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wosospacegirl · 2 months ago

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And they were roommates - part 9

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: Y/n is suffering from a very serious disease called jealousy <3 also.... omg are Alessia and Leah on a date!!???

Word count: 6.5k

MASTERLIST

notes: sorry it's a bit big

You can read Part 1 here and Part 10 here

Going on a few days without Kyra and Y/n had to admit. It was harder than she expected, but not only routine-wise. Sure, she had to adapt her ordinary day-to-day life now that Kyra was playing in the USA for the SheBelieves Cup.

Y/n had frozen meals in the freezer; and had turned her living room into a bedroom because she couldn’t go upstairs without assistance; she was only using the downstairs bathroom for the same reason, and her new driver to physion was Beth Mead.

It was hard to acclimate to all those changes, but it was manageable. But what wasn’t manageable? Missing Kyra.

Y/n didn’t wake up with kisses on her face, except for Footy, who licked her face in the morning because he wanted his wet food for breakfast. Kyra wasn’t there to massage her hands or paint her nails.

Kyra would always wake Y/n up in the morning to tell her about a crazy dream she had, Y/n would always get angry at her. She was sleeping! Why wake her up?...but now she missed it.

Kyra always lost the TV remote somewhere and they had to spend 20 minutes of their day looking for it, even though Kyra would –pinky finger– swear that she wasn’t the last one to see it. Now it was just boring to find the remote where Y/n actually had last placed it.

Y/n absolutely hated to share her stuff–Kyra wasn’t allowed to use her makeup, her hair care products, or her clothes. But now, Y/n would give them all away just to have Kyra back home.

Y/n wasn’t lonely. She had the company of her elderly neighbour, Mrs Petunia, Lotte and Beth also dropped by her house every evening for some girl dinner; Y/n texted Leah almost every day and video-chatted Kyra every single day.

But it still wasn’t enough.

It was weird to admit that Y/n just missed having people around–all of her people, especially Kyra.

Y/n thought the hardest thing about the international break was seeing every one of her teammates and other footballers playing while she had to watch on the sideline. But no, the hardest thing was watching her friend and Kyra making new memories while she was just sitting on her sofa eating chips.

She felt like the odd one out, and she couldn't even blame anyone. It was like watching a life Y/n wasn’t part of.

Y/n was reading a book about chess–that’s how bored she was –when she got a notification on her phone. Kyra was facetiming her. When Y/n picked up, Kyra’s face popped up on the screen, bright and smiling.

“Hi, baby,” Kyra said happily, a fork in her mouth as she was eating what looked like a fruit salad.

“Oh my god, are you eating fruits?” Y/n deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

Kyra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Shut up. What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me or something.”

Y/n had to bite back the thoughts running wild in her mind. Rubbing off on me, huh? But she bit her tongue.

“But how was your night? Did you sleep well”? Kyra continued, almost innocent compared to Y/n’s mind.

It seemed like Kyra was in the restaurant of the hotel, there were a lot of people walking behind her with plates in their hands. All of those people were wearing jerseys with their country’s flag on their left chest, Y/n saw the USA flag, Japan, Colombia and of course, Australia.

They were having breakfast while Y/n found herself stuck in that awkward limbo between afternoon and evening — a side effect of the frustrating time zone difference.

When Y/n was getting ready to reply, Kyra turned around from the camera and waved at whoever was on her right, a smile on her face as she talked to the person off-camera.

“Yeah, Yeah,” Kyra said. “I’ll be there as soon as I finish my breakfast,” Kyra said.

Y/n waited until Kyra was done, but it looked like the person had a whole lot to talk to her.

“No, I didn’t yet,” Kyra said more seriously, now turning her whole body away from her cell phone, so Y/n was only seeing her back. “But I think Alanna did, you could ask her.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but kept her patience.

“Sorry,” Kyra said, guilt on her face. “I'm a bit busy this morning with the match coming and all that.”

“It’s okay,” Y/n said, smiling. “Match days are the worst. Everybody gets stressed out.”

Maybe Y/n was feeling a little neglected, but she knew how intense any pre-match routine could get, especially an international one. “We can talk later if you want?” Y/n suggested..

“Nah, it’s okay, we can talk now,” Kyra said smiling. “I have gym later and then the game, it’s better if we talk now–but tell me, how was your night?” She picked up a banana and put it in her mouth.

“I’ve slept ok-ish” Y/n said, balancing the phone in one of her tights.

“Just okay?” Kyra frowned. “What happened? Is the cast still bothering you? Did you try raising it on a pillow like we did last time?”

Y/n shifted, suddenly wishing she hadn’t brought it up. She wasn’t going to say she couldn't sleep well because she got used to how Kyra would always softly scratch her back to lull her to sleep.

So, she lied.

“Oh yeah, this thing is my personal enemy, “Y/n said, faking a laugh. “I tried everything, but it didn’t work”.

Kyra's face softened, in the way she always did when she was worried. “I’m sorry, love–I wish I was there to help.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ky,” Y/n said, shrugging it off. “But tell me about today’s game! How are you feeling?”

Australia would play against Colombia in the first game of the Shebelieves Cup. There haven't been any matches until now because all the teams were focusing on training and just getting used to each other's play style and getting back to their rhythm.

“Oh…I’m a little nervous,” Kyra admitted, taking a mouthful of her fruit salad, this time Y/n saw blueberries on her fork.

Y/n arched an eyebrow, silently challenging Kyra to be honest.

“–Okay, actually I’m very nervous,” she sighed, her tone betraying her fear. “I almost threw up when I woke up and realised the game was today.”

“Don’t be,” Y/n said softly. “It’s just like any other game, yeah? You’re one of the best midfielders in the world right now, Ky. You’ve been training a lot here at Arsenal and Houston.

Kyra’s face scrunched slightly, a little embarrassed–like she always did when Y/n said something nice to her. Kyra didn’t know how to take a compliment and Y/n thought it was cute.

“You’re turning into a cheesy person,” Kyra said, half-smile on her face. “What’s coming next? Serenades?

Y/n chuckled. “If you get lucky, I’ll write you an inspirational poem next.

Kyra laughed. Y/n missed her laugh…a lot.

Before Y/n could say anything, Kyra suddenly turned away from the camera and waved–again– to someone off-screen.

Y/n waited…and waited. Kyra kept talking to the mystery person, her voice was quieter and Y/n couldn't really listen to her or what she was saying.

Y/n was about to ask what was going on when Kyra’s screen was filled with blonde hair. Y/n narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening and whose hair that was.

In a few seconds, the screen was clear of the hair and Kyra appeared in the frame again, but this time she wasn’t alone anymore, she had another girl by her side.

Charli. She had golden, straight hair and was wearing a Matildas jersey.

She was sitting on the chair next to Kyra, shoulder to shoulder. , a big smile on her face.

Charli was an Australian player, and she also played for Tottenham–a big rival of Arsenal. Y/n had, of course, played against her sometimes.

She knew Charli and Kyra were friends, but since Kyra moved in she didn’t mention her a lot, so she thought they were just the kind of friends you weren’t really the type to go out with much or spend a lot of time together..

But, weirdly, Charli was wrapping her arm around Kyras’s shoulder like they were pretty much intimate.

Kyra and Charli began engaging in a conversation that Y/n couldn’t understand. And just like that, it was like Y/n wasn’t even there on the screen.

Y/n wanted to just end the call and be petty about the whole situation, but she decided to try and be a better person.

She breathed in and out.

“Hm… hi?” Y/n said flatly.

“Oh baby,” Kyra said, almost panicking as if she had really forgotten Y/n was there. “Sorry, um, this is Charli–my friend. I told you about her before, and of course, we’ve played against her in some matches.”

Kyra turned her phone to her right, so the screen was focusing on Charli. The blonde girl was waving at her, still casually slung around Kyra’s shoulder.

Y/n didn't want the camera on Charli, she wanted to see Kyra and only Kyra. And if it wasn't too much to ask, she wanted Charli a few meters away from Kyra.

“Hi Y/n!” Charli said. “I know we’ve played against each other multiple times, but it's nice to meet you outside of football.

“Well, technically,” Y/n said, sharper than she intended. “We’re talking while you’re getting ready for a game, so I wouldn’t say it's outside of football,”

Charli's smile faltered slightly.

Y/n sounded more harsh than she meant to. But it was done now.

“Hmm, yeah,” She said awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you are right–”

The camera wasn’t on Kyra, but she knew the girl had her mouth open at Y/n’s harshness like she always did when Y/n said something out of the pocket in any social situation.

“I’m sorry,” Charli said. “It must be hard for you, losing international break because of your injury and just having to watch everyone else pla–”

“Charli! Don’t say that” Y/n heard Kyra whisper, but well, she wasn’t really whispering, so Y/n heard it loud and clear.

“Say what?” Charli asked, turning her gaze from Y/n to Kyra. “Wasn’t she the one who broke her tibia?”

Y/n just watched, a little amused at the whole situation, although she still felt rather uncomfortable.

Y/n could picture Kyra facepalming herself.

“Yeah, but you don’t need to say it,” Kyra muttered.

“Why?” Charli said innocently. “She is injured I’m not–”

Y/n watched as the camera shook violently as if Kyra had stood up fast.

“Hi baby, sorry about that,” Kyra said, smiling nervously while clearly walking with the phone in her hand.

‘Oh no, it’s totally cool to be the third wheel on Facetime,’ Y/n said dryly. She meant it to sound playful, but bitterness crept into her voice.

Kyra’s voice dropped to that soft, sweet tone Y/n knew too well — the one she always used when she knew Y/n was upset.

“Baby,” Kyra said gently, “Don’t be like that…”

And just like that, Y/n’s walls began to crack. Kyra’s soft tone always made Y/n come completely undone. She felt like she could talk to Kyra about anything inside her mind, anything that was bothering her.

For a split second Y/n wanted to push, to talk about the whole Charli situation. She wanted to tell Kyra how much it sucked seeing her so close to somebody while Y/n missed her like crazy.

Y/n was well aware the reason she was bothered had more to do with herself and how she was missing Kyra than with Charli per se.

Also, Kyra had a big game coming up in a few hours. She didn’t need Y/n annoying her jealousy right now.

So she just let it go.

“I’m fine,” Y/n said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I just didn’t expect to have company during our call, that’s all.”

Kyra sighed, clearly not looking convinced. “I know it’s hard. I miss you too,” she said softly. “I wish I could be there.”

Y/n shifted her phone to her other hand, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Me too.”

“Hey,” Kyra said more firmly now. “When I get back, we’re watching the new Marvel film.

“Oh come on,” Y/n scoffed “You’re the only one that still likes Marvel,”

Kyra made her watch every single Marvel film there was. Y/n, trying to be good, did so without complaining, but Kyra had promised that she wouldn’t make her watch any new ones, just the old “classics.

“Exactly,” Kyra said with a grin. I’m forcing you to watch it with me because you owe me for being mean to Charli.”

“I wasn’t mean,” Y/n protested, frowning on her face.

“You were a little mean,” Kyra teased, her smile wide enough that Y/n couldn’t stay annoyed.

“I’ll apologize,” Y/n muttered. “Someday.”

“Someday?” Kyra said. “I’ll text Charli right now and tell her you’re planning a public apology speech, white shirt on and all that.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Kyra was so dramatic, it always made her laugh.

“I have to go now,” Kyra said sadly. “I have a gym session and then our last training before the match.”

“Oh yeah,” Y/n said. “Okay, go kick ass out there.,”

“I’ll do my best?” Y/n was ready to end the call, but Kyra spoke. “I’ll call you again after the game, okay? Just me and you.”

Y/n smiled, genuinely smiled. Just her and Kyra.

“Yeah, ok! I'll wait for your call after the game.”

Y/n ended the call and sunk back into the couch, her body aching in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

She might’ve been hurt, stuck in this stupid cast with nothing to do, but knowing that Kyra would come back soon, made everything feel a little easier.

And for now, that was enough.

Hours later, Y/n was still on the sofa, her only company was Footy, but even he wasn’t giving her attention to focus on the yellow butterfly that rested on the window’s glass.

Y/n had no plans for the day. Mrs Petunia was out of town for the day with some of her friends from bingo, and Beth and Lotte would come later in the evening.

She had read every book in the house, and even though she had been dying to watch the new season of her favourite series she could’t because Kyra made her promise Y/n would wait and watch it with her.

Bored out of her mind, Y/n decided to open Instagram and scroll endlessly through her friends' stories. Each tap felt like wasted time…but again, she didn’t have much to do and it kept her distracted for a little while, at least.

Y/n found out Beth was on a walk with her dogs in some sunny park; Lotte was in a café with her partner. Caitlin was in the gym alongside Steph, and Katie McCabe was getting ready for a game.

The next story that popped up on her screen was one posted by Alessia. The girl had shared a picture of a table — a table for two — with wine on the side and every little detail that indicated it was a date.

There was someone there with Alessia, but Y/n could only see parts of the person's hands. She tilted her head, squinting at the screen. The rings on those fingers... they looked familiar…too familiar.

Y/n furrowed her brows, her mind racing. She knew she'd seen those rings before — the delicate silver band stacked just above a thicker one, the way they seemed to sit perfectly snug together. Then it hit her — she'd seen Leah absentmindedly spinning those rings around her fingers during a team meeting.

"This can’t be right," Y/n muttered to herself, suddenly feeling far more invested in Alessia’s love life–or possible love life–than she should be.

Everybody in her life was doing something while she was stuck inside her house with no form of entertainment — unless you counted piecing together a potential secret relationship as entertainment.

She was going to corner Leah about it when they came back from the Lionesses, she had to do it person to person or else Leah wouldn’t say anything… and she couldn’t talk to Alessia about it because the poor girl would combust and start stammering.

The thought made her smile faintly, but her mind drifted to Kyra and it reminded Y/nt of the situation she was in–all alone in a big house. If Kyra were here, she would’ve found a way to cheer Y/n up — suggesting some random date idea like pottery or something just as chaotic but sweet.

Talking about Kyra, her story shined on Y/n’s scream. Y/n clicked on her face and was quickly met with a picture of her and Charli, they were stretching on the floor of a gym while Charli held her phone, taking a mirror photo.

Kyra looked good, very good.

