#so much to say about everyone in this little game

[aldmerisorcery]

This is the impact of the US Empire's tech oligarchy and its global dominance. Plus the fact that so many people did grow up online, the consequence is often stunted social skills plus severe addiction to social media and other US Imperial tech products. In the 2020's, the US Empire isn't just one that uses finance and resources to Conquer, it colonises the psyche also.

There is a way out, however. Social media should be used as sparingly as possible. "Facebook spies on you", well no shit. It's a psychological trap that gives you a massive dopamine hit for giving away all information about yourself of your own volition. The owner of this giga corporation has already stated that privacy is a thing of the past. I wouldn't want to pay for social media but if a for profit enterprise is free to use then it is not the product, you are! Don't get your news from social media, go back to how we used to do it and run an aggregator, RSS is still very much an option. Don't doom scroll, spend as little time as possible on their apps and don't feed them data.

Use an RSS feed to get the news you need online, this allows you to read what you want without generating profit through social media clicks and the lack of endless arguments in a comments section prevents anyone from collating your political & psychological profile to sell to ad companies so an algorithm can be further weaponised against you, fucking up more of your mental health in the process. RSS is subject to no algorithms. You see more and you see it as it appears chronologically, there is nothing being hidden from you or artificially promoted.

Try and wean yourself and your friends away from social media messaging apps and onto alternatives. This one is difficult as as much as we like to (justifiably) complain people are lazy at the end of the day and are determined to not give slightly more inconvenient alternatives a chance. There's a reason YouTube's dominance has never been threatened by an alternative. But privacy respecting messaging alternatives, like signal, do exist. Also, while a Gmail account might be necessary for accessing those Google services you absolutely need for work, YouTube etc, start to migrate towards pro-privacy alternatives for personal info use. Proton Mail is a good alternative email account.

Desktop operating systems also have a solution. Sure there might be Windows systems we've known and actually really liked before, everyone remembers Windows XP, for example. Truth is though that Microsoft have always been a morally bankrupt entity. They have went out their way to trap people in a monopoly and in the early days hid the fact that other browsers besides their own actually exist. But, like Apple, planned obsolescence is a part of Microsoft's strategy of mega greed. They forced everyone to upgrade to Windows 10 when they wanted and support for that is ending in October 2025. Windows 11 has the most egregious form of legalised spyware, compulsory AI and bloat in Windows history, and that's saying something. All this means, of course that system requirements for running Win 11 as your OS are also higher leading to the necessity of purchasing newer hardware. But you don't actually have to do that.

Microsoft Windows and Apple MacOS are not the only game in town. The solution to keeping your old hardware alive and escaping the American duopoly's grip on the desktop OS market is Linux. An OS kernel designed by a European based on old UNIX operating systems. There are plenty of Linux OS to choose from (distros). Do some research and install what supports your needs, is a project that is local to you, not based in silicone valley and which supports free and open source software. Gaming on linux systems is also easier than ever with Wine and Proton compatibility layers meaning more games than before are perfectly playable. It does mean doing a bit of research and learning how to install your own operating system, but it's not impossible. You'll be fighting against the US Empire's evil corporations while learning new practical skills at the same time.

Apply this philosophy to as much of your digital life as possible. Don't use Google Chrome, install privacy respecting browsers like Librewolf or Mullvad. Learn to spoof user agent and other data browsers gather on you. Visit deviceinfo.me to see just how creepy corporate browsers actually are. Support piracy for things corporations either won't allow you to own legally or make it unbelievably difficult to do so. After all, if buying isn't owning (if you even get that choice, especially for older media) then piracy isn't stealing. And while streaming can be convenient, again, you own nothing there. The service can and will remove what you like watching, irrespective if you're in the middle of a series or not. Support physical media as much as possible and buy CD's, DVD's and Blueray.

Also, lastly but really importantly, remember than online isn't real life. Try and spent as much time as possible offline as well. Go outside, enjoy nature. Spend time with family members and friends. Share experiences that you'll remember long after. Sure, you can have online friendships and remember certain conversations on some soulless, sanitised social media app. But it's not the same as a genuine in-person experience with someone you really value. So, remember to also put down your phone and pick up your life.

I don't know I'm not done talking about it. It's insane that I can't just uninstall Edge or Copilot. That websites require my phone number to sign up. That people share their contacts to find their friends on social media.

I wouldn't use an adblocker if ads were just banners on the side funding a website I enjoy using and want to support. Ads pop up invasively and fill my whole screen, I misclick and get warped away to another page just for trying to read an article or get a recipe.

Every app shouldn't be like every other app. Instagram didn't need reels and a shop. TikTok doesn't need a store. Instagram doesn't need to be connected to Facebook. I don't want my apps to do everything, I want a hub for a specific thing, and I'll go to that place accordingly.

I love discord, but so much information gets lost to it. I don't want to join to view things. I want to lurk on forums. I want to be a user who can log in and join a conversation by replying to a thread, even if that conversation was two days ago. I know discord has threads, it's not the same. I don't want to have to verify my account with a phone number. I understand safety and digital concerns, but I'm concerned about information like that with leaks everywhere, even with password managers.

I shouldn't have to pay subscriptions to use services and get locked out of old versions. My old disk copy of photoshop should work. I should want to upgrade eventually because I like photoshop and supporting the business. Adobe is a whole other can of worms here.

Streaming is so splintered across everything. Shows release so fast. Things don't get physical releases. I can't stream a movie I own digitally to friends because the share-screen blocks it, even though I own two digital copies, even though I own a physical copy.

I have an iPod, and I had to install a third party OS to easily put my music on it without having to tangle with iTunes. Spotify bricked hardware I purchased because they were unwillingly to upkeep it. They don't pay their artists. iTunes isn't even iTunes anymore and Apple struggles to upkeep it.

My TV shows me ads on the home screen. My dad lost access to eBook he purchased because they were digital and got revoked by the company distributing them. Hitman 1-3 only runs online most of the time. Flash died and is staying alive because people love it and made efforts to keep it up.

I have to click "not now" and can't click "no". I don't just get emails, they want to text me to purchase things online too. My windows start search bar searches online, not just my computer. Everything is blindly called an app now. Everything wants me to upload to the cloud. These are good tools! But why am I forced to use them! Why am I not allowed to own or control them?

No more!!!!! I love my iPod with so much storage and FLAC files. I love having all my fics on my harddrive. I love having USBs and backups. I love running scripts to gut suck stuff out of my Windows computer I don't want that spies on me. I love having forums. I love sending letters. I love neocities and webpages and webrings. I will not be scanning QR codes. Please hand me a physical menu. If I didn't need a smartphone for work I'd get a "dumb" phone so fast. I want things to have buttons. I want to use a mouse. I want replaceable batteries. I want the right to repair. I grew up online and I won't forget how it was!

[natalievoncatte]

They didn’t know Alex was watching them.

She was the only one awake- Kelly was sleeping in near silence, her breath tickling Alex’s throat, as her head lay pillowed on Alex’s chest. After the reception had formally drawn to a close, the core group, the Superfriends, had all moved on to the sprawling mansion that Lena had generously rented for them to inhabit for a few days before Alex and Kelly left for their proper honeymoon.

Alex was the only one awake. They’d all be tired and hadn’t even finished the drunken game of monopoly they’d begun for old time’s sake. Kelly had changed out of her wedding dress and Alex out of her suit and they lay curled up on a loveseat beside the crackling fireplace. Nia and Brainy were in a similar state on the couch. Between them all, Kara’s little doggie monopoly piece remained where it had last landed on Park Place, forcing her to declare bankruptcy and, of course, end up ceding all her deeds to Lena.

The game was essentially over at that point and everyone knew it, so the drinking began to lubricate the passing of stories and telling of tales. A second buzz in the same day always hit harder than the first and everyone fell asleep where they sat, except Alex.

She had a sick terrible feeling in her stomach, not of regret surely, but a dread she had trouble explaining. It finally hit her as she watched the firelight dance across Kara’s features.

Something had changed. Something was over, a page turned to a new chapter. One where, Alex somehow knew, their lives would no longer revolve around alien insanities and mystical calamities. The world was settling, shuffling back to the state it was in before Kara caught that plane all those years ago and announced herself to the world.

A more normal time, calmer, changed perhaps in many ways but just… life.

Now that Alex was at the threshold with her toes curled back from it and unsure if she was ready to cross, she felt a little loss. Her future was looking less superheroic and more soccermometic; Kelly had her two-thirds of the way convinced to reactivate her medical license and join a practice. When everyone talked about their futures the sounded mundane, even Kara was more excited about her big new job and chasing her dreams.

Wait.

Alex was wrong. Kara was awake, she was just so utterly entranced that one might be misled into thinking that she was merely dreaming.

Kara and Lena somehow ended up in a wide chair together, curled up in a tangle of limbs, wrapped in Kara’s cape as a blanket. Lena was tucked in under Kara’s chin on Kara’s lap, clearly in a deep, peaceful sleep.

Kara, however, was very much awake. She held Lena in a particular way, at once shockingly gentle and fiercely protective, making a fortress of her arms. Kara was intently focused on her chair-mate, either staring at her with the most pitiful expression of fear and anxiety or nuzzling her nose into her dark curly locks and sighing.

Alex frowned, unsure what to do or say. Her sister looked pained, as pained as Alex had ever seen her. She knew for a fact that she and Lena weren’t fighting- they spent more time together than ever now; it had started with them effectively splitting their time between their respective apartments but over the last couple of months had shifted to Lena, for all intents and purposes, shacking up with Kara. They spent no more than one night in ten apart and of those nine they were together, eight seemed to be at the loft.

Whenever Alex set foot inside, Lena was simply there, for no special or particular reason, the two of them just sharing the same space casually and naturally.

So why did Kara look so broken?

“Hey, kiddo,” Alex whispered. “Why the long face?”

“I can’t talk about it now.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“You guys didn’t have a fight or something, did you?”

Kara was quiet for a time.

“I think I waited too long.”

“For what?” said Alex.

“Don’t you know?”

Alex furrowed her brows, watching intently. Lena stirred, perhaps nudged towards consciousness a little by their murmured conversation and the urgency in Kara’s soft voice.

Then it hit her. Indeed, it struck her like a physical force. Kara looked down at Lena again and Alex gasped at the realization, wondering how the hell she had missed this, of all things.

She’s seen Kara smitten before, like she’d been with Kenny or the fuckboi from the dickhead planet. That was different. That was not this. Kara looked at Lena like she might not be able to breathe if she let her out of her sight.

Oh. Oh shit.

“We’re all moving on with our lives,” Kara whispered. “Taking new jobs, getting married, starting new careers. What happens when she’s too busy for me, Alex? When she finds somebody else and wants a real family and a real life and not… whatever we’re doing? What happens when…”

Kara must have noticed, her incredibly unfair super senses alerting her even before Alex noticed that Lena was awake, her blue eyes dark and soft in the flickering light.

Total silence fell over the room; all Alex could hear was Kelly breathing against her.

“I have a real family, Kara,” Lena said, softly. “They’re right here. You’re right here.”

“Lena?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lena said, lifting her head gently from Kara’s face. “Ever. I promise.”

They stared at each other for long heavy moment and said nothing. Kara’s eyes were so soft, her gaze so heavy with love, beyond love, adoration, almost worship. Lena gave her a little smile and looked up at her through her lashes.

“Oh for fucks sake, will one of you just goddamn do it already?” Alex blurted.

To her surprise, or maybe not, it was Lena who crossed the gap, who sealed the deal. She was the one who kissed Kara but in moments it didn’t matter who started it, and Kara simply stood and lifted Lena with superhuman ease and was already carrying her up the stairs.

Silence again fell on the room.

“Querl,” Nia said, from the couch.

“Yes?”

“You’re from the future.”

“Indeed.”

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh come on!” Nia snapped.

“I’m trying to sleep,” said Kelly, prompting Alex to snort.

Finally, they all did.

[steveseddie]

winning shot

written for the @steddiebingo get lucky mini event | prompt: green | wc: 1,4k | rating: t | tags: basketball games, getting together, background lucas/max

read on ao3

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Eddie says, looking down at the jacket that Steve gave him when he showed up at the trailer.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Steve says with a snort. “You said you wanted to make up for how much of a dick you were to Sinclair before Spring Break.”

Eddie rolls his eyes even if he did say that. “Yeah, but I was thinking more like, letting him roll with advantage on our next campaign or something.”

“Supporting him during the first game of the season is better,” Steve says snobbishly.

And it might be. After all, the whole thing happened because of a basketball game.

But–

“Do I really have to wear this?” Eddie asks with a whiny tilt to his voice.

“Depends. Do you own anything green?” Steve throws back, his hands settling on his hips.

“No,” Eddie mumbles.

“Then yes.”

Throwing his head back, Eddie groans. “Steveeee, it’s your letterman jacket.”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. Doesn’t he get what Eddie is saying?

“It has your name on it.”

“I know.”

Eddie sighs, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Won’t it– it might make people think– you know–”

“What?”

“That you and I are– you know–” He sputters awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “So?”

“So?” Eddie repeats, baffled. “Do I need to remind you that we live in a small town with small-minded people that already hate me?”

Steve’s face softens at that. “Nothing’s gonna happen, Eds. Jason Carver is gone and the charges have been dropped and everyone will be focused on the game anyway.”

“Fine, let’s say no one tries to burn me at the stake, they still might think we’re together.”

“I don’t care.”

Eddie shuts down the little flutter he feels in his chest. Just because Steve doesn’t mind, it doesn’t mean that it’s something he wants. “That won’t exactly help you score any dates, man.”

“So?” Steve repeats, making Eddie roll his eyes.

“You’re being impossible, Stevie.”

“No, you are,��� he says, grabbing the jacket from Eddie’s hands and pressing it against his chest. “Put this on and stop whining.”

Eddie glares at him half-heartedly. “This is going to ruin my reputation worse than the murder charges,” he says but dutifully shrugs the jacket on, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when he smells Steve’s laundry detergent.

When he looks up, Steve is watching him with a weird expression that makes Eddie fidget. “That bad?” He asks jokingly.

Steve shakes his head, swallows thickly and averts his eyes. And people call Eddie weird. “You’re so dramatic. Come on, we’ll be late.”

And with that, he starts walking to his car. Eddie sighs and follows him. Sinclair better fucking appreciate this.

**

They arrive just as the game is about to start. The bleachers are packed, but Steve makes a beeline for the two spots that Max saved for them.

Clearly she didn’t believe that Eddie would actually show up because her eyes widen a little when she spots them. Then they dart down and her lips tug up into a smirk.

“What are you wearing?” She asks when Eddie flops down next to her.

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

"Is that Steve’s letterman jacket?”

“No,” Eddie lies through gritted teeth.

She sniggers. “You’re so lame, man.”

Eddie splutters indignantly. “Shut up! You’re wearing Sinclair’s jacket!”

Her cheeks pink up a bit, but she still acts smug when she says, “Yeah, because he’s my boyfriend. What’s your excuse?”

Eddie growls, which only makes her smile turn even more smug.

The game starts shortly after. A few minutes in, Sinclair glances in their direction and Eddie sees him make a double take when he spots Eddie. He smiles and waves and Eddie begrudgingly waves back even if he can’t help but feel a surge of affection for the kid.

“Told you he’d be happy to see you,” Steve whispers to him.

Eddie knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Are you gonna explain to me what’s happening, big boy? Or are you just gonna act smug?”

Steve’s eyes sparkle and then he’s explaining basketball to Eddie with the same patience and enthusiasm that he has explained his campaigns or his books or his music. Eddie is instantly endeared.

He catches Max’s eye while Steve is going on and on about something called a ‘shooting guard’.

“Lame,” she mouths, probably because of how whipped Eddie looks right now.

He manages to flip her off without Steve noticing.

**

Near the end of the game, the two teams are tied and it’s up to Sinclair to score the winning shot.

Or at least that’s what Eddie gets from Steve’s hurried explanation.

Everyone at the gym watches with baited breath as Lucas prepares to make the shot. Even Eddie. Though in his case it’s not because he’s invested in the game, but because Steve’s hand is currently wrapped around his wrist, his thumb absently rubbing circles over Eddie’s pulse. Holy shit.

A whistle blows and the shot is made, but Eddie keeps his eyes on their hands, tucked into the space between their legs. Lucas must score, winning the game, because suddenly everyone around them jumps up and starts cheering and clapping.

That includes Steve, who drags Eddie to his feet with the hand that’s still holding Eddie’s.

When Steve finally lets go so he can join the celebration, it takes a moment for Eddie to remember how to move and when he starts clapping too, he can still feel the phantom press of Steve’s thumb against his pulse.

**

They take Max and Lucas out for ice cream after the game.

The kid is on cloud nine, recounting the game as if they didn’t just see him play it. When they drop him off, Lucas thanks Steve for the ride and Eddie for showing up, even if he knows just how painful it must’ve been for him to step foot in the gym.

When it’s Max’s turn, she makes sure to call Eddie ‘lame’ one last time before heading inside.

There’s no need for Steve to move the car with how close Max’s house is to the Munson’s trailer, but he insists on backing up and parking on Eddie’s driveway anyway.

“So what did you think?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Eddie mumbles, and looks up to find Steve smirking. “Don’t expect me to go to every game now, I still think people throwing balls at laundry baskets is stupid.”

“But I could talk you into coming to a few games at least?”

Steve could probably talk him into attending church, Eddie thinks. “Maybe,” he says.

His smirk turns into a lopsided grin that makes Eddie feel a little hot under the collar.

The collar of the letterman jacket he’s still wearing. Right.

“Anyway thanks for the ride. And for letting me wear this,” he says as he starts to shrug it off, but Steve stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Keep it,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “For the next game.”

“You know,” Eddie says, cocking his head and giving Steve a calculating look. “I saw a lot of people not wearing green at the game. Thought that was like, mandatory or something.”

“Uh, no but if you really wanted to show your support to Lucas then–” He trails off with a shrug.

“Mhm, but you know what I did see?” Eddie says, slowly starting to lean over the console. “A lot of girls wearing their boyfriends’ letterman jackets.” He lets his lips stretch into a grin and watches as Steve’s eyes dart down to his mouth. “Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that an excuse to get me to wear yours?”

Steve gulps guiltily. “Yeah. I don’t think I was ready for how it would make me feel, though.”

“How’s that?”

“Like this,” he says, grabbing the lapel of the jacket and pulling Eddie towards him, all but crashing their lips together.

Eddie makes a noise of surprise but wastes no time before cupping Steve’s cheek with his hand and kissing him back. He’s glad it’s late and the trailer park is quiet and empty so no one can see them making out.

They eventually pull away, both their lips red and slick with spit, and both stretched into a grin.

“I think I’m gonna have to wear this more often,” Eddie says, smoothing the jacket over his chest. “If that’s how it makes you feel.”

“I thought it was ruining your reputation,” Steve says with a snort.

Eddie laughs. “It is,” he says before fluttering his eyelashes at Steve. “But you’re worth it, sweetheart.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

THE MIND OF A WEIRD BLACK GIRL

CHAPTER 1: "I'M JUST A GIRL!!!"

Platonic yandere!batfamily x Neglected weird black!reader

SYNOPSIS: You're not childish, are you?

3:00 am. I should be dead asleep right now, completely unconscious, but tonight I couldn't help myself. I mean, who passes up an update on their favorite Tumblr fanfic? This fic has got me stuck at my desk for days on end. I keep telling myself that this is the last one and that I'm done, but then out of the blue, an ask pops up from the floodgates, and I'm back on my grind; no Kevin Gates. The blue rays of my computer screen glow against my dark skin. I can feel my eyes getting red and heavy. Another swig of Monster will keep me alive. One sip, and I feel my body tingle. That definitely wasn't good. I can hear my mom's words ringing in my head: "I saw a story on Facebook about a girl who drank so many energy drinks her heart stopped." She really needs to get off Facebook, and I really need to invest in some water. *Ping* OOOH, Leon Kennedy smut? Don't mind if I do! I laugh evilly to myself, clicking the fic with the pretty pink dividers.

*BEEP BEEP* "AHHH!!" I fall out of my gaming chair, my face hitting the cold floor. I rub my eyes that were under my glasses. I turn my head to see the screen of my alarm clock. FUCK! I'm late! I grab my school uniform and race to the bathroom. That's weird. I'm the first one here. It doesn't matter; take what you can and do what you need. I take a quick shower, put on deodorant and perfume, and stare at all my imperfections. My eye bags are getting bigger; that’s what happens when I watch 24 episodes of One Piece nonstop. Taking off my bonnet, I pray my hair cooperates with me now. I flat iron it until my arms go numb. I smell something burning. You know what? Just thug it out. Great, I look respectable. Grabbing my jacket, I run down the stairs. We really need an escalator.

Running into the dining room, I see everyone at the dinner table, no one in a hurry or rush. "Young master, would you like to join us?" The British accent of the old butler made me calm down, only for a millisecond. "Sorry, Al, but I'm late!" I grab a waffle off the table. "What in hell's name are you talking about?" the little devil speaks up. "Damian," his name makes my skin crawl. Ever since he got here, he's been on my back like white on rice. "None of your business, pipesqueak!" I glare at him. Still, my father's icy blue eyes shine on me like an interrogation light. I straighten myself. "Sorry to burst your bubble, [Name], but it's Saturday." I try to hold in an involuntary groan. Every time Tim speaks, it’s like he’s trying to correct me on something. I get it, you're smart; get a life. "I knew that," I huff, the fastest lie in history. "Then why were you running like a chicken that lost its head, and why are you all dressed for school?" Jason says sarcastically, sipping his coffee. His mug has a middle finger on the bottom; it seemed like it was pointing at me. Asshole.

"Well, I was just... whatever." Grabbing a piece of French toast, I go to sit down, but Steph's hand reaches out to cover the seat. "Sorry, [Name], this is Cass's spot." Oh, what is this, middle school? I walk to the other side of the dining table, but both Tim and Damian cover the seat. "This is for Dick." Oh, this is middle school. My blood is beginning to boil. "Great, I guess all the seats are taken. Thanks, team." I snatch a plate of pancakes off the table, walking up to my room. "Thank Allah! I can't stand it when she sits with us. She won't stop rambling about Power Rangers. She's so childish." I hear laughs coming from downstairs. Well, isn’t that just great? So much for a family breakfast. I eat in my bed. I’d rather doom scroll through Tumblr than talk to those losers—those really cool, strong, popular losers. I stare up at the Batman merch in my room. They’re all in order from Batman all the way down to Duke, the last member of the family. I used to find it weird having merch, shirts, and posters of them. I mean, they’re my "family." It’s just odd, you know? But I idolize them; even Damian—fighting crime, saving lives—all that crap. They're cool, but who knew cool people could be so cruel and mean? But let's be real; the family tree should've ended at Duke. I have no powers, no cool ninja training. I'm not smart or athletic. I sweat at the idea of running a mile. I get good grades, but I’m not Tim Drake-smart. I’m not even a Cass-level fighter. Hell, I don’t fight, period. The bottom line is, I’m "normal," as normal as a high school girl who likes video games, comics, anime, and cartoons can be. Other kids wouldn’t call you "normal," but in my family, I’m a saint compared to them.

