per shift, and has taken a total of 145 shifts, in total that's 120 minutes played - he ends the tournament with 6 points (3 goals, 3 assists)

Will: plays an average of 13:34 mins a game, spending around 0:50 per shift, and has taken a total of 130 shifts, in total that's 108 minutes played - so far, he has 6 assists, but no goals

Obviously, everybody loves a goal scorer. Everybody loves a shiny 1OA rookie playing on a line with Sydney Crosby scoring beauties of a goal. But gosh just look at Will, he's making do with what he's given, and he's doing so much with it, even after being demoted, even after being on warso's bad side every time.

Because that's the life of every player that's not a generational talent.

The cameras are barely on you when you're not crosby, mcdavid, and now celebrini. But you'll push and push because there will be someone watching and its this quiet skill that really makes a team. Not everyone is a generational talent, but you can certainly be a winner.

And frankly, I didn't condone Warso's putting him on the 4th line at first, but he is a young guy compared to the vets and Warso is an old school coach. Honestly, maybe it's less pressure on Will. The loss or win isn't on him when he's on the fourth line, he just has to focus on playing a responsible game (compared to in san jose where he and macklin are the franchise's future)

Now, we can all see why Mack is so defensive of Will. So quick to defend him every time. 'Cause like I said there will be someone watching and Mack is definitely watching. The players know something about the game that we don't so Mack being so enamored with Will, there's an aspect of his game we don't even see.

And lastly, if Will would ever think about leaving? No, I don't think he will. If Will off the ice has always needed people (see: sleep anxiety), then Will on the ice knows that too. And even if he didn't, this is Macklin Celebrini, to him its not the generational talent, to him it's just being able to have a long career with his best friend. -

-🐚

shell anon i am SCREAMING at this analysis you LEGEND checking the STATS the NUMBERS ily!!!!!

yes i agree!!!! there is also a reason denmark won that game despite not having media darling generational talent players! they put their heads down and played some good fucking meat and potatoes hockey! it's not about how much the media hypes you up, it's not about how many jerseys you sell, it's about getting the puck into the back of the net by any means possible!

personally i think will should be third line. specifically the line he is on now, with cutter and pints, should be third, esp considering the game they played yesterday. theyre gelling, the chem is chemming, warso would be an idiot to split them up. and maybe it didn't reflect on the scoreboard, and not to sound like number one will smith glazer macklin celebrini, but will was an impactful player on the ice yesterday in more ways than getting one assist. he was making plays, setting up for goals, making good passes, going after the puck, ect. if he was more of a puck hound, more of a shooter, garuanteed he would have goals by now. i think will needs to a) shoot more, and b) get faster, but he was nawt just There yesterday the way he was during the kazakhstan game.

if we are chatting about will leaving, i agree for the forseeable future. i think at the end of that ELC unless something craaaaaazy changes, he's staying in san jose. he's a known group guy, the group aspect is extremelyyyy important to him, i do believe that he wants to build something in san jose with mack, literally wvwry other interview he's alluding to that. howeverrrr i CAN see him getting frustrated with always being the shadow, always playing second fiddle, being "quietly supportive," but i dont think that thats something that hes horribly bothered by RIGHT NOW, esp with the way that mack is hyping him up constantly, esp with the way the team seems to adore him.

i think that there are def loads of other guys who wouldnt like being hyped up mainly as part of a duo, as kind of a sidekick role, but i think that will is the kind of guy to really crave these sort of close intimite relationships (in multiple ways not in a romancy way), and he really genuinely doesnt seem to be making any effort to separate himself from mack in the media narrative. is it because he's actively using it as a safety net, being smart, getting his name out there more, boosting his image? or is it solely for the more emotional webweavy type reasons? a mix of both?? who am i to say!

anyways ty so much shell anon for this scholarship!!!! please live in my inbox forever!!!

#ask #wsh #mack #willmack #worlds 25

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z0n1x · 4 months ago

Text

shitty soundpage commentary 2!

part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/z0n1x/775758866285838336/ok-meowrther-fucker-where-doing-this-where-making

all the good stuff is under the cut!

IS HE FINALLY GONNA GET HIS BEC KILL??

why is bec blanc glowing yellow???

LMAOOOO THEY LOOK SO SCARED

its lalonde suicide time!!!!

huh i guess hope can do like anything so protecting the point with it isnt out of the question but then why didnt jake do something like this earlier

also you cant see it but jane is MASHING that button the laser goes like 5 different times

why does one of them have funko pop proportions??? did jade do that?

her goose is FULL ON CHARCOAL at this point

okay what the fuck?? maybe like with all the bodies she considered all of the dead soldiers one organism and “healed” all of them by fusing them together???? or maybe it’s just cool and im over thinking it

hmmm wouldn’t the dead trolls eyes turn white? maybe i heard this wrong but i thought dead troll bodies eyes turned white when they died and their ghost self reflected this

also THE LITTLE :3 FACED OLIVE TROLL EVEN IN DEATH LOLL

the true biggest loss….. his pizza also is he wearing cat paw slippers?

what if….. we were both D:, and we ran into the sunset together 0////0

after everything….. you can still see your mustache

how does the mustache…. you know what ill go with it

“riiiiiight here please you cant mess this up there is literally 0 chance you cant hit this unless jane has started building a death star”

awwww shit jasperose was right :/

how the hell did she get johns phone???

god the artstyle difference is crazy

also i just noticed (vriska) got a tavros style haircut

HELL YES THEY FINALLY GET TO LEAVE

lmao

I CANT CONVEY HOW COOL THIS MOMENT IS GO WATCH IS YOURSELF!

blue (vriska) shading (light) compared to earliers purple (rose) shading on roses face

just a cool detail

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

hmmmm im stuck between thinking this is just like extra godtier vriska or ult!vriska…

let me say though that the way that she stole rose’s knowledge of what was going to happen away from her is very thief of light-y

and of course stealing the spotlight…

bec blanc is way bigger than i thought if theres someone in there piloting it when their that small

AHHHH WITH KARKAT BEHEADING IT AND THE BLOOD RED COLOR ALREADY BEING ALL OVER BEC BLANC ITS JUST SO COOL

hmmmm new fire motif? im into it but it feels sort of out of left field for vriska

this new design is so cool yall

ohh lol i get it sun over the moon

but also with the increase in red in the design and her trying to message terezi i wonder if shes going to talk about terezi more since a big accent color for terezi was red and they had matching red shoes and stuff

i do like what they did with the eight to infinity thing and im glad theyre using it more in this new era of vriska if youll pardon my bs

also: more fire

AW SHIT SHES GOING FOR THE BIG GOAL

AAAAAAND

SHE SCORES!! (????????)

