#not that people only support players they think are pretty

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

curious about your take on riddle's dream. i have seen people en masse claim that riddle yearns to a deliquent/"if he wasn't traumatized, he would be in a pop music club" and... it feels like such a literal interpretation (although there are some who are obv just joking) to the point of misinterpretation? i'm not very invested in riddle's story arc, but to me it read like a pretty clear "what if i was the worst version of myself (which riddle has been raised to see as being disobedient) and i was still loveable".

[You can read my thoughts on the book 7 chapter 12 part 3 update here!]

I think there’s a lot of different ways to interpret the dreams because of how… vaguely they’re written + their length + every player coming into the dreams with their own experiences which inform their POVs. For this reason, I don’t feel comfortable outright stating X or Y interpretation is “wrong”, and nor do I wish to be used as a means to validating one interpretation over the others. All I’m going to do this ask is explain how I personally interpreted Riddle’s dream. That’s all.

I don’t think Riddle wants to be a delinquent; this would be conflating a child’s desires to that of a delinquent. Yes, Riddle was detained be a police officer—but not for any violence or serious criminal actions. He was detained for singing in front of the police station (without a license) and causing a public disturbance (because of his amplifiers). Furthermore, Riddle doesn’t engage in any other criminal behaviors (unless you count not going to school, but a minor isn’t usually held liable for that; the onus is on his parents for not sending him). I think it would be more accurate to say that Riddle’s wishes are very child-like ones. He wants to be able to play with his friends all day, he ignores studying and obeying rules, he can eat tarts and drink sugary tea whenever he wants, he has doting parents that are always emotionally there for him, etc. These are not marks of delinquency, they are the innocent longings of an inner child that never got to be recognized.

While I don’t think it’s a guarantee that Riddle would be in Pop/Light Music Club had he had a more lenient mother, I do think that Riddle would want to explore creative outlets. He is noted as having a very strong imagination, but is limited in his life experiences and struggles to think for himself or to act outside of the concrete, as is defined by rules and laws. If these restraints were loosened up and he had actually been allowed and encouraged to explore other avenues, he might have found an interest in the arts and expressing himself through that. It could be a visual medium, a written medium, a musical medium, whatever.

I think music is what we jump to right away because he has a band in the dream, but I could easily see him dabbling in other areas too. Maybe music was chosen because it’s a group activity, and Riddle longs to be that setting. A happy family, a boy with lots of friends, you name it. You could also argue that Riddle went with music because that’s what he knew from his dorm members. Adeuce are in athletic clubs, which Riddle is sort of rubbish at, and Trey is in Science Club, which of course covers topics Riddle would already be studying irl. Cater’s club is the only one with a significant degree of creativity allowed. Riddle might have based his hobby in the dream off of Cater’s experiences. One telltale detail that supports this theory is that Riddle mentions people keep leaving because the band can’t stick to one genre, which is also true of Cater’s irl Pop/Light Music Club. Another thing to consider is that Riddle is able to conjure the look of delicious cakes and cookies but not replicate the taste because he’s not familiar with it. You could say this is also true of his being in a band. He looks the part, but we never hear him participating in it—perhaps because Riddle could have seen Cater rushing to a club meeting in his outfit, but not have actually heard him play. Therefore, it’s possible that Riddle’s dream is just pulling from his shallow understanding of what “being in a band” is about… the camaraderie of it. This, again, loops us back to Cater’s relationship with his fellow club members. It’s less about the actual playing and more about the vibes and hanging out with one another. Maybe Riddle heard stories from Cater about this and got curious? This same logic applies to other aspects of his dream. He seems to emulate what he has heard from his dorm members in general. Loving parents who are there for him (like Trey), the bout of delinquency (like Deuce), the ability to speak his mind (like Ace). Riddle is wanting to be more like his peers, who were able to have “normal” experiences. To me, it feels like he used his dorm members as templates (which he combined with his own desire to have a fulfilling childhood) because Riddle himself doesn’t have a clear concept of what it means to live freely. After all, he only has like 1-2 months of playing with Trey and Chenya to go off of compared to a few years with his Heartslabyul classmates.

As I said earlier in this post, I don’t think the Riddle we see in the first layer of his dream is meant to be “the worst version of himself” or “Riddle but disobedient”; it reads as more of Riddle indulging in everything he missed out on in his childhood. Sweets, parental love, playing all day with friends, loudly and openly expressing himself through music, exploring creative ventures, making happy memories… I don’t believe these are bad things or borne out of Riddle wanting to be rebellious or disobedient, they’re just consequences of acting like a kid.

I do find it interesting that so many aspects of himself were entirely written over. However, I don’t see it as Riddle thinking he has to be a different person (as in, having a different personality?) in order to be worthy of love. Riddle was definitely still able to make friends as a child even with the quiet personality he had then. It was possible. Nothing in his backstory makes me think Riddle believes he wasn’t deserving of love—but he may think that love has to be earned, that love is conditional. And what is that condition? Following the rules, obeying, performing well in exams. That’s what he was taught would earn him success and his mother’s love and that’s what he enforced in early book 1. I think… Riddle definitely wants to be someone else, but in the sense that he wants to be born into different circumstances. Parents that get along, a dad that has time for him, a mom that dotes on him, no magic, no expectations to shoulder, lax rules, etc. This ties in with Riddle wanting to live the childhood he feels he never had. A childhood where he had no friends, where he studied all the time, where his mother calorie counted for him, where he was not allowed to play video games or watch movies, where he was not allowed to choose his own clothes or career or anything. Several of these sentiments were expressed post-OB.

Now that being said, everything I just discussed covers only the first layer of Riddle’s dream. I see the idea of Riddle thinking he has to be someone else coming through a little stronger in the second layer of his dream. That’s the part where everyone is being chased through the destroyed rose maze. Here, we see a much more extreme and even more domineering Riddle than what we saw in book 1. He lords over his students such that even his versions of Ace and Deuce have fallen into line and mindlessly follow his commands. The mob students are scared of him—and though Riddle is aware of it, he is content. They salute him and praise him for his iron fist. He is the most correct, after all. He is ruling just as his mother would, he is being the person his mother wants him to be.

This is expanded upon further in the third layer of his dream, in which he faces his inner darkness. Riddle confronts the truth: that he is desperate to cling onto the dorm leader seat, because that’s all he has going for him. He has driven away his classmates, who fear him and resent him. There’s his mother, but she has not granted him the affection he craves, and her approval is conditional. He is alone and unloved. This potentially recontexualizes details seen in earlier layers. Why is Riddle in a band? Maybe because he wants to be like Cater, who seems easygoing and approachable. Why does Riddle live many other aspects of his dorm members’ lives? Why do the characters conjured by Riddle’s darkness to fully believe that Cater wants to transfer to Scarabia—a dorm known for having a friendly and relaxed leader? It could suggest an insecurity in Riddle, a worry that he, as he is, is not enough. Not smart enough for his mother’s approval, not kind or cheery or normal enough to make friends. So all he has is his crown, which he reverently claims to. It’s one of the few things he has to call his own, a decision he made for himself and something he earned through his own merit.

But ultimately, I see Riddle’s truest desire as… being his own person, having his own independence and things he chose for himself. Not letting himself be ruled by the shadow of his mother. (His Phantom fittingly seems to dangle him on strings, as if Riddle is its puppet or marionette.) It doesn’t mean complete chaos or anarchy, and it doesn’t mean being like other people. It means defining his own rules for how he should live. Walking forward on his own path. Making his own identity, not tied down to that of his mother. Riddle is so used to being to do what to do or how to be—by his mom, by some arbitrary set of rules. The fact that he confesses to the things he actually wants after his OB… that he wants to stand up to his mother over winter break… that he confronts the dream version of his mom with the declaration that he will open this door with his own hand, that he will walk forward on his own path… I think that says a lot.

…. Weeeeell, like I said at the start, that’s one interpretation 🤷‍♀️ It’s not necessarily “correct”, and it’s liable to change (especially since all of this information is still very fresh; I’m still taking the time to digest it myself). The wibbly wobbly dream magic is open enough to invite all kinds of interpretations, so I encourage you to take this all with a grain of salt and to come to your own conclusions?

I think it’s interesting that it’s Riddle’s dream that has resulted in many different interpretations, especially on the English speaking side? I wonder if that’s because the average EN player skews younger, so those fans can relate a lot with the struggle for identity and finding freedom from one’s parents, even if their circumstances aren’t exactly the same as Riddle’s. We project our own experiences and feelings onto Riddle, which informs our interpretation of his dream.

[lucy90712]

CAN U DO A JELOUS KENAN

I smoothed down my dress in the mirror and double check to make sure there was no lipstick on my teeth. I've already checked about a million times but I have to look perfect, tonight I'm going to an award ceremony with Kenan for the first time which is a big deal. We've been together for two years now but we prefer to not be always be seen together in public so our relationship stays pretty private but tonight that changes. Kenan invited me as soon as he found out he was nominated for the golden boy web award but told me I didn't have to go if I didn't want to but I agreed straight away. We may like to have privacy in our relationship but that doesn't mean I don't want to go and support him no matter how much I know I'll hate it and how much anxiety it causes me I will be there. 

"You look beautiful love" Kenan said walking in from the bathroom where he was doing his hair 

"Thank you you look very handsome too" I said 

"No one will be looking at me when you look so amazing in that dress" Kenan half joked 

"You're the one who's nominated I'd hope someone looked at you" I said 

"Well I'll definitely be looking at only you" he flirted 

"Stop being such a flirt" I said 

"No can do not when my girlfriend always looks so hot" he smiled 

All I could do was shake my head but he still wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed behind my ear. He kept kissing me all over my face anywhere but my lips as I wouldn't let him ruin my lipstick that I spent so long perfecting. Eventually we had to stop as our car was downstairs ready to take us to the venue. Kenan held my hand as we walked out the hotel to we were staying in despite the ceremony being in Turin to the car. The driver went to open the door for us but Kenan stopped him and opened the door for me instead. The whole drive he kept me distracted as I think he could tell that the nerves were really starting to kick in even if I tried not to show it. As soon as we arrived Kenan helped me out of the car and stood in front of me so I could sort my dress out before we were in front of people and cameras.

We walked down the red carpet together and straight away there was cameras flashing blinding me but I had Kenan guiding me to stop me walking into someone or something. We were made to stop and pose properly for pictures which really made me feel uncomfortable as I've never been great in front of a camera but luckily I'm not really the one they are looking at which makes it a little better. Soon they wanted interviews from Kenan which I took as my chance to get out of the spotlight and inside the venue where hopefully there will be less eyes on me. 

Just as I got settled in my seat out of the corner of my eye I saw someone walking towards me but I knew it wasn't Kenan. I was right it was some random guy who I didn't know and honestly don't care to know but I think I'm going to have to talk to anyway. 

"Hi I'm Tom" the guy introduced himself 

"Hey I'm y/n" I replied trying to be polite 

"It's a lovely venue right" he said making small talk 

"Yeah lovely" I said awkwardly 

"I'll leave you be but I'll catch you later" he said 

Once the guy has left Kenan came and sat next to me but he said nothing so he must not have seen me have the most awkward interaction of my life. The ceremony started not long after and I forgot about Tom as I watched all the awards be presented. Then it got to the award that Kenan was nominated for and instinctively I grabbed hold of his hand to calm his nerves or mine I'm not really sure which. Then they announced Kenan's name as the winner and to say I was shocked was an understatement. I wanted Kenan to win and I believed in him don't get me wrong but there was so many amazing players nominated I wasn't sure that Kenan would win. Watching him walk up there to accept the award made me so proud to be his girlfriend and have been here to watch him as he's grown as a player. There are so many amazing young players around at the moment that sometimes I feel like Kenan doesn't get enough recognition but now hopefully he'll get the recognition he deserves. 

His little speech made me a little emotional but I held it together until he came back to his seat and I had to give him a quick kiss to stop myself from letting a few tears escape my eyes. As the rest of the ceremony went on Kenan showed me his award which was so cool it's going to look great on his shelf with the other trophies he's won. I don't think I paid much attention to the rest of the ceremony as I was just thinking about how proud I am of Kenan. 

After the ceremony there was an after party organised for everyone who attended which originally we hadn't planned to go to but I told Kenan we had to go seeing as he won it would be rude not to. What I didn't anticipate was that everyone would want to speak to Kenan so he was very quickly taken away from me as he was moved around groups of people wanting to congratulate him. It didn't really bother me I found somewhere to sit on my own and no one really noticed me which was fine by me as I prefer to not talk to loads of new people all at once. At some point I got a drink given to me but I didn't touch it as I have classes in the morning so I don't want to be hungover at all. Just when I thought I could relax until Kenan was released back to me the guy from earlier decided to sit next to me. He had clearly been drinking so I moved away from him slightly feeling a bit uncomfortable by his presence. 

"Hey pretty girl I'm glad to see you're still here" he said leaning towards me again 

"Aren't you going to talk to me?" He asked when I didn't respond 

"I just want to get to know you tell me about yourself" he added 

"There's not much to say" I replied wanting to end the conversation 

"I can't believe a beautiful girl like you at an event like this doesn't have much going on in her life" he said 

"Well it's true I'm just a student I'm here with my boyfriend" I said 

"I don't see a boyfriend" he teased 

"Well he's here he's just talking to some people" I said 

"Leaving me free to talk to you" he said 

He continued to try and flirt with me while I didn't respond which only seemed to make things worse as his arm then slid round my waist so he could try and get my attention. 

Kenan's POV

Going to this after party was an awful idea from the second we entered the door I've had people pull me into different conversations meaning I've left y/n on her own the whole time. I've tried to escape a few times but every time someone else wants to talk to me so instead I've just been checking on y/n from a distance. For most of the night she's been sat at a table by herself with a drink she hasn't touched until some guy went and sat next to her. From what I could tell she didn't really want to talk to him so she moved away but then my view was blocked so I just had to trust that she'd be able to stand up for herself. 

After what felt like forever the people blocking my view got out the way allowing me to see that the guy was still sat next to y/n. She looked just as disinterested as before but she was talking to him so I just made sure to keep watching out for her. Then he leaned in closer which immediately made me mad but I let it slide until his hand went round her waist. That was too much for me no one gets to put their hand on my girlfriend especially not under my watch. There's nothing I hate more than watching people flirt with my girlfriend which happens far more than it should but I never like to show how much it annoys me as I don't want y/n to think I'm jealous as I don't trust her. I can keep my mouth shut watching a waiter or classmate flirt with y/n but having another guy hold her waist is beyond where I draw the line I don't care if I look jealous or crazy I can't just watch this happen. I excused myself from the conversation I was involved in and made a beeline straight for y/n. 

I tried to look calm as I slid in next to her and took the guys hand off her waist so I could replace it with mine. Y/n looked at me with pure relief in her eyes which told me I'd made the right decision to come over. The guy looked at me like he was about to say something until he seemed to realise who I was and he shut his mouth. He still looked mad that I'd taken the girl he was flirting with but I don't care one bit he can hate me if I want I'm not letting him try and steal my girlfriend. 

"Dude don't try and steal her I was here first" the guy slurred clearly drunk 

"I think you should leave my girlfriend alone" I said as calmly as I could manage 

"She's not your girlfriend she didn't mention you" he said 

"I told you I had a boyfriend" y/n said 

"She told you she had a boyfriend and you still tried to get with her dude just leave us alone or I'll ask security to kick you out" I said getting mad 

The guy rolled his eyes but he got up and walked away anyway. He looked back a few times so I took the liberty of kissing y/n while he was watching and right in front of everyone else so that no one else tries anything. I thought she'd be a bit embarrassed kissing me in public as she's not one for pda but she happily kissed me back. When we pulled away she had a smile on her face but I could see in her eyes that she was thinking about something. 

“What’s on your mind?” I asked 

“Its just I liked seeing you jealous I appreciate that you don’t get jealous over little things but it’s nice watching you get all protective over me” she admitted suddenly getting a bit shy 

“I will always be protective of you I’m never going to let another guy touch you like that but I wasn’t jealous” I said 

“You were jealous I can tell by the look in your eyes it’s the same look you have when waiters flirt with me but it’s ok I’ll always be yours you’ve got nothing to worry about” she said 

“Good because I’m never letting you go” I said 

We’d both had enough of the after party by this point so we just left without saying goodbye to anyone and went back to our hotel so I can show her how much I love her and why I’m better than any other guy. 

