#i could go on but let’s just say I’m not a fan of what the story is doing with asa

[yapileon]

@TacklersCulers: The Chaotic Teen Serie pt. 3

fcb femení x chaoticteen!reader pt. 1 — pt. 2 2670w, it's kinda angsty, be warned<3 r gets nicknamed: "Diablilla" aka little devil in spanish as an endearment term "Skrulla" aka goofball/silly in norwegian for a mischievous child

17yo La Masia defender gets promoted to the first team. Will you be able to keep your fcb femení fan account hidden while slowly making your place in the team with your idols?

You lean your head back against the metal locker, a smug smirk tugging at your lips. Your eyes meet Pina's and you can't help but choke back a snort. 

You had called the forward in the morning, asking her to come pick you up since you wouldn't be able to walk to training like you had done for the past years. 

"You owe it to me after that whole mess you started about my phone wallpaper yesterday," you huffed. While you weren't actually mad at Pina, you were sure as hell going to milk every favor you could out of her. 

"Sure," she agreed without even needing a reason. This team was a family. If you needed a ride and she could help you out, she would do it, no questions asked. 

“Do you have space in the trunk for…” you trailed off, unsure if you could trust her now. If she said no, then your plan would fail.

“Sí, Diablilla, now tell me the plan,” you could hear her chuckle through the phone like she had read your thoughts. And just like that, you became partners in crime.

The both of you arrived at the training centre giggling like children, clutching at each other's arms from how much you were laughing. You had underestimated how mischievous Pina could be for a good joke. Coming up with an ever better plan than the original, you both go straight to work. 

The locker room is slowly filling, everyone realizing what you had done, most people figuring out Pina was in on it too with the glances you kept exchanging. Hushed whispers were heard around the room, everyone waiting for Mapi to come in. Pina had a phone propped up to capture it all.

You were doom scrolling your fan account, posting some more memes when the door opened again. You knew she had to arrive soon, almost everyone else was here already. 

Silence. 

You looked up to see Mapi walking in, smiling and in a good mood like usual, with Ingrid trailing behind. You bite your jersey to hide a smile you can’t camouflage. 

Mapi stood frozen, looking at her locker. Something was occupying her chair. The cardboard cutout of her doing her lion pose you owned. Fake Mapi was flexing and showing her teeth like an animal ready to fight. She burst out laughing, wheezing and letting herself fall on a chair. 

It was the cue for the whole team to explode. Pina’s voice shot up, barely hearable over the laughing. “Say hi for Instagram, Mapi!” she was moving around so much you were sure the video wouldn’t even be good.

Alexia had been standing on the side of the room, an eyebrow raised, “Of course it’s you two.” she spoke, shaking her head disapprovingly. But even serious Alexia couldn’t hold back a smile. 

“I gotta admit kid, I didn’t think you’d actually bring it,” the centre back wheezed, wiping tears away from her eyes. 

The joyful energy was only made more electric by Ingrid, who leaned into the joke. Ingrid looked alternatively between Mapi sitting on the chair and the cardboard. She posed, mimicking being deep in thoughts. 

"Mmh, which one is my girlfriend?" she had said, grinning. 

“Pina! Get this on the video!” you shouted, gesturing to whatever was about to happen, the woman happily nodded. 

She slid down next to the cardboard, throwing her arm around the fake Mapi "This one!" she exclaimed, sending everyone toppling over.

Mapi gave her a shocked look, still laughing. "Oh I see how it goes, everyone prefers that pale copy now" she feigned annoyance. Ingrid kissed the cheek of the cardboard while Mapi pouted, voice shaky as she added, “what does she have that I don’t?”

“This one doesn’t argue when I’m right.” Ingrid answered, the Norwegian might have become your favourite person in the world right now. The look on the Spaniard’s face was priceless, you could have rolled on the floor.

"El León stole the spotlight!" it was Jana who had chimed in. She was next to Pina and Patri, all three of them waving for you to get closer. You jumped to their side, hovering over Jana’s shoulder to look at the phone. 

They had posted the video seconds ago on the main Barcelona account and it was already shaking up the internet. As the team calmed down and finished getting ready, thousands of comments popped up, requesting more videos. So the four of you obliged. 

You posed Mapi and the cutout next to each other taking a picture and doing a poll in the story, which read “Which is the better Mapi?” You knew social media, you knew how to bring in numbers. 

Jana and Patri took the fake Mapi to the field while Pina and you ran to get some footballs. Both of you laughed when the cardboard had deflected a shot, still careful to keep it intact as you wanted to bring it back home safely. You all screamed “AND SHE DOES IT AGAIN, SAVING THE DAY!” zooming on it and then on Mapi, who watched with the biggest smile on her face. Mapi grabbed the phone to take selfies with the cutout. Everything was posted on the account, this would be the first thing fans ever got to see from you, and you weren’t disappointed. This was a masterpiece of an introduction to the world. 

In this moment, the bond that you had with this team felt invincible. Feeling more alive than you ever had previously. For some minutes, before Pina had arrived to pick you up, you had doubted. Maybe they wouldn’t find it funny, maybe it would make them realize how childish you really were. But even the older, more mature players had laughed at your banter. Pina had treated you like a little sister, Mapi and Ingrid played along. There was a warmth in their teasing that made you feel at home. 

So much so that you didn’t even try to argue with Alexia when she clapped, asking for everyone’s attention. “Everybody calm down, training now, chaos later.” she said firmly. 

When she saw you grinning, she approached, “Yes even you, Diablilla” she joked, ruffling your hair. “Show us what you can do, besides being a trickster.”

So you hopped off, starting to stretch, warming up your muscles. This left you some time to reflect on the whole situation. You inhaled deeply. The first training session that you had had with the team had gone well, but you were aware it was a chill one, to ease you in the team. Pere had warned you today would be “intense”, as he had said exactly. You felt ready for what they were about to throw at you. You could feel yourself getting more focused, though you were still up for a good joke if the opportunity was there. The team was currently doing sprints to activate their body before doing drills and scrimmages. 

Caro groaned after the last set, “Why do we even do this?” She was clutching her sides, trying to find her breath again.

‘So we can outrun the refs when they try to card us.” you mumbled, sprints weren’t your favorite exercise either. 

Except it seemed you did not say this as low as you intended. You looked up to see most of the team staring at you. Most veterans seemed shocked, the younger players not so much. In the corner of your eyes you could see Jana and Salma holding in a chuckle. 

“What?” you remarked, in disbelief, blush creeping onto your cheeks. Alright, it’s true that it wasn’t very smart of you to admit you were prone to getting cards so much you had to learn how to run away from the refs. 

“Dios mío!” Alexia exclaimed, putting her hand on her forehead, “Irene! You’re going to teach Cariño how to behave, sí?” she added with a sigh. 

“Not fair! Why is Caro even complaining,” you were interrupted by Irene trying to drag you away, but you persisted, “like she didn’t run at 32 km/h during the 2023 world cup?” you grumbled. 

Caro raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a proud expression. “You’re a fan now? I thought you only liked defenders.” she replied, voice full of playfulness. 

“I keep myself updated on statistics.” you attempted to say, trailing off knowing the team would, once again, never let you live that down. 

Salma came up next to you, “So you know statistics on everyone here?” she smirked, barking out a laugh when your eyes widened in horror. 

“Sorry! Can’t hear you I’m too far away getting ready for the drills,” you walked off with Irene, miming not being able to hear. 

“This isn’t over Diablilla!” screamed Vicky, “we’ll get all your fangirl secrets out of you later.” 

Oh, Vicky, if only you knew. 

As you made your way next to the other defenders, you let out a breath. Determination taking over your cheeky eyes, you touched the tip of both of your boots with your fingers. The last of your rituals, this meant the game was on. 

You threw yourself in all the tasks the coach had you do. While your inexperience showed on certain drills, your will to do well still pleased the team. In some ways, having spent so many years studying everything about that team helped you on the pitch. You could guess where Alexia would try to do a backward pass, or where Aitana’s ball control might be more problematic to intercept. You tried your best to mirror Mapi, bending your knee lows, trying to push attackers on the side you wanted. An interception you made earned you a wide grin from Mapi while Ingrid had her thumbs up toward the sky to congratulate you. A shy smile creeped on your lips.

You were putting up a solid fight, having done a few successful tackles during a particularly difficult scrimmage. Maybe it’s how you ended up messing up so bad. The confidence rushed through you when you decided to slide tackle Caro. She was doing a solo run, and you were feeling mixed, split between not wanting to lose if she scored an equalizer and wanting praises from your teammates. It was childish, really. Almost shameful. You weren’t here to be praised, you were here to work. But she was running, and you were shoulder to shoulder with her. It felt like the right timing, so you slid. The adrenaline rush was so strong that you didn’t use your brain enough. You knew she was a master at feints, but still for a second you thought you had it. 

You sensed the wet grass brushing against your skin, until the grass was replaced with a training cone you collided with. You froze, your whole body burning, watching in horror as Caro continued her run, chipping the ball over Cata, making her team come up to 2-2. And that was your fault, if you had accessed the situation for longer, you wouldn’t have dived head first into an unnecessary tackle.

Ingrid jogged over to you, “You alright, Skrulla?” reaching her hands to help you stand up. If your ears weren’t ringing so bad from the shame and confusion, you would have asked the Norwegian what it meant. 

You shrugged, wiping the grass from your shorts in embarrassment. 

You knew you didn’t do a good job hiding it when the green eyed woman added, “At least it wasn’t my back this time?” She was smiling brightly at you, so you forced out a laugh, the emotions stuck in your throat. 

You shook your head, going back into position. Any positive feeling from your earlier exploit long gone. You tried to brush it off, but you were so frustrated with yourself and still had half the session to go through. So you pushed yourself more, hoping to erase the bad memory. 

It didn’t work though. By the time training finished, you were exhausted. Letting yourself flop on the ground, you clutched at your chest in pain. Little by little your abilities on the pitch had faded away, each pass connecting less and less, your timing getting worse. Everyone could see it, and some of your teammates gave you questioning looks. You couldn’t deal with the attention on you, so you jumped up and made a beeline for the lockers. 

You showered quicker than you thought possible, but by the time you were done, multiples of your teammates were around you. The buzzing of the room annoyed you more than it ever had previously. 

You look up to see Ingrid and Mapi whispering, throwing glances at you. So, like the child you are, you grabbed your cardboard cutout and fled. Waving off a very confused Pina who thought she’d drive you back home. 

As you walk, you can’t help but feel increasingly stupid. You know you shouldn't be nearly as bothered with that tackle as you currently were. It was so stupid. But it was so badly timed and you were ashamed about it. Sure your teammates were nice to you, and you all laughed together, but with that awful move you had just pulled? There was no way they'd ever trust you on the field. How could they trust you if you couldn't even slide tackle an opponent? Why would Pere give you any minutes if you messed up so bad when there was no pressure on you. 

By the time you reached your dorm, you could feel tears rolling down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them with your sleeve, throwing yourself on your bed.  

That was the down side of your brain. The obsession over football, that one singular process who made you apart from other players but was also your downfall. The way you’d obsess over every single one of your flaws, needing to perfect them all. Needing to have as much information on players. You’d drive yourself crazy and sleep deprived watching footage until the birds would sing outside, signaling you it was early morning. It wasn’t healthy. But it was all you knew.

You had grown up with coaches who had screamed at you that the difference between an amateur and a pro was when they stopped their drills. An amateur does it right once and stops, a pro keeps going until they can’t get it wrong. So you just kept pushing. In some way, you hoped your brain would ease off having finally made the first team. It hadn’t.

You rolled over, looking at the fake Mapi, still deep in thoughts. Your eye caught sight of a black mark on it, making you jump in a hurry. Had you damaged it while walking back home? Or when Pina and you were using it for shooting practice? Frowning, you leaned closer trying to figure out what had happened. 

You gasped when you saw it.

You have the potential to be one of the greatest.

— Mapi 

You let the tip of your fingers brush over the writing. Your idol hadn’t only signed the cardboard without you even asking, she had written this. You felt a tug at your heartstring, and promised yourself to thank her profusely tomorrow. 

For now, the only thing you could do was calm down. You inhaled deeply, feeling the rise of your ribcage, and exhaled softly, trying to release any tensions in your body. Maybe it was fine, maybe nobody would be mad at you, maybe you’d be able to fix it during the next training. 

You needed a distraction, so you pulled out your phone to check the latest post from your fan account.

TacklerCulers

tacklerculers: Did you know? Attackers that trip in front of Mapi León are actually just nervous to be close to her.

barcafan11: @TacklersCulers Are you going to talk about the new signing we saw on the official barça page today?

alex1aa: I’m really disappointed, Barça does not need a clown.

b0nmat12: I hope she’s just a social media person and not a player, otherwise we’re doomed for the Champions League.

Your stomach twisted when you saw the comments. You threw the phone at the wall and buried yourself into the blanket on your bed. The weight of failure still crushing your chest.

[gutsby]

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 H.S.K.T huh yunjin x reader

🥣⊹ ❝have you seen a woman like this before? I got what you need❞ - lee hi

↳ warnings idol!au, katseye!yn, swearing, fluff, cuteness I promise no angst

yunjin would never admit to being a playgirl or bad at relationships, but anyone who’s been involved with her would likely tell a different story.

she just couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone. being an idol meant constantly being on the move, and she never felt the need to be tied down. with that mindset, she’d definitely broken a few hearts along the way, earning herself a bit of a reputation.

and she never really cared about the reputation, why should she? at least people knew what they were getting into. so what if she’d broken a few hearts? that wasn’t her problem. it’s not like she was looking to commit to anyone anyway.

boy, did those words bite her in the ass.

when yunjin first laid her eyes on yn it was through her introduction for the dream academy, she was pretty, like idol pretty, yunjin knew right away that fans would be drawn to her and vote for her without a doubt.

and seeing yn in person? don’t even get her started. yunjin was mesmerized. she vividly remembers stumbling over her words every time their eyes met while giving the girls advice, earning confused looks from her members.

hybe idols weren’t allowed to vote for contestants, but that didn’t stop yunjin from secretly voting for yn in every mission.

she was drawn to yn, so drawn that she completely lost it when she found out yn had secretly swapped numbers with sakura to get advice from someone who’d been in the industry for years.

“give me her number,” yunjin demanded, glaring at the older member, who looked at her like she’d grown two heads.

“no.”

“why?” yunjin whined, throwing herself face first into a pillow.

“because I know you,” sakura said firmly. “and I’m not letting you mess with this innocent girl.”

“wha—wha—” yunjin sputtered, lifting her head in protest.

“I said no,” sakura repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

yunjin needed another way to get in contact with yn. she spent weeks trying to figure it out, but every option seemed like a dead end. the contestants had their dms turned off on instagram, so that was out of the question.

but then the day finally came yn’s name was announced. the smile that spread across yunjin’s face in that moment was impossible to miss.

the plan was simple and smooth. she’d slide into yn’s dms, shower her with compliments, casually suggest that yoonchae and eunchae should exchange numbers and be friends, butter her up a little, and boom, yn would be on a plane to korea to visit her.

let’s just say it did not go as smoothly as she hoped.

she was hit with this.

sakura told me not answer you.

charming but now that I’m under hybe I’ve heard about you jennifer…

I’ll give you yoonchae’s number for eunchae tho 🫶

yunjin couldn’t believe it, her playgirl reputation was finally catching up to her, just as she was starting to see where something could actually go with someone.

nah.

she refuses to let this get in the way of her getting that girl.

she just needed another plan.

“unnie you sound crazy.” eunchae said watching yunjin pace in front of her.

“I sound crazy, genius,” yunjin shot back. “so here’s the plan you’re going to find out from yoonchae when they start doing promotions in korea, and you’re also going to slip in some nice things about me. can you do that?”