WILL IT BE JUST! WILL IT BE HEROIC (probably not) FIND OUT NEXT TIME LIKE IN A MONTH!

lol if you read all of this thanks for listening to me quote memes and badly theorize for a bit!

and if future me is reading this to see what i thought was going to happen: did i get anything right? ;3

part one: https://www.tumblr.com/z0n1x/775758866285838336/ok-meowrther-fucker-where-doing-this-where-making

byyyyyye!

#zonix talks #long post #looooooooong post #homestuck #upd8 #[s] 8r8k #hs:bc #homestuck beyond canon #vriska serket

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supergraphicgirl81 · 5 months ago

Text

With A Little Help From My Friends ⋆⁺₊❅.

Charles Leclerc ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

Formula 1 college hockey team social media AU! Instagram Edition

The tight-knit college hockey team, the Silver Blades, run by team captain Max Verstappen, isn't just about scoring goals—it's a chosen family. On and off the ice, the team has each other's backs, whether that's through college assignments, throwing awesome parties, or winning the championship together. Follow these overworked, tired, college students as they post through their day-to-day life.

With A Little Help From My Friends Masterlist ๋࣭ ⚝ Charles Leclerc Masterlist ๋࣭ ⚝

Translations → Small text, Italics

Authors Note: Merry Christmas everybody !!!!!!!!!!! Another Instagram as your present, please let me know if these are turning out okay or if they suck, thanks !!!!!!!

CharLeclerc

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CharLeclerc My son

tagged ItsYourname

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OscarJP This is child favoritism at its finest btw.

CharLeclerc You know you're my actual favorite (liked by OscarJP)

OscarJP Got it in writing and everything @OllieBearman, suck it freshie

OllieBearman WAHTTTT??!

AlexandraSaint your son huh? did you birth him?

CharLeclerc You didn't either???

AlexandraSaint yeah, didn't think so 🙄 (liked by CharLeclerc)

RandomHockeyFan perfect man, perfect child, perfect life (watch your back I'm coming for you)

CharLeclerc What

LewHamilton Roscoe told me he wanted to plan a hangout with Leo

Franco43Colapinto you are a 24 year old man

RandomFan BLESSED LEO SIGHTING !!!

LandoNorris4 calling him daddy the way he be fathering that child (liked by CharLeclerc)

CharLeclerc I laughed but also don't do that again

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CharLeclerc Well needed team vacation

tagged CarlosSainz, AlexandraSaint, LilyMuniHe

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LilyMuniHe i LOVE standing creepily in the corner of places and taking pictures of the perfect two of you! (liked by CharLeclerc)

ItsYourname she's being so deadass too, that's whats crazy

DanielRicciardo I can't fathom that I just witnessed back thirst traps in this day and age

RandomFan BARK BARK GRRR BARK GRRRRRRR

GeorgeRus Charles I beg, next trip can we please go back to OG trip roommates, I'm literally on my knees (liked by CharLeclerc)

MaxVerstappen hey! I am not that bad

CharLeclerc Max what did you do the man is literally begging

CarlosSainz Still asking for a soccer rematch, me and Charlie got robbed

LandoNorris4 BOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! U SUCK

OscarJP You lost, get over it

CarlosSainz We didn't lose. We just never finished cause Franco almost fell in the fire and we had fewer points 🙄 . It's up in the air. 🙄

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CharLeclerc Camera roll dump

tagged AlexandraSaint

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LewHamilton Glad you enjoyed the horse sculpture! Reminded me of you!

CharLeclerc Lewis what does that mean

Random i wish i could live like leo (liked by CharLeclerc)

YukiTsunoda22 I just want to squeeze his long slender head, he is fucking perfect god

CharLeclerc Please stay away from my dog

LilyMuniHe is she taken?

CharLeclerc Yes? So are you?

LilyMuniHe @AlexandraSaint are you taken?

AlexandraSaint not currently!

LilyMuniHe great! we're married now 😊

CharLeclerc What the hell just happened

Albono You just got your girlfriend stolen by my girlfriend

AlexandraSaint i love this photo of leo (liked by CharLeclerc)

CharLeclerc i love this photo of you tu es la plus belle femme que j'ai jamais vue, tu es parfaite you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, you are perfect

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CharLeclerc MA FEMME!!! MON AMOUR, J'AI TRÈS CHANCE MY WIFE!!! MY LOVE, I AM VERY LUCKY

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LandoNorris4 do you not feel desperate? maybe even hopeless

CharLeclerc She is everyhting i am nothing whatdo you not understand

MaxVerstappen Lovely photos. 👍 (liked by CharLeclerc)

HockeyFan i can't tell if I'm more jealous of Charles, Alex, or Leo (definitely Leo)

ItsYourname it's just not fair, i could do so much more for her than you ever could. i need her biblically (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc HEY stay on your side, i can fight

ItsYourname i'm not afraid of you bitch boy (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc @OscarJP Your girlfriend is harassing me, AGAIN !!!!!!

LilyMuniHe ALEX ❤️‍🔥💗🥰💞 (liked by CharLeclerc, and AlexandraSaint)

AlexandraSaint mon amour ᡣ𐭩 my love (liked by CharLeclerc)

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lavendergardenwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Like I Always Do (s.o. x fem!reader)

pairing: sam obisanya x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: language (it's ted lasso), use of 'my girl'

a/n: ahh! first time writing for my favourite boy!! i hope y'all like this and don't mind the fact that i clearly know nothing about football, i'm trying my best!!

“Come on Sam!” You call from your place in the owner’s box, Keeley gripping your hand that wasn’t acting as a megaphone. There’s a few minutes left on the clock and both teams have yet to score a goal. The boys are weaving through each other on the pitch, trying desperately to dodge between the opposing players. It’s just started raining and you mutter a curse to the universe under your breath for England’s reliably shitty weather.