[rolandkaros]

one day we will talk about how tennis fans talk about/treat players they find attractive versus players they dont…………

[justaboutsnapped]

Why you shouldn’t support the upcoming game Black Myth: Wukong

Simply put, the creators behind Black Myth: Wukong are raging misogynists.

Founders and creatives of the studio have:

Joked about former female employees hypothetically doing prostitution

Used suggestive/objectifying/derogatory imagery & phrasing in their hiring flyers (under the cut), e.g. “In addition to hookup buddies, we promise to provide more thoughtful services” , “fatties fuck off”, etc.

Written entire think pieces on how video games don’t need female players or developers, how women are biologically inclined towards “softer” modes of gaming than men (there’s also a bit of homophobia mixed in through language such as “fuck sissies”), how some things should just be made for men, etc. “Fuck sissies, fuck tragic love stories, fuck moon-lit peach blossoms and flute-playing scholars! You don't need the reverse motivation of female players, you don't need to take care of those worms who just want to date chicks. Some things are just for men, their depression, their anger, their pain...”

Made numerous sexually explicit (& honestly incel-like) comments including ones about a female character in Black Myth: Wukong, e.g. “once you get used to this [character design] you can jerk off to it”, etc.

Boasted about how they’re losing followers, who must be women

To no one’s surprise, when people criticise the studio online, they’re met with vitriol about how they’re hypersensitive feminists, too politically correct, etc.

Chinese women have been YELLING non-stop on social media about how bad it is so it’s pretty depressing to see that a lot of non-Chinese gamers, even after reading an IGN article covering the situation, are apathetic. I get that a lot of people are excited about the novelty of a soulslike game based on Chinese mythology, but do you really want to support a studio that actively contributes towards and benefits from misogynistic gaming culture?

Talking about separating the artist from their art is bullshit if you're financially supporting them. Boycott! Pirate!

Here are some sources if you want to see detailed translations, learn more about the situation as well as the misogynistic gaming culture at large China:

[charmedimsure]

uuuhhhhhm can i pretty pretty please with cherries on top request a Dae-ho x reader where the reader was also in the military? but its like that ep. where they revolutionized? if that makes sense? idk i think it be cool if reader eas good eith a gun

anyways HAVE A LOVELY DAY/ NIGHT love reading your stuff (i binge read it :p)

WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT || kang dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x gn!reader

summary: As a former soldier, you know just what to do when all hell breaks loose.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: guns, death, blood, squid game stuff, panic attacks, ptsd

A/N: i've played so many shooting games i feel like i've been training to write this fic my entire life. i even named it after a shield from my favorite game (brownie points if you know which game). if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3 tried to make this gender neutral but if you find any slip ups lmk so i can fix it

**this can be read as romantic or platonic**

You look at the woman standing between bunks with wide eyes. You weren't sure earlier when you saw her on the screen, but seeing her standing ten feet away from you, you're absolutely positive that you know who this is.

"Sergeant?"

Cho Hyun-ju turns and gasps when she sees you, a smile lighting up her face. She quickly embraces you, you happily hugging her back. You were always her favorite soldier (she never admitted it, being the sergeant of the Brigade, but you both knew she liked you best). You were one of the only people who supported her when she came out. You tried to fight against her discharge but, as a low-ranking soldier, you had no say in the matter.

"I knew it had to be you!" you say, pulling back with a smile. "When I saw someone go back into the playing field to help a guy with only ten seconds left, I just knew it was my sergeant!"

"It's good to see you," she says. "Though, I wish it was under better circumstances."

You nod solemnly. You had just watched at least a hundred people die while screaming and begging for their lives. As a former soldier, it was hard that you couldn't do anything to help the civilians. All you could do was stand there and listen to the screams and gunshots, and then the silence.

"How are you here? Are you not part of the Brigade anymore?" Hyun-ju asks.

You shake your head. "No, I actually left not long after you were discharged. It wasn't the same without you, and I just couldn't be civil with the others after how they treated you."

She nods, understanding. "Well, if I'm going to be here with anyone, I'm glad it's you. I trust you with my life, soldier."

You smile. "And I you, Sergeant."

<>

You and Hyun-ju had made it through the next two games together, along with some allies you made along the way. Together with Young-mi, Yong-sik, and Geum-ja, you had been the first team to succeed in the six-legged pentathlon.

You had also made it though Mingle with some new allies, though not all of your old allies made it. Young-mi's death was hard on your whole group, but Hyun-ju had been taking it the worst. While you had grown closer with Yong-sik and Geum-ja, she had formed a special bond with the young girl and had to watch her die right in front of her.

While you would like to take the time to mourn Young-mi, a lot has happened in the few hours since the third game ended. The vote on whether to go home or stay ended in a 50-50 tie, meaning you're going to have to redo the vote tomorrow. Then, a huge fight apparently broke out in the men's bathroom, leaving five players dead.

Both sides group together to count their numbers, and you find that there's now one more X than O. While the players around you celebrate, a feeling of dread shoots through you.

"Attention please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime."

Shit.

Player 047 stands in front of the group. "Listen, you cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow, alright?"

As the other players around you nod and move to their beds, you stay sitting, watching the O players. They're already looking at your group. Watching. Waiting. You look at Gi-hun, the previous winner, and know that he's thinking the same thing you are.

<>

"Those bastards are acting suspicious," Dae-ho says, returning to the small circle you formed on the ground. "It looks like they're up to something."

Jung-bae breathes out a laugh. "Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it'll all be over."

"You think we'll be okay?" Dae-ho asks, concerned. "They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier."

"We need to be ready," you say from your place between Dae-ho and Gyeong-seok. "They've been watching us since the moment they found out the prize money goes up if we kill each other."

The group around you tenses before Gi-hun speaks up as well. "Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us."

"Really?" Yong-sik asks from beside his mother.

Gi-hun nods. "Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize."

"So what do we do?" Yong-sik asks.

"Let's attack them first," Young-il suggests. "They're probably thinking we'll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We'll attack them first once the lights go out."

"That's right," Player 047 says. "It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked we'll be at a disadvantage." You send him a glare that makes him freeze for a moment before continuing. "Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning."

"I agree," Player 145 adds.

"We can't do that," Gi-hun says.

"But we have to get out of here," Young-il argues. "You said it yourself. Staying calm won't get us anywhere now."

"That doesn't mean we should kill each other," Gi-hun says. "That's exactly what they want us to do."

Jung-bae leans forward. "'They'?"

Gi-hun looks at him. "The ones who created this game." He turns to face the rest of the circle. "The ones who watch us play. If we're going to fight someone, it should be them."

It's silent before Dae-ho speaks up. "Where are they?"

Gi-hun looks to the ceiling. "Up there."

You all follow his gaze before looking around at each other.

"On the upper levels," Gi-hun says, "are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we'll be able to win."

"How are you going to fight them?" Young-il asks. "They have guns."

"We'll fight them with guns, too," Gi-hun says.

"But we don't have any," Jung-bae says.

Gi-hun turns to him. "We'll take their guns."

You and Hyun-ju look at each other. This is what you were trained for.

"From those masked men?" Gyeong-seok asks nervously.

Gi-hun nods.

"That's too dangerous," Young-il says. "Even if we manage to take a few guns, we'll still be outnumbered."

"What then?" Gi-hun argues. "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, Young-il?"

Hyun-ju breaks the silence. "Do we... stand a chance?"

"We do if we catch them off guard," Gi-hun says. "Out of everyone, they're the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all."

"How are you going to take their guns?" Young-il asks.

"Once the fight begins tonight, we'll have our chance."

<>

"Lights out in ten seconds."

"Ten,

nine,

eight,

seven,

six,

five,

four,

three,

two,

one."

The lights dim, then turn off completely, leaving only the red and blue lights from the floor.

You roll out of bed, getting under the frame. You feel someone else trying to get under your bed, and you move a bit to make room for Dae-ho. Just as you get in position, you see bodies creeping towards your side of the room, illuminated by the bright blue O on the floor.

There's a scream, and all hell breaks loose.

The lights strobe as you hear the sounds of screaming and bottles being smashed coming from all around you. Somewhere to your right, a bunk is toppled over, sending someone to the ground. Another player runs up to them, stabbing their fork into their neck.

You feel the ex-Marine next to you tense up and put a hand over his, trying to bring him some comfort, or at the very least trying to keep him from blowing your cover.

You hear the buzzer of the door and the lights come on. One of the soldiers fires into the air to stop the fighting as about twenty masked guards come into the room, all armed.

You quickly army crawl out from under the bed, Dae-ho following you as you lay down on the ground.

You hear footsteps getting closer to you, and your ear is moved as a device scans behind it.

You open your eyes, grabbing the soldier so they can't move. "Dae-ho! Now!"

The ex-Marine smashes a bottle over the head of the guard, knocking him unconscious. You take the opportunity to grab the submachine gun off of the soldier, shooting another soldier coming toward you and Dae-ho. You're so focused on the fight that you fail to notice the quivering boy holding his hands over his ears against the bunks.

Grabbing another gun, you quickly scale one of the bunks to get a better vantage of the fight.

"Sergeant!" You yell, gaining the attention of Hyun-ju. She looks to you and you toss the SMG to her. She drops her pistol and catches the weapon, turning just in time to shoot one of the pink guards coming for her.

You use your position to fire at the guards hiding behind bunks. You pull the trigger until you hear a click, cursing as the mag runs empty. You jump down from the bunk, using the butt of the gun to knock a guard out cold. You quickly take his ammo and reload your own gun, firing at a guard trying to shoot Gi-hun.

"Retreat. Retreat."

The voice over the intercom announces and the pink soldiers make their way towards the door. You're able to shoot two more, but most of the soldiers who are still alive are able to make it out of the room. The main guard with the square on his mask is too busy firing back to realize that the door has closed behind him, sealing him in the room with you just as he runs out of ammo.

"Stop! Hold fire!" Gi-hun yells.

Jung-bae and another player run over to the square guard, making sure he won't fight.

"You goddamn bastards!" you hear someone yell on the other side of the room and turn to see Player 047 aiming his gun at a bunch of O players.

"No!" Gi-hun yells, stopping the man before he can shoot. "This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we'll be no different from those masked men."

Player 047 lowers his gun, hanging his head and he softly cries.

Gi-hun steps to the center of the room. "Everyone! Don't be scared. Gather round, please! We're not trying to hurt you!"

You walk to stand by Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok.

"Get the guns and ammo from the dead," she tells the both of you.

You nod, doing as your sergeant says while she takes out the cameras in the room.

<>

Placing one of the last guns on the mattress in the center of the room, you move to stand in line between Jung-bae and Dae-ho, handing the extra SMG in your hand to Dae-ho.

Gi-hun steps forward. "Everyone. We will now head up to the masked men's headquarters. We'll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay. Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward."

You look at the crowd in front of you, but everyone stays where they are.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you say and turn your head to see Jung-bae stepping forward. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive. Fight with us so we can go home together. All together."

One of the players in the back of the crowd steps forward. "I'll fight with you."

Gi-hun waves at him to come and take a gun. Two other players come forward as well.

You watch as Yong-sik makes a move to step forward, but he catches your gaze as you shake your head at him. It's very brave of him to think about volunteering, but he hasn't even served his mandatory military service yet, and it would kill his mother if he didn't come back. You breathe a sigh of relief when Yong-sik stays where he is.

When it's clear that no one else is stepping forward, Gi-hun turns to you all. "Please check your guns and ammo."

"Let's take one radio each," Jung-bae says. "We'll use channel 7, the lucky number."

You put the strap of your gun around you, checking the mag and putting it back in place when you're satisfied with the amount of ammo that is left. You look to your right to see Dae-ho fiddling with his own gun. Just as you're about to help him, Hyun-ju steps forward.

"Attention," she says, holding up her gun. "This is the MP5, a submachine gun." She continues on the demonstrate how to load the weapon and set it to the mode you should be using. When she's done, she looks at you all. "Are we clear?"

"Yes," you answer, falling right back into the rhythm with your sergeant.

Hyun-ju nods to you, silently telling you to stay by her when you get out there.

"How do you two know each other?" Dae-ho questions, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirk, cocking the MP5. "I was in the 13th Special Missions Brigade. Hyun-ju was my sergeant."

Dae-ho stares at you, completely stunned. "You were in the Decapitation Unit?!"

You chuckle at his disbelief, nodding.

The man can't believe it. He's been bragging about being an ex-Marine while there's been two ex-Special Forces soldiers right next to him the whole time.

Gi-hun points a pistol at the square-masked guard. "Take it off."

The guard slowly removes his mask, revealing a boy no older than 25.

"Good God," Jung-bae says. "Do your parents know what you're doing here?"

The guard just stares at him.

Gi-hun cocks the pistol. "Take us to your captain."

<>

"All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game. Let me repeat..."

Gi-hun fires at the speaker, effectively shutting up the voice. Three guards are stood over you. "Get down!"

You duck behind the wall of the stairs. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turn to look at Hyun-ju behind you.

"Cover me!"

You nod, shooting at the guards while she sprints to the top of the stairs. From her new vantage point, she is able to take out one of the guards, causing their body to fall over the ledge and down to the floor.

When you duck down to reload, you see Dae-ho next to you. The ex-Marine is sitting in a ball, covering his ears and flinching every time a shot rings out. You look at him with concern, but your attention is stolen by Gi-hun telling everyone to hold their fire. Dae-ho gets a grip on his weapon and you all move, following Gi-hun and the un-masked guard.

As you move down an alleyway, Gi-hun stops the guard. "How much farther? Is this the right way?"

The boy points toward the end of the hall. "The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it."

Gi-hun pushes him. "Move it, then!"

"Wait," the guard says, reaching toward his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Gi-hun stops him.

"I need my mask to pass security," the guard explains. Gi-hun nods and the guard takes the mask out. He looks up, but before he can say anything else, a bullet goes right through his head.

You all take cover as more shots are fired at you. Something slashes onto your face, and you turn to see Player 072's lifeless body falling to the ground.

You drop the floor and crawl over to Hyun-ju, both of you taking positions in a green square area of the stairs. You nod to each other and duck out of cover, firing at the guards. You can hear the men speaking to each other at the other end of the line, but you focus on taking out as many guards as possible.

You and Hyun-ju alternate firing and taking cover, both of you shooting with deadly precision, doing your best to not waste any of the already low supply of ammo you have.

A player next to you screams and is shot. You turn, shooting at the guard approaching from your rear, taking out a few that are behind that one as well.

"Everyone! Check your magazines!" Hyun-ju calls out.

You take the mag out of the gun, seeing that you have about half of a clip left. Everyone announces that they're around the same.

"Young-il, Dae-ho, can you hear me?" The voice of Jung-bae erupts from your radio.

"Go ahead!" Young-il says.

"I think we're right below the control room." Shots can be heard in the background. "But we need backup and more ammo."

"We're running out of ammo, too!"

"There should be spare magazines in the soldiers' pockets in our quarters. Go get them!" Gi-hun yells through the radio.

"Did you hear that?" Young-il turns to the group. "They need backup! Three of us will go, and the rest will stay! Join us once you get the magazines! Who wants to go with me?"

Players 047 and ... volunteer and they run off towards the end of the hall.

"I'll go get the magazines!" Hyun-ju yells. "I'll come back as soon as I can, so just hold on until then!"

"Hyun-ju!" A voice yells. You turn to see Dae-ho raising his hand. "I'll go!" He hurries over to where you and Hyun-ju are taking cover. "I- I'm out of ammo."

"Do you know the way?" Gyeong-seok asks. Dae-ho nods.

"We destroyed the cameras on the way, follow them," Hyun-ju says.

"I'll go with him," you say. "I still have some ammo, so I'll cover him."

Hyun-ju nods. "I'll cover you. Go!"

You and Dae-ho take off down the stairs. He stops a few times, but you pull him along, keeping your eyes up to watch for the broken cameras. As you're running down the stairs, Dae-ho stops, and you turn to see him staring at a dead guard hanging over the ledge of a window.

"Dae-ho!" Jung-bae yells. "Can you hear me? Where are those magazines?"

You lift your own radio to your mouth. "We're getting them now."

"Alright! We're counting on you!"