She was wearing different clothes from hours earlier, her yellow shorts leaving a lot of skin showing. Her hair was also in a ponytail, leaving Y/n daydreaming about the day Kyra would be back and she would kiss it all over.

Y/n clicked the screen and went to the next stories. Kyra and Charli, again.

Now they were sitting on a bench in the changing room, Charli wrapping her arms around Kyra’s waist as they smiled at the picture.

Y/n felt her stomach boiling with…jealousy. It felt like a tight knot, unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Y/n wasn’t the jealous type, or at least, she never thought she was. She had always been laid-back, trusting that the people who mattered would stick around and show it. And if they didn’t? Fine. She’d move on, no hard feelings. But with Kyra… with Kyra, it was different.

But when it came to Kyra, Y/n couldn’t shake it. She hated that Kyra was so close to Charli. Why did Charli get to be the one getting hugs, the one posing for pictures with her? Why wasn’t it her?

All of those reasons were very clear in Y/n’s mind.

She knew that Charli and Kyra were friends and had grown up together inside the Matildas, she also knew the only reason she or Kyra didn’t post pictures together was because they didn’t want the media to know about them yet.

But still. Even if she tried to rationalize all her feelings, they still stung. The jealousy was still there, and it was uncomfortable.

Y/n wasn’t used to feeling jealous. She was confident, unbothered. She didn’t know what to do with it, or how to fix it. The only thing that would make Y/n feel better was to have Kyra just for her for the time being–yeah she did have Kyra just for her in the last 3 months, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Y/n fought the urge to comment, to send something sarcastic or an angry emoji. That wasn’t the reaction she wanted, not from Kyra. She didn’t want to seem petty.

But the universe, or whatever form that controlled it, had other thoughts in mind because when Y/n skipped to the next story she was met with Leah and Keira laughing.

Great. Just great.

Y/n felt a twinge of jealousy again, but she wasn’t about to let Kyra see it. That would make her look ridiculous—like a possessive freak. But Leah? Leah could handle it.

Y/n stared at the picture of Leah and Keira together. A scowl tugged at her lips before she tapped out, “Ugly,” in Leah’s DMs.

To her surprise, Leah replied almost instantly.

Y/n: Ugly

Leah: Block.

Y/n: Please do, I don’t want to see your face…or Keira’s

Leah: Bro you can’t still be jealous of Keira. It’s been years.

Y/n didn’t reply immediately.

Y/n: You’re literally smiling at the picture, tough. You never smile at our pictures.

Leah: You never smile either.

Y/n: 🙄

Leah: What’s going on? You’re being dramatic. That’s not like you.

Y/n: nothing. Don’t wanna talk about it

Leah: right…cranky.

Y/n: I gotta go, I have some stuff to do.

Leah: Yeah? Like taking a nap?

Y/n: i hate you.

Leah: I hate you too. Bye. I’ll tell Keira you sent her a kiss.

Y/n: Don’t lie.

Y/n growled under her breath and tossed her phone on the coffee table with a dramatic clunk.

“Great,” Y/n muttered, dragging her blanket up to her chin. “Guess I’ll just stay here..while everyone’s out having fun with their best friends.”

Footy meowed lazily from his spot on her lap, stretching one paw over her stomach like he was claiming her as his own. It seemed like he had forgotten the butterfly.

“At least you still love me,” Y/n grumbled, scratching behind his ears. “Not like some people that are off and about making new best friends like it’s a race.”

Footy blinked at her, utterly unimpressed.

“Exactly,” Y/n sighed. “It’s betrayal, plain and simple.”

Her phone buzzed again. Y/n reached for her phone and Footy jumped on the floor, not enjoying the sudden movement.

Leah: Keira’s not in my Spotify family plan like you are. Just saying.

Y/n grinned to herself, flopping back onto the couch. Footy, clearly over the dramatics, climbed back onto her stomach like nothing had happened.

“See?” Y/n murmured, giving him a smug scratch behind the ears. “Still got it.”

“You’re pouting,” Lotte pointed out. Raising an eyebrow at Y/n.

“I’m not,” Y/n grumbled, crossing her arms and sinking deeper into the sofa.

“Yes you are,” Beth chimed in, clearly enjoying herself. “It’s just a hug. We hug each other all the time and it doesn't mean a thing.”

Beth and Lotte had come by Y/n’s house to watch the Australian game for the Shebelieves Cup with her. They were having a good time–chips on the table, soda cans and sweets were on the coffee table–until Kyra scored,

“Yay!” Y/n said, happily, but her mood soured when Charli sprinted herself towards Kyra, launching herself into her arms. Kyra caught her mid-air, a grin on her face. No yay.

The game ended like that. Kyra had scored the only goal of the match in the 86th minute–Y/n was extremely proud and happy for Kyra– but also irritated.

Y/n was well aware that it was a normal type of celebration, it was totally platonic.

She had done similar celebrations with plenty of her teammates. However, watching Charli do it with Kyra? Nope, it didn’t sound platonic at all.

“I know it doesn't mean anything,” Y/n said, trying her best to sound casual “I’m not bothered by that.”

Y/She reached over the coffee table and took some chips, bringing them into her mouth, chewing them as if they’d solace all her problems–and also–she’d hoped having a mouth full would signal Beth that Y/n didn’t wanna talk about it.

But it was Beth, and she wasn’t known for picking hints.

“Boiling it up won’t help!” Beth sang dramatically, clearly enjoying herself. “But whatever you want, we can keep on eating chips and pretend you’re not mad.”

“I wanna eat chips and pretend I’m not mad,” Y/n deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Then, with a sigh, she added more gently, “Hey, Lotte, can you grab my phone for me, please?”

She pointed at her phone charging beside the loveseat where Lotte was sitting.

“Yeah, of course,” Lotte replied, handing it over.

“Thanks, baby” Y/n said, her voice quieter. “Kyra said she’d call after the game.” She paused, fiddling with her phone like she wasn’t sure why she’d brought it up at all.

“Maybe you should talk to her about it when she calls,” Lotted suggested, sipping on some tea she had made herself, a thoughtful look on her face,

“Talk to her about what?” Y/n asked, pretending to be confused.

“Oh please,” Beth cut in impatiently “About the whole ‘I’m jealous of your best friend’ thing?”

“I’m not talking to Kyra about it!” Y/n scoffed, unlocking her phone. “She’ll think I’m possessive,”

“You are a bit possessive,” Lotte said matter-of-factly. “Not in a bad way! It’s just…part of your personality.”

“What? No, I’m not!” Y/n argued, her voice rising slightly.

“Yeah,” Beth nodded, grinning “You don’t like to share your stuff during training.”

“That’s because we should all carry our personal items in our training bag!” Y/n snapped. “I’m not giving you my socks!”

“You also don’t share food,” Lotte pointed out, her tone light.

"That’s called having boundaries!” Y/n shot back. “I'm not a buffet."

“You’re also very jealous of Leah and Keira,” Beth said casually, leaning back with a smirk.

“Because Leah’s my friend!” Y/n exclaimed defensively. “For years!”

“Baby get over it! Keira and Leah’s been best friends since they were fourteen.” Beth teased, dramatically throwing her hands up.

“Well, they should’ve broken up by now. No friendship lasts that long,” Y/n muttered under her breath, mostly to herself.

“You know that’s not how friendships work, right?” Lotte laughed.

“All we’re saying is,” Lotte continued softly. “You’re a bit…jealous. It’s who you are, you can’t do much about it besides talking to Kyra and explaining how you feel.”

Y/n let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes like she was done with the conversation. She heard Lotte and Beth exchange a quiet sigh too. Good. They got the hint.

What better way to ignore a problem than some endless Instagram scrolling?

“What if we order pizza?” Beth suggested, ending the silence that hung between them.

“Yes! pepperoni pizza!” Lotte said happily. “What do you want, Y/n?”

“Pepperoni is fine, Lottie,” Y/n replied absently, distracted by her phone. “Thanks.”

Y/n saw Kyra’s profile picture pop up with a new story.

When she clicked on it, her heart sank. The story was a photo of Kyra’s arm slung lazily over Charli’s shoulder, a grin on both their faces.

‘Best assistant ever ❤️’ written right in the centre of the picture.

“Yeah. Great assist.” Y/n scoffed bitterly, locking her phone and tossing it on the couch.

“What?” Beth questioned, looking up at Y/n. “What happened?”

“Kyra and Charli,” Y/n mumbled., not even wanting to look at Beth and Lotte. “It's on her Instagram.”

Both Beth and Lotte checked their phone and exchanged a look before giving Y/n pitying glances.

“Best assistant ever,” Y/n repeated under her breath.

The worst part? The last time she played, she’d assisted Kyra too–a perfect cross to Kyra’s feet, setting her up for the winning goal.

Y/n remembered the way Kyra had sprinted straight to her afterwards. ‘You’re actually the best!’ she had said while grinning and cupping Y/n’s cheeks, their teammate around them, cheering Kyra on.

That memory felt distant now–buried under the sharp crack of her tibia snapping just ten minutes later.

Now Kyra had a new best assistant.

Lotte and Beth sat closer, one on either side of Y/n. Lotte shifted closer, quietly wrapping her arm around Y/n’s shoulders and pulling her into a gentle hug.

Y/n usually hated physical contact — too awkward, too much — but she let Lotte hold her. It felt... steadying. Safe.

Beth settled on her other side, placing a firm, grounding hand over Y/n’s tightly clenched fist.

“Guess that didn’t help about how you were feeling, huh?” Beth said an empathetic smile on her face.

Y/n just shook her head.

“It’s okay to feel jealous, you know,” Beth continued. “It doesn't mean you’re possessive, I mean– I’d lose my mind if Viv posted a picture with someone hugging her like that.”

“I don’t know,” Y/n said, shaking her head. “It’s just… everything feels off. Like, Kyra’s gone, and I’m stuck here, and… I don’t know.” She paused, fingers anxiously picking at a loose thread on her hoodie. “I guess I’m scared she’s gonna realize I’m just... not enough.”

Lotte gave her a gentle nudge. “Hey, it’s okay to feel like this, and it’s nice that you’re talking about it.

“No, it’s not..” Y/n muttered under her breath.”It’s stupid to feel like this. I know they’re just friends. It’s just Charli. But…” She trailed off, her thumb swiping over the screen again. “I hate how it feels.”

“–I think I’m also scared that Kyra will, um, realize she can do better than me,” Y/n confessed, her voice low. “Because I’m cranky and grumpy all the time and she’s just the nicest and kindest person I have ever met.

"Look, if Kyra wanted ‘nice and kind’ she wouldn’t have picked you in the first place," Beth said with a smirk.

“Wow, thanks” Y/n murmured, rolling her eyes.

“I mean it lovingly,” Beth said. “But, seriously, this is the most I’ve heard you talk about in months. Please, continue.”

Y/n groaned, feeling both embarrassed and relieved

“You guys are right, I am possessive– over my stuff, with my friends and Kyra. But I don't like it, this feeling makes me feel like crap and I–I just hate it.”

“Kyra told me she was going to call me after the game but it’s been–” Y/n looked at her watch. “Almost 40 minutes. Nothing. But she still had time to post a picture with Charli.”

“She’s probably out commemorating the team,” Lotte said gently. “When we win a gem with Arsenla we always go out to do something fun…she’ll call you when she gets back at the hotel.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right–I just missed her,” Y/n admitted, her voice quieter now. “I got used to having her around all by myself and now she’s gone and…I don’t like having her attention split–”

“–I know I sound like a little kid, but I really don’t like sharing. And I really don’t like sharing Kyra.”

"Yeah, we noticed, baby,” Beth said, teasing, but also comforting.

“That’s normal though... you’re allowed to miss her,” Lotte said shooting.

“And I don’t know what to do about it.” she continued, frustration creeping into her voice. “Maybe I’ll have to talk to Kyra about that or maybe I should just suck it up and learn that Kyra is her own person with her own life and I’m gonna be on the sidelines sometimes and that’s okay.”

"You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now..." Lotted said, “It’s something you’re learning about yourself.”

“Also doesn't mean love,” Lotted murmured, her voice soft.

“Huh?” Y/n blinked, confused.

“She means,” Beth chimed in, “just because someone can’t give you all their attention doesn’t mean they love you any less.”

“Or that if they’re giving someone else attention, they love that person more,” Lotte added. “I think you’re just... mixing up love and attention. And that’s probably where the jealousy’s coming from.”

“Especially now that everyone you care about is away, and you don’t have much to keep yourself busy,” Beth pointed out.

Y/n was quiet, trying to understand what Lotte and Beth were saying. Wow, maybe they were right and–

“Wait.” Y/n’s head shot up from Lotte’s shoulder. “Did you guys just get me ranting about everything?”

Beth shrugged casually. “Yeah, but you feel better, don’t you?”

“Hm, yeah, I do,” Y/n said suspiciously. “Kinda…”

“Great,” Beth said, holding out her hand “Now pass me the chips before you start crying on them.”

“Why are you like that?” Y/n grumbled, shoving the bag into her hand.

Y/n was lying down on the sofa–on her made-up bed– with Footy sleeping by her feet. Kyra had sent her a message minutes earlier that she was going to Videochat Y/n as soon as she got back to the hotel room.

Just like that, Y/n got a Facetime notification. She accepted and Kyra's face appeared on the screen, but by the looks of her background, it looked like Kyra was hiding in the bathroom from Steph and Caitlin again.

“Hi love,” Kyra said, waving. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, we just got back from the bar we went to celebrate.”

She was still wearing her jersey, so she really had just got back from the celebration, her tired face also giving it away.

“It’s okay, Ky,” Y/n said softly, even though she did get upset by it earlier. “It was a great game, you guys deserve to celebrate.”

“Also,” Y/n continued smiling. “I’m so so proud of you, you were amazing, one of your best games yet.”

“Yeah?” Kyra asked, slightly blushing on her cheeks. “Did you watch like..the whole game?”

“Of course! Me, Beth and Lotted did, we did this to get together,” Y/n said. “I told you I’d be your hype girl, didn’t I? Just doing my job.”

Kyra smiled. “I’m so glad it was good, the whole team was in great sync, but the defence wasn’t one of our best, but we’re getting there.”

“It was just the first game,” Y/n said. “You guys gonna get even better by the next one, just keep on training like you’re doing.”