But that's enough of that. I'm going downstairs to put my food away. Everyone’s gone, just Alfred in the kitchen cleaning up. "Hey, Al, where's everyone?" I say, putting my dish in the sink, then picking up a sponge, ready to help the old man out. "Oh, family outing." Family outing? "To where?" "To see a play, I believe, or a show. Maybe I saw tickets?" A show? "Don't you think it's too early for that stuff?" I reply, my hands getting wet with soap foam. "It's a long play; they had to get there early." Oh really, huh? "Was there a ticket for me?" "I'm afraid not." Oh, just great. Dad can buy tickets for his clan of kids, but not for his singular daughter? Fucking fantastic. My hands stop scrubbing the plate. "Oh cool." I didn't want to sound disappointed, but let's be real—I was. They always do things without me, and whenever I'm invited to things, it's out of pity—like a little kid your mom forces you to play with because she met the other mom, and now you guys have to be friends and hang out by pure association, even if you don't want to. I can see it whenever they're around—going to the theater with Steph, Cass, and Babs to watch some superhero movie, I shout out facts like crazy: "You know Spider-Man isn't allowed to drink any alcohol!" during the Into the Spider-Verse movie premiere. I could feel them rolling their eyes at me. Fake fans. Next time, they didn't invite me at all. Maybe I talk too much, or I’m too childish. I tried to invite Tim to play a fighting game with me. "The MHA fighting game? What are you, twelve? You're so childish, [Name]." He's acting like MHA is a bad anime. I went to their library with Jason once and picked up Percy Jackson. "Look, Jay, they have the whole series!" I looked down and saw him holding The Giver. Oh well, these are completely different books. "Can you try not to read something so childish? Grow up, [Name]." Oh yeah, only middle schoolers read Percy Jackson—it's not like he's a staple of my childhood or that I grew up with Vivra character designs of him, not at all. But it seems like a recurring theme: "You're childish, so, [Name]." "Grow up, [Name]." Maybe that's why I wasn’t invited. I'm immature and childish. Hell, even Damian’s more mature than me, and he's like 14. But I'm not childish; I'm just passionate and energetic, and I like things. I like a lot of things. Is it wrong to enjoy stuff to the fullest? I could never be nonchalant. If I can't show how I feel, then who am I?

"Young master?" "Sorry, Al, just deep in thought." I sighed. He patted my back gently. "You could spend time with me." "You don't mind?" "Not at all." At least there's someone who loves my passion. "You don't mind?" He shakes his head gently, so I spend Saturday with Alfred. It was mostly cleaning and listening to R&B. I never knew he liked Janet Jackson, but who doesn't like Janet Jackson? She's Janet Jackson! We were lip-syncing to Ginuwine: "So Anxious!" The house was clean; time to watch trashy TV—Dance Moms. It's our main show. "No! Why are they dancing like that? Horrible choreography!" I laugh. "You couldn't do better!"

"I have to run some errands; would you like to come?"

"Nah, I'll chill here, thanks, Al."

He pulled me into a strong hug despite his frame and then pulled me off the couch. "Get me something pretty, please!" I screamed out.

"Yes, young master!"

I giggled. If it doesn't burn my stomach in seconds, I don't want it. Flipping through the TV channels like crazy until I hit the news, I saw them all together without me in fancy clothes and coats, smiling at the camera. This was more than a play or a show; this was some kind of event, and they didn't think to bring me or tell me. They didn't think of doing anything to inform me, and the way they were smiling and talking, it was like they planned this all week, all month even. And no one even told me—they didn't invite me; they left me here.

"Dick, where's your little sister tonight?" said a reporter.

"Which one?!" Duke chimed in with a big smile.

"No, I mean [Name]," the reporter said, putting the microphone in his face.

"You know how she is. [Name] is just too childish sometimes."

Dick ran a hand through his hair, laughing. His blue eyes gleamed at the camera. Childish?

"Yeah, she can't go to events like this; she'd lose it," Steph barked out, making Tim chuckle.

"Yes, she's a handful; she wouldn't know how to act around these cameras."

Really, Dad, really? They're all laughing and making fun of me. The same words come up: "Childish," "Grow up," "Handful." I'm not that bad, am I? The final nail in the coffin: "She's so immature." From Damian? Immature? I'm not immature; I like comic books and collect figures and plushies and trading cards. I make cosplays and write fanfiction. That doesn't make me childish; I'm just passionate, that's all. I have passion. I care for the things I like, so what if they were made for little kids and boys to play on the playground? It doesn't mean I can't like it, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it, doesn't mean I can't handle a few cameras or a few mics.

Hot tears run down my face. "I-I I'm not childish! I can handle it! I can be a Wayne! I can grow up! I can!" Who am I trying to convince—me or the damn TV screen? I feel my body shaking. I rip the plug of the TV out of the wall, throwing it to the ground. I run upstairs to my room, seeing the Batman and Robin merch staring at me. "Childish? I'll show you childish!" I wipe the figures off my shelf; they hit the floor, smashing apart. The heads fell off and the wings of Red Robin's suit broke. I smashed the Lego Batmobile piece, scattering it everywhere. I ripped the posters off my wall. "Who's the handful now, huh, Bruce?" I stomped on the poster and snatched a Batman plushie off my nightstand. I took a mechanical pencil and stabbed it; the stuffing pooled out like blood. "I'm not a handful!" I threw it against the wall near Damian's action figures and Dick's.

"I'm not a handful!" I yelled as loud as I possibly could, my voice breaking. I flopped down onto the floor, my legs shaking. I could hardly breathe, staring at the mess all around me. I sniffled and wiped my face gently. I picked up the Batman plushie and pulled it close to my chest. "Sorry, Daddy."

@milkbean69

@mal-flores

@kultofkorii

@hebaoffside

@ichbswa

@simpingpandas

@sh0dor1

@pix-stuff

@viilan

@smutty-littleslut

@ilovemyhusbandnanami

@thecloudsaremyhome

@meganhaxaxa200

@goodsoup19

@onceinamillionposter

[veinsfullofstars]

💝🧠 for metadede?

You got it, anon! Let's see...

6. 💝 What is each person’s love language (words of affirmation, acts of service, giving gifts, quality time, and physical touch)?

23. 🧠 What is one headcanon that you have about your ship/one headcanon that’s related to your ship in any way? What would they say is their partner’s best and worst quality/qualities (a physical feature, something they do, something they stand for, etc.)?

How about we ask them?

Dedede: "Oh Nova, where do I even begin with that one? Stubborn little so-and-so… thinks he’s so smart, knows everythin’ about anythin’, like he can solve all his problems by swingin’ a sword at ‘em or bein’ all mysterious about it. Peh! And he says I’m the one with the ego problem. Oh, and don’t get me started on tryna convince him he’s wrong about somethin’! He’ll go from cold shoulder to volcanic fury in a heartbeat, and won’t even apologize for it! I tell you, the grudges that man can hold are legendary, and that is not a compliment…

… He’s got drive, though, I’ll give ‘im that. When he stands for somethin', he stands for it, no matter what. Not even a storm could move him from what he believes is right. Heck, he is the storm, haha! And, man, seein’ him when he’s like that… so strong and brave, oh, so brave. Ain’t nothin’ that scares him, and if there was, well shoot, he’d just about fight it anyway. ‘Specially if it’s to protect the folks he cares about…

Plus, he’s got the cutest darn baby face under that mask, simply adorable, and it is a crime-and-a-half that he hides it from everyone, ha ha ha!"

Meta Knight: *sigh* "He’s… a lot of things, that man. Impulsive, selfish, lazy, not to mention far too quick to forgive those who have wronged him - honestly, how anyone saw fit to put a crown on his head is beyond me. Hmph. Probably why he put it there himself in the end. Just one of his many whims, didn’t even bother to think it through before barreling right in, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces in his wake, like always…

… That isn’t to say he doesn’t care, though. Quite the contrary. He cares so much about his kingdom - his home - as well as the people within it. Lazy or not, he will fight for them, protect them with his life if need be. Even the Fountain knows this. He’s strong, a truly impressive fighter in his own right, one I am honored to stand beside. More than that, though… he’s kind, passionate, smarter than most give him credit for, and, yes… a capable leader when he puts his mind to it.

He also, er… ahem. He also gives, uh, really good hugs, so."

Sketch started 03/22/25, finished 03/28/25. | Kirby Ship Ask Game (made by @/sweetandglovelyart) and alternate questions | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Sugar Rush

warnings: royal au, princess!reader, concubine/consort beomgyu, yandere beomgyu, cunnilingus, fingering, doggy, breeding, dubcon/noncon, murder, unedited, switch!beomgyu, switch!reader summary:

“That’s enough. You’ve proven your worth for now.” You pant, stroking his long hair as he looks up at you, his messy lips kissing the palm of your other hand and his big, pretty eyes staring up at you with absolute adoration and need for approval. “Did you like that?” 

“Yes, you’ve done a good job.” You sigh, hating how you’re always so weak for him, but it’s not enough for Beomgyu. You’ve hurt his pride too much, dared to threaten him with exile, and now it was your turn to atone. “Tell me you can’t replace me with anyone else. Tell me no one can fuck you the way I do.” 

“Beomgyu…” You frown down at him but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he stands up, pulling you towards him and towering over you, and in that moment you realise that despite your power and despite how small Beomgyu can make himself appear in order to make you let your guard down, he is still a man and when it come down to it, if left alone with him, away from all your servants and guards, he could easily overpower you. 

“Say it.” He insists, his gaze dark, and you gulp. “No one can replace you. You’re the only one who can fuck me the way I need.” 

He is as pretty as a flower on that stage, as pretty as any woman, and he dances just as enticingly, full of elegant flourishes and heated looks thrown at everyone in attendance. 

There are a slew of people bearing witness to this dance number put on by the palace concubines and escorts, and chief among them is your husband who was sitting right beside you. 

It pisses you off. You know he is there to put on a show, but he is yours and you do not appreciate the looks of lust that other women and men were throwing his way. He better not be entertaining them behind your back. 

You scoff when his eyes meet yours and you see his pleased smirk. He is doing this on purpose just to piss you off and it’s working. His own jealousy betrays him however–you see the confident looks on his face falter for a moment when your husband leans forward to whisper something in your ear. You can barely even hear him but what you can hear loud and clear is Beomgyu’s unspoken jealousy as you turn and pretend to give your husband your full attention. 

Two can play at this game. You spend the rest of the performance with your fingers laced in-between your husband’s fingers and your head lent ever so slightly against his shoulder, a sight that clearly enrages Beomgyu and has him rushing towards your bedroom right after the performance to release his emotions on you. 

He smothers you with kisses, demanding your full attention that you oh so callously deprived him of, but he should know better than this. He cannot have it. Not right now, which is perhaps exactly why he wants it so badly. 

You curl his hair around your fingers and yank his head back to remove his lips from yours. “What are you doing?” You growl at him, having had it with his spoiled behavior. “You know you cannot be here. I entertain my husband tonight.” 

“Forget about him. I bet he can’t fuck you as good as I can.” He has the audacity to say as he tries to kiss you again, but you hold him at bay, your fingers tugging on his hair painfully, yet he barely notices it, still trying to push through and capture your lips with his own. 

“So this is what your little slutty performance out there was about?” You scoff, “You were trying to piss me off so I’d forget about him and fuck you instead?”

He can’t keep the pleased grin off his face as he pulls you closer by the waist, making sure you could feel the hardness in his trousers. “Perhaps. Did it work?” 

Before you could respond to him, your husband enters your chambers, his gaze cold and condescending towards Beomgyu. “Leave us, consort.” 

Beomgyu dares to scowl at him. “No.” 

You’re so shocked by his response that you don’t stop him when he bends forward to kiss your neck. You and your husband stare at each other in shock. 

“What?” Your husband sputters in disbelief and you push Beomgyu back. 

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Beomgyu tells him irritably and your husband’s face turns red. He charges at Beomgyu and punches him in the face, felling him to the ground. 

“You little shit.” He kicks at him, enraged. “I ought to chop your head off.” 

“No!” You scream, rushing to hold your husband back. 

“See, this is exactly why he thinks he can behave like this, because you let him get away with everything.” Your husband spits out at you and you cower in shame. It’s true. It’s your leniency with Bewomgyu that gives him the courage to act so insubordinate to his master, and you must stop this. Beomgyu may be too stupid to act with self-preservation, and so you must protect him yourself, even if it hurts his pride. 

“She wouldn’t let me get away with it if you knew how to actually fuck her right.” Beomgyu grins up at him, his lips bloody. He looks at you as if expecting you to back him up but you reach back and slap his face, staring him down coldly as he looks at you with betrayal. “Know your place, consort. Apologise to your master before I banish you off the palace grounds.” 

“You wouldn’t–”

“Apologise!” You shriek, and he winces, the corners of his mouth downturned in displeasure but he obeys. “I am sorry, master.” 

“On your hands and knees.” You push him down, knowing that this is the only way to save his skin even if he is too dumb and prideful to realise it. “Again.”

“I am sorry, master.” He grits out and your husband scoffs, not entirely believing him but his pride assuaged nonetheless by the pitiful sight of Beomgyu kneeling before his feet. 

“Whatever. Get the hell out of my sight so I can fuck my wife.” 

Beomgyu’s hands curl into fists, and you worry he will say or do something stupid again, but instead he jerks up and storms out the door, not before throwing you one last look of betrayal. 

“If you can’t control your whore soon, he will have hell to pay.” Your husband tells you and you chew nervously on your lower lip. You have to find a way to get it through his thick skull that he cannot hope to stand up to your husband. If he keeps crossing him this way, he could lose more than just his place in the palace.  

_______________________

In order to attempt to punish him, you do not call for him to entertain you for many weeks, ignoring his own attempts to gain your attention or offer himself up to you. You know it drives him crazy but that is exactly why you’re doing it. He needs to learn that his actions have consequences. 

But it seems that the stupid consort has taken your punishment as an excuse to act out even more, and he makes sure to get you to walk in on him messing around with one of your husband’s concubines. 

She is a pretty girl, and you don’t fail to notice her remarkable similarity to you. He has her cornered against a wall, kissing her like a wild animal devouring his prey. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You ask, voice severe, and Beomgyu takes a second too long to separate from his companion, the smirk on his face contrasting sharply with the scared look on the girl’s face, and you can tell even before she opens her mouth that he has coerced her into this. 

“Just having some fun.” He says cockily before the girl yelps out. “I am so sorry, mistress. I didn’t mean to! He–”

“You will both be removed from the palace.” You tell them and the girl wails. “No mistress please, he made me do it. He wouldn’t let go. Please, mistress. I swear, I didn’t want to kiss him.” 

You study her face, noting the tears pouring down from her pretty eyes and the absolute devastation of her expression at the prospect of losing her place at the palace and therefore losing the only livelihood she has to support herself and likely her family behind her. All because Beomgyu was acting out again.  

“Get out of my sight.” You tell her. “Before I change my mind.” 

She rushes out, leaving you and Beomgyu alone. He still is wearing that stupid smirk, not realizing how serious you are or how angry you are at him. He tries to move forward to take you into his arms but you push him away. 

“Don’t you dare touch me. I’ve had just about enough of your shit. You better get your things and get the hell out of this palace before I let my husband do what he will with you.” 

Beomgyu’s face falls. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you really want to test that?” You growl at him, “My husband is right. I have spoiled you too much and now you’re all rotten.” 

“Spoiled me? You call letting your husband degrade me and beat me up spoiling me? You call ignoring me for weeks until I am left with no way to get your attention other than to kiss one of his concubines, spoiling me?” 

“He wouldn’t have done any of that if you knew your place and you wouldn’t have been punished if you didn’t act out.”

“I was just trying to get your attention. I am here to please you and I wanted to do my job.”

“No, you wanted more than you had any right to. You wanted your share of me and his, and you got upset when he reminded you who I really belonged to. Not the whore.” You spit out at him, “You’re here to please me when I want to, not when you want to, and I am tired of having to clean up after your mess. I am done. You may pack up your things and leave.”

“I can’t leave. Who will actually please you when I am gone? Not your husband, that’s for sure.” 

“There is no shortage of beautiful men looking to climb up the social ladder. I am sure your friend Taehyun wouldn’t mind taking your place. He is handsome. Looks strong too.” 

Beomgyu scowls. “You wouldn’t…”

“Want to watch.” You move towards the door, but Beomgyu throws himself in front of you, falling to his knees. “No, please, you can’t do this to me!”

“Can’t I?” You raise an eyebrow at him and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll know my place. I won’t act out anymore.” He kisses your hands, your abdomen, your feet… he pulls your dress up and kisses up your legs, crying out his apologies into your skin. 

“Beomgyu, you’re acting out again.” You protest, though you don't stop him. You won't admit it out loud but you have missed the feel of his lips on your skin. He may be cocky but he is right, no one can fuck you like he can. 

“Just please let me make it up to you in the only way I can. I am just your whore after all.” He says meekly, before he licks a long stripe between your legs, making you gasp and pull at his hair. 

“Fuck, fine. You better make it worth my while.” You growl at him and he dutifully plays his role, eating you out like his existence depended on it, because it did. 

You never had a man who made you feel as good as Beomgyu did. Your husband, like all men of power and influence, would die before he would get on his knees and worship you in the way you needed to be worshipped. He thinks himself too good, too proud, to give you this kind of pleasure. Only a woman like you would be expected to demean herself in such a way to please her man. 

Only a woman, or a man whose sole purpose is to please, a man like Beomgyu, would deign to do such a thing. 

But you have had many men before Beomgyu–it may have been less common for noble women to have consorts and concubines the way men do but it wasn't nonexistent. Your husband understood that you had your needs to, and as long as he had the ultimate claim over you and that only he could breed you, then you were allowed to entertain yourself with another man when he did not feel so inclined to fulfill his husbandly duties. 

None of the men you bedded before Beomgyu had ever made you feel the way that he does, and he knows it too. That is where he gets the courage to act out the way he does. He knows how much you treasure him, and you do. But you were not all powerful, and if your husband makes up his mind that Beomgyu must be banished from the palace or worse, you will not be able to oppose him, and that is what Beomgyu needs to understand. 

He seems to be finally starting to get it, if the incessant stream of apologies he moans against your cunt is any indication. 

“I am so sorry. So–so–sorry.” He whines, landing wet, sloppy kisses against your pussy as his fingers breach your entrance, pumping in and out of you earnestly, intent on pleasing you and proving his worth to you. 

“Shut up.” You snarl at him, pressing your weight down on his face so you can fuck his mouth, neither of you caring that you’re smothering him. He likes it when you do that–likes to be fully surrounded by you, the taste of you heavy on his tongue, the smell of you permeating into his mind, and the sound of your ragged moans music to his ears. 

It doesn’t take long for him to bring you to orgasm after orgasm. His jaw must be sore, his neck aching, his lungs starved for air, but he does not care–his sole purpose is to please you and have you tell him that he’s doing a good job… which you do, after he rips multiple orgasms from your tense body, you finally push him away from you, begrudgingly giving him your praises so you could convince him to let go. 

“That’s enough. You’ve proven your worth for now.” You pant, stroking his long hair as he looks up at you, his messy lips kissing the palm of your other hand and his big, pretty eyes staring up at you with absolute adoration and need for approval. “Did you like that?” 

“Yes, you’ve done a good job.” You sigh, hating how you’re always so weak for him, but it’s not enough for Beomgyu. You’ve hurt his pride too much, dared to threaten him with exile, and now it was your turn to atone. “Tell me you can’t replace me with anyone else. Tell me no one can fuck you the way I do.” 

“Beomgyu…” You frown down at him but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he stands up, pulling you towards him and towering over you, and in that moment you realise that despite your power and despite how small Beomgyu can make himself appear in order to make you let your guard down, he is still a man and when it come down to it, if left alone with him, away from all your servants and guards, he could easily overpower you. 

“Say it.” He insists, his gaze dark, and you gulp. “No one can replace you. You’re the only one who can fuck me the way I need.” 

His shoulders relax and you let some of the tension in your own body dissipate but it all comes back in a rush when he lifts you up and throws you onto the bed, turning you on your front and pressing you down with his weight. 

“Beomgyu!” You shriek, feeling him push your skirt up and press his cock against your entrance. 

“Shhh, I've given you what you wanted, mistress. Now let me take what I want.” He says, pushing inside you easily with how wet he had gotten you earlier, and you hate yourself for how good it feels to have his cock fill you up so completely. “You really hurt me and now you have to make it up to me.”

“You’re being bad again, Beomgyu.” You remind him, but he doesn’t care, fucking you so cruelly, you can hardly catch your breath, his cock pumping in and out of your pussy at a punishing rate, reaching so deep inside you it feels like you would never be able to separate. 

“You wanted to get rid of me. You let him hurt me. You left me all alone.” He recounts your sins to you, reminding you exactly why he’s punishing you. “You’re so cruel, mistress, but I still love you so much. I’m so pathetic, aren’t I?” He asks as if you weren’t the one with your ass up in the air being fucked like a bitch in heat.  

Still you have your own pride, and if you can’t physically overpower him, then you’d use your words to beat him down. “You are pathetic, Beomgyu.” 

“And you're a heartless bitch.” He growls, smacking your ass and pushing your face into the sheets to shut you up. “If you can’t be nice then shut the fuck up.” 

You can’t believe you’re letting him do this. He has grown far too bold and reckless. You’ve completely lost control of him, you’re not sure you can ever regain it. You should stand back and let your husband deal with him before he too loses control, but you’re too selfish to do that. You enjoy your alluring consort too much to let him go, and that will probably be your downfall. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. This tight, royal pussy was made just for my cock, huh? No one can satisfy your greedy pussy other than this whore’s fat cock, right?” He degrades himself in order to embarass you, reminding you that when you put him down you’re only insulting yourself. He knows he’s your whore, but what does it say about you that no one can satisfy you but him? “You fucking love this. Your pussy is squeezing down on my cock like crazy. Been waiting for this for weeks. Gonna drain my balls into mistress’s needy pussy.” 

“No!” You shout at him, voice muffled by the sheets. “Pull out.” 

He knows he can’t cum inside you. That is the one rule he must abide by. Only your husband can cum inside you. No other man is allowed to risk impregnating you. 

But since when has Beomgyu cared about the rules? Instead of pulling back and jerking his cock off over you like he usually does, he just doubles down, pushing you further into the bed so you can’t shake him off, his cock driving into your pussy with abandon. “Come on, you know you want it. I can feel your pussy trying to milk me dry. I’ll give it to you good, mistress. I’ll make sure to stuff you full of my cock so you never think about threatening to leave me again.”

“Beomgyu… no, you can’t–” Your words fall on deaf ears, drowned out by his loud moans and cries as he does exactly what he wants, snaking one of his hands between your legs to skillfully rub your pussy until you cum, clamping down on his cock and helping him empty himself so deep inside you, you can almost taste it on your tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s it. That’s a good mistress. Don’t let a single drop out.” He grunts into your ear, his hips still lazily thrusting against you, pushing his cum deeper and deeper into your bruised, overstimulated pussy. 

“Enough. I can’t take anymore.” You choke out, tears welling up in your eyes from the exhaustion and overstimulation. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, mistress. I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” He finally stills his hips but doesn’t pull out. Instead he brushes your hair out of your face and softly kisses your tears away. “You just have to be good for me, okay?” 

You nod, completely and utterly beaten down by him once again. You were stupid to ever think that ever had the upper hand in this relationship. 

__________________________

Your husband was right. You have spoiled Beomgyu too much. You let him get away with too much. Perhaps that is why he felt emboldened enough to act out, to be defiant, to ignore your orders, to think he has the right to be jealous of your husband, to think it is his place to to disrespect him, to have the courage to go head to head with him, to hate and despise him enough to get rid of him… 

You couldn’t prove it but you knew your husband’s sudden illness and death were not of natural causes. Though it looked like it, you knew there was nothing natural about it. 

And you become certain of it when on the the night of your husband’s funeral, after burying him in the ground and retiring to your chambers, now alone, you find Beomgyu waiting for you, a large grin on his face as he pulls you towards him and says, “Now, I don’t have to share you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, and you barely have enough air to speak. “What?”

He smiles wider at your stricken expression and he goes to your wardrobe and pulls out an unfamiliar dress. It wasn’t one of your own, but it was clearly tailored for you, and you recognize the characteristic pattern and revealing cut of the concubine attire. 

“I want you to put this one.” He hands it to you, smiling darkly. “I want you to dance for me.” 

___________________

[ceesimz]

Wings (part two)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Part One of this little story is here, rest of the Reverie stories are here. @pickledwoso definitely saved this fic with their absolutely tremendous mind, so thank you millions once again <3 and i hope everyone's enjoyed these two chapters, thanks for reading :)

You were flying in training. Spectacularly so. 