You put your radio back in your pocket, grabbing Dae-ho's hand and pulling him along behind you.

You burst into the quarters, letting go of Dae-ho's hand as you sprint to a guard, taking the spare mags out of their pockets. You hear someone say your name and look up to see Yong-sik.

"What happened? Why are you back by yourselves?"

"We're low on ammo," you say, not looking up from the guard you're looting. "We need to get the magazines from their pockets. Help us!"

You look up to the boy to see him nod and run over to a nearby guard. Geum-ja and Jun-hee come over to the help, as well.

Once you've looted all the ammo from the guards, you place them into a jacket you found on one of the dead players. You tie it up and give it to Dae-ho, thanking the others as you lead him out of the room.

Gunshots can be heard as soon as you step outside. You keep moving but when you check behind you, you see that Dae-ho has stopped where he is.

"Dae-ho, we need to go," you urge.

He looks at you silently, but the fear in his eyes sends the message. You've seen soldiers like this before you joined the Special Forces.

Dae-ho stands in his spot, paralyzed other than the shake of his body in fear.

You hear your name and Dae-ho's through the radio. "Where are you? Can you hear me?"

You watch as Dae-ho lifts his radio, staring at it as Hyun-ju's voice comes through.

"Did you find the magazines? Are you on your way?"

Dae-ho looks at you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping the radio on the ground and running back into the quarters with the magazines.

"Shit," you say under your breath. You follow Dae-ho into the room, looking around to find where he went. Yong-sik points toward a bunk and you find Dae-ho curled up there, rocking back and forth. Running over to him, you take the jacket with the mags, ready to run out of there. You take a look at Dae-ho, the pure fear coursing through him as he whispers apologies over and over.

You sigh, remembering one of the lessons Hyun-ju taught you as your sergeant.

Never leave a man behind.

Taking out your radio, you bring it to your lips and press the button. "Charlie Foxtrot."

You put your radio down, knowing that Hyun-ju will know what to do. You had picked up the phrase from your U.S. counterparts, saying it to each other when something goes wrong.

Moving to sit on the bed, you take Dae-ho's hands into yours. "Dae-ho, I need you to breathe with me, alright."

He slowly looks at your face before launching himself into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub his back comfortingly, knowing you can't leave him alone like this.

After a few minutes, Hyun-ju runs into the room shouting you and Dae-ho's names. She comes running over to you, stopping when she sees Dae-ho in your arms.

"What happened?"

Dae-ho jumps a bit at the new voice, burying his face farther into your jacket.

You look up a Hyun-ju, shaking your head at her. She nods, understanding. You point at the magazines and she scoops them into her arms, ready to take them to the others when the buzzer for the door goes off and more pink guards enter the room, firing in the air and making everyone scream.

Hyun-ju reloads her SMG, ready to take on the entire group on guards by herself. You watch as Geum-ja puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"You can't die like this."

You sigh in relief as Hyun-ju puts the gun down. From your hidden area, you try to get the guns and mags away from you, making it seem as though the three of you have been here the whole time.

As the guards come further into the room, you use your body to shield Dae-ho from them as he whimpers. You make eye contact with Hyun-ju. Whatever happens next, you'll face it as a team.

~

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5

[inuyashaluver]

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

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

qué? - alexia putellas

alexia putellas x reader

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

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

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

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

what type of rejection was this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

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

liked by keirawalsh and 44,232 others

alexiaputellas: mi niña (my girl)

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yourname: mami

↳ alexiaputellas: i didn’t teach her this

↳ marialeonn16: sureeeee

lucybronze: the most annoying couple ever

↳ yourname: shut up man

↳ leahwilliamsonn: there she is!!

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

↳ yourname: @/alexiaputellas bebé! defend me!

↳ alexiaputellas: you are soft

↳ yourname: the betrayal is unreal

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 2

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  Chapter Summary: Try as he might, Joel just can’t shake the memory of you. Try as you might, you can’t stop thinking of the woman tied to his desk. CW: The slow burn is burning. Mentions of death and underage drinking. Topless in public, this is a love story about BDSM after all. Reader does have some physical descriptions, so maybe more of an OFC, or just pretend you have pouty lips and a slightly upturned nose. Double POV (reader and Joel). AN: Thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all the love on chapter one of this story. I literally cannot believe it surpasses 1000 notes in just a month, you're all insane and I love you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Biiiig shout outs to the bb's who have been so supportive of me spiralling and panicking this last month over the next chapter. I'd be in a deep dark cave without you @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @lotusbxtch @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk and @milla-frenchy . Thank you! I feel like I'm giving some sort of Oscars speech and if you're still reading this, you're the real MVP. XO Word Count: 8.5k

~ Joel - 27 Years Ago ~

Joel’s stands in the garage of someone he barely knows, surrounded by drunk and rowdy classmates from his high school. He’s a senior, graduating in just a few weeks and moments like this are one of the perks of being the star designated hitter and first baseman, everyone wants you at their party. Someone hands him a warm, flat beer that was pumped poorly from a keg as they pat his back roughly in congratulations. Joel’s not sure how a bunch of seventeen year olds managed to get a keg, most likely an older brother, but he drinks the shitty beer all the same. Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t seen Tommy in a while. He’s only fifteen and he promised their mom he’d keep an eye on him. The younger Miller shouldn’t be at a seniors party, but that's where those perks come in again, because if Joel was good, Tommy was better. In fact, he was so much better that he’s played up a whole age group his entire life, always right beside Joel. Tommy was the back catcher, and tonight he got the eleventh inning game winning out at home for them to win the state championship. 

He finds Tommy chatting with a group of girls, all of whom are incredibly beautiful. They’re going to be very disappointed when they find out how much younger he is than them. Joel smiles into his red solo cup as he takes a sip of stale beer. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his light blue wranglers and walks over to the wall of the garage. He leans back and crosses one cowboy booted foot over the other. The brim of his cowboy hat grazes the unpainted drywall behind him. Texas, and the country, in the late nineties was where everyone wanted to be, and Joel Miller could have been the poster boys for teenage country boys in 1997.

Brooks & Dunn plays on someone's CD player in the corner, laughter and people talking overlaps until it’s just noise to Joel. He stands back, watching his younger brother effortlessly charm the five pretty girls around him. All of them in tight blue jeans, lacy white tops, denim vests and cowboy boots. He grabs one by the hand and Joel overhears, “I’ll teach ya how to two step, shame to not know in a place like this.” Then the motherfucker winks at her like he’s some sort of cowboy Casanova. Joel lets out a silent laugh through his nose and sips the beer again shaking his head. 

Just as Tommy pulls the pretty little blonde over towards the unmarked and unofficial dance floor in the corner of the garage the song changes. Slow guitar, followed by the unmistakable twang of Tim Magraw’s voice. Joel didn’t know it then, but that song would change the course of his life and intertwine itself in the very fabric of his being.

‘Dancin’ in the dark, Middle of the night’

That’s when he sees her, tall and slender, deep olive toned skin and pale green eyes. Her dark curly hair cascades over one of her shoulders. She’s laughing with another classmate, and even though he can’t hear the sound of it over the noise of the party, he can tell it’s a light and melodic sound, and he wants to spend the rest of his life drawing that out of her. 

‘Takin’ your heart, An holdin’ it tight’

He puts his warm beer on the work bench beside him and takes off his black felt Stetson, placing it over his broad chest, hoping the comfort of his favourite hat would slow the rate at which his heart is beating. 

‘Emotional touch, Touchin’ my skin, And askin’ you to do, What you’ve been doin’ all over again’

She looks over at him, smiling shyly, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s walking over to her. His legs move on their own accord, knees shaking as he approaches the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

‘Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, Don’t think I can keep it all in, I just gotta let you know, What is that won’t let me go’

Everything in the room fades as she fully comes into view. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the girl in front of him. She radiates a warmth that he’s only ever known his mother to radiate. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this girl, but she feels like home. This is it, that one thing that everyone says you’re supposed to feel. The thing his grandpa told him when he was younger, “Son, you’ll just know. It sounds ridiculous, but when I saw your grandma it was like a pull behind my belly button. I just knew, and I’ve known everyday since then.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Joel says, tipping his hat to her before placing it back on his head. 

She giggles, confirming his earlier thoughts. It really is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. “Hi.”

He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, her skin is so warm and smooth. In that moment he knows that hers will be the last hand he ever holds. Fire flushes through his veins as he continues, “I’m Joel, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I know who you are Joel Miller,” she flirts, not letting go of his hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, his voice going deeper as he says it. It’s egotistical but he loves the way girls shiver just a little when he lowers his register. “And how is it that you know who I am?”

She slides her hand from his and reaches up to grab his cowboy hat, plopping it onto her head. “Star first baseman and designated hitter, everyone knows Joel Miller. Look around, look at all these girls lookin’ at you, cowboy.”

For the first time in his life Joel finds himself blushing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Tiffany. 

“I only see one girl.” She rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep at the cheesy line, but that was it for both of them. From that point they were inseparable. 

They both turned eighteen a few months later, and just ten months, and a thirty two hour labour after Tiff turned eighteen, a tiny little Sarah came into the world all pink and screaming. Joel hears that song again as he watches Tiffany hold that little bundle of blankets, ‘Better than I was, More than I am, And all of this happened, By taking your hand.’

They get married when Sarah is just a few months old. Both his beautiful curly haired girls in white dresses, Tiffany grabbing that same black Stetson off his head during their first dance. He holds them both, swaying from side to side, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at how goddamn happy he is. ‘And who I am now, Is who I wanted to be, And now that we’re together, I’m stronger than ever, I’m happy and free’.

Things for their little family of three are perfect. They buy the house with the white picket fence and the wrap around porch. Joel gets a job working construction and enjoys a nightcap with his beautiful young wife on their front porch every night. They make love often, slow and sweaty, Joel worshiping her soft copper toned skin inch by glorious inch. Tiffany wraps every minute of her day around Sarah and being a sweet, devoted housewife. Nothing seems to stand in their way. Until the diagnosis shortly before Sarah starts Kindergarten. 

Tiffany is too young, they’re all too young. This isn’t something that happens to people their age, they haven’t had enough time. Joel spends the next few months in a haze, it has to be a bad dream. The appointments, the treatments, the call to 911 when the illness starts to win. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. 

He holds Tiffany until the very end. Sponging a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering his goodbyes as they shut off the machines keeping her here. “You’ve been so strong, my love. You fought so hard. I know you’re scared to go, I’m scared too, but we’ll do it like we do everything else. Together. I’ll be ok, Sarah will be ok. Just rest now. I love you.” 

As she takes her last shaky and shallow breath, a sound will live with him until he takes a breath that matches hers, that song echoes through his hollow chest. ‘It’s your love, It does something to me, It sends a shock right through me, I can’t get enough’.

You - Present Day

You roll to a stop outside Mister Miller’s house for your second day of cleaning. As you look towards the impressive house your pussy flutters at the memories of yesterday - the almost pornographic noises that were made in that office, his soft and kind eyes as he apologized profusely in the kitchen. You were supposed to go to a study group last night, but instead you got lost in a rabbit hole of porn where women are tied up and fingered. You got yourself off four times thinking about a man you’re not even supposed to know, wishing it was his thick fingers hitting that spot inside of you that you can’t reach on your own. You felt guilty about it last night and now being back in his home you have that same sinking feeling again. 

Stupid. Sacrificing my future for a fantasy. Never again. 

You let yourself in the house and look at the list in your cleaning app. You pop in your AirPods and start listening to your favourite true crime podcast; thankful for the new episode, a gruesome distraction as you scrub baseboards and lightswitches. The episode ends and in an attempt to not let your mind wander to the gorgeous man that lives here, and the depraved new things you’ve discovered about yourself, you start an educational audiobook about civil rights law. You might want Joel Miller to strap you down and whisper filth in your ears, but you are a good person, and your aspiration in life is to help people who face discrimination on a daily basis. 

You breeze around his home, checking off each task and before you know it it’s almost one in the afternoon. You have almost your whole list complete, his soft sheets are in the dryer (and yes, you are incredibly proud of yourself for only putting the luxurious white fabric to your face twice on the way to the washer). You only have the patio furniture to spray down and the kitchen counters to wipe. That’s when your stomach growls, almost as if to remind you that it’s the perfect time to take a break while the dryer finishes. You haul all your stuff out to your car and lock up, sitting in your front seat as you take out your lunch container.

An engine revs in the distance and your heart skips in your chest. Before you even have time to wonder if it’s Joel’s car, one of the black garage doors slides open and Joel’s obsidian coloured Aston Martin rolls by you, stopping with precision on the shiny cement floor of the garage. You avert your eyes, focused on your container of chicken noodle soup. The left side of your face feels the warmth of his gaze fixed on you. Without looking over you can tell he is studying you and it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on your measly lunch. 

The afternoon sun is blocked as Joel raps his knuckles on your window. You glance over at him, looking up through your lashes. He’s looking at you intensely but you can’t quite place his expression. As always, his deep brown eyes are locked on yours, he could either be happy to see you or incredibly disappointed in you. But one thing is for sure, he’s calculating your every need with those warm and inviting eyes. He knocks again so you crank the handle to roll your window down a crack.

He raises one eyebrow at you, both hands rest on the roof of your SUV as he leans forward to speak to you through the small opening in the window. “Seriously?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. 

“What?” You say, “Can’t be too safe.”

He blinks at you before continuing, “What'd ya doin’ out here?”

You lift your tupperware container a little, willing the tingles between your thighs to stop, “Eating my lunch.”

He rolls his eyes, running his hand along his greying scruff. “You’re eatin’ lukewarm soup in your car in the middle of February.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but his voice is warm and curious, and you start to realize that the look on his face isn’t happiness or disappointment, but concern. 

You nod, “Yes.” His eyes dance around your face and you swear your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttering so fast that it’s traveling up your throat and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. 

“Get out of the car. Come warm that up and eat inside.” His voice is thick with concern, entire face soft as he looks at you. 

You swallow your heart back down to where it belongs, “I’m not allowed to do that, Mister Miller.”

His cheeks redden a little and some of the softness in him disappears, “Don’t call me that, it’s jus’ Joel to you.”

“I’m not even supposed to know your name, Mister Miller. I can’t call you by your first name.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and points a thick finger at you through your window, “Don’t. Either you call me Joel or nothin’ at all. Come inside,” he drops his pointer finger to the door handle. He pulls on it to find it locked. “Seriously?”

“I told you, I can’t be too safe!” You can help but think how cute he looks all flustered - shaking his head at you for being cautious in a neighborhood where you could probably scream your credit card number and no one would use it. If anything, the wealthy homeowners on this street might transfer you money when they see the state of your vehicle. 

“You’re eatin’ inside.” He says flatly. 

“I told you, I can’t. We aren’t allowed to do that. You’re a client, Mist - I mean. Sorry, I just can’t. We aren’t allowed.” You glance towards the clock on your dash. At this rate your break is going to be over before you finish eating. 

He jiggles the door handle again, as if he can convince the metal to bend and unlatch itself with just his sexiness alone. “You like rules, don’t ya?”

He’s got you there, you do enjoy following the rules. You nod and hum a noise in agreement. 

“Unlock the door, please,” his voice has changed, he’s being more commanding now. A deeper, huskier sound leaving his lips. The sound seems to latch onto something deep in your mind, strong fingers wrapping around the control center of your brain, guiding you to do his bidding. You blink the feeling away. 

“Mister-,” his eyes flash with darkness, “Sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to eat in your house, plus my break is almost over.”

Joel releases your door handle, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath, as he drops his hand back to the top of your vehicle an amused smirk flashes across his face. “Do you consider yourself to work in customer service?”

“Yes,” you say nervously.

“And isn’t the main rule of customer service that the customer is always right?” His lips form a tight line and a deep dimple carves into one of his tanned cheeks. Your brain flashes back to one of the videos you watched last night, a man sucking on a woman's nipples as he rubbed her clit, her arms and legs strapped to a padded table. He had a dimple, but he had nothing on Joel. 

“Yes,” you croak and then clear your throat gently, shifting in your seat at the fire building behind that bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Then unlock the door, darlin’ and eat inside.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning and walking towards the house. He stops on the front step, opening the large glass front door. You follow, flip flops slapping on the concrete, carrying your powdered chicken noodle soup and plastic spoon up towards his fancy home. When you reach the threshold, he holds out his large hand palm up and you place the old, stained tupperware with your half eaten soup into it. He looks down at it and then back at you, eyes trailing along your body and it feels like he’s running a torch over you. “Is this all you have to eat?”