“Oh for God’s sake, we just need one goal!” Rebecca sighs from beside Keeley, readjusting the Richmond beanie that held down her hair. Zoreaux throws the ball from his spot on one end, and Sam’s quick to claim it, bouncing it off his knee before kicking it over to Danny. You’d be lying if you said you knew much about football, but from what you do know, this setup looks pretty damn good.

“Let’s go Richmond!” Higgins calls from behind you, and you can’t help but smile as this is the most high energy and carefree you’d ever seen this man.

“Babes, you’re gonna squeeze my hand off,” Keeley comments to you as you had turned your focus back to the game, quickly becoming very concerned with the state of it.

“Oh sorry,” you apologise, loosening your grip with the intention of letting go entirely, but Keeley weaves her fingers through yours, keeping your hand exactly where it is.

In quite an elegant move from Danny, he twists his body and kicks his leg over the other, shooting the ball straight to the goal. While you could hear the Richmond fans all collectively take a quick breath, it seems too good to be true. Your fears are unfortunately proven accurate as the opposing goalkeeper sweeps the ball away from the netted end, pushing it back onto the pitch with his gloved hands. The crowd splits into a round of sighs and cheers as they either celebrate or mourn the moment for their team.

“Fucking shit,” Rebecca curses, fidgeting with the bracelet adorning her left wrist. Isaac makes a call, shouting a combination of words that only makes sense to them and they get in a new formation. Jamie runs to basically lean against the opposing team’s players, no doubt muttering something to get in their heads as the boys get ready behind him. They’re soon off again and you’re eyeing Sam the entire time. He’d been so in his head before this that you knew he was stressing like crazy right now. The game is tense and you know he’s trying his hardest, but that self doubt does unfortunate wonders on someone’s self esteem.

“You’ve got it Sam!” You cheer again, and this time he hears you, looking up at the owner’s box, giving you a warm but small smile and a thumbs up.

“You’re not biassed at all, are you?” Keeley teases as she looks between you and Sam.

“And what if I am? You’re the same way for Mister ‘he’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where’ Roy Kent,” You shrug with a squeeze to her hand.

“Never said it was a bad thing babe,” Keeley replies, shaking her head.

The crowd starts cheering in unison as the ball gets passed back and forth across the pitch. It gets passed to Sam and the goal is somehow left wide open. This seems almost too miraculous, but you try not to doubt and instead focus on the magic that might be about to happen. Sam claims the ball once again and keeps running forward with it, dribbling it past the opposing players. The stadium waits with bated breath and the tension in the crowd could be cut with a knife. With the looming clock ticking down its last seconds, Sam kicks the ball straight toward the goal, swiftly pushing it past the goalkeeper, making the score 1-1. The timer buzzes loudly, signifying the end of the game, and Richmond has done it. They end with the tie they needed and the fans go wild.

“With a clean goal from Obisanya, the game ends with a tie!” The announcer repeats into his microphone, as the team runs to hug each other. You and Keeley stand up, exploding with joy as you hug each other tightly, Rebecca turning to hug Higgins from behind her. The fans start to storm the pitch, and everyone is quick to exit the owner’s box, wanting to join in on all the fun. Rain be damned, nothing is going to stop you from celebrating. You search the sea of people for your boyfriend, who pushes Jamie off his back when he sees you.

“Go get your girl mate,” Jamie smiles, patting Sam lovingly on the back before turning to Isaac and celebrating with him.

“Y/N!” Sam calls, waving his arms to get your attention. Your smile grows as you spot him, running at full speed, though trying not to slip on the damp grass. His arms open as he meets you halfway, catching you as you hurdle into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. He picks you up lightly, both of you laughing, and spins you around before putting you back down.

“That was fucking amazing!” You praise. “Oh my God, the tension in the crowd was insane but you absolutely fucking killed it!” You tighten your grip on your boyfriend, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“Hearing you cheer really helped,” he comments as you pull back slightly to look at him.

“Yeah, might have been a bit aggressive up there. Almost took Keeley’s hand off with how hard I was squeezing”.

Sam laughs, lightly grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you in for a kiss. The cheers of the fans still on the pitch fade away to background noise as you immediately kiss back, putting all the remaining adrenaline into it. You’re so proud of him and you want him to know it every chance you get. When you two pull away, Sam grabs your hand, twirling you around before settling you back to face him.

“What was that for?” You ask, a confused look in your eyes.

“Just wanted to get a good look at you in my number”. It had become custom for you to wear a shirt with Sam’s famous ‘24’ on the back and he loves it every time.

“My one and only,” you reply, “now come on, this rain is starting to soak through my shoes”. You pull the two of you closer to the exit, but you don’t get too far before Sam’s picking you up and carrying you bridal style across the rest of the pitch. “Sam! Put me down!” You slap his arm lightly before gripping his neck, not wanting to fall.

“Do not worry, I’ve got you. Like I always do”.

#sam obisanya #ted lasso #sam obisanya x reader #ted lasso fan fiction #jamie tartt #afc richmond #roy kent #sam obisanya imagines #sam obisanya fan fiction

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urfavluvergirl · 3 months ago

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When She Became More - all of the girls you loved before au

AU masterlist - you can find other stuff under #🪼opheliajones

Ryan— a little more in tuned with his feelings, realizes there’s more to Ophelia then his childhood friend.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Honestly I like really like this fic so if it’s bad be nice. Also I don’t know if Ryan’s parents or sister went to the game last year so don’t come for me.

wc: 1.1k

things to look out for: swearing, Ryan accidentally gets a little touchy (nothing major)

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Ryan stood in the library, quite literally staring at Ophelia in the library.

It’s not like he was stalking her. She was the one who invited him to join her after finally texting him back hours later.

He wasn’t nervous. Ryan could call himself a pretty normal and calm guy, he doesn’t crack under pressure like others do, and he’s never openly nervous before much of anything. But right now, there were foreign feelings swirling inside his chest that made him apprehensive. The same ones that he’d been feeling since leaving her dorm yesterday.

Maybe he could just turn around and go back to his dorm, call his brother and ask him for more advice on his feelings.

Or maybe he could just be normal and actually join her.

What the hell are you doing?

”I was wondering when you might show up.”

And oh, he’s at her table. He just walked to her table.