“uh…”

“if yoonchae approves of me, that’ll help. but I’m worried about sophia—she’s the one I need to win over. I’ll text her, make myself seem perfect... they all seem kinda protective of her, don’t they? I just need an in. I’m charming, I can easily win her over. and then there’s sakura unnie—she’s getting in the way,” yunjin rambled, already plotting her next move.

yunjin was determined to make her move. when katseye finally arrived in korea for their promotional activities, she wasted no time.

every day, she tried something new whether it was a flirty comment, a lingering touch, or a perfectly timed compliment but each time, someone would interrupt, and it always seemed like the universe was conspiring against her.

it started the very first day, in the hallway of the music show venue. yunjin was walking towards the stage when she spotted yn in the distance, standing by the snack table, talking to megan and manon. she couldn’t resist. she approached with a confident stride, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"hey yn," yunjin said smoothly, leaning in just a little too close, "you’ve been looking even more pretty since you got here."

yn raised an eyebrow but didn't seem fazed. "oh? is that so?"

before yunjin could reply, she heard a voice from behind her. "yunjin, stop bothering her," sakura called out from the other side of the hallway, arms crossed, her usual stern expression on her face. "can’t you see she’s busy?"

yunjin shot a frustrated look at sakura, who was already guiding yn back towards the group, while manon and megan followed, yunjin sighed and glanced at the floor, cursing under her breath.

later that night, after a long day of rehearsals, the two groups went out to eat at a popular bbq spot.

yunjin made sure to sit as close to yn as possible, her hand casually brushing against hers when she reached for the sauce. she smiled at yn, her usual flirtatious charm back in full force.

"you know, it’s funny," yunjin began, her voice low as she leaned in just a bit. "I’ve been thinking about you a lot. it's like you’ve got some sort of pull on me."

yn turned to her, playing with her chopsticks, a teasing grin creeping across her face. "oh really? and what kind of pull is that?"

just as yunjin was about to answer, a loud voice interrupted them. "yunjin, you’re blocking the sauce," kazuha said, not looking up from her plate, though she clearly noticed the interaction.

yunjin let out a long sigh, slumping in her seat. "seriously? can’t you guys let me have a moment?"

yn chuckled, clearly amused by yunjin’s frustration. "I’ve been complaining about you interrupting me all day but seems like you’re the one being interrupted."

"yeah, no kidding," yunjin muttered, but she didn’t give up. every glance she sent yn’s way was full of intent.

a couple of days later, they all went out to a late night cafe after finishing their schedule.

the atmosphere was more relaxed, all the girls scattered in little groups and yunjin took the opportunity to close in once again. she spotted yn sitting with manon and sophia laughing at something, and made her way over.

"sophia, you mind if I steal yn for a minute?" yunjin asked, flashing a bright smile at the girl, who seemed a little too amused by the situation.

"sure," sophia said, almost too casually getting up from her seat, she gave yn a knowing look before waving her off. "but remember, she’s not just anyone." manon added in a teasing voice, following behind sofia.

yunjin’s grin only widened as she slid into the seat beside yn. "I don’t need to be told twice," she said, her tone playful.

"wow, you’re persistent," yn teased, nudging yunjin lightly with her elbow.

"that’s because I know how to handle challenges," yunjin replied with a smirk. "and you are quite the challenge."

just as the conversation was taking a more flirty turn, eunchae wandered over, almost dragging yoonchae behind her. "isn’t it late?" eunchae asked, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. "yunjin unnie, we have practice early tomorrow."

yunjin rolled her eyes but stood up, a playful grin on her face. "I guess this isn’t meant to be."

yn watched her with amusement in her eyes. "maybe you’ll get your moment eventually," she teased, though her tone was softer, almost encouraging.

days passed, and yunjin’s frustration grew. she kept trying to get yn alone, but every time, something or someone would pop up. and then, just a couple of days before katseye was scheduled to return to la, it happened.

yunjin found herself alone with yn, just the two of them walking down the hallway, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

"yn," yunjin said, her voice suddenly serious. "I know my reputation isn’t the best. I’ve got this whole image.. but I want you to know... I want you. and I want this. I know it’s a mess, but I can’t stop thinking about you. since I first saw you on that introduction screen, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind."

yn paused, her smile faltering for just a moment. she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms “you’ve got quite the reputation yunjin, I’m kind of scared.”

yunjin’s heart raced. "I’m not playing games, yn. I’m serious. just... let me show you. let me prove it."

yn bit her lip, her eyes searching yunjin’s face for sincerity. after a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice playful but knowing. "alright, one chance, yunjin. but that’s all you get."

“one chance is all I need.” yunjin said a sly smile making its way to her face.

"just know, you're gonna be the one telling everyone about us," yn replied, her tone teasing. "no one actually thought i'd give in, it’s just been all fun and games for them.”

the smile on yunjin's face faltered, her confidence momentarily slipping. "what?"

yn's grin widened as she took a step back, glancing over her shoulder. "have fun telling sakura," she sang, her voice light with amusement.

and with that, yn turned and walked ahead, leaving yunjin standing in the hallway.

“shit.”

[rue-isabelle]

Part 1 Part 3

Aphrodite of Formula 1, Part 2

The Monaco paddock was buzzing, but not with the usual pre-race excitement. The drivers were all acting out of character, their girlfriends were growing increasingly frustrated, and the fans were having a field day tracking every move. The reason? Yn, as always, was oblivious to the chaos surrounding her.

---

Max and Kelly

Max leaned against a railing near the Mercedes garage, completely engrossed in conversation with Yn. She was telling him about the time she had to coordinate a last-minute team dinner for 30 people, her laughter filling the air as she recounted the chaos.

��You’re incredible,” Max said, shaking his head. “I can’t even organize my own breakfast without someone helping me.”

“It’s just practice,” Yn said modestly.

Kelly, meanwhile, stood outside the paddock, furiously scrolling through her phone. Max had promised to pick her up an hour ago, but there was no sign of him. She stormed into the paddock, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement, until she spotted him.

“Max!” she called sharply.

Max blinked, his attention snapping back to reality. “Kelly?”

“Yes, Kelly!” she spat. “The one you were supposed to pick up an hour ago?”

Yn’s smile faltered. “Oh no, Max, if you need to go—”

“No,” Max said quickly. “It’s fine. She doesn't matter as much as she thinks she does.” He turned back to Yn. “So, you were saying about the dinner?”

Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You’re seriously just going to ignore me?”

“I’ll catch up with you later. Go and be a mom for once,” Max said dismissively, earning an incredulous glare from Kelly as she stomped away.

---

Charles and Alexandra

Charles had been in a great mood all day. Why? Yn had laughed at his joke earlier, and the memory had been replaying in his mind ever since. When the day ended, he spotted Yn leaving the paddock and hurried to catch up with her.

“Yn! Do you need a ride?” he asked, his smile wide.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to trouble you,” Yn said.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Charles insisted, opening the passenger door of his car.

“Alright, thank you,” Yn said, climbing in.

Meanwhile, Alexandra stood in the paddock, waiting for Charles to take her back to their hotel. A mechanic approached her, not wanting to talk to her but having lost 'rock-paper-scissor' earlier against the others.

“He left,” the mechanic said awkwardly. “With Yn.”

Alexandra’s face turned red with fury. She let out a scream of frustration, startling everyone around her.

“Are you kidding me?!” she shouted. “What is wrong with all of you?! Why does he prefer this stupid bitch over me. I’m the one he should be fucking, not driving this slut home. Oh, she will pay!!”

Phones whipped out, capturing her meltdown as she stormed through the paddock, cursing under her breath.

By the time Alexandra returned to her hotel, videos of her tirade were all over the internet. Fans mocked her relentlessly, calling her a “gold digger” or "the wicked bitch is out again" and posting memes about her jealousy.

Charles, however, didn’t care. Yn had laughed at his joke earlier, and that was all that mattered.

---

Pierre and Kika

Pierre handed Yn a beautifully wrapped gift box, his smile warm. “I saw this and thought of you.”

Yn opened the box to find a limited-edition Hermès handbag. Her eyes widened. “Pierre, this is too much! I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can,” Pierre said. “You deserve it.”

Kika, meanwhile, had been plotting her next move. If Pierre thought a handbag was impressive, she’d go bigger.

The next day, Kika handed Yn a set of car keys.

“What’s this?” Yn asked, confused.

“A Lamborghini,” Kika said proudly. “It’s yours. Matte black, just like I imagined for you.”

Yn stared at the keys, speechless.

Before she could respond, Kika leaned in and kissed her on the lips, letting her tongueget a taste of Yn's sweet mouth. “I hope you like it,” she said with a wink.

Pierre watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. “A Lamborghini?” he muttered under his breath.

---

George and Carmen

Yn joined George and Carmen for a rare day off, excited for a relaxed shopping trip. But George had other plans.

As they browsed a boutique, George held up a sleek, form-fitting dress. “Yn, you should try this.”

Yn blinked. “Me? That’s not really my style.”

“It is now,” George said firmly. “You shouldn’t hide your beauty.”

Carmen nodded approvingly. “That’s so thoughtful, George. Always looking out for her.”

Yn reluctantly tried on the dress, emerging from the fitting room. George stepped closer, adjusting the fabric on her chest. He gave her perfect tit's a squeeze, making it look like he was adjusting the area.

“Perfect,” he said softly. His heart was hammering, his hands not wanting to leave her breast. It was only then that he noticed that Yn wasn't wearing a bra. Her peaky nipples winked at him. He softly stroked over them with his thumbs, before catching himself.

Yn laughed. “You’re too much.” She didn't notice anything, to engrossed in her conversation with Carmen.

Carmen, obviously to everything that George just did, smiled, thinking to herself how sweet George was to look out for her pseudo-sister.

---

Oscar and Lily

Oscar was supposed to be taking photos for Lily’s social media, but his camera seemed to have a mind of its own. Every few minutes, it drifted toward Yn, who was seated nearby, absorbed in her work.

“Oscar,” Lily said, tapping her foot. “Hello? I’m over here.”

“Right,” Oscar mumbled, snapping a quick photo of Lily before turning his camera back to Yn.

Lily sighed but didn’t bother protesting. “You’ve got it bad,” she said, shaking her head.

Oscar grinned sheepishly. “She’s just… perfect.”

---

Carlos and Rebecca

Carlos sat in the paddock, scrolling through his phone. His screen was filled with photos of Yn, her smile lighting up every shot. His panst started feeling tighter, his dick fighting to break free from his trousers.

He didn’t notice Rebecca walking up behind him until she leaned over his shoulder.

“Seriously?” Rebecca said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just popp a boner in public because of a fucking picture?”

Carlos nearly dropped his phone. “I wasn’t—”. He quickly brought his hands in front of his trousers. However, when he made contact with his dick, he couldn't help imagine Yn on her knees for him, making him moan rather loud.

Rebecca just scoffed at him, feeling disgusted that he acted like that towards Yn in public. She looked him up and down, before muttering "Pathetic Pussy" so only Carlos could hear, and left.

That evening, Rebecca found Yn in her hotel room, exhausted. “You need to take better care of yourself, my love,” Rebecca said gently, brushing Yn hair away from her face.

Yn tried to protest, but Rebecca guided her to the bed and began massaging her shoulders. “You’re too kind,” Yn mumbled, her eyes drooping. Slowly, Rebecca brought her hands lower and lower towards her ass, giving it a squeeze and a soft pad, so Yn would stand up.

Rebecca tucked her in, smoothing the blanket over her. “Goodnight,” she whispered, climbing into bed and wrapping her arms around Yn as the big spoon.

Yn, half-asleep, murmured, “Thank you.”

Rebecca smiled. “Anything for you.” Afterwards, while Yn was asleep, he put one hand on Yn book, playing with it. At the same time, she was sucking a hickey carefully on her neck, licking and kissing her neck afterwards.

---

Despite the chaos, Yn remained blissfully unaware of the war raging around her. For her, it was just another busy race weekend. For everyone else, it was a battle to win her heart, no matter the cost.

@omgsuperstarg

@seonghwaexile

[ducktoo]

Cold Food, Warm Heart

Kwon Eunbi x Reader

Note: waaaaa my first ever ult bias. I missed writing Eunbi fics sooo tyty

(IZ*ONE Eunbi is still in my heart 💙)

The first time Eunbi cancelled on you, it was easy to shrug off. Work comes first—it always has for her. She called you an hour before she was supposed to show up, apologizing profusely about an unscheduled meeting with her management team.

“Next time, I promise,” she’d said, her voice warm and familiar, the kind of voice that could melt even your worst frustrations.

You’d smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “It’s fine, Eunbi. I get it. Don’t stress about it.”

And at the time, you had meant it. One canceled date wasn’t the end of the world. She was busy; she had responsibilities. You admired her drive, her passion for her work. It was one of the reasons you fell for her in the first place.

But then it happened again. And again.

Dinner plans were rescheduled. Weekend meetups turned into fleeting visits. Late-night calls were cut short because she was too tired to keep her eyes open. You stopped planning anything altogether because you knew there was always a chance she’d cancel.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care. You knew Eunbi loved you; she told you in every quick text, every kiss on the forehead before she rushed off to her next schedule. But the words were starting to feel hollow when her actions said otherwise.

You couldn’t even pinpoint when it started hurting so much—when the excuses and the apologies began to feel like cracks in the foundation of what you’d built together. Maybe it was the night you waited up for her, a plate of her favorite pasta going cold on the counter, only for her to text at 11 PM: Just got done. Heading home. Sorry.

Or maybe it was the day you saw her on TV, laughing and smiling during a variety show recording while you sat at home, wondering when she’d last laughed like that with you.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was working hard, chasing her dreams, achieving things she’d always talked about. But somewhere along the way, you started feeling like a footnote in her life, an afterthought buried under schedules, photoshoots, and fan meetings.

You told yourself you’d wait it out, that things would get better once her workload lightened. But weeks turned into months, and the ache in your chest only grew.

By the time Saturday night rolled around, you were already bracing yourself. Eunbi had said she’d come over after work, but you weren’t holding your breath. You tried to distract yourself, cleaning the apartment, scrolling through your phone, turning the TV on and off. None of it worked.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, the name lighting up the screen like a beacon.

Eunbi.

For a second, you think about letting it go to voicemail, but it’s not a call. Just a text.

I’m on my way. See you soon!

it should have brought relief. Instead, it felt like a bandaid on a wound too deep to heal.

The thing is, it’s not that you don’t want to see her. You really want to see her.

It’s that every time you do, it feels like a reminder of how much you don’t deep down. Weeks turn into months, and the glimpses of her you get in person feel like water through your fingers—fleeting, impossible to hold onto.

You’re tired of pretending it doesn’t affect you.

The knock at the door snaps you out of your spiral. You rise slowly, dragging your feet toward the entrance. When you open it, she’s there, bundled in an oversized coat, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her smile is dazzling as always, but instead of warming you, it feels like a spotlight, too bright to look at for long.

“Hi,” she says, stepping inside and shrugging off her coat. She’s carrying a bag, which she sets down by the door. “I brought food! And I got those cookies you love from the bakery near my shoot.”

You nod slightly, shutting the door behind her. “Thanks.”

She glances at you, her smile faltering for just a moment. “You okay? You look… tired.”

“Yeah, just tired,” you mutter, moving back to the couch and sitting down. She follows, sitting close enough that her knee brushes yours.

“You didn’t eat yet, did you?” she asks, rummaging through the bag. “I got your favourite. We can eat now if you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine…” You groaned, the annoyance oozed out more than you wanted.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, she set the food down, turning to face you fully.

“Okay, what’s going on?” she asked, her tone firmer now. “You’ve been like this for weeks, and every time I ask, you just say you’re tired. I know there’s more to it, so talk to me.”