You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen and one pushed back curl that’s laced with a few greys falls into his eyes with the movement. In order to stop from pushing his loose curl back you squeeze your fists gently and head towards the stool you sat on yesterday. As your flip flop hits the tile you stop and look back towards your car nervously. “I, umm, I forgot my shoes.”

His large, warm palm comes to your lower back and he pushes you gently towards the kitchen. You sit as he transfers your soup into a matte black bowl and places it in the microwave. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a loaf of fresh bread, as you go to protest he flicks his eyes up to yours and something about the expression on his face tells you not to argue with him. He pops the two carefully cut pieces into the toaster. He breezes effortlessly around the kitchen for someone so broad and masculine. You didn’t realize someone making toast could be so sexy. The microwave beeps and he grabs a gold spoon from a drawer before wandering around the island, placing them both in front of you. His arm brushes yours as he pulls away and your heart flutters at his touch. He walks back around the kitchen island and grabs a glass. 

“Still or sparkling?” He says as if that’s just a normal question to ask when you get someone a glass of water. Just another thing that proves you don’t belong here. The toaster pops and you jump a little. He chuckles as he grabs the toast, slathering it with butter. “Still or sparkling, darlin’?” 

You breath hitches, he’s called you darlin’ twice now. Is that just that southern charm you hear about so often, or is it more? You shake the thought from your head, there’s no way someone like him is interested in someone like you. “Still is fine, you don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

You take a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before putting the spoon in your mouth. Joel is watching you in the same way he was yesterday. Assessing. Observing. Calculating. It feels like he’s looking into your very soul. He slides the plate of toast and then a glass of sparkling water over to you from across the island.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You didn’t -”

He holds his hand up, stopping you in the same way he did yesterday. “I wanted to.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you have to look away as you take a bite of toast. He’s too handsome standing in the kitchen with the afternoon sun highlighting his features. He’s wearing a black dress shirt today, the top few buttons undone, accentuating the perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair on his chest. You swallow your bite of warm, salty, buttery toast, allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the delectable flavour, holding back a moan. 

Joel clears his throat and crosses his arms across his broad chest, “So how did ya get into cleanin’ houses?”

You look up at him through your lashes. Why is he being so nice to you and taking care of you? He apologized yesterday. And after you told him it was fine he left you a massive tip. He said he wants to do this, but why? He’s rich and handsome and you can probably safely assume that that icy blonde from yesterday was his girlfriend. Unless…could she possibly be a mistress? You decide that that must be it. She’s his mistress. He has a wife. He’s just like every other rich man, cheating on his beautiful and age appropriate wife with someone much much younger than him. He’s probably terrified that you might find out who his wife is and tell her. That tip was hush money.

“I’m saving money,” you say and then shake your head, willing the thoughts in your mind to calm down. “For law school.”

“That right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I want to be a lawyer. I graduated a semester early and needed some money before going back to university. Assuming I even get accepted. This job meant I could work part time so I could study to take the LSAT again and also make good money.” You take another bite of the toast, mainly to make yourself shut up. 

He watches you the entire time, nodding along, his eyes constantly assessing. “Take the LSAT again?” he asks.

“I passed it already and applied to schools but I haven’t heard back yet. Law school is pretty competitive, so I’m going to take it again and hopefully have a better mark for the next round of college applications.” You’re talking too much, you need to shut up and just eat, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. No one has ever listened to you like that, not even your parents.

“Next round?” He asks curiously. 

You feel your cheeks redden. You don’t want to admit to this obviously successful man in front of you that you probably won’t get accepted to any of the eight universities you applied to. “Yes. It’s competitive, and I probably won’t get in. So I’m preparing to be better the second time.”

“Where did you apply? If that’s not too forward of a question.”

“No, not too forward. Umm, a few places. Strength in numbers, I guess. Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Berkeley, Duke, University of Toronto, but I don’t think I’d survive a Canadian winter. I also applied at Notre Dame and University of Texas here in Austin.”

Joel laughs at you mentioning the Canadian winter and once you’re quiet, he looks down at his expensive dress shoes, “I, umm, I know some higher ups at UT Austin if you need me to put in a good word.”

You smile at him when he looks back up at you, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Joel. But thank you.”

The two of you are silent for a moment while you finish your first piece of toast. You glance up at him and he’s looking at you with that same hint of pride he had yesterday while you drank your water. He’s making you feel like eating toast is something to be proud of. You can’t explain it but his facial expression wraps around like a corset. Pulling its metaphoric laces and making you sit up taller, holding your head up higher. With just the shimmer in his deep brown eyes you feel like you could take on the world. You need to break the silence so you say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning back to rest on the countertop behind him. His arms uncross, his strong hands wrapping around the countertop on each side of his body. 

“What do you do for a living? To have all this?” You gesture around the house as you sip your sparkling water.

“A few things. I used to own a construction company, sold it a few years ago to retire but I got bored pretty quickly. Now I own a few properties, I rent them out.” You nod as you listen to him, eating your lunch. One hand rubs at his patchy, salt and pepper beard nervously before saying, “I also own a club.”

You let out a little giggle into your water glass, immediately praying that he doesn’t think that was you being rude. Of all the professions that could have come out of his mouth, owning a nightclub was the last thing you expected. Joel smiles at the sweet melodic sound leaving your lips and relief washes over you. “Why’s that so funny?” His voice is light at his inquiry. 

“It’s not,” you say after swallowing your water. He furrows his brows at you. “You just - I mean, I guess I don’t know you, but don’t seem like the nightclub type.”

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But you’re also right that I am not a nightclub type,” he states. Something about the way he says it makes you sense that that’s as far as you’re going to get with it, but you also realize that the club is probably how this man meets young women to bring home.

You put your spoon down and place your hands in your lap. “Can I umm, ask you something else?”

“Of course,” he repeats. 

“What’s with that little dinosaur toy on your coffee maker?”

He smiles and reaches over to grab it, rubbing his thumb along the faded and scuffed brown paint of the little toy. He looks down at it and a hint of sadness seems to fill his coffee and amber eyes as he looks at you. “My daughter, she umm, she got it for me from the prize box in Kindergarten after her mom -” he stops mid sentence, sadness lining his features. Joel’s not married, you roll your eyes at yourself internally for thinking the worst of him. And truthfully, you of all people know he’s not married. You clean his house, you’ve been in his bedroom, and there are no women's clothes. You’ve also been in all the spare bedrooms and there’s no chance another person lives here with him. He continues, choosing his words almost carefully, “Well, just after she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mister,” his eyes flash onyx for just a second, he looks lethally sexy and you swallow your words before starting again. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, placing the dinosaur back. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper curls, letting out a little sigh. There’s a shift in him, like suddenly the world is heavier. He tries not to let it show, and maybe most people wouldn’t notice, but you see it. The slight fall in his face, a little slump in the shoulders, a breath held for just a second too long. He clears his throat gently and says, “I’ll be in my office. Eat your lunch for me, please.”

Joel

Joel closes the door of his office and rests his forehead against the smooth wooden surface. He can’t remember how much he spent on these doors when he built the house, but he would set any door that separated him from you on fire if he had to. 

Get it together, Joel.

He closes his eyes and only sees you. The way your glossy, pink lips formed a little O as you blew on your soup. The way the gold plated metal spoon slid softly along your tongue. His cock twitches in his pants and he feels the urge to throw all the spoons in his house away. 

Great, you’re jealous of a spoon. 

He shouldn’t be home. He signed a contract, and more importantly, you signed a contract. In order to protect him and you there is to be no contact between the cleaner and the client. That’s what you consented to when you took your job at Maid Discreetly, and now he’s caused you to break that contract not once, but twice. But he cannot seem to get you out of his mind, and as he sat in a meeting at his club he couldn’t focus. You were here, cleaning his home in that form fitting white polo shirt and those black pants that hugged at your hips in all the right places, and he just had to know if you were as beautiful as he remembered. Just a quick peek, he convinced himself as he made up some bullshit excuse to leave. 

When he saw you sitting in your rusty SUV you looked so innocent and pure, you were more than beautiful. The afternoon sun lighting up your high cheekbones and slender, slightly upturned nose, it gave you an almost angelic glow that temporarily took his breath away. If he had to describe you in two words he would say that you were simply ravishing. For the first time in almost thirty years he wished he still had the calming comfort of that black felt cowboy hat. But that soft Stetson went with her because she loved it so much. 

As he caught his breath and looked at you from his garage, he was overcome with an urge to bruise and corrupt you. He’s a bad man for the thoughts he's been having about you. He can’t help himself, but even in his most twisted of fantasies, he’d never do anything you didn’t want him to. But, fuck, he’s sure he could mold you into exactly what he wants in a submissive. 

Joel isn’t new to the world of kink; he’s had many subs, all of whom have referred to him as Mister Miller. However, his name has never sounded so fucking sweet as it did coming off your lips. Those two little words leaving your pouty, pink lips feel like that first sip of whiskey after a long day, and it might kill him if he doesn’t make you his. 

He sighs into the white wood of the door before standing and walking to sit behind his desk. He drops into the soft leather chair and lets his head fall back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. What is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? You’re way too young. Way too sweet. Way too…sinless. And even though he can’t explain it, and he knows you don’t know it, you’re way too “exactly-what-is-going-to-ruin-his-entire-life”. 

You’re not someone he can just play with. No, he’s good at reading people, and you’re the kind of person that deserves being invested into. You’re also not someone who is going to stick around. You have dreams and well laid out plans on how you’re going to achieve them. He can’t cage you in, he’ll have to let you spread your wings and fly no matter how much he sees himself as the man he used to be reflected back in your eyes.  

He opens his eyes and pictures you kneeling in the corner, perfectly manicured hands that he pays for you to have done weekly folded on your lap as he works. He imagines calling you over with a curl of his fingers, you crawling across the plush carpet and resting your head on his lap as he responds to emails, takes calls, or plans events. He could reach down and run his fingers through your soft, silky hair as you nuzzled deeper into his lap with your cheek. “My perfect, sweet girl,” he’d hum.  

His body falls forward, forehead hitting the sturdy wooden desk with a thump. Jesus Christ, Joel. 

It was one thing when he only found you beautiful - he could live with being attracted to you, he could find a way around it or stuff that attraction down, maybe he’d find a new sub to distract himself with. That would be easy for him, but then you had to open your mouth, you had to speak so passionately about your future. Why couldn’t you just be pretty like all the other women he plays with? You might be one of the most driven people he knows: the way you push yourself, already planning for the next “no”. And that kills him, ruins him really that you are programmed to think there will automatically be a “no” and that you’ll have to endure another round of LSAT’s and college applications. You’re smart, and he wants to kill whoever made you feel like you need to push yourself this hard. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; annoyance courses through his body until he sees his brother's name across the pristine screen of his newest iPhone Max. 

“Ya?” He says harshly. 

“Everything ok with the alarm?” 

Joel’s mind goes blank, “What?” 

Tommy is silent for a second before he responds slowly, “The alarm? You left in the middle of a meeting because of an alarm.” 

Joel shakes his head. Right, the alarm. The bullshit excuse he made up so he could leave to see you. “Ya, right. Ya, it’s fine. Got it all, umm, all fixed up. Should be back soon.”

“You ok, brother?” Tommy asks suspiciously. “You seemed, I dunno, distracted today.” 

“I’m fine,” Joel snaps. 

“Alright. Well, come back soon, pretty big night here and we need ya.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s the owner, he knows it’s a big night, but he’s sort of busy having an existential crisis over possibly being in love with his house cleaner. Whoa, in love? Pump the fucking brakes. Joel’s heart stops beating for a second at the thought of it. He can’t possibly be in love; he doesn’t fall in love. No, he decides, it’s just because she’s new, and exactly my type, and it’s been a long time since I found someone that’s my type.

Just as he stands from his desk, he hears the hose outside turn on. You must be at the pool furniture part of your list. He takes this moment to sneak out of his own house, because he’s a weak man when it comes to you, apparently. He slips into the Italian leather front seat and lets the new car smell waft over him; he loves the smells of a new sports car and has never owned one long enough for it to stop smelling that way. It’s a matter of status to him. He takes a good hard look at himself in the rear view mirror. That’s enough now. For both of your sakes. Leave her alone. 

You 

After spraying down the pool furniture you rush inside to warm up. Seriously, who needs their pool stuff cleaned in the fucking winter? As you jog up the stairs to grab Joel’s freshly laundered sheets, you blow into your cupped palms. The warmth spreads from your frozen fingertips to your palms. Joel’s office is empty; he must have left while you were outside. Your brain swirls with unanswered questions as you pull the fitted sheet back onto his king size bed. Why would he come home? First of all, he knows you’re here this time and second of all, he knows he’s not supposed to be here. So why? And then there’s his calculating stare, always watching and usually with a flash of pride in his features. Did he come back here just to talk to you? Maybe even to get to know you? 

It’s safe to say that you’re more confused than ever, and you make a mental schedule of studying and reading to keep you busy later tonight so you won’t spend hours trying to google him again.

It takes way too much effort, and a silent promise to yourself to get back to the gym, but you manage to wrestle the oversized duvet back into its cover just as three o’clock rolls around. You jog down the wide, open staircase and your phone bings in your back pocket. Jamie’s name is splayed across your cracked screen, the sunset from your last trip to California shining back at you. 

What are you doing tonight? Want to make a bunch of money serving drinks topless?

You laugh to yourself. Truthfully, nothing Jamie asks you seems to surprise you, and some sort of odd job where you’re topless or in a sexy outfit is practically a guarantee as a condition of your friendship. As you reach for the black envelope on the kitchen island you text back. 

What?

You barely have the thick parchment of the envelope open when she responds, like she already had the text locked and loaded and was just waiting for you to try to fight her on it.  

Remember Laren? My cousin? She has a topless catering company and needs help tonight. It’s at some exclusive VIP poker game downtown. 4 hours, $300 + tips.

You respond as a thousand dollars falls out of the tip envelope. 

I’m in.

Jamie picks you up a few hours later and parks her blacked out Range Rover in the alleyway behind a shiny black building in the heart of downtown. You’re once again surrounded by wealth and success thanks to Jamie. The dress code tonight is a black pencil skirt, black heels, your tits, and a bow tie that Laren will give you. Speaking of whom, Laren is holding open a staff door for you and Jamie with her hip, waving the two of you into the warmth of the building. She pulls you both into a big hug, “Thank fuck! You two saved my ass tonight. Gotta love having friends and family with great tits!”

“You’re so weird,” Jamie says, brushing past her and into the building. You follow her in before Laren ushers you towards a service elevator. 

“They’ve already started, you’re part of the second shift. I think the first set of girls made about four hundred each in tips, helps if you serve the guys that are winning though. The first round of games is almost over, winners move on soon.”

“How were their tits though? As great as ours?” You joke. Underneath the calm and collected mask you’re wearing you are definitely nervous. All these strange men are going to see you half naked, you know nothing about poker or serving drinks. Your two friends laugh as the elevator opens to a small changing room. Girls from the first shift are putting their tops back on, handing the bow ties back to Laren who gives them to you and Jamie. 

She cocks her head towards a swinging door, “Just through there when you’re done. Go to the bartender for a tray and table assignment. Two girls per table and only six seats so it should be pretty easy. Make sure you smile!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Jamie say teasingly as you strip off your tops and bras. She flips you the middle finger as she heads back out to the poker game to supervise. The cool air of the room stiffens your nipples, nerves fluttering behind your navel as you put the bow tie on.

You overhear the girls that are leaving talking about the men, “Did you see the one with the curly hair at the table by the bar?”, one says. 

The other responds, “He was so fucking hot. Total daddy, I think he owns this place.” 

A third pipes up with, “Fuck, I should have flirted more. I could use a sugar daddy.” 

As they walk towards the elevator the first girl says, “Did you know that this is a sex club? Too bad we can’t go explore the rest.” They giggle as they leave and you take a steadying breath. You’re going to be topless, in a sex club. 

“Ready?” Jamie asks, adjusting her bowtie around her slender neck. 

“Did you know this is a sex club?”