”Ha, yeah, practice went a little late.” Ryan lied, trying to seem cool.

”Practice? It’s like…3:00 pm Ry.” Ophelia questioned, but couldn’t stop herself from using his old childhood nickname.

Ryan huffed out a laugh and sat next to her, giving her a teasing look at the nickname while she tried to hide her face.

”Well I’m a bit more serious about hockey since the last time you saw me.” Ryan teased back.

”A bit?” Ophelia taunted him.

”Maybe more.”

He felt a smirk make its way onto his lips, something was so easy about this. It didn’t take time to get back to normal, it wasn’t awkward. It was just them, like it used to be. Albeit a bit older and wiser with more complicated feelings.

“I missed you.” Ryan blurted out. Which made him go a little pink.

Ophelia looked at him, really looked at him, which made him a little nervous.

Her smile became gentler, and her eyes softened from teasing to something else.

He did really miss her ever since she left. He felt crazy but every time something monumental happened to him he pictured her with him.

Like when he was drafted, he wished she was the one sitting next to him, so they could do their secret handshake or something stupid when the Caps finally called his name, or a hug, that would’ve been nice too. Or when he scored a goal, during regulation or OT, and she was sitting in the crowd in Plymouth, Michigan cheering him on. Maybe she would be wearing his jersey too—LEONARD—across her back in bold red lettering. What if after games he would hold her in a tight hug, and she would be so happy to just be with him, even if they had a shit game.

It suddenly occurred to Ryan that all these years that he had been imagining her, he wasn’t imagining the girl he was best friends with. The girl who he punched many kids for. He imagined a girl that grew with him. A girl that didn’t believe that guys had cooties, or that boys were a girls’ biggest enemy. And all those years of imagining lead him to now.

But she was even better than he could ever imagine.

“I missed you too.” Ophelia replied. “And I won’t leave you again, not if I can help it.”

He probably looked like an idiot, looking at her like she hung from the moon and the stars. If Gabe or Will were here, they’d probably chirp him into oblivion. But now he didn’t care. It felt like a part of his heart was finally beating along with the rest of him, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure she knew that, make sure she knew that he needed her.

His head came to rest on her shoulder.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ જ⁀➴

“Would you come to my game?” Ryan blurted out into the silence of Ophelia’s dorm.

She furrowed her eyebrows at first, a little bit confused that he just blurted it out— as well as no further information.

”Our first home game of the season, it’s against LIU.” Ryan corrected.

Ophelia huffed out a laugh. “Of course I’ll go, I wanna see how good you’ve gotten.”

Ryan smirked at the thought of showing off his skills to her. ”Mom, Dad, and Bri will be there too.”

Ophelia’s smile widened. She had missed the Leonard family a lot. There was always something going on with them, a big, happy family that young Ophelia dreamt of having when times got hard.

“Oh, even better, maybe I won’t go for you then.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and unknowingly splayed his hand on her thigh, “I’ll put on such a good show for you, you won’t wanna look away.”

Her eyes widened at the touch, before he looked down at his hand.

”Shit. Sorry.” He rushed, trying not to think about the tingling sensation where skin met skin.

”Don’t worry about it. We’ve seen worse of each other right?” She reminded.

”Right.” Ryan replied. But the feel of her skin was already embedded into his mind, and the more carnal part of him wanted to put his hand back where it was.

She scooted closer to him on her bed, to the point where their shoulders were touching.

”You’re thinking.” She added. “Stop.”

”Since when did you become wise?” He asked.

Ophelia snorted out a laugh.

”I’ve always been like this, but you just didn’t need that yet.”

Ryan looked at her confused, probing her to continue on.

She sighed,”You guys always put so much pressure on yourselves. I saw it with John when hockey started getting serious. And I see it in you now as well.”

Ryan had heard that speech several times— and yet it sounded so different coming from her.

And wow, they’ve gotten close.

Their bodies pressed up against each other, faces only a couple inches apart.

”Thank you.” He whispered, why was he whispering?

Maybe to not shatter the silence that enveloped them, so comforting and warm and holding feelings that hadn’t been discovered by either of them yet.

Ophelia’s nose scrunched,”What did I tell you earlier today?”

Ryan took a beat and answered.

He was standing so close to the edge, yet he didn’t feel fear. He felt peace, for the past day his head was spinning and spinning the most it had ever been. He had never been so sure and unsure at the exact same time. And he knew that if he let himself tumble, he wouldn’t regret it this time—whatever the outcome.

So Ryan finally did what he wanted to, after standing on the edge for years, he let himself fall.

#bc hockey #boston college hockey #bc line #hockey player x oc #nhl x oc #ryan leonard #gabe perreault #nhl #washington capitals #will smith hockey #🪼opheliajones

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ttheggrimrreaper · 5 months ago

Text

New information

Pink lock

Blue lock x reader (Fem! manager

Masterlist

Meat is being eaten by reader in this chapter. So if you are vegetarian or vegan or anyone that doesn't eat red meat, I apologize. It's not important to the story however, so if you want you could skip over it, although you will miss some dialogue.

Fumiko galred at you, digging daggers into the back of your neck. While you and her were arguing, thankfully Rei and Keiko had stepped up and cleaned up Gagamarus nose. Regardless of needing a time out for a bloody nose or not, it would help Gagamaru recover from the metal fucking pole he just hit! As the game went on you ignored Fumiko. It was Naruhayas turn, and to Keikos pleasant surprise, he and Imamura worked together to work it up the field. Whenever team Y got ahold of the ball and tried to pass to Niko, Isagi would shut them down.

"The bloods at work.." you murmered to yourself. White blood cells were like the warriors of the body, fighting off illnesses like Niko.

"Huh?" Rei said, tilting her head "what do you mean?"

You hadn't went for the girl to hear you.. but you were here now. "The blood. If the team is a body, than Isagi is the blood.. the one they all hope to have on their side" 'for the most part' you thought,

"Wouldn't that make Isagi the heart?" Keiko chimed in, handing you a water bottle.

"No... We are the heart. When part of the body breaks down, we are the people that build it back up. Isagi the blood, carrying the necessary nutrients to make a goal around, even if he doesn't realize it."

"And that means the others are??" Keiko seemed invested no longer watching the game directly.