The football side of it, you hadn’t been concerned about. Football had been your thing all your life, you knew you were good at it and you never shied away from admitting that. 

There was something different this time around, however. Maybe it was the combination of finally being accepted, of feeling happy in all aspects of your life, of having an incredible support system, of finally being nothing but your complete self. You entered the pitch every day, ready to play your heart out to make damn sure you would make it into the squad for the game that was only three days away. Then you stepped off the pitch, knowing full well you left everything you had out there. 

You felt fulfilled. For the first time in… well, honestly? Forever. It was the first time you felt fulfilled. Like, you had achieved all you set out for.

Well, all but one thing.

“Hi, come in! Thanks for dropping by.” 

A conversation with Gemma and her coaching staff was very much needed.

You stepped into her office, which was coolly lit and welcoming. No harsh lights, no unimpressed stares, no judgement. You took a seat across from her, where she sat down in her chair and fixed you with a warm smile. No intimidation, no animosity, no false promises. 

“So, firstly, I must say how happy I am to be having this conversation right now.” She began, and you smiled in slight embarrassment, which she noticed. “And I know you don’t want me to linger on that too long, so we will move on. I just had to let you know.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. No discomfort, no anxiety, no fear. Just… nervous excitement.

“I have some things to discuss, entirely at your will. It’s all up to you, alright? There’s no pressure from me.” You nodded, having to disguise a smile at how different this conversation was compared to ones you’d had in the past.

For a couple minutes, you two spent the time catching up together. She checked in with you, asking if there was anything else you needed from her support wise, how you were enjoying your time back. It was all very positive, and motivating. No masking, no resentment, no exclusion. Then the topic you were waiting for came up, and even in the moment when she was talking, you found yourself imagining the joy in Alexia and Ingrid’s voice when you told them the good news that was about to come.

“Now, onto the game coming up. There’s a few ideas me and the staff have been throwing around for the lineup, most of which revolve around you. But we’re not making anything concrete until I know how you feel because I know how big this is for you.” God she was torturing you by delaying it. Just say it. “So, what would you prefer? Do you want to be in the starting lineup? Or come off as a sub? Because we believe you are more than good enough to start from the first whistle. Your performance has been outstanding, both here and at Barcelona, we’re really happy to see it and want you out there. But again, we don’t want to put any pressure on you, I mean you don’t have to play at all if you don’t want to. It’s completely your choice, and I swear by that. You have my word.”

The second you heard that question, you tuned out; your mind was in uproar, for all the right reasons this time. You made it.

“I want to start.” You answered definitively. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted.

Walking out for your country again. Establishing yourself to the rest of the world. Showing off on a global stage. Making it clear that your disability did not stop you from achieving everything you set out for. 

Maybe you’d win the next two World Cups, maybe you’d win nothing with the team. That wasn’t your goal, which to some might seem pointless to come back if you didn’t care for winning. For now, your goal was to wear the Norwegian crest with pride and purpose, to do it all for your country. Finally you had the chance, and the second you start rushing into things and getting ahead of yourself is when things go downhill, and you weren’t letting this opportunity and achievement get away from you again.

“Excellent, that’s that then! You’re in.” 

You were in.

You walked out of that office with your head held high. When you got back to one of the rooms hired for downtime, where Ingrid was sat nervously waiting and not really concentrating on the conversations around her, you paused at the door. You glanced around at your teammates and looked at their faces, some new, some old, and you wanted to tell every single one of them. Not just Ingrid. 

Well, Ingrid first, of course. But telling the rest of them afterwards almost sounded just as appealing. 

Then, there was Alexia, who knew you had the meeting that day and sat by her phone the whole time waiting for any sign of life from you, her knee bouncing endlessly as she did so and annoying everybody around her. And when you got a moment to breathe away from the giddy excitement of your fellow national team players, you stepped out to call her. You weren’t expecting her to cry, per say, but it was a welcome surprise to hear her overjoyed laughter turn into quiet sniffles in the span of two seconds.

Nevertheless, that joy had its limits; when you woke up on the day of the game, you were a mess. 

You woke up, rolled out of bed, got yourself ready for the day on autopilot, like you were watching yourself from above. You weren’t in control of anything, not your body or your mind, merely a passenger. In survival mode, almost, to get you through the day. Down at breakfast, not even Heidi’s company could lighten you up. You pushed your food around your plate, taking a bite here and there but not paying attention to anyone or anything, apart from the anxiety balled tight in your chest. 

At the briefing afterwards, you couldn’t take in a word anyone said even if your life depended on it. All you heard was doubts. From yourself, wondering if this was the stupidest thing you’d ever done or if you deserved it. From others, those praying on you to fail because someone with a disorder like yours wasn’t meant for success. From ex-staff members, the same ones that mocked and taunted you at the lowest point of your life. 

The minute the briefing was over, you were up and out of there. Despite the little food you’d eaten, it felt like the contents of your stomach were threatening to come up any second. You rushed to the bathrooms of the hotel, heading over to the sinks and letting the cool marble counter cool your sweaty palms where you gripped the edge under your hands. 

Bleach and posh hand soap mixed to make a harsh, acrid scent that made your head spin. The aircon above was so loud it felt as if it was making its own attack against your ear drums. Lights casting down on you with a laser-like sharpness that stabbed your eyeballs like daggers. 

And in the mirror, you saw a reflection that ashamed you.

How, when you'd spent so long getting back to the national team, had you let yourself get like this. Why were you so worked up? This was something you had worked tirelessly for, now you weren't sure you could do it. So what was the point of everything that you'd done over the last few months, the last few years even?

You’re making things harder for everyone.

If you really wanted to be here, you’d just get on with it.

You’re turning this into a much bigger deal than it is.

Life isn’t fair sometimes, you don’t always get what you want and you need to realise that.

You’re just looking for attention. 

Maybe you weren’t made for the real world.

All these phrases bounced around your head uncontrollably to humble you and put you in your place, their sole purpose being to throw you off track and derail every bit of progress you’d made to get there. It was cruel, but you were used to it. However, that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. If anything it just made you feel worse, because if you were used to it, why couldn’t you stop it? Why couldn’t you tune out and not listen to it? Maybe you weren’t made for the real world after all.

“Oh, sorry, we didn’t know you were in here.”

Frida and Caro stepped in in the midst of your panic. You jumped, not expecting anyone to come in even though it was a public bathroom of a giant hotel, and cleared your throat whilst hastily blinking away the burning sensation of building tears, giving the pair of them a tight-lipped smile. 

“Are you okay?” Caro asked, a furrow to her brow that conveyed her growing concern.

“Mhm.” You nodded and tried to hide your hastened breathing. Frida noticed it instantly. 

“It’s alright if you aren’t. We can leave if you would like to be on your own. Or we can get Ingrid or somebody for you.” She spoke in the softest voice you’d ever heard someone speak. 

“No, you can stay. Thank you.” Both of them heard the tremble to your voice but feigned obliviousness to save you the awkwardness. Not that they didn’t want to help, couldn’t be further from the truth.

“What’s the matter? Is it something we could help with?” Caro leaned casually against the wall, her hands in her pockets as she dropped the question with as little pressure for a response as possible. Frida couldn’t help the worry written across her face but for once it didn’t cause you to cower under the attention.

“The game, I’m just anxious. There is… a lot going on in my mind.” You admitted, not exactly expecting yourself to be so open and honest with them but not regretting it either.

“That’s understandable, it’s been a while and a lot has happened.” Frida reassured you, taking a couple steps closer with a comforting smile on her face. You sighed and turned to lean back against the counter, running your hands over your face and rubbing your eyes.“Are you worried about how you will play? Or how you might handle it? Anything like that?”

“I…” You blew out a deep breath, glancing between the two and noting the welcoming and focused looks on their faces. They were genuinely there to help you, they had no other agenda. Not that you believed they did, you just didn’t have a good track record with past players and staff members. These two, however, were the complete polar opposites of those from the past. “I have some bad memories that are trying to put me off. I know I can play well if I don’t let my anxiety get me to but it’s not working right now. I have a lot of impostor syndrome, basically.”

You described it lightly, barely grazing the surface of your true feelings. The pair of them shared a glance, before Caro shook her head with a smile and headed over to you.

“We are so lucky to have you back, you know? If there’s anyone that belongs in this team, it’s definitely you.” She smirked, standing beside Frida with her arms crossed over chest, exuding a non-faltering belief in you that was hard to argue against. “And if there is anyone here that knows how excellent you are, it is me. How many assists do I have for you at Barça? You’re single-handedly putting me in the running for the Ballon d’OR.”

Hm. That was kinda true.

“Everybody is here for you. You can leave the pitch anytime you want. Or if you line up in the tunnel and decide you don’t want to play, you don’t have to. Whatever you need. But you can do this. We all believe in you, we’re all cheering you on. We’re all by your side no matter what.” The blonde was wise beyond her years each time she spoke, and in an instant you knew she was someone you could trust indefinitely. She didn’t know much about what happened in the past, she wasn’t around for much of it and you kept it under wraps away from anyone else anyway. Yet, she seemed to understand regardless, without having to know or asking you to explain. “You came here to paint over those bad memories. Don’t let them drag you back down, okay? You made it this far, you are more than capable of getting on that pitch and putting on a five-star performance. You have to believe in yourself, that is all. By being here, you’re halfway there, so all that is left to do is get to the stadium, put your shirt on with your name and the badge, and play.” 

Being there, listening to what they had to say, made it nearly impossible to recognise why you were in such a state only a couple minutes earlier. Hearing what Frida had to say, Caro too, it was different to if it was Ingrid in front of you. Not that Ingrid wouldn’t have helped, of course she would have, but having two people that had no obligations tied to you at that point was odd. Odd and borderline fucking euphoric.

It gave you a different perspective, gave you the chance to look at yourself from another viewpoint rather than that of just your girlfriend and best friend over and over again. Two people that didn’t know you very well yet still thought the world of you. How strange.

“Thank you. Thank you both. I really appreciate that.” You mumbled sheepishly, trying to refrain from showing the utter delight coursing through you at the milestone it felt like it was.

“You’ve got this, we know you do. International football won’t know what’s hit it now you’re back.” 

They weren’t wrong. They couldn’t have been more right with everything they said in that bathroom if they tried. 

On the coach journey to the stadium, you were overcome with a strange sense of serenity. You were at peace, calm, focused. You were honed in on the game, hyperfixated on it perhaps. A newfound determination that hadn’t been with you in the bathroom that morning but had been building for the last few months, for the last few years, ever since you stepped away in the first place. 

You stepped off the bus, headphones still firmly in place, and the small gaggle of fans awaiting your team cracked a smile onto your face. That only grew when you spotted a young girl with a Barcelona shirt who lit up at the sight of you, rambling off excitedly to her parents who met her eagerness with bright smiles and wide eyes. You made a mental note to try and find her in the crowd after the game, because without having the foggiest idea of the impact she’d had, the small Norwegian with her blue eyes and brown pig-tailed hair had nearly single-handedly reinforced your sense of belonging within the team. 

As you passed her, you gave her a wave, to which she lit up more, and in her giddiness at having been spotted by you she didn’t even bother asking for a signature. You felt bad at leaving her behind – you never tired of coming across devoted fans, especially ones like her, they were simply a novelty that never wore off – but without wanting to distract yourself from the headspace you’d pulled yourself into, you headed into the stadium with her grinning face in the back of your mind.

Stepping into the locker room, seeing your jersey hung up with your number in blue contrasted on the classic red of the Norway kit, it was… an indescribable feeling. And you took advantage of the moment, where you were the first into the room, by taking a photo, wanting to remember the feeling of it. Your fingers hovered over your phone screen as you thought what to do next, before sending the photo to your family and to Alexia without a second thought. Then you slid your phone into your pocket, took a deep breath in, and headed over to your cubby.

When the rest of the team filed in, some of your teammates in the locker room mistook your intense concentration for apprehension and anxiety, but with a quiet word from Ingrid each time they came over to tell her, they were reassured it was just what you had to do to ensure you got out onto that pitch. 

Every game wasn’t so intense, nine times out of ten you joined in with the feel-good and light-hearted nature of the locker room in Spain, it was a different story with the national team though on this occasion. Future matches after this wouldn’t be the same, this one just felt like the most important one so far on a personal level. After the momentary blip in the bathroom, your mind had switched itself into protection mode; be as detached as possible from the surroundings and stay in your own world, so that nothing could knock the mediocre amount of confidence you had built. That confidence was about as strong as a tower of playing cards, the slightest thing could send it flying, hence your tunnel vision.

You changed into your pre-match kit, you had your necessary discussions with the manager and the staff, and you headed out onto the grass for the warm-up. Music blasted through the stadium and there was a quiet hum of general chatter as the stands filled up, fans littered by the sides of the pitch watching with their banners, the odd few catching your eye. Some had your name on, welcoming you back, which nearly made you stop in your tracks in the middle of the field. 

For some reason, it never occurred to you what the fan response might be. You thought the majority of people, ranging from your own teammates to the rest of the world, wouldn’t really… care. And the ones that did care were for all the wrong reasons. The reception you received was so unexpected. You were speechless at it. Not that you could dwell on it too long then, considering there was a very fast cross approaching the box that had your name on it.

It was a little tricky to find a stream for a Norway game in Spain, but Alexia had her ways and after a few technical difficulties that were solved by one Vicky Lopez, Alexia was left in one of the common rooms of the hotel with her laptop hooked up to the projector. Bean bags scattered the room for a few others to watch the game, some who were up to watch any football match in existence out of love for the game and others who were watching for the sake of you, knowing the importance of a seemingly inconspicuous international game. 

Front and centre with her laptop in front of her ready to solve any further problems, adamant to not miss a single second of the game, was Alexia. Her game was the day after, the greatest twist of fate she could ever ask for, because otherwise she might have simply had to drop out of her own game so she could watch you. To her left was Irene, as well as Mariona on her right. More teammates were scattered behind her, but her attention wasn’t on them.

By the time the warm-up was done, you were well and truly in the zone. You were ready, couldn’t be more ready if you tried. The sounds of your boots against the floor as you made your way back to the locker room was music to your ears, the smell of grass and the way blades of it clung to your boots, socks, skin, it was grounding. 

You’d been doing this since you were a child, the same age as that young fan outside the ground earlier. The feel of your studs digging into the mud below and the rhythm of the sport was second nature. It was peace, it was your safe space. Trying to convince yourself this was just any other game was useless, it was the biggest game of your personal standards so far. You might have won the Champion’s League, might have gotten a quadruple with the club of your dreams. This was different to that. 

This was establishing who you were, to yourself. This was you separating yourself from your team, being your own person and taking something for you. This was an individual achievement that might not make sense to most but meant everything to you. 

The best part of it all? You weren’t nervous or anxious in the slightest.

Not anxious, even when you stood in front of your jersey where it was hung up at your cubby. Even when you changed from your warm-up kit to the shirt that had pride and responsibility entangled in the fibres of it. 

Every match before this, you had been playing with a goal in mind for your team. Instead, there was only one real purpose in mind for an otherwise unimportant game: for you to get through it, for nobody but yourself. You wanted to play well, you wanted to put out a star-stopping performance like you did every time, but if you played like the worst player in the world you wouldn’t really care long as you made it to the final whistle. 

…well, maybe that was a stretch, god only knows what would happen if you ended up scoring a hattrick of own goals or something stupid like that, but the chances of that happening against you dropping a mediocre performance was quite unlikely. 

No matter how you performed, you knew you had a support system behind you that would make you feel like the world was yours, like you were invincible. That’s just how they made you feel on a day to day basis. And it was how you felt when you checked your phone before the final team, to see a long and soppy text from Alexia about how proud she was, how she had tears in her eyes before the whistle had even blew, how she had never felt so much love and pride for another person ever, and so much more that echoed in your mind as you made your way to the tunnel. 

Ingrid lined up behind you, her hand lightly tapping your shoulder to gain your attention. The look on her face was determined, focused, like yours, yet there was an underlying softness in her eyes like she could burst out into sobs any second at the sight of you in front of her, about to play for your country again. Her lips were in a straight, thin line as if she was fighting off the world’s biggest smile, and she held her arms out to offer you a hug whilst not putting any pressure on the invitation. But you couldn’t resist, so you stepped into her arms and momentarily hid your face in her shoulder.

She didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but hug you, a reprieve from everything around that you would remember long into the future. There wasn’t anyone you would rather have at your side, and there especially wasn’t anyone else in the world that deserved to be at your side for such a momentous day than her. 

That last pocket of time before the game started, you closed your eyes and took a second to breathe, step back from the importance of the situation, and remind yourself that no matter what happens, you’ve still hit a milestone you never thought you would again. The outcome of the game was somewhat in your control, as long as you gave it your all, nobody could ask for anything more, and you couldn’t ask for anymore from yourself either. You had faith in yourself, something that previous versions of you never had. And that was the most important takeaway from this whole thing.

When you stepped out onto the grass for the second time that day, this occasion the actual moment you’d been waiting for, you allowed yourself to take in the surroundings and the gravity of the event as you lined up for the national anthems. The second they were over, and you made your rounds with the other team shaking hands, you slipped into that unshakable trance that always overcame you for a game, and got the job done.

—

“You did it, engel.” 

Was there any better sound after a day like the one you’d had?

“You did it, and you scored a goal, and you won the game, and got player of the match.” 

Your girlfriend was right. 

So far though, everything post-match was sort of a blur. In a few days time, when things had calmed and you had time to process things, each little sentimental conversation and congratulation and recognition for what you had achieved, they would all jump out into a clear picture to make up one of the best days of your life. For now however, it was all a little too far out of view. All you had was a concoction of feelings which had settled deep in your chest, a heavy mixture of accomplishment and overwhelm. 

Once the adrenaline and dopamine rush wore off, you were left in a pit of… mental discomfort. Disarray. 

You had built the occasion up so much, but how were you supposed to feel afterwards? What was the expected reaction? 

“I couldn’t stop crying, really. And you looked so happy afterwards too, tell me how you are, tell me all about it. I’m so sad I wasn’t there.” 

Ingrid was sat on the bed beside you as Alexia took up your phone screen, leaning over the balcony of her hotel room back in Spain. Unlike normal, even just their company did little, if anything, to calm your overthinking. 

What you do remember, was getting quite lost in your emotions after the final whistle. You shook hands with the opposing team, you saw Ingrid coming rushing towards you from the bench before she wrapped you up in a tight hug and lifted you off the ground, which was where it all sunk in. Then fast forward to the post-match huddle on the pitch, during which you were made centre of attention and emphatically congratulated for both your performance and personal achievement, and suddenly you were wired. 

The locker room afterwards, all you remembered at that moment of time was it vibrating with energy, with you at the centre of it. The coach ride back too, you were giddy and completely overjoyed at how successful the day had gone, it literally couldn’t have been much better. 

“I’m so proud of you, I don’t know what else to say. But I a-”

And yet, your mind did what it did best, and got the better of you. It twisted and warped the already skewed memory you had to play into your insecurities and downplay the pride of others.

You overestimated their excitement, didn’t you? You imagined something that wasn’t there just to feed into your own wishes, dreams, delusions. None of them were anywhere near as excited for you. It was just. One. Game.

“Do other people feel like this after… playing one game?” 

Both of them looked at you, utterly perplexed. Alexia was still rambling about how proud she was and Ingrid was on her phone, thanking people on your behalf, when you’d said that out of nowhere. The worst part though, was that you glanced at them like it wasn’t an upsetting question for them to hear. Like you were genuinely asking as a result of the racing thoughts going around your head.

“What do you mean by that?” Ingrid wondered with a frown that matched Alexia’s too. 

The Norwegian next to you looked like she was angry at what she’d heard, you didn’t take it to heart though because she had a tendency to look fairly homicidal when something worried her. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, seemed as if she was on the brink of tears. Her face exuded delicateness, like one more comment might send her crying into her cotton socks, and you had to avert your attention away from the earnesty in her eyes because it might have swayed you into thinking that you were allowed to feel so fulfilled after just one game.

“Everyone else doesn’t get this excited and whatever after one match. It’s a bit… ridiculous and childish, isn’t it.” 

The blonde’s jaw dropped for a moment whilst Ingrid’s clenched in heartbreak and disappointment – not at you, but rather at the fact you couldn’t even enjoy such a milestone.

“No. You aren’t allowed to think like that.” Alexia stated first which caught you and Ingrid by surprise. “Please give her a hug from me.” 

Her request nearly brought a smile to your face despite the self-deprecating habits that ran the show, and you cracked just a little when your best friend did as asked almost immediately. Through the camera, Alexia could see as you settled into it, noticing how you sank into Ingrid like you needed a hug. Not just a brief, congratulatory one that felt almost obligated, but one where somebody you loved embraced you tightly, tight enough to quell the feelings that stirred inside of you. As she watched, however, that realisation of the midfielder slowly faded into how much she needed one from you. How much she desperately wanted to be in Ingrid’s position then.

Once you pulled away, Alexia could already tell part of the weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Not all of it, the rest probably wouldn’t budge until you slept it off when you let your body and mind rest, but still. Progress. And it was all she could do from afar, sending her love in any way that worked. That was something she was still figuring out, and each time you reluctantly had to spend time apart, she got better at it. Of course, as you returned to Norway for the national team, that was the occasion she finally knew best what to do. Because even though she wasn’t there with you, it sure did feel like it. 

“Don’t start undermining yourself now, snuppa. You have nothing to worry about, you’ve done all that you need to do. You should be feeling happy for yourself. Not like this.” Ingrid murmured, loosening her arms when she finished talking to leave a kiss on your forehead. Alexia hummed her agreement, smiling softly when you turned back to her, a small action that filled your heart with adoration and made you blush the tiniest bit. Though, it was still noticed by the Spaniard, who gave a teasing grin once she did.

“You know we are proud of you, and everybody else is too. I know I wasn’t there, but I can bet my life on the fact the team showed you how they felt, no? So why are you thinking that what you feel is not allowed?” She asked, a playful lilt to her voice that proved she wasn’t irritated by your adamance to not celebrate yourself, rather she was more than happy to take on the role of hyping you up until the joy you locked away finally bloomed in full. 

“I don’t know, it’s just… weird. Feels weird for one game to be such a big deal.” 

“No.” A lonesome demand which left no room for argument.

“What do you mean ‘no’ Ale?” You scrunched your nose up at the woman’s peculiar behaviour, meanwhile Ingrid stifled a laugh.

“You can’t think like that. I’m saying no.” She had a smugness to her face that communicated she had some sort of plan going on. Not that you could tell, but Ingrid could. You were the most confused you think you’d ever been in your entire life. Coincidentally, it took away some of the things bearing down on your shoulders since it derailed your mind from its destructive route and pulled you in the opposite direction of the toxicity it so desperately clung onto.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just say no to m-”

“I could tell, even from across the screen, that you were proud of yourself when the game ended. You had a huge smile on your face, one that made me cry. What you’re doing now is trying to fit into what you think everybody else expects from you, but it’s not that at all. We expect you to be happy and proud because you should be. This is not some small achievement, it wasn’t just a game, it was something that plagued you for years and now it’s all in the past because of how strong and determined and brave you are. So, come on, say it for yourself.” She looked at you expectantly, an eyebrow raised as she waited. You were almost certain that outside of the camera frame, she had a hand on her hip as she tapped her against the floor like an impatient train ticketer. 

“Say what?” 

“You know what.” Ingrid glanced at you, letting out a huff of laughter when she saw the unimpressed frown you wore at the coup that had transpired against you. “I know you feel it deep down, you just don’t think you’re allowed to believe and say it. But you are, so say it out loud now to us both.” 

You rolled your eyes and cursed her out under your breath as you shook your head at her antics.