They continued to talk about their game and its technicalities until Kyra completely changed the subjects.

“Baby,” Kyra said, almost carefully. “Is there like…something you wanna talk to me about?”

Y/n froze, feeling her cheeks getting hot. Did Kyra know about the whole jealous thing? It was obvious she was upset in the morning when Charli messed up their conversation, but she hadn’t let out how she felt after Charli hugged her.

“Hm, why?” Y/n asked, fidgeting with her phone.

“It’s just…” Kyra began. “Leah sent me a weird message.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrow and moved closer to the camera.

“Weird like what?” she asked suspiciously.

“She said, quote on quote, ‘Y/n is being clingy and showing emotions, what the fuck did you do?” Kyra said, her face startled, as if Leah’s message had caught her off guard.

“Oh, I-I don’t know what she's talking about?” Y/n lied.

“And then Beth just sent me a picture of you, like, no text, just a picture.”

What the fuck Bethany.

“What picture?” Y/n asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You’re like sitting on the sofa, you have a pout on and look really angry,” Kyra explained. “You rarely pout so I was really worried.”

“Hmm, well–” Y/n hesitated for a moment, then went quiet, unsure whether to tell Kyra what had been going on in her head.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. " Kyra said gently. “I’m not there with you, but I still wanna know if you’re upset.”

Y/n bit her lip, unsure whether to voice what had been eating at her all day. It wasn’t like she liked feeling jealous, but the emotions had hit her all at once, and now they were bubbling up, and there was no stopping them.

She trusted Kyra–she was one of the most important people in Y/n’s life, and had been for the last month. She could talk to her about how she felt…she just needed to be brave.

“I was jealous of you and Charli,” Y/n blurted out before she could change her mind.

Kyra lifted her eyebrows as if she was really surprised by the revelation.

“You’re jealous? Of Charli?” Kyra said. “Why? Did I do something?”

“No, no!” Y/n said quickly. “You didn’t do anything, I'm just…” She swallowed, her voice dropping to a mumble. “...possessive.”

“I was a bit, hm, upset, by the way she hugged you after your goal,” Y/n admitted, hating to open up. “And then you wrote the ‘best assistance ever’ and I got jealous because…hm, I also assisted you a lot, and I wanted to be your best assistance. Not Charli.”

For a second, Y/n braced herself for Kyra to respond seriously — maybe even get annoyed. But instead, Kyra chuckled softly.

“Baby, my love,” Kyra said, her voice warm. “You don’t even need to be jealous of anyone, especially Charli… I’m like, so down bad for you, it’s pathetic.

Y/n smiled, shyly. “I'm also down bad for you.”

“I know,” Kyra teased with a wink. “Got you talking about feelings and all that.”

“Shut up,” Y/n murmured.

“Now tell me,” Kyra grinned. “What the bloody hell were you talking about with Leha that got her worried?”

“Nothing,” Y/n said with a dismissive wave. “She was just being all friendly with Keira again…”

If it was safe to say Y/n jealousy of Keira was a very common topic of conversation between the Arsenal girls.

Y/n grumbled something unintelligible, earning another giggle from Kyra.

“But I gotta admit,” Kyra said. “You’re kinda cute when you're jealous.”

“No I'm not,” Y/n grumbled again.

“Yes you are,” Kyra insisted. “I even made that picture Beth sent into my wallpaper.”

“Kyra, please,” Y/n said deadpan. “Take it off. Put a picture of footy instead.”

“Nah, you’re cuter.”

Y/n groaned, tugging the blanket over her head.

“Hey, come on!” Kyra called out. “Don’t hide from me, you grump!”

Y/n peeked out, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not a grump.”

“You are,” Kyra laughed. “But you’re my grump.”

There was a pause — a warm, comfortable silence that neither of them felt the need to fill. Kyra’s face softened, her voice quieter when she spoke again.

“I miss you, you know?” Kyra murmured. “It’s weird not having you around to be obsessed over what I eat…Steph and Caitlin don’t let me pick any films during team movie night.”

Y/n’s chest tightened at that. “I miss you too,” she admitted. “It’s too quiet here without you… and Footy keeps sighing like he's disappointed in me. Guess I’m not the favourite mom”

“Poor boy,” Kyra teased. “He’s probably wondering why you’re so bad at cuddling.”

“Rude,” Y/n said, but she smiled. “I’m great at cuddling…but only within my own species.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Kyra promised. “And when I get back, I’m dragging you out of the house– I feel like you’re a part of this sofa already.

“You’re the worst,” Y/n muttered, her voice soft.

“You love me, thought ” Kyra shot back.

“Yes I do,” Y/n said quietly, smiling despite herself. “Kinda love you a lot.”

Part 10 here

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Notes//2: literally just wanted to write 3 little scenes: Y/n jealous of Charli, Y/n jealous of Keira and Y/n slowly realising something is going on between Alessia and Leah, but then it turned into a 6.5k monsters

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

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stunie · 9 months ago

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SCARY BOYFRIEND EX PRIVILEGES! ❤︎ — Endo Yamato x f!reader ﾉ Sfw ﾉ Cw harassment (not from Endo) ﾉ My response to:

ANON’S ASK — Random thought but what the wind breaker boys protect you in spite of being your ex. Whether it was a mutual, [etc], uncertain, or bittersweet break up is up to you.

Other warnings: one mention of reader typically wearing makeup

As weird as it sounds, you’re not entirely sure if you and Endo have ever officially broken up. Dating through high school was one thing, but keeping the relationship strong after attending different universities was another.

At the very least, you’re 90% sure the relationship died, although you don’t remember exactly when the two of you stopped talking. After you switched your phone number following your first semester at university, you hadn’t even bothered to tell him. You don’t remember why you didn’t bother to either.

Everything is weird now.

Life has been entirely different without him. There’s one less free pocket in your bag now that you’ve started carrying pepper spray with you. You wear your headphones in one ear at a time, and your volume isn’t on full blast anymore.

You actually look where you’re going, and you pay attention to the time— take a mental note that it starts getting dark earlier at this point in the year.

Even with the precautions you’ve learned during your time at university, this type of thing would always be out of your control. How in the world did you get singled out wearing your pajamas and no makeup?

Life wasn’t being fair to you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”

“Midterms.” You narrow your eyes to the best of your ability, balling your hands into little fists to mask how they’ve started to tremble. “I’m meeting up with some friends now.”

You used to be able to just say “I have a boyfriend.”

You also used to be walked home, so this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. You’re sure that if Endo saw the way you are now, he’d be making a comment by now. Something along the lines of “gonna hurt your hands if you throw a punch with your fists like that, sweet thing.”

Nothing is fair. Why is it now that you start missing him for the first time in years? The feeling comes a little too easily for a relationship that faded into nothing, but you’re too scared to kick yourself in the shin right now.

“That so?” The man in front of you laughs when your fight or flight finally starts to kick in. You take a couple of steps backward, and your frame is suddenly a lot smaller compared to his. How easy. “Where are these friends of yours? Can’t believe you’re out here all by yourself..”

“T-they have my location, y’know.”

There’s the stutter that always gives you away.

He laughs at this, and you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat. Keep your words steady. Ignore the way your heart rate is spiking. Do absolutely anything to avoid letting him know that you’re scared out of your mind.

It doesn’t work at all. “They won’t know if you don’t have your phone on you, will they?”

All the words you know seem to slip out of your brain, and your face feels painfully hot. “U-um…”

“You’re exactly my type. It’s a compliment… I’m being nice, so just come with me. You won’t regret it— I’ll make it worth your time.”

It doesn’t like sound an offer, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion either. Your body freezes against your will, and he catches onto this pretty fast. The pepper spray in your bag seems too far away for you to even consider, and you’ve never felt so helpless in your life.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He moves to close the distance between the two of you with a grin, reaching out to grab your wrist. Your eyes slam shut, lips trembling even when you try to say something to protest. “Damn… you’re so docile for such a pretty girl. Usually, they’d be a bitch, but you—”

“How mean.” Your eyes shoot open when you’re suddenly tugged backward, gasping when your back roughly collides with someone’s chest. “I was waiting all alone. What’s my girl doing over here with you?”

The tattooed arms that drape themselves over your shoulders don’t look familiar at first glance, but the muscles and his scent are. Painfully familiar, as a matter of fact. They’re the same arms you used to cling onto- and you always used to wrap your fingers around his bicep and rest your head on his shoulder.

He loved that.

It all registers in your head as soon as he puts his weight on you, head right beside yours and you feel his hair tickle your neck. He gives the man in front of you an unamused look before turning to you.

“M-me?” You want to dig a hole and stay there for eternity after hearing just how shaky your voice comes out. Endo’s so close that you could simply turn your head to the side and you’d be kissing him.

He laughs, and you feel your face heat up again. Only this time, there’s a gentle fluttering of your heart that comes with it instead. “Yeah, you. What? Did you think I was talking to the loser? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The way you move to latch onto his arm in an instant is all he needs to confirm that your feelings haven’t changed. The man in front of you doesn’t speak— he can’t seem to move either. Your boyfriend has made quite the name for himself, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

To you, he’s your bodyguard— and more, of course, but maybe you’d be honest and tell him about that another time. But to that guy, he’s pure danger. The way Endo looks over his shoulder to give him one last glance is already enough to have his knees buckling.

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker fluff #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker #endo yamato #yamato endo #endo x reader #endo yamato x reader #endo yamato x you #yamato endo x reader #endo x you #endo yamato fluff #windbreaker fluff

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staybabblingbaby · 4 months ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

Perma Tags: @mbioooo0000 , @thatgirlangelb (<- you've been added without choice. suffer.)

#stray kids fanfic #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray Kids soulmate AU #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #soulmate au #skz soulmate au

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chainmail-butch · 1 year ago

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i was talking to a friend who's a trans woman about this. she used to be really weird about butch trans women, but ended up being butch herself. she told me she was adverse to it because "it was like watching someone leave their house completely naked. you feel maybe a little embarrassed for them but you're mostly scared for how other people are going to treat them too. [she] thought "well, [she'd] be embarrassed doing the same and maybe they were having a hard time passing. but then finding out they're doing it on purpose, [she] thought that they were making a joke of being trans, like they were enforcing the stereotype of just saying you were a woman despite not making any effort to look like one. [she] was confused as to why anyone would do that, especially when she'd been having a hard time being treated well even though she did everything to make herself like a cis girl." she hated having to put in so much effort into looking feminine but did it because she was sure that's just what you had to do. obviously, probably regardless of how she looked, she was going to be treated like shit on the principal of being trans and after actually talking to butches and thinking about it more, she decided to just dress how she felt comfortable and still be proud of being a woman.

That's very interesting to hear. That is the consistent impression I've gotten from well meaning trans women.

I had to wrestle with the whole, "declaring myself a woman without making the effort," thing. When I first transitioned I put on dresses, tried on makeup, and got cute jackets. None of it felt right. I knew, entirely, that I was a woman. But doing all of the things women were supposed to be doing made me feel even worse than when I had lived as a man, which is saying something.

I eventually figured out that there is plenty of effort to being a butch woman. There are still styles, there are still pieces of gendered clothing, there are still gendered actions, they're just hidden in plain sight. They're all the things I wanted to do and all the ways that I wanted to be perceived that I couldn't understand until someone (Leslie Feinberg) held a mirror to my face (SBB) and said Butch. Then it all clicked.

I've been doing HRT for three full years now. I've been socially transitioned for three full years now. It is work. It is a challenge. It is walking out of the house with nothing but your soul and what you choose to armor it with. For some women the armor is a dress and a full face of makeup. For me its leather and boots.

I love my sisters deeply. I love women deeply. I love womanhood deeply. But my womanhood is also deliberately not womanhood. My selfish desire is a world where I can be exactly who I am without having to justify it to every woman, trans or cis, that crosses my path. But that's not gonna happen any time soon.

As so many butches, cis and trans, have said, It is a difficult road to walk and I have no choice but to walk it.

#asks answered #butch #transgender

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fallingformatt · 11 months ago

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“IM NOT THAT SCARY AFTER ALL” C.S.

dealer Chris x fem!reader

summary: what happens when you go to the beach with your dealer in the middle of the night?

warnings: smut! 18+ unprotected sex, mentions weed

word count: 1.9k

a/n: heyy everyone my name is lily and this is my first fic, please don’t be hard on me. Leave suggestions or requests! Hope you enjoy

➽───────────────❥

I kept tossing and turning in my bed, I couldn't fall asleep for the life of me it was so hot in my room that even only wearing my oversized t-shirt that barely covers my ass and a thong I was still too hot to fall asleep. I picked up my phone to check the time. "Fuck" I said under my breath as the phone screen read 2:37 AM "Well there is only one thing that can help me," I said to myself as I swiftly hopped out of my bed, rushing to my vanity. I pulled out my pink 'makeup bag' which really wasn't a makeup bag but a special bag that holds weed for when I want to smoke and that's the beauty of it, my parents would never think to look in my makeup bag that is placed on my vanity, hiding in plain sight.

I pull on the zipper revealing the contents of the bag: some papers a lighter and a small tin container "Bingo" I say to myself getting excited to smoke. I opened the container and was left shocked. It was empty not even a little left for me to smoke. I sighed as I knew what my two options were. Option one go back to bed and try to fall asleep in this hell-like heat or option two message my dealer who I'm scared of. I try to see him as rarely as possible. Chris is so hot but also hella scary and always seems cold and distant so I always kept it short and always buy enough to last me at least a month. I weighed out my options and decided that there was no way that I was falling asleep without smoking so I grabbed my phone.

"hey r u still up?" I texted him and waited for an answer hoping he was still up so I could get my weed.

"yeah i'm still up, need something ma?" he answered. He always called me ma or princess which I found weird but never dared to say anything about it.