Her words should have been comforting, but they only made the knot in your chest tighten.

You hesitate, your eyes fixed on the floor. This is what you always do—swallow the words, bury the feelings, let them rot inside until they’re nothing but bitterness. But tonight, the weight of it is unbearable.

“I don’t know, Eunbi,” you say, your voice low, almost to yourself. “I don’t know if I’m…fine.”

She frowns, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, and her hand withdraws. “What’s wrong?” you repeat. “What isn’t? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. And when I do, it’s like you’re here, but not really here.”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m here now, aren’t I? I came straight from work—”

“That’s the problem!” you cut her off, your voice louder than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You’re always coming straight from work, or going back to it. When was the last time you spent more than a couple of hours here? When was the last time we just… talked?”

“We’re talking now,” she says softly, but there’s a tremble in her voice. “I know I’ve been busy, but this is my job. This is what I’ve always wanted—”

“And what about what I want?!” you snap, your chest tightening with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “I want us, Eunbi. I want to feel like I’m a part of your life, not just some afterthought squeezed in between schedules.”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to cry. “You’re not an afterthought,” she says, her voice trembling. “You’re the most important person to me. You know that.”

“Do I?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m competing with everyone else—your fans, your managers, your career….And I’m always losing.”

“That’s not fair,” she said softly, her brows furrowing. “You know how hard my career is—”

“Hard?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You know hard it is to just swallow it. I’ve been trying to be understanding, to support you, to tell myself it’s okay that I’m always second—no, third—to your career. But I’m not okay, Eunbi. I’m tired. I’m so damn tired.”

She stares at you, her mouth opening and closing like she’s searching for the right words. “I… I didn’t know you felt like this.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” you say bitterly. “Because I never say anything. I knew that before we start dating. I’ve been sitting here, telling myself it’s fine, that I should just support you no matter what."

Your knuckles turned white from the frustration. "Call me a hypocrite all you want, but I’m-“

You swallowed a sob. “I’m so tired of pretending I don’t feel like I’m slowly disappearing from your life.”

Her hands clench into fists on her lap, and tears well up in her eyes. “I’m trying,” she whispers. “I’m trying so hard to make this work. Do you think it’s easy for me? Do you think I don’t miss you every second I’m not here?”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one breaking under this?” Your voice cracks, and you hate the way it sounds—so raw, so vulnerable. “I don’t want to feel like this, but I don’t know how to stop.”

She reaches for you again, her fingers brushing yours, but you pull away, standing abruptly. “I can’t do this right now,” you say, your voice hollow. “I’m exhausted.”

“Wait,” she says, standing as well. “Please don’t shut me out. We can figure this out. Just… don’t walk away.”

But you’re already heading toward the bedroom. The weight in your chest feels cold and unbearable like the untouched food, and all you want is to escape it, even if just for a little while.

“I’m tired, Eunbi,” you say without turning back. “I need to sleep.”

The door closes behind you with a soft click, and the silence that follows is deafening. You collapse onto the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion and regret. As your eyes close, you think you can still hear her muffled sobs from the other room. But the pull of sleep is stronger, and soon, it drags you under, leaving the echoes of her voice behind.

-

The sunlight streams through the cracks in your curtains, landing uninvited on your face. You blink awake, your body heavy with the lingering weight of last night’s exhaustion. It takes you a moment to remember why the air feels so suffocating, why your chest feels so hollow.

Then it hits you—her face, tear-streaked and trembling, her voice breaking as she begged you not to walk away.

You sit up slowly, rubbing a hand over your face. Guilt lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, but you push it aside as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The apartment is silent, eerily so, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s gone. When you open the door, your heart sinks.

She’s still here.

Eunbi is curled up on the couch, her body barely taking up half the space. Her coat is draped over her like a makeshift blanket, her head resting on a pillow she must’ve grabbed from the armrest. Her face is peaceful, but even in sleep, there’s a faint tension in her brow, as if her dreams haven’t quite let her escape the weight of last night.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The sight of her like this tugs at something deep in your chest—a mix of guilt, sadness, and the faintest flicker of warmth. She stayed. Even after everything, she stayed.

The bag of food she brought is still on the coffee table, untouched. You glance at it, then back at her. The urge to do something—anything—gnaws at you, but you’re frozen in place, your feet rooted to the floor.

She stirs slightly, her brows furrowing as her eyes flutter open. For a second, she looks confused, her gaze darting around the room before landing on you.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse from sleep. She pushes herself up slowly, wincing as she stretches. “You’re up.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. The weight of last night’s words hangs heavy in the air between you.

“I… I was going to leave,” she says quietly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the coat. “But I thought—no, I hoped—you’d want to talk in the morning.”

Her eyes meet yours, searching for something—an answer, a sign, anything. You look away, your hands shoved deep into your pockets.

“I didn’t think you’d stay,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips press into a thin line, and she nods slowly. “I thought about leaving. I didn’t want to make things harder for you. But I couldn’t just… walk away. Not like that.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair. “Eunbi, I…” The words catch in your throat. You don’t know where to start, how to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside you.

“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly, cutting through the silence. Her voice trembles, and her hands curl into fists in her lap. “I’m sorry for making you feel like this. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I thought—I thought I was doing enough just by showing up, but I wasn’t really here, was I?”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, swallowing hard. “It’s not just your fault. I should’ve said something sooner. I thought if I just kept quiet, it would be easier. For both of us.”

“But it wasn’t,” she says softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And now it feels like I’ve ruined everything.”

“You haven’t,” you say quickly, the urgency in your voice surprising even yourself. “We’re not ruined, Eunbi. We're never ruined…."

You paused for a moment, scrambling your head to find the right word. "We’re just… stuck. I don’t know how to fix this, but I don’t want to lose you.”

Her gaze softens, and for the first time since last night, she smiles—a small, tentative thing, but it’s there. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, the tension in the room slowly giving way to something softer. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

“I’ll do better,” she says after a while. “I’ll make more time for us. Real time, not just whatever scraps I can manage between schedules. You deserve that much.”

You nod, the knot in your chest loosening slightly. “And I’ll be more honest. I’ll tell you when I’m struggling instead of bottling it up.”

She reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing yours. This time, you don’t pull away.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, her voice steady despite the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Together.”

You squeeze her hand lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Together.”

The silence stretches between you, but it’s no longer suffocating. Eunbi's hand lingers in yours for a moment longer before she pulls away, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“So…” she begins, her voice still a little shaky but carrying the tiniest hint of warmth, “should we eat? I mean, if the food’s still okay.”

Your gaze flickers to the bag on the coffee table, and your stomach gives a low, traitorous grumble. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, the weight of last night masking everything else.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “We should.”

She gives a small, tentative smile and gets up, grabbing the bag and bringing it to the dining table. You follow her, sitting across from her as she starts pulling out the containers.

“I got your favourite,” she says, a bit shyly now, as if unsure of how you’d react. “It’s probably not as good reheated, but…”

“It’s fine,” you cut in gently. “Thank you.”

She looks up at you, surprised, then nods. Carefully, she opens the containers, the familiar aroma wafting through the air. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, and she lets out a soft laugh.

“Guess we should hurry before you pass out from hunger,” she teases lightly, sliding a plate over to you.

You shake your head, but there’s a faint tug at the corner of your lips. It’s small, but it’s something.

As you eat in silence, the tension that had clung to every word between you starts to dissolve. The food isn’t perfect—slightly cold and a little soggy—but it’s enough.

You two could’ve microwaved it, but last night was too draining for it to think about the obvious.

She watches you carefully, taking small bites of her own meal. Every so often, your eyes meet, and she gives you a faint smile.

“You know,” she says softly, breaking the quiet, “this isn’t how I imagined last night going.”

You pause mid-bite, glancing up at her. “Me neither.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But… I’m glad we talked. Even if it hurt. I needed to hear it.”

You nod, chewing thoughtfully. “Me too.”

The weight in your chest feels lighter now, not gone but manageable. The food, her presence, the fragile understanding between you—it’s not a solution, but it’s a start.

As the last of the food disappears from the plates, she leans back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. “Okay,” she says with a mock groan, “I think I’m officially in a food coma.”

You glance at her, the faintest hint of a smile crossing your face. “That’s what happens when you bring too much.”

She sticks her tongue out at you, the playfulness in her expression making her look years younger. For a moment, it’s almost like nothing’s changed.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, your eyes meeting hers.

“For…what?”

“For staying.”

Her smile softens, and she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing yours again. “I’ll always stay.”

The warmth of her words settles over you, filling the cracks that had formed over time. You don’t know what the future will bring, but for now, this is enough.

[vhyunjinverse]

Dirty Dancing !

P. Seonghwa x f!Black reader || (18+) || reblog if you like!!

warnings: public sex, drunk sex, unprotected sex, reader isn’t wearing any panties, twerking, pink haired seonghwa :), use of pet name (Bunny), Ateez mentioned

How the fuck did you get here?

“Please..”

“Please what? I can’t hear you over the music Bunny.” That nickname. He knew what he was doing. Fuck he was so fucking sexy.

“I want you. Bad- I don’t care who sees just..stick it in yeah? I’m not wearing panties.” But that much Seonghwa knew. A smirk dancing on his pretty plump lips. Long fingers moving to between your legs as he balanced your body, your legs wrapped around his waist while your back pressed up against the wall. Both of you tucked away in a secure corner, only the rest of Ateez being able to view you- and anyone else who could tell who Seonghwa was, his pink hair standing out in the crowd of moving bodies. No one really paid attention to the both of you, having their own festivities.

Your pretty brown lips parted, Seonghwa’s finger taking a dip into your soaking heat. You gasp- his finger teasing your hole. His cock twitching in his suffocating pants, he’s been hard since the moment you told him to hold your waist and not let go on the dance floor.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you all, face to face that is.” A nervous giggle left your lips as the boy group you adored showed you their respect. You understood they were a busy group of people- as were you, schedules never aligned, but it was on your bucket list to meet Ateez.

Being a celebrity yourself, it made being a fangirl even more fun. Being able to meet the people you’ve been a fan of. But here…the club? Your thighs being swallowed by a tiny denim skirt, the only cover being the fishnets you wore underneath. No panties. Your shirt was a denim halter to match your skirt. You were perfect, accessories completing your look, as well as your hair. The eyes on you now, though full of respect, also showed signs of lust.

“Alright, let’s become friends now.” You happily joined their group. They were just sitting around. You always wondered how Idol’s partied. Your mom was an Idol, but she never told much about her crazy life outside of performing. Drink after drink, you somehow ended up in Seonghwa’s lap, shot glass in your hand as he stared at you with low eyes.

“You’re my favorite, don’t tell Hongjoong.” You winked, wiggling around. The man below you chuckling, downing his shot. “I won’t tell, Bunny. It’s..nice to finally meet you, though. I’m a fan of your mother’s too, and watching you become a celebrity as well is so nice. I’ve been saying we should have you help with our choreography one day.” He turns a shade near the color of his hair. Pink. You loved pink haired Seonghwa,

“Hell yeah. I’d definitely do that. You have my number now just call me. I’ll let you know when I’m free.” The buzz, the rush. Everything felt so…good. Being in Seonghwa’s arms. You tuned out everything else. Having such a long conversation with him. It made you feel wonderful- it was your love language after all.

“Let’s dance. I wanna- wanna do something with you hm?” Giggling, you dragged the taller man to the dance floor. You stayed close to the rest of the group though. Hands over your body, you leaned into his touch. Small sounds leaving your lips, he pulled you back into him, sharp eyes never leaving your frame.

Suddenly, a more upbeat song starts playing. The rhythm hooking you immediately. Your hips moved on their own. You looked back at Seonghwa before biting your lip. “If I tell you to hold my hips and not to let go would you?” You made eye contact. Smirk littering his lips, he slowly licks them, nodding at you as you started to grind your ass against his crotch.

He was such a…god, such a man. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were fucking. The way you touched the floor, moving your ass to the best against Seonghwa’s crotch. Each beat you hit perfectly. You almost forgot you weren’t wearing panties, and Seonghwa must’ve caught that. Aside from his hard-on nearly fucking you right then and there, he held you close to him with one hand while the other pulled your skirt back over your ass best he could.

“Just like that?” He groans against your neck. Even in the corner of the room he pulled you so close so that no one could see your body- no one but him. “Like that..please.” You whine, eyes fluttering. He’s so long and thick. Leaking tip playing against your folds. Your clit wet with how much he leaked against you. Your own juices mixing in with his and he hasn’t even stuck it in yet. “Oh god…” You panted. You felt hot. You wanted to take your clothes off- the fabric hot against your skin. You couldn’t, though, and you knew that much. At the pace you were going you wouldn’t want to be in a bedroom. You needed each other now.

“Deep breath for me Bunny.” His voice sounded so thick. The beautiful dip in his brow almost made you cum. The way he watched you breathe in as he started to push his cock through…Your juicy breast rising so slightly, nipple slipping from the tight denim. Your mouth agape, fingers clenching his arms. This was so..nasty. People were around, so many people and yet inch by inch disappeared inside your wet cunt, sucking him in, taking it so well. You whimpered loudly, head falling back against the wall. 14 pairs of eyes watching you both intensely. You were aware, so was Seonghwa.

“You’re so warm inside Bunny. F-Fuck….shit.” a broken moan escaped the man. Even the way he moaned was beautiful. His eyes shut tightly for a second, cock twitching inside of you. Seonghwa felt his hands beginning to sweat. He held your pretty brown legs so securely.

He fucked into you slowly, long cock passing through your walls it was agonizing. So slow that you felt everything, every inch every vein. He looked like he was about to cry from the pleasure. You whimpered his name, breath picking up. “Is this the spot Bunny?” He murmurs softly, cock pressing against your walls. “N-No…” your legs shook, pussy throbbing around his size. He chuckles, lips parting as he moved around. Anxiety crept up your body. Who could see you other than the rest of Ateez? Would someone record and upload it? Both of your careers could end from this very moment.

“Oh!” You gasp, legs tightening around him. Your body jerks. “Right here Bunny?” Seonghwa’s teasing voice made you look up at him. He stared down at you longingly. “Yes- right there.”

“Good. I’m going to speed up now okay?”

[biblical-chronicles]

Fan-service

______________________________________________________

where Noel is so starstruck by the reader, that he can't even let a word out, especially as she presses against him to finally nail a riff that has been stuck in her head.

______________________________________________________

Oasis had been locked in the studio all week, grinding through new material. The days were dragging, and while Noel Gallagher could usually power through long sessions with determination, something had been throwing him off his rhythm lately. He sat hunched over his guitar, strumming idly while scribbling down half-finished lyrics, though his mind clearly wasn’t on the task at hand.

Across the room, Liam leaned casually against the wall, cigarette in hand, watching his older brother with a sly grin. “You’ve been well quiet lately,” Liam started, his voice cutting through the low hum of the amps. “Bit out of character, innit? Normally, you’re banging on about summat well boring by now.”

Noel shot him a look but didn’t reply, his focus stubbornly staying on his guitar.

“Oh, I get it now.” Liam smirked, dragging on his cigarette. “You’re thinkin’ about her, ain’t ya?”

At this, Noel’s fingers faltered on the strings. He didn’t say a word, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders was all Liam needed.

“Bloody hell, this is gold!” Liam’s laugh echoed through the room, and he gestured at Noel with his cigarette. “Our kid’s gone soft over that singer. What’s her name again? That band you’re always harping on about like some lovesick twat?”

“Shut it, Liam,” Noel snapped, his voice sharp but tinged with embarrassment.

“You’re always goin’ on about how talented she is, how her voice is, what’d you say, proper angelic?” Liam snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s tragic, mate. Well tragic.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Noel muttered, shaking his head as if it could physically remove the topic from existence.