“If you don’t say it, I’m hanging up the call.” Still, you stayed silent for a bit longer. Alexia let out a theatrical sigh, much more exaggerated and dramatic than was necessary. You threw your head back against the pillow and groaned in frustration. “Vale, I am leaving then, goodni-”

“Alright, alright!” You exclaimed with another annoyed sigh. You then said it, but in a reluctant and barely audible mumble. “I’m proud of myself.” 

“Are you? Are you actually?” Alexia’s eyebrow shot up even higher somehow, provoking an honest answer from you instead of a hesitant and disdainful one.

“Yes. I am proud of myself.” 

That time when you spoke, you sounded awfully bashful. For all the right reasons too; a second or so after you finally said it and meant it, there was this warmth that flooded your chest. The realisation that you did feel that way about yourself washed over you and almost took your breath away. 

The old you would have never admitted such an unprecedented thing because feeling proud towards something of your own doing wasn’t a thing, it wasn’t a concept and it certainly wasn’t a possibility. The old you would have shrugged off the praises of others and reminded yourself that success wasn’t an accomplishment, but a necessity. What other choice did you have than to succeed? If you were going to do something, you only did it if you knew you would achieve the outcome you wanted. If there was a possibility that you weren’t, then you didn’t do it, through fear of underwhelming others, and proving to your subconscious that you really were the subpar human both you and the rest of the world thought you were.

Yet, you sat on your bed at a hotel in the capital of your home country with two people that had changed you for the better, having reached something that you never thought you would manage to do again. Not only did you manage it, you flourished whilst doing it. 

So yeah, maybe you were proud of yourself. Because with the pair that celebrated the moment with you, you’d become the person that the younger you, the one that hadn’t yet heard of autism and still had dreams bigger than the universe, always thought you’d be. You’d grown into the example you saw growing up as a teenager but never imagined yourself as due to the limits put on you. The two people with you then had allowed that to happen. They gave you a safe space to exist in, to daydream in and to wish for things bigger and better than you ever had before. They returned the true version of yourself back to you, the one that had been lost for a few years and you felt whole. Rather than clipping your wings, they gave you space to soar. And the version of you as a child that could hardly sleep at night due to being enraptured by your imagination and all the things you wanted to do in the future, she had a sacred space to live in again, back in your heart, as a result of your resilience and the love that surrounded you.

“I’m really proud of myself.” 

Ingrid’s face softened immeasurably as you admitted it wholeheartedly that time, meaning every single syllable of the phrase. Alexia, on the other hand, was grinning like a maniac, however the teasing act she was trying to put on was severely overlooked then when you saw how her eyes glistened in the sunlight that bounced off of the building across from her. It forced the same reaction upon you too, and before you knew it, there was a tear streaking down your cheek. 

“I can’t believe I did it.” You choked out, Ingrid wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her. Alexia briefly turned the camera away from her to try and hide how she wiped her own tears, but the sniffles coming from her gave away instantly. It only made you cry more.

“You did do it. We really could not be happier for you.” The dark-haired woman told you sincerely, the pair of you turning to the phone screen when a stifled sob sounded through the room. 

“I’m so happy. I’ve never been happier than I am right now.” 

It was one thing for you and Ingrid to have never seen Alexia like that, in such an emotional state, but it was a big thing for her too. 

To her, it was like from the minute you stepped into her life, everything she felt had increased tenfold in intensity. Every emotion overcame her a hundred times harder than before, she suddenly had especially strong opinions about things she’d never had to think about before you, and she knew for a fact she loved with more conviction than she ever did before. Every aspect of her life was just so… vibrant. And full of life. The way you viewed the world had unknowingly affected how she saw it too, because she genuinely, completely, absolutely believed that it was so much more beautiful through your eyes. 

You taught her how to love, that much she knew. But what she didn’t realise until that moment, was that you had also taught her how to be a better person. A better girlfriend, sister, daughter, friend, human. You had taught her how to be more in tune with herself, more comfortable with who she was. Seeing someone express themself as freely as you did, it made Alexia want to do the same too. So it meant a great deal to her when you mentioned only a few days prior that she was your safe person, because she thought that about you too.

If she thought you were the best person she’d ever met, and you thought the world of her? It gave her, Alexia Putellas, Ballon d’Or winner and World Cup winner, more confidence than anything else in existence could ever do. It gave her more security in showing the emotions she well and truly felt, rather than suppressing them for the sake of others. At the same time, it made her feel comfortable in expressing emotions that were new to her also. Like, for example, not just tearing up at an achievement someone else had got, but sobbing at it. From pride, from love, from admiration, all of that and more.

She felt she was on cloud nine being loved by you. It was the greatest privilege of her life. Seeing the person that she loved and that loved her do something they so desperately wanted to do was indescribable. Every emotion she experienced then were things she didn’t even know she could feel. That was just the effect of being around you; everything out of reach suddenly seemed… possible. 

From that day onwards, she knew she had to make it her mission to remind you what an astounding person you were, even more so than she already had been doing. She had to make sure you knew she loved you in ways she had no idea she could. 

—

Having something that stressed you out to extreme heights go as successful as your first game did, it had an obvious impact on how your daily mood. It was evident to everyone in the way you carried yourself, both to those that knew you well and those that hardly knew you at all.

Walking into breakfast the day after the game, each person in the room could see you held your head higher, you had a smile on your face that never left, and there was just this air about you, this confidence that wasn’t there beforehand. The change was literally night and day. And it uplifted everyone.

With it being a recovery day, the schedule was light compared to a day of training. That meant you had more free time than normal, and whereas previous days that would have made you panic, nothing could shake you out of the bliss you found your mind living in. Rather than shying away from all the suggestions thrown at you of what you could spend the day doing, you relished in it. 

First, you ate breakfast, vafler of course, courtesy of an extra upbeat Heidi, seated with some of the more unfamiliar faces of the group as Ingrid caught up with them. Initially you were quiet, but as the conversation flowed between the table, you found yourself joining with ease. There was an occasion or two where you found yourself overthinking what you wanted to add, but the more time went on, the less that happened. By the end of breakfast a number of days into camp, you’d quite comfortably found solace in each person in the squad. Unlike the past, there wasn’t a single member of both the team and the staff that you felt uncomfortable and unwelcome around. 

You found that, rather quickly, this was becoming a place you wanted to come back to as often as you could. For the people, the sense of belonging and even family, for the home comforts of your country, and for the sheer triumph that had established itself within you. Everything that happened in the past, all the mental scars and the wounds to your self-esteem, were fading away as if they were never there in the first place. 

Not only did it give you a great amount of joy and relief at being with the national team again and adorning the Norway crest, it was healing. In a way you never knew you needed but couldn’t go on without. Even with one match still to go of the camp, you could tell you were a completely new person. You were a new version of yourself, one that you loved most and were proud to be.

“Hey, uh, apparently there is a sight-seeing cruise the staff have booked for anyone that wants to go. A few of us are going, will you come too?” 

It was Frida that had appeared beside you as you stacked your plate on top of the other used ones once you’d finished eating, a hopeful smile on her face because she wanted you to go, you recognised that. She wasn’t asking for the sake of asking, something you would have convinced yourself of in the past.

Was going on a sight-seeing cruise on your agenda when you woke up? No, but it sounded like the perfect way to spend a day where you otherwise had no plans. Of course you wanted to go.

A good few hours of your afternoon were taken up with the spontaneous boat trip that took you around some of Oslo’s fjords on a traditional sailing ship, around half the team coming along and making the day-out a hell of a lot of fun. Drinks were shared, food was eaten, anecdotes were told and jokes were made about anything and everything in between. 

When you planned to come back, you didn’t think it would be this good. You knew that once you got back home, it wasn’t just the achievement you had to take with you and remember forever, it was the memories like that which would live in your heart. There was one instance specifically on the boat where you were sat with some of the team, new faces and old, where you took a second as the others continued to laugh and drink the single glasses of wine they were allowed, in which you could feel the warm crackle of contentment slowly simmering in your chest as you sat with them all. You thrived off of the connection you experienced with others, and there on the boat you recognised how pure and unfiltered what you'd found was. Your mask wasn’t up, you weren’t pretending to be someone you weren’t to try and fit in. 

You appreciated the people you were with much more than they would ever understand, comprehend even. As the thought crossed your mind and the gratitude burned inside you, there was a huge grin on your face you didn’t hide, couldn’t try to if you wanted to, because of how happy you felt. The conversation then wasn’t particularly funny, it wouldn’t explain the size of the smile on your face, but none of them cared. They didn’t point it out and make it the butt of the joke. A few of them noticed and felt themself have the same reaction too, they cared about your joy just as much as everyone else that knew you. Frida saw it too, nudging Ingrid in the process who swore she hadn’t seen a better sight.

You, with friends you’d made on the national team, immersed in the conversation and the banter with no doubts or fears, and a genuine smile on your face. It might not have been a milestone to others, but to her it was one she’d remember on your behalf for as long as her mind would let her.

Near the end of the journey on the way back, you were at the back of the boat away from the dialed-down madness now that the impromptu trip was almost over, you facing the sunset as you left the horizon behind. With the dwindling hours of the day, it’d dropped in temperature, aided by the calm water below and the chill that drifted in the air. You tugged your zipped coat over your chin, hands tucked deep into your pockets with ears so cold they were probably verging on purple. But even then, it was a cold you were used to, a cold that was your home, and it hardly even registered in your mind as you took some time to process what the trip had been and the events of the day before, with your first match back and all. 

Still, you were speechless, unable to make sense of everything. Such huge, almost life-changing things like this, it took a long while for you to fully grasp what you thought of it all. The only thing you could highlight was that it was worth it. So. Worth it.

The way the world worked was funny to you, how life worked out when it seemed least likely to. If you hadn't met Ingrid, you might not have continued playing football, since you met her at such a time where everything felt uninspiring and pointless, just for her to end up restoring the slightest bit of faith that kept you playing. If you hadn’t transferred to Barcelona and stayed in Frankfurt instead, where you’d hit the ceiling of your abilities both professionally and personally, maybe you wouldn’t have ever returned to playing for your country. If you hadn’t met Alexia, you certainly wouldn’t have felt so loved, so content in your safe space to leave your comfort zone, so much more confident with yourself, you just wouldn’t be who you were and where you were now. 

Others could see it too.

“Are you alright?” Frida came to join you, the person you’d got along with best so far in camp, her cheeks a deep red but a warm smile on her face nevertheless.

“Yes, just taking it all in. I have been to Oslo so many times but have never seen it like this.” 

Something you noticed was that Frida’s eyes brightened when she spoke to people. You had no idea it was possible, but it was the truth, it was impossible to deny. Whether it was the way her face exuded glee whenever she smiled, because she didn’t just do it with her mouth but with every muscle in her face, or it was her soul reflecting the light within it, you didn’t know. But by the time you finished speaking, you mirrored her expression.

“Me too. Normally the staff book things for us if we want to do them, but they haven’t done something like this before. I really loved it.” She agreed, to which you nodded easily. There was a slight pause, before she turned to you properly. “I am glad you came. It is nice to see you like this, back here. I’m happy that you are happy, and that you are fitting in. It’s been really nice getting to know you properly.” 

You were just so grateful for how things had worked out for you. Never before had you been so at peace in your life.

“Thank you, Frida. I’ve… I’ve had a lot of fun here. I’m really glad I came.” Somehow, her smile got brighter.

“Me too! Will you come back for the next camp?”

That was something you had spent most of the night before thinking about. And by the time the sun began to rise, you were pretty certain of your answer.

“Yes, I think so.” You answered shyly, to which the blonde haired woman beamed at you. All the more reason to come back.

“Good, otherwise you would have to come to London so I can see you again.” She joked and you laughed in response, but underneath the surface you felt your heart clench at the sentiment. She wanted to see you again. A simple thing to her, treasured thing to you.

“You should come visit Barcelona, the weather is a lot better there.” Frida laughed along with you, as light and as gentle as the way she spoke.

“No, London weather is more like home, Barcelona is too hot for me.” 

All too soon, however, the boat pulled into the harbour and the day had come to an end. Or so you thought – your plan was to have dinner, then spend the rest of the night in your hotel room, coming down from the day. However, your teammates had other things in mind.

“Some of us are going to play cards later, care to join us?” 

The offer from Celin as she skipped to catch up with you was a tantilising one, though it wasn’t in your plan for the evening and you were pretty tired from all the emotions that had ripped through you recently. Despite that, with one look at her and the fact you knew it’d be a fun time, you gave in rather quickly. You nodded, and the forward grinned excitedly before going off to round up some others. 

During the walk back to the hotel, you weren’t convinced it was the right idea for you. You were tired, you were quite mentally exhausted, and any extra socialising might push you over the edge. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. After eating dinner, a select few of you, including Frida and Ingrid, stayed behind and spent a good hour or so immersed in many intense, highly competitive – because what else would be expected from a group of athletes – card games of different variations. And it didn’t go on too long, the rest were tired and wanted to relax on their own before training the next day with another game in only three days’ time, so it ended up working out perfectly. 

There really wasn’t anything more you could ask for from this whole thing.

—

The second and last game of the camp came and went pretty quick, and it went much the same way as the first. That time, however, you felt settled and calm from the second you woke up. There was no anxiety, no moments of utter blind panic, no doubts. You were focused for the game ahead with no preamble. It was a really, really good sign. One that wasn’t wrong, either, because you had yet another stellar game that Alexia watched with her eyes glued to the screen, except this time when the whistle blew there was a spark of excitement in her chest because that meant she was just one day away from getting to see you again. 

One sleep, one flight, one taxi ride, and you’d be back together again. So despite the MVP award that you’d been given again, all you could think about was arriving at your apartment to find her there and waiting for you. Her flight got in earlier, so she had ample time to go home and refresh herself, then get to your flat by the time you got back, and you just couldn’t wait for it. Reuniting with her after time apart had never felt so meaningful and needed. It had been torture going through the last two weeks without her; being on top of the world but without the person that had got you there was terrible luck. Your phone call with her afterwards was all soft murmurs and giddy declarations for what would soon come, topping off what had been another flawless day in Norway. 

You’d miss the chilly country, but you also missed Spain too. Missed your club, your apartment, the warmer weather, your teammates. All of the above never happened at Frankfurt, as harsh as it sounds. Not that there was warmer weather there exactly, but the point still stands. 

The game finished in the early evening, which left perfect time for there to be a sort of goodbye dinner, the best way to end the camp before everyone went their separate ways back to club football again. It was lowkey, it was heartfelt, and there were a couple occasions you caught yourself looking around the room and reminiscing on what the last fortnight had been. 

A success is what it had been. In all avenues: football, socially, personally. You took the time to acknowledge that it was everyone else in your life that had gotten you there, but you could hear Alexia in the back of your head.

“You did this yourself. All we did was urge you, it was you that took yourself there and woke up each day determined to make it go well. We did nothing really, it was all you, engel.” 

It had always been the most important thing to you to make sure you gave credit to those around who helped you. This time, however, you made the conscious effort to give yourself credit too. It felt incredibly unnatural and embarrassingly forced sometimes, like a cringey motivational podcast, yet you still tried. Initially you shrugged it off. Then, you truly started to take it in. Before you knew it, you were lay in bed on your final night before returning home, letting yourself sink into the mattress and feeling the weight of your effort lift, because it was done. Over. 

Knowing that you had faced something that seemed unexplainably difficult, pushed through the hard moments, and came out of it stronger, wiser, with a better sense of yourself and two matches under your belt, it… felt like you could finally release a deep breath you’d held in for years. The quiet yet powerful realisation that you actually did it kept sleep far out of reach, that wasn’t a surprise, and even though you might have looked a little psychotic lying in a pitch-black room in the middle of the night, you didn’t stifle the smile that forced its way through. You’d worked so hard to feel that pride, you weren’t about to fight it off. 

You let it consume you, not annoyed at the lack of rest, knowing that you were about to go home to your girlfriend who would tackle you into bed at 4pm if necessary to ensure you got the sleep you needed, and she wouldn’t move an inch out of your space for the whole time. Dreamy. 

You couldn’t wait to see her proud face in person, not a lagging phone screen, hearing her ramble with her arms around you rather than over a phone call with a tinny signal. 

Ingrid could sense your excitement from the other side of the hotel room as you both packed your things the morning you were due to leave. She couldn’t help it, she felt the same too. There was a small something hidden away in her backpack she was due to give to you before you went your separate ways, you back to your apartment and Ingrid back to hers. It had been Alexia’s idea, a plan discussed whilst you slept in the next bed over as she spoke in a hushed whisper that Alexia could hardly hear, each time she asked the Norwegian to repeat herself adding to the risk of you waking up. Alas, you didn’t and you were none the wiser to their conniving behaviour.

The duration of the short flight, the dark-haired woman swore she could feel you physically vibrating with excitement in your seat beside her; legs bouncing, hands either wringing together or tapping against your thighs, you pulled out all the stops. The only thing Ingrid could do was smile with amusement, deep down revelling in your clear joy and your carelessness for showing it. And it continued from the flight, to the shuttle to the terminal, to the car ride that dropped you off back home. 

Barcelona was well and truly home. Or, home was just wherever your life with Alexia was.

Your desperate anticipation was entirely all-consuming, to the point where Ingrid had to pull you back by the handle on your backpack to keep you from running off before she got to say goodbye. Well, not a goodbye as such since you’d be seeing each other in a couple days back at the club, and you did live in the same complex, but she still wanted to have a final moment with you to round off the international period.

Her hands landed on your shoulders once you’d entered the elevator together, and her facial features fell into that soft, “I’m about to say something sincere and you’re going to let me say it,” kind of look. She held your gaze for a few long moments as the building floors ticked by, and there was a smile that crinkled her eyes in the corners. Really, she didn’t need to say a word. You saw the unspoken message etched across her whole being: I knew you could do it.

Then, of course, she drew you into one of her usual hugs that had you toeing the line of death due to lack of oxygen, along with a gentle murmur in your ear of Stolt av deg, the combination of your mother tongue and the honesty she spoke it with poking at your tear ducts. The sentimental value of the moment was almost overwhelming, it was all you could do to hug her back like your life depended on it. 

Your dignity was saved by the bell, literally, as the doors opened and the chime to match it went off, alerting you both as you pulled away and Ingrid reached for her backpack. It was her floor, though she wasn’t getting out just yet, to your confusion. Your eyebrows pinched together as she rooted around in her bag for a little while, until she pulled out a small gift bag. 

“This is for you.” She said simply as the elevator doors shut again, though it didn’t go anywhere. “From all of us at camp, but it was Alexia’s idea. She wanted to do something for you. So thank her, okay? She’s in awe of you, as are us all. But her especially.”

And with a quick kiss to your forehead, she was grabbing her suitcase and leaving the elevator. By the time your brain caught up, the doors were already closing again. You stood frozen to the spot for a second or two, cheeks red and your head spinning at the prospect of the gift in your hand, whatever it was you didn’t know yet, before you pressed the button for your floor and the elevator started whirring again.

For the whole journey up – which was about fifteen seconds – you stared at the bag in your hand, staggered by the sudden surprise. This definitely wasn’t on the cards for your return home. Regardless, you realised your heart rate had picked up a little. Whether it was from the gift or the prospect that Alexia was only one closed door away from you as you stepped out the lift, you didn’t care. 

It was a miracle you didn’t run to your door really, though you found that since getting out of the car, your energy had dipped quite an amount. There was only one logical explanation for that; all the exhaustion the past fortnight had caused was catching up to you now that you were soon to be with the one person that you could properly rest with.

You hardly managed one knock at the door, not bothering with your keys, before it swung open to reveal her. You didn’t even catch a glance at her– one second your feet were on the ground, next minute you had a face full of faded blonde hair and a familiar pair of arms around you that lifted you up into the tightest embrace she’d ever given. It was a bit awkward given that you weren’t quite expecting it and you still had your backpack on, but, hoping that your gift wasn’t fragile, you dropped it to the ground and wrapped yourself around her wholly. 

God only knows how long the two of you spent like that, but neither of you were prepared to move for a long while, wanting to drink in each other’s company again. You planned to not pull back until Alexia did, a plan that was entirely scuffed when you heard a quiet sniffle. 

When you leaned back, the picture before you was unexpected, yet made your heart swell.

“Why are you tearing up, Ale?” You asked in a quiet voice, your hands moving up to rest on her cheeks as she linked her own together behind your back.

“Because you are back here with me again. Because you make me proud by being you, and you make me proud to love you.” Her voice trembled with her reply and it made it all the more sweeter. 

That last part about her being proud to love you, just might never leave your mind. Nobody had ever said they were proud to love you, nevermind mean it. You know there were probably some in your life that felt the same way but weren’t too sure how to articulate it, but Alexia did. She always did. You were proud to love her, too. 

“I love you, Alexia. And I missed you so much.” 

After shrugging off your bag, you rushed in for a hug, a proper one this time. One where you ducked your head down and buried your face in her neck as her body enveloped you, the kind you’d craved every morning you woke up and every night before you slept. All you could think then was finally. Finally, the person who’d had the biggest impact on you out of everyone, maybe bar Ingrid, could feel it within you in her arms. The way your shoulders were lighter and your posture stood taller, how it did from the morning after the first game. 

“I love you too. Love you, love you, love you, lo-” You removed your head from her neck, rolled your eyes, and shut her up with a kiss. A cliche, soppy, rom-com movie kind of kiss at the end of the film when the protagonists finally got together. That word again, finally. Except the two of you had said those words probably thousands of times and it never got old.

“That was the longest two weeks of my life, god.” You groaned as you rested your forehead against hers, eyes falling shut as you enjoyed the close proximity to her again. She gave an unreasonably wide grin for such a simple comment, and pulled you closer to her somehow, to the point where any outsiders wouldn’t have a clue where she ended and you began.

“For me too, but it was worth it, no?” The way she proposed the question, you knew it was her last way of properly checking in with you before embedding the two of you in post-success joy, where she could at last go on and on and on forever about the two weeks. You loved it, the way she wanted to know what you were thinking at times she thought you might be covering the truth, without doing it in an oppressive and irritated way. Your answering smile gave you away before you had the chance to think of a reply.

“So worth it.” You told her shyly, watching as her entire demeanour lit up more than it already was before. “How was camp for you? I’ve barely got a word in about it.” 

“No, no, no. Let’s not bring the mood down with that, I just want to forget it.” You frowned, a notion Alexia caught onto instantly as she waved you off, so she distracted you with a comforting kiss to your cheek and a bright smile. “Ingrid gave you the gift, right? Open it now.” 

Making a mental note to revisit that conversation, you let it slide temporarily. You reached down and grabbed the bag again, glancing between that and Alexia’s somewhat nervous face with a questioning look. A slightly accusatory one as well, because there really was no need for her to get a gift after everything she had already done for you.

“What have you done?” You wondered suspiciously, the blonde anxiously chewing her lower lip as she waited for you to see what it was.

“Just… something. For you. From me. And your Norway teammates, and-” 

“Okay, well, quit the anxious rambling and let me open it.” You teased, some of the tension leaving her shoulders with the quiet chuckle she gave.

Never in your life could you have predicted what was waiting for you.

In the world of football, the gift was a common thing for reasons you thought were much more important than the one you were given it for. You didn’t expect to receive one, but you got it, it was right there in your hands.

Your shirt from the first game you played, first match you started, signed by each and every teammate there, along with some staff members like Heidi and Gemma. All of them took the time, under instruction by Ingrid and Alexia, to sign it for you as a token of their respect, their admiration, and their support. Unwithering support, each and every single one of them. Ingrid had nearly cried at the suggestion Alexia made, and the latter woman could cry as she watched you stare at it in disbelief.

“I thought it would be nice if we had it framed and put it on a wall in your apartment. So that you can see it and be reminded of it everyday. You seem to struggle with remembering your strengths and I think this is the biggest example I could get to help you with that. I want you to acknowledge all you have overcome to get here, I want you to see the product of your hard work. Well, this is that. I think. I don’t know. If you don’t agree, then we can, I don’t know, n-”

“Shut up.” 

“Q…qué?” 

“Shut up, Alexia. This is the best thing someone has ever done for me.” 