She laughs, “Ya, it’s like an exclusive kink club apparently. Laren said it’s owned by two brothers who are insanely hot. Maybe I should see if they need a maid.” She winks at you as you both walk towards the swinging door. 

You step into the dimly lit room and find the bar directly across from you. After rolling your shoulders back and down, you cross the dark hardwood floor to the bar. Everything in the room is black or deep forest green. Black paint covers the walls, your heels click against the sturdy black wooden floors, even the poker tables and chairs are black. A pop of deep green velvet only along the seats and table tops. It looks soft, like one of those fuzzy blankets you have on your couch and you fight the urge to run your hand across one of the empty tables as you pass. 

The bartender hands Jamie a tray first and then quietly tells her to go to the table in the far right corner. She sways her hips like the sultry goddess she is as she walks to the table. Relief floods through you when you notice that none of the men have raised their eyes, they’re focused intently on the card game. This isn’t some sleazy club like you initially thought when you heard ‘sex club’ leave the lips of the other servers. You relax a little at being able to just be yourself tonight, maybe a bit more naked than you’d usually be but yourself nonetheless. 

You take the black marble serving tray as the bartender points to the table closest to the bar. The curly hair man that the women were talking about in the change room faces away from you. Your heart leaps in your chest. Joel. As you approach the other server standing behind the table, he starts to turn his head. Time stops, your heart speeds up, and it starts to feel simultaneously too hot and too cold in the room all at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s turning his head in slow motion. As you catch his side profile he has the same hooked nose, in the dim light of the room you can’t see any greys along his temples and he doesn’t appear to have a beard. After what feels like an hour, his eyes finally meet yours and you let out a breath, although you aren’t sure if it’s disappointment or relief leaving your lungs. It’s not Joel Miller.

“Mind bringin’ me another Macallan neat, sweetheart?” His eyes stay locked on yours as he smiles at you sweetly. He holds the crystal glass out for you and you take it with a soft ‘yes, sir.’

Something about those eyes, and the way they flash darkly at being called sir, feels all too familiar. In the time it takes for you to take the six or seven steps to the bar you convince yourself that it’s just your brain seeing him everywhere. You tell yourself that when you bring this drink back he’ll look nothing like the man you caught knuckles deep in a woman as she cried out, nothing like the man who was so gentle and sweet, yet slightly bossy and commanding with you this afternoon. 

That’s definitely it, you say to yourself with finality. You’re just cock drunk over a cock you’ll never have. 

The bartender pops the whiskey open and the hair on the back of your neck stands up, you can feel someone looking at you. Almost feel their stare heating the right side of your body. It feels as if all of your exposed skin is being covered by the gaze of whomever is looking at you, shielding you protectively from the view of the other men. The bartender's eyes flick to the corner of the room and then back to you while he hands you the drink. The shift of his gaze confirms that you weren’t imagining it, there is someone looking at you. You place the whiskey on your tray and spin cautiously to the right, stopping dead in your tracks when you lock eyes with Joel Miller. He looks dangerous, sitting at a low table along the wall, his face just barely illuminated by a single candle on the dark wooden table top. His fingers are laced together, forearms of his black dress shirt resting on the knees of his black dress pants. His lips are pressed in a thin, disapproving line. 

He stalks over to you and you wish your tray was empty so you could shield your tits from him. The way he moves is almost menacing, like a jaguar stalking his prey, his eyes are almost black in the low light of the room. Your nipples stiffen under his intense gaze, your mouth fills with saliva and you gulp loudly. You stand frozen, the whiskey for that man you had convinced yourself isn’t related to Joel forgotten about on your tray. He plucks the drink off the marble slab, the glass looking like one of those disposable paper cups you have in your bathroom in his hand. He takes two long strides and drops the glass beside the man. 

“Thanks,” he starts to coo, a ten dollar bill clasped between two fingers. After realizing it’s not you, he adds a confused, “Brother?” 

He tries to pull the money back, but Joel is quicker. Snatching it from his brother's grasp and tucking it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Joel turns back to you and steps in closely, your lower back hitting the cold marble bartop and you gasp, arching your back and naked breasts towards Joel. His jaw flexes as he fights to keep his eyes level with yours. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he says in a harsh whisper. 

“I’m working,” it comes out a lot more bratty and defiant than you intend it to. 

“Not here you ain’t.”

You take a small step forward, your hard nipples lightly grazing the soft fabric of his black dress shirt. “I’m not leaving.” 

His hand circles your bicep and you twist out of his grasp. “You’re makin’ a scene, darlin’.” 

“You are, Joel. I’m just trying to make money.” He grabs you more firmly this time, not tight enough to hurt you but enough for you to know he means business. 

What’s his problem anyway? He doesn’t own you. What you do outside his home is none of his business. He can boss you around via an app every other week, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. You glance desperately over at Jamie to find her back to you as she speaks softly with a man who’s waiting for the next round of poker. Her hand grazes his bicep flirtatiously, she makes it look too easy to get what she wants from men. Joel guides you towards the staff changing room, keeping your body in the dark edges of the room. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, like an angry dragon and you’re honestly surprised smoke isn’t billowing out of his nostrils. 

In the bright lights of the changing room you feel more exposed than ever. You want to lift your tray, but in order to prove to him that you don’t care what he or anyone thinks you don’t. In fact, you stand up taller, holding your head high and pushing your chest out. It’s infinitesimal but he looks down just for a nano second. You smirk when his eyes come back to you. 

“Put a shirt on.” 

“If none of the other girls have to put a shirt on then neither do I.” You pop your hip out and pull your arm free from his large calloused hand and rest it on your hip. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” 

“I’m not fighting. You are. So all those other girls are fine, but I’m not? Why? My tits aren’t big enough for you?” 

“That’s not,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed. When he reopens them his eyes land softly on yours. “I just need you not to be here. Please.” 

Bright red anger sparks along the sides of your eyes. Seriously, who does he think he is? “You aren’t the boss here, Mister Miller.” 

“Do NOT call me that.” His neck flushes the same colour as your vision. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing into glaring slits. What is his aversion to being called Mister Miller, and why does it turn you on a little bit to rile him up when you use it?

“You aren’t my boss or my dad, Joel. You can’t make me leave or tell me what jobs I can or can’t take.” You’ve figuratively dug your heels in, you aren’t leaving. He can’t make you. Only Laren or whoever owns this sex club can ask that of you. “You can’t kick me out like you own the place.” 

“Actually,” he says darkly, “I can.” 

“What?” You say through a nervous breath, eyes widening. 

“I own the place. So I can kick you out, and I am kicking you out. Get your shirt.” 

Your shoulders fall slightly. You feel about two feet tall with the realization that he doesn’t want you here. This afternoon you thought that maybe he cared, he seemed like he cared, and now you’re half naked and he wants you to leave. He watches as you unclasp your bow tie and slide on your bra and shirt. 

You look over at Jamie’s clothes and it dawns on you that you didn’t drive here. Your face falls as you blink around the room and then towards Joel. 

“What’s wrong?” he says through thick concern.

“Nothing. I just…” 

He steps towards you, he’s so broad, his presence so large that you start to feel almost claustrophobic when he’s this close, but you never want him to step away. You’d happily let him smother you with his innate Joel-ness. “You just what?”

“I didn’t drive here,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. Your left thumb nail immediately finds purchase along the cuticle of your right thumb. 

His strong palm cups your chin, lifting until he’s looking at you again. You’re becoming more and more used to the amount of eye contact Joel seems to make. He seems constantly dialed in on you when you’re in the same room.

Yes, I would be very happy to let him smother me. 

The harsh lines of his face soften, “I can get you a car. They’ll meet you at the staff door.” 

You nod into his hand and find it exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you that way. He drops your chin and turns his large, broad body back towards the swinging door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” His voice is soft and sad, almost as if he’s full of remorse and just hoping you won’t hate him before heading back into the poker game. Any bit of anger is flushed from your system, replaced with the disappointment of having to leave wherever Joel is.  

You drag your feet to the elevator and then towards the staff exit. You let the heavy door close behind you with a loud bang as a blacked out SUV pulls up. The driver says your first and last name as he opens the back door for you. You look towards the black building one last time. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” 

JMKink is written in shiny metallic black on the door and all the information of the evening hits you at once. JMK. Joel Miller Kink. Joel Miller, insanely handsome millionaire, owns a sex club.

Next Chapter

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[lion-writer]

I’ve seen a lot of headcanons and fics where Viago disapproves of Rook getting together with Lucanis. And ones that focus on how an alliance with the De Rivas benefits House Dellamorte, which is definitely true, and i fucking love them, but consider Viago probably couldn’t possibly ask for a better partner for Rook.

Though to be fair I am obsessed with Viago and his belief that he could restore the royal power of Treviso and that “He will not be satisfied until he sits upon a throne.”

While as a talon, he’s definitely more powerful than the king, and he could probably easily overthrow his father and take the throne. But that's probably not his biggest issue, because as my old history teacher used to say, “Power cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred”, so by restoring the power of the royal family, he’d be taking power away from the merchant princes and the other talons. Which, it’s probably safe to assume they wouldn't be happy about”. (Also as a side note, the quote “It’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you” is applicable here. Viago is a man planning to make A Lot of enemies)

And remember, this man is still the 5th talon, and while he’s allied with Teia, she’s also only the 7th talon. (Though they definitely should have gotten a promotion after the events of 8 little talons). So he’s not really in any position to actually make any power play, not unless he wants to piss off 6 of the other houses. 

Thankfully, depending on the choices you make, by the end of Veilguard, he’s almost certainly up there among the most powerful people in Antiva, given that he was a key player in ending the occupation of a major city by the Antaam, not to mention the killing of a Literal Evil God. The only Antivans that could be more influential than him at this moment is Teia, who he’s dating and let's be honest, will eventually marry, Rook, who’s his protege, 

Among those people, Lucanis is probably the most politically powerful, given that he’s done everything Viago has, in addition to the fact that he actually killed a god, and is now The First Talon. While I feel that he would support Viago in the bid for the throne, he’s also the only one who Viago doesn’t have any sort of formal alliance with. And considering Viago’s general distrust towards basically everyone, he wouldn’t place that much trust in the bonds of friendship, (especially if you believe that he thinks that Lucanis’s attempt at flirting was a threat).

But given the general political upheaval Antiva is probably already in right now, because It’s highly doubtful that Governor Ivenci was the only guy to make deals with the Antaam or Venatori for power, there’s no better time for Viago to make a play for power. With everything so recent it would be so easy for him to step forwards as a figure for people to rally behind, I mean he exposed corruption in the government, he freed Treviso, he trained a god killer, and he’s the son of the king. But If he waits, he kinda does risk somebody else stepping forth.

But after Ivenci’s attempt at getting rid of the crows and the whole Illario debacle, the other Talons would be very suspicious of anyone trying to take power, and while Viago is a Crow, he’s also an infamous curmudgeon who doesn’t really get along with the others. 

Luckily, Lucanis is head over heels for Rook, which cements an alliance with House Dellamorte. And well, there’s quite a historical precedent, especially in Antiva, for alliances and weddings to go hand in hand. Not to mention the message it would send to the other talons for Viago to give away Rook, his protege for whom he has already demonstrated a soft spot for, to The First Talon, arguably The Face of the Crows. In addition, a grand high profile Wedding between two heroes who just saved the world, is the perfect thing for the general public to associate Viago with after everything. 

I mean I’m pretty sure he would still grumble about it and he’d definitely let Lucanis know that if he ever dared to hurt Rook, Lucanis would wish he was still trapped in the Ossuary. But once he’s certain that they’re serious about each other, Teia and him would be the first people to start bugging them about marriage.

[heartsaturn]

“i’m wearing tennessee orange for him” - lh43

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which, blood doesn’t run thicker than water

warnings: nothing (??), intended lowercase, set in luke’s last season at umich, awkward!luke and a bit of shy!luke, ends in a bit of a cliffhanger so i’m open for part two requests if anyone wants it

a/n: woah !!! sara actually write a fic ?!? ik ik it’s crazy. this was requested by my one and only @daniiiboo, i deeply apologize for taking five years (a few MONTHS 😓) for this to come out. i still don’t really like this fic but i like it enough to post it.

———————————————————————-

if one thing is true, it is that ohio state hates university of michigan. the feeling is definitely mutual. the two schools have been rivals since before you can remember. all you know is that you cannot associate with someone from michigan. you were raised a buckeye, and you will stay a loyal buckeye, right?

well, being a loyal buckeye is really damn hard right now.

it is not an abnormal thing for you and your friends to go and support the sports teams at your school. most of the time, it was football games. sometimes, it was hockey games. and now hockey season is starting. the stadium buzzes with energy at the first rival game of the season. it’s the beginning of october and the beginning of fall, which you believe is one of the best times of the year. the air finally starts to become crisp after a blazing summer. it couldn’t be a better time for a hockey game. so, you and your friend decide to go to the game for the atmosphere.

just here for the atmosphere, you try to remind yourself now. you also happen to be questioning in your mind why a hockey player just tossed you a puck. a michigan hockey player. there is no way that he thought you were a michigan fan because, first of all, there is a very minimal amount of michigan fans. you’re literally at your home arena. second of all, you and all of your friends are wearing ohio state gear. who does this stupidly gorgeous wolverine think he is?

while all of your friends start squealing because of this boy’s gesture, you sit there in shock. you look at the puck that rests in your hands. you don’t snap out of your confused daze until one of your friends nudges you.

“you think he’s cute?” she asks with a small smile on her face. her words are teasing and her smile is smug.

of course, you think he’s cute. how could you not? he is tall, has curly hair that you can see peaking through his helmet, and you note the little smirk that he had on his face as he skated away from you.

“he’s not bad-looking,” you answer. you can’t stop a small smile that grows on your face as you look down at the little gift.

during the game, you and your friends find out that this boy’s number is 43 and his last name is hughes. you can’t deny that your eyes follow him almost the whole game. you try not to let them wander, you really do. upon finding out his last name and jersey number, your friends are able to find his instagram account.

“you guys are actually insane,” you say with a snicker.

“we just found your future boyfriend on instagram, so you're welcome,” one of your friends teases sassily.

the game goes on and the whole arena is filled with chants and overwhelming school spirit as ohio state finishes off the game, winning 4-3 in overtime.

this is not good for luke. his mind has gone into a spiral of what went wrong and what the team could have done better when he remembers his bold actions during warmups. the truth is, luke isn’t some cocky hotshot hockey player. he is just an awkward college student who happens to be pretty darn good at the sport he plays. luke is charming and charismatic. he knows this, mainly because he has been told by other people. he just isn’t all that confident in using these abilities quite yet.

luke can already feel the regret bubbling inside of him because of his previous actions, certain that he has zero shot with this girl. what are the chances of him even seeing her anyway? well, apparently very high because he does see her again.

you had let your friends encourage you to wait outside the locker rooms to see if you could find the boy that they so desperately want you to meet. and then they left you. they left you wandering outside the locker rooms anxiously by yourself. in their minds, it was a way to get you alone with luke. in your mind, it was downright mean. the only people who really stand outside the locker rooms are family members and girlfriends, which you are neither of. you feel out of place and you honestly hope that luke comes out of the locker room just so that you don’t have to hover awkwardly for much longer.

then, your prayers are answered because out walks the same hockey player that had so shamelessly thrown a girl on the opposing school’s team a puck earlier. only this time, the boy looks much less intimidating. he actually looks quite friendly. when he walks out of the locker room, he is talking with one of his teammates. he looks exhausted and a bit beaten up from the loss that his team just faced, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive in your eyes.

luke sees you and immediately recognizes you. he couldn’t forget such a pretty face. honestly, that is probably the only reason that he gained the confidence to toss you a puck in the first place. seeing you smiling with your friends and looking so gorgeous while doing it made luke so desperate to try and flirt with you.

now, luke is a tad stunned. he sees you and just freezes for a moment. he decides to approach you after a few seconds of you not noticing him.

“hello,” you hear a male voice say after clearing his throat. you spin around to see the captivating wolverine from earlier.

“oh, hi..” you reply softly. both of you seem too shy to speak to the other properly.

“thanks for the puck,” you speak up, now looking up at his taller frame.