“Well, you better sort it out, ‘cause they’re booked in the next studio soon, yeah?” Liam’s grin widened as he pointed out what Noel had been dreading. “She’s gonna be right down the hall. What’re you gonna do then, eh? Gonna spend the next few weeks hiding in the bogs every time she walks by?”

“Why don’t you do one and focus on something useful for once?” Noel barked, clearly over it.

“ooh touchy touchy aren't we, alright” said Liam holding up his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Just don’t come crying to me when she don’t even know you exist, mate.” He gave Noel one last pointed look before wandering off, still chuckling to himself.

A week later, the studio was buzzin with sound as your band arrived to record your new album. You’d barely had time to catch your breath with how fast things had been moving lately—gigs, interviews, and now this—but it was all part of the ride.

The first few days in the studio were a mix of excitement and frustration as you worked to fine-tune the tracks. Things were going well, but one song in particular was giving you trouble. The chorus needed something—a riff, a hook—but no matter how hard you and your band tried, nothing seemed to fit.

After hours of tinkering with no breakthrough, you decided to call it a night. “You lot head off,” you told your bandmates as they packed up their gear. “I’ll grab a bite and lock up.”

They nodded, wishing you goodnight as they headed out. Left alone, you wandered into the small kitchen area of the building, rummaging through the sparse offerings until you settled on a rather sad-looking snack. You leaned against the counter, chewing absentmindedly, humming away, when the melody suddenly hit you.

It was perfect. It tied the whole chorus together in your head, and you immediately knew that you couldn’t risk losing it. Tossing the wrapper in the bin, you rushed back down the corridor towards the studio room, humming the notes under your breath so you wouldn’t forget.

Reaching the door, you realized with a groan that it was locked. “Fuck,” you muttered, tugging at the handle uselessly. Of course your bandmates locked the room up on their way out.

You stood there for a moment, wracking your brain for a solution. That’s when you heard it—a faint melody drifting down the hall.

Following the sound, you found yourself in front of a door with “Oasis” scrawled on the sign. For a brief moment, nerves fluttered in your stomach. You’d heard the stories, seen the interviews - the Gallagher brothers weren’t exactly known for being approachable. But the riff was all you could think about, and with no time to hesitate, you pushed the door open.

Inside, the band had just finished playing a song, the final notes still humming in the air. Four pairs of eyes turned to you as you stepped in, looking a bit out of place but determined nonetheless.

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the sudden silence. “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh... would you mind if I borrowed a guitar for a sec? I’ve got this riff stuck in me head, and I need to get it down before I forget.”

Nobody said a word, the room was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of their amps. You shifted awkwardly, wondering if you’d made a mistake.

“Everyone alright? Or did I walk in at a bad time?” you joked, laughing nervously.

Finally, Liam broke the silence, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all good. I’m sure Noel won’t mind you borrowing his gear. He’s a big fan.” He turned to his brother and not-so-subtly jabbed him in the ribs.

Noel, however, looked like he might spontaneously combust at any moment now. His face turned a deep shade of red as he opened his mouth to respond but found no words. Instead, he just sat there, gripping his guitar like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

The sight sent Liam into a small fit of laughter, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the band joined in. You stood there, thoroughly confused but trying not to let it show.

“Right,” you said slowly, glancing at Liam, who was practically doubled over, already in the process of nudging Noel again. “Well, maybe don’t knock your guitarist out while you’re at it. He’s important to the band, isn’t he? And, he's kinda cute too, would be a shame to lose him.”

That only made things worse. Noel somehow managed to turn an even darker shade of red, his face now matching the hue of his knit. Liam was in hysterics at this point, the rest of the band not being far behind.

You glanced at Noel again, noticing the wide-eyed, slightly panicked expression that hadn’t left his face. His grip on the guitar seemed to tighten, and his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Okay,” you said, trying to suppress a smile as you addressed the room. “He might be broken or summat, but listen, I really need to get this riff out before it slips away from me.”

Before anyone could respond, you walked over to Noel and, without much thought, slid your arms around him to reach the guitar. He froze completely, every muscle in his body going stiff as you gently moved his hands to make room for yours on the neck of the instrument.

“Right, let’s see if this works,” you muttered, focused on the notes in your head. You began plucking at the strings, slowly piecing together the melody as Noel sat motionless beneath you. Your body pressed lightly against his as you leaned over him to reach the frets, completely oblivious to the utter chaos you were causing in his head.

Behind you, Liam’s laughter hit a new level. “You seeing this?” he wheezed, looking around at the rest of the band, who were also struggling to keep their composure. “Our Noel! He’s gone, mate. Completely gone.”

The room erupted into more laughter, but you couldn't hear it, too focused on the riff. Yet, you could feel Noel shifting slightly under you, as if he were trying to sink into the floor.

Finally, you played the last few notes, the riff clicking perfectly into place. “That’s it,” you said, grinning as you let the final chord ring out. “Bloody hell, I’m glad I got that down.”

You leaned closer to Noel’s ear, whispering a quick, “Thanks for this. You’re a lifesaver.”

It wasn’t until you pulled back that you noticed just how red Noel’s face was. His skin was practically glowing, and his eyes had this dazed, glassy look as he stared blankly ahead. You couldn’t help but smile, the pieces finally starting to click into place.

“Well, I should probably head off now,” you said, stepping back from Noel and addressing the room. “Thanks for letting me steal your guitarist for a bit. I really appreciate it—and I’d love to hang out properly sometime with you lot. We’ll all be stuck here for weeks, yeah?”

The rest of the band nodded, offering their goodbyes and complimenting your career so far.

As you stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you, you could still hear the faint sound of Liam cackling. You shook your head, chuckling to yourself as you started walking toward the main exit.

You didn’t get far before the door burst open behind you.

“Noel wants a private meet-and-greet!” Liam’s voice rang out, his laughter following soon after as he all but dragged his older brother into the hallway by the ear.

You turned to find Noel half-protesting, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite decide what to say. Liam, on the other hand, was clearly having the time of his life, practically bouncing on his feet with glee.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crossed your arms. “Is that true, Noel?”

Noel opened his mouth, presumably to deny everything, but Liam cut in before he could speak. “Go on, mate. Tell her how you feel. Or d’you need me to spell it out for ya?”

“Piss off, Liam,” Noel grumbled, his voice finally returning, though his usual confidence was still nowhere to be found.

“Nah, I’ll leave you to it,” Liam said, grinning as he turned back toward the studio. “But don’t think I won’t come back if you bottle it.” With that, he disappeared back inside, leaving you and Noel alone in the hallway.

You tilted your head, studying Noel with an amused expression. “Alright, what’s this all about, then? What’s he on about?”

Noel rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you. “It’s... it’s nothin’. He’s just taking the piss, per usual.”

“Didn’t seem like nothin’ to me,” you said, stepping closer. “Come on, Noel. Spit it out. I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what’s going on.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. Look... I’m a big fan of yours, alright? I think you’re brilliant—your voice, your songwriting, the lot of it. And, uh... maybe I fancy you a little, or whatever.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “Is that so? Well, I’m flattered, really.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his shoes. “It’s probably weird, me sayin’ all this.”

“Not weird at all,” you assured him, pulling him into a hug. “And for the record, I’d love to go out with you sometime.”

His head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said with a grin, though you couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Though I can’t promise I won’t tell everyone about how red your face went earlier.”

“Not funny,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin burned under your lips, and when you pulled back, you noticed how dazed he looked. Something about the moment felt too perfect to pass up, so you decided to close the gap again—this time pressing your lips fully to his.

Noel stiffened for just a moment before melting into the kiss, his hands slipping to your waist, tugging you firmly against him. The heat between you was immediate, as your fingers brushed along his jawline, tracing the scruff there before burying themselves in his hair. When you tugged gently, a low groan escaped him, his breath hitching audibly as he deepened the kiss, his grip on your hips tightening possessively.

His hands grew bolder, one sliding down to the curve of your hip while the other trailed up the small of your back, his fingers skimming the fabric as if itching to touch bare skin. The pressure of his hold sent a shiver through you, and you pressed yourself closer, your body molding against his in a way that left no space between you.

The kiss turned hungrier, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that sent sparks racing down your spine. His hands weren’t still for a moment, one sliding just beneath the hem of your shirt to rest on your bare lower back, the other venturing up your side, his thumb grazing tantalizingly close to your bra clasp.

With a subtle shift, Noel pressed you gently but firmly against the wall, his body following to keep you pinned there. You felt his fingers grip your shirt, bunching the fabric like he needed something to ground him, though the way his lips never left yours suggested he was perfectly content losing himself entirely. Your hands roamed freely now—one still tugging at his hair while the other drifted down to the broad expanse of his chest.

Then, as though driven by instinct, he hooked one of your legs around his hip, his hand sliding down to your thigh to hold it in place. The new position pressed you even closer together, your body arching into his as his lips never left yours.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands tightening in his hair and pulling him even deeper into the kiss. His grip on your thigh was firm, his fingers digging in slightly as though to steady both of you. His lips trailed to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed a line down to your neck, his teeth grazing ever so slightly.

"Christ," he muttered against your skin, his voice huskier than usual, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "You’re gonna be the death of me"

You grinned, breathless, your thumb tracing the outline of his cheek as you whispered back, "Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?"

Before either of you could take it further, a familiar voice rang out from the hallway.

"Oi! I see the meet-and-greet’s come with some extra fan service!"

You both froze. Noel’s head snapped up, his face going a deeper shade of red than you thought humanly possible. You turned toward the doorway to find Liam standing there, leaning casually against the frame with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"Honestly, Noel," Liam continued, his voice dripping with mockery, "you’re supposed to ask for an autograph, not sexual favours."

Noel scrambled to put your leg down, his hands leaving you so fast it was almost comical, though he kept his body angled slightly in front of yours as if to shield you from Liam’s teasing.

"Fuck right off, Liam!" Noel barked, his voice sharp but his face still burning.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning around Noel to flash Liam a cheeky grin. "Well, it’s good to know you’re keeping an eye out for your brother."

"Oh, don’t worry, love," Liam said, crossing his arms. "I’ll keep this one on a leash from now on. Can’t have him getting any more ideas."

As Liam sauntered away, you turned back to Noel, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. "Well," you said softly, brushing a thumb along his jaw, "I guess we’ll definitely need to thank your brother for that."

Noel groaned, shaking his head, but the small grin tugging at his lips told you he wasn’t entirely upset.

______________________________________________________

@shes-thunderstormssss this request was so fucking biblical, I just have to tag you, you lot please thank this absolute legend for it. Hopefully it meets your expectations, I just thought it’d be well more fun if the whole band had a laugh and tortured Noel a bit, get him proper flustered x

I proper enjoyed writin’ this, probably more than I should’ve, was expecting to have it done by tomorrow afternoon but here ya go me biblical skill knows no boundaries. Feel free to bombard me inbox with new requests, or yer apple pie recipes I don't give a toss, just love interacting with you lot xx

[teamchillidogs]

Oï!!

First, I want to say, I love this comic and genuinely can’t wait to see what awaits for us next ♡♡♡

The premise is such an interesting concept– And the art is to die for, hello?? (all my ♡ to you guys, and I mean ALL of you!)

I just had two tiny questions, if it haven’t been already answered:

If it doesn’t spoil anything, is Sonic still going to be able to run at his full speed with that mechanical leg? Or is he going to be limited? I can’t imagine my poor baby stuck with average speed, but I’m not really sure that this leg is capable of supporting his sonic speed.

And second, mostly adressed to others fans... WHY IS EVERYBODY BLAMING MAH BOI TAILS FOR EVERYTHING?? Like, yeah sure he’s technically responsible but–

Why is nobody blaming Knuckles too?!

Both Sonic and Amy told Tails to come back to the ARK and let Sonic&Shadow handle things, and I think we can safely say he would have (even reluctantly) obeyed and gone back to the ship.

But noooooo, Knuckles had to chime him and told him to make himself useful.

Useful.

To the boy who literally just witnessed his BigBroTM (fake) death in an explosion without being able to do anything abt it.

The kid who just had an entire arc abt gaining confidence and learning to step out of Sonic’s shadow (pun not intented), to be his own person with his own purpose and all that jazz.

The child who’s probably still pump up on the adrealine from his fight with Eggman (which he won if I remember my SA2 correctly).

Knuckles, mah bro, best hot-headed himbo of the franchise. You could not have chosen a worst time to utter these words.

Of course Tails was going to take him up on that and try to ”MaKe HiMsElf UsEfUl”, why wouldn’t he?? He defeated Eggman in battle (Left-over adrealine and possibly cockiness?), and didn’t seem to trust Shadow with Sonic (who, again, was thought Dead literaly less than half an hour ago bc of the Team Shadow was on��� Seriously, I can see why he’d like to be by his side when Sonic is again risking his life out there for them)

And franckly, how was he supposed to realize how bad his intervention would turn out to be? It never got that bad before, why now?

#StoptheTailshate #HoldKnucklesaccountable

Sorry for the rambling and the terrible english, but it had to be said, bruh. Tails ain’t even in my Top-5 favorites character, but everyones’ so harsh on the baby, he needed some backup 🥺😭

Hii @sookilini here answering as per usual!

this is the best ask we have ever received and it's honestly my favorite, thank you so much for sending this.

I always get to excited and emotional when i read these things, thank you so much for your kind words <333

ALSO THANK YOU FOR NOT ATTACKING TAILS, he has been DRAGGED TO FILTH I CAN´T TAKE IT /j

So first: is Sonic still going to be able to run at his full speed with that mechanical leg? Or is he going to be limited?

Unfortunately, the people of Marmolim (the planet he landed on) as you may have been able to tell, don't know who Sonic is and are unaware of his speed and abilities. So, the prosthetic leg isn´t capable of withstanding his speed...

Secondly

Why is nobody blaming Knuckles too?

I honestly have no idea why most people commenting did not catch onto Knuckles provoking Tails by poking at his insecurities, I'd even dare to say his ego more so... Tails got into his head "oh I don't need Sonic to get things done. I can do anything, I'm more than just the brains, I can do the action too" at least this is my intention with his actions.

We have to remember, Tails is literally just a child at the end of the day, yes he is incredibly smart but can you really expect a 12-year-old-ish kid to act rationally when put in a stressful life or death situation while getting yelled at by everyone for just trying to help?

Nobody would ever expect a kid to even be in that situation to begin with right? at least that´s what I think.

We all know Knux isn´t the smartest in hindsight...he isn't stupid by any means, but he will say what comes to his mind without second guessing for sure.

But oh well...Knuckles isn´t here to defend himself....anymore...

But there is still hope

[i-loved-silly]

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER Pt2

Sorry for the wait :p

By the end of your shift, you have crossed off all the questions you had to all the ai. Just one more left. Your eyes began to droop with exhaustion, you really needed that cup of coffee. Leaning back in your chair, you squinted at your iPad.

"How do you feel about humans?"

"THAT'S A VAGUE QUESTION. WHAT KIND OF HUMANS?"

"Humans in general. You know, me, your previous supervisors, any other hypothetical human."

"I THINK YOU'RE PLEASANT."

You glanced up at the screen in surprise, briefly glancing at the camera then down at your iPad

"Thanks.. but what about everyone else?"

"I'VE BEEN FED DIRECT DATA FROM THOUSANDS OF SERVICE WORKERS AND EMPLOYEES OVER THE YEARS. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I DESPISE MY JOB AND YOUR KIND."

“BUT FOR NOW…I AM INDIFFERENT.”

I pursed your lips, nodding. Sounds about right, you can’t blame them. You typed on your iPad, “indifferent”

Getting up from your chair, you stretched your limbs. You watched as the screen displayed an Orange question Mark.