The midfielder scoffed lightheartedly to brush off the bold statement out of fear of what it might have done to her emotions. She stepped closer again and hugged you, unable to keep herself away from you after so much time apart. And you just fell into her, arms loose around her waist as she placed one of those beautifully soft kisses against your forehead whilst whispering the purest declarations you’d ever heard.

Your emotions, on the other hand, had hit such a height, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. They’d built up so much that you were frozen by them. The sole thought that escaped through was just… finally.

Finally, you had someone that was proud to love you, someone that would go behind your back and plot from another country the best gift to give you, someone that let you be… you. No mask, no anxiety, no fear of being too much. You had people around you that saw you for who you were rather than what you weren’t, that didn’t care if some traits were different, because, as a product of finally being in a place in life both metaphorically and physically, you didn’t change a thing about yourself.

Finally, you were the person you always set out to be. 

—

i am so, so sorry for how long this took to come out! it's been a time these last few weeks. after i posted part one i had an awful experience with trolls in my inbox and it was the worst thing i've had to deal with, and to be completely honest if it happens again with this one i'm most likely gonna dip out of here for good, i just don't have the energy to deal with that. anyways it was so bizarre writing p1 when i was manically anxious about uni because that part was similar to how i felt then, compared to now with p2 where i'm happy and settled at uni and still riding the wave of relief at how it's worked out there like in this fic. thanks for sticking around and waiting, hope you liked this little story within a story, there will be more to come of reverie hopefully if all goes well :)

[httpsleely]

ALCHEMY by Taylor Swift | “WHERE'S THE TROPHY? HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME”

warnings. not proofread, may contain wrong grammars and spelling.

notes. this song is stuck in my head and all the edits as well 🫠 (if ur my oomf hi I'm still alive bro 🙏)

[ masterlist ]

IMAGINE... (Your Fav) academic rival! x you where in over the years you've spent knowing each other and hating each other's guts you've come to realize that there's no one else like them.

You hate their guts but can't help but yearn for them when even in your darkest moments, where you don't feel like you're number one—or those moments where you feel like you've failed, they're the ones who lift you up even if their words have a few snarky remarks.

You hate their guts but you can't stop the beat of your heart as they say that you got to where you are now not because of simple luck but because of hard work, passion, and the dedication you put through everything.

You hate their guts but you can't help but smile widely whenever you win or achieve something and rub it in their face while they roll their eyes and scowl, turning away to hide their smirk because they know damn well you'll get that reward/achievements because they believe in you.

You hate their guts but couldn't contain your happiness as they confessed to you they like you with a soft voice as they scratch their nape in embarrassment.

You still hate their guts but you just couldn't stop yourself from falling in love.

So, you formed a secret relationship, claiming that the little “game” of “hating-each-other” is much too fun to simply stop. Nobody knows that behind every tease, every (soft hearted) insult, or every action to annoy one another, you truly love each other. Because behind the curtains you act too lovey-dovey as you hold hands, hug, and kiss.

But that all comes crashing down as they join a big contest/game held at your school. Everyone was at the edge of their seats waiting for the results of the match. They would look at you from time to time; just your gaze, your smile, and the fact that you were there to support them (although no one knows that) makes them feel as though they already won.

And when they finally won everyone was up on their seats, cheering, screaming, or whistling—glad that their ace had scored another trophy. Yet they, on the other hand could care less. They're happy they won, since their hard work finally paid off. But who cares about that when they see you clapping with a huge proud smile on your face when they have won?

So, they pushed past the crowd, excusing themselves to everyone who had greeted them and clapped their back. As they made their way towards you, they couldn't help but finally break into a sprint and engulf you in their arms, suffocating the air in your lungs while they kissed the side of your face, before pulling away and meeting your lips in a kiss—so soft and so full of love. All the times you spent together annoying each other becomes a distant memory as it gets replaced by the sweet moments you had shared. And everyone around the two of you is in shock. The academic rivals? Kissing?? Each other??? But those people don't matter, or anything at all for that matter, for they already received the greatest trophy of all... You.

KUROO !!, atsumu, osamu, KAGEYAMA, OIKAWA, RAFAYEL, GOJO, choso... (YOUR FAV)

© httpsleely  |  reposting, modificating, stealing, plagiarizing, and translating my works on any platform are strictly prohibited.

[kamykan]

☆ Dating Jackie Taylor HC’s 🐇 ⋆｡°✩

Pre-crash Jackie Taylor X GNC!Reader

Request: No

Warnings: N/a

. ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

🐰 Jackie is definitely one of those girls who seems like she’s going to be super bitchy and mean but is actually really sweet and kind.

🐰 You’re nervous as hell confessing to her because, well… she’s Jackie Taylor. The queen bee, the soccer captain, the girl everyone either wants or wants to be.

🐰 But to your surprise, Jackie doesn’t laugh or brush you off—she smiles, all soft and curious, and asks, “Are you asking me out?”

When you nod, she grins and says, “Well, I guess I should say yes before someone else tries to steal you away.”

🐰 Jackie is super cliché with where she takes you on dates—movies, the fair, dinner at some cute little place where she insists on stealing fries off your plate. She takes you out for burgers and milkshakes, something classic and fun.

🐰 She’s super affectionate during your dates and in general—honestly, a total PDA freak. She’s always holding your hand in public, kissing your cheek and nose, nudging her knee against yours under the table, brushing your hair out of your face. Hell, maybe even making out a little when she’s feeling especially bold.

🐰 When you two walk home after your dates, she lingers at your doorstep, eyes flickering to your lips. She’s waiting for you to make the first move—Jackie like the type who loves being pursued. She kisses you all the time, sure, but when it comes to the really romantic moments, she wants you to initiate.

🐰 Unpopular opinion, but Jackie actually cares about her grades—at least somewhat. People assume she’s the type to put off schoolwork to party, and while that’s not totally incorrect, she always gets it done eventually. She’d rather cram last minute than let her grades slip. Because of that, you two have cute little study dates—maybe with Shauna tagging along.

🐰 Speaking of Shauna, she 100% does not like you at first (jealous much?). It’s not that she hates you, but she’s naturally wary of people, and the fact that you suddenly appeared in Jackie’s life and got so close so fast? Yeah, it’s a lot for her.

“God, you two are insufferable,” Shauna huffs when Jackie crawls into your lap while the three of you study together, but Jackie just waves her off, grinning.

🐰 When she goes to parties, Jackie loves showing you off in very obnoxious ways. You two are annoyingly cute. She always finds a way to keep you close—her arm around your waist, fingers linked with yours, pulling you onto the dance floor even if you insist you don’t dance.

🐰 Jackie can be a bit overwhelming and kinda forceful at times, especially if you’re the antisocial type. She’ll drag you to her games, make you sit with her friends at lunch, and pull you into every social event she can. If you really don’t want to go, she’ll sigh dramatically and act like she’s giving up… but then she’ll show up at your house anyway like, “Get dressed, we’re going.”

🐰 When Jackie gets jealous, she gets really touchy and clingy. Her arms are wrapped around yours, her head pressed against your shoulder as you talk to another girl or guy who’s obviously interested in you.

“Babe,” You two are at a party and she tugs on your sleeve, trying to pull you away from said person, her voice a little whiny. “Come on, let’s go dance.”

🐰 She isn’t the type to start fights, but she will absolutely sabotage any potential competition in the pettiest ways. Blocking them with her body, making snarky comments disguised as jokes, kissing you right in front of them just to make a point.

🐰 Late-night phone calls are a must. She always calls to say goodnight, even if you just spent the whole day together.

“Okay, last thing before I let you sleep—do you think I could pull off short hair?”

🐰 Half the time, you both fall asleep still on the phone

🐰 Okay now time for some angst. Jackie has a lot of pressure put on her. She's the captain of the Yellowjackets and the golden girl of Wiskayok High. Everyone expects her to be perfect.

🐰 Her parents are always on her case about the smallest things. If she gets a c, if she doesn’t play well enough, if she’s seen with the wrong people.

“Do you really think that’s leadership behavior, Jacqueline?” Her mom’s words stick.

🐰 You can see when it gets to her. She gets quiet and distant. The usual playful Jackie fades into something tired, something unspoken. She still for everyone, and still laughs at the jokes, but when it’s just you two, she lets it slip.

🐰 The worst part? Nobody notices. Not her parents, not her teammates. They just think Jackie Taylor has it all together. Thankfully you notice and you're there for her

After soccer practice, she buries her face in your chest, and you run your fingers through her dirty blonde hair as she talks about her day, her algebra test, how soccer practice went.

🐰 Speaking of soccer, you attend every one of her games. She lets you wear her letterman jacket while she plays. You support her in soccer, and she’s equally supportive of you in your after-school activities. You can bet she’s there for every science fair, track meet, spelling bee, concert, stage play, or any other thing you participate in.

🐰 She hugs and kisses you hard when after she wins the game that gets the Yellowjackets to Nationals. While you’re flying commercial she’s flying on Lottie’s dad’s private plane.

“Babe, we’re going to celebrate so hard when we get back from winning Nationals!” she says with a big grin. “I’ll even let you hold the trophy!”

Yeah, when she gets back from Nationals

. ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

An: First post ahhhhhh!!!! Don't be afraid to send me a request 😼

[nebuliix]

​im very late to this but i’ve been reading the notes on this for a while and ive not really seen anyone talk about my favourite ship, temenos and hikari, so far so im gonna yap about them for a bit. (this is basically my first time formatting a tumblr post (it ended up being way too much to keep in the tags) and im scared so i hope the cut works)

i really like the parallels between temenos and hikari about how they both lost absolutely everyone and never had time to confront or process that. in their pasts, with hikari losing his mother and temenos losing his brother, roi; their first chapters, with hikari losing his father/king and temenos losing the pontiff (also a father figure and leader) but neither of them getting a chance to grieve because they’re both put on their journeys so quickly afterwards; then, later in their stories, hikari losing ritsu and a whole lot of other cherished people throughout the war, alongside temenos losing crick in stormhail because of a conspiracy he got him involved in. i personally subscribe to the headcanon that temenos is a descendant of the kal people, so to me his crackridge chapter contributes to that personal sense of loss too. then, later, when both of their stories are complete and things seem to be settling down for both of them, the endgame comes along and rips kazan (oboro) from hikari and sister mindt (arcanette) from temenos, both with no warning and a strong sense of betrayal that they never get closure for.

both of these characters simultaneously get their worlds torn from them in extremely similar ways again and again and again as the game goes on and, what with hikari fighting a war and taking on the leadership of his entire kingdom afterwards as well as temenos uncovering the church and the sacred guard’s corruption and working to stop a death cult from literally ending the world, neither of them ever truly sit down and take care of themselves or process their grief as it happens.

i love pairing them together for this because they both care enough about each other as fellow travelers that they’d help each other get through it all and hold each other accountable. temenos is ignoring his grief and pushing it down, but hikari won’t stop being so gentle with him and before you know it they’re having a heart to heart about it. hikari doesn’t think he deserves to treat himself to his favourite foods amidst his responsibilities, so temenos asks him to treat him instead and now they’re sharing. temenos is pulling ANOTHER all-nighter trying to piece together this cult situation, but hikari’s having night terrors so they cuddle and oh would you look at that now they’re both sleeping great. amazing gorgeous stunning you’re doing incredible i love you both.

this is already so long so i won’t go into details (and i don’t have the poetic language to do it justice anyway) but i haven’t even started on the ‘guy raised in divinity but kind of shuns it a little bit because its done nothing for him’ vs ‘guy with a bloodlust shadow curse that keeps making him kill people but still maintains his connection to the light’ themes like COME ONNN im obsessed with them. i like to imagine shadow hikari comes out with a vengeance only for temenos to say something so absolutely insane-yet-profound-yet-baffling that it just stops him in his tracks. then he gets put in shadow-timeout like a naughty cat. go think about your actions young man. also special mention to the endgame scene where they were the last ones back to the camp. its very funny to imagine they were late because they were making out but as an aroace i also like to imagine it was a petting session (since i played with hunter hikari please give this lad some ear scritches PLEASEE he deserves them)

ok. im done now. if anyone took the time to read it thank you. my other favourite ships, in no particular order, are primrose/h’aanit/ophilia, alfyn/therion, therion&h’aanit platonically (beast tamer vs feral cat vibes letsgo), therion/cyrus/olberic, therion/primrose (she is absolutely on top. throw h’aanit in there with her animal-trainer energy as well for maximum effectiveness. im begging for literally anyone to see my vision), throné/agnea, and the very specific dynamic of every ot1 traveler in a polycule except for tressa who makes fun of them for it

[holding up catboy hikari] you all will look at him and pet him

I miss octopath yapping with people so uh yknow what! We’re gonna play a game!!

Explain in the notes what y’all’s favorite ships are and why you like them!!!

Only rules are

1) do not explain why everyone should think your ship is canon, as that is not the point of this post 2) do not put any other ships down bc that is also not the point of this post 3) ALL games are included (yes including cotc) 4) ANY SHIPS ARE ALLOWED!!! GO NUTS!!!!

[ashyblondwaves]

Katniss saying she despises Haymitch breaks my heart on multiple levels. I don't blame Katniss for thinking that. She was just going by what she saw of her mentor at that time. I guess it's the fact that Katniss doesn't really know Haymitch the way she could have had Haymitch not pushed everyone away for their safety. I don't blame him for doing that, either.

I think of what could have been for the Everdeens and for Haymitch had the games and subsequent staged tragedies not happened to Haymitch. He could have been Uncle Haymitch, best friend of Burdock. He and Lenore Dove probably would have had a little brood of their own. "Cousins" for Katniss and Prim. He could have been someone Katniss could have turned to after Burdock's death, someone that could have helped the Everdeens when Asterid shut down.

There's just so much to think about, a lot of "what ifs" that break my heart that I can wax poetic about, but none of that matters because Snow is a piece of absolute human garbage, and he's the one to blame for all of it.

[gachagon]

Ena's are treated by others based on how capable they are

Yesterday I played through the entirety of Ena Dream BBQ and it was the most fun and surreal time I'd ever had playing a video game since I played OFF.

After I finished it though, I couldn't help but think about how Ena was treated as some kind of dangerous, menacing entity that has the potential for harm from the other entities in the game. Everyone in the game either treats Ena as if she is a troublemaker or someone who is too dangerous to be left by herself or to be alone with. Which is strange because Dream BBQ Ena never does anything like that to anyone in the game.

So why does everyone hate Ena? I think it has to do with the idea that Meanie/Salesperson Ena is way more *capable* and aware than the Classic!Ena from the youtube series.

Meanie/Salesperson Ena is more proactive and is able to advocate for herself, and even has a job (which shocks a some of the characters when they learn that this Ena has a job lol) Meanie/Salesperson Ena is much more capable of doing "bad" things or harm then the Classic Ena we see in the show.

Classic Ena seems to lose control over her "sad" side a lot even if she's not really sad. And sometimes when she *is* sad, it becomes too much and literally makes her ill.

A lot of the characters in the youtube series aren't afraid of this Ena though they do still want her to leave them alone anyways. Nobody is panicked or frightened or even a little bit wary of this Ena because she doesn't even really have control over her own emotions, and she falls apart at the slightest bit of adversity.

And as far as I'm aware this Ena doesn't have a "job" like Dream BBQ Ena does. Meaning I don't think someone other than Moonie has trusted her to do things for them. No one gives her any kind of hard responsibility and once they see how out of control she is over herself, many of the entities seem to relax around her even though she's an Ena.

I know some people have been saying what if the reason Ena's are so mistreated is because they were maybe made to cause trouble or to harm other entities, but I think it's more so that Ena's have the potential to cause harm based off of how capable they are and how in control they are of themselves.

Classic!Ena is not able to pull herself together most of the time and it seems to take a great deal of strength to reel back in her "sad" side. Her sad side also doesn't seem to speak rationally and demeans herself, unlike how Meanie/Salesperson clearly talk and are always on the same subject most of the time. I think for the other entities if you knew Ena's were bad news for some reason and you met one who could barely walk straight because of how "sad" she was all the time, you'd probably think the Ena who's 100% in control of *both* sides to be a little spookier because now you're messing with a person who can seriously do harm to you somehow.

I also think Meanie/Salesperson is aware of this dichotomy between different Ena's thus why they constantly have to reassure other people that they're not doing any kind of "sketchy" or bad things. Entities have probably treated this Ena way worse in the past just because of being an Ena, and being capable and more aware most likely didn't actually help with trying to get people to trust her more.

Meanie/Salesperson might also not be quite as innocent as we may think based off of the ending of chapter 1 because in the end they do kind of "destroy" everything, and in the end the only person who comes out of it okay is Ena.

We don't actually know what their job really is, lol but them having a job at all was enough for a lot of the entities to just trust them to do things for them. I think the fact that Meanie/Salesperson Ena was able to complete their task at all and come out of it okay, kind of proves that maybe the entities in the Uncanny Valley were right to be a little wary because now the Uncanny Valley is gone thanks to Ena turning the smoke off T_T

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, Gore (Horror Movie), Smoking, Use Of Word Slut. Grieving

With your tongue poking out of your mouth in concentration, you press the blue painters tape along the ceiling with as much precision as possible. Your mother had agreed to let Nicky paint his room, but of course, she had to have the final say. She quickly vetoed the colors that she didn't like. Dark blues and black were pushed aside as she gave him the options of Serene Green and Pastel Yellow. Needless to say, Serene Green was the winner. It wasn't awful. Nope. In fact, you actually like the color, but it didn't exactly scream that a teenager lived there. You don't think that he cares, though. It was just nice to see his room start to come to life.

“These brushes are nice,” you dad says from the step ladder as he paints a perfect line just under your tape. His hand was completely steady, and he probably didn't even need you to tape off the room. “Where did you get these?”

“Oh, one of your new potential vendors gave me some,” you say casually, causing your parents to give you a look. “What?”

“He just gave them to you?” Your mom asks. “He should have given them to your father or even Elly for that matter.”

“Well, maybe, I might have flirted a little bit with him,” you admit. “But look, it got us some good brushes.”

“Do you think you could flirt for some rollers?” Your dad asks jokingly, making your mom throw a water bottle at him. “I'm kidding. Unless, she really can. The good ones are expensive.”

“You can't do that, Y/N,” your mom scolds. “You need to keep things professional at work. How do you think that makes you look? How that makes you father look?”

“She gets it from you,” your dad cuts in while still painting his perfect line of Serene Green.

“Absolutely not,” she disagrees.

“Should I recount the story of when we first met?” He asks, smiling over his shoulder at her. “I believe it was when I was working for my own father.”

Your mother gives him a look and walks out of the bedroom. You laugh, throwing down your blue tape roll and watch as it rolls across the room. Climbing down your own ladder, you sit on Nicky's bed that was moved to the center of the bedroom. “Don't let her get to you. She means well.”

“I'm not so sure,” you say, watching him as he climbs down and approaches you.

“How are you doing, kiddo? Do you need any money? Food?” He asks, squatting in front of you. “You two aren't going hungry, right?”

“No, things have been good?” You say, giving him a small smile.

“Just give her some time, kiddo,” he says. “Things are hard for everyone. Emotions are really high, but you know that I won't let anything happen. Nicky isn't going anywhere.”

“I know,” you agree.

“Just try to keep some sort of peace between the two of you.” he tells you. “I know you two haven't really ever gotten along over the years, but she loves you. After what happened to you…”

“When will the room be done?” You ask, changing the subject. “I think Chris and Elly are bringing him back in a couple of hours. I would like to have everything done and the room put back together by then.”

“Yeah,” your dad says quietly as he studies you sadly. “We’ll get it done.”

You walk to the opposite side of the room, grabbing a paint roller to distract you. You don't like to talk about your past. If you don't talk about it, then you can almost pretend like it never happened. You watch as the roller spreads the green paint across the wall. Up and down, you drag it over the smooth surface repeatedly, covering any blotchiness that you created.

Up and down.

Up and down, as if everything was perfectly fine.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Nothing was all right.

Up, down and repeat.

Ignore and pretend.

Repeat.

You pick the stubborn green paint from out underneath your fingernails as you sit on the bleachers waiting for practice to start. Nicky, with as much enthusiasm as a teenage boy could muster, he thanked everyone for painting his room when he saw it. That night, you two sat down, ordering him shelves and an entertainment center that he liked. You told him that the choice was his to unpack his things or you could go shopping to decorate his room with brand new things. He asked to think about it. You hope he chooses his things that were boxed up in his closet. Things that once brought him comfort and held happy memories. You don't want him to be scared of those memories. Memories of his mom and dad. Memories that you don’t want him to forget. That was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up on your nails, you yawn. For once, you were one of the first adults in the gym, and it was boring. You'll have to make sure that it never happens again. Resting your elbow on your knee, you place your chin in your hand. You contemplate closing your eyes when the door opens loudly and both coaches walk in. You watch as Coach Min gives you a double take before looking down at his watch. Raising an eyebrow at you, he nods in satisfaction that you were actually there before him. You roll your eyes in response, making him laugh silently. You're so happy that you amused him. At least one of you was amused. All you were was tired.

“We need to decide where to meet for dinner tonight,” Ara speaks up during the middle of practice. “Any suggestions?”

“LUXE EAST,” a mom that you don't care to learn her name suggests. “They have the best wine choices.”

“That's probably too expensive for….some,” Ara says, and you can feel their stares turn to look at you.

“Ara,” Mark says warningly as he makes eye contact with you.

“What? I'm just trying to be thoughtful,” she says innocently. “Maybe we should stick to McDonald's.”

“You can take your fake concern and shove it,” you say, looking over your shoulder at her trying to act unbothered. “I'm not going anywhere with you anyway.”

“You have to,” she smirks. “It's a part of your responsibility as a parent on our team.”

“It's when we decide who's in charge of getting signs made, t-shirts made. You know, things like that,” Mark explains.

Mark was nice. You didn't want to be a bitch to him. Instead, you completely turn away from him and look at the group of women behind you. You wonder if they ever heard the word no before. You doubt it. Their aura screams spoiled. You are sure that they were the type of woman who always got what they wanted.

“I'd rather pull my eyelashes out one by one than go anywhere with you,” you say, standing up and giving her a fake smile. “Go team!”

Walking down the steps of the bleachers, you step onto the floor and head for the door. Well, you attempted to, that is. Coach Min's arm shot out, almost hitting you with his clipboard, stopping your escape.

“Where are you going?” He asks, eyes never leaving the boys on the court.

“Bathroom. Is that alright with you?” You ask, sarcastically. “Do I need a hall pass?”

He doesn't answer as he drops his arm, letting you pass by. Continuing on, you leave the gym and walk down the hall a little ways until you come to the girls' bathroom. Looking around, you notice frosted windows above a small ledge. You smile, climbing up on the counter, and you hold your breath as you pop the window open. You freeze for a moment, waiting to see if you set an alarm off. Thankfully, there was nothing.

Reaching into your bag, you pull out a singular cigarette and lighter. You haven't smoked in years. You had carried the little cancer stick around as a reminder that you were stronger than the bad habit. You were stronger now than your past self, but every now and then, you doubt yourself and your strength. Even though you don't show it, you have your limits, and right now, you are way past them. Maybe Ara and the others that pushed you into caving in. Maybe it was the conversation with your dad. Maybe you were never strong, like you thought.

Fuck it!

Bringing the cigarette to your lips, you light it, inhaling the disgusting chemicals that burn your lungs as you breathe it in. Turning your head toward the window, you blow out the smoke, trying not to cough. You're disappointed. You're not sure what you were hoping to feel, but the cigarette did not give it to you. Maybe you were hoping for a rush of dopamine. Maybe you were looking for a sense of calm and peace, but you got nothing. You still feel tense. You still feel weighed down. The nightmares will still be there when you close your eyes at night. Everything is exactly the same. Except now, you probably smell like an ashtray.

You don't bother with another puff. Snuffing the cigarette out, you close the window and hope down off the counter. Flushing the evidence, you walk back into the gym like nothing happened.