“oh yeah, no problem. i’m sure you get that all the time being as stunning as you are…” luke says back. his demeanor is still very bashful. although, he can feel his confidence swell as the conversation flows on because there is no way that he is losing his chance with you.

you find his attempt at flirting a bit amusing but still sweet. his continuous attempts to impress you and try to hold the discussion with you are honestly adorable.

“not usually, and not by anyone i would want to get to know anyway. i could make an exception for you though,” you respond, a pleased smile finding its way to your features.

“do you want to get to know me while we get lunch then?” luke asks. very smooth transition, luke. very smooth indeed.

“our schools are three hours away from each other you know…” you say. your words are meant to be taken almost as a warning. not just a warning to luke but to yourself as well.

“i have a feeling i’ll be in it for the long game,” the boy simply replies with a little grin and slight shrug. his casual answer eased you a bit and let you know that he wants to make it work out if you also want to.

you have literally known this boy for a whole two minutes of your life and you are already thinking about if you could go long distance with him. i guess he really did catch your attention on the ice.

“i’m luke by the way,” he says.

“y/n,” you reply.

you don’t dare to tell your family what school luke goes to if you guys do end up making it work.

———————————————————————-

word count: 1269

[goldfades]

PARDON MY EMOTIONS / I SHOULD PROBABLY KEEP IT ALL TO MYSELF ── 𝐉𝐁⁵

❪ requested -> "jude angst to fluff WITH PLOT!" ❫

─ pairing | jude bellingham x fem!reader

─ word count | 1.7k

─ warnings | lots of angst to fluff, miscommunication (kind of), jude being an ASSHOLE but making up for it.

─ ev's notes ! | i'm now in my football kick due to the euros and copa america so please send in requests!!! 🤗🎀

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP with England's star football player had its ups and downs.

You got to be a WAG, enjoying the glamorous lifestyle that came with dating Jude. From attending high-profile matches and exclusive events to traveling the world and mingling with other footballers and celebrities, life was never boring. The media attention was overwhelming at times, but you learned to navigate the spotlight and maintain a sense of normalcy.

However, that was the problem. You longed for a sense of normalcy, that was all you wanted was for your relationship. The glitz and glamour of being a WAG was only fun for a bit, not it seemed like you never got a moment to yourself. This was the root of all your relationships, somehow ─ Jude never understood why you wouldn't like all the media attention.

"It's overwhelming," you muttered as you played with the bottom of your of your coffee cup, the warm ceramic providing little comfort. Jude sat across from you, his expression both of concern and confusion.

"What do you mean, overwhelming?" He replied, his gaze locked on you. "This is part of the life we have. The attention, the media... it's just something we have to deal with."

You sighed, looking out the window at the city outside. "But that's just it, Jude. I never wanted this. I love you, and I support your career, but I miss having a private life. I miss being able to go out without cameras following us or people recognizing us everywhere we go."

"Overwhelming for you?" He sighed, his expression hardening. "How do you think I feel? Look, I'm not asking for much ─ I've given you the best life I can,"

You scoffed, he wasn't listening to what you were saying. "This isn't about you or-or what you've given me. I'm grateful, I really am-"

"Doesn't sound like it," Jude cut you off, his voice rising in frustration. "It sounds like you're not happy with anything I've done."

You felt a surge of anger, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. "That's not fair, Jude," you sighed. "I've been by your side through everything, and all I'm asking for is a little understanding. I need space, I need to feel like my own person, not just an accessory to your life."

Jude stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "So, what? You want me to quit football? Give up everything I've worked for?"

"No!" You stood up as well, your heart pounding. "I don't want you to give up anything. I just want you to see things from my perspective for once. I'm losing myself in all of this, and I feel like an accessory you just get to show off."

"Well, you know that's not true," his eyes softened for a moment, but then the frustration returned. "I thought we were a team. I thought we were in this together. But it feels like you're just... giving up."

"I'm not giving up," you said, your voice breaking. "It's hard for me too, like I'm just a pretty face with no dreams or aspirations. That's what they think-"

"Who cares what they think? I know you're more than that, everyone you care about knows that." Jude let out a huff as he glared at you.

"Well it's always just been about you, Jude," you didn't mean it to come out so harsh ─ your tone hard and cold. "Moving to Spain and-and all this, it's hard on me too."

That seemed to hit a nerve because Jude's eyes went wide before he scoffed. "You think this has been easy for me? You think moving to a different country, dealing with the pressure of a new team, and trying to keep us together is all about me?"

You flinched at his words, but your frustration was too strong to back down now. "That's not what I'm saying, Jude. I just want you to see that I'm struggling too. I left everything behind to be with you. My friends, my family, my life — everything."

Jude's face softened slightly, but his jaw was still tight with anger. "I need you to understand that this life comes with sacrifices. We both have to make them, this is what you signed up for."

"I know that, Jude," you said, tears welling up in your eyes as you sniffled. "But sometimes it feels like I'm the only one sacrificing. I feel like I'm losing myself, and I don't know how to fix it."

You wiped away a tear before continuing, averting your gaze from Jude. "I just need to feel like I'm more than just your girlfriend. I need to feel like I have my own purpose."

"You are!" Jude snapped, before sighing.

You sent him a glare as you sighed loudly, getting tired of not being heard. "Don't raise your voice!"

"You're being ungrateful, I've given you everything! A nice house, a nice car, you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?"

That was the last straw. Your mouth was slightly agape as you took in his words. Ungrateful? How could he say that after everything you've sacrificed to be with him?

"Fuck," you sighed as you looked up, meeting his gaze. "Is that how low you think of me? Fine, then. Let them have my position, since apparently, you think I'm just here for the perks," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger.

Jude's face fell, a mixture of regret and panic crossing his features. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just frustrated. I love you, and I want us to be happy."

You shook your head, taking a step back. "That's not enough, Jude. Love isn't just about the nice things or the glamorous life. It's about understanding each other. And right now, I don't feel understood."

"That's not what I meant," Jude sighed as he began rubbing his temple. "Jesus, I need some space from you."

You glared as he grabbed his keys from the counter and you watched him walk out of the room, feeling your stomach twist in anxiety and hurt. The sound of the door closing echoed in the silence, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen. Tears streamed down your face as you sank into a chair, feeling the weight of the argument pressing down on you.

You sat there for a while, trying to process everything that had just happened. The love you had for Jude was undeniable, but the constant feeling of being misunderstood was taking its toll. You needed to find a way to reclaim your sense of self, to feel heard in your relationship.

After a few moments, you wiped your tears and took a deep breath. You needed to do something, anything, to clear your mind. You decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would help you think more clearly. Grabbing your jacket, you stepped outside and started walking aimlessly through the streets of the city.

As you walked, you reflected on your relationship with Jude. There had been so many beautiful moments, but lately, it seemed like the challenges were overshadowing the good times. You loved him deeply, but you needed to find a way to communicate better, to make him understand how you felt without it turning into a fight.

After a while, you headed back home, feeling a bit more centered. When you entered the apartment, you heard the TV and sighed. You took off your jacket and made your way to the living room, your gaze landing on Jude was too immersed in the show he was watch to realize you'd come home.

He finally met your gaze and instantly muted the TV, the tension palpable as you walked toward him.

"Hey," you whispered as he gave you a small smile.

He tapped to the spot next to him, inviting you to sit down. You hesitated for a moment before joining him on the couch, the silence between you heavy with tension.

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes filled with regret. "I've been thinking about what you said."

You nodded, your heart aching at the sight of his earnest expression. "Me too. I just... I need you to understand how hard this is for me."

Jude took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. "I know I've been incredibly fucking selfish, and I haven't been listening to you. I didn't realize how much you were sacrificing and how it was affecting you until now and... and I'm sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief. "I appreciate that, Jude. I love you, but I need to find my own way, to have something that's mine."

He nodded, squeezing your hand. "Yeah, I get that. And I want to help you find that. We can work on this together, maybe you can look into things that interest you here, find something that makes you happy."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I’d like that. And maybe we can set some boundaries with the media, try to keep our private life a bit more private."

"Yeah, absolutely," Jude agreed, his eyes shining with determination. "I'll talk to my manager and see what we can do about that. Your happiness is important to me... you are important to me."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling a sense of reassurance. "Thank you, Jude. I just want us to be happy together, without all the pressure and stress."

He kissed the top of your head, his arm wrapping around you protectively. "We will, I promise."

"I love you, a lot," Jude continued, his voice soft. "I didn't mean anything I said earlier, I was just angry. I don't know..." He trailed off, before pausing. "I don't know what I'd do with you, baby."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his brown ones, and you could see the depth of his feelings for you. "I love you too, Jude," you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you cuddled together on the couch, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you, you felt a sense of peace.

"How about we start fresh tomorrow?" Jude suggested, his voice gentle. "We can spend the day together, just us. No media, no distractions. Just enjoying each other's company."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief. "I'd love that. It sounds perfect."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Good. It's a date then."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[maxtermind]

SCENE 1 :: YOU TORE ME RIGHT APART ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their way back to each other? ★ : a/n :: oh fuck okay here we go! let me know what you guys think so far <3 what are the theories!! ahhhhhh this is more introductory? but lots of drama nevertheless <3 please don't mention the diff twin pics, i'll start crying!

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

yn.user 41 mins ago

yn.user boys are here to support their papa!

username OMG THE IT BABIES ARE BACK ON TRACK charlesleclerc I know they were rooting for me in red🏎 I loved the bracelet btw❤️‍🩹 ⤷ carlossainz dress up leo in red and leave my kids alone username I WOULD KILL TO HAVE Y/N AND CARLOS AS MY PARENTS carlossainz papa won this for his family👍 ⤷ username it's so cute that even though they are separated, carlos never leaves out y/n ⤷ username I think it's his loss, he wants them back so he's playing a persona w words like 'family' lol ⤷ username please get a life, touch some grass🙏 username THE BABIES MADE A BRACELET FOR CARLOS ⤷ landonorris I got one toooooo

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

instagram stories

lily is typing... (y/n's pov)

twitter

carlossainz 20 mins ago

carlossainz who said weekends with papa are a bore?

landonorris whoring on main papa sainz? ⤷ carlossainz please unfollow❤️ username DILFFFFF username carlos can I also be your baby mama???? y/n.user MUMMA MISSES HER BABIES ⤷ carlossainz we miss you too ⤷ username pretty sure she was talking about the kids carlos lmao username it's so strange that now we get the updates from separate accounts I miss the og paddock fam ⤷ username well people move on so🤷‍♀️ ⤷ username only the real ones rmb the sainz x y/n post spams lmao

yn.user just now

yn.user stole my tortured heart💫

username who plays cards alone on a beach? 👀 username y/n’s cryptic post has me guessing mhmmm a new love interest maybe?! ⤷ username cards on the beach when alone? definitely not alone. who’s the mystery company hehe carlossainz looks like a peaceful day. glad you're finding time for yourself! ⤷ yn.user hope the boys are still up! returning the call soon🥰 lilymhe finally enjoying some well-deserved relaxation💖 ⤷ yn.user love youuu username i see cards but no players. who's with you y/n username we need more context omg is this a date ⤷ username probably with lily lol username at first i thought you were with carlos but he's in the comments soooo does that mean a new romance

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1.wags 2 mins ago

f1.wags Our sources have spotted Y/N, ex-partner of F1 driver Carlos Sainz, enjoying a cozy dinner with an unidentified man. The two were seen sharing intimate moments, sparking rumors of a new romance. Could this be the start of a new chapter for Y/N? Stay tuned for more updates as we dig deeper into this developing story.

username wow, moving on already? poor carlos username she couldn't wait a little longer before flaunting her new man username guess she never really loved carlos. just saying ⤷ username carlos deserves better than someone who moves on so fast ⤷ username its been almost half a year? username poor kids. this is why you should never have kids out of wedlock ⤷ username hey good morning, i think you time traveled to 200 years forward. please go back username she’s just trying to make carlos jealous. grow up, y/n username so much for being a loving mother? priorities lol ⤷ username boys were with carlos for one weekend and this is how she spends it ⤷ username from a perfect family to this? disappointing username carlos is better off without her. clearly, she didn’t care about him ⤷ username fr y/n's true colors are showing now. carlos dodged a bullet

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[chimielie]

yeah, you might want me to drop dead (but i don't even care)

summary: Atsumu x F!Reader. atsumu would categorize your relationship like this: he thinks you're hot when you're angry. you would categorize your relationship with atsumu like this: he had woken up one day and decided to drive you out of your fucking mind insane. 

word count: 2k

cw: miya atsumu's degradation kink (it's still sfw he's just not subtle), suggestive at the end

a/n: another resurrected fic from the drafts. walk him like a dog, bitch, walk him like a dog

Miya Atsumu was a player known for his thirst for blood. Like his brother, who termed the all-consuming need to dominate their opponent hunger, he relished in complete fucking annihilation. He was hardly soft off the court, too: few of his peers could withstand his cutting humor, his teammates couldn’t understand how he hadn’t scared off his fan club, and he had crushed a few hearts beneath his heel in his time.

He’d met his match in the natural enemy of heartbreakers: his university’s resident maneater.

“Hey!” Atsumu calls your name, lengthening his stride to catch up to you. You grimace—he can barely see your side profile now, but oh, you’re slowing down so he can catch up. Unusually considerate.

Oh, no, there’s just a clog in the artery of the crowded hallway, halting your escape.

“Hi,” he sing-songs, stretching the word out several extra syllables. 

“Good morning, Atsumu,” you say tightly, drawing up your shoulders so your arm won’t brush his bicep in the limited space. “I was hoping you’d died, since you weren’t in lecture this morning. Better yet, maybe someone buried you alive last night and you hadn’t dug your way out yet.”

“You went with the option that doesn’t kill me! You care,” he says happily, and takes a moment to bask in it. “I was actually at a volleyball game, you should come to one sometime, I’m pretty good at it—”

“I’d rather walk in traffic, ‘Tsumu,” you shoot him a wide smile that makes his knees feel weak and wobbly and shove your way straight through the crowd of people, leaving only an uncaring ‘Scuse me! in your wake. 

A lot of people would categorize your relationship with Atsumu as complicated. Atsumu is not one of those people.

Atsumu would categorize your relationship like this: many moons ago, you and he had been in a few of the same classes and shared some mutual friends—mere acquaintances. He hadn’t known you very well. In fact, he’d thought you were cute, which he now knows you aren’t. A few minor catastrophes he wasn’t privy to later, you had come to verbal blows with some loser in the middle of the quad. You’d later found it rather embarrassing. Watching you eviscerate him, though, Atsumu had experienced a fear like never before. If he was bloodthirsty, you bathed in ichor. 

He would always remember the look on your face as you dealt the final blow and turned away, walking with a straight back right toward him.

Atsumu, who had never seen anything quite like the look of controlled rage on your face as you took that man apart. Who wasn’t sure why the sound of you doing your damnedest to instigate a fight made him shiver despite being all too warm inside. Who was looking up at you from his seat like a puppy, desperate to see you don your war paint again.

You walked past him, because of course you did. You weren’t pulled by the same magnetic force he was, focused on him like he was suddenly fixated on you. You were barely acquainted with him and obviously going to your friends for moral support and ice cream and whatever it was people did after one of them basically tarred and feathered someone in the town square. He was merely a bystander along the path you strode.

Of course, the very action of totally ignoring his existence cinched it: he was hooked.

You would categorize your relationship with Atsumu like this: he had woken up one day and decided to drive you out of your fucking mind insane. 

You’d tried to ignore him. He was persistent, though, and he just pushed and pushed and pushed until he crossed the line. It was exhausting.

Except that you kind of loved fighting with him.

You couldn’t help the adrenaline rush it gave you, the way he seemed to light a fire inside you no one else could and keep it burning hot. It was almost like a release to debate him, the way some people boxed or listened to heavy metal to destress. The feeling of victory never failed to put a sparkle in your eye and a cocky smirk on your lips; sometimes, you felt like he was stepping back and letting you win.

This continued in perfectly pleasant vicious and sometimes bloody antagonism for the course of forever until a few months ago, when Atsumu had begun the new and inimitable torture of flirting with you. It was horrible and it was weird and you had no idea what kind of mind game he was playing, but you certainly intended to find out. 

Atsumu, for his part, had recently realized that he likes it when you smile so much more than when you scowl. He likes it when you flutter your lashes instead of staring flatly into his soul, hoping to yank it out and set it aflame. He likes it when you say nice things to him, which has only happened once, but was very nearly a second sexual awakening and thus monumental.