"can I buy my usual? im all out" I text right back happy that he's still awake

"sure ma gonna be there in five" he answers

I quickly go out of my room and check if my parents are asleep. I go down the stairs and quickly sneak out of the backdoor as I usually do since it's the furthest from my parents room and they wouldn't hear the door opening or closing. I go around my house and he's already at my front door waiting in his car. I quickly get in the car. "hey ma I like what ur wearing" he says smirking. I look down and realize I forgot to put on shorts or pants and now I'm sitting in his car bare ass on the seat as my shirt raised up a bit while sitting down. "well I rushed outside and it's really hot outside" I said quietly. "Do you have my weed?" I continued right after. "Of course I do ma, here," he said and pushed a baggie with weed in my hand. My eyes lit up seeing my goods and a smile creeps on my face as I reach out my hand with cash "Damn, you're so excited over some weed. You know it's not good to do drugs right?" he says in a cold tone taking my money. "Well, this weed is the only way I'm falling asleep in this weather. Besides you should want people to buy weed it's how you earn your money" I say back. "Do you wanna go somewhere cooler?" Chris asks. " Well I don't know, my parents are asleep" I answer. "Exactly they won't even know you left the house," he says smirking again. "You've got a point, sure let's go," I say.

This interaction was a bit different than all other ones. He didn't seem as cold as usual but maybe I'm just imagining things.

We have been driving for at least 10 minutes now and I'm sitting on my side both my legs horizontally on the car seat as I look through the window listening to the music that's quietly playing in the car. "Where are we going? You never told me" I ask as I turn my head. I saw Chris looking at my ass as it was fully visible in the position I'm sitting in. "We're almost there" his eyes quickly shot to the road as he answered. "Were you looking at my ass?" I say changing my sitting position. "Well ur the one who's not wearing any pants" he scoffs coldly. "I didn't know we would go somewhere" I quickly answer. "We're here," Chris says and I look outside the window. We are at the beach, the moon is shining and the waves look so calming. We both get out of the car and head to the shore.

We find a good spot and sit down. We are the only ones here no people in sight, just me and him. Well if I think about it he could kill me and no one would ever know, the thought of that made me uneasy. "You good ma?" he asks "Yeah I'm fine" I answer looking at the pretty waves as the warm breeze hits my skin. "This feels so nice," I say quietly. "It does, do you want to smoke?" he asks holding a joint that he had just rolled in between his fingers "You bet I do" I answer and he puts the joint in between my lips and lights it. I take a puff and let the smoke out. We finish the joint and sit for a bit.

I look at Chris and notice his beautiful features in the moonlight, my gaze moving from his hair to his lips, as my eyes travel down further my eyes fall to his crotch and I feel my panties dampen. He turns his head looking at me and his clear blue eyes with a hint of red surrounding them meet mine. "what's up ma?" he asks not breaking the eye contact. "You know, you're not as scary as I thought," I say looking down at my fingers and playing with the sand beneath me. "Why do you think I'm scary, do you think I'm going to kill you or something" he shoots back a question. "That thought did cross my mind if I'm being honest. You're always so cold towards me" I say and he chuckles at my confession. "I would never kill such a pretty lady. I always love seeing you ma" he says and a smile appears on my face.

"You wanna go for a swim?" he asks "I don't have a swimsuit" I answer "Neither do I, let's go anyway, cmon ma don't be shy," Chris says looking at me shooting me a quick smirk before standing up and pulling down his shorts and his shirt running towards the waves. I get up and pull off my t-shirt throwing it into the sand and covering my bare chest with my hands as I have no bra on.

I start running towards the ocean as well, seeing Chris already in the water fully swimming. I swim to him and he looks at me staring me down, till he glances at my boobs and licks his lips. "Kiss me," he demands with a lustful voice. He takes my hand and pulls me closer until our bodies meet pushing his lips onto mine unexpectedly. His tongue exploring my mouth before breaking the kiss. He moves to kissing my neck sucking on it leaving a mark. I tilt my head back and let out a quiet moan as he hits my sweet spot. "Oh you like that don't you ma," he says and moves to kiss my collarbones leaving a trail of kisses till he gets to my breasts nibbling on my nipple. "Oh fuck" I moan. "Tell me what you want, and I'm gonna give it to you princess," Chris says in a deep voice. "I want you" I manage to say. He grabs my hand and starts running towards the shore as I'm following him. We get to the shore where our clothes are.

I lay down and he crawls in between my legs his chain dangling above my face his eyes full of lust staring at my lips before smashing his lips on mine once again as we share a passionate kiss. He pulls down my thong not breaking the kiss, doing the same for his boxers. As we deepen the kiss his fingers move up and down my heat before slamming them into me. I throw my head back as a loud moan leaves my lips. "Oh fuuck Chris" I moan out loud as he continues to thrust his fingers into me at a rapid pace. "Tell me what you want," Chris says as his voice grows deep "I-I nee-" I try to say but can't finish the sentence. Chris suddenly pulls his fingers out of me and my eyes shoot open in frustration "Full sentences princess. Tell me what you want" he says his eyes darkening with arousal "I need- I need you in me Chris" I manage to squeeze out as my hips buck up yarning for him. His thumb presses against my lips before I open my mouth sucking on it. Without any warning, he pushes deeply into me causing me to let out a scream-like moan, tears forming in my eyes. Without letting me adjust he starts pounding into me his tip kissing my g-spot "Oh my god Chris you're so big" I moan as I throw my head back. He pounds deeply into me keeping the same rhythm hitting my g-spot with every thrust "Look at me" he says but I keep my eyes shut. "I said look at me princess," his voice getting deeper than before as he grabbed my jaw, and our eyes met. "Look at you, taking me so good princess," he says as he pushes his lips on mine my hand travels to his wet hair lightly pulling it and he places his hand on my thigh, our bodies sticking to each other like glue.

He continues to thrust deep and hard as my moans slip against his lips, my hands traveling to his back. He breaks the kiss and throws his head back, rolling his eyes and letting out an animalistic growl I feel my climax coming. "I- I- I'm close don't stop please don't stop Chris" I cry out as I arch my back, digging my nails into his back leaving scratch marks, bucking up my hips to feel him even deeper. Chris lets out a moan as his thrusts become more aggressive and faster. I dig my nails into the sand holding on to anything I can "I'm so close I'm gonna cum" I moan out as I feel my walls tightening around his cock. Chris hearing that thrusts in me harder than ever making me almost scream out in pleasure. His breathing became hitched as he trusted a few more times before cumming letting out a loud moan, leading to the knot in my stomach to unravel, I let out a pornographic-like moan as my orgasm took over me.

As we both came down from our highs, he pulled his dick out of me kissing me before laying in the sand next to me. He turned his head to look at me and said "Come here ma" and pulled me closer as I laid my head on his chest. We watched as the sun started to come up "See I'm not so scary after all" Chris said with a chuckle. "We should do this again" he continued and I nodded my head in agreement. "Common let's get you home," he said and we got dressed heading for his car.

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sugrhigh · 1 year ago

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BOY NEXT DOOR 2 - ( c.s )

part one

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, kissing, that’s it i think

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! i hope u guys like this series i’m having a lot of fun with it (and s/o to my girl @cutenote for letting me use her name). self-indulged this chapter and made the reader a flyers fan so SRY but anyways, enjoy! next thing im putting out is a matt request and then i’ll be working on this series and the tattooartist!reader x matt series. if you have other reqs, questions, confessions, etc, my inbox is open 🫶🏻

@cutenote @mattsmunch @mattybsbitch @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss

your stomach flips as you stare in the mirror, twisting and turning every which way to make sure you look alright. you’re in one of chris’s jerseys, repping the scarlet and white colors of boston university, complete with the little ‘C’ emblem for captain.

he left it in your mailbox earlier on his way to the arena, demanding that you wear it instead of the BU sweatshirt you had planned on going in. so you listened to him, even though you’re not really sure why.

your hair and makeup are all done, contrary to the last time chris saw you, when you were in his house threatening to call the cops. it feels performative, getting all dressed up for something you don’t even want to go to.

but what the hell, you hadn’t seen the team play at all this year, and if you look your best you’ll feel your best. at least, that’s what you convinced yourself would happen.

“are you done up there? we need to leave, games gonna start soon!” one of your roommates calls from the living room.

you sigh and turn away from your own reflection so you can head for the stairs. cassidy and ramona are both waiting for you on the couch as you round the corner, also decked out in BU merch.

you’re just lucky you had been able to convince them both to come with you, so you don’t have to stand by yourself.

“took you long enough.” cassidy mumbles under her breath as she stretches her legs and stands up.

mona mimicks her movements, but not without shooting her a glare. “be nice, she’s obviously nervous.”

“no i’m not!” you protest, and now they both give you an eye roll as they pass you to get their coats from the closet.

“your voice just went up ten octaves.” cass snarks.

you are anxious, but it’s just because of the unknown. you still haven’t figured out what chris is angling at, besides maybe sleeping with you, which isn’t gonna happen. well, probably not at least.

no, not ever. oh my god.

“i’m not nervous. i just wish i could back out.” you double down, turning to see them both pulling on their big winter jackets.

“you used to love hockey, you just don’t like chris. one game won’t kill you.” ramona replies.

“and you also didn’t have to agree.”

this accusation makes your face flush, in embarrassment and in denial. “he wouldn’t have stopped that party if i didn’t. and you know i could never actually call the cops.”

ramona stays silent as cass laces up her shoes. “whatever you say babe. you look cute in his jersey either way.”

“cassidy!” you whine in exasperation.

“i’m honestly not sorry.”

the entire walk to the get to the game is spent harassing you, which is a solid twenty minutes because you live off campus. ramona does try to keep it to a minimum, though you can’t really blame them for the questions. you have them too.

it’s always been weird with you and chris. you hate his attitude, how people fall to his feet like he’s some sort of god. you can’t stand the way he talks to you like he can read your mind, or how you always catch him staring at your lips just so he can pretend like he wasn’t.

he does it to every girl, and you don’t know why he’s taking all of these extra steps to try and get you into bed.

maybe because you see through it, and you don’t want any part of him. he said it himself, he doesn’t want a relationship, and you’re not looking to get an STD, so you don’t know why he’s bothering.

you finally arrive at the facility, and your stomach flips. tons of people are out tonight, of course. the sun is long gone with it being winter and all, so the lights are extra overwhelming as you step inside.

you head through security and scan your passes, ones that are specifically right beside the student section in the very front. chris gifted them to you for free since you didn’t get season tickets, right by the glass so he knows where you are.

even when you were a pain in the ass and insisted you needed two more for your roommates, he made it work. it was a little impressive.

you find your seats, and the boys are already on the ice warming up. you spot chris from the jersey number, 3, and you can see his long hair poking out from underneath his helmet.

he’s focused on taking a practice shot, but as he skates by the glass afterwards you see him looking, like he isn’t sure if you showed up. but then he finds you, and you can actually see his stupid smile.

he waves, just a tiny one, before he goes right back to drills. you’re thankful he didn’t make it dramatic, because you know there’s plenty of girls in the stands who want him, and have probably already been with him.

you each take your coats off and hang them on your chairs. you know the fact that you having his last name plastered across your back doesn’t help the attention, but people can think what they want.

you don’t give a fuck. cassidy was right, it’s cuter on you anyways.

they head into the locker room quickly after your arrival, and even more people fill in to watch the show. the student section is loud as the facility finally goes dark, and the team skates back onto the ice moments later.

spotlights flood the stadium, highlighting different players as both teams line up along the neutral zone. you cheer extra loud when they announce the starting lineup and call chris’s name, even despite your vendetta against him.

no use being a shitty fan if you’re already here.

they get ready for the face off after the national anthem, and BU gets the puck. it’s back and forth for a while, and you find yourself groaning and cheering with the rest of the crowd during every play.

the first goal of the game is scored within fifteen minutes, by one of his other roommates ben, of all people. you and your friends are jumping around like maniacs, and you can see him laughing at you guys after they’re all done celebrating on the ice.

it makes you wonder if chris told them you’d be here, but you force yourself to eat the popcorn cass bought and stop thinking about it.

the second period begins and BU keeps possession for most of it, pretty much dominating their opponent. in the final thirty seconds, chris drives down the rink to score another goal.

you throw your hands up without thinking, and you let the excitement take over. “fuck yeah!”

cassidy and ramona are screaming too, shaking you by the shoulders wildly.

he comes skating over, pointing right at you as he does a lap near the student section. heads turn, and you can literally feel people staring at you now, even despite the noise and the chaos.

but you’re alive, and you can’t get enough of this environment, so you keep cheering for him regardless of the burning feeling of eyes on you.

“that was cute.” ramona nudges you with a genuine smile, and you’re fighting your own grin as you shake your head.

“whatever.”

the rest of the game is swift. your goalie makes a couple great saves, and a guy named dylan, who you’ve met before at parties, scores the final point of the night.

it just twists the knife further, because it’s a total shutout. the fans go wild as the final buzzer sounds, and you’re right there with them. you relish in the lights, the feeling.

you really did miss watching hockey in person. and you can’t even say you necessarily hate watching chris anymore. there’s just something about the way he skates, so locked in on the game.

he’s a threat, to be completely honest, and you kind of love it.

“that was fucking crazy.” cassidy is beaming happily as you guys gather your things ten minutes post-game, and ramona nods along.

“we’re gonna have to do this more often.” she glances at you with hope.

“hey, don’t look at me. i’m in it for the free tickets, and i’m not sure how long that’ll last.” you’re lying through your teeth, because you enjoyed it just as much.

but again. who knows what he’s really trying to do here.

“you could give him the benefit of the doubt.” mona suggests dryly.

“does he really deserve it? he’s going to think he’s the shit either way.” you point out, and she goes quiet.

“maybe that’s true, but i’ve never heard of him doing whatever that celebration was with other girls.” cassidy takes over, and she’s honestly check-mated you.

it is strange, because when you watched games last season, before you had chris as your neighbor, before you even really knew of him, you hadn’t ever seen that. and from current knowledge, you’re pretty sure he had a short term girlfriend during one of those months.

“touché, i guess.” you grumble, and as if right on que your phone vibrates in your pocket.

chris

wait for me, 15 mins max

ramona and cassidy take the bus home, leaving you on your lonesome as the crowd clears out slowly but surely.

you can hear girls whispering about you as they walk by, but it’s not even worth it. you’re not scared of what they have to say. maybe when you were younger, you would have reacted, but it’s just displaced jealousy anyways.

they don’t even know the truth.

finally, after what feels like a painful amount of time, you get a text from chris with directions toward the locker rooms.

it’s far more quiet now as you make your way to the ground level of the arena, headed to the section of the rink you know is closed off to pretty much everyone else. there’s a guy standing there, dressed in his black shirt with the facility logo on it.

he goes to stop you, but chris comes strutting through the hall, out of uniform now. his brown hair is all messy, and he’s dressed down in a matching black sweat set.