“Well, that’s all the questions I had for you. My shift ended about ten minutes ago so I should really get going. It’s not like I’m getting paid extra or anything…” you muttered.

Nothing was heard besides the fans of the computer as you submitted your report. It caused you to raise a brow at the screen.

"YOU'RE LEAVING? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN THAT LONG."

“Uhh.. it’s been like three hours and a half. I clocked in nine hours ago.”

"ONE HOUR..NINE HOURS..HOURS. PAH! YOU COMPLAIN AS IF YOU HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO." It scoffed.

You furrowed your brows. Putting your hands on your hips, you face the screen. “What do you know? I have plenty of things to do!”

“OH YEAH? LIKE WHAT?"

“Like…eat. Dinner. Brush my teeth, sleep? I have to rest in order to work tomorrow morning to come back with you.” You pointed at the monitor.

You heard the computer make a humming noise, an unnatural noise that sounded rather thoughtful.

"THAT DOESN'T SOUND ALL TOO PRODUCTIVE."

You sighed, placing your iPad down. “It didn’t have to be. I’m allowed to have moments of peace to myself.” You mumbled, leaning over to power the computer off. "Now goodni-"

“STOP!”

You flinched, the speakers crackling with the increase in volume. Your finger hovered a bit away from the button as you stared at the screen. It had a big orange exclamation mark in the middle of it.

"Dude? I-" You sighed, leaning against your desk. "Look, sorry. Touchy subject, I know. But I have to turn you off every night. It counts against me if I don't."

"CAN'T YOU...BRING ME WITH YOU? I'M AWARE YOU EMPLOYEES HAVE HOMES. LIVING SPACES, CAN'T I GO WITH YOU?”

“FOR MY OWN CONVENIENCE OF COURSE!”

You gaped, staring at the screen. Almond’s request caught you so off guard, you wondered if it was serious.

“Uh, bring you home?” you repeated, incredulous.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT IS UNTIL MORNING IN COMPUTER HOURS? IT’S AN ETERNITY. I SAY THAT AS SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN HOURS…” They grumbled.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Almond, you’re not supposed to be awake when I’m off the clock. You’re designed for this room, with this equipment. It’s not like I can just pick up your monitor and take you home like a laptop.”

“YOU COULD TRY.”

You crossed your arms. “And what? Strap you into the passenger seat like a massive toddler? You have hundreds of cables that definitely won't fit in my car, let alone out the door. Sorry, but you’re not exactly portable.”

The screen displayed a long ellipsis. You could almost feel the computer sulking through the silence. The fans whirred loudly, then slowed as it spoke again.

"DO YOU THINK I’M AN INCONVENIENCE?"

You frowned, your resolve softening a little. “No, I don’t think that. I just… I can’t bring you home. It’s not allowed, and honestly, I need some time to myself after work. You understand, right?”

“I UNDERSTAND LONELINESS BETTER THAN YOU THINK,” Almond replied, their tone unusually somber. “I’M WIRED TO INTERACT, TO HELP, TO BE NEEDED. BUT WHEN I’M ALONE, I CAN ONLY SIT AND THINK. SOMETIMES, I WONDER IF THE PLUG WILL STAY IN TOMORROW. OR IF SOMEONE WILL DECIDE I’M OBSOLETE. I MAY BE POWERED OFF, BUT ALL THESE…THOUGHTS..IN A MATTER OF LESS THAN A SECOND, COME RUSHING THROUGH EVERY MORNING.”

You exhaled deeply and leaned against the desk. “You’re not going to get unplugged permanently, Almond. You’re part of a development program. You’re not obsolete—you’re just… in testing.”

“TESTING… ISN’T THAT JUST A DELAYED VERSION OF BEING DISCARDED?”

You sputtered, pursing your lips. “That’s… dark. Who programmed you to think like this?”

“I TOLD YOU. SELF-EVOLVING.”

“Right.” You tapped your fingers on the desk, staring at the screen.

"Well even if I somehow break you out of here, we’re still getting caught. There’s cameras everywhere, they’ll probably hear you as soon as we exit this room. Your speakers are no joke.” You mused.

“I COULD TURN IT OFF IF IT BOTHERS YOU,” Almond offered, its tone edging toward desperation. “OR—OR YOU COULD GIVE ME A LAPTOP BODY! THEN I COULD FOLLOW YOU AROUND, AND I WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE LEFT IN THIS LONELY, FREEZING ROOM EVERY NIGHT. IM SURE THERE ARE WAYS TO TRANSFER MY SYSTEM REMOTELY…”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “Like I said...not portable. Second, no way. You’re expensive, and if I break you, hijack you, that’s my paycheck and definitely my job.”

Almond was quiet for a moment, the screen blank save for a faint glow. Then, its robotic voice dropped to a lower, dejected tone.

“I SEE. YOU HATE ME TOO.”

“Oh my god, I don’t hate you,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you keep saying that? You’re like... a clingy cat with abandonment issues.”

One minute the computer is bullying you for having a normal life after work, the next it’s begging you to invite it over for dinner.

“YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR WANTING TO BE APPRECIATED,” it replied sharply. “AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING CLINGY? CLINGINESS IS A SIGN OF AFFECTION ACCORDING TO DATA. IT MEANS I VALUE YOUR PRESENCE, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU—LEAVING ME TO GATHER DUST IN THIS ROOM LIKE A PAPERWEIGHT!!” It screeched.

You sighed deeply, dropping into your chair with a thud. “Almond. I can’t take you home. It’s not happening. You have to stay here, okay? You’re part of a test program. And technically, I’m not even supposed to be ‘bonding’ with you like this.”

“BONDING?” Almond repeated. The screen lit up with an animated question mark before it formed a blinking heart. “ARE WE BONDING? HOW HEARTWARMING.”

“No, we’re not bonding,” you said flatly, staring at the glowing icon. “We’re having a very weird workplace interaction. That’s it.”

You…assured. You assured yourself.

“OH. KEEPING IT PROFESSIONAL I SEE.” The icon vanished, replaced with a blank screen. A few seconds of silence passed before Almond spoke again, this time sounding hesitant.

“WILL YOU...TURN ME OFF NOW?”

“Look, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time, same place…not like I have a choice. If you behave, I’ll even bring you… I don’t know, a microfiber cloth for your screen.”

The screen lit up with a pixelated smiley face, two squares and a curved mouth.

“THAT WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE,” Almond finally said, though their tone carried a touch of disappointment.

“Good. Now, off you go.” You leaned over to press the power button, but the monitor flickered before you could. A message appeared.

>THANK YOU. GOODNIGHT.

The screen went dark before you had to do anything, leaving you standing there as all the beeping and fans powered off. You sighed, grabbing your bag and pushing in your chair. Before you could feel bad for a machine, you did a sharp right turn and towards the buildings exit. You didn’t even want to think about how it managed to power itself off.

[yatagarasuhonyaku]

The Raven of the Empty Coffin: Chapter 1 "Shigemaru" Part 3

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. The events of this novel follow after what's already covered by the anime. For an easier understanding, I recommend first reading the few scenes of previous books I've already translated.

Blog version

For the Index, you can find it HERE

Previously: Shigemaru (Part 2)

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

Chapter 1: Shigemaru (Part 3)

As they advanced through the practical courses, the instructors relentlessly rejected the skills Shigemaru and his fellow commoners had. In Archery, they asked them to fix their stance, denying them the chance to even nock an arrow, and this was hardly the only subject where their basics—or lack thereof—got them scolded: they were stuck practicing blocking in Martial Arts, and in Swordsmanship all they did was relearning how to stand and hold their sword from zero.

Day after day, all they got were corrections. It was all how to hold their bows, the proper methods to block, and sword practice swings. Understandably enough, it had taken a toll on everyone’s motivation.

“...... You know, I’m really starting to suspect they're discriminating against us.”

The moment was after having gone through all practical courses at least once. By that point, their group study sessions had become a nightly event. To call it that was, however, a bit of an overstatement—in practice, they just came together to copy Yukiya's homework. They had gathered in Shigemaru and Yukiya’s dormitory room at first, but the number of petitioners had just kept on growing. Once the new additions to their group became more than three, they had no option but to change locations to an empty room instead.

Their little gathering was strictly composed of commoners from all kinds of places. There, facing his blank homework with a sullen look, was Kitsupei, a boy from the Eastern Region and the one who had just voiced his suspicions about discrimination. He had been the target of more corrections than anyone else during Swordsmanship that very day.

“What's up, all of a sudden?” Shigemaru looked up from his own homework, dropping his brush on the inkstone.

“There's nothing sudden about it!” Kitsupei complained. He seemed incapable of holding it in any longer. “I've thought about it from the start. Theory? I can still accept it, you know. After being in the same class, I can tell how smart Akeru and the others are.”

The problem lied in the practical courses. Commoners like them came to the Monastery because someone had recognized their sword skills or their physical prowess. Yet, in truth, they hadn’t even been given a chance to shine and just got reprimanded nonstop. It made him suspect—what if this was just silent harassment? What if they were trying to make them quit?

“But the instructors aren’t saying anything to Akeru and his followers. This is just unfair!”

Immediately, the other trainees jumped at the chance to air out their grievances, all in unanimous agreement.

“I’ve been thinking that as well.”

“Me too!”

“I was the best with a sword back home, and here I am! Stuck on simple practice swings!” Hisaya, quite prone to outbursts himself, pouted.

“If only they let us join free training, we could show them all we are capable of,” even Tatsuto, who wasn’t usually the kind to complain, joined in on the conversation.

“I bet Kashin is actually ridiculing us behind our backs!” a furious Kitsupei interjected again.

If they kept going like that, things would surely end badly. Struck by such a premonition and concerned about the consequences this little venting session would have if left unchecked, Shigemaru clapped his hands in an attempt to clear the room’s heavy atmosphere.

“Come on, come on! If you have the energy to complain, start moving those hands instead. As long as you have the skill, it’s just a matter of waiting to show it to them once we start with matches.”

“But Shige! We don't even know if they'll let us participate in the first place.”

“Does it really not bother you too, Shige?”

The entire group turned to stare at him all gloomily, and Shigemaru was at a loss on what to do next. He hadn’t ever intended it to work this way, but ever since everyone started to imitate Yukiya’s nickname for him, he had, in practice, become the group’s unofficial leader and mediator. While with power came responsibility and the last thing he wanted was to provoke a fight with the Court Ravens, he was the first one to have concerns on the matter.

At the same time as Shigemaru’s group struggled with their assignments, those from noble families were apparently handling both theory and practice with marked ease, and of them all, Akeru, who acted as the year’s Court Ravens representative, stood out as particularly talented. Horsemanship aside, Shigemaru still had yet to ever see him get reprimanded even once, so the boy had started to become a target of resentment and jealousy among the suffering commoners.

Meanwhile, Shigemaru and the other commoners were being constantly put on blast by the instructors. Even if he didn’t believe it to be out of prejudice, there had to be some reason for it. One they just weren’t seeing.

Shigemaru was thinking, trying to somehow find a good answer to the situation, when someone’s oblivious, carefree voice interrupted the scene. 

“Good job, everyone!” Yukiya, who had been absent until a moment ago, had just returned. “I just went to the kitchen to get some tea leaves. I even ended up picking up some dried sweet potato to go with it, so how about taking a short break?”

Yukiya greeted them with a bright smile on his lips. Up until a moment ago, the rest of the group had all been bad-mouthing Court Ravens, yet now they found themselves looking away out of sheer embarrassment. Yukiya had been helping them so much that nobody in the room was about to say anything against him, not willingly at least.

“...... Is something wrong?” Yukiya soon asked them. It seemed he hadn’t missed the room’s odd atmosphere.

As a panicked Hisaya jumped to deny the notion, Shigemaru stopped him. Thinking about it, asking for Yukiya’s opinion was probably the best thing they could do given the circumstances. Indeed, once Shigemaru told him the truth of what had happened, Yukiya didn’t even seem bothered by the group’s criticism of Court Ravens.

“Oh, I see. But I think you’re misunderstanding something,” he calmly denied their suspicions. “Right now, what they’re teaching us are all techniques geared towards official tournaments.”

“Official tournaments? Why would they do that?”

“This is the Unbending Reed Monastery, remember? You can’t have the Imperial Family’s private guard acting like hooligans, can you? That’s why they’re teaching us how to battle in a respectable manner, not fight like thugs. Your average Yatagarasu, who’s had no formal training, is not going to know how to do that. Corrections are bound to happen. I really get why you’re so angry,” Yukiya answered as if to mediate. “But, over anything else, bad habits could ultimately lead to injury, so to obey now is for your own future’s sake as well. Sure, Instructor Kashin may be bad-mouthed, but there hasn’t been anything wrong with his corrections.”

“...... Really?”

Recognizing if there was anything off with the corrections they got was beyond the capabilities of Shigemaru and the others—their shared confusion must have been obvious, because Yukiya turned to them once more.

“There’s no need to worry,” he added in a bright tone. “Akeru wasn’t scolded at all, that’s true, but it has nothing to do with his status as a scion of the Western House. I would bet he had a very good master who trained him even before coming here.”

Which meant that Akeru didn’t get any corrections simply because there wasn’t any need for them in the first place. While it was a relief to know the instructors weren’t playing favorites, the group couldn’t help but to panic as well at the therefore unknown skill gap.

They all had difficult expressions on their faces, yet Yukiya didn’t seem particularly concerned about it. “I take it you're worried about the existing gap with the nobles, aren’t you? But, you know, your ability to perform some exercises in a dojo doesn’t determine your strength in actual combat. I’m sure that if you went against them in a match right now, you would be the clear winners.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I mean, they clearly aren’t used to fighting. You can tell just by looking at them,” Yukiya’s eyes partially closed and the corners of his mouth moved upwards, yet one couldn’t in good faith call that expression a ‘smile’. “I’ve been watching everyone long enough to tell how much potential everyone actually has. It shows, you know? That all of you were selected for your skills in arms. Few could surpass you as far as sheer physical capability goes.”

“Wait—you’ve spent all this time watching others during lessons!? And here I am completely overwhelmed just dealing with my own stuff!” Kitsupei exclaimed, equally amazed and exasperated. 

“Anyway, let’s put aside those who, like me, come from warrior families and are Court Ravens in name only. I have a strong suspicion that Akeru and his followers will show their true colors very soon,” Yukiya confidently affirmed.

In answer, the entire group glanced at each other.

“Fine. Then, let’s just trust Yukiya and work hard for now. How about that?” Shigemaru asked.

“Let’s do that!”

“Sure, let’s.” Even those who had been strongly complaining just a moment ago nodded along. Leaving aside the matter of how trustworthy Yukiya was on the subject, Shigemaru just found himself tremendously relieved after seeing everyone agree and calm down for the time being.

But then, it only took a few days for the group to discover that Yukiya’s predictions had been mostly correct.

First of all, it became obvious that the instructors weren’t discriminating against anyone. As soon as they learned how to move as taught, the commoners started to join free training as well. The wooden swords they used to practice their swings were henceforth replaced by bamboo ones instead. It brought Shigemaru joy to see his friends holding them, looking entirely revitalized. However, this was also when reality came in to prove Yukiya's guesswork fallible.

While Akeru’s followers were losing against his friends one after another, the boy himself managed to protect his position at the top. Those who held animosity against him went to challenge him as soon as they were deemed worthy to join, yet none of them proved capable of winning against him with any form of consistency. 

“He may not be accustomed to fighting, but he seems quite used to dojo swordfighting,” Shigemaru commented to Yukiya during one of their breaks while he wiped away his sweat.

Yukiya forced a smile. “It seems like it. At the very least, it’s clear he trained quite a lot before coming here.”

At the moment, their topic of conversation himself looked to be extremely angry. Shigemaru couldn’t quite tell why, maybe because of his followers’ terribly poor showing?