"Gagamaru is our joints. Helping us leap and reach places we weren't before. Kunigami is our lungs, the hero of the field that when we were desperate for a single breath of air.., or a single goal, he pushes through." You were referring to the last game... Where you only scored one point on behalf of Kunigami. "And that leaves, Atleast what we know... That leaves Koun as our head. Keeping us all in check. Keeping the heart from bursting, which intrun helps the blood which helps the rest of the body move." You looked at Koun as he ran down the field, trying to help set up the play.

"And what would you do without your head?" You heard the girl again.. Falena. Snuck over mid game once again.

"Go away, get back to your side!" You snarled. It wasn't a big deal... If she wasn't such a bother.

"Nuh uh! Mika said I can stay on this side for the remainder of the game so long as I don't touch anyone." She huffed and crossed her arms, shaking her head dramatically

"She say anything bout us touching you?" Fumiko, for once stepping forward to bicker with someone other than you. Although greatful for her she did make that sentence sound a little dirty... But whatever.

"Well I doubt you would!" Falena snapped back, although she did side step away. You had to admit, with the height and resting bitch face Fumiko held, she was somewhat intimidating. Its when you hear the hell of Raichi, yelling to cover Ohkawa who has just received the ball in his own half. Your body tensed up, it seemed that both Fumiko and Falena had shut up for this... If only momentarily,

"One time kill counter. Guess I'll see you all on the outside hmm?" She snickered as she spun on her heel headed back to her side.

You didn't look her way, more concerned with the looks of defeat on your teams face, the girls beside you included. You looked for any possibility, then you saw Bachira, who was running somewhat, away, from the ball. That's when you saw it. Isagi snatched the ball, the blood doing it work. Passing it to Kunigami, the lungs, who then passed it to your motivation. Bachira Meguru. He seemed a little out of touch, crazy in his head even... But not a single could deny that his positivity had been contagious. Bachira then passed it to Gagamaru, the perfect line up for a score. Your hands clenched. This was it, you could move forward. You could win.

.........

And then he missed. The managers beside you sucking in a breath of air and holding it, just as you did. And then you heard the sound of the ball, hitting the net. Isagi standing there, panting. Somehow made his way there so quickly.

"YEAAHHHH" You cheered just as everyone did, you ran out onto the field to congratulate the, until Bachira full on rammed into you. You yelped as you feel, thankfully not hitting your head.

"We won!!! We move on!" You heard elsewhere, Bachira giggled before he got up and attempted to do the same with the other managers who ran away from him. As you got up you rubbed your head, seeing a hand extended out to you. Isagi, he helped you up. However he left, turning around and walking to a sulking Nikko before you could congratulate him. 'he earned that. The right to talk shit after the game'

You genuinely had no idea what he was doing, but you assumed he was talking shit. Team Y lay sitting on the field some crying, others trying to suck it up. But that didn't matter, it wasn't your team. You frantically ran around people,excited but also trying to get them off the field and Atleast headed into the locker rooms. Koun had said that everyone could participate in a feast tonight, Including you! How fun is that! After a few minutes of celebration, the boys started their way into the locker room. Isagi walking with s new sense of.. Ego with him. You had started to follow, everything was looking good! Even Felena was too., crushed to come and talk shit about it.

"Wait." You felt a hand on your wrist. You turned around faced with Koun. You had handed him his water bottle for sure... So this was unexpected. You tilted your head as you planted your feet waiting for him to go on,

"Thank you.. for the help. Our team would be a little... Lost without it." He spoke softly, smiling as he let go of your wrist. You smiled back.

"Of course, It's my job after all." You chuckled, you noticed how the corner of his lips twitched slightly.

"You don't move on if we don't win,,, and for that I am sorry." This confused you.. you frowned. Yeah, sure that's what happens but you were gonna win, heck you had just won this game!

"Yeah.. I guess that's true. But I believe in you guys, so I don't have anything to worry about!" You hummed, startung to walk to the locker rooms. Pretending not to notice how his smile dropped. Kuon Wataru, was a odd man youve now realized. He was also a closed off one, only sharing his true gratitude with those he trusted.

The big room, that the boys had slept in, was full of chatter. People talking. You had stationed yourself between Isagi and Raichi, currently giggling to something Igarashi had said. Fumiko, Keiko, and Rei had formed their own little group near Naruhaya, Gagamaru, and Imamura. You were more than happy to see Imamaru and Naruhaya hanging out. It made part of the heart happy, and happy heart makes the body function so much better.

"So how did you get out the scoring spot so fast?" You asked Isagi, it seems the room shut up to hear the answer. You waited as he thought, having another biteful of rice.

"..I don't know,, I guess I could just,,, see it. Smell it. " He shrugged, moving his head to the side to avoid the chopsticks Bachira was forcing into his face. Turn out when Bachira gave up on Isagi you were next. Pressing the slab of read meat to your cheek as you realed your head back.

"Pretty lame Skill-"Raichi started but you were quick to step in.

"Well speaking that he has one goal, and you have none, I would say it's a pretty great ski-" you talking gave Bachira an opening to force the meat into your mouth. Raichi grumbled, and the small world around you burst with chatter again, naruhaya stealing food, Keiko watching him with a new found sense of happiness. Bachira continuing to force feed people. Igarashi begging for anything but his radishes. You felt bad for the poor guy so you handed him some of your side dish of salad. But did not take the radishes. The happiness you saw in his eyes made it worth it.

Leaning back with a full stomach, humming slightly as Kunigami smiled at you, heck even grouchy Chigiri smiled. Although he didn't put any effort into this game,,, at least he was smiling and actively talking with people.

Maybe... Just maybe..... You could only hope that... Kuons apology had been a lie, and that he too, was confident that his team could win.

Episode 11

#bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x female reader #bachira meguru #female reader #isagi yoichi #kuon wataru #kunigami rensuke #chigiri hyoma #niko ikki #pink lock

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shellem15 · 11 months ago

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The Case of Baalphegor

So, in DnD lore, there's this one character who gives me a lot of brainrot: Baalphegor, the she-devil consort to the Archdevil Mephistopheles. (For my bg3 girlies, this would be Raphael's stepmother!) As you can imagine, she isn't really talked about much, but what we do know about her is super cool!