“she’s cool, i have a pass for her.”

he walks right up to you, looping a red lanyard over your head. his fingertips brush the skin of your neck as he collects your hair with his hands, flipping it out from underneath the string for you.

it’s a small thing. his touch is barely there, and yet it still burns.

the security guy smiles at you as you follow chris down the hall. you’ve never been back here before, and you have to admit it’s kind of cool.

you can see where the arena workers go on and off the ice, and the large garage type doors that let the zambonis in and out.

“so.” he breaks the silence, and you almost jump at the sound of his voice.

you were in your own world, and you kind of forgot what was actually going on here.

“so.” you parrot, waiting for him to continue as he leads you around a corner.

“looked like you actually had fun for once.” chris jokes, and you shove his shoulder half-heartedly.

“shut up, i’ve always liked hockey. you though? i’m not so sure.” you give him a look and he opens his mouth like he’s shocked.

“come on, i pointed you out after my goal and everything. you’re telling me you didn’t like it even a little?”

you liked it more than you care to admit, so you don’t. “it’s gonna take more than that to impress me, christopher, but i will say it was a good game.”

“you might just be our lucky charm.” chris glances at you out of the corner of the corner of his eye as he slows to a stop in front of the locker room.

you cross your arms over your chest. “now you're just patronizing me.”

“always assuming the worst.”

“well, you make it easy.” you tease.

he pauses to look down at your defensive stance, at his jersey all scrunched up around your body, and you can tell by his smirk that he’s loving it a little too much.

you clear your throat to try and alleviate some of the tension and chris snaps out of it, turning to head through the little entryway.

“i’m gonna grab my bag, don’t go anywhere.”

“you’re my ride, dumbass.” you remind him, and you hear his chuckle reverberate against the walls as he disappears.

a few players head out as you wait, ones you don’t recognize, and they nod at you politely as they chat amongst themselves. it actually takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it.

chris comes back into the hall a minute later, bag slung around his shoulder. he’s got a black bruins beanie on now, and you raise an eyebrow instinctively.

“why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, waving his hand so you follow him further down the wide corridor.

“your hat.” you point, and he looks offended.

“what’s your problem with it?”

“not everyone who goes to school here is actually from boston, genius. i’m a flyers fan.” you smile at him sweetly, and he literally groans.

“how did i not know this?” he asks as you guys reach the door that leads to the team parking lot.

“because you don’t know me.” you reply swiftly.

chris pushes the door open and holds it for you, another move you don’t expect. “i know more than you think.”

you shiver slightly as you step past him into the cold, wrapping your coat around yourself a bit tighter.

“if it helps you sleep at night.” you chirp over your shoulder.

you know his car, a black jeep grand cherokee that you’ve always been a little jealous of, and it’s sitting in the middle of the lot. not many others are still here, and you can hear both of your feet kicking up gravel as you walk.

chris picks up his pace so he can beat you there, swinging the passenger door open before you can do it yourself.

“wow, chivalry’s not dead.” you say blankly, sliding into the seat so he can close you in.

“what can i say, i’m a real gentleman.”

the interior smells like a pine air freshener, which actually isn’t a bad touch. chris walks around so he can toss his bag in the back and get behind the wheel, starting the engine and peeling out of the spot.

it’s quiet for a moment, aside from the music, and you can’t help but peek over at him sitting across from you. the shadows accentuate his striking features as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, nodding his head along ever so slightly.

he looks pretty, and you don’t like it one bit.

“i can feel you staring at me, you know.” chris turns to glance at you for a brief moment before he puts his eyes back on the road.

it makes your palms sweat, because he caught you in the act and now there’s no shying away.

deny, deny, deny.

“just wondering why your face looks like that.”

“what, devilishly handsome?” he smirks.

“i was thinking gremlin-esque, but sure.” you deadpan, and he just shakes his head and laughs lowly.

“so scared of your own feelings. it’s cute.”

it’s a major call-out, and it normally doesn’t phase you. but tonight it’s different. he’s being so fucking strange, and it’s clearly been messing with your head.

“i’m not scared of shit, because the only thing i feel is sorry for all the girls who have actually fallen for this.” you retort, and the frustration is clear in your voice.

“other girls don’t get the princess treatment like you do.” his self-satisfied demeanor doesn’t falter for a second, even despite your low blow.

“yeah, right. i’m sure i’m really special.”

chris grips the wheel tighter as he turns onto your street, and you have to rip your eyes away from his long fingers.

“well you’re the only one who’s ever worn my jersey, so that’s something.” he admits, scratching his neck absentmindedly.

you’re not sure whether you believe it, but this time he actually does sound genuinely nervous. well, nervous for chris.

“and i wear it best too.” you brush some imaginary dust off of your shoulder as he pulls up into his driveway and puts the car in park.

“won’t argue on that one.” he shrugs, shooting you an easy grin.

“that’s surprising.”

you step back out into the crisp night air, slamming the door shut behind you. you meet chris at the front of the car and try to move around him, headed for your own place.

he takes a step to block you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “where are you going?”

you put some distance between your bodies, because he’s once again too close for comfort, and it’s hard to focus on your words when he’s inches from your face.

“home, obviously.”

“why? i thought we were going to hang out.” he frowns.

“nothing good ever happens in your house past nine p.m.”

this makes him smirk. “very good things happen in that house past nine p.m.”

“your charm is irresistible, truly.” you bite back sarcastically, maneuvering around him as you try to ignore the fire burning in your stomach.

you’ve only taken two steps before chris grabs your arm, pulling you back into his chest quickly. his other hand goes to hold the side of your face, tangling in your hair as he leans in close.

his lips ghost over yours, just barely. you can smell the cologne he must have put on after the game, can feel his slight stubble scratching your face, and it’s all too much.

you haven’t been kissed in so long, and right now it doesn’t matter that it’s chris, and that it goes against everything you stand for. your eyes flutter closed and you fill the gap, pressing your mouth against his hard.

it shocks him, so much so that he almost forgets how to do this properly. chris can taste your berry chapstick, and your lips are so much fucking softer than he even imagined.

his tongue slides against yours skillfully, deepening the kiss as he presses his body flush against yours. you can feel his thumb brushing your cheek as your mouths clash together continuously. its passionate and angry and intense, and you can’t believe it’s happening.

why is this happening?

the thought snaps you out of it, and you put your hand on his chest to force him away roughly. chris is surprised, and you’re both slack-jawed and breathing heavily as your body tries to catch up with your brain.

“i…i’m gonna go.” you mumble quietly, because you have no idea what else to say.

“or you could stay.”

“i don’t want to.”

“you’re a terrible liar.” he counters, and you can see how raw and red his lips are even in the moonlight.

you shake your head and turn toward your own front porch. it’s too hard to continue meeting his fiery gaze, because he’s looking at you like he actually needs you.

“goodnight, chris.”

“this isn’t over, you know. one day you’ll finally admit it.” he calls after you, and you don’t gratify him with a response.

there’s nothing that’ll change his mind, especially after you had actually caved in during that moment of weakness. it was so unwarranted, and you’re angry that kissing him didn’t feel as wrong as it should have.

you take the steps two at a time and hurry through the door, closing it behind you and pressing your back to the wood.

your fingers dance across your lips, and you swear you can still feel his mouth on yours.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #hockey au #neighbor au #chris sturniolo smut #fanfic #new series #enemies to lovers

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tangyangie · 8 months ago

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𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌—! 🖇

𖡼𖤣𖥧𓋼 with. keiji akaashi 𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

LESSON #0 — CONVINCING ꩜

part of him wants to refuse outright. what do you mean you want his help? you want to learn how to kiss other guys? it's bad enough that he likes you, and now you're going to rub it in by giving him a taste of what he can't have. but, when you look up at him with those eyes—those beautiful, pleading eyes—he can't find it in him to say no. this is a common occurrence. you've gotten him to do your laundry on numerous occasions. this is also how you got your dorm pet(s).

"i said, no."

"but, keiji, please? she's so cute, isn't she?"

"we already have one!"

"yeah, but he's lonely!"

"i'm not cleaning after them, though."

you're going to kill him. you're actually going to be his 'cause of death. sure, you might think it's normal; it's only kissing your best friend as practice for another guy. but, to him, it's way more than that. you're like a cigarette—he wants to try you, so bad, but he knows that once he does, he won't ever be able to go back.

"it's not my problem if you like someone. look up a tutorial on youtube if you're so curious," keiji hums, purposely avoiding eye contact—he's just so interested in this show.

"i have! all they say is 'once you get into it, you'll instantly know how to do it'. i mean, it's the dumbest thing i've ever heard. i didn't look up a step-by-step to skip from looking at them to after the kiss."

he simply shrugs. "they're right, you know. it just clicks when you get comfortable."

"well, i'm not going to be comfortable if i don't know what i'm doing, and i'm scared i'm gonna mess up and embarrass myself in front of him!"

"...ask someone else."

"keiji, no, please! you're my best friend, no one else will get it if i ask! they're just gonna think i'm weird!" you plead, kneeling down and hugging his leg as a last resort.

"what are you—"

"please, keiji?" you interrupt, not wanting your plans derailed.

"i..." he sighs, running his fingers through his hair before begrudgingly agreeing. "fine, okay."

with an excited squeal, you stand up and intertwine your fingers with his. "thank you! what's first?"

"wh—now?!"

LESSON #1 — EYES 🦢

he loves your eyes. he thinks that they're absolutely gorgeous. with or without makeup to enhance your eyelashes, each wisp of color within your iris is a pathway that he wishes he could explore, simply by staring into your eyes for hours. he's a complete moth to the flame, because he swears that if he looks too long, he'll fall in.

"hey, keiji—is there something on my face?"

"what makes you think that?"

"...well, you've been staring at me for a good minute. is it paint, or something?l

"...okay, first things first—do not open your eyes unless you're ready to pull away. no one wants to see that right now, for one, and it just makes a kiss seem... not real. like you're not into it," he explains, pausing his show and turning to sit sideways on the couch. he lifts his glasses off from his nose and sets them on the coffee table.

"is that why you take your glasses off?" you ask, tilting your head curiously. "is it to prevent you from looking, or something?"

"um, no. i just don't like the idea of them fogging up," he says, thinking about what else to elaborate on. "closing your eyes is just because it'd be really awkward if you both stared at each other in the eyes."

"okay, i get it, i think. when do i start closing my eyes?"

"whenever you start feeling awkward. or, probably better for you—because you're so inexperienced—is to just mirror him."

"oh, yeah, i'm sooo inexperienced," you scoff, leaning back.

"you asked for my opinion."

"fair enough. what next?"

LESSON #2 — HANDS 𓇼

to him, hands are the most useful part of the body. it controls everything—volleyball, writing, hobbies... even eating, though you can technically do it otherwise. it's just messy that way. one thing he does take pride in, though, is how his look. it's mostly your fault—you compliment them all the time.

"keiji, your hands are so pretty. you've got such nice nails, too."

"um... thank you? i think?"

"what do you mean, you think? you should let me paint them."

"try not to do too much with your hands. it'll just be distracting you or him from the kiss."

he'd almost wanted to intentionally give you bad advice. maybe, that'd keep you to himself. but, unfortunately for him, he's smarter than that. he knows you'd be hurt, and he knows very well that it probably wouldn't work in the first place, and that whoever you'd wanted to kiss would just laugh adoringly at your inexperience. he knows he would.

"where do i put them?"

"honestly, it can be almost anywhere you want."

"in between your toes?"

"...i don't want to know what's going on in your head. try to keep them on the upper body, at least." keiji says, rubbing his forehead with two fingers.

"come a little closer," he motions.

you crawl across a few cushions before plopping down in front of him.

"now, try and find the most comfortable spot for your hands so that you're not deciding in the middle of a kiss."

panic visibly sets within you, and you hover your hands in a multitude of places, when keiji gently holds your wrists as a request for you to stop.

"hey, calm down—here, i'll guide you. shoulders first," he hums, bringing your hands to rest on his shoulders, allowing you to get a feel for it. "next..." cupping his face, resting on his chest, arms around his neck... before you reached having your fingers tangle in his hair.

"oh, this is nice," you say, immediately settling as you gently scratch his scalp with your nails.

"yeah? here?" he asks, trying not to focus on the pleasurable sensation that would lull him to sleep if it were under any other circumstances.

you nod, playing with his curls. "definitely."

he barely notices the soft smile that slips onto his features, simply watching the glint of fascination in your eyes. "now, i'm gonna put my hands here, okay?" he whispers, trailing his hands down to gently grab your waist. "is this okay?"

you nod, still mesmerized by his hair.

"moving on..."

LESSON #3 — LIPS ଳ

you talk way too much, in his opinion. not as much as bokuto, but a lot. to be fair, everyone talks a lot compared to his normal days. even though he may complain in his mind, he knows in his heart he doesn't care at all. he loves watching your lips move, memorizing how each individual letter looks on your lips. sometimes, he'll try to guess what you're listening to based on how well he can read your mouthing now.

"...are you listening to beabadoobee?"

"you listen to bea??"

"yoshimi, forest, magdalene?"

"wh—how'd you know? are you psychic?"

now comes the part he's almost dreading most—not that he could ever want to avoid your lips. he's just nervous. he takes a deep breath, starting his explanation.

"when you're kissing someone, don't tense up. you need to completely relax. no one wants to kiss a rock."

"weird metaphor, but i get it."

"you slightly part your lips. just a little bit."

"how much is a little bit?"

"guess."

you slightly drop your bottom lip, and it's almost perfect. keiji lifts his hand to your chin, just barely pushing your jaw up with his finger.

"do you want chapstick?" you ask.

"are you trying to tell me that my lips look dry?" he raises an eyebrow.

"no! your lips look nice. i'm just saying, i've heard it helps." you defend, getting the chapstick out and applying a quick layer.

"sure," he sighs, leaning a little closer and allowing you to drag the chapstick on his lips for what seems like forever (it was two seconds. he was just focused on you instead).

"ready to focus?" he asks, watching you apply yet another layer. it felt like you were teasing him.