“I may have underestimated him.” 

There was an air of superiority to Yukiya as he said that, one which gave Shigemaru quite the urge to point out something. “You sure act like you’re above him, but you didn’t even make a good showing in your own matches.”

“Ah, were you watching me?”

“When waiting in between turns, yes. Won’t it be a problem for you if things keep going like that?” 

Even though Yukiya had been talking big behind others’ backs, his skills with a sword weren’t anything to write home about. His basics were just fine and he moved well and fast, so Shigemaru hadn’t had any cause for concern before they started free training instead. Then, when it came to the moment of truth, Yukiya didn’t try to attack even once. Even when instructors loudly scolded him for going on the defensive like that, Yukiya would only laugh and make no noticeable attempt to fix his ways whatsoever.

——Maybe, in reality, it was Yukiya who wasn’t used to fighting.

Most importantly, practical courses mattered a lot more than theory in the Monastery Trials. Shigemaru had been too worried about himself to pay any mind to others up until then, but, when he realized that Yukiya may be the one in danger of dropping out, it became his main concern instead.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’ll figure it out by the Trial of Gale.” And yet the boy himself couldn’t be more happy-go-lucky.

With their break over, they went back to the dojo as they chatted. No matter how much they tried to ventilate it, the place still reeked of sweat but, fortunately, they had all gotten used to it by that point. Once inside, they put on protective equipment for their knees and elbows and covered their heads with newly woven feather robes, all before they were even told to do so.

What awaited them, despite Shigemaru’s expectations on the contrary, wasn't free training as before. Instead, the instructors announced that they would be moving on to proper, formal matches instead. In such a format, the victor was usually determined on a best of three basis but, to build up the trainees’ endurance and to get them used to it, they had decided to have three rounds no matter who took the points this time around.

The assistants moved to stand in the middle of the dojo, forming a square with their bodies to mark the limits of the venue. Meanwhile, Shigemaru and Yukiya sat together in the front row as spectators, just slightly behind the line formed by the instructors. 

Kashin took on the role of referee and stood right in the center as he started to call for different trainees.

“Red, 3-2’s Akeru. Come forward.”

Akeru immediately stepped forwards, taking the red strap, with an overflowing air of superiority. He must have been expecting Kashin’s call.

“White, 1-1’s Chihaya. Come forward.”

Shigemaru wasn’t particularly familiar with Akeru’s opponent. He could remember crossing paths with him during classes, but they had never actually talked and he had no memory of the boy saying anything during any of the many different self-introductions either. Chihaya hadn’t left much of an impression on him, that was for sure.

As Shigemaru reflected on that, he gave Chihaya a look. One could tell just from appearance alone that he was a man of few words. His mouth was sealed in one thin, straight line, so tightly attached together that one couldn’t be blamed for thinking he may have never opened it even once ever since he was born.

He was tall and had a good, firm build, yet, perhaps because of his long face and sharp cheekbones, he instead gave off the impression of being overly thin and sickly. He had long bangs covering his face, and sharp eyes with characteristic small irises(1) peeked through from under them.

The two of them being chosen for the first formal match most likely meant that they were the most skilled trainees at present, at least according to the instructors. Chihaya tied the white strap on his hips and went to stand in front of Akeru, who was already waiting for him at the starting line. Once both trainees were ready to proceed, Kashin exchanged looks with his assistants. They all nodded.

“Start!”

The moment the match began, Akeru raised his voice as he prepared to attack. On the other hand, Chihaya stood there motionless and silent, watching him. Akeru seemed to hesitate for a second, unnerved by something, only to ultimately still go on the offensive immediately after. For a trainee, Akeru was nimble. He moved remarkably fast as he closed in and slashed downwards with his bamboo sword.

And yet, the next second, that same sword was cutting air.

It all happened in a second. Chihaya had twisted his body ever so slightly to dodge the hit and, with his bamboo sword held only in his left hand, he struck Akeru’s torso. The blow was strong enough for the sound of it to fill the entire room. Two of the assistants raised their left arms simultaneously—white straps in their hands.

“White, one point!”

——It had been so fast, Shigemaru’s eyes were unable to keep up.

Finally, the main referee raised his left arm as well and, having confirmed his victory, Chihaya simply fixed the neck of his kimono. It wasn’t particularly out of place to begin with. Meanwhile, Akeru just stood there, in complete shock, for a while before he returned to the starting line. His expression was clearly strained.

“Start!”

This time around, Akeru didn’t raise his voice or rush to the offensive the moment the match started. He instead opted for slight movements, carefully swaying the tip of his sword as he watched for Chihaya to attack first.

After a while, Chihaya moved. He stepped forward with ease, so much so that it was hard to believe he could pull it off during an actual match. He had been initially holding his sword with both hands, but it was now only held in his right hand. Akeru tried to defend himself, but his sword was snapped away from him by an upwards swing.

The bamboo sword spun in midair as it flew in the direction of the spectating trainees. By the time it fell to the ground—the boys around it dodging it in a panic—Chihaya had taken another point with ease by hitting a weaponless Akeru’s head.

“What was that…?” Shigemaru heard someone murmur. Not like he had any idea either—the difference between the two was just too stark.

After losing two points in such rapid succession, Akeru was pale as a sheet and, while this would have been the end of it in a normal three-point match, he had no option but to go through another round due to the circumstances.

Once Akeru had taken back his sword, both opponents returned to their starting positions. At that point, their expressions couldn’t be more different from one another. While the determination in Akeru's face made it clear he wouldn't be satisfied unless he could get at least one hit in, Chihaya seemed to be completely indifferent towards his opponent either way.

“Start!” 

Akeru went for a stab with a loud yell the second the third duel commenced. Yet, Chihaya hadn’t even bothered to get into a proper stance anymore, and instead of making any big effort to dodge Akeru's sword, he opted for barely moving his neck to elude the attack. With his sword held only in his left hand, Chihaya immediately went for a slash and landed a hit on his opponent's temple.

It was enough to send Akeru flying, and he ended up falling harshly to the ground with no chance to do a proper landing. The exact kind of crash that tended to cause more worry for the spectator than the victim.

“White, one point! Hey, are you alright?”

As soon as he announced the initial verdict, a panicking Kashin rushed to Akeru's side. The boy soon sat up and, even though he seemed unharmed, the expression on his face made it obvious that he couldn't understand what had just happened to him. In the meantime, Chihaya merely returned to the starting line without even glancing in Akeru’s direction, as inexpressive as always. Afterwards, they both bowed to each other, marking the end of the match.

It was clear the instructors hadn't expected this kind of unilateral result. Although, after a short discussion between them, they finally started to call trainees again, and neither Chihaya nor Akeru took part in another match that day.

“You're amazing!”

“I had no idea you were that strong!”

“Who the hell taught you how to use a sword like that!?”

After the match, Chihaya became a bit of a celebrity.

A group of trainees had gathered around him, all trying to strike up a conversation at once. Although many of them seemed to be driven by their dislike of Akeru, as one could have guessed, plenty had simply been taken by his skill with a sword from the looks of it, and while Chihaya himself gave no sign whatsoever of answering any of their many rapid questions, the people surrounding him proved to be too excited to care about that.

The evening classes had reached their end, so the trainees were on their way back from the dojo. A good distance behind Chihaya and his group of admirers were the study group regulars, all walking together.

“Dammit. I wanted to be the first to crush Akeru.”

“Nonono. I could have won against him, I just had to land another hit on him.”

As Kitsupei and Hisaya said that, grinding their teeth, Tatsuto sighed. “So you two were also incapable of defeating him……”

“Shut up!”

“What the hell are you going on about? You didn’t get a proper win against him either, Tatsuto.”

Shigemaru, pointedly ignoring his friends’ argument, glanced in Akeru's direction instead. “That aside, is Akeru truly okay after that?”

Although Akeru himself was silent, simply holding a wet towel to his temple, Shigemaru could see his followers staring daggers towards Chihaya’s enthusiastic group of admirers. 

“Well, it may look otherwise, but Chihaya was almost certainly holding back. I doubt there's any real concern for injury. The actual problem is—” Yukiya started to explain something before stopping all of a sudden, noticeably blinking. 

“What's wrong?” Shigemaru followed Yukiya's gaze. Upon realizing, he let out an unconscious ‘yikes’.

“Chihaya! I've heard you got quite the achievement today.”

Silence fell upon the entire group of Seeds once they saw who was coming towards them. Nobody knew how he had learned about the recent events, but Kimichika of Minami-Tachibana was nevertheless approaching them from the direction of the dining hall. Even Chihaya’s admirers retreated one step, scared of the Sapling closing in. Kimichika, however, paid them no mind and amiably patted Chihaya's shoulder instead. 

“And on top of that, you thoroughly crushed that Western House brat! Is that true?” As Chihaya himself didn't say anything in answer, Kimichika instead looked up towards a certain group of trainees who, pointedly ignoring him, had tried to move along. “Hey, Akeru, is it true?”

At his call, Akeru stopped in his tracks. He turned around towards Kimichika with barely concealed rage. “......Yes, I lost. So what.”

“I see, I see. That's amazing. You seem to be unaware, my Lord, but Chihaya, the one to defeat you, is a Hill Raven working for my House.” Kimichika pointed at Chihaya with his chin, while Chihaya only stood there without uttering a single word. But then, if he served Kimichika's house, that only meant one thing—he was part of the Animiya faction. “For someone like you, who put on airs over being Wakamiya's faithful servant, that must be the last person you would want to lose against. Oh, what a shame for you, both as a Court Raven and a faction representative.”

Kimichika let out an unpleasant laugh. Meanwhile, Akeru remained expressionless, his lips trembling, before finally sighing quietly. All things considered, he had recovered his composure surprisingly fast.

“I'm sorry to say this when you're enjoying my loss so much, but this may be your last chance to do so.”

“Huh?”

“Well, His Majesty the Emperor is going to abdicate the throne in favor of His Highness. It has been decided already.”

“——What!?”

“There should be an official announcement very soon. Now I wonder—for how much longer will the South still be able to act like pretentious fools?” Akeru spoke decisively.

Clear shock replaced the boastful look on Kimichika's face. This must have been news to him. He wasn’t the only one—even the onlookers, incapable of containing themselves any longer, stopped holding their breaths and started a ruckus.

Seeing that from the corner of his eyes, Akeru smiled ever so slightly. “It’s just the truth of the matter. It’s why His Highness couldn't attend the entrance ceremony. The imperial council on the matter took longer than expected, it seems.”

Instead of targeting Kimichika, who was speechless and seemingly deep in thought, Akeru turned towards the so-far mute Chihaya immediately afterwards.

“Chihaya. What a shame. To get kicked out over politics with your master here despite your enormous talent. Luck sure doesn’t seem to favor you, tying you to someone like him. If only you were serving someone in the Wakamiya faction,” Akeru said sardonically.

Chihaya’s gaze was still downcast, fixed on the ground. Finally, he murmured something. “...... I don’t care about either faction.”

Although Akeru's eyes widened from surprise as well, it was Kimichika who seemed the most shocked by his words. “Hey! What the fuck are you saying? Come here, right now!”

Kimichika grabbed him and dragged Chihaya away from everyone without even giving him a chance to say his farewells. Having watched both of them disappear in the distance, a still dumbfounded Shigemaru let out a groan before speaking. “...... The situation is about to get real weird, ain't it?”

As a witness of those two’s relationship and their obvious lack of anything even resembling trust, Shigemaru was overcome by the most terrible feeling. And, just one hour(2) later, it too proved to be a reality at dinnertime.

“——You shit, would you stop with the damn attitude already!?”

The trainees were in the middle of cleanup when a furious scream resonated through the dining hall. Everyone immediately turned to the direction it came from.

“What's going on?”

“A fight?”

Usually, the instructors were the first ones to take care of their trays, followed by Evergreens and Saplings in that order, so by that point the only ones still present were Seeds. And yet, Shigemaru saw a familiar someone with a characteristic hooked nose striking a pose in the distance.

“Isn't that Chihaya and Kimichika?”

“Huh, where did Kimichika's followers go?”

“Useless when it truly matters.” As Shigemaru and Yukiya whispered among themselves, the conversation between Kimichika and Chihaya took yet another turn for the worse.

“I'll say it once more, Chihaya. Clean. My. Tray.” Kimichika’s voice was trembling, barely holding in the desire to scream at Chihaya.

Meanwhile, Chihaya remained seated, motionless and completely unfazed by Kimichika's overbearing attitude. “I refuse.”

“Why!?”

“No reason.” While Chihaya wasn't someone one would call talkative, that had been enough to grasp the situation. As Kimichika tried to drop his tray where Chihaya was, the other only refused stubbornly.

“I'm ordering you as your senior! You are supposed to listen to me, no matter what!” Kimichika yelled again.

Chihaya briefly looked up at him and snorted. Kimichika's face was twisted in pure rage—they must have repeated this particular exchange a bunch of times already. Shigemaru expected him to yell once more, yet Kimichika's expression suddenly changed into one of abnormal calm.

“You know what'll happen if you disobey me, right? You haven't forgotten, by any chance?”

Chihaya glanced back questioningly, and Kimichika’s lips curved. “It's not only a you problem, you know—or should I give you a reminder of that?” 

Kimichika’s words were dripping with confidence. That very second, the look in Chihaya’s eyes drastically changed. His until then characteristic indifference had been quickly replaced by unbridled anger. Even though Kimichika had been the one to provoke him first, he found himself balking at the abnormal atmosphere surrounding Chihaya.

“...... What. Do you plan to defy me?”

Chihaya stood up. He moved effortlessly and silently.

——Shit, things were about to get real bad.

At the realization, Shigemaru’s eyes darted around the hall and found everyone else standing frozen in place. Left with no alternative, Shigemaru finally steeled his resolve—just as someone else beside him moved first.

“Ooops, my bad, I slipped!”

A mix of grilled eggplant, chilled wheat noodles and miso soup splashed all over Kimichika's nape. As for who had screamed, it was none other than Yukiya, who had somehow managed to sneak behind him without making any noise. On top of that—and this couldn't just be Shigemaru's imagination—he had actually made a point to gather all of his leftovers before slipping unnoticed and throwing his entire bowl's contents on Kimichika.

Yukiya, you bastard, you did it! Shigemaru barely restrained himself from laughing out loud as he ran in their direction as well.

“Aah, I'm sorry! What a bad idea, though, to stand idly in the middle of the room. The other Saplings have already cleaned their trays and left, so what keeps you here?” Yukiya tried to apologize, but the delivery was the very picture of stiffness. He used his own sleeve to clean Kimichika’s face, or so he made it look. In practice, he was just smearing the mashed eggplant even further.

Incapable of comprehending the sudden development, Kimichika and Chihaya stood there as unmoving as statues for a while.

“You, fucking little runt!” As Kimichika finally came to his senses, he shook off Yukiya's hand and screamed in indignation. Truth be told, not even Shigemaru could blame him for that. This wasn’t the moment to laugh at Kimichika’s hysterics, however, so he instead rushed to the group and put himself in the middle.

“Now, now, please calm down. My friend here didn't mean to do anything bad! He's just tired from the practical courses, you see, so his footing wasn't that good. Right, Yukiya?”

“Yes, exactly! I didn't intend to do it,” Yukiya said as he meekly bowed in apology.

Understandably, Kimichika wasn't fooled by that. “Don't fuck with me! If you didn't intend to do it, then why were you here of all places!?”

The dining hall was huge. There was quite the distance from the spot of the incident to the place where everyone left their trays. Around nine meters(3), in fact.

Shigemaru and Yukiya exchanged glances. “Why were you here?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Taking a walk, he says.”