He does not like it when other men flirt with you.

“Your pencil is broken,” Osamu notes, glancing down at his brother’s clenched fist. “You’ll get splinters.”

“What? Oh,” says Atsumu distractedly. “Yeah, I’ll do it later.”

Your laugh rings across the library, the warm glow of a fireplace instead of the burning fires of hell you share with Atsumu. His grip slackens, and his twin takes the opportunity to prise the pulverized writing utensil out of his hand. This kindness goes unnoticed as the guy, that’s how Atsumu’s thinking the word in his mind, low and mocking, guy, says something to you that makes him instinctively kick Osamu in the shin.

“Ow! Douchebag!”

“Sorry, reflex,” Atsumu apologizes.

“Do you want to go with me?” Asks the dickhead you’re talking to.

“To ice cream? Sure,” you reply, and you don’t even sound like you’re being sarcastic. What the fuck? There’s a long pause while the jagoff scuffs his shoe against the floor, a red flush coming over his face while you stare slightly past him with your trademark stare. But your lips are slightly turned up.

The expression haunts Atsumu on his walk back. Your smile was so pretty, sweet and soft. You never smile at him except mockingly. 

“At the risk of sounding like I care,” Suna says. “Are you okay?” 

“If I killed someone, would you help me get rid of the body?” Atsumu says, staring straight ahead.

“No,” Osamu says, “he’s finding out about human emotions and he’s coping very badly.”

Atsumu is ignoring you. As quickly as his interest (his desire to piss you off) had flared up, it had disappeared seemingly overnight, which was fine for you. It was great! You had booted the most annoying man in the world out of your life and replaced him with a perfectly nice guy. Your life was coming up roses.

Except it was driving you insane. You had your phone out, held an inch below your desk, leaving the perfectly nice guy (what was his name? You hadn’t saved it in your contacts and you weren’t sure why) on read as you stared across the room at the faux-blond.

He was chattering to another boy who looked bemused and patient; probably another volleyball player. You were half-convinced this was part two of his ploy to get under your skin; he was playing the unpredictable game.

As you try to bore a hole in his brain with your eyes, you see him glance back at you for a second, just a second, and that’s it. You slam your palms down on the desk, shooting up from your seat, trying not to make eye contact when a few other students turn and look at you because of the noise. He still won’t look directly at you as you make your way to his seat.

“I just remembered I have to leave,” says Atsumu’s friend—Aran, not that you care what his friends are called—picking up his bag. “I have to go be anywhere else right now.”

“What,” Atsumu whines as he books it away from the two of you. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah,” you snap, folding your arms in front of your chest. You’re not sure why you’re so angry, just at the look of his melting chocolate eyes and hunched shoulders and pouty lips. Ugh. He’s the worst. “You’re avoiding me. Why.” The question sounds more like a sentence or maybe a threat.

“I’m not doing that,” he defends weakly. “Maybe I just got tired of looking at your face.”

“My face is fucking precious, okay,” you argue, “you should want to look at it all the time. Idiot. What’s wrong with you?”

“I do—I mean, what? What’s wrong with you?” He returns, and there’s the familiar snap and sting that you like so much. “You don’t even like it when I talk to you—”

“I don’t!”

“So why are you mad now that I’m not?”

“Because—” You struggle for reasoning. You can’t find it. Something strange and huge is crawling its way up your throat.

“Because, uh, um,” he mocks you, and you almost sock him. “Make up your mind! I was trying to be nice to you, even though it’s fucking boring!”

“I don’t want you to be nice to me!” You shout, and then curl over, your face nearly in his lap as almost everyone else in the room turns to look at you. One of the library workers shushes you loudly. “It’s—you’re right, it is boring. Everything else is fucking boring. I like it when you bother me, ‘Tsumu, okay?”

“Okay,” Atsumu says, eyes widening, leaning away from you as you seem nearly on the verge of manic combustion in front of you. “Then—I’ll keep doing it?”

“Will you?” You sit up straight and look him squarely in the eye. He gulps, unsure what he’s being asked. Something is fluttering in his stomach, but he’s hesitant to trust it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and it feels like so much more than a confession.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you say, in the same deceptively soft tone. “Can I kiss you?”

“Not if I kiss you—” You grab his face before he can finish talking and smash your lips onto his, first hard and like you’re trying to bully your way into his mouth, then a little sweeter, a little more tender. “First?”

“I win,” you say smugly as he tries to remember how to breathe.

“Please leave,” says the librarian. 

You live alone, which is amazing, because if Atsumu were to see his brother or teammates right now he might commit felony battery. In your apartment, which is full of trinkets Atsumu wants to examine but can’t because he’s very busy staring at you, you shove him onto the couch and sit on him. Sort of like you’re wrestling, but not at all.

“If we’re goin’ out,” he says, “we are going out, right?”

“Yes, ‘Tsumu,” you say, and your smile is as bright as the stars. He clears his throat and prays his voice doesn’t crack.

“Good. Uh, if we’re goin’ out, does that mean you have to start bein’ nice to me?” 

“I’ll be nicer to you,” you promise.

“Oh.” His tone is almost disappointed. 

“Or,” you lean down, and he almost chokes on his own inhale. “I can date you and be mean to you at the same time,” you say into his reddening ear, your breath hot and your smiling lips barely, just barely brushing his skin. Atsumu makes a squeaking noise that can barely be understood. “What was that?”

“Yes, please,” he says fervently.

You bite his earlobe teasingly, and he finds that really nice, actually. The nicest.

[leah-lover]

Entangled desires. Leah Williamson x Alexia putellas x reader.

Part 1

“ Fuck me!” You semi yelled at your TV.

“Only if you beg me for it.” Said your girlfriend with a smirk on her face. You were both laying on the couch. She was laying on your lap reading a book, while you were watching the Arsenal vs Chelsea game. Chelsea have just broke through the backline and scored a goal. In their defense the goal was pretty incredible, but you hated that your team got scored against.

“ I would love for you to fuck me amor but not now, I am too busy “ you joked. “You have been stressed for about 50 minutes now. I think you need a release.” She said sarcastically, The book is now laying on her chest. “ Mi Reina, this game is so important for my sanity right now.” you respond. She didn't talk after that, she just turned on her side, her head still on your lap. She put the book aside and focused on the game.

The rest of the match was pretty exciting. There were some missed shots from both teams, a goal from Arsenal, some decent shot blocks from the Arsenal defense, and just overall a lot of tension. Alexia stood up from your lap by the time the final whistle blew. She was alert and satisfied. You were more than happy with Chelsea's defeat since you were a die hard Arsenal supporter. As a result, in celebration, you kissed your girlfriend. The kiss was soft and filled with passion. You then pushed Alexia on her back, straddled her lap and kissed her hard. You didn't want any space between you two. You were hungry for her, needy for her, all you wanted was her touch. The adrenaline from the game took over your body. Suddenly, it all went away and was replaced by tiredness. “ It's okay baby it happens.” She confronted you because you pulled out of the kiss and sighed loudly.

“ I am so sorry.” You apologized. “ Let's go cook dinner instead. Then we can finish later.” She added, a small smile on her face.

At the dinner table you sat opposite each other. You were both comfortable in the silence.

“ That arsenal defense was really good today.” She said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, most of them are lionesses, so they are pretty good.” You answer.

“ Leah Williamson, the center back, is the captain of England right?”

“ She is the captain, she also captained the team today. She is pretty good.”

“ She was excellent today, made some pretty good deflections.”

“ And?”

“ What do you mean?.”

“ Mi Reina, tell me what you think.”

“ Well she is kind of attractive I guess. If you tell this to someone you won't like your punishment.”

“ Baby relax,I won't. I promise. Now let's go finish what we started after the game.”

“ What do you think about her?”

“ Leah ? Well I agree with you she is hot.”

—----------------

Tonight was one of the best nights of the year. The fifa best awards. This night was special because you were being awarded the best female player in the world which made you very proud of yourself. You were also proud of your girlfriend who made it into the best starting 11 in the world along with you and a few legends of the game.

You and Alexia got ready in the same room. You decided on an emerald green corseted dress that highlighted your chest and your brown hair. Alexia decided on an all black 3 piece suit paired with a red lip and her hair down.

The day leading to the ceremony had nothing out of the ordinary. You did your media duties, got ready, and left for the red carpet.

You and Alexia looked like a power couple, all the cameras were on you two, two of the most awarded and talented footballers. The ceremony was no different either. Kelley Smith presented you with your award and you thanked the most important people in your life in your speech. You talked to a few people but that was it. All the fun started at the after party.

While you were at the bar getting drinks your girlfriend was far from you talking to some people.

“Can I get two vodka sodas please?” You asked the bartender.

“Can you please make that tree?” Said a British voice from behind you. You turned around to find that the voice was Leah's.

“ Vodka soda is the athlete's best choice of drink right? ?“ she asked.

“ I guess so.” you respond.

“ I am Leah Williamson.” She added.

“ I know who you are. You are pretty recognizable.”

“ Not as much as the woman of the hour. Congrats on your award by the way. Spanish football is lucky to have you.”

You blushed at her words, that's when your drinks were ready. You wanted to talk to her more.

“ Why don't you join me and Alexia at our table?.” You asked hoping to get a yes

“Only for a little while I have my own people to tend to.” She responded.

You proceeded to guid Leah to your table. On your way there you passed alexia who said goodbye to the people she was with to join you too.

“ Ale this is Leah williamson. Leah, this is my lovely girlfriend Alexia.” you introduced the girls.

“ It's very nice to meet you alexia. We should have met a long time ago.” said Leah

“ I am glad we met too. How are you finding the night.” said Alexia. You knew your girlfriend well to know when she is nervous and right now she was clearly nervous, other people wouldn't spot it very well.

“ it's pretty boring actually. This is the most exciting thing that happened tonight.” responded Leah.

Your relationship with Alexia was common knowledge. However, Leah was flirting with the both of you for the better part of the hour and a half that Leah stayed with you. Throughout this time you talked about everything from football to your childhood. Several compliments and flirtatious attempts were made by all 3 of you. Leah’s phone was ringing for most of the time but she didn't answer. She then got a text saying that her teammates left and that she should go to the hotel because the party venue was almost empty. You didn't realise the time that passed, you were too immersed in the fun all of you were having. You were sitting on a couch, Alexia’s hand on your thighs occasionally caressing them, and Leah sat opposite you on a chair.

“ I can't believe they left without me.” she complained.

“ Well they did call you several times but you blew them off.” you responded.

“ but still how am i supposed to talk to them and miss out a second with you two.”

“ You can come with us. We are staying at the same hotel right?” suggested Alexia.

“ yeah but I don't want to intrude.”

“ nonsense, consider it an extension of this lovely night.” you added.

You then got out of the venue. You held Alexia’s hand while Leah walked to your other side.

The car ride was quiet. “ I would kill for a burger right now.” you whispered in your girlfriend’s ear because you were nuzzled in her neck. She then ushered for the driver to change direction to the nearest fast food chain.

“ one quick stop before we release you.” you apologized to leah running you hand on her thigh quickly.

“ No, not at all. I really want this to go on forever.” she responded.

The car stopped, you got your order, Leah and Alexia got a meal too after you provoked your puppy eyes.

You were now blissful on the hotel floor, and eating your burger with Leah Williamson and Alexia putellas. You were focused more on leah than on your burger.

“ shit i dont have my key card. I left it with Keira. God i am such a fucking idiot. ” she said after she finished.

“ Don't ever say that about yourself.” said Alexia who was quieter than usual.

“ what she means is it's fine you can stay here. it's too late to wake her up.” you corrected.

“ No, I can't do that .” she said frantically.

“ Yes you can and you will. It's too late to do anything. Plus we can hang out more. And we can put it to a vote and we both want you here.” said alexia before taking the last bite of her burger.

“ Alexia I can't. There is something. I just can't.” she said before heading towards the door.

Alexia got up and stopped her by her wrist. “ Look, it's alright, stay. Please. “ she said softly.

“ alexia almost never says please.” you added.

“ There is this unresolved tension in me. I can't hide it anymore.” she added, now looking at the floor.

Alexia lifted her head up by her chin, and at that moment we were all nervous. We all shared a look with each other, then looked at the floor, then at each other again. The silence was deafening. We all were thinking the same thing. It was just the matter of who starts.

[dalishious]

(I can’t believe I finished this so fast… I basically blacked out and then it was done lol… Anyway, please remember that this is all just my personal opinion, and if you feel differently, that’s fine!)

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review

Objectively speaking, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a fun game that the average player is going to enjoy, especially if that average player is coming in without any prior knowledge to the Dragon Age franchise. I believe this is a good jumping-in spot for people who are curious about the world of Thedas. But in contrast, I have seen a lot of criticism from other hard-core fans that I largely agree with. However, it just so happens that most of the criticism I have is not enough to prevent me from overall enjoying the game. That is to say, for pretty much everything I did not like, there was also something I thought was great… Unfortunately, that makes it a little difficult to give a review. So, I’m going to do my best to keep things as clear and concise as possible by splitting up the “good” and the “bad” aspects of DATV.

The Positive

The best thing to come out of DATV is the new cast of characters that make up your companions and supporting associates. While I do think that some of them could have benefitted from more development time to flesh things out further, just judging what we ended up with, is mostly great. I especially found Emmrich and Bellara to be stand-out examples of strong personalities to grasp onto, whose personal stories really touched me in an emotional way.

DATV also has fun with some returning characters. For example, now that Solas is no longer hiding his identity, we get to see a character that both believably honours his part in Inquisition, while also providing a new, refreshing side to him. There are also a number of characters introduced in Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights that appear in the game, like my personal favourites Teia and Viago, who are an absolute delight to interact with!

I think the three act structure is good, albeit with act three being quite short. There are a few sequences that are an absolutely phenomenal mixture of storytelling and engaging gameplay, like all of Weisshaupt! I also really enjoyed stepping out of the main story every once and a while, and into Solas’s backstory through the Crossroads memories – what ended up being extra special about these is how they mirror Rook’s struggle so well, by the end. They are a nice touch.

The locations are beautifully constructed with smooth interactions of climbing, zip-lining, and essentially parkouring your way around, making them fun to explore! They also came with such distinct flavours and character in themselves that influenced a sense of truly experiencing different parts of Thedas, with different cultures.

The mechanic of building up strength with the different factions, and that actually having a huge impact with the ultimate showdown in the end of the game, makes side quests feel far less inconsequential than in Dragon Age: Inquisition by comparison. That, and they number far less.

I like that the story mode actually feels like a story mode; there were only a couple instances where I really had to worry about death, and even then, I was able to just toggle off the death with the customizable gameplay mechanics and continue on.

Finally, it would be remiss not to say that the character creator for DATV is the best BioWare has ever put out. I’d go as far as saying it’s one of the best in any RPG I’ve ever personally experienced. From the flexibility in morphing a character’s head and body between custom shapes, to the little details like sclera colour, vitiligo, and top surgery scars, makes it a shining example of what RPG’s should strive for. (My only critique here is that it would have been nice to have more skin colours.)

The Neutral

I hated the combat for pretty much the entire first act of the game. I found it too hard to keep up with, and too much like Mass Effect bullshit. I can’t say that it’s completely grown on me yet, but I don’t hate it anymore. It’s fine. So, I’m giving this a special little spot before I get into what I didn’t like all the way to the end.

The Negative

As mentioned above, I do think that there is more that could be done with some of the characters to really achieve their full potential. Davrin and Lucanis—while to be clear I still really enjoy as they are—come to mind first, in terms of those who would have benefited from more development time. Most of Davrin’s screen time just revolves around Assan rather than Davrin himself, and Lucanis is so restrained that it takes a while to really crack him open. Both of these characters have intentional personalities that make them harder to get to know, I understand that, but I feel that it would have been all the more rewarding to have more time dedicated to their company after earning their trust and possibly endearment. Instead, it feels like their romance and friendship with Rook are only half-complete, and then rushed to finish.