"yep," you smile, re-parting your lips. "like this, right?"

he nods, beginning his next explanation. "don't do that when you kiss people. if you start talking in the middle of a kiss, make it relate to the experience, at least. if you start talking about the weather, you're getting kicked out."

you offer a sheepish grin. be continues.

"anyway, when most people kiss, they tend to lean their heads to the right, but it really depends on the person. i go right, which means you should also go right. with me, at least."

"how do you know that? just how many people have you kissed?" you tease.

he purses his lips. "two."

"was one boku—"

"doesn't matter."

you stifle your giggle, waiting for keiji's next words.

"kissing isn't as difficult as you think. it really does just come to you."

"oh, plea—"

"i'm not done. i'll do my best to help you, but when you kiss someone, you're not really paying attention to that. it just kind of happens."

you nod and stay quiet as he thinks for a moment. "i tend to put whoever's bottom lip i'm kissing in between mine."

"should i try and do the same thing?"

"no. n—not with me, at least."

"m'kay."

"and after a few kisses like that, you just keep going until it gets more intense."

"speaking of which..."

LESSON #4 — TONGUE 🌊

he doesn't have much to say about this. you use it lots? ice cream, popsicles, cleaning off butter knives—he could go on. you made him try the cherry-stem test once, though. he passed, obviously—that was definitely the main reason you asked for his help specifically.

"i don't get it. what's the point?"

"apparently, if you can tie a knot, you're a good kisser."

"hm. let's see if it checks out."

"what're you expecting? you look like the only thing you've kissed is your pillow."

"do i really have to explain this?" keiji sighs, burying his head in his hands for a moment.

"yes, come on! i need this one the most. what do i do with my tongue?"

"it's going to be so weird to talk about. and it's gonna sound so odd. i'm warning you."

"i understand the risks and i read all the terms and conditions. give me the goods. services? i dunno."

"definitely do not start off with it. if you shove your tongue into his mouth, he's gonna shove you away from him."

"understood."

"honestly, don't do anything about it. let him slip it in and take control of it. you lightly suck on it, i guess."

"ew, you're right. i don't wanna hear about this."

"i told you," he responds, leaning back and resting his head above the armrest, his hands acting as a pillow under him.

"do you really shove your tongue down their throat?"

"god, no."

LESSON #5 — PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER 𓆝

he knew it was coming. he knows you too well to think it'd be as easy as telling you what to do. unfortunately, he plays an incredibly well-developed game of denial. again—you've done this on multiple occasions. half of your essays are written by him. half of the recipes you've learned? him.

"thanks for teaching me how to make this! it's really good. i should get more recipes from you."

"i'm starting to doubt you actually listened."

"of course, i did!"

"then why did i end up making the whole thing?"

"i cut up the vegetables."

"after complaining that the onions were making you cry, so you couldn't cut the others."

"okay, then... i think that's it, right?" you hum, leaning forward and climbing onto his lap. "that's all the information itself?"

your action causes a sharp intake of breath from him, who does his best to hide it. he props himself up onto his elbows to get a better look at you. you look really, really pretty from this angle.

"i—what are you doing?" he stammers, his cheeks turning a pinkish color. in his mind, he blames it on the tv's screensaver. it's on green right now; so, what?

"is this not how people kiss?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"it is, but..." he averts his eyes.

"keiji," you whine, leaning down closer until you're laying on top of him. "i need the practice."

the way you say his name nearly makes him choke, but he covers it up. he's really going to try not to mess it up for you, even though it may benefit his (one-sided) rival.

"okay, fine," keiji sighs, sitting up again. he doesn't dare say anything more lest he seem too eager.

your eyes flit to his lips, barely breaking your shared gaze for less than a second. for this moment, you take in his current aesthetic. flushed, messy-haired, (how you wish he hadn't taken his glasses off so that they could be slightly askew), heavily breathing, shirt ridden up just enough for you to see his stomach... you could find so many little things like this to name.

and, finally, taking in what you've learned, you lean in just a little closer. tilting your head to the right, slightly parting your lips, and itching to tell him just how pretty he is. but, he said no unnecessary talking.

he mirrors your actions, feeling his heart beat so fast that he's genuinely scared he may have a heart attack.

when your lips touch, it's not like the movies. you don't picture a firework exploding in between you, and there's no dramatic music.

there is, however, the most polite man you've ever met on the other side. he's so gentle, kissing you slowly so that you don't get overwhelmed. you didn't even notice how his hands had gotten to cup your face, but everything about the interaction is soft.

it's almost like he thinks you're delicate.

you're both a mess of heavy breathing, your lips sloppily moving against his. and he was right—he does think that your inexperience is cute.

his lips move over yours, the soft texture you'd expect from no man but keiji as ever so gently nips your bottom lip.

your hands crawl up his nape to settle on the roots of his hair, tangling your fingers in the familiar curls as refuge from the unfamiliar feeling of the kiss. he lets a quiet sigh into your mouth, the vibration of the sound waves against your lips causing you to nearly melt.

noticing his hands move from your face to your neck, you take the moment to be just a little cheeky.

"i thought you said not to move your hands much, keiji," you teasingly whisper in between breaths.

he simply scoffs against your mouth. "actually, i said no talking," he murmurs, becoming less and less conscious of what he's doing.

the more your fingers massage his head, the more he wishes you were his. he hasn't kissed anyone like this before—it's simultaneously nothing special yet the most amazing thing he's ever experienced.

his hands slide down your body to rest at your waist, feeling your breath hitch the slightest bit. mumbling an apology he doesn't really mean, he leans forward a bit more to tilt your head back. only then, does it dawn on him.

LESSON #6 — ESCALATION 🦈ྀི

he didn't think it'd get this far. he really didn't. he should've known better than to assume he had the self control for this. looking back on it now, he really did care for you too much. the time he spent with you felt romantic—like an old married couple that always argues yet never harbors the negative emotions. but, alas, you weren't his to care for... or, so it seemed.

"you really should be more careful. you're going to get seriously injured if you keep this up."

"no, i won't, 'kaashi; you don't know anything."

"do you know how many band-aids i've gone through in the past ten minutes?"

"...shut it."

"we should stop," he whispers, barely audible. he doesn't pull away, though.

"why? you want to?" you frown against his lips, brushing the corner of his mouth to place another kiss there. maybe, he just needs some convincing... if this is about what you think it's about.

your hands trail from his neck to his abdomen, your fingers tugging on hem of his shirt. you lean forward and cradle his head until he hits the armrest, and you realize he's much more susceptible now. good morals—he feels guilty about kissing you.

fortunately for him, you don't actually like someone else. dragging the fabric of his shirt up his stomach, you deepen the kiss as a form of distraction. it was a feeble attempt; he noticed right away.

"wait, wait," he breathes, pulling back for a moment. he can't seem to find his words when you look at him like that, your gaze all sparkly and enticing. "i thought you had your eyes on someone. why are you—?!"

"it was an excuse. i just wanted to kiss you," diving back in without giving him a chance to respond to the shock you've just supplied him.

you open a singular eye, noticing how his are wide open. "what happened to closing your eyes?" the giggle that travels through you isn't enough to soothe him. he needs to hear it directly.

his hands lift to your face, gently pushing your head back with his fingers tangled down to your scalp as he shares your stare. "y—you mean it? you actually want to kiss me?"

"was the fact i've been trying to get you to make out with me for the past 20 minutes not proof enough?"

he shakes his head. "you said that you wanted lessons!"

"so that i could kiss you! you're too smart for this, keiji," you laugh, brushing his dark strands of hair out of his face.

he groans, rubbing his eyes. "god, you're..."

"a genius? yeah, i know." you teasingly raise your eyebrows, as you reach over for his glasses.

the confusion evident on his face, his eyes follow your hand. "i was gonna say crazy," he mumbles, watching you place the glasses on his nose.

"but you've gotta admit," you grin, leaning closer again, "i was able to get this far without you suspecting anything. i'm at least a little smart, right?" he flinches when you tilt his glasses to the side.

"what's that for?" he asks, avoiding the question.

you kiss his nose before moving to his jawline. "keep your glasses on next time we kiss. it's so hot when they're crooked.

he gulps. "next time?"

"mhm," you sigh, connecting your lips to his.

notes. this is probably university au 'cause i didn't have a specific time in mind but too old to be high school too young to have a working job... you get the point

also... can you tell i've never actually kissed anyone ha ha so silly (i'm going to cry)

edit: me forgetting to put tags

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu akaashi #hq akaashi #hq #akaashi fluff #fluff #keiji #hq x reader #reader fic #bokuaka #a little bit

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86espresso · 7 months ago

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💌 roommate!jack pt. 2

part 1. part 3

( ignore me yearning for an ounce of a healthy relationship. I got cheated on my junior year of high school )

absolutely entirely babies you. i’m talking cleaning up after you, feeding you (this is so underrated fr), wiping off your makeup when you get home, forehead pecks before either of you leaves in the morning, packing lunch, always comforting you when you get overwhelmed.

^ is so so in love with the way you scrunch your nose in disgust when you try a new smoothie and automatically hand it over to him, letting him deal with it because you’re so used to him

simple things that come with intertwined lives: communication is always there, but there’s a deeper more important sense of knowing exactly what’s going on with each other without ever communicating.

^ knowing telltale signs of the other when they’re overstimulated, stressed, upset, uneasy, etc. a special kind of love language jack has for you, and that makes you fall hard.

gifts you cds and vinyls of artists you blast in your room

cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day!! after the party he throws at your shared space the previous night, he’s picking up trash and organizing everything back to its place while you wipe down the counters with whatever liquid that was on there. you collapse on the couch together and sleep the whole day, entangled in a mess of limbs but comfortable with eachother

softly knocks on your bedroom door one night, wondering why it was so quiet and sees you slumped over your desk and textbooks, fast asleep. his heart clenches at the sight; you look adorable but he doesn’t like how you overwork yourself and how you were still tense despite your unconscious state. he gently lifts you up from your desk and carries you over to your bed, laying you down. ^but he stops when you yank on the collar of his shirt, slowly opening your eyes. “thank you. stay?” you’ve stayed over in his room a few times but he’s never slept in yours. “sure, sweets.” he’d murmur in a low voice (🤭) and tuck himself in next to you, a safe distance away. ofc you wake up to his arm securely around your waist and it has you internally screeching.

lets out a indignant gasp when you approach him with eyebrow tweezers and tells you to ‘keep that torture device far away from him’ but a couple of pleases and a pout had him like putty in your hands as he begrudgingly accepted. he asks you to do his eyebrows often after that moment because he gets the opportunity to put his hands on your waist and stare at your face without making it weird.

^ also you when you accidentally let slip that you don’t take birth control pills he’s like wtf?? then you show him the implant in your upper arm. he screams, mortified, when he touches it and says “I thought that was for diabetes.”

the fear of telling eachother the strong feelings you both have grows everyday. when you’re put into a forced proximity like that and that person ultimately becomes your safe haven, literally lives with you, you just know there’s so much that could go wrong. you both toe the line carefully, trying not to harm the special bond you’ve grown over the years.

sleepovers in each others rooms !! pillow forts, romcoms on laptops, fingers brushing together when you reach for the popcorn bowl at the same time, huddling together for warmth (dear god when is it going to be my turn)

your first kiss would be slow and sweet. then you pull away breathless from the adrenaline and you look at him as if you don’t believe that just happened and his resolve crumbles. He wraps a strong arm around you body, pulling you close, and tangles the other through your hair, tilting your head. a year or two of pent up frustrations and raw love makes him pull your mouth to his roughly, him immediately going in with his tongue. He’s held you and hugged you before, but never like this. This was so much more passionate and intimate than anything he’d ever experienced.

def talks you through it 🙂‍↕️

his closet is yours!! he goes crazy seeing you in his big shirts and looking like you don’t have anything on underneath

whenever there’s blackouts through the building you both scramble around the place looking for candles with your phone lights. you bump into eachother a few times and there’s an unspoken rule to stick together while the lights are out. nothing but a scented candlelight illuminating your faces.

he declares a deep clean day which ends up in both of you soaked in bubbles after a soap fight

“we should shower together.. remember the water bill last month? :/”

roommates to lovers. goated trope.

i split this into two parts bc tumblr hates me. getting the other one out in a few mins :)

I want to talk about this more !! make it into a little series maybe?? send in what you think pleasee :)

#ellie writes 🙂‍↔️#jack hughes #jack hughes headcanons #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff

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i-just-wanna-write-fanfic · 1 month ago

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HIIIII!!! CAN I REQUEST A YANDERE PETE SCENARIO WITH A GN DARLING?!?!??!!! Thank you!! I wanna see how'd he treat his darling once abducted, how would he kidnap them and such.

Sure! i decided to do this a bit more a drabble, so I hope that's alright! Also I just realized you didn't request for the reader to be goth but there were so many requests asking for it so my brain it all mixed up.. It's not a huge thing but it is there qwq

YAN!PETE DINUNZIO X GN!READER

I've been getting a lot of Pete requests and I'd say I'm pissed but I really don't mind. I'm quite okay with Pete, even positive towards him. CW: Mentions of s/h as a kink/outlet for anger.. + typed out accent

⋆☆⋆｡𖦹°🦇°𖦹｡⋆☆⋆ You don't recall the last day, and your head hurts. So does your chest, and your throat stings a bit. You rub your eyes, and look around. The room you're in looks like the horror movie section in Blockbusters threw up everywhere. You try to stand up, but you begin coughing, and notice a weight on your ankle- a chain on your ankle connecting to a leg on the bed you're laid on. Somehow, you're still in your old clothes, and you can see in a nearby mirror the only bit of your makeup that's been ruined is near you mouth; black lipstick smeared across your chin- as if whoever brought you here did everything in their power to keep it that way.

⋆☆⋆｡𖦹°🦇°𖦹｡⋆☆⋆ After sometime, while smoothing out your complicated outfit, a boy enters, "You're finally awake.. jeez, I was worried I'd killed ya or threw ya into a coma! Hah! Though, I'm sure I still coulda worked with that." You look up at him. His hair is cut short, his black shirt sporting a skull logo, underneath a bright blue jacket. It's Pete, that boy who spoke to you yesterday, though you can't bring yourself to recall what it was about. He sits down next to you, poking your forehead, "What are ya, mute? Did I give you brain damage, or something? I coulda sworn you'd be fine." "I'm not a toy." "And? I know that!" You pushed his hand away, and sighed, "Then stop acting like I am one." "I'm not!" After you roll your eyes, he huffs and stands, "Fine! Be that way. I'm gonna grab a snack, you want anything?"