(Note: Though I don't subscribe to their theories, @inaconstantstateofchange has a pretty good compilation of some of the lore and sources I'm using here.)

Baalphegor is an archdevil who's been around since the beginning of Hell (Baator), described as a skilled diplomat, tactician, and unmatched sorceress, as well as an inventor who's created a ton of artifacts and techniques used in the Hells. She's well-respected, and has many allies among Hell's upper echelon (Pit Fiends in particular).

So already, she's got a lot going for her (we love evil women in STEM). But here's where things get interesting:

Baalphegor is, apparently, extremely respected and valued by Asmodeus himself. So much so that he lets her live with Mephisto, and is one of the major reasons why Asmo tolerates him and his constant scheming. Now this is crazy, considering Asmo and his Big Fuckin Massive Ego™ and general lack of respect for anyone he considers "lesser", which is everyone.

Baalphegor toes the line between the two archdevils, keeping her goals "to herself" and being minimally loyal to Mephisto, while also maybe vying for a spot at being Asmo's new consort (or at least getting closer to him). Mephisto tolerates this because of the protection she gives him, but I imagine that he's not too happy about it. (Also she's gone missing? Which isn't really relevant to this post but is still something to note).

All of these details combined suggests to me that she has way more sway over how things are run in Cania (the 8th Hell) than we're told, perhaps even more so than Mephisto! The devil behind the throne, whispering into her arrogant consort's ear. I think this is neat, and makes Mephisto even more of a girlfailure, which is funny as hell (pun intended).

Small sidenote: in the lore of Hell, there's these guys called the Ancient Baatorians, the original rulers/inhabitants of Baator (Hell). These guys were pretty much all murked by Asmo and his devils when they conquered Hell, but some remnants of them survived: In the Dogai (assassin devils), who were transformed into devils; in the nupperibos, which are their larval stage; in more grown ancient baatorians called life stealers (an invisible monster which eats light and your life-force). These more mature forms are only really found in the cave systems beneath Malbolge and Maladomini (the 6th and 7th hells), places which even devils don't enter. There are also some of these guys trapped in the ice of Cania, as well. (Lore about them is compiled in Power Score RPG's Blog here.)

Why did I bring up the Ancient Baatorians, you may be asking? Well, some people on the internet really think that Baalphegor is an Ancient Baatorian. The original ruler of Cania, even. Now, I've looked and there seems to be no lore basis for this at all, but its fucking awesome so I've decided to include it here.

Additional Sidenote: So Asmodeus (and the Hells, by extension) has a lot of origins stories, all of which are iffy at best. One of the origin stories is that he's secretly a giant evil snake called Ahriman who, along with his goodly snake-sibling Jazirian, created the universe and the planes out of the primordial soup with the power of Law™. They disagreed on where to center the universe, and in the resulting conflict Ahriman fell into the Hells where his body now lays wounded at the bottom of Nessus. Ahriman eventually disguised himself and now rules the Hells as Asmodeus, biding his time and eating the souls of atheists to heal his wounds and eventually rule the cosmos.

Now I don't particularly like this origin story (I find it just makes Asmo less interesting), but the idea of a big giant snake being the original ruler of Hell is sick, so I propose we take a page out of Pathfinder's book and give it to someone who's not Asmodeus. Who, you may asking? Baalphegor, of course!

…

The frozen peaks of Cania hold many dangers, but none so insidious as its dark mistress, the Lady Baalphegor. Consort to the Archduke Mephistopheles, Baalphegor takes a backseat role in the rulership of Cania, but is by no means unimportant—she is, perhaps, the smartest devil in all the Hells; A trait which has seen her rise to a position of great power.

Baalphegor holds immense sway and influence in the Nine Hells. Preferring diplomacy over brute force, her power is subtler than her consort's explosive dramatics—but has far greater reach and longer-lasting impact. That is not to say she is physically weak—she is an unmatched sorceress in the Hells and beyond—but that she'd rather make a friend than an enemy. A rare trait in the Hells, indeed.

Much like her husband, Baalphegor is an inventor, one who has created many of the profane artifacts and diabolical techniques used throughout the Hells. Her knowledge is as vast as Cania's great glaciers, collected over many eons with perfectly preserved clarity. Her spellcraft is precise and calculated, in contrast with Mephistopheles' volatile magics. In addition to her role as the Lady of Mephistar—Mephistopheles' great citadel—Baalphegor oversees the operations of the various libraries and laboratories in the frozen citadel. It is said that she can recite, by word, all the texts and tombs found within Mephistar's halls.

These traits have earned Baalphegor a position of great esteem in the Hells, so much so that she is respected by even the Archduke of Nessus, Asmodeus himself. The Lord of Lies counts her as a great friend and ally, often seeking her advice and counsel in matters requiring a more delicate hand. Rumors persist that Baalphegor's influence is one of the major reasons why the Lord of the Hells has not deposed her unruly consort.

In any case, an understanding exists between the two that Mephistopheles is not privy to, a fact which ignites much jealousy and insecurity within the Cold Lord. Despite the tensions between them, Baalphegor manages to walk the fine line between the two Archdukes, appearing loyal to both her consort and her King without making a distinction between the two.

Baalphegor's talents and connections have made her an invaluable asset to her consort, but also a grave threat. If she so chose to, she could quite easily overthrow the Lord of Hellfire. Luckily for Mephistopheles, however, Baalphegor has no current desire for usurpation, content with being the power behind Cania's icy throne.

While all in the Hells know Baalphegor to be an old and powerful devil, few are aware of the true extent of that fact. The entity known as Baalphegor is an ancient being—older than the Hells, older than Asmodeus, older than the Outer Planes itself. A serpent as vast as a galaxy, devoid of any light save for the stars in its belly. A devourer of suns and stars, one who feeds off of light and life and hope itself.

Somehow, this great serpent found itself trapped in the depths of Cania, long before any devil stepped foot in the realm. It found kin amongst those strange and incomprehensible Ancient Baatorians, the original rulers of Baator. This state lasted for countless eons, until the arrival of the Heavens' greatest angel, a young Asmodeus.