Sitting further away from the group, you take your earlier position. Elbow on knee, chin in hand, you wait. You wait, like you have been waiting almost every day since Nicky came into your life full time. You need to learn to have patience because waiting felt like torture. Maybe your mom was right all along. Maybe you weren't equipped to handle this type of life. The mom life. You need to change. Unfortunately, you don't know how to change, but you need to figure it out.

Fast.

“What's the temperature you need to store hot food at?” Coach Min throws at you as you remain unmoving, waiting for your nephew as practice ends and everyone filters out of the gym.

“220 degrees,” you answer automatically, looking up at him as he looms over you, looking down at you.

It was a lie. You didn't know the answer, but you sure answered him with as much confidence as you could muster. He stares at you through narrowed eyes, scrutinizing your answer. You are sure he knows that you have yet to look over the paper he gave you on food safety practices.

“You don't know, do you?” He asks, calling your bluff and confirming what you thought.

“If that's wrong, then what's the answer?” You ask back. He chuckles and looks away from you. This time, you were the one to narrow your eyes as you study him. Standing up from your seat, you stare at him with astonishment. “You don't know either,” you accuse, pointing your finger at him.

“Of course I do,” he scoffs, crossing those arms of his. “I've been doing this for years.”

“Then what is it?” You ask, mimicking his stance.

“It's…..in the paper I gave you so you better learn it,” he answers and walks away from you. You shake your head as you watch him walk away and pat Nicky on the back as he passes him.

That motherfu…..chucker!

A/C is not working. Bring extra water.

Damn. The text that came through the team app did not lie. The gym was hot and stuffy as you entered through the double doors. A wall of heat from inside almost stops you in your tracks as it hits you in the face, wanting to tempt you into running your ass back to your car.

It just felt gross.

Nicky waves at you from where he was stretching on the court. You raise the water bottle in your hand in the air, indicating that you bought him an extra one. He points to his belongings sitting on an empty set of bleachers. You nod, walking over. You find his things easily and place his extra water down before joining the parents.

It's gotten easier the last few practices. Coming here almost every day is still just as awful, but keeping your head down and not paying attention to certain people made the time more bearable. It helps that you have been bringing your earbuds to drown out their yapping mouths, but unfortunately, today, you were in too big of a hurry to change. You forgot to grab them. Instead of an audio book or music, you had to listen to the squeaking shoes, whistles, and the yapping of the mothers mouths. Today, you just try to focus on the boys doing…whatever it was that they were doing, but the yappers wouldn't shut up.

“I need a new formal dress,” one of them says. “Hubby and I have dinner with his idiot boss next weekend.”

“At least you're able to get a new one. My husband says I have too many dresses that I don't need another one,” a new voice chimes in. “How ridiculous is that? He can buy a new boat, but I can't have a new dress.”

Dear god, you think as you roll your eyes. You wish those were the only problems you had.

“There's plenty of shops you can go to. Just don't shop where she does,” your shoulders stiffen as you fight the urge to turn around. You just know that the comment was directed at you. “Hey, you.”

“What?” You question, not even bothering to look over your shoulder at them.

“You should go and change,” Ara tells you.

You look down at yourself. You didn’t think the pair of cut-off shorts and a black and white striped tank top that you were wearing would be considered inappropriate. Your ass wasn't hanging out, and your boobs were where they belonged. If she thought this was bad, then she was faint if she saw what else you had in your closet.

“If your son can't keep his eyes to himself, then maybe you should teach him better,” you snap at her as you finally look at her. She, as always, was wearing too much makeup. You hoped that she would sweat it off and look like a drowned rat by the end of practice. “That's your problem, not mine.”

“Well if you didn't dress like a slut to begin with then we wouldn't have a problem,” Ara tells you with a sharp look. Her scowls have become harsher since you refused to go to the meeting with them, but nothing was ever said to you.

“What did you call me,” you demand ever so calmly, fully turning your body around to look at her.

“You heard me,” she smirks as her glossy lips shine under the gym lights.

“Say it again,” you say, standing up, but it only makes her laugh. “FUCKING SAY IT AGAIN BITCH!.”

“WHOA!” Coach Min says, blowing his whistle as he turns swiftly to see what the commotion was. “Get down here now.”

You don't listen as your eyes continue to zero in on Ara, your number one enemy at the moment. You don't plan on backing down. Ara's glossy little smile drops as she studies you when she realizes that you're not backing down. Good. Very good. You haven't fought anyone since high school, but you're sure you still have what it takes to kick her ass.

“Fucking say it again,” you growl, getting closer into her space, making her back up in her seat.

Yup, you still got it.

“Y/N, get down here now,” Coach Min demands, but again, you don't pay him any mind. Footsteps ascend the wooden stairs, and a hand grabs your arm, trying to pull you away. “Now.” You shake him off and follow him down the bleachers. “Three practice suspension,” he tells you as he points to the doors.

“I thought they needed a guardian here at all times,” you say smartly, testing his patience.

“Do you want to make it 6?” He asks, eyes hard as he studies you.

You look over to Nicky, who, like the rest of the boys, was watching the commotion that you were a part of. You shouldn't make such a scene in front of him. Squinting your eyes in a glare, you turn from him to head for the doors. However, before your feet actually were able to take off, you looked back at the smug woman, whose smirk was right back on her face. Staring directly at her, you flip her off with your hand held high for everyone to see.

“Jesus christ,” you hear Coach Min mutter.

Stomping out of the gym, you walk back to your car, slamming your door loudly after you climb in. Swearing at the top of your lungs, you hit the steering wheel with the heel of your hand. You can feel the burning of tears start to well behind your eyes. Rubbing them harshly, you stop them before they fully form. With a deep breath to calm your rapidly beating heart, you lean forward, pressing your forehead against the steering wheel, you exhale. 1….2….3… you slowly count as you focus on the rising of your chest. 4…5…6… Finally, you can feel your heart rate slow.

Your whole life, you were a wild child. Your brothers were steller students, great athletes, and never had detention. You, on the other hand, practically lived there. You never talked back to teachers, but boy, did the other students piss you off. You weren't one to back down when someone was running their mouth about you. Maybe you did it for attention. Your parents were always busy going into your teen years. Supporting you and your siblings plus Nicky and your sister-in-law, it was a lot. They both worked a lot, and their time at home was stretched thin with all the responsibilities in the household.

Unfortunately, you never really grew out of the rebelliousness. You were responsible around Nicky when you were with him, but otherwise, you didn't care. Skipping school, sneaking out, all became routine for you. Your self-esteem wasn't the best and sought attention from the wrong type of men as you grew older. Men, who would frequent the shady little bar you worked at. Who knew all the right things to say to draw in and make you fall in love with them. You fell for it every time, and every time you paid the price.

You were angry. You were angry when they would call you names. They made you feel bad and tore you down. You couldn't fight back. You tried once, and it didn't work out so well. You promised yourself that you would never let anyone make you feel like again. Make you feel insecure, weak. Make you feel like you were always…..wrong. You close your eyes, trying to convince yourself that you did nothing wrong. You shake your head slightly. You didn't do anything. Nope, you didn't do anything wrong. You stood up for yourself like anyone would. You didn't do anything wrong back then, and you didn't do anything wrong now. You hope that if you keep repeating it, you might actually start to believe it.

“I'm sorry,” you tell him softly. “I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.”

The car door opening has you looking over at Nicky from where you lay your head on the headrest of your seat. You let him throw his bag in the back seat and buckle himself in before you speak.

“I know what she called you. All the moms were laughing about it,” he tells you. “It's not fair that you got into trouble, but they don't.”

“I know,” you agree, nodding your head.

“I don't want to come back tomorrow,” he says, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I don't even like playing with half of them. Especially her son, he's a shithead.”

“Watch it! You can't quit,” you say, shaking your head at him. “Isn't like the number one rule for these things? You can’t let your team down. What's that saying? Never give up, never….something.”

“Coach is headed this way,” he tells you, and you follow his line of sight out the windshield. Everything in you hardens once more as you watch the blonde man make his way over to your car.

“The fuck he is,” you mutter under your breath.

You quickly start your car, throwing it in drive, taking off out of the parking lot with squealing tires. Absolutely not. There was no way you were going to talk to that man. If Nicky changes his mind about wanting to play, you'll have to send Chris or Elly to take your place. You know they would do it in a heartbeat, but as of right now…you're done.

《Chapter Four》

Tagged Readers:

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee , @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler

@wobblewobble882, @damn-u-min-yoongi , @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen

@yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 , @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp

@redragdoll, @ot72025 , @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny , @kam9404

@amarawayne , @haileyborig, @mar-lo-pap

[sillylilsquid]

𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊

♥︎summary: Thanos and you have always been each other’s safe place. You helped him through his darkest moments, but now you’re the one spiraling—reckless nights, self-destructive choices, and a past she won’t face. Thanos refuses to let you slip away, stepping in when things go too far. A getaway forces buried truths to surface, blurring the lines of their relationship as old wounds and unspoken feelings collide. But healing isn’t easy, and neither is love. He makes you feel something. Something like safe.

♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. sexual themes, brief descriptions addiction, mentions of sa(nothing in depth, just implied), suggestive photos, blackmailing reader w/ said suggestive photos, oc thanos. minors dni!! 18+

♥︎a/n: 12.4k words. plz enjoy!! i have been writing so much lately, so be on the look out for much more hehe 🖤

The first time you ever saw Thanos cry was in the alley behind a convenience store, vape in one hand, bruised knuckles on the other. He didn’t say much, just mumbled something about how he was “so fucking tired,” voice thick and strained, like he had been holding it in for too long. You sat beside him on the curb, handed him the bottle of cheap soju you had bought on impulse, and let him talk when he was ready. That night, he told you about the weight of expectations, the suffocating grip of addiction, and the fear that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself out of it.

The first time he saw you cry was in your car outside your ex’s apartment. You hadn’t meant to call him, but your fingers moved faster than your brain, and before you knew it, he was there–leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, waiting. You were embarrassed at first, wiping at your cheeks furiously, trying to play it off, but Thanos didn’t buy it. Instead, he sighed, climbed into the car, and cranked up the heat. “Alright, babe,” he had said, voice softer than usual. “You wanna cry about it first, or you wanna tell me what happened?”

The first time you saw him high, it scared the hell out of you. He wasn’t himself, not really. His eyes were distant, movements sluggish, laughter hollow. You had heard the rumors, but seeing it with your own eyes was different. That night, you dragged him out of some shitty house party, ignoring the protests, the slurred reassurances that he was “fine.” You had sat him down on your couch, forced him to drink water, made sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. And in the morning, when the weight of his choices settled in, you didn’t scold him. You just made him coffee and told him, “I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

And now…now things were different. Now, it was you spiraling. Now, it was you disappearing for days, shutting people out, then swinging to the opposite extreme–going out, drinking too much, spending money like it was nothing. You told yourself you were fine, but Thanos wasn’t buying it.

Thanos noticed it in the little things first. The way your texts became inconsistent–sometimes flooding his phone with nonsense at three in the morning, other times leaving his messages on read for days. The way you bounced between isolation and excess, spending entire weekends locked away in your apartment only to turn around and blow money on drinks for strangers at clubs you didn’t even like.

At first, he let it slide. Everyone went through phases. But then it started feeling less like a phase and more like a pattern. 

The night he really knew something was wrong, he wasn’t even supposed to see you. You’d blown him off earlier in the day with some half assed excuse, so he was surprised when he spotted you across the club, drink in hand, laughing too loudly at something some random guy said.

You looked good–too good. The kind of good that wasn’t for yourself but for someone else. A mask. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, eyes a little too glossy, smile a little too wide. He watched as the guy leaned in closer, fingers ghosting over your wrist, and something in Thanos’ chest tightened. 

Then he saw it; the exact moment you tipped past tipsy into reckless. The way your hands wavered when you reached for another drink. The way your smile faltered for half a second when the guy leaned in too close.

The slight flick of the guy’s wrist, the quick glance around before he tilted a small packet over your drink. Subtle. Almost too quick to notice. But Thanos saw everything.

That was it. That was too far. Thanos was already moving before he could think twice, his jaw set, his steps purposeful as he cut through the crowd toward you.

Within seconds, he was at your side, snatching the glass from your hand before you could take another sip. “What the–?” You blinked up at him, startled, your expression shifting from confusion to irritation in an instant.

Thanos didn’t even spare you a glance. His eyes were locked on the guy, his entire body radiating something dangerous, something dark. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low. Deadly.

The guy hesitated, feigning innocence. “Man, chill. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wrong answer.

Thanos didn’t need to explain. He reached forward, grabbing the guy by the collar, yanking him close enough that their noses almost touched. “You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade. “You wanna try that again, see what happens?”

The guy’s face paled instantly, his bravado crumbling. “A-alright, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just–just having fun.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoved the guy backward, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of here. Before I really lose my temper.”

The guy didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran the second Thanos released his death grip on his shirt.

You, on the other hand, weren’t running. You were staring at Thanos, arms crossed, lips pursed in frustration. “What the hell was that?” 

Thanos exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair. “That guy put something in your drink.”

You frowned. “No, he didn’t.” Thanos clenched his jaw. “I saw him, babe.”

For a second, something faltered in your expression. Something uncertain. But then, just as quickly, it was gone–replaced by irritation, defiance. “Okay, well, thanks for the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Thanos scoffed, his patience thinning. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.” You glared at him. “I didn’t ask you to come save me.” “No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Then, Thanos sighed, his voice softening. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

Your jaw tensed, and your hands curled into loose fists at your sides. You wanted to argue, wanted to fight him on this, but deep down, you knew–he wasn’t giving you a choice. And even in your drunken stupor, a part of you didn’t want one.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms as Thanos gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you through the crowd. You could’ve pulled away, but something about the way his fingers curled around yours, firm but not forceful, made you stay.

The cold night air slapped against your skin the second you stepped outside. It should have sobered you up, but instead, it just made the world tilt a little more. You stumbled slightly, and before you could catch yourself, Thanos’ arm was around your waist, steadying you.

“Easy, babe.” He murmured.

You huffed, pushing at his chest. “I told you–I don’t need you to save me.”

Thanos arched a brow. “Yeah? ‘Cause if I wasn’t here, you’d be drinking something laced with God-knows-what right now.”

Your stomach twisted, a sliver of doubt creeping in. You wanted to believe he was wrong, that he was overreacting–but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. It only made you angrier.

“Why do you even care so much?” you snapped. “You’re acting like you are my fucking dad or something.” Thanos let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face. He was trying to be patient. You could tell.

“Because, babe,” he said, his voice softer this time, “I’ve seen where this leads.” His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding. “And I’m not gonna stand by and watch you burn yourself out.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging. You swallowed it down, shaking your head, trying to hold on to the anger. It was easier that way.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered. “I just…I just needed a break, okay?” Thanos frowned. “A break from what?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain it? The exhaustion that never went away, the feeling of drowning even when everything was fine, the way your own mind felt like a prison half the time?

Instead, you just scoffed, shoving at his chest again. “Whatever. I’ll just call a cab.” Thanos’ jaw ticked. “No. You’re coming with me.” Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Thanos held your gaze as if completely unfazed. “You throwing a tantrum right now, babe?” Your nostrils flared. “I’m not–”

“Cause it kinda seems like you are.” He smirked, tilting his head. “You wanna kick your feet, too? Maybe scream a little?” 

Your face burned with frustration. “I hate you.” Thanos snorted. “Sure you do. Now get in the damn car.”

Before you could protest, he was steering you toward his car, opening the door for you like it was already decided. You hesitated. Considered fighting him on this. For some reason though, you let him push you into the passenger seat. And when he shut the door behind you, you stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the fact that for the first time in weeks you didn’t feel completely alone.

The drive was quiet. Not the comfortable kind, where words weren’t needed. This was tense–thick with everything left unsaid.

You sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window like the streetlights were the most interesting thing in the world. Thanos, for once, wasn’t pushing you to talk. He just kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh, his eyes flicking toward you every so often.

You could feel it. His worry. His frustration. They way he was biting his tongue. It made your chest feel tight.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” Thanos finally asked, voice steady but careful, like he was trying not to spook you.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. “I already told you,” you snapped. “I just needed a break.”

He hummed, clearly unimpressed with that answer. “A break from what, babe?” The nickname making you groan. You shut your eyes, willing away the lump forming in your throat. “Everything.”

Thanos sighed. “That’s not an answer.” “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,” you muttered, nails digging into your palms.

A beat of silence. Then– “You know this isn’t you, right?” It made your chest feel tight. “You don’t know who I am.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Bullshit. You’re not the type to black out every weekend. You don’t throw money around like it means nothing. And you sure as hell don’t let random assholes buy you drinks without knowing what’s in ‘em.”

You flinched. “I wasn’t–” “Yeah, you were.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Just honest. “And that’s not you, babe. So, what the hell is going on?”

No words left your mouth. You just continued to stare down at your lap. What was going on?

You wanted to explain it, but how did you explain something you didn’t even fully understand yourself? How did you put into words the exhaustion, the weight in your chest that never really went away, the way everything felt too much and not enough at the same time?

Instead, all you could do was whisper, “I don’t know.”

Thanos glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s not good enough.” 

Your head snapped up, irritation flaring again. “Well, sorry if my personal crisis isn’t meeting your fucking standards.”

Thanos didn’t flinch. “You wanna yell at me, babe? Fine. Go ahead. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. That was the problem, wasn’t it. That he was still here, even when you were doing everything to push him away. You turned back toward the window, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “Just take me home, Thanos.”

A long pause. Then, instead of agreeing, he said, “Nah.” Your head whipped around, glaring. “What?”

Thanos’ grip tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading the complete opposite direction of your apartment. “You think I’m dropping you off so you can sit in the dark and wallow? Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Thanos–” “Relax, babe. I’m not kidnapping you.” His lips twitched, but his voice was firm. “You need air. You need to get out of your head for a bit. So, humor me.”

The fight was slipping out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its place. So, instead of yelling, instead of insisting that you just wanted to be alone, you sighed, slumping back into your seat. “Fine.”

Thanos smirked, reaching over to poke your cheek. “There’s my girl.” You huffed, smacking his hand away, but for the first time that your lips twitched just slightly. Just a little.

You didn’t realize where he was taking you until the neon lights of the 24-hour convenience store came into view. You blinked. “Seriously?” 

He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, throwing the car into park. “What? You thought I was about to hit you with some deep, inspirational shit?” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nah, babe. You need a snack.”

You frowned, your body still tense from everything. “A snack?” “A snack,” he repeated, already opening his door. “Now get your ass inside.”

For a second, you debated being difficult just for the sake of it. But then your stomach grumbled–loudly–betraying you as Thanos shot you a knowing look. “Uh-huh,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” You rolled your eyes but pushed open the door anyway, stepping out into the cool night air.

The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the scratchy pop song playing over the speaker. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you trailed behind Thanos, watching as he made a beeline for the snack aisle like he had a mission.

“Arlight,” he said, clasping his hands together. “What’s it gonna be, babe?” Sweet, salty, or ‘I have zero impulse control’?” Shaking your head you mumbled, “I’m not even hungry.”

Thanos ignored you completely, already reaching for a bag of chips. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I don’t remember asking.” You glared, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “You’re annoying.” “And you’re cranky when you’re hungry, " he shot back, crouching to grab something off the bottom shelf. “So, I’m doing us both a favor.”

A sigh fell from your lips, and you ran a hand through your tangled hair. The weight of the night is still pressing on you like a too-heavy coat. A tiny part of you, the stubborn part, thinks you should have insisted that you just wanted to go home. But instead, you found yourself feeling a little better than earlier just standing beside him, staring at the shelves.

A pack of strawberry Pocky caught your eye. Thanos followed your gaze, then grabbed it without hesitation. You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted that.” “You didn’t have to.” Something about the way he said it–so casual, so certain–made your throat tighten.

You swallowed hard, looking away. “Anything else?” he asked, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. You reached for a small carton of chocolate milk and looked up at him. “Happy?” Thanos grinned. “Proud of you, babe.” You rolled your eyes, but the fight in you felt smaller. Softer. The tension in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it wasn’t unbearable. 

After checking out, the two of you climbed into the backseat of his car, the world outside dim and quiet. Thanos sprawled out in the corner, legs stretched across the seat, while you tucked yourself into the opposite side, knees drawn up to your chest. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, casting a faint glow over the dashboard. 

He ripped open a bag of chips, tossing one into his mouth before looking over at you. “Alright, so are we gonna talk about it, or do I just keep stuffing you with snacks until you’re too full to be sad?” 

Staring down at the carton in your hands you hesitated before opening it, taking a small sip but keeping your eyes casted away from him. “There’s nothing to really talk about.” Thanos made a face. “Wrong. Try again.”

Your jaw clenched, willing yourself not to snap at him. He was trying to care for you, you couldn’t hurt his feelings. “I just–” you let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Thanos stretched out, his legs spread wide with his knee resting against yours, and his arm along the back of the seat. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you, babe.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Feels like there is.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching you. Then he spoke, “You ever see a dog freak out ‘cause they got the zoomies?” Your brows pulled together. “What?”

Thanos smirked. “You know, like when they start running around in circles like a damn maniac, then five minutes later, they pass out like they fought a war?” You stared at him then, unamused. “Are you comparing me to a dog?” “More like a chihuahua,” he teased, stealing one of your Pocky.

“Thanos.” He snorted but shifted closer, nudging you with his knee. “I’m saying maybe your brain’s got the zoomies. You go, go, go–party, spend, drink, whatever–and then you crash. Hard.” 

Your fingers tightened around the carton. “Yeah, well…what am I supposed to do about it?” Thanos tilted his head, studying you for a second. Then he reached over, poking the side of your face until you turned to look at him. “For starters? Let me help.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. But letting someone in–really in–was terrifying. He knew a lot about you, but this one thing…it was something you never wanted to let out of the depths of your brain.

Thanos must’ve seen it written all over your face because he nudged you again, his voice softer when he said, “You don’t gotta do it alone, babe.” Your throat felt tight again, and this time you didn’t fight. Instead, you just nodded.

Thanos’ apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in his room. You sat on the edge of his bed, your hair damp from a shower sticking to the oversize hoodies he’d given you–his favorite, one that smelled like him. The sleeves were too long, the fabric soft against your skin, and yet you still felt cold. He’d offered you a pair of sweatpants, but you turned them down opting to stay in your underwear.

He sat next to you, one leg bent up on the bed, his arm draped casually over the back of the headboard. He’d given you space since the talk in the car, not pushing, not pressing, just…waiting.

It was familiar the way the two of you could just exist in the same space with no pressures or expectations. But your body was tense, your mind racing with everything you still hadn’t said.

Thanos watched you, his gaze heavy, like he was trying to figure out what was running through your head. Then, after a moment, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“You feeling a little better?” he murmured. You let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” He huffed, skepticals, but didn’t call you on it. Instead, his fingers found the edge of your sleeve, tugging it lightly.

“You’re cute when you steal my shit,” he said, teasingly. You rolled your eyes. “You gave it to me.” “Same thing.” He smirked, but it was softer now, like he was trying to ease you into something without making you realize it.

Your chest felt tight. He was always like this–always knew when you needed space, when you needed patience. When you needed him. Maybe that’s why, when he leaned in, when he brushed against yours, you let yourself melt into it. 

It wasn’t new. You’d done this before, had kissed him more times than you could count–on impulse, on drunken nights, whenever the two of you were bored, or nights like this when you just needed to feel something.

But the moment his fingers brushed the back of your neck something inside of you snapped. Your body went rigid. A cold, nauseating panic clawed up your throat, and before you even realized what you were doing, you pushed him away.

“Wait–” your voice came out uneven, breathless, like you’d just been caught underwater. Thanos immediately pulled back, hands up, brows furrowed. “Hey. You good?”