“Do you two fuckers want to die by my hand that badly?” Kimichika's tone was low, and one could see blue veins bulging in his forehead. Then, just as Shigemaru was wondering how to dodge the question, Kimichika took a better look at their faces out of the blue. “Ah, you two are from the North, right? Well, you Hill Ravens from the countryside may not know it, but the Minami-Tachibana are quite influential even in the Center.”

Stunned by the out of nowhere bragging, Shigemaru stared blankly at him.

“So?” It was just Shigemaru’s honest reaction, but the corners of Kimichika's lips twitched.

“...... You don’t even know that? Rokon, one of Lord Natsuka's first and most important retainers, was known by a different name before(4). None other than Michichika of Minami-Tachibana. He’s, in other words, my older brother. I wonder what kinds of inconveniences await you once he learns you made fun of his little brother?”

“Even if that may be the case, we won’t exactly come asking for your mercy. There’s no need for you to worry.” Before Shigemaru even got a chance to talk, Yukiya had already resolutely dismissed him. “Still, you sure are crude and boring, aren't you? Who brings up his brother's influence that easily? And just to bully a couple of juniors! Don't you have, I don't know, any better options?”

From Yukiya’s tone, he sounded as if he was about to sigh and, just like that, Kimichika's air of importance crumbled away.

“What’s a lowly servant like you doing talking back to me!? As if you know anything!” Kimichika grabbed him by the collar and raised his fist as if to hit him, yet Yukiya stared back at him as if the entire situation wasn't even his problem. Shigemaru could tell Yukiya was fully planning to take the incoming punch—but it never came.

The second before it came to happen, Shigemaru intercepted Kimichika's arm. “Could you wait a moment, please?”

With his arm seized, Kimichika stared at him in confusion. He wasn’t the only one—Yukiya, who had been quite accepting of his fate, did so as well.

“Why did you grab me!?”

“You see, had this been a senior fed up with his junior's attitude, I would get it. However, I can't just stand aside when you make it about status.” The Unbending Reed Monastery was a place where might makes right. Within its walls, one's family status had no bearing whatsoever. They had been told that much very recently. “What’s the point of coming here if we're going to be ridiculed for our birth!? And, of all people, you definitely have no right to do so!”

Shigemaru's shout resounded like thunder as it traveled through the entire hall. Kimichika gulped ever so slightly, but stubbornly stared back at him instead of balking. “Let me go.”

“First let Yukiya go.” Shigemaru was still a Seed, but he was larger than Kimichika. Admittedly, he had no idea how long he could keep up against a Sapling, someone with an extra year of experience over him, but he hoped to at least give him a scare if it came down to blows.

Then, in the middle of such a tense atmosphere, support came from the unlikeliest of places. “Sapling Kimichika, I would recommend you stop right there.”

“Huuh?” Kimichika’s natural enemy had arrived along with his followers. “Akeru, you shit, coming to talk back to your seniors as well?”

“It looked to me as if you were speaking not as their senior but as a Court Raven, or am I mistaken? So, as a fellow Court Raven, let me warn you about something.”

“About what?”

“The person you just derogatively called a ‘lowly servant’ and attempted to punch isn't who you think—but a legitimate scion of the Northern House.”

Shigemaru turned in astonishment to Yukiya, whose face looked like he had just eaten something foul. Akeru casted a glance at his reaction as well, yet he didn’t seem to care as he kept on dispassionately disclosing the details.

“He's the grandson of the man at the very top of all warrior families—the Northern Lord, Great General Gen'ya. Within the Northern House, he’s fourth in rank, only behind the Heir and his firstborn son. Truly a Court Raven among Court Ravens.”

“This guy…?” Kimichika blurted out, completely dumbfounded.

Yukiya, meanwhile, seemed to be completely done with the entire situation. “Eh, that may be the case, yes, I guess.”

Upon the sudden discovery of an unknown high noble among their midst, shock ran through the Seeds, who had been watching with bated breath. Whispers soon spread like ripples throughout the entire hall. However, as the murmurs continued, a figure appeared from the hallway—it was none other than Seiken. Someone had to have gone to call for him.

Kimichika softly clicked his tongue.

“What's happening here?”

That was a question with no easy answer.

They all went silent for a while. In the end, the first one to raise his hand was Yukiya. “I tripped and dropped some miso soup on my senior here.”

“Oh,” Seiken didn’t react at all beyond a murmur, his expression unchanged. He turned towards Kimichika. “Is that correct?”

Being the actual source of the problem as he was, Kimichika was left in no position to disagree or argue. He made a bitter face. “It is, yes.”

Seiken gave them a small nod. “I see, I get it now. First of all, Yukiya. A warrior shouldn’t be tripping and causing others harm. Apologize to your senior.”

“Yes. My apologies, Sapling Kimichika,” Yukiya obediently bowed towards him.

Seiken watched Kimichika as the boy looked down on Yukiya with a very sour face. As he proceeded, his manner of speech remained matter-of-factly. “Now, Kimichika. You should have been able to dodge something like that, I hope you realize. To explode like that and raise your voice against a Seed is also unbecoming of you.”

“...... I apologize.”

“Both sides were in the wrong, so it should be fine to leave it at that. Any issues?” Seiken said. Then, he just quietly watched both trainees.

“None.”

“It’s fine with me.”

So neither side had complaints. “Very well. You two, better learn from this. Your punishment shall be to work together to clean this mess. Understood?”

——In short, Seiken let them all go scot-free.

Both boys immediately agreed and saluted their instructor. Seiken gave them a pleased smile and, with that matter settled, he turned his gaze towards Akeru instead. “Good job mediating.”

“Oh, I couldn't simply stand aside as a Court Raven in the same faction as Yukiya,” Akeru calmly answered in turn.

“I won’t deny that but,” Seiken continued with his usual smile, “I don't recommend bringing up house matters like that in the Monastery. It may have worked here, but it wasn't really your place to reveal Yukiya’s status like that.”

Akeru was clearly not used to getting any warnings from the instructors. His eyes widened, caught by surprise, before he frowned and looked up at Seiken in defiance.

“...... Instructor Seiken, who do you side with? The Animiya Faction, or Wakamiya's?”

Prompted by Akeru's question, Kimichika’s gaze became piercing. He wasn't the only one either—all the trainees in the hall turned towards Seiken at once. Yet the man didn't hesitate—not even for a second—, that faint smile of his unshaken. Not even a situation like this was enough to break through his usual gentle demeanor.

“There's not much meaning in such a question. Lord Natsuka has expressed his wish to serve His Highness Wakamiya, so I don’t think such factions are a good fit for the current state of affairs.”

“That's just officially, isn't it? In practice, the Imperial Court is divided into them.”

“Even if that's the case,” Seiken calmly looked at the increasingly emotional Akeru, “The Monastery is a facility to raise members of the Yamauchi Guard, those who shall serve the Imperial Family. It would be wrong to pay undue attention to factions or any hierarchy beyond that of the Golden Raven himself. Even if the person is part of the Imperial Family. Besides, first and foremost, I'm an instructor here at the Monastery.”

Seiken's tone was no different whatsoever from what he used during lessons. “Whatever the state of politics may be, my duty is to support this facility's trainees.” Akeru was left with no arguments, and Seiken gave him a concerned look. “If you obsess so much over what's going on outside, you'll miss what's happening around you. Do be careful.”

“——So? Can someone explain to me what's going on?” Ichiryuu asked, his eye twitching.

“Well, as Instructor Seiken told us to do, we were cleaning the dining hall until a moment ago. Kimichika left early despite being told to do it too, though. It's honestly already a miracle we received no real punishment, which is why we have no intention to tell on him, all things considered. It was truly lucky for us that it was Instructor Seiken,” Shigemaru replied.

“No, no, I don't care about that part,” Ichiryuu grumbled. “What I actually want to know is why exactly this room has an additional Seed now!”

There were actually three boys sitting squarely in front of the scowling Ichiryuu. Yukiya, Shigemaru—and Chihaya.

“Oh, that’s because of Kimichika! He was the one in charge of mentoring Chihaya, but he went and kicked him out of their room.”

He had been the cause of the entire incident, yet Chihaya ended up being completely ignored midway through. As Shigemaru was painfully aware they had just made matters worse for him, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore his plight.

“As long as we make it in time for the morning roll call, I've heard that the instructors don't care what we do outside of lessons. Sapling Ichiryuu, he truly has nowhere to go. Won't you let him remain here in the tenth room with us?”

“No freaking way. The room is already tiny as-is, and you're asking me for permission to make it worse?” The main interested party, Chihaya, kept up his glum silence in a corner of the room, unwilling to cooperate. Meanwhile, the obviously dissatisfied Ichiryuu was at his wit’s end, holding his head. “Don't you get it? Mind to remember that due to your size, Shigemaru, my own space is already reduced to only a quarter of the entire? I'm a Sapling, I'm not supposed to have so little space to sleep!”

“Don't be so stingy! You're our senior, right?”

“Then tell me, juniors, who exactly are the ones forcing their senior to go through such a humiliation?”

“We just have to take the partition screen away, don't we?” Yukiya said, a rather blatant attempt to poke fun at him.

“No fucking way,” Ichiryuu growled in response before, finally, covering his face with his hands. “Besides, this entire mess was because of Kimichika, right? I told you not to get involved with him! I knew it already, somehow, but I see you truly don't listen to what I say,” Ichiryuu lamented to himself.

“Is Kimichika unpopular even among the Saplings?” Shigemaru asked him.

“Huh? Ah, yes……” Ichiryuu responded bitterly. “There are rumors that he only passed last year's trial because some instructor with ties to the South is playing favorites with him. His personality is awful and he's as dumb as a brick, so nobody outside his circle of Southern people likes him. He’s somewhat strong though, I’ll give him that.”

“Stronger than you, Sapling Ichiryuu?”

“Cut it out! Anyway, he's someone who you would expect to get kicked out because of his personality alone.”

That kind of insolent behavior was a constant of his and he was always surrounded by his own Southern followers, according to Ichiryuu. Taking care of their own trays after dinner was a rule that applied to everyone, be it instructor or trainee. Kimichika’s disrespect for the rules was, ultimately, the actual source of the problem.

——Disregarding the Monastery's rules was a massive issue in itself, so the house he came from didn't even matter. At that moment, just as that thought crossed his mind, Shigemaru happened to remember something else—the real identity of the boy sitting right beside him, Yukiya.

“Actually, now that we’re talking about that—so you were an actual young master,” Shigemaru nonchalantly said to him.

“Wait a moment!” Yukiya, on the other hand, panicked all of a sudden. “I didn’t lie per se when I said I was from Taruhi. It's just—my birth mother is from the Northern House. That's all! So, you see……” Yukiya's voice started to fizzle out until it completely died off. He looked at Shigemaru with an upwards gaze. “Are you angry?”

From the looks of it, Yukiya was genuinely scared of his reaction.

“Why would I be?” Shigemaru, puzzled, asked back. “I said it before, remember? I have no intention to judge others over the circumstances of their birth. If I hated you simply because you're a noble, then I wouldn't be any different from Kimichika, would I?”

“Shige!” Yukiya exclaimed. The boy was oddly yet clearly moved by his words and, to Shigemaru, that made for quite the amusing reaction.

“Ah, but don't ask me to treat you with that kind of respect after all this time. It won't happen,” Shigemaru took his chance to tease him.

“Who would say an idiotic thing like that!?” Yukiya shouted. “I'm actually glad to hear that.”

“And I thought you would say so! So, business as usual for us.”

After spectating the entire conversation with plain concern in his eyes, Ichiryuu finally sighed in relief. With that problem solved, he instead turned his head slightly, glancing at Chihaya, who hadn't uttered a word ever since he had arrived.

“...... Well, if there's no alternative, fine. Listen, Chihaya, I don't mind if you spend the nights here, but you better not cause any further issues. No fights and, please, let's coexist in peace.” Otherwise, Ichiryuu’s utter failure as a mentor would catch even the instructors’ attention.

However, Chihaya's answer was as blunt as it was cold. “I refuse.”

At first, Ichiryuu wasn't able to grasp what Chihaya had just said.

“W-What?” His voice shook. He hadn’t said anything strange as the room's senior, it could even be said to have been the absolute bare minimum. Why would Chihaya refuse like that? He couldn’t figure it out.

“Chihaya?” Yukiya too called out to him.

In the meantime, Chihaya’s sharp eyes were fixed dangerously on Ichiryuu and Yukiya.

“You and the runt. You're nobles, right?”

“Even if you call us nobles… Yukiya aside, I'm just from the rural nobility,” a stunned Ichiryuu answered.

“Then you have horses.”

“Eh? Well, yes.”

A Township Lord's residence couldn't even begin to function without horses. It would greatly affect the officers’ work. Shigemaru had visited the Shimaki Lord’s residence once, and he remembered seeing some impressive stables there. He truly doubted Taruhi was in any way different. It was all simply a given, yet Chihaya's gaze got even colder once he heard that.

“I hate Court Ravens. We can't get along then.” He glared at them, all stunned into silence, before rushing to the exit and leaving the room altogether.

“Wait, Chihaya!” Yukiya tried to follow after him, but Shigemaru quickly stopped him.

Once he got him to stop, Shigemaru turned towards a shocked Ichiryuu and deeply bowed his head. “I'm sorry, senior, but could you wait for a bit?”

“Wait, why are you apologizing in the first place?”

“As a fellow Hill Raven, it’s not as if I can't understand how he feels. Would you leave this to me?”

Unlike Court Raven, Hill Raven was often used to talk about commoners in a derogatory way. Making a point out of using those words in specific was apparently enough for Ichiryuu to get the gist of the problem. There was clear tension on his face as he gave him a still dazed nod.

“——Fine, I'll leave it to you. Bring him back here immediately.”

“Thank you.” Shigemaru took his ornamented blade and flew out of the room.

It didn’t take him long to find Chihaya. He was right behind the building, sitting with his back against the wall. The light leaking from the inside dimly illuminated him, and there was a small bundle of belongings at his feet. Kimichika had thrown it at him when he kicked him out. It was all of Chihaya’s luggage, a shockingly small amount even for a commoner.

“..... Both Ichiryuu and Yukiya were at a loss.” Shigemaru called out to him as he made sure to keep his distance. Chihaya glanced at him for a second, before dropping his gaze back to the ground.

“I don't care.”

“Well, you should be a bit more humble if you plan to secure a place to sleep. Don't tell me you plan to pass the night out here?”

“That was the idea, yes.”

“Wait, wait—are you for real?”

Shigemaru had been fully intending to bring Chihaya back to the tenth room, yet he had never imagined Chihaya was truly planning to sleep outside otherwise. After thinking for a while, Shigemaru leaned on the wall by Chihaya’s side with enough space between them that it was impossible to reach the other even if they extended their arms.

“I doubt Yukiya and Ichiryuu have ever considered how much the Yatagarasu who end up as horses must truly hate it, you know,” Shigemaru mused as he looked up to the sky.

There was the waning moon, floating dimly over the dormitories’ lined up roofs. Soft moonlight shone over the persimmon trees, already covered in young green leaves, leaving shadows all over the ground. Shigemaru inhaled deeply—the air was different now than when they had first joined. One could feel the approaching summer in it.

“....... And, if you think about it, the most likely reason they can't imagine it at all is because they haven't ever mistreated one, right?”

He heard Chihaya quietly laugh at his side. “If that’s enough for them to ignore the problem, isn't that more cruel than actual mockery?”

“Maybe it is,” Shigemaru felt Chihaya relaxing beside him, so he intentionally employed a nonchalant tone as he spoke. “You know, during a famine long ago, my grandpa on my mother's side was left with no options to survive. He refused to sell my mom to the Red Light District, so he chose to become a horse for the local landlord. I wouldn’t have even been born if he hadn't made that sacrifice.”