Before his fall, the Lord of the Hells discovered the plane of Baator on one of his many expeditions to the Abyss. Intrigued, he ventured deep into the bowels of this dark realm, until he found the great serpent in its nest. Instead of devouring him, the serpent hosted the Son of Light, sharing with him secret knowledge and long-forgotten truths of the cosmos. Asmodeus left the serpent's nest with his life, and, more importantly, a newfound friend.

When Asmodeus returned to Baator with his infernal host, he entreated the serpent for its aid in his conquest over the plane. The serpent agreed, on condition that the favor be repaid at the time and place of its choosing. This is the only debt that the Lord of Nessus still yet owes.

The serpent donned the guise of Baalphegor, and served as Asmodeus' advisor in his war against her former kin. With her knowledge, the Lord of the Hells vanquished his foes and seated himself upon the throne of Nessus. He rewarded her with a position of power in Cania, but cleverly did not grant her the title of Archduke, instead bestowing it to the obstinate yet controllable Mephistopheles. Baalphegor was made consort to the Lord of Cania, a station she holds to this day.

The truth of Baalphegor is only known to herself and Asmodeus, a secret well-kept and well-hidden. Only the lady herself can say what her true goals are, but for now she bides her time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

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Petals in the Wind

Hyoma Chigiri x reader

~After snagging reservations to one of the fanciest reservations in the city, Chigiri hopes his speed will be enough to get him there on time.

W.C. 2.3k

A/n: dividers to be added once I get home from my friend’s wedding!

Hyoma Chigiri doesn't even try to look at the clock as he passes it. Soccer practice should’ve ended twenty minutes ago, but this damn scrimmage has been scoreless for too long, and both teams are too stubborn to end with a tie.

The Japanese National team has a friendly against the Colombian national team next week, so everyone is giving it their all to earn a spot in the starting eleven.

Although his head is mostly in the game, there is a sense of anxiousness gnawing at the pink-haired man’s heart. Tonight, he was able to snag a reservation at one of the most popular restaurants in the city. You have been wanting to go there ever since the place had opened, but

Thanks to its crazy rise in popularity, getting a table at all is near impossible.

This Reservation has been on your calendars for six months, and he absolutely cannot miss disappointing you tonight.

“Hey! Look alive, Princess.” The harsh shouting from Baro brings Chigri’s attention back to the turf as the dark-haired behemoth of a man sends a cross down line. It floats upwards over the back line and although it’s been years since Blue Lock, Chigiri feels that Egoist hunger thrashing inside of him.

That ball is his…

That goal is his…

If he scores this, he can shower and get ready for his dinner date with you.

His speed sends little rubber pellets up in the air as he chases the ball down. His pink hair slips from his tousled braid as he passes Reo and extends his leg towards the ball.

The familiar weight on his foot feels natural as he takes two generous touches towards the top of the 18-yard line before planting his foot.

His white laces strike through the ball as he shoots. The ball lifts slightly as it zips toward the top left corner of the goal. His breath hitches in anticipation as the ball floats just above the tips of the goalkeeper's fingers, only to hit the crossbar and ping back in the opposite direction.

“Dammit,” he curses under his breath as the purple-haired player clears the ball in the opposite direction.

His legs, his wonderful, wonderful legs, carry him back down the field as he tries to make a recovery run. But once Reo’s clearance passes over Isagi’s head and reaches its white-haired target, there is little anyone can do to stop Nagi from scoring.

Especially if it means scoring would end practice, and he could take a nap

The ball hits the back of the net, and finally, this practice is over.

Although it’s just practice, this loss forms a knot in his chest as he heads off to the locker room. His face, a cold look of disappointment that he hoped would deter his teammates from bringing up his last shot.

Judging from the way Baro stomps towards him, his pristine and unusually fluffy bath towel draped over his shoulder, he can tell those hopes are in vain.

The scowl on the taller man’s face is a telltale sign that Hyoma is about to receive a rather annoying scolding.

“You louse. Did you just do all that work just to shoot off frame?” he growls, staring him down with a menacing brow.

“It looks like someone was distracted today.” Bachira comments in his usual sing-song voice. “Is it because of your date tonight with you know who?” He sticks his tongue out playfully as he reaches his hand out to try to play with Chirigi’s hair.

He bats it away and turns to walk away from his teammates

“Technically, my shot was on frame; it just hit it,” he mumbles, pulling off his red penny that hasn't been washed in weeks.

“Well, if we were competing in the crossbar challenge, then Princess here would be the champ, but now he’s just dead weight.”

“Hey, cool it. I’m sure Chigiri feels bad enough about missing his shot.” Isagi says, turning to his friend and teammate with a kind smile. “So, where are you taking y/n tonight?” he asks, handing Chirigi his duffle bag.

‘We have reservations for Indigo, he replies, taking his bag from his friend. He tries to keep it cool but can’t help but feel proud when he sees the awe in his friend's eyes.

“Isn’t that the really fancy place downtown?” Bachira asks, his yellow eyes gleaming with curiosity. “How long have you had that reservation for?”

“Six months,” he mutters dryly. “Making it was such a pain, but y/n is worth it.”

“Aweeeee, you loveeeee them.” he teases.

“Of course I do, you idiot,” he blushes, shyly tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “More than anything.”

Indigo hunh? If you wanted a reservation that badly, you should’ve just asked me,” Reo says nonchalantly. “My family invested in it when it was starting out, so we always get a table.”

“And you’re just telling me about this now?” Chigiri mutters as Nagi stretches out on the wooden locker room bench.

“Hey, Reo. Take me there; it sounds good.” He murmurs sleepily, trying to take off his jersey; his movements are so sluggish that the shirt gets stuck halfway off his shoulders.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “How about tomorrow?”

Chirigi grits his teeth. “Must be nice to be rich,” he mutters, sulking off to the showers so he can wash his hair and get ready for your date tonight.

Now clean and looking rather dapper in his gray tweed suit and deep pink tie. Chigiri’s leg bounces in apprehension as he sits in the back of his cab. His head rests against the glass window as his driver reduces speed yet again due to the rush hour traffic.

His eyes flick down to his watch for what seems to be the nth time in thirty seconds. No matter how many times he looks at the time, he still is going to be running late for his dinner reservations.

Indigo was only a 20-minute drive from his training facility, so why does the navigation say that they will be arriving in 18 minutes.