Your pulse was hammering, your vision blurring at the edges. No, you weren’t good. You curled your arms around yourself, shrinking into the hoodie like it might shield you from the weight of what you’d been carrying.

Thanos sat still, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t annoyed. He was just waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s not you,” you whispered. Thanos’ gaze softened. “I know.” He tilted his head slightly, studying. “Talk to me, babe.”

Fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. You hadn’t told anyone. Not a single person. Saying it out loud made it real, made it something you couldn’t shove into the back of your mind and pretend it didn’t exist.

But Thanos was still there. Still waiting. Still looking at you like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t ruined. Your breath shuddered, you knew you had to tell him. 

“It was a hookup,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. ��I-I thought I was okay with it, but…I wasn’t.”

Thanos didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. But his whole body had gone still, like a wire pulled too tight. You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you’d fall apart. So you just kept talking, your voice shaking, your fingers gripping your sleeves so tightly it hurt.

“I was drunk,” you admitted, the words burning as they left your mouth. “Not blacked out, but enough that things were hazy. I remember saying no at first, telling him to slow down, but he just kept–” your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the memory away. “I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve pushed harder, or maybe I just froze, but then suddenly it was happening, and I couldn’t–I just–”

“Babe.” You froze. Thanos reached out, slowly, carefully, giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed over your knuckles, warm and grounding. 

His voice was low and steady. “You didn’t misunderstand anything.” A lump formed in your throat. “I don’t–” “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Your eyes burned. Shaking your head you looked down at your lap. “I just…” a shuddering breath escaped your lips. “I feel like I’m losing it.” 

Thanos hummed, like he was trying to reel himself in. Then he moved, shifting so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in–not tight, not suffocating, just enough for you to know he was there. “You’re not losing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.” You squeezed your eyes shut, starting to believe him.

Honestly, you didn’t know if it was the way he was holding you–strong but careful, like he could keep you from falling apart–or if it was the way he looked at you, like nothing about you had changed, like you weren’t ruined.

But before you could stop yourself, you moved. Your hands found his face, fingers threading through his purple strands of hair as you pulled him in. Pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly frightened you.

Thanos didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his lips firm and warm against yours. It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

You deepend it, shifting onto your knees, pressing your body against his. The weight of his hands landed on your waist, steadying you, his grip tightening when you tried to push closer. 

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Make me forget.” His breathing halted, and for a moment you thought he might give in. But then…

“No.” The word was firm, final. His hands gripped your waist tighter, but instead of pulling you in, he pushed you back, just enough to put space between you.

Your stomach twisted. “Thanos–” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven. “You think I don’t want to?” His voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting against himself. “You think I don’t wanna touch you, hold you…help you forget?” His fingers flexed on your hips, and his jaw clenched. “But not like this,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not when you’re hurting. Not when you’re trying to use me to erase something that’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightened, tears burning at the back of your eyes. “I just–” “I know.” His hands trailed up, brushing across your arms, warm and grounding. “But I won’t let you do this to yourself. And I won’t let anyone take anything from you again.”

His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back, his thumbs stroking your sides. “You need sleep,” he murmured. “And tomorrow, we’re getting the hell out of here. Just you and me.” Your brows furrowed. “Where?” It made his lips quirk up in that cocky, familiar smirk. “You’ll see.”

The next day, true to his word, Thanos had all but dragged you out of bed, throwing your jeans at you and one of his shirts before hauling you into his car.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

“Exactly,” he shot back, grinning. “That’s the best part.”

And maybe he was right, because when he finally pulled up to the spot you felt something shift inside you. A secluded little arcade tucked between two buildings, neon lights buzzing faintly in the air. It was small, almost unnoticeable. 

Thanos hopped out of the car, coming around to your side before you could open the door. He held his hand out. “Come on, babe. Time to let loose.” Slowly, you slipped your fingers into his. 

The arcade was dimly lit, filled with the sound of old-school games and muffled laughter. Thanos wasted no time dragging you toward a claw machine, eyes lighting up with challenge. 

“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “You’re gonna lose,” you teased, arms crossed. He shot you a look. “I never lose.” You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you get your ass handed to you in Street Fighter more times than I can count.”

“Okay, first of all,” he turned to face you, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eye shifting into something heavier. Something deeper. “You keep talking like that, babe, and I might have to shut you up.” The air between you shifted. Your breath caught in your throat. And just like that, the playfulness turned into something else entirely. Something you wanted.

Thanos must have seen the shift in your expression because his smirk widened. He stepped even closer, crowing you against the claw machine, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“You wanna keep talking, or you want me to put this mouth to better use?” Your pulse skyrocketed. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that you felt like yourself for the first time in weeks. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his.

Thanos was having the time of his life messing with you. It started at the claw machine, where he somehow managed to win a stuffed bear on the first try. He shoved it into your arms with a smug grin. “For you,” he said, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze your ear. “To remember me when I’m not around.” “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, hugging the bear to your chest anyway. 

Then came the air hockey table. Every time he scored a point, he’d make a big show of it–throwing his arms up, biting his lip like he just hit the game winning shot at the NBA finals.

“You see that?” he taunted. “I’m unstoppable.” “You’re insufferable,” you shot back, scowling as he scored another goal. 

But the final straw was when he stood behind you at the basketball game, his arms caging yours, pretending to “help” you shoot. 

“See, you gotta bend your knees a little,” he said, his chest pressed against your back, his voice a low purr in your ear. 

You swallowed hard, trying, and failing, to ignore the way his hands ghosted over your waist. “Thanos–” “Shh, I’m coaching.” “You’re distracting me.” “Am I?” his smirk was pure sin.

You elbowed him in the stomach, and he let out a dramatic groan, stumbling back. “Damn, babe, you trying to kill me?” “You’ll like,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

After an hour of arcade games, where he absolutely did not let you win, Thanos finally led you outside, the cool air wrapping around you. 

“Arlight,” he said, stretching. “Next stop.” You shot him a skeptical look. “Another surprise?” He just winked. “You’ll like this one.”

A short drive later, you realized exactly where he was taking you. The spot. It was nothing fancy–just a quiet overlook on the edge of town, tucked away where no one ever really went. It had a perfect view of the city lights in the distance, the skyline stretching wide and endless. 

This was your place. Where you’d gone to clear your heads, to escape, to talk for hours about nothing and everything. Some nights, you’d just sit in silence, sharing a cigarette or a blunt, watching the world move with you. It was a place that belonged to just the two of you. 

The day had been so much fun you forgot you were even upset. Until now, in this peaceful, quiet spot that had so many memories. It made you feel bad for putting Thanos through everything last night. 

Thanos parked, cutting the engine. The silence settled easily between you two. You both got out, climbing onto the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before. He pulled a joint from his jacket pocket, lighting it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before offering it to you.

You hesitated before taking it, inhaling deep, letting the warmth settle in your chest. For a long moment, neither of you spoke 

“Feeling better?” You glanced over at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Yeah. You were. Instead of answering, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow, lingering, a silent thank you. 

When you pulled away, he arched his brow. “What was that for?” You smirked, shrugging. “A thank you.” He squinted his eyes as if he was waiting for more of an explanation. But he didn’t say anything cocky as he took another hit, offered it to you, then leaned back against the windshield. For once he was the one speechless. 

The night grew colder and harsh against your skin. Now you both sat in the backseat of his car, heater blasting. You sat curled up in Thanos’ lap, your head resting against his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you. He had taken off his jacket to drape it over your frame. For a long while, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “I’m sorry.” Thanos’ hand, which had been tracing lazy circles against your thigh, stilled. “For what?”

It took you a second to answer him, not trusting yourself to not cry. “For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t need you when–” your voice cracked, and you shut your eyes. “When I did.”

Thanos exhaled, pressing his lips to your temple. Your name fell from his lips, a word he rarely said since he always opted to call you babe. “I knew what you were doing. I just wasn’t going to let you.”

A shaky breath left you, half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re annoying like that.” “Damn right,” he said, his arms tightening around you.

Silence settled again, the weight of unspoken things lingering in the space between heartbeats. Finally you whispered, “I never told you what exactly happened.” 

Thanos’ fingers curled slightly against your waist, but he didn’t push. “You don’t have to.” You shook your head. “I want to.” So you told him. Not every detail. Not every ugly piece. How you met the man.

It was just enough for him to understand why you hadn’t been yourself. Why you’d been spiraling. Why even the warmth of his hands on your skin had made you flinch at times. He listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t demand more. 

And when you finally fell silent, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “I thought…for a second, I thought I deserved it. Like maybe I brought it on myself.”

Thanos stiffened beneath you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “Don’t say that.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know it’s not true. But I felt it. And I hated myself for it.”

Thanos cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Look at me.” You did. His expression was sad, but his eyes–god his eyes–were burning. “You are not to blame for what happened to you. Not in any way. Not for one damn second. You hear me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded. He exhaled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You saved me, babe. You know that?” Your brows furrowed. “What?” 

“When I was at my worst,” he whispered. “When I was using, when I was pushing people away,” he shook his head. “You were still there. Always.” Your throat tightened. “Thanos…” “You never let me give up on myself. Even when I wanted to.” his lips pressed against your forehead. “I’ve been clean from hard shit for almost a year because of you.”

A shard breath left you, your hands fisted his shirt. You knew he drank and smoked a lot, but you never realized he was using other substances. Let alone that he had been clean for so long. “I didn’t know.” He chuckled lightly. “Never told you. Didn’t want you getting all proud and annoying about it.” You laughed, an actual, real laugh. Thanos smiled, his arms pulling you even closer.

Stepping into your studio apartment, Thanos barely took two steps before pausing, his gaze sweeping over the palace. Clothes scattered on the floor, takeout containers on the coffee table, an empty wine bottle tipped over on the counter.

You saw it too, the mess, the disarray. And the embarrassment hit fast. “I–” you moved quickly, grabbing the nearest pile of clothes and shoving them into a laundry basket. “It’s usually not this bad, I just–” “Babe.” You froze, gripping a pair of sweatpants in your hands. 

Thanos was watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter. His expression wasn’t judgemental, just knowing. Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “I didn't mean to let it get this bad.” Thanos exhaled, stepping forward. “You been taking care of yourself at all?” You forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced. 

Still, he didn’t push. Just reached out, brushing a hand along your waist as he passed. “C’mon,” he said. “Shower, get comfortable. I’ll wait.” Your stomach twisted. The thought of being alone–even for just a few minutes–made your chest feel tight.

“Come with me?” you asked, avoiding his gaze. Thanos didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, babe. Of course.”

So, while you showered, he sat on the closed toilet lit, scrolling through his phone like it was just any other night. He cracked a few jokes, made fun of the random soap brands in your shower, anything to make you feel normal. And strangely, it worked. 

By the time you stepped out, fresh-faced and wrapped in a towel, some of the tension in your chest had eased. Thanos had left to grab your pajamas and returned with a cute matching set for you. You slipped them on, and brushed your hair before following him back to the couch. 

He sprawled out, one arm draped over the back as you climbed onto his lap, legs straddling his thighs. His hands instinctively found your hips, fingers pressing into them slightly. 

“Baby,” he murmured, sighing quietly. That was a new one. He never called you anything other than babe, and it sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.” Thanos went still. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing down his neck then his chest. His grip on you tightened slightly. “You sure?” he asked, voice low. There was no cockiness to his tone. In response you only smiled, saying “Positive.”

Thanos took a deep breath, fingers flexing on your hips. “Baby,” there was hesitation in his voice now, like he was at war with himself. You leaned in, lips grazing the corner of his mouth. “What?”

He tilted his head back against the couch, eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know if this is a good time.” Your hands traced up his chest, nails lightly scratching over the fabric of his shirt. “I do.” His jaw clenched. “You’ve been through a lot.” You nodded. “I know.” 

Thanos let out a long breath through his nose, his grip tightening as if trying to keep himself from pulling you closer. Again he whispered, “Baby…”

You kissed him before he could say anything else. A slow, lingering press of your lips against his. He barely hesitated before melting into it, groaning softly as he kissed you back, his hands sliding up your thighs, pressing you more firmly against him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just deep. Like you were breathing life into each other.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against his, his breathing was heavier. His fingers dug into your plush skin, like you were his anchor. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he muttered, voice rough.

“What?” you blinked up at him with wide eyes. His fingers traced your bare thighs, tough featherlight. “Resisting you. Not pulling you into my lap every damn time you looked at me like that.” His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Watching you with other guys was the worst.”

“You think I didn’t notice?” He huffed a dry laugh. “You’d flirt with someone right in front of me, and I’d have to act like it didn’t make me want to knock their teeth in.” Your heart pounded. “Thanos–” he cut you off. “You drive me insane, baby.” he sounded desperate. “And if any part of you doesn’t want this, you better say it now. Because the second I let go, I’m not stopping.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you slid off his lap, dropping gracefully to your knees between his legs. “I told you,” you murmured, hands trailing up his thighs. “I’m positive.” 

Thanos’ eyes widened at your movements, not expecting to see you looking up at him with such a desperate look on your face. When your fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, he shot up from the couch and was quick to tug them down. He messily kicked them off, plopping back down on the couch as he tugged his boxers down his thighs. 

You giggled, the sight of him acting so quickly drove you wild. The thought of knowing that he was excited for this made your thighs clench. Your small hand reached out, gently grasping his length. You pumped it a few times, eyes glued to Thanos who was a mess beneath your touch. His head hung back and his eyes were screwed shut. His lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. 

There were maybe one or two times before that you had seen Thanos naked. Once at a party where he insisted on skinny dipping with all his friends, and another when you found him passed out in his bed with no clothes on. You never looked, never starred because the two of you were friends and it felt wrong. But this? This felt so right.

The moment you wrapped your lips around him he fell apart. He became a stuttering mess. Your name falling off his lips along with random swear words. It made you feel good knowing you were making him feel so good. 

Your movements were slow at first as you tried to get used to the size of him in your mouth. Out of instinct Thanos snapped his hips up, his cock tickling the back of your throat which elicited a gag out of you. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes opening to look down at you. “Sorry–f-fuck, sorry.” 

You used one hand to pat his thigh as if signaling it was okay. Thanos kept his eyes glued to your. The way your eyes were so wide and tears brimmed at them, the way drool and precum trickled down your chin. It was pornographic, and an image he would never forget.

His hand tangled firmly in your hair, not pushing your head but as if he needed something to grasp onto. It made a moan slip from past your lips, sending vibrations through him. That drove him wild. 

Faster now, you moved your head. With your hands sprawled against his tattooed thighs you let the fist in your hair be your guide. Thanos pushed your head all the way down, that familiar gagging sensation hinted in you but you held it back. Your nose rested against his stomach, and as you swallowed around him that’s all it took. Thanos was groaning, practically screaming, your name as he came in your mouth. Most of it went straight down your throat but as he let up his grip on you, you made sure to swallow every last bit before pulling away.

Thanos rested back against the couch, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His fingers dragged through his hair as he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling from his throat. Then, before you could even think to move, you heard the soft click of his phone camera. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Thanos.” He grinned down at you, tapping his screen before angling the phone toward you. “Nah, you gotta see this, babe.” You hesitated before glancing at the screen. Oh. Your face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. A thin strand of drool clung to your chin, your hands still resting on his thighs. You looked utterly wrecked. 

You smacked his knee. “Delete that!” He just chuckled, tossing his phone onto the couch before pulling up his boxers, then gripping your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb swiped at the corner of your lips, gathering the mess before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it off with a satisfied hum.

“Can’t believe you’re so good at that,” he murmured, eyes dark. “You suck cock that well for other guys?” Your stomach flipped. His grin widened. “Nah, actually…I can believe it. Perfect little mouth, always running–figures it’d be good for something.”

Your cheeks burned, and he laughed, hauling you up into his lap, arms wrapping securely around your waist. “C’mere, baby. Let me hold you for a second.” And just like that, the teasing melted into warmth. Into comfort. His fingers traced up and down your spine, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your temple.

“Did so good,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Knew you would.” You buried your face in his neck, letting yourself melt into him, letting the afterglow and his warmth settle deep into your bones. Yeah. You were exactly where you needed to be.

The night before had been good. Too good. You fell asleep in Thanos’ arms, wrapped up in warmth and a feeling so foreign it almost scared you–something safe, something steady. But by morning, the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like an anchor.

You woke up feeling…wrong. Like you’d taken one step too far into something you couldn’t undo. Like on matter how much Thanos tried, how much wanted to fix you, you’d always end up right back where you started.

He was still asleep beside you, his face slack, mouth parted slightly. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other curled loosely around you, his fingers brushing your hip through the fabric of your shorts. You stared at him, at the way his brows twitched slightly, like even in his sleep he was thinking too much. He’d done so much for you. And you? You were still ruining yourself, just in different ways. You swallowed hard and slipped out of bed, moving quietly into the bathroom before he could stir.

Thanos noticed. Of course he noticed. You were quiet all morning, responding to his teasing with soft smiles instead of the usual bite. You moved through your apartment like you were lost, like you weren’t really there. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, his eyes following you like he was waiting for the moment you finally cracked.

Then, after a while, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “C’mon, babe. Get dressed.” You blinked. “What?” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I wanna go somewhere. You need to get out of this place for a bit.”

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, the quiet determination in his face, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. And you didn’t have the energy to argue.

The drive was peaceful. Thanos had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you. His playlist hummed through the speakers, low enough that the rumble of the car nearly drowned it out. 

The road stretched ahead, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. It almost felt normal. Almost. 

You sighed, shifting in your seat. Your phone buzzed in your lap, lighting up with a name you didn’t want him to see. You hesitated. You shouldn’t answer. You really shouldn’t. But your fingers twitched anyway, hovering over the screen. Before you could react, Thanos reached over, plucking your phone from your hands.

“Hey–!” He barely glanced at you, his eyes locked on the screen. His jaw ticked. Then he scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the phone onto the dashboard. 

“Seriously?” You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how tense the care felt. “It’s not–” “Is that him? You’re still talking to him?” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s not like that.” 

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Not like that?” He shot you a look, something between disbelief and frustration. “Babe, c’mon. What the hell are you doing?” 

Your stomach twisted with guilt. “I don’t know.” You stretched in your seat, reaching for your phone and once you had it you tucked it securely in your lap.

Thanos pressed his lips into a thin line, fingers flexing on the wheel. He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t. But it pissed him off in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Because after everything–after the  way he held you, the way he tried to pull you out of this–you were still keeping one foot in the door of something that was dragging you down. And he didn’t get it. He didn’t get why. 

Thanos sighed, shaking his head. “You really gonna sit there and tell me it’s nothing?” Your throat felt tight. You didn’t have an answer for him. And the worst part? He knew that.

You remained silent after that, yet the silence felt suffocating. You stared out the window, watching the blur of passing streetlights, the dark silhouettes of trees lining the road. 

Thanos didn’t say anything else for awhile. He just kept driving, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t mad at you, but it felt like he was. It was so unlike him. No teasing remark, no smartass comment to cut through the tension. Just silence. It made you feel worse than if he had just yelled at you.

Finally, you swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m still talking to him.” 

Thanos sighed, resting his elbow against the door, fingers tapping against his temple. His body seemed tense, uncomfortable. “Yeah, babe. I got that part.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. It was tired. Like he was trying to understand something he really didn’t want to understand. 

You fiddled with the edge of his hoodie he let you wear, pulling at loose thread. “It’s just…I don’t know. Maybe I like pretending nothing happened. That I can just go back to normal.” Thanos made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. “And talking to him helps with that?”

“No,” you groaned. “I don’t know! Maybe it makes me feel like I still have control over something. Like I get to decide how it ends.” Thanos was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “That’s not how it works, babe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring down at your now shaky hands. “I just…I hate feeling like this.” His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, an anxious tic he used to calm himself. “Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m broken,” you admitted. Thanos’ jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. Then, suddenly, he swerved to the side of the road and slammed the car into park. You jolted forward slightly, eyes wide. “Thanos, what the hell–” 

“Get in the back.” “What?” Thanos unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face you, eyes dark, voice low and sharp. “Not arguing, babe. Get in the back.”

Thanos could be scary when he wanted to. He could be demanding and strong headed, you knew this about him. His deep voice and tall, muscular frame turned to you and you knew then it wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t challenging you. He was telling you, and you obeyed.

You slipped out of your seat and into the back, settling in just as Thanos followed. He slammed the door shut which made you flinch ever so slightly.

The air was thick, charged, as he sat next to you, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms across his chest. Then, without a word, he reached over and snatched your phone from your lap. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Thanos, don’t–” “Unlock your phone,” he demanded. Slowly, you shook your head no. Thanos clenched his jaw. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Unlock the damn phone.” And you did. You reached over and typed in your passcode which earned a hum from him.

He ignored your protests, thumb swiping across the screen. You tried to grab it back when he opened your messages, but he easily dodged you. “Damn, babe. You weren’t kidding. You really are still talking to this piece of shit.” Your stomach twisted as he scrolled through the messages.

wyd tonight? lets meet up

idk. maybe.

u look good in that dress

thanks 

u miss me or nah?

u were so into me that night, dont act different now

stop 

damn u actin like a whole new bitch. u know i could pull up rn

just drop it

Thanos’ breathing was ragged as he read them. “Maybe?” he read aloud, shaking his head. “Babe, really?” You look away, ashamed. “It’s not–” But before you could finish, he scrolled. You tried to snatch your phone again, but he grabbed your arm holding it down.

And there they were. Pictures. Some from him. A shirtless mirror selfie, a couple of low lit bedroom shots. Nothing outright explicit, but the intent was there. Then he saw your pictures you had sent to this guy. A mirror selfie in a fitted dress. A close up of your lips. And then his whole body stiffened. Because the picture that was staring back at the two of you was something he wasn’t expecting to see. A picture of you. Taken by you. Wearing Thanos’ hoodie. Sitting on your bed, the hem barely covering your thighs, biting your lip at the camera. Your stomach dropped.

Thanos scoffed, his grip so tight on the phone you feared he’d snap it. “You really sent this to him? In my hoodie?” he let out a sharp laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “Fuck, babe.” Your face burned. “It wasn’t–”

But then he scrolled further. And that’s when everything changed. Because there were more pictures. But these weren't yours. They were taken by that guy. Pictures of you. Your blood ran cold. You knew he’d sent them to you, but you didn’t remember him ever taking them.

Your body, sprawled out on the bed. Your face flushed, half turned away. The strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder. The bottom hem pushed up just enough to reveal your lacey underwear. Another one of you naked, your breasts covered just by the man’s hands. Another one with his fist in your hair, makeup smudge across your face as you looked straight into the camera. Eyes hazy from your drunken state. And the worst part? The messages that followed.

dont act like u didnt want it

u looked so good like that

we both kno u liked it

u better stop ignoring me

u know i could ruin u, right?

Of course he had planned to use them as blackmail. That was when you had stopped responding to him, in hopes he’d leave you alone. That’s when you really started to spiral. Your hands had started to shake, and you dared to sneak a peek at Thanos. He hadn’t said a single word, and his silence was lethal. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own phone. You watched in confusion, still frozen, as he tapped his screen a few times, then turned to you.

Your heart stopped. Because there on his phone were so many pictures of you. Some candid, some not so candid. Some from nights when you’d crashed at this place, tangled in his sheets, makeup smudged. Some from parties where you’d clung to his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Some of the two of you together. His arm slung around your waist. His fingers curled around your throat. His lips at your ear, mouth curved into something between a smirk and a promise. And the picture from last night. You with swollen lips, bloodshot eyes, and a mixture of drool and his cum dripping down your chin.

Your breath hitched. “Thanos…” He turned to look at you, grinning. “You forgot who you belong to, baby.” He’d always been possessive over you, but never like this. He leaned in, voice dropping lower. “Maybe I should send one of these to your little friend. Let him know who the fuck he’s messing with.”

Your lips parted, shock flashing through you. “Thanos, no–” but then, your phone buzzed. Your breath caught. A call. From him. Thanos stared at the screen for half a second before answering.