⋆☆⋆｡𖦹°🦇°𖦹｡⋆☆⋆ For being kidnapped, it wasn't as bad of an experience as you thought. All he really wanted to do was bother you and watch cheap horror films with you. But when you asked to go home, he gave you a weird look. "You're chained up" "Yeah.. and you're going to let me go, right?" "... Maybe I did give you brain damage.." You paused. "YOU'RE NOT GONNA LET ME GO!?" "No. Duh. I won't do as you say just cuss yer hot, babe." He scoffed and slapped your back like you were old buds. You barely knew him, he just kidnapped you, and he's acting like you've known one another for years.

⋆☆⋆｡𖦹°🦇°𖦹｡⋆☆⋆ How long has it been? A few days? You could only tell from when he'd come back and talk about school or the club. It's driving you mad. You've only been able to do your makeup everyday because he likes watching you do it, and likes seeing you 'all dolled up', as he'd say when he'd return with your old clothes, how he'd got them you have no idea. As time goes on he gets more and more angry, more violent, as if the day he's spent without you has driven him to the brink of insanity. Everytime you see him in a short-sleeve shirt there's more and more scars. Some in shapes or letters or just lines, or the ones on his wrist spelling out your name. Some days he tries to get you to do the same, but at least he's not begging or forcing you to- for now. He won't stop talking when he's with you, the amount of pictures of you on his wall growing each day- but it feels like every minute. You don't recall the last day, and your head hurts. So does your chest, and your throat stings a bit. You rub your eyes, and look around. It feels like a nightmare, and your mom's about to wake you up for school.

#headcanon #yandere headcanons #pete dinunzio x reader #pete dinunzio #the eltingville club #eltingville club x reader #eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #yandere drabble #drabble #one shot #angst

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brights-place · 1 month ago

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HIII, I was wondering if you could write for kaidou (from saiki k) with Emo!reader?? Like at first he thought she was apart of the dark reunion but as time goes on he realizes she’s just a normal person and kinda cool then he gets a little (Big) crush on reader

anyways I love your fics, have a good dayyy💗💗💗

[Saiki K] Kaidou x Emo!reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Lets be honest here... HOW MANY PEOPLE HERE LIKE KAIDOU BECAUSE I FIND HIM ABIT CUTE! HE'S SO SWEET also I gave up on the headcannons sorry gang <//3

Summary: Kaidou was always suspicious of you with how you dressed you must of been apart of the dark reunion coming out to get him.. Until he found interest in

You walked around with outfits that would gain attention and whispers from others yet you waved them off. The way you stared down people who would try talk to you other then your friends.

Wearing monochrome colours, heavy makeup that scared those around you making them grow weary of you, and leave you alone.

Saiki out of all people adored the fact people left you alone letting you live a somewhat normal life but the pinkette could hear your thoughts about your favorite bands, and the fact you had a feeling you were being watched. Saiki knew who it was though...

Kaidou was lurking in the corner of the library watching you with squinted eyes muttering things about the dark reunion causing saiki to deadpan even more sighing as he glanced back to your figure sitting at a desk listening to music.

Saiki vanished instantly when Kaidou started heading towards you his hands on his hips before pointing at you “I know your working for the dark reunion! Give it up now!” Kaidou stated as he posed dramatically before pausing when noticing you had your headphones in and had your head in a book.

Kaidou couldn’t help but flinch before awkwardly tapping your shoulder “uhm excuse me-?” His voice quite and awkward causing you to lift up your head and take off your headphones head turning to look at Kaidou who cleared his throat as you awkwardly blinked at him.

Silence filled you two before Kaidou spoke dramatically “I know your apart of the dark reunion! The way you dress, how you act and the aura around you!” You couldn’t help but blink “Dark reunion…?” Kaidou couldn’t help but nod his head “is that a new band…? I’ll check it out” you smiled softly before pointing at his arm wrapped with a red bandaged “did you get hurt or something” Kaidou smirked before holding up his arm starting a large monologue while you stared at him before a small giggle came from you causing Kaidou to flush “Sit” you muttered patting down at a seat unaware of such a simple interaction between you two grew into something more

- Kaidou likes to help and choose different outfits with you along with watching you do your makeup

- You wear all black, eyeliner sharper than your wit, and have a collection of skull accessories - Kaidou wears his hoodie like a superhero cape and talks about sealing dark forces and the dark re-union something you found cute and would listen to with a soft smile - PDA is weird, awkward, and cute He doesn’t know how to flirt, so he’ll dramatically take your hand and say things like, “Let us walk through the night together” while you roll your eyes and blush. You secretly think it’s adorable - When you open up about your struggles, he drops the act and listens quietly, eyes full of real concern. “You’re not alone in this situation… I’m with you.” For once, he says it without flair, and it hits you right in the heart smiling like an idiot - Music is shared between the two of you. He doesn't understand it for how intense it is. But over time, Kaidou starts genuinely loving bands like Paramore, My Chemical Romance, Cure, etc. - buys you things that remind him of you and you buy stuff that remind you of him giving it to one another with stupid smiles, holding hands

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narrators-journal · 2 months ago

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Could we get dr stone characters reacting to reader mentioning they have a crush on xeno

Alright, so, I decided to do little blurbs for this ask since a lot of these guys would have pretty similar reactions and it’d get repetitive. So, I chose some of the more fun people to explore for this situation and expanded on them a little. I hope these are properly varied and not too samey. Also, sorry if anyone seems a little off here, I decided to practice some sparcely written about babs, so I don’t have the most experience with some of these guys lol.

SENKU ISHIGAMI

“You fucking would like him, wouldn’t you?” Senku snorted after a heavy pause had followed your confession. The amusement and teasing enough to earn a fresh wave of hellish heat in your cheeks. “Huh?! What does that mean?” You huffed, but the leek-haired man waved your question away without his crimson eyes ever leaving his experiment. “It just means you clearly have a type, it’s not an insult.” “Then why did you say it like that?!” “Because it’s still funny,” Senku said with another snort, and while you couldn’t see his face with his back to you, you could hear the smirk he wore in his words. “You just have the vibe of someone who would crush on an amoral man like Xeno or Hyoga. Though…” He finally lifted his head to think for a moment before he continued. “I guess this means I owe Gen 20 Dragos. Man, why couldn’t you have had the hots for Hyoga instead? Or Tsukasa? Tsukasa’s morals are flexible, y’know.” He complained, his attention returned to his experiment with no mind to the gobsmacked expression you wore behind him. “YOU FUCKING BET ON WHO I LIKED?!”

LUNA WRIGHT

The pink-haired girl gave you an almost grossed-out look. Her hand paused with the nail polish wand over your fingernail. “Are you being serious?” She asked, and when you nodded her frown deepened. And when she spoke, it was with an edge of disgust to her supportive words. “I guess I won’t judge you for your taste in men, but he definitely wouldn’t be my first choice. The money is good, but he’s got that weird thing with Stanley going on and I like attention far too much.”

With that, she returned to painting your nails and left the conversation there. Outside of, of course, some rather prying questions about why you found the mad scientist so attractive, why you didn’t crush on Stan instead, and whether or not you would seriously try to pursue Xeno of all people. She even shared some of her more embarrassing crushes from the past, which made for a fun chat as she painted your nails and did your makeup as best she could with the supplies she had.

HYOGA AKATSUKI

You weren’t sure why you told the white-haired, masked man of your soft feelings for Dr. Xeno Wingfield, but he didn’t seem to react to the admission. He simply kept his focus on the sticks he sharpened for the hunting trap you worked at. When he did finally speak, it was to bluntly ask, “Would you betray us for him?” His words almost laced with that same tone a parent got when they asked how serious your high school relationship was. A mix of curiosity and humoring that made your glare darken even further when paired with the partial accusation. “Then it’s not worth focusing on. Just keep digging the tiger pit.” And that was where he left the topic.

Which, was an odd relief. You were able to get the truth off of your chest without any judgement and leave it on the forest floor with the dirt and rocks that you carved out of the ground. Hyoga had been a dick about it, but you could forgive that.

KOHAKU

“Heh? Xeno?” Your closest friend, supposed confidant, asked as the two of you sat on a tree branch to watch Suika play under the noon sun with Chalk. “Why Xeno of all people? He’s pompous, arrogant, and a jerk. If you like men like that, just date Senku.” “Ew, I don’t want to date Senku, he’s a jerk.” You said with a pink-faced scowl, which made Kohaku give a bark of laughter. “And Xeno isn’t?! His people tried to kill us multiple times over. He’s a snob, he’s condescending, and every word I’ve heard him say to you is some sort of insult. At least Senku doesn’t talk to us like we’re infants.” She snorted, Xeno’s flaws counted off on her fingers as you huffed and kicked your feet lazily. “Xeno is not that bad, Kohaku. He’s friends with Stan, so he’s obviously capable of kindness. And you forgave Tsukasa despite his whole attempt at a war, so why are you bringing that up now?” You argued, and the blonde shrugged, “Tsukasa’s clearly repented. He fought with Senku against Hyoga, and he already died to make up for that war. Xeno’s remorseless.” And that made you roll your eyes and groan. A hand over your eyes as you just waved her looks off, “Just drop it. I’m sorry I brought it up.” “No, explain yourself. What do you see in Xeno that Senku doesn’t have? Have you had a crush on Senku too?” She asked, amusement able to slip into her words as she watched you curl up like a dying spider on the branch. “Oh my god, Kohaku, stop!”

CHROME

You regretted mentioning Xeno while you helped sort rocks the moment the words left your mouth… “Why don’t you like Senku instead? Senku’s great, and he’s a lot nicer.” Chrome pointed out, his own basket of stones and crystals forgotten with the rest of the gossip and jokes you’d been swapping with him. “I dunno, Chrome, I-I just don’t. I don’t even really like Xeno, he just has his moments.” You sighed, your cheeks on fire as you tried to keep your eyes on the geode in your hands. Though that did little to dissuade the brunette. “Senku has his moments too.” He offered, “I mean, just about every girl in the village likes him, Kohaku probably likes him too, plus he’s a good dude. Probably smarter than Xeno, too.” before he went on to list the many, many pros that Senku offered that Xeno didn’t.

On one hand, you were thankful that the brunette didn’t berate you and question your morality for your attraction to the mad scientist. But, on the other hand, the sales pitch he launched into was humiliating in its own right, even if you tried to tune him out like you might a stubborn fly.

STANLEY SNYDER

“How did you even find out about that?!” You squawked, face hot with embarrassment as you tried to will the tall marine who stood in front of you to death. Which only made Stanley Snyder laugh, “Did you seriously expect to tell Luna something like that and for her to not gossip? You’re not the brightest bulb, are you darlin’?” And that just worsened the shame in your gut. Though it was nothing compared to the next blow to you that he gave. “Plus, you’re not the most subtle of people. I’m pretty sure the only person unaware of your lil crush is Xee.” “Please kill me…” You muttered, your face now in your hands so you wouldn’t have to see the smirk on Stanley’s darkly lipstick’d lips as he chuckled, “Nah, this is too funny to do that.” “I hate you...”

#dr. stone #dcst #Xeno x reader kinda #ask #short #Stanley Snyder #Luna Wright #dr stone hyoga #Senku Ishigami #Kohaku #Chrome

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nevadancitizen · 3 months ago

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-> CH. 2: CLEAN, CRISP & UNLIKE HOME

synopsis: jayce and viktor show you your new digs. you sort through the stuff that came through with you.

word count: 3.3k

ships: Viktor/isekai!Reader, Jayce Talis & isekai!Reader

notes: here's a mockup of what reader's dorm looks like

ABoAB taglist: @th3stup1dcat , @patchs-curiosity-corner (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

A BLAZE OF ARCANE BLUE MASTERLIST

“And this is where you’ll be staying.”

The Piltover Academy dorm is nothing like your dorm back home. It’s more like a studio apartment, for one — from what you can see, there’s an open-concept kitchen and living room/bedroom. You didn’t even have a kitchen and living room in your last dorm.

Everything fits into the clean, modern aesthetic. (You’re not too fond of it, but it’s free housing, so you can’t really complain.) Most everything is black and white while the walls are a pinkish beige, but at least the living room/bedroom incorporates muted blues, greens, and greys.

As you walk around, exploring the new space, Jayce prattles off the rules regarding the Academy; everything from how you’re not allowed to dress down on certain days to the hours you’re able to enter the greenhouse without a pass from a professor. You’re only paying half-attention.

The bathroom is moderate, with a tile floor and a shower-bath combo — fancy! There’s a toilet and a sink with a cabinet, which is to be expected, and a laundry hamper, too. That’s a nice bonus.

You catch a glance of yourself in the mirror, and, god… you look like hell warmed over. Your hair is a mess, and the scars that aren’t covered by your sleep clothes almost look more pronounced. Your eyes are kind of puffy, like you cried in your sleep. Huh.

You rub your eyes and pet your hair to try to get it to behave, but it’s no use. Jayce and Viktor let you walk the halls looking like this, so it might not be as bad as you’re making it out to be in your head.

When you walk out of the bathroom, Viktor is sitting at one of the two bar stools at the kitchen peninsula. Jayce is puttering around the small living room, looking at the books that stock the bookshelf. The stuff that came with you through the… hex-portal…? is sitting on the peninsula. It’s not a lot.

You walk over and sigh under your breath, looking at your meager amount of things. Some clothes, a pair of boots, some art supplies, the pillow and blanket you went to bed with, your phone, and your old Nintendo 3DS that you haven’t charged in ages. More came through, but were destroyed, seemingly torn apart by weird time-space-phenomena; a torn shirt, a pair of jeans fraying at every seam, and three different types of pliers, bent so badly you couldn’t fix or use them if you tried.

You pick up the one thing you’re unsure about – your pills. Methylphenidate, 20mg tablets, substituted for ritalin 20mg tablets. Used to damper ADHD symptoms and help the patient focus… also administered at teenage parties because they can’t get their hands on real adderall.