With his reservation in less than 10 minutes, Hyoma Chigiri starts to panic. Indigo is such a prestigious restaurant that he was barely able to get a reservation for the two of you. If he’s late, will the restaurant forfeit it? They could just give it away to another party, and it would be his fault.

He could ruin the night for you…

This realization seems to hit him like one of Kunigami’s long range shots as he begins to panic, fidgeting in his seat. Leaning forward, he looks at his driver’s navigation.

“Excuse me,” he says to the cab driver. “Is there another way to Indigo? I really can’t be late.”

“Not in this traffic,” they shrug. “I guess you’re stuck in here. unless, of course, you wanna get out and walk.” The Driver's sarcastic tone is lost on the athlete, who quickly pulls up the walking directions on his phone.

8 minutes…

“That’s better than 18,” he mumbles to himself.

“What was that?” The driver asks, turning his head; his car is now at a standstill in the heavy traffic.

It’s now or never.

“I’m just gonna get out here then,” Hyoma says flatly. “ Thanks for the ride.”

Before the driver can even protest, saying that he was just joking around and that he should stay in the car, he’s gone.

Hyoma’s black dress shoes stand out against the dirty asphalt as he waves through the four lanes of standstill traffic. Drivers honk at him, but other than that, don't do anything since they are stuck there for probably the next half hour.

He checks his phone when he is safely on the sidewalk. His directions tell him that Indigo is just a few blocks away if he runs, he’ll make it in time. Despite his formal attire he begins to run, those amazing legs of his propelling him forward. They ache from his earlier training session, but he doesn't stop.

People stare after him as he sprints past them, his firefly pink hair zipping in the wind messily, but he doesn't have time to care about anything other than making it to your date on time.

He runs and runs and runs until something small catches his eye and makes him stop in his tracks.

Just to his right is an adorable little flower truck overflowing with lush bouquets of tulips. Carefully wrapped and arranged in brown paper wrapping.

When people are in love, they tend to act without thinking, which is why, despite his haste, Hyoma slips his credit card out of his wallet and frantically slams it down on the smooth countertop, much to the surprise of the little old lady running the flower cart.

“In a rush, dear?” she asks sweetly, eyeing him up and down and shooting him a knowing smile.

“Dinner….Reservations…. Minutes,” he says between breaths.

“Then how about you take these,” she says, handing him a gorgeous bouquet of tulips. “On the house.”

“Really?” he asks, tucking his card back into his pocket.

“Of course, I love young love.” she gives him a knowing smile. “But you best be getting a move on; it seems like you have someone very important to see.”

“Thank you, I will.” he takes the bouquet and takes off. His dress pants restrict his movements a bit but he still is able to tap into that impressive speed of his.

But through his haste, the pretty man is unaware that his rapid movements are causing the bouquet he just stopped for to begin to come apart.

“One more block to go,” he huffs, glancing down in his direction. All the while failing to notice the whirlwind of flower petals he is leaving behind in his wake as those lovely bundles of tulips get smaller and smaller.

When your boyfriend first told you that he managed to get a reservation for you at Indigo, you couldn’t believe it. This was a restaurant that even celebrities struggle getting tables at. But now that the intoxicating smell of the restaurant is under your nose. Seems your dreams have become a reality.

The early evening looks great on you as you check your reflection in a darkened window.

Although you got caught in some pretty terrible traffic on your way, you managed to beat your boyfriend to the restaurant. This little victory brings a smile to your face as you walk up to the hostess stand.

An absolutely Gorgeous-looking hostess looks up from her tablet and greets you with a smile. “Welcome in. Do you have a reservation tonight?”

“Thank you,” you reply feeling a bit nervous to be checking in for a reservation you didn't make. “Yes, I have a reservation for two under Chigiri; my partner is running a bit behind, so I just wanted to check in for us.”

“That’s no problem, let me just check my list.” she hums as her eyes scan the tablet, and you hold your breath, hoping there wasn't an error. After the longest ten seconds of your life, she looks up from the screen and gives you a reassuring look. Unfortunately, your table is still getting ready, so please feel free to wait until I call for you.”

“Perfect,” you reply, sighing in relief. “Thank you so much.”

You walk out the restaurant doors and into the fresh evening air. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Chigiri, his pink hair thrashing in the wind and a look of terror on his usually calm features.

“I’m not late, am I?” he huffs, placing his hands on his knees. “We didn't miss our reservation?”

“Nope, you're right on time,” you grin, walking over to him and gently fixing his wind-tousled hair. “They are still setting up our table.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighs, standing up straight and giving you a tight-lipped smile. His chest still heaves from his sprinting.

“You look exhausted; what’s the point of being a pro athlete if you can’t even run down the block?” You tease.

His eyes narrow at your comment. “Too much traffic; I had to get out and run if I wanted to make it here on time,” he replies, glaring at you through his pretty lashes.

Raise your hands in surrender and give him a love-filled smile that is quickly replicated by him.

“Hi,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes. His hand comes to gently cup the side of your head as he brings your lips to his, greeting you the way he should’ve if he was on time.

“Hi,” you murmur against his lips. Something brushes against your leg, causing you to look down. Something long, leafy, and green is wedged in his hand. “ What are these?”

His eyes go wide and he looks down at what used to be the bouquet of flowers he got for you. He raises him to your eye level, and you see the cluster of green stems wrapped in paper. They are completely bare save for a single tulip. The soft pink color of its open petals is almost the same striking color as your boyfriend’s eyes and hair.

“ These were for you, but I guess I lost a few petals along the way.” He starts to put them in the trash, but you stop him, removing the loan tulip from amongst its fallen brethren.

“It’s perfect, “you laugh, breathing in the subtle fragrance. "Thank you for bringing it for me.”

“After dinner, I promise I will buy you the whole flower shop if I have to,” he says with a deadly serious expression.

“Nope, I like this one just fine.” You say stubbornly, tucking your flower behind your ear.

“Chigiri party of two,” the hostess calls from the restaurant entrance.

“ I guess that’s us.” He smiles. “ Are you ready?”

With a five-star meal just feet away, your stomach growls in response. Hyoma chuckles as you meet his gaze. “With you, always.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#Blue Lock #bllk #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #chigiri hyoma #chigiri x reader #hyoma chigiri #hyoma chigiri x reader #x reader

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