“Hello?” Your whole body went rigid. There was a pause, then a low, irritated voice. “Uh…who the hell is this?” Thanos smirked, staring straight into your eyes. “Her boyfriend.” Your mouth fell open.

“What?” the guy scoffed. “Dude, put her on the phone.” “Nah, I don’t think I will.” Thanos leaned back, completely unbothered. “Matter of fact, I think you should delete all those pictures and lose this number.” The guy scoffed again. “Man, she was just texting me–” “Yeah, well she won’t be anymore.”

You sat there frozen, heart hammering against your ribs. You should’ve stopped him. But you didn’t. You prayed this would end all of the harassment you’d been through. You watched as Thanos brought the phone back to his ear and, in a tone dripping with amusement, said, “Lose this number, or I’ll make you lose it.” Then he hung up. 

 The silence afterward was deafening. Thanos tossed your phone back into your lap, his expression still flat, unreadable. But then in a tone that was soft, but no less firm, he murmured, “C’mere, baby.” you didn’t move at first. You just sat there, phone in your lap, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Thanos’ voice was softer this time. “Babe.” The second you were within reach, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his lap, into the solid warmth of his body. His grip was firm but not crushing, a quiet promise of protection.

“I–” “Shh,” he murmured, one hand slipping to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I got you.” You let yourself sink into him, let your face press against his neck, his hoodie soft against your cheek. His scent wrapped around you–clean, familiar, safe.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You weren’t sure how much time passed before Thanos finally said, “How long has he been pulling this shit?” You hesitated. Too long. “...A while.”

His jaw twitched beneath your head. “And you didn’t tell me?” You pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I–” you shook your head. “I just wanted to forget about it.”

“You really think I wouldn’t notice?” You blinked up at him. “You think I don’t know you?” His fingers tightened in your hair, just a little. Your throat burned. You hated this. Hated feeling seen. Hated how easily he could read you. 

Thaons let out a slow breath, dropping his forehead to yours. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Babe, you don’t have to do this alone.” Tears began to burn behind your eyes, thick and hot, threatening to spill over. “Is there more? Because if there’s more to this I need to know so I can end it all.”

You shook your head, a few stray tears slipping down your cheeks. He pulled you in tighter, and this time you didn’t fit any of it. His grasp, the tears, your feelings. You allowed yourself to cry into his chest, body racking with sobs. Thaons held you, never letting his grip falter. 

After you collected yourself and Thanos made sure you were okay, the two of you continued your drive. “Where are we even going?” you asked, turning toward him. Thanos smirked, eyes still on the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You narrowed your eyes. “I would like to know. That’s why I asked.” He reached over, resting his large hand on your knee. “Relax, babe. You’ll like it.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t press further. 

Eventually the roads narrowed, leading to a secluded stretch of land. The house came into view first–tucked away from the main road, sitting against a backdrop of trees and open sky. Your brows lifted. “You rented this?”

Thanos cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Just for the weekend.” he shot you a wink, “Figured you deserved a little getaway.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. He noticed, of course he did.

“Come on,” he said, opening his door. You followed him inside, taking in the open floor plan and floor to ceiling windows. Everything smelled faintly like cedarwood, the air crisp from the countryside.

You plopped onto the couch with a sigh, stretching out. “This is kinda nice.” Thanos dropped beside you, picking up your legs and resting them on his lap when he sat down. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. It felt…normal. There was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Thanos spoke up.

“Give me your phone.” You blinked. “Huh?” Thanos held out his hand, expectantly. “I’m deleting those pictures.” you didn’t speak, frozen. “You don’t need that shit sitting on your phone.”

Slowly, you placed it in his palm. Thanos scrolled through the messages, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything. He just started deleting. One by one, he deleted anything and everything that was attached to that guy.

You exhaled, a strange mix of relief and unease washing over you. Once he was done, Thanos smirked. “Y’know, we should replace ‘em.” You frowned. “What?” He held up your phone. “Take new ones. Good ones. Of us.” Your cheeks warmed. “You’re ridiculous.” He shrugged. “I’m right.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you to his side, angling the camera. “Smile, baby.” You couldn’t help it–you laughed as he snapped the photo. Then another. And another. Before long, you were both tangled together, making stupid faces, teasing, playing.

The playful pictures quickly turned into something else. Thanos, always one to push boundaries, tugged you closer, tilting his head as he snapped another picture. This time, his lips were right at your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Gotta get some better ones than those shitty ones he took, right?” he murmured. You felt your heart picking up speed. “T-thanos–” He flipped the camera, his grip steady on your phone, his free hand finding your jaw as he turned your face toward his. “Look at me.” You did.

The click of the camera felt deafening. Another picture. Then another. His fingers brushed your thigh, pushing your legs apart just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked. “You nervous, baby?” You huffed, trying to make your reaction. “Shut up.” He chuckled, tapping through the photos. “Damn. These are real nice.” You reached for your phone, but he held it away, laughing. “Uh-uh. I think we need a few more.” 

Before you could protest, he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. His hand found your waist, gripping firmly as he leaned in, pressing his lips just below your ear. Click. You shivered. Click. His fingers trailed lower. Click. 

The playful photo session took a more daring turn as Thanos pulled you up from the couch, his hands skimming over your sides. “Let’s get some real shots, babe,” he said with a glint in his eye, his voice low and teasing.

You looked at him, biting your lip, but a challenge gleamed in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He grinned, pulling you toward the bedroom, then towards the floor length mirror in the corner. He snapped a picture of the two of you, your bodies close but not touching. His gaze flicked between the phone screen and your reflection. 

“You look stunning,” he murmured, his breath tickling your neck as he adjusted you. “Let’s make it a little more…fun.” 

You raised a brow but didn't pull away when he guided your hands up to tug your shirt over your head. The fabric slid off, he snapped a quick picture, the camera capturing your bare shoulders and his hand resting lightly on your waist. He was quick to peel his own shirt off. 

The heat between you two was undeniable as his other hand found its way down to your butt, fingers lightly squeezing. The picture came out blurry at first–too much movement– but when he steadied his grip on you, the next shot was perfect.

It was only a minute before Thanos had you both out of your pants. You left in your bra and underwear, him in his boxers. His chest was pressed against your back as he took a few more pictures, his free hand placed in suggestive places on your body. Around your neck, groping one of your breasts, fisting the side of your underwear.

“You know,” Thanos whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “If you weren’t so damn irresistible, I might actually be able to stop myself.” You fought the heat rising in your cheeks.

The next shot was from the bed, the two of you lying side by side, bodies tangled together. The camera caught your smiles, your hands tracing his tattoos, as you shifted, getting more comfortable. You couldn’t deny the electric tension between you–playful, teasing, and full of unspoken promise. Thanos snapped one picture of you on your knees on the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. That was his favorite one. The last picture was of you two sharing a kiss. He looked at it with a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the pillows.

“I think we’ve got some damn good memories to replace the others,” he said. Then tension in the room wasn’t heavy, but it was hot. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together trying to relieve some tension you felt.

A mischievous grin curled his lips as he looked over at you. “You know,” he began, “I should probably have these pictures saved for myself–you never know when a little reminder of this will come in handy.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the heat flushing your skin and the tingles you felt throughout your body. “Oh, please. You really gonna hold them over my head?”  “Not like that,” he said, shrugging. “Just think I might need some personal motivation later on.”

You shot him a teasing look. “You want them for when you’re lonely, huh?” He laughed, his cocky grin widening. “If I’m ever feeling bored, sure. But I think it’d be hard to get bored with these.” He sent himself the pictures from your phone before handing it back to you.

The playful tension in the air felt thick, the heat between you two palpable, and Thanos let out a low sigh, stretching his arms above his head. “Anyway,” he said, suddenly standing up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab a shower–feel like I need to cool down for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching his move across the room, his movements slow but purposeful. “Yeah? You sure you’re not running from me?” He looked over his shoulder, smirking as he entered the bathroom. “Nah, just trying to be respectful of your boundaries, baby.”

You were left in the dim room, the air still heavy with the scent of him and the lingering heat of the photos you’d taken. You sat there, your thoughts racing. It was clear he was affected–hell, so were you–but the playful tension shifted, leaving something more raw, more intense in its wake. After a moment of hesitation, you stood up, almost without thinking. You couldn’t just let him get away with that teasing, could you?

The bathroom door was cracked open, and you caught a glimpse of him, standing under the spray of the shower, steam curling up from the floor. You saw his hand fisting his cock, and heard the quiet panting sounds he made. You knew exactly what you were doing as you stepped inside without knocking.

Thanos froze when he saw you. His trailing up and down your now naked frame. His hand stopped its movements, and he leaned back against the shower wall. “Babe, what are you doing?” he asked, though his voice was laced with something else.

You stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. “I think you’re the one who started this.” You reached out, brushing your fingers against his chest, the warm water cascading over him. 

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you with a heavy gaze, as if considering whether or not to step back–or to pull you closer. 

But he didn’t move away. He let you inch closer until your lips were inches from his. “You really wanna test me right now?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, hand resting on top of his. “Maybe I just like to see if you can resist me.”

He grinned then. “I can, baby,’ he said quietly, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “But you’re about to make me break that.” That’s when a sense of urgency took over your body. Your lips crashed to his and you removed his hand from his cock to take it in your own.

Neither of your movements were slow or cautious. As you pumped his cock in your fist, his fingers snuck between your legs. They worked quickly against your clit before he pushed two inside you. You let out a breathy gasp at the feeling.

It didn’t take very long for you two to become whiny messes under each other's touches. Each other's names falling from the others lips like a prayer. Whines and moans vibrated off the shower walls. Before you knew it your head was spinning. The two of you came at the same time, and something about that made the whole thing seem even more intimate. 

The rest of the weekend was spent teasing, joking, and laughing. Thanos made sure you didn’t think about anything except the two of you. That you were enjoying yourself fully, and hopefully healing. He blocked the guy’s number from your phone and you thanked him for it, not sure if you would’ve been able to do it yourself. Before you knew it the two of you were driving back into the city. You weren’t saddened because you felt the shift of the air between the two of you. Things would be different from now on.

The music thumped through the walls of Nam Gyu’s place, a stark contrast to the quieter, more intimate atmosphere you and Thanos had shared just hours before. You could still feel the heat of your bodies together on your skin.

Thanos had insisted on coming to the party. “You need to loosen up a little, babe,” he;d said, pulling you out of the car and toward the front door. “We’re all done moping around. We’re having fun, okay?”

Against your better judgment, you’d agreed, but you weren’t really sure if you were ready for the noise, the chaos, the crowds of people who had no idea what was going on behind your walls. Yet, as soon as you stepped inside Nam Gyu’s apartment, you felt like you were stepping into a different world.

Nam Gyu was in the middle of a conversation with a couple of his friends when he spotted you and Thanos. He smirked and immediately made his way over to you, clapping Thanos on the back as he winked at you. 

“Damn, Thanos,” Nam Gyu said, his tone light but teasing. “You look like you’re about to eat her alive.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck, but it was hard when Thanos didn’t exactly make it easy. His arm was draped around your waist, a possessive but gentle hold that made everyone around you notice.

“She’s been a handful lately,” he said teasingly. “But I’m making sure she’s having fun.” Thanos licked his lips, staring at you and you felt your body burn under his gaze.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol you had begun sipping on or the way Thanos’ words made your heart flutter,mm but you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Nam Gyu raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I’m not one to judge, but…damn, you two are practically joined at the hip tonight. You’re looking like more than just friends now.”

You froze at his words, a small pang of uncertainty tightening in your chest. Was that how it looked? You couldn’t even really think about it because everything still felt so complicated, but there was something undeniable between you and Thanos. Something unspoken. 

Thanos noticed your discomfort, his fingers gently grazing your back, soothing you. “Shut up, Nam Gyum” he said, his voice lighter but still protective. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have anyone who looks at you the way she looks at me.”

The comment made you smile, the small flirtation doing exactly what it was meant to do–ease the tension you hadn’t even realized had built up.

Nam Gyu held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you two have your moment. But if you get too cozy, I’ll have to kick you out.”

You laughed, the sound feeling good, almost reigned to you after everything. Thanos leaned down, kissing your forehead softly. “You okay, babe?” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long while. You were okay. Maybe not perfect, but you were here, and that meant something.

The night went on, and you allowed yourself to get caught up in the energy around you. You danced. You laughed. You allowed yourself a little escape from the weight that had been on your shoulders. And Thanos never let you go too far, always keeping you close, watching over you like a silent guardian.

As the night went on and the party started to wind down with people slowly trickling out, you found yourself standing by the door with Thanos, his hand still on your back, guiding you. “You sure you’re ready to go?” he asked, his voice soft yet serious. You looked up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He smiled and led out the door, but before you left, he turned to you. “Just so you know, no matter what happens, I’ve got you babe. Always.”

You swallowed, emotions swirling in your chest. This was more than you’d ever expected from anyone, and you weren’t sure how you got so lucky, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a little lighter.

The rest of the night was quiet. You two drove back to his apartment, the weight of everything that had happened slowly lifting as you realized how much you meant to each other. In that moment, it didn’t matter if it was complicated. It didn’t matter if you didn’t have all the answers. You had each other. And that was enough.

[marikamlp]

Were girls always doomed to become what they did?

Spoilers to s03e08!!!

I find it interesting that the three characters who didn't want to come back from the wilderness are the three characters who came home to live exactly the life they feared. It's tragic, yet they're the ones who ultimately make it happen as if there was no real choice, like they were always doomed to live it.

Tai

Taissa tells Van in the Wilderness that she fears they won't be able to be together because the society hasn't changed and progressed that much since they left. But this is exactly what she does once they get back! She ditches Van for "respect" and her "law degree". And as Van says, the tragic irony is that she ends up gay anyway. Not only openly married to a woman, but she's a public figure married to a woman. Yet, Tai is clearly unhappy as she gave up a big part of herself, Van, who is always somehow connected to this free side of Tai, and as I've said in my other post, that's Other Tai. We can see the man with no eyes looking over Tai's shoulder when she tells Van she wants to stay, which could let us assume it's Other Tai's decision. It's a decision based on desires, but that has to be abandoned once they are back in the real society, and Tai needs to bury Other Tai and her desires to follow a rational side of herself. She fears losing Van, and she fears it so much that it ultimately leads to them falling apart and her breaking up with Van.

Shauna

I've seen several explanations as to why Shauna doesn't want to come back, and I want to give my own view on this. I think she doesn't want to come back because she fears becoming "boring" again and getting back to living in the shadow. Shauna keeps on telling everyone how 'boring' they are - Jackie, Melissa, Jeff. But it's truly just that she's insecure about being nobody, and it's something ghost Jackie calls her out on again and again. "So much potential and so little to show for it". When Shauna gets back, not only does she spiral back to living in the shadow of Jackie as she tries to live the life she thinks Jackie would have lived, she also becomes exactly what she destined herself to become when playing sleepover games with ghost Jackie in the meat shed: a housewife married to Jeff. When Melissa talks about all those normal boring things she can't wait to do, when girls dream about such boring, everyday life stuff like toilet and bed and a slushie, Shauna is dissociating at the thought. She's terrified of that possibility of a "normal, boring life" as her mind wanders to the exact image she's dreaming of as an adult in the beginning of the episode: a cashier with nothing to show for herself. She and Melissa live the same life in the adult timeline - a marriage out of shame and guilt, mothers. But Melissa likes it, and Shauna hates it and is constantly looking for a thrill that will let her feel the way she felt in the Wilderness. She doesn't want to give up that freedom but her actions in the Wilderness are exactly what makes her fall back into a boring life with Jeff, holding onto the Wilderness is exactly what keeps her from going for what she dreamt of before the plane crash and what leaves her to be what she feared most - a normal, boring housewife.

Lottie

I find it so tragic that Lottie didn't want to go back because she was convinced that she wouldn't be well back in society. Because she knew she had no life to go back to, that she would just be put in a facility to be dealt with, put on meds that make her probably feel not like herself and that she once again will be lost and made to hide her true self as one with different kinds of conditions often is to adapt to the society that wasn't made for them to live in. And it is exactly what happens. She is put in a facility where she goes through such awful and traumatic experiences like shock therapy. And all that after losing something so close to her heart that maybe was the first place she ever felt at home. The Wilderness. When she says that the scientist "will ruin everything", she means it. She knows that the appearance of outside people means everyone will want to go home, and she can't take it because for her it means she's going to lose home. Nobody will believe her again, nobody will listen to her, and nobody will care for her like people did in the Wilderness. She fears it, and she is doomed to live through it. And not only once, but twice. 25 years later, she again loses her cult, the home she built for herself, only to be sent away to be "dealt with" in a facility.

While Tai and Shauna make choices that make them fall right into their destined end, Lottie doesn't get a say in it, which I think makes her story even more tragic and sympathetic (and I am aware she axed a person and ate their brains out). In the end, the girls are living a Greek tragedy. No matter what they do or don't do, they will do exactly what will land them in those positions. It's fate decided by fatum that they can't escape.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° went out to look for a reason to hide

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — hiori yo x fem! reader, (could be gn! but just to be safe i said fem), probably ooc hiori, goes from ages 4 to the U-20 game, pining, not

♡ synopsis — And maybe, just maybe, the world would see who Hiori Yo tuly was one day. But for now, only you knew this version of him.

You met Hiori Yo when you were four years old.

The daycare was noisy, filled with the screeches and laughter of kids running around, playing games, making friends. But you weren’t like them. You sat at your own table, arms crossed, face pulled into a deep scowl as you mean-mugged anyone who dared to get too close. You had already made too many kids cry today—apparently, you didn’t know how to keep your thoughts to yourself.

"You’re too loud," your mom always said. "You don’t understand other people’s feelings."

But what did that even mean? You were four. How were you supposed to understand something so complicated when you could barely tie your shoes?

The other kids didn’t like you. You didn’t mean to hurt their feelings, but somehow, you always did. Even when you apologized, they never wanted to play with you again, everyone avoided you now, too scared to talk to you, too hurt by whatever you had said that you already forgot.

So you sat alone, mean-mugging anyone who got too close. You decided you’d rather sit by yourself anyway. At least that weird kid with blue hair wasn’t trying to talk to you.

But then, he did.

"Hi!"

You looked up from your scuffed-up lunchbox, eyes narrowing at the boy standing across from you. His hair was messy, sticking up in all the wrong places, and his cheeks were a little too round, making him look soft in a way that made your glare feel useless.

"Hi," you muttered.

The boy didn’t seem fazed by your disinterest. He dragged over one of the many chairs that had been abandoned at your table and plopped down, completely at ease. He had a book in his hands—one about soccer, judging by the pictures you could see from across the table.

"I’m Hiori!" he said cheerfully.

You raised a brow, glancing at the other kids behind him, the ones who actually wanted to play with him.

"The others wanna play with you."

Hiori only shrugged, flipping a page in his book before looking at you with an easy smile.

"I wanna be here."

And no matter how hard you tried to push him away, no matter how much you told him he was better off with the others, Hiori Yo never left your side.

Eventually… you became friends.

By junior high, not much had changed.

You still had trouble keeping friends—your outspokenness tended to scare people off, especially at this age, when kids were meaner, more sensitive. But Hiori was different. While people naturally drifted away from you, more and more people were drawn to him.

He was too nice, too good to tell them to leave him alone.

If they knew the real Hiori—the one who could stare dead-eyed at a game for hours, the one who matched your sharp energy effortlessly, the one who called you stupid when you were being stupid—maybe they wouldn’t like him so much.

You hummed to yourself as you walked home together after his soccer practice, still carrying the familiar weight of your school bag as he dragged his duffel over his shoulder. His face, once the picture of politeness and charm, was now set in an exhausted grimace.

"Aren’t you tired?" you asked, glancing up at him.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "God, they just never stop talking. ‘Hiori, do this! Hiori, can you—’ It’s... I don’t know."

You rolled your eyes. "You can just say no, you know?"

"No… I can’t. That’s not who I am."

He huffed, scratching the back of his neck. But was pleasing everyone really worth it? Hiding who he truly was just to please everyone? 

Was that why people questioned your friendship—because you never hid, while Hiori played a role for everyone but you?

Just thinking about it made you exhausted.

High school changed things.

Hiori finally found his edge, his perfect level of competitiveness. High school soccer was brutal—people got hurt all the time, whether on purpose or by accident.

And Hiori?

Well, to everyone else, sweet Hiori never meant to injure anyone. He was too nice, too soft, too apologetic for it to be intentional.

So what if Hiori had accidentally hurt more than a few players? He even apologized—everyone forgave him immediately.

But you knew better.

That wasn’t an accident.

You approached him after the game, watching as he wiped the sweat from his brow, his face still a mask of innocence.

"That was cruel, Hiori."

You smiled at him, reaching up to dab a bit of sweat from his forehead with your sleeve.

"Can’t score again if you’re hurt," he replied with a shrug.

You huffed, shaking your head as he slung an arm over your shoulders. "Can I come over later? Don’t wanna hear it from my parents."

"Of course. You know you’re always allowed to just walk in. My mom loves you."

Hiori smiled and kissed your forehead before leaving—something you’d done for years now. It was your way of saying goodbye. But lately, every time he did it, your heart squeezed like you were going to have a heart attack.

And you hated that feeling.

That night, Hiori snuck into your room.

To anyone else, sneaking a boy in would be scandalous. But this was Hiori. Your best friend.

So why did it feel different now?

You both lay side by side on your bed, turned toward each other as the dim glow of your bedside lamp illuminated his face.

"That was mean, Hiori… That kid’s seriously hurt."

You tried not to smile—it wasn’t funny! But knowing that he had done it on purpose while everyone else remained clueless made you feel special.

"Oh, hush. If I wanted to hear this, I would’ve just gone home."

He smirked, eyes gleaming in the low light, and for a second—just a second—you imagined kissing him.

"You look really pretty right now."

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

"Huh?"

He only grinned, leaning in.

"You heard me."

And then he kissed you—not a short one, not too long. Just perfect.

When he pulled away, your mouth was slightly open, heart hammering against your ribs as he laughed.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that."

You threw a pillow at his head.

And from that moment on, Hiori Yo was yours. And you were his.

When Hiori got his Blue Lock letter, you read it over his shoulder, eyes widening.

"Oh! This is amazing! You have to—"

"I’m not going."

You gawked at him. "Why not?! You’re good, Hiori! This is huge!"

He shook his head. "I’m not that good. Not good enough."

It was frustrating—no one knew this side of him. No one but you. If anyone else saw this Hiori—the one who doubted himself, the one who picked himself apart daily—they wouldn’t believe it. But you knew him.

"Stop trying to hide. It’s annoying." You huffed, lightly hitting his arm. "Who cares if this fake version of you isn’t good? I know you—you can do this."

His face hardened. "You don’t get it. You’ve never had to hide how awful you are."

The words stabbed you. Sure, you were harsh, but you didn’t hide it.

"No one expects everything from you. I can’t go there and prove I’m not who they want me to be."

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

"Please… Yo. Think about it. I know you. I know you want to do this."

You kissed him. Somehow, you ended up flat on his bed, staring up at him.

"What if I don’t make it?"

"Then I’ll be here. Waiting for you."

He left a week later.

(You shoved him onto that train yourself when he tried to run.)

You waited.

And when the U-20 match finally arrived, you were there.

You watched from the stands, gripping the railing, heart pounding. And when they won—when Hiori won—you didn’t even think.

You ran.

You vaulted the barrier, sprinting onto the field before security could stop you. Hiori turned just in time for you to jump on him, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.

"See? I told you!" You grinned, pressing a hard, breathless kiss to his lips.

His hands steadied you, holding you up with ease. And when he pulled back, you saw it.

A real smile. Not the one he gave everyone else.

Just for you.

"Thank you," he said, voice quiet beneath the roar of the crowd. "For everything."

And maybe, just maybe, the world would see this Hiori Yo one day. But for now, only you knew who he truly was.

i think i hate this? but i can't tell

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