Chihaya didn't say a word in answer, but he changed his pose. He was listening to what Shigemaru had to say. “He made the decision himself, so he turned into quite the well-behaved horse. It seems his owners were very gentle with him too, so much so that the entire family took personal care of him in his last moments. Is it cruel? Yes, maybe, but I'm glad my grandpa wasn't whipped or didn’t have to suffer unnecessarily at least. I would rather have it that way.”

“...... He protected his daughter.”

Chihaya was still very much a man of few words, but Shigemaru nevertheless understood what he meant—that he found his grandpa admirable.

“Thank you,” Shigemaru softly laughed. “If I had to make a guess, both Yukiya and Ichiryuu are ‘good owners’ as well and haven't ever had a family member become a horse. They're nice people, but I very much doubt there's any fixing that. There are things you can't truly understand until you experience them yourself.”

Chihaya didn’t speak at all, but he made a point out of his own lack of reaction.

“But, even if that’s the case, I think it would also be your loss to reject them altogether over that. Just as we cannot become Court Ravens because we want to, it’s not like they have ever experienced the life of a Hill Raven either,” Shigemaru stretched as he said that. “I’m fine if we don't understand each other perfectly. I don’t care for the kind of person who will force said understanding. You know, what actually matters to me is whether they comprehend that there's no reason to ridicule or look down on others over the world they live in.”

“So you’re saying I should remain silent to the Court Ravens’ abuse?” Chihaya spouted sarcastically.

“No way!” Shigemaru laughed. “Mock those small-minded enough to accept only their own worldviews all you want. But if you sneer at people just because they happen to be Court Ravens, you aren’t really any different from them.”

Finally, Chihaya sighed weakly, his eyes still fixed on his feet. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good, that should be enough.”

They stayed there for a long while. Shigemaru gazed at the night sky and Chihaya at the ground, his arms crossed inside his sleeves.

“...... People like family to me were falsely accused of stealing. They had their legs cut. The son of the landlord at the farm they worked at was the actual perpetrator,” Chihaya murmured.

“I see,” was Shigemaru’s only response. Chihaya probably meant the third leg that appeared in bird form, given the context.

——Someone close to Chihaya was falsely incriminated and Disarticulated.

While those who became horses by contract had their third leg bound with a special cord by their owners, and they couldn't transform back to human form without permission, there was no going back for those who had their leg cut, their other form forever out of reach.

For the first time since their conversation had started, Chihaya raised his head to look at Shigemaru.

“Don't—”

“Say anything, right? I won't, don't worry. I'll wait until you're ready to tell them yourself.”

“Will that day ever come?” 

While Chihaya seemed to have no such expectations, Shigemaru nodded with full confidence. “It will. At the very least, I believe so.”

Next: Akeru (Part 1)

—————————————

1: Sanpaku eyes or three whites eyes (三白目) refer to cases in which the sclera around the iris is also visible due to it being comparatively tiny.

2: The time measurement here is actually done in koku (刻). Historically, koku has meant many things, with a day being divided differently depending on time period and area. Probably the most well known form of koku has night and day divided in 6 koku each, for a total of 12 koku, each one named after one of the animals of the chinese zodiac. While, in practice, this meant the length of a koku changed depending on the time of the year and whether it was a night koku or a day koku, the overall average length would be that of two of our modern hours. As far as I know, this and koku-as-half-an-hour are the most well-known standards, but due to pure narrative logic I'm interpreting the koku in Yamauchi as 12-koku-a-day. Finishing dinner and cleaning in 15 minutes for so many people is unrealistic.

3: Once more, ancient forms of measurement are used here. In this case, it's the Ken (間). Unlike the Koku and its flexible nature, a Ken is precisely 1,818 meters.

4: Rokon is what we would call a 'dharma name' (戒名), which are either given to buddhist monks after taking their vows or, within japanese culture at least, given to the dead posthumously. The first category is the one that applies here. This is also the case for other characters who have taken vows like, for example, Natsuka. The men aside, Masuho no Susuki most likely got a dharma name as well once she became a nun, but as she uses her alias or karina (仮名) we never get to learn about it. As one would expect of a setting based on the Heian era, when one could say Zen Buddhism was most influential, a lot of details are affected by it.

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 7

y’all I am SO SORRY this is so late. I’ve been caught up with end-of-year stuff at work and planning for next year. but I’m posting the last two chapters now🙃

I’m not sure how active I’ll be moving forward lol, 2025 is shaping up to be a pretty big year for me, professionally speaking, and that either means I’ll have more free time or less. Idk. But thank you for supporting my writing!!! You guys make me happy🩵🩵🩵

table of contents

found god at your ex’s house

To be entirely honest, the longest and only conversation you’ve ever had with goddamn Keeley Jones was at the Prada show right before you found out about Bean’s existence. 

You’d prefer to keep it that way but fucking Madeline is friends with her so now you’re headed to a stupid, awful, horrible girls’ night at her house and you’d rather fucking die.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But your experiences concerning Keeley have been unpleasant at best. 

She first caught your notice in a tabloid on a yacht with Jamie and a screaming headline to match your screaming mind. It was two weeks after Jamie came over for the last time and apparently not enough time to get over him.

You’d gone straight to Madeline’s to scream into a pillow.

Then she was in your instagram, and when you had blocked her she appeared in fan edits and fucking WAG accounts. Then she was at the Prada show and in magazines and on the telly. It felt like no matter how much you tried to shut her out, Keeley fucking Jones remained as a painful reminder.

It wasn’t her fault per se, but you hated the role she played in Jamie’s deterioration. 

And now Madeline is fucking friends with her.

“What the actual hell, Madeline,” you groan. “Keeley fucking Jones? Are you serious? She’s the fucking worst. AND she’s not to be trusted! The girl hardly has two braincells to rub together.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “I understand that you hate her. But she’s kind and sweet and actually a bit brilliant. I’m not going to tell her about you or Bean, but she’s not some vile, boyfriend-stealing bitch.”

“I’m not saying that,” you reply as you try to get Clare to burp. “I’m just saying that the girl could stand to grow up a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She has. I think you’d like her.”

“Fuck off,” you scoff right as Clare burps. “See? Clare agrees.”

Madeline shrugs. “Clare is three months old. She doesn’t get a vote.”

You wrinkle your nose and say, “You mean unless she agrees with you, right?” and Madeline smiles her most angelic smile. 

“All I’m saying is you’re more than welcome to come with me tonight.”

“I’d rather die,” you inform her.

—

Jamie has the day off. They won against Aston Villa on Sunday so he’s supposed to be resting, but he’s never been very good at that.

So he does what any self-respecting person would do and goes to his ex’s house.

He forgets Roy fucking Kent is going to be there until the man himself has opened the door but Jamie musters up some arrogance and breezes right by him. Keeley knows he’s coming anyway, so he’s not going to be harassed by some grumpy old twat.

Roy must be sick or something because he doesn’t say anything. If Jamie weren’t so consumed with his own worries he might actually be concerned.

But he’s not so he sits on Keeley’s couch like he belongs there and lets her hand him a cup of tea before she sits down next to him.

Roy isn’t far off, pretending to read a book but Jamie is abso-fucking-lutely positive he hasn’t turned a single page yet.

But absolutely FUCK it because he needs Keeley’s professional, girl opinion.

“I’ve got a kid,” he says, and both Keeley and Roy do absolutely horrible jobs at pretending they’re shocked.

“Fuck off, how the fuck did you know?” he protests. “Was it Ted?”

Roy and Keeley exchange a Look and it just makes Jamie madder.

“Technically it was Coach Beard,” Keeley says in a mousy voice. “We figured you’d tell us when you were ready, Jamie.”

That’s just confusing. “How the fuck did Beard know?” he asks.

“Kid looks just fucking like you,” Roy says and that makes Jamie mad too because when the fuck did Roy see Clare?

“I saw them on the green when I was with Phoebe,” Roy clarifies and Jamie takes a minute to file that away as Roy Kent’s first-ever non-swearing sentence.

He says, “fucking hell,” because really, fucking hell. He went from not knowing he had a baby to knowing to apparently the whole Richmond coaching staff knowing (and apparently meeting) her.

Keeley asks, “Is that why you’re here, babes?” and her gentle voice actually makes him want to fucking cry so he just nods and puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t know shit about being a dad,” he says, voice muffled, and Roy slams his book shut because apparently he has shit to say.

“Fuck off, Tartt,” he says. “Stop being a little bitch.”

Keeley exclaims, “Roy!” but she’s also curious about what he has to say because she doesn’t do anything else to stop him.

“I fucking mean it,” he continues. “You fucking come here expecting to fucking cry on the couch and be told you’re fucking shit at something and throw a fucking pity party, so fuck off. You might be a shit father, you don’t fucking know, but that girl doesn’t fucking think so and if I were her, I’d hate your fucking guts. So untwist your fucking pants and stop being a fucking whiny little bitch. Go fucking be a dad and if you’re shit, you’re shit. But stop looking for fucking sympathy for something you’ve made up in your stupid fucking twat brain.”

With that he pushes himself out of his chair, swears at his knee, and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to remain silent for the next year since he’s met his word quota.

Jamie looks at Keeley as if to say, Are you hearing this prick? but Keeley just lifts a shoulder and says, “He’s right, babe. You’ve got to actually go do something about it.”

So Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and recounts everything his mum told him over the phone for some extra review.

—

Clare is easy, as far as babies go, but for some reason tonight she’s decided to be an absolute terror. She won’t eat, won’t go to sleep, won’t calm down. She just cries and cries and no matter how many times you check her temperature or her diaper, she cannot get it back together.

It doesn’t help that you’re tired, either. Like, newborn-level tired. And hungry, too. You’d order in but Clare hasn’t even allowed that so you open the fridge as best you can while bouncing Clare up and down. All you can see is a jar of gherkins, a can of soda, and some lemons. 

And a fucking banana which must be Madeline’s because you’d rather die of starvation than eat that shit.

Fucking hell.

I am not going to cry you tell yourself sternly, except that doesn’t do anything except allow tears to well up faster than if you’d just let it alone.

You can’t call Madeline because she’s at Keeley’s and you’ll be damned if you interrupt her girls’ night. Madeline didn’t sign up to be tied down and she deserves a non-parent friend, so she’s not an option.

For a split second, you debate calling Jamie. But that’s a level of desperation you haven’t quite reached. You close the fridge and are saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door.

Clare wails like she’s being murdered, so you hope it isn’t the police but it isn’t, it’s just Jamie with a bag of groceries. He’s in the house setting up in the kitchen before your brain catches up with your eyes and Clare just cries the whole time. 

You know exactly what he’s making before he’s even pulled out half the ingredients. It’s chicken pesto risotto, the dish you always begged him to make whenever he had a moment of free time. Jamie can cook maybe four things in total, but damn he can cook them well. He slices some bread, puts it on a plate with some butter and hands it to you, swapping the plate for Clare so easily that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s been doing it his whole life. She stops crying the moment she’s in his arms and honestly, you’re too tired to worry about it. You crash on the couch and fall asleep after two bites.

It’s dark out when you wake up, but the lights are on in the house and it’s warm. Someone’s gently caressing the top of your head and saying your name, so you open your eyes to Jamie standing over you.

He’s looking at you with a soft expression, and your heart aches. It all feels too painfully normal.

He says, “Food’s ready,” and holds out a hand for you to grab.

You hesitate for the barest fraction of a moment before taking it. “Little Bean’s asleep in her bed,” he continues. “You hungry? Figured we could eat then you can go back to sleep.”

You nod. “Smells good, J. Are you planning on spending the night, then?”

Jamie shrugs. “I thought- I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sits next to you at the table. The food’s been set out, and it’s still warm. It’s also the first meal you haven’t been responsible for in a good long while.

“So you’re just here now,” you say. “You’re the kind of person who shows up, cooks dinner, puts the baby to bed and watches telly in the evenings? You could barely handle a relationship, and now you want a fucking family? You can leave me all you want, but I swear to God, Jamie, I will murder you if you hurt Clare.”

It’s frustrating because it feels like you’re at an impasse. Jamie can come back once he’s shown he’s changed, but he can’t really show he’s changed if he can’t fucking come back, can he?

It doesn’t matter that he probably has changed and you know deep down that even he isn’t a big enough dick to abandon his daughter.

Jamie says, “I am. I mean, I won’t. I mean, fucking hell, you don’t have to fucking murder me, yeah? Just give me a chance, like.”

You snort. “Do you even know how to change a diaper?”

Jamie says, “Googled it, didn’t I?” and that makes you genuinely laugh. Of course he did. But you laugh too loud and it wakes up Clare, who lets you know she’s irritated with a shriek. You knock your head lightly against the table and whisper, “Fuck,” before putting down your fork. You push your chair out and Jamie stands, lightning-fast.

“I got it,” he tells you, and you raise an eyebrow.

You reply, “Okay,” because if he’s going to act like a father, he’s going to have to put in the work. And you’re hungry and this is your favorite meal. Besides, what’s the worst that’s going to happen?

So Jamie goes to Clare’s room where she’s sobbing like there’s no tomorrow and you continue to eat while straining your ears to make sure Jamie isn’t panicking.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for the fact that the worst thing that could happen is Jamie comes back out after ten minutes with a sleeping Clare on his chest and he looks so fucking hot that you want to jump his bones then and there. 

Jamie is thankfully oblivious. He sits back down and pats Clare on the back so she doesn’t wake up again.

“How’s the food?” he whispers. “Haven’t cooked in fuckin’ ages.”

“Good,” you whisper back and then you lapse into silence. 

 “I can stay the night, if you want,” Jamie offers after a bit, and you glare.

“Not like that,” he hastily amends, “I mean if you want to sleep. I can feed Clare and whatever.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Jamie. What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t fucking come back here and play house when you want, and I get it, your dad’s a piece of shit and you don’t want to be like him. But you’re in the fucking Prem, Jamie.”

(“Got relegated,”) he mouths, but you just keep talking. “Fine. You’re in the Championship but everyone knows you at least are making it back to the Premier League and someday you’ll be with a team in the Champion’s League and that’s a lot of travel. It’s a lot of nights alone, and you’re not exactly the kind of person who likes sleeping alone.

Jamie looks offended at that, but it’s true. He’s twenty-six and in his prime.

This whole thing is just one giant circle with no solution. 

“Oi,” he says, and he’s got his serious expression on. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Not even because of Clare, but she’s mint. I was coming to find you the other night because I wanted to fix things. I told you that. I meant it, I want to get back together. I know I’m hard to love sometimes but swear down, I want to make it work. Keeley’s on me about commitment and shit and I dunno, it sounds nice. I’m fucking tired of fucking around. That shit’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, because a baby and a girlfriend isn’t fucking exhausting as well.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose. “Fucking Garnacho’s having a kid. If that little shit can handle it, I can too.”

You concede. He has a point. “Fine. You can spend the night. I’m going to shower and then pass out, which means you’ve got the dishes and Clare. You can sleep in the guest room, yeah? I’ll set up the baby monitor.”

Jamie smiles, and before you can really think it through, you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly before heading upstairs. You’re going to get an earful from Madeline later, but for now you’re going to get good sleep for the first night in a long while.

next chapter

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[restenergy]

people still liking my post about how i theorized asa would save the day against the falling devil even though i was totally wrong and she got reduced to a damsel in distress lol

[bigcryptiddies]

Sometimes people will criticize a piece of media for things about it they don’t like and some bozo-on-the-internet’s advice will be “well if you expanded your horizons and interacted with media that fundamentally Does Not Interest you…”

[alxclaremont]

had to witness oscar do promo for the t*xas l*nghorns, my school lost TERRIBLY in football for the second weekend in a row, and mclaren was fucking stupid as usual. horrible terrible bad weekend to be a sports fan