There are some companion interactions that are just… cringe. There is no other word for it. Now, this is nothing new for BioWare games, but I feel like the “pulling a Bharv” scene for example, was hitting an entirely new low. (If someone misgendered me and then just started doing push-ups instead of just saying “hey sorry about that, I’ll try to do better” I’d be annoyed, not satisfied.) I also felt like most of the temporary rivalries between companions were artificial in nature, rather than organically part of their characters that actually served a purpose. We already knew Emmrich likes books and Harding likes nature; we did not need a whole cutscene with them bickering about camping. (The exception to this is Davrin and Lucanis, who genuinely had room to grow as people out of their multiple confrontations, not just a one-off scene.)

The music in DATV is, for the most part, forgettable and bland. There is one piece that really stands out, and that’s “Where the Dead Must Go”, which is a real banger. I am not a fan of Hans Zimmer’s OST otherwise; I think it is phoned in, just like most of his work. I deeply wish BioWare would have just stuck with Trevor Morris. The best parts musically in this game are just Morris’s work re-used from Dragon Age: Inquisition.

There are certain parts of disjointedness that separates DATV from the past games that are just… bizarre. This is especially the case when it comes to elven lore. For example, Bellara saying she is afraid that elves will be harshly judged for the Evanrus, or Harding saying that elves are “thriving”… as if modern elves are not deeply persecuted across most of Thedas. It made me question more than once if there just was not time in development to do a proper canon-compliancy check with everything, perhaps?

I want finish this part by bringing up again that the biggest flaw in DATV is that it feels very corporate. To repeat what I said in this post: It is as if a computer ran through the game’s script and got rid of anything with “too much” political substance, in an overcorrection to be “safe”. But now that the edges have been so smoothed down to make a block into a ball, it can no longer support anything.

Conclusion

It’s easy to see a lot of creativity went into the creation of this game… but it is also easy to make assumptions on how that creativity was constrained by development hell and corporate oversight. In the end though, Dragon Age: The Veilguard succeeded in being an overall good time, one that I will no doubt be putting just as many countless hours into as the previous installments in the franchise. 7/10.

[unionizedwizard]

so. many people have already pointed that koana is sort of like an ARR alphinaud remix and while it is not untrue, i think this analysis is only superficially correct. because the salient point of koana's character is that he feels shame and resentment towards his roots & origins and therefore overcompensates with sharlayan weabooism (well-intentioned, but still unsuitable). he comes off as really weird and stuck up, in the beginning especially, where it's like. "what the fuck is this guy's problem" in a way that's rather similar to the average player's reaction to ARR alphinaud.

BUT!

the thing with ARR alphinaud is that he was the Quintessential Sharlayan, both on account of his upbringing and family tree, and of his personal interests and achievements. he was (and still is) secure in his origins and cultural identity. koana's case is different, because he clearly loathes tradition and turali cultural practices in a way that comes across (and fundamentally is) really weird and destructive, which comes to bite him in the ass on many occasions during the rite of succession (and understandably so).

it all starts to make sense when you learn about his backstory though. while we know that wuk lamat doesn't remember anything of her own childhood, having been adopted by gulool ja ja as a toddler, koana was adopted at a much older age. he remembers his early years, and that's what fuels his entire vision for the future of tural. as he tells it, he was born to one of the most traditionalist hhetsarro tribes in tural, and abandoned (accidentally(?) left behind) during one of their yearly migrations, only surviving thanks to a pelupelu merchant who rescued and took him in before employing him in his tuliyollal shop. an obviously incredibly traumatic event that would shape everything about his future mindset: he's closed off and withdrawn to the extreme, highly analytical, values self-sufficiency and independence and technical innovations above all else, because that's how he survived to begin with. because his nomadic, highly traditional, presumably (from what we've seen of the one hhetsarro tribe we've met so far) tight-knit, spiritual and social tribe rejected and abandoned him. it would make sense that he'd rationalize this unfathomable violence by leaning hard into the opposite, and letting his own pain and resentment color his entire vision, turning his own feelings into a more general mindset of shame, resentful inadequacy, and complete rejection of anything "traditional"

i think sharlayan was a good choice for him because it's pretty much, indeed, the opposite atmosphere: in sharlayan culture, family ties are a lot less emphasized, while the kind of ties that colleagues, peers, teachers and students develop are considered as very important (see pretty much every sidequest and margrat's custom deliveries and all). all these relationships based on a common work and aspirations rather than origins would indeed agree with koana's character better, and his analytical skills, vision and intelligence are pretty much the most valued traits to them.

which is why it was actually such a stroke of genius to have thancred and urianger specifically support him. of course, both of them had a character development arc that echoed with koana's issues: learning how to express himself more openly and acknowledge his feelings, all that, meaning they were uniquely able to help him. but when you look more closely, they can also relate to him on a more personal level: thancred was "adopted" by louisoix as an orphaned lominsan street urchin, probably at a similar age as koana when he was adopted by gulool ja ja; and urianger's parents notably "abandoned" him to the point he was mostly tagging along at moenbryda's house and, later, at the leveilleur estate, as louisoix's disciple and honorary uncle to the twins (also worth noting that urianger and koana share the same flavor of autism).

so the rite of succession was a much-needed window into his own biases and (literal) coping mechanisms, and must have been quite difficult to deal with considering pretty much all the feats involved interacting with and strengthening tight-knit smaller communities with strong traditions and family ties. luckily, partly thanks to thancred and urianger (but not only! he did the work himself), he was clear-minded enough to realize his own failings, and well-intentioned enough to step down - because he did not want power for its own sake, unlike zoraal ja; he wanted to protect the turali people from a potential invasion by leaning hard into foreign technological advances, therefore mimicking his own personal journey and adapting his own tried-and-true methods of survival: anticipating the hardships, being as independent and self-sufficient as possible, and choosing isolationism.

and finally i want to point out that the new techniques and technologies he imported from sharlayan are all (safe, fast and reliable) modes of transportation: aetherytes, dirigibles (including the alpaca carriage adaptation), and trains. interesting choice, moreso considering that while aetherytes are the #1 sharlayan specialty, they have neither dirigibles nor trains; which takes on a whole new layer of meaning when you remember that his original tribe was nomadic and that he specifically was left behind, stranded in the desert, during one of their traditional migrations............

in this regard he truly IS green g'raha, considering that g'raha was, similarly, raised in a traditional seeker manner before being sent to sharlayan for his own (and the tribe's) safety; of course the difference is that g'raha embraced his heritage by locking himself in the crystal tower by the end of ARR, since the G tribe was tasked with guarding the remaining allagan ruins and weapons, to make sure their power would not be misused by yet another imperialist military force (he locked himself in the tower to reinforce its defenses and make sure the garlean empire would not access it to conquer eorzea)

thank you for your time 👍

[woso-dreamzzz]

Champions League

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Alexia Putellas x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The second time you meet Alexia

The only fun thing about the Champions League this year is that, with Not-Wolfsburg in the final, you get to go back to Sweden.

You love going back to Sweden because it means Morsa doesn't force you to speak English all the time. It also means that you get to have your favourite foods practically on demand at the hotel and it doesn't take ages to get like when Morsa makes them at home.

"Why aren't you playing?" You ask Zećira as you all file out to sit on the bench.

She shrugs. "I think Emma has a plan."

"Momma says Barcelona is very good," You say," But they're in pink."

Zećira chuckles. "Does wearing pink mean that they can't play well?"

You shrug. "I dunno." You think for a moment. "Are the Barcelona girls cool?"

Zećira laughs again as she taps you on the nose. "Don't go turncoat on us," She says," You're a Chelsea supporter, aren't you?"

As you're talking, a deflection from Melanie tumbles into the goal and even you recognise the wince that all of the Not-Wolfsburg girls give. You've got a bad feeling that this won't go the way Momma and Morsa want it to go.

Your interest in the match dims after that until a penalty is given away. Like always when there's a penalty, you perk up and move to stand on Zećira's lap so you can see properly.

Jonna makes sure you don't wobble off and you watch with eagle eyes as Ann-Katrin goes the wrong way and the Barcelona eleven slots it home.

It's fairly impressive to watch and you're filled with that same bouncy energy you always get when you're allowed to watch penalties. It annoys Morsa and Momma, you think, the way that you're most animated watching people take penalties.

At Not-Wolfsburg, that's always when you come to take part in training. Not to shoot your own penalties, of course, but to help save the ones shot at Zećira.

Momma and Sam get some pretty good chances to shoot but it's either not on target or deflected by Barcelona's keeper.

Barcelona get another two goals in the first half and, in your heart, you know that Not-Wolfsburg has already lost so you don't even bother listening to the way the girls on the bench are trying to encourage each other to not give up hope.

But, they all seem to shut up and let everything sink in when Morsa comes beelining towards you when the halftime whistle rings. You're sitting right by the tunnel that all the players are going down.

You get up, ready to take Morsa's hand but she just falls to her knees in front of you and pulls you into the tightest hug of your life. You hug her back, feeling a little bad that the game is going this bad.

A few of the Barcelona girls do a double take as they walk past to their changing room. You're not sure why. Maybe it's because you're so little and Morsa's hugging you so tight.

Momma comes and kneels in front of you too, stroking her hand over her face and pressing her lips to your hair. She murmurs something in Danish that you can't quite hear but it makes Morsa sigh softly before releasing you.

"Sorry," You say to them both," That Not-Wolfsburg is losing."

"It's not your fault," Momma says," Come on. Let's get you nice and fed."

Coach Emma makes you leave the changing room after you've eaten. You know that means she's going to yell. She always makes you leave when she's going to yell, ever since the first time when your English was not so good and it scared you so much that you cried.

So, with your special drink and a packet of Ahlgrens Bilar, you sit outside and press your ear to the wall to try and hear what Coach Emma is saying.

The walls are thick though so you can't hear anything.

You kind of wish that you had gotten your girl-swan out of your bag because you're a little bored without it and you just have to kind of wiggle your legs on the floor to amuse yourself.

Coach Emma's still yelling and you huff and look down the corridor to the big room before the tunnel where a blur of pink is moving out to the pitch.

They're talking in Spanish like when you went to Barcelona last year with Momma and Morsa. You still don't know Spanish so you don't pay them much attention until the sounds of cleats get closer to you and you look up.

A few of the Barcelona girls have approached you, shifting on their feet like they're not too sure what to say.

You don't offer up any explanations to them. You just move to sit cross-legged in front of them and munch on your marshmallow cars. You look down at your packet briefly and then back at the girls, smiling and offering the packet up to them.

It gets smiles from them and a few even take some of your cars. The girl from the beach last year, the one with the dog who is also somehow Barcelona's eleven, crouches in front of you. This time, she doesn't try to speak Spanish at you.

"Your mamas are in there?" She asks, indicating towards the closed door of the Not-Wolfsburg changing room.

You nod.

She nods too. "And you will sit here and not wander, yes? So your mamas know where you are?"

You nod again.

She thinks for a moment. "Can I wait with you? To make sure that your mamas get you properly?"

You shrug. Coach Emma is taking longer than usual to yell at them. "Okay." You move to sit back against the wall again and take a long drink of your special drink. You don't know what it is (Momma never tells you) but it's nice and it's like being cradled up in her arms in Denmark in Momma's momma's house.

The other girls in pink head out to the pitch after beach girl tells them something in Spanish.

"You're going to win," You say simply.

It's clear that she doesn't expect you to say that because she looks at you all weird.

"Momma and Morsa are gonna be sad," You continue, squishing one of your sweets between your fingers," But that's okay 'cause Zećira says that she'll let me play in goal with her no matter what."

"You like playing in goal?"

"Uh-huh. Zećira's teachin' me. She's the best."

"Really?"

"I'm gonna be better though and I'm gonna get Momma and Morsa the Champions League medals they want."

"Princesse."

You look up to see Morsa in the doorway, her hand out waiting for you. Momma's behind her, with a much more friendly face as you approach.

"Putellas," Morsa says," What are you doing here?"

"Just keeping her company," Barcelona's eleven says," I'll...I'll go now." She heads off down the corridor and turns back to wave at you once before disappearing back through the tunnel.

"Momma?" You ask," Why's Morsa angry?"

"Morsa's just having some big feelings," Momma assures you as she walks you out and sets you up in your seat with more snacks, your baby blanket and your girl-swan," And no matter what happens, she's going to need our help with those big feelings later, okay?"

"Cuddles at bedtime?" You ask.

"Cuddles at bedtime," Momma confirms, pressing a kiss to your head before heading off to the rest of the team.

You look nervously at Zećira, leaning against her as she wraps part of her coat around you. "We're going to lose," You whisper," Morsa's going to be so sad."

It goes exactly as you expect and you feel a little wobble in your chest when the whistle goes and you see Morsa look up at the sky like she's trying not to cry.

Zećira helps you down from your seat and you sprint across the field to crash into Morsa.

She's definitely crying now and she drops to her knees and presses her chin onto the top of your head. She keeps repeating the same words to you over and over again. "I'm sorry, princesse. I'm so sorry, princesse."

You can feel her tears drip into your hair and you make sure to squeeze all of your love into the hug. "It's okay, Morsa," You say," I'll get you a gold when I'm older. I'll get Momma a gold too." You look at Momma over Morsa's shoulder. "I promise."

Momma joins the hug too as Morsa cries into your hair. "It's okay, Magda," She says," It's okay."

You stay glued to Morsa's side as Coach Emma brings everyone in for the huddle talk. Morsa's still crying slightly and you offer her your baby blanket for comfort, which she swings around her shoulders and holds like it's a lifeline.

"Momma," You whisper, tugging at her arms as you look nervously at Morsa," Momma, can we go now? Morsa needs cuddles."

"We've got to get our medals first," Momma says," Just a bit longer."

"No! Morsa needs cuddles now!"

"I know," Momma says," Just a little bit longer and we can all go back to the hotel and have lots of cuddles."

You relent briefly though it's not long before you've attached yourself to Morsa and she even carries you up onto the stage to get her medal, which immediately gets put around your neck.

"Is Morsa going to be okay?" You ask Zećira as she pulls you away to go play in goal as the Barcelona girls start getting their medals.

"Your Morsa's going to be just fine," Zećira promises you," She just needs some comfort from your Momma right now so we're going to set up here for a bit."

You look back at Morsa and Momma and then nod at Zećira. "Okay."

Even though she didn't play today, she still brought her gloves and helps you put them on.

"Okay," She says," Now, what's the most important thing when being a keeper?"

"Doesn't matter if it goes in, as long as I try," You reply.

"Good."

She takes little shots at the goal for you to save and then chips one over your head when she notices you're distracted looking at Morsa again.

Both of you completely miss the approaching figure until she stops in front of you.

"Hello again," Putellas says.

"Hi."

Zećira takes a step forward, almost protectively but Putellas doesn't seem to care, kneeling down so she can be your height and peering past Zećira's leg to properly look at you.

She's in a different shirt on now but she's still got the pink one in her hands too. Her medal is around her neck like Morsa's is around yours. She's smiling at you too, holding out the hand with the shirt to you.

You step past Zećira and cautiously reach for it. You hold it in your hand before tugging it over your head. You smile back at her.

"Can I play?"

You look at Zećira, who shrugs.

"Your choice."

You look back at Putellas. "Okay."

She kicks the ball gently at you a few times and smiles every time you make a save. Zećira stays nearby, sometimes approaching to give you little tips or to tie your hair back and adjust your gloves.

Morsa and Momma finally come over a long while later. Morsa's finally stopped crying but you don't even try to save Putellas' shot as you approach Morsa to make sure she's okay.

"Better now that I've got you," She says when you ask, heaving you up onto her hip as Momma presses ticklish kisses to your face.

Putellas stands there awkwardly, now completely outnumbered by Chelsea girls.

But Morsa smiles at her, tugging down at your new jersey. "We don't have a wall here, princesse. Why don't you go and stand next to Alexia and we can take your picture?"

You wiggle down and crowd into Alexia's space. She crouches down to your height as Momma takes out her phone. Her hand goes to rest on your shoulder as you beam up at the camera.

"That's being framed," Morsa says.

(It does get framed and put on your bedside table where it's joined over the years with pictures of you with other footballers)

Alexia awkwardly clears her throat. "Can-Can I have a copy?" She asks, almost shyly," I think it would be nice to have one to remember her by when she's the best keeper in the world."

Momma laughs in delight and nods," Put in your number. I'll send it to you."

"Best keeper in the world," Zećira says wistfully as she helps you pull off her gloves," You're going to have to keep training hard."

"She will," Morsa says," She's going to get enough medals to give out to a whole team."