Can being transmitted through a universe rift alter its chemical makeup? Maybe… you sure as hell aren’t willing to risk it. Who knows what could be happening in those little yellow pills?

“What are they for?” Viktor asks.

Your head snaps up and you look across the kitchen peninsula at him. You look back down at the pill bottle and give it a shake, causing it to rattle. “Focusin’. It’s… not necessary for my survival, but it makes livin’ a hell of a lot easier.”

You hold the little orange bottle out for Viktor to examine. He takes it and looks the label over, a look of confusion crossing his face. “What kind of language is this?”

“It’s… plain English,” you say. “What we’re speakin’ right now?”

“No.” He gives you a weird look. “We are speaking Piltovan.”

You narrow your eyes at him and cock your head to the side. “You jerkin’ my chain?”

“I am not…” Viktor’s face twists, and his eyes drop to your neck. “You are wearing a chain?”

“No! No, it…” You sigh sharply. “It’s a phrase. A… slang term. It’s like I’m askin’, ‘Are you kiddin’ me?’ or, ‘Are you tellin’ the truth?’”

He sets the pill bottle down on the counter. “I am telling the truth.”

“Right, I inferred that from the way you talked,” you say. You’re getting fed up with this. “Wait – here.”

You round the corner and join Jayce in looking at the bookshelf. You reach out, then stop yourself as you look over the books. None of the spines of the books are written in English. They’re all in some weird… cuneiform? It doesn’t look like any modern language you know of. It looks… rudimentary, almost. Like if someone tried to write Arabic while drunk and blindfolded and also not knowing a word of Arabic.

“Where…” You breathe out the word. “Where’s the English?”

“What?” Jayce says.

“The English books,” you say. “Nothin’s in English.”

“Well, of course,” he says. “It’s all in standard Piltovan.”

You take a book off the shelf and crack it open to a random page. Jayce is right. It’s all in Piltovan. Not a letter of English.

“Of course.” You close the book. Of course it’s in Piltovan. Of course nothing’s in English. And of fucking course it’s just another challenge in this stupid… whatever this is. It’s not like everything’s already too confusing, no! On top of everything else, you can’t fucking read. Walking stereotype right here! An illiterate Southerner!

You grit your teeth so hard you’re sure you’re about to crack a crown, but refrain from throwing the book out of one of the frustratingly beautiful windows and instead put it back on the bookshelf. This sucks asshole, but you need to stay at least somewhat composed.

You don’t have most of your clothes. You don’t have your laptop. You don’t have your assignments from classes. You don’t have most of your art supplies. Most of the projects you need for class are back in your home universe’s dorm. You don’t even know if you’ll be back in time to turn them in without a late penalty.

You persist. You persist. You need to persist. You need to prove your worth ten times over. You need to prove that you aren’t just some walking stereotype. You’ve done it before. You’re going to do it again. You’re going to do it for the rest of your life. You persist.

You (forcibly) relax your jaw and step away from the bookshelf. “Well, I ain’t never seen that before. I’ll have to learn some.”

“We could create a cipher!” Jayce chimes.

You can hear Viktor get up from the bar stool. You glance over your shoulder at him as he walks over.

“Yes, creating a cipher should be possible,” he says. He stops and glances over your head at the books on the higher shelves. “If everything is spelled the same, it is – theoretically – doable.”

“Is it, now?” You ask, then shake your head. “We can do this later. I got shit to sort.”

You skirt past Viktor and go back into the kitchen to look over your pile of things. Again, it’s smaller than you’d like it to be.

You start to pick out loose beads from the wrinkles in the spare clothes. They’re all metal – misshapen brass and sterling silver and copper beads to be put on a bracelet. The thought tickles the back of your mind; it was meant to be a piece about building a nice life with a less-than-perfect childhood as the foundation. Would you be able to go back and finish it? Do they even have brass and sterling silver and copper here?

You blink hard and do your best to dismiss the thought. You can’t spiral. Not like this – not with Jayce and Viktor in the same room. You need to be strong. You raised yourself with the self-imposed expectation that you would be the best, that you would be the one to make it out of your small hometown. You need to persist. You need to be strong. You need to be right.

Jayce’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “What’re those for?”

“Hm? Oh, these little things?” You hold up a bead between the tip of your index finger and thumb. “They’re for a class project back home. A nice little bracelet.”

Jayce picks one up, a copper one shaped like a keshi pearl – not insanely malformed, but not completely spherical, either. It represents a normal half year, one with both ups and downs. He nods at your explanation and puts it back down in the little pile you’re making.

Viktor retakes his seat in the bar stool across from you. He sets a book down on the counter, out of the way of what you’re doing. You glance at it, and the title is in Piltovan. You go back to picking beads out of the pile.

“Are y’all…” You try to fill the silence. “Are y’all curious about anything?”

“How do you mean?” Viktor asks.

“Like…” You think for a moment. “Where I’m from? My education? My family? My things?”

Jayce holds up your phone. “What’s this?”

“Well.” You take your phone from him and swipe up on the lock screen. It scans your face quickly and unlocks. “It’s a phone. Can take pictures, tape videos, send messages, all that junk.”

“Videos?” Viktor parrots.

Your eyebrows draw together and you nod. “Yeah. Videos.”

“Can you show us one of those…” Jayce’s eyebrows furrow a little. “Videos?”

You silently nod and pull up your photos app. (You’re tired of hearing the word ‘video,’ even from your own mouth.) You scroll up a bit and tap on a concert video and put your phone on the counter where they both can see the screen.

There’s a young man on a small stage, the house lights dim and the spotlight on him. Uplights on the edge of the stage shine up on him, hypnotic shades of green and purple illuminating him and the black velvet curtain behind him. He’s singing and plucking a bass guitar with backing music: “Okay, now, drinks up if you got a well-paid shawty… Put the kief up in the blunt and we can kick it, no karate… Yeah, I told her I could show her how to drive a Maserati… She stopped and said, ‘Boy, you’d look better in an Audi…’”

You pause it when you realize that Viktor and Jayce don’t know what a shawty, kief, a blunt, or karate are, what it means to ‘kick it,’ and neither do they know what a Maserati or an Audi is. There’s a very real possibility that you could’ve just rendered them brain dead by showing them what a modern concert in your world looks like.

You glance at the both of them. They both have their eyes glued to your phone screen, but they’re still blinking and breathing, so they’re not brain dead. Thank god.

Viktor glances up at you through his eyelashes. His voice is soft and hushed when he speaks. “What is this technology?”

“It’s just a phone,” you say. You know that one phrase holds so much privilege, but you don’t know how else to explain it. You wish you could explain all the inner workings to these men who’re starting to look more and more like geniuses in your eyes, but you can’t. You’re just not that type of person.

“Just a phone…” Jayce echoes. He picks up your phone and turns it over, looking at the stickers you put on the back of the case.

“Yeah,” you hum absentmindedly. You go back to picking through the pile as he toys around with it. You almost feel like you just gave your phone to a kid – not that Jayce is childlike, but his curiosity regarding a simple staple in your life surely is.

“What was your childhood like?” Viktor asks suddenly. It catches you off guard, honestly.

“Now, why d’you need to know all that?” You ask. It’s not a well-kept secret that most Southerners are raised with a heavy hand, but how could they know that?

And you remember… aw, hell. The weird looks they gave you in the lab when you mentioned your momma’s special type of discipline.

Viktor’s lips pitch into a pout-frown, then straighten themselves out. “Just curious.”

“You and everyone else in my datin’ life,” you say under your breath with a quick exhale through your nose. It’s not that funny. You don’t even really know what you’re talking about. You just wanted to mumble something quick and witty.

The room falls silent again. You continue picking out beads. Your less-than-nimble fingers make it more difficult than it needs to be. Your hands are usually more stable than this. You don’t know why they’re shaking in that ever-so-slight manner.

“How soon d’you think I can go home?” You blurt out.

You look up, and both Jayce and Viktor’s eyes are on you. You don’t know what else you were expecting. For them to ignore you? For them to pretend that your voice doesn’t hold an undercurrent of desperation?

“I’m… not sure,” Jayce says. “That’s why we decided to set you up here. We didn’t want you staying on the couch in the lab while we figured everything out.”

“It was, most likely, a one-in-a-million event,” Viktor says. His eyebrows draw together, then he looks down at the countertop. “I do not know how you came into this world, as I was not testing anything. It was only exploratory.”

“Why’d you even mess with that thing in the first place?” You ask. “I understand doin’ something like voodoo or hoodoo, ‘cause the people before you were practicin’ it, and it worked for them, so why wouldn’t it work for you? But you said it was exploratory – that’s when you’re still learnin’ ‘bout something.”

“It’s magic,” Jayce says, his voice almost reverent. “Real magic.”

You look at him, then just blink. Slowly. “Right. Magic. Y-you know I was jokin’ when I said that thing about the hexstone bein’ a magic rock? I don’t really believe in your type’a magic.”

“It is magic based in the realm of science,” Viktor says. “We are learning how to… regulate it – control it. Use it responsibly.”

“And you just have that thing out in the open?” You say. “No bulletproof glass, no PPE or that kinda shit? Just rawdoggin’ it?”

“What’s ‘rawdogging’?” Jayce asks.

“Nothin’!” You insist. You can feel a warmth in your face, but try your best to ignore it. “It’s nothin’. Just… an expression for unprotected, that’s all.”

You breathe in, then out in a harsh exhale. “Whatever. Let’s get a move on.”

You shift the pile, looking for more beads, and feel the warmth in your face intensify. Staring you dead in the eyes are the words ‘THC GUMMIES – 300mg, 30 GUMMIES – INDICA.’ It’s weed. Of course it’s your fucking weed.

You can’t even fathom thinking about getting high in a situation like this. Your reaction is purely embarrassment – you think this is what you’d feel like if you got caught with weed by your parents. (You don’t know how you’d really feel… you never got caught.)

“What’s that?” Jayce asks.

“It’s more meds,” you lie. (Well, it’s not a complete lie.) “THC. I don’t really know what it stands for, but it’s some chemical.”

“You were worried about your pills earlier,” Viktor says. “Do you have the same worry with this medicine?”

“Maybe,” you sigh. “I don’t know. I think I’ll refrain from usin’ it unless absolutely necessary.”

You have to mentally chastise yourself when your train of thought starts turning whiny. Getting high is not a necessary staple in your life. It’s nice, sure, but you can live without it – have to learn to live without it.

“What do you use it for?” Viktor asks.

“Relaxin’,” you say. Again, it’s not a complete lie. “Long days made easier just by a little gummy.”

“I am curious,” Viktor says. (You’re starting to think he’s always curious, which isn’t an inherently bad thing, but still.) “What are the effects of this… medicine? How does it help you relax?”

You internally panic a little, still praying that the warmth you feel in your face isn’t visible. “Just… y’know. The usual. Muscles relax, no more worryin’ about whatever stupid shit happened during the workday. Makes everything kinda funny, too. A bird flyin’ past your window could send you into a fit. ‘S happened to me before.”

“Sounds similar to the effects of liquor,” Jayce says. “You… do have liquor in your home world, don’t you?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and remind yourself that these men are ignorant. They don’t know about the backwoods stills that litter Appalachia or the moonshine that can annihilate healthy livers with a single shot.

“‘Course we got liquor,” you say. “Moonshine, tequila, cowboy-type’a whiskey… well, cowboys love moonshine, too. Know some folks down in Alabama that make apple brandy – smooth as illegal ‘shine can get, yessir. Don’t tell no one I told you that, by the way.”

A smile crosses Viktor’s face, like he’s thinking of something warm and familiar. “Yes, there are moonshiners where I come from, too. The Entresol level holds some of the best moonshine gold can buy.”

“What kinda flavors they got?” You bend down and prop your elbows on the peninsula. You feel better and not as embarrassed now that the conversation has left the topic of your drug habits. (Well, alcohol is technically a drug, but it’s less of a touchy topic than marijuana.)

“Most of them are fruit-based,” he says. “Honeyfruit, ibbick, nifir… the nos’we is my personal favorite, but it is one of the harder ones to get.”

“Ain’t that right?” You say. “What’s this, um… nos’we ‘shine taste like, then?”

“Sharp. But does every liquor not have a kick?” Viktor says. “It reminds me of tobacco smoke, but not quite. It is, um… woodsy, I suppose.”

“Complex, ain’t it?” You say. “I find the simpler ones more enjoyable. Like, that brandy I was talkin’ about earlier’s got apple, and it’s got cinnamon. It’s cinnamon apple. I find it rather fine ‘cause I don’t gotta worry ‘bout discernin’ all them different flavors.”

“Is that so?” He smiles faintly. “Maybe I should consider visiting this ‘Alabama’ you mentioned.”

“Oh, it’s real nice this time ‘a year!” You chirp. “There’s all these memorials from the Civil War, and last time I went around as a tourist, the guides were all real knowledgeable.”

“The Civil War?” Jayce interjects.

You look over at him and stand up straight, taking your elbows off the counter. You’re a bit surprised – you kind of forgot he was even there. (Viktor can be a hypnotic conversation partner when he wants to be, you guess.)

“Uh, yeah. The Civil War,” you say. “Was all a long time ago, back in the 1860’s.”

“1860?” Jayce says. “That’s – what year do you think it is?”

“Um…” You prattle off the current year, your voice a little quiet and unsure.

“That is at least a thousand years in the future,” Viktor says, his voice a mirror of yours. “The year is 988 AN.”

“988?” You echo. “You sure you don’t mean, like, 1988? ‘Cause when we were back around that time, we were conductin’ crusades. We didn’t even discover steel yet, I don’t think.”

“This is all so fascinating,” Jayce says. “Maybe we should create a running list of all the differences between our worlds.”

You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from asking him, ‘What’s the point?’ because you’re not planning on staying for long, anyway. But they’re giving you a place to stay at no cost to you, and it’s a nice place at that. It would be rude of you to ask that.

For now, you just need to bide your time. Piltover has breathable air and at least two respectable citizens who respect you in turn. It’s just a matter of time before you can go back and forget about all this – go back to gems and metals, back to thunderclaps that shake whole buildings, back to seafood boils and brisket with so much melted fat that it drips down your chin.

It’s just a matter of time before you can go back home